All the World’s a Screen: Halloween horror thrives off the fun we have with fear
Halloween is my least favorite holiday. Horror is my least favorite genre. And you might roll your eyes at the reason — yes, I’m afraid. You know that guy who won’t even watch “IT” because just the reviews sound scary? That’s me. I did watch “IT” eventually — true, wasn’t that scary — but it took me a while, and it didn’t do much in quelling my fear. “Horror-phobia” I would call it. I think that’s a pretty good term, actually, because I am literally afraid of being afraid, especially at the movies.
The last movie I watched before movie theaters closed doors was “Invisible Man.” To seasoned horror fans, that film would probably not be considered authentic “horror.” It’s got all the tropes — anxious protagonist, maniacal villain, a fair share of blood — but it is far too mild and, even for a whacked genre, a bit too far-fetched. But, watching it revealed to me that what I was really afraid of was not an ugly monster or a brutally violent scene (displeasing as they are if not done well), I was really afraid of being afraid. “Invisible Man” is a very suspenseful movie; even if the pay-off isn’t visually shocking, what you don’t see is arguably scarier. When nothing is happening, we brace ourselves. Fear and anxiety paralyze us precisely when all is quiet and calm.
Bear with me as I probe my fear (and perhaps yours) just a little deeper: Why are we most afraid when everything is calm? Of course, without those silent moments, there would be no horror genre. And it’s because we know we are watching a horror film that we know something’s coming — the silence can’t last long. But, if we know that a jump scare is just a second away, why are we still scared? Why do I still jump when I have spent the past few seconds bracing myself? On a related note, why do we choose to go to haunted houses or Halloween mazes and still get scared when that is precisely why we go?
What happens in that split-second right before the actual scare? Personally, I’m preparing myself by imagining everything that could possibly happen. Where could the serial killer come from? Is he behind this corner or the next one? What if he’s behind me? The state of not knowing is excruciating, but it’s where suspense is born. If a film handles those moments well — creates an uncertain, unpredictable environment effectively — it does not matter whether the monster, serial killer or ghost is scary-looking. The work has been cut out for it.
But, what’s even more fascinating to me is that, once this process is complete, we want it to happen again. If we didn’t, horror movies would cease to be scary after the first scare. Filmmakers know that the audience wants to be scared. They don’t, however, make the monster scarier or the serial killer more threatening — it’s the moment of suspense that they ramp up with every scene. Sometimes the silence is prolonged, other times it’s shortened and we are genuinely shocked. This is what makes Alfred Hitchcock not the master of horror, but the “master of suspense;” his movies aren’t scary (so I watch them), but they are quite frightening because he expertly toys with the moment of suspense, keeping us on edge, making us afraid of being afraid.
Some of us want zombies, others are fascinated by paranormal activity, still others are intrigued by sci-fi horror. The good thing is we have all these types of films at our disposal this Halloween week. I was considering writing this column perhaps on the “canon” of classic Halloween films; or on my personal favorites. But those kinds of discussions are bland, nothing more than opinion. There is no best horror (or any genre) film ever made. But all of them operate on the basis of our biggest fear. Whether we’re drawn to popular horror or a strange sub-genre of our choosing, I think a worthwhile exercise can be to think on why we get so scared and why we keep coming back. We are all, ultimately, scared of being scared. But, every year around this time we willingly subject ourselves to more frights. So the question for each of us becomes — not ‘what am I most afraid of?” — but “why is being afraid so fun?”