Do You Love Horror Because You Are Afraid?
Were you the kid who begged to watch scary PG-13 and even R-rated films, only to find yourself incapable of sleeping alone after viewing them? Was “JAWS” swimming laps in the family toilet? The “Terminator” for sure knew where to hunt you down? Yeah, me too. But I love horror.
In Britain, this genre of media is playfully referred to as “Behind the Sofa.” In my case, during the 1980s, “Behind the Dad,” as I would peek around his shoulder to glimpse Medusa. The thought of being stunned by her stone gaze mortified me, and yet I had to see her.
Under the pretense of learning to love learning, grown-ups eventually let kids have access to chilling books like “Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark” and “Goosebumps.” Lets us not forget the dark classics. “Quoth the Raven Nevermore.” is a permanent part of our lexicon. We were encouraged to read at (almost) all costs. Even if the text suggests that your teachers are space aliens, please read, kids.
It isn’t necessarily the bravest, most desensitized badasses among us who are often drawn to the macabre. Quite the opposite is true. Inspired by spooky entertainment or not, my subconscious has always produced a steady stream of monster-fueled nightmares. Boredom is likely not the root.
Horror and thrillers may have a soothing effect on those of us who naturally lean toward a touch of anxiety, have vivid imaginations, and especially those of us who have survived real-life trauma or significant loss.
Classic fears are built-in and logical, such as the concept that total darkness is terrifying. You can’t see, which means you don’t know who or what is beside you. That situation is inherently threatening. Maybe you don’t want to trip over something and break a tooth: either way, a pretty natural fear. Specific spiders and snakes are poisonous, but you might not be knowledgeable enough to be sure if the critter in front of you is dangerous or benign. Again, a fear that seems reasonably sensible.
Horror lets us expand on base fears, whipping them into a frothing frenzy. The audience gets to explore their terrors, dissecting them, rendering them less mysterious and daunting. Of course, there isn’t just one spider lurking in the cabnets. Oh no, there is an entire hive of soldier spiders marching through the town! What would that even be like? Horror helps us find out how to defeat the beast and then move on with our predominately banal lives.
We can even swirl together the usual suspects with our less instinctual and more elaborate fears, such as clowns. Someone who intentionally hides their face may arouse suspicions, but clowns aren’t regularly stalking the woods like tigers. Okay, in 2016, clowns may have popped up between the trees, but they didn’t fly in from space. We get to embellish our most primitive paranoias with contemporary fantasies, and it is fun.
Much like dreaming, we let our demons run amok so that we may contemplate methods of escape. We learn lessons about never splitting up from your friends in times of intense danger. Horror gives you the chance to tame the memories of your misfortunes. Maybe you’ll feel less morose or that you aren’t the only one who has been subjected to unfortunate events.
Strangely, horror brings one closer to their viewing (or story sharing) partners as well. We experienced this together, and we survived. We are unscathed, safe, and not alone. Isn’t that what most of us want, security, a sense of belonging? To know that there aren’t really monsters under our beds? But even if there are, we can defeat this together.
Storytelling is ancient and human. We learn, share, connect, and sometimes, we haunt each other for years to come.
Boo!
