I can’t stand horror movies.
If, by some miracle, a group of friends or a persuasive female manages to fasten me in a theater seat for some kind of paranormal, extra-terrestrial, death-encountering experience, you’ll see the most squeamish part of my personality.
I hide behind my hat. I scream uncontrollably. I talk myself out of heart attacks and mutter things like, “It’s not real, it’s not real.”
I never fail to leave the theater feeling miserable. Other people leave feeling fantastic, giddy and smiley. All my friends tell me they love feeling scared and surprised when a supernatural beings possess characters on the giant screen.
I understand that there are different genres of film and horror has a special place in many peoples’ hearts. These people should be clinically tested.
I attend movie theaters as a “typical American,” for lack of a better phrase. I watch movies to see an interesting storyline, maybe some action scenes that I could never dream of and, hopefully, come to appreciate some modern cinematography.
Most of all, it is my hope that the director constructs the movie in a way that I feel some attachment to the characters. I do not want to see those characters get flayed into pieces or electrocuted to the point of explosion after I’ve come to relate to them.
I can let that stuff slide for the sake of diversity in film. It irks me, but my real issue is something entirely different.
Horror movies take advantage of our reality. Sure, they frighten us with shock, awe, gore, blood and all things paranormal or supernatural. The real scare in horror films? They all strive to convince us that the film’s events could easily happen to us on the same night. It’s a horrendously genius tactic.
Take, for example, the Paranormal Activity series: Ghosts, children practicing satanic rituals, possessions — all the essentials. What really kept me up at night was the fact that they all take place in the suburbs of western America with run-of-the-mill families, similar to my own neighborhood and family. Sure, the dragging and the screaming and the double-voice possessions scared me, but the familiarity of their lives makes my skin crawl to this day.
“Final Destination” is another perfect example. Why would anyone want to walk out of a movie afraid of roller coasters, lawn mowers, ceiling fans and dentist's offices? Movies like this bend our reality into a constant horror film setting. In my mind, that’s nothing short of diabolic.
Gender roles don’t even matter at this point. I’m a man, but my date will suffice as a human shield from terrifying horror films if I’m taken to one.
Next time you think about spending $7 on a horror film, consider something not so reality-distorting and healthier for your conscience.
Reach the columnist at mschan1@asu.edu or follow him at @MorganSukotto.
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