I just want to make it clear, I do not like horror.
When we were young, we were taught to avoid the things that scared us. Our parents, for instance, would be apprehensive towards watching a scary movie whenever you were present in fear of giving you nightmares. When we’re with other kids, we were also taught not to scare them, or else we would get reprimanded for doing so.
One way fear was taught as something to avoid was through its use as a form of control. Whenever I was coming home to our province when I was young, there was a second floor that we were prohibited from entering because of years of structural damage. But kids our age had a hard time following the stern rules of the adults in favor of exploration, and maybe a desire to rebel. So instead, they told us the story of a relative of ours that once slept in the room above us. And ever since they passed away, there have been sightings of their apparitions when one of them tried to go upstairs. Ultimately they warned us not to go upstairs, using the threat of a ghostly encounter to convince us. And it did work, because up until now I have never dared climb those stairs, for the thought of encountering a supernatural entity was enough to put the flames of exploration inside me.
As time went on and as I grew older, while my relationship with horror has changed, the social programming I was subjected to at a young age of has been embedded in my perception of the genre. But now, horror has turned less into something I genuinely fear or as a tool of control, and more into a simple nuisance. Whenever a friend of mine mentions their love for the genre, I would sometimes wonder why someone would want to be willingly placed into a state wherein they would be induced to such fright? I always remember playing this one horror game that kept me up for nights as a point of reference, fearing that even as an adult the same thing would happen to me again. At best, I always believed horror to be more of a communal experience rather than an individual one. But otherwise, I never saw horror as something to be genuinely taken seriously other than for sheer laughs at friends whenever a shrill is induced from them, or simply for curiosity.
Not until I watched Obsession.
Coming into watching the movie, I already heard many praises for the film both from peers and netizens alike, remarking it as one of the best horror films in recent times. As someone who rarely gave horror films a chance unless I was peer pressured to watch it with a group of friends or was chosen by the family to watch it, it was rare of me to actually give horror a chance. But for some reason, probably stemming from a sense of curiosity and fear of missing out, I decided to give it a shot. And I was indeed frightened and blown away.
Obsession was the opposite of what I thought horror to be: just a bag of tricks meant to simply make you scared. Rather, it served as a critique of the dark side of modern dating, and warned us of the dangers of romantic obsession and male entitlement. Because the scariest part of Obsession was never the fictional crazed disposition of Nikki throughout the majority of the film, but the reality of Bear’s character mirroring the real and quiet evil that do exist in our world today.
Obsession made me realize that horror had more to offer than just mere jumpscares and as a way elicit occasional shrills amongst peers. Just like any other art form, horror is a medium that serves as a mirror to our reality. But in the process of such mirroring, why does the uncanny distortion that the genre of horror offers become so captivating for us?
From childhood to adulthood, fear has been framed as a negative experience that must be avoided. From our daily news to self-help quotes online, we are made to internalize fear as a foreign feeling that must be expelled.
One of the most famous lines in Frank Herbert’s 1965 science novel Dune is the litany of fear, summarized in the mantra “Fear is the mind-killer”. After reading this quote, I would sometimes tell myself this line in moments wherein fear takes hold of me—serving as an act of regaining back one’s agency. It purports that fear is a temporary state that we must let pass through us in order to achieve our autonomy. The so-called “little-death” therefore is an enemy that must be outright rejected if we were to achieve self-actualization. Similarly, we are taught that fear is something that can be conquered – that we can overcome our biological instinct for survival and choose to fight other than flight.
But despite our cultural aversion towards fear, there has always been a demand for the horror genre in popular media. In recent years, we had films such as A Quiet Place and Sinners become critically acclaimed by critics and viewers alike. Despites the monstrous images, we continue to flock towards the screens and invite these fears into our minds.
In Danse Macabre, Stephen King mentions how horror plays upon the collective fear of people and reflects it back towards us. But what makes horror unique as an art form is in its capacity to render our repressed fears into something tangible that we can behold. Horror therefore gives form to the abstract conception of fear and materializes it for public consumption. In theory, being face-to-face with such monstrosity is to be rejected. But regardless, we are drawn to the imagery of our fears being mirrored towards us in a way that we can comprehend. Horror gives us a way to communicate with the fears we have been taught to repress for so long.
In a culture that teaches us to reject fear, horror tells us to accept it. Fear then does not kill the mind, but it becomes a catalyst for something greater.
In its way, horror is the ultimate form of self-expression. The genre teaches us that fear is not something always to be rejected, but to confront. The beauty of horror is that it provides an avenue where viewers consent to being subjected to their fears, allowing us to confront the uncomfortable through our own way that we otherwise cannot do in our daily lives. Horror, then, is not just a mere escape from reality, but a confrontation with it that allows us to come back changed.
When I look back at my aversion towards horror, maybe it stems from my own fear of being disturbed. But maybe the true act of bravery is not rejecting the uncomfortable sensation that fear may bring, but to confront the darkness head on.