Happy Halloween!

Despite the date on this post, I celebrated Halloween yesterday thanks to international time zones, though it's clear that the holiday really hasn't caught on in New Zealand yet. I went out and specially brought a bag of Kit-Kats in anticipation of trick-or-treaters, and do you want to know how many turned up at my door?

None.

In a way I suppose it's a good thing, as I've never understood the logic of teaching children not to take candy from strangers, only to set them loose once a year to do exactly that – but I was all prepared for the occasion, and am now forced to withstand the siren call of chocolate in my fridge before I can foist it all onto someone else.

But as I do every year, I re-watched Tim Burton's Sleepy Hollow, one of my favourite spooky movies of all time. The atmosphere, the suspense, the characterization – I know it's not considered Burton's best by a long shot (in fact, many consider it the first sign of his waning talent as a director), but it was the first horror movie I ever saw on the big-screen and I've loved it ever since.

And as it happens, it's a beautifully crafted film – more so than it's given credit for. Little details are strewn throughout its length that have significance only in hindsight, from the stone archer on the fireplace to the amorous couple in the shadows that Ichabod glimpses as he approaches the Van Tassel house.

Leah Schnelbach has written an interesting meta on it, focusing on the reason-versus-faith conflict and the role of women and witchcraft in the story.

It also finally inspired me to read Washington Irving's original short story, and I was surprised at the contrast between it and its subsequent adaptations.

Irving's narrative voice is sardonic and sceptical, and he takes his time in crafting the tranquil atmosphere of Tarry Town. Compared to the foreboding portrait that Tim Burton presents, Irving's Sleepy Hollow is rural and charming and peaceful.

There's also very little background given on the Headless Horseman beyond the fact he was a Hessian trooper whose head was taken off by a cannonball (again, very different from the more complex backstories accorded him by both film and television show).

The story mainly revolves around the love triangle between Ichabod Crane, Katrina Van Tassel (who is described in terms that render her a meal: "plump as a partridge, ripe and melting and rosy-cheeked as one of her father's peaches") and Brom Bones, who is less of a bully than you'd suppose and more of a rambunctious but pointedly stout-hearted youth.  

And Ichabod is by no means a romantic hero:

He was tall, but exceedingly lank, with narrow shoulders, long arms and legs, hands that dangled a mile out of his sleeves, feet that might have served for shovels, and his whole frame most loosely hung together. His head was small, and flat at top, with huge ears, large green glassy eyes, and a long snipe nose, so that it looked like a weathercock perched upon his spindle neck, to tell which way the wind blew.

Both men are in pursuit of the lovely Katrina, but in Irving's sneaky prose you get the sense that it's as much to do with her abundance of wealth as it does her "peachy cheeks".

You probably know the gist of the story: Ichabod is returning home one night when he's chased by a strange spectre on horseback – it might be the Headless Horseman, or it might be Brom Bones playing a prank; we never find out which considering Ichabod is never seen again after that night.  

What's interesting is that Irving veers heavily on the side of scepticism. Though Ichabod blacks out when the Horseman throws his head at him (right before the narrative flits ahead to the following day), there are numerous clues that point to a hoax: that Ichabod's hat is found alongside a smashed pumpkin, that Brom always seems inordinately amused at the story of the man's disappearance, and that an out-of-towner eventually brings news of Ichabod being alive and well, having left due to superstitious fear and having his romantic hopes dashed by the flighty Katrina.

Of course, any and all adaptations of the source material reject this conclusion utterly. The Disney animated short film tries to keep the ending ambiguous, but the sight of the hellish Horseman is rendered with such vivid and terrifying potency that any rational explanation withers in the face of its power.

Burton's film inverts the literary Ichabod from a highly superstitious man to a sceptical scientist who must become a believer if he's to defeat his supernatural foe (though it does hat-tip the act of Brom posing as the Horseman to scare off his rival), while Shelley Duvall's take in Tall Tales and Legends initially has Brom play the role to terrify Ichabod - only for him to run into the real Headless Horseman.

And of course, there's no question of demonic forces at work in Fox's Sleepy Hollow.

There's a trope for this of course, called Lost in Imitation, and it's not hard to understand why. For lovers of stories, it's hardwired into most of us to accept and embrace the supernatural over the mundane, and the Headless Horseman is now such an iconic figure of horror that it's downright disappointing to suppose it's just a dude in a costume.

It just goes to show how much a story can outgrow its origins. Irving's story is as much an attempt to capture a particular time and place as it is a ghost or love story, with a droll sense of humour and an eye on cultural tensions between various social groups in the burgeoning new America. It was also initially one of several thematically-link stories and essays published in The Sketch Book of Geoffrey Crayon, Gent., giving it a wider context that is largely ignored today.

Now? It's the story we all enjoy at Halloween.

If you're interested, the entire text is available on Tor in an easy-to-read format, and I can also recommend the most recent audiobook read by none other than our current Ichabod Crane, Tom Mison.

Speaking of whom, how is Sleepy Hollow going? Last I heard they did a crossover with Bones. Really?