© Pierre Maré,
2004 - 2007
Offbeat 81
Regular readers of this column will know that I am a horror fan. Some people get their kicks from romance, others from laughter and yet others from drama. For my part, give me something hideous and the pitter patter of falling blood any day, though preferably not the news: there is only so much horror that I can take and still retain my sanity.
Being a follower of the horror genre has its benefits. Most people wake up sweating and trembling after a bad dream. Me? I wake up relaxed with a grin on my face and an idea for a ‘straight-to-video, non-theatrical-release’ movie. The dreams that trouble me are the ones that involve myself and a bunch people in a tense situation. Regular readers of this column will also know, or surmise, that I am deeply introverted, to the point where I really prefer to stay at home, even if there is food involved.
The horror genre has provided me with many valuable insights. For instance, if your house is plagued by unexpected cold spots and nauseating smells, don’t call the plumber, just flee. If your infant daughter talks to the snow on the television set, don’t call a child psychologist or put on a Barbie rental, just flee. And as a matter of compassion, never call a priest. Priests are usually always the first ones to die, horribly.
Perhaps the most interesting insight is what people fear, or are prepared to fear, if the output of writers and Hollywood can be considered a catalogue of popular consciousness.
The trend in the horror genre has recently been inventive. Dripping fangs, oozing gore and glowing eyes have become passé, the victims of too much repetition and the sort of bored familiarity that is bred of computer graphics. Monsters, genetic, supernatural and of the human variety, are expected. Where’s the rush of fear and the thrill in the sudden shock if the revelation of the horror is precisely what you expected?
Instead, the horror genre has turned to reintroduction of less elaborate, more primal archetypes of our fears.
The trend became noticeable in the wonderful ‘Nightmare on Elm Street’ series in which the characters risked gruesome death if they fell asleep. Could one fear the monstrous Freddy, the lethal inhabitant of the young Elm Street residents’ nightmares? Only if you didn’t have a sense of humour: most of the deaths were witty, even camp by horror standards. In fact, Freddy’s sweatshirt with tasteless, horizontal, green and red stripes became a sought-after fashion item. I still want one to this day.
‘The Blair Witch Project’ and ‘The Village’ reintroduced us to the wilderness. Who knows what is lurking in ‘them there woods’! It brings to mind the idea that people live together in cities, towns and villages not for convenience, but actually out of fear.
It also reminds me of the joke of the two academics running from a lion. One academic shouts to the other, “It’s no use. We will never outrun the lion.” The other academic shouts back, “I’m not trying to outrun the lion. I’m trying to outrun you.” Safety in numbers is actually a pure matter of being able to deflect the danger onto someone else. The woods are probably safer.
The most interesting reemerging archetype of our fears is water, just when you thought that ravenous great white sharks are actually lovable, endangered species and that it was safe to go back in the water.
The tap full of blood or corrupt fluids has long been a standard horror device, but western remakes of Japanese films such as ‘The Ring’ and ‘Dark Water’ have given a creepy new slant to wells, water tanks, baths, bad plumbing and even small puddles on the kitchen floor.
There are other examples of this trend at play, but the interesting idea is that we fear, and are receptive to fear of the familiar. If horror is a method of alleviating fears harmlessly, then this trend is a reflection of the huge threat that our everyday environment poses.
There are no supernatural or genetic monsters out there, only us. Be afraid of the bathroom. Be very, very afraid.
Back to the archive • Previous • Next • Home
