Supernatural Studies: Tennessee Wraith Chasers and Classism in Paranormal Reality TV
As the year turns to Halloween and the spooky season draws nigh, the current pandemic starkly reminds us of this year’s should- and could-have-beens. Back in March, I was looking forward to the Supernatural Studies Conference, a one-day academic celebration and investigation of horror based out of Iona College, in New Rochelle, New York. To celebrate the Conference That Could Have Been, we collaborated with Supernatural Studies to present a series of Q&As with paper authors.
Originally, the Conference grew out of the Supernatural Studies journal—an endeavor that is now largely self-funded and self-staffed. The initial call for submissions highlighted a focus on “representations of the supernatural in any form of text or artifact, such as literature (including speculative fiction), film, television, video games, social media, or music.” Topics spanned everything from The Babadook (2014) to The Lighthouse (2019).
In “Chasing Ghosts Without Proper Training Will Get You Killed: Tennessee Wraith Chasers and Classism in Paranormal Reality TV,” author Antares Leask, a professor in the English department at Northern Virginia Community College, explores the appeal of the apparent “know-how” of the Tennessee Wraith Chasers; the team’s strong religious background in contrast with other, similar ghost hunter shows; and how the Chasers cater to their demographic through performing class and belief.
In your paper on the Tennessee Wraith Chasers, what made you select this team as a point of focus for examination, especially related to the contrast of faith and science?
The appeal of the Tennessee Wraith Chasers (TWC) is their down-home southern persona, but what originally made them stand out from the field of paranormal reality stars is when they “captured” a ghost, put it in a box, took the box out in the woods, and blew it up with dynamite. Although they only did this once, it features prominently in their marketing. I started researching paranormal reality television while teaching a composition class—I was tired of reading the same papers over and over about gun control, abortion, and marijuana so I structured the class around the unknown and used reality shows as our texts. My students were highly disappointed when the episode of “Ghost Asylum” we watched didn’t involve heavy explosives, but this actually helps expose TWC’s spiritual beliefs—if they determine a spirit is good, they perform an exorcism on the box; they help the spirit cross over. If the spirit is evil, then they break out the firepower.
While several paranormal reality shows use exorcism or spiritual practices as cleansing rituals, TWC are the only ones to make Christianity a strong focus on their show and social media accounts. While Ryan Buell of Paranormal State defended his show against those who thought it was based in Catholicism, TWC’s religious beliefs are made a priority. Usually, this would be a privileged status, but in a field that claims to be scientific, their prominent focus on religion––and their performance of Southern stereotypes––creates a marginalized identity for the show.
What are some of the performative aspects of class and belief in the context of the show?
TWC claims that their credibility comes from their self-proclaimed “serious backwoods Southern know-how.” The team is marketed as “Good Ole Boys Chasin’ Ghosts,” and they don’t seem to have any interest in straying from the rural stereotype. While other paranormal research teams travel in unmarked vans clearly meant to reference secret governmental organizations, or RVs decked out with the latest technology, TWC drives pickup trucks. The intro to their pilot show Ghostland Tennessee (which Animal Planet aired before Gator Boys) has them driving four-wheelers and making fun of a team member’s particularly Southern drawl. The cast is shown praying together and, more than shows of their peers, TWC considers the temperament of the spirits they are investigating, beyond simple terms of good and evil, but in a more religious sense of whether they should send the spirit to heaven or hell. TWC’s Southern persona infuses the show with charm, but not scientific credibility.
While these shows hinge on the assumption of the reality of an afterlife, are there any other core underpinning functions they serve—things that might not be immediately obvious?
Colin Dickey writes about the haunted house being a perversion of the American Dream, as property can be so closely tied to identity. Working with home and business owners to try to defend these domestic and work spaces from perceived hauntings helps create a sense of order to the world; it gives a feeling of control over something that can’t be controlled, can’t even be proven a reality (the great irony of the paranormal reality show). Cryptozoology shows are able to perpetuate a sense of wonder—life is certainly more interesting with Bigfoot in the world—and the belief that there are still unexplored places, still adventure in our world. Paranormal reality shows, on the other hand, are almost always about control and dominance. There are a few episodes where the homeowner just wants to know there really is something there going bump in the night—something they can learn to live with, but more often the goal is to get rid of the ghost and reestablish safety and comfort. You mention the shows hinging on the assumption of an afterlife, but the real assumption is that there not only is an afterlife, but it is something we can use technology to contact and control. After we have “proof” through technology, the spiritual side can take over to guide the spirit to where it needs to go—unless, of course, a more explosive course of action is chosen.
This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
Interview by Laura Kemmerer
Laura tuned into horror with an interest in what these movies and books can tell us about ourselves and what societies fear. She is most interested in horror focused around the supernatural, folklore, the occult, Gothic themes, haunted media, landscape as a character, and hauntology (focusing on lost or broken futures).
Throughout the decades, slasher film villains have had their fair share of bizarre motivations for committing violence. In Jamie Langlands’s The R.I.P Man, killer Alden Pick gathers the teeth of his victims to put in his own toothless mouth in deference to an obscure medieval Italian clan of misfits.