Yesterday, I ruffled some feathers by addressing that infuriating question, “Is horror dead?” It was a reactionary piece to several posts from various publications wondering if horror has run its course due to the less than stellar box office results for Blair Witch. It’s a question we’ve heard brought up rather regularly and it’s always proven wrong. However, some people don’t seem to learn from past mistakes and past evidence, thinking that this MUST be the time that they are right. Cue that wrong but relevant “insanity” meme.
As I wrote that piece, I found myself thinking about another trend that comes up rather often in our comments and across the horror community: whether or not horror is scary anymore. It’s strangely become a badge of honor to say something along the lines of, “Horror isn’t scary anymore. I need something extreme!” It’s as if the more gross and gory a film is, or if it crosses certain lines, then it becomes scary. If it takes that kind of film, such as A Serbian Film or Salo to unsettle you, that’s fine. Whatever. As my mother always says, “In matters of opinion, there is no right or wrong.”
But what IS annoying is this mentality of bravado and toughness, as though horror doesn’t meet the right standards for scaring people, which is nonsense as horror is subjective. What scares some people may not scare others and vice versa, which is the beauty of horror.
Let me give you some personal examples, okay? When I was growing up, I used to be able to watch Arachnophobia and Eight Legged Freaks. As someone who suffers from arachnophobia, these movies managed to make me feel scared and uncomfortable in ways that others can’t. However, as I’ve gotten older, that fear has only grown and now I can’t put those movies on without feeling absolutely awful. The ending of the 1958 The Fly, where Andre is about to be eaten by a spider, actually put me in a full-blown panic attack, one where I had to wrap myself in a blanket while I was weeping nearly uncontrollably. Once the scene was over, I immediately began to feel better but those few moments were probably the worst experience I’ve ever had with a film.
Earlier this year, I saw both The Witch and The Conjuring 2 in theaters. Both of them were, in my opinion, wonderful films that held some delightfully terrifying moments and themes. In the former, we see the disintegration of a family as tendrils of mistrust and doubt creep between them. The death of one of their own is the catalyst for fear, anger, and blame, no one ever seemingly comfortable around anyone else. The Witch was about a family being torn apart from within, which oddly, yet appropriately, was the opposite of The Conjuring 2.
In Wan’s sequel, the horror was the malevolent force that is desperate to destroy the unshakeable bonds of a family that stays together through one trial and tribulation after another. We see this strength time and time again, the movie wonderfully building the characters and their relationships, not just with the Hodgson’s but also with the Warren’s. If you’ve seen the film, you’ll remember when Ed plays the guitar. I thought this was going to be a cringy scene but, in reality, it turned out to be one of the most charming and magical moments, a time when both families come together to make the best of a horrible situation. For all the terror that befalls these families, it is their commitment to each other that is their greatest strength. But don’t we all fear the disintegration of that bond? Isn’t that why The Witch is so effectively haunting while The Conjuring 2 teeters ever so dangerously on the edge?
Let me give you another example, this time using Fede Alvarez’s Don’t Breathe. Just starting this movie, we see how tenuous the bond between Money, Rocky, and Alex is, none of them really trusting each other, none of them showing proper respect to their arrangement. While their lack of faith in each other is already enough to create a sense of unease – after all, nothing good comes from a lack of trust – it is the blind man who is the real terror. A man who loses the most precious thing in the world to him is a man who has nothing to lose, both physically and morally. What is more terrifying than someone who is willing to do literally anything and everything to get what they want?
I’m bringing these examples up because it shows that there is a wide array of horror to be found within the genre. It can be creepy crawly creatures, like spiders, it can be an assault on the bonds of a family, or it can be witnessing the complete and utter lack of humanity a person is capable of. That’s not even scratching the surface of supernatural ghouls and ghosts, body horror, urban legends, seemingly unstoppable villains, zombies, disease, or other genres that horror offers on a regular basis.
There is nothing to be ashamed of in admitting one’s fear of horror. Isn’t that why we watch what we do? To get that adrenaline rush? To get that sensation of our hair standing on end, every fiber of our being stretched to razor-thin dimensions to the point that we feel the very air shift ever so slightly around us? To look into a dark room and feel our heart quicken? If not, then what’s the point?
I will never hide my fear when watching a horror movie. I’ll proudly jump in my seat or cover my eyes when things get to intense. I actively seek out those times and I relish every moment when I find one. Scare me. I want it.