by Ben Rubin
On one level the answer to the prompt ‘why do you love horror?’ is easy (yet tautological): I just do. There is something about the genre that resonates on a subconscious and visceral level that is difficult to put into words. I can’t really remember a time in which I didn’t enjoy horror. I recognize its elements of terror, but I don’t really remember it specifically scaring me or causing nightmares. Rather it always evoked a curiosity, a fascination, and a thrill. It is a genre that pulls you in and immerses you. The monsters, the gore, the satire, the comedy, the dread; I can’t get enough. On the intellectual level, I recognize that these aspects fit into our psychology as a species - I truly believe horror allows us to understand what it means to be human through examining our fears and anxieties. But it is also just fun and just grabs you; there isn’t a deeper meaning or justification to be had. Yet, in reflecting on this question on why I love horror, rather than trying to explain, I kept thinking of experiences (particularly from my formative years) that stood out in developing, solidifying, and deepening my love for the genre. That perhaps recounting these would be more instructive in arriving at why I love horror.
Growing up in the boonies of the South was the perfect place to cultivate a love for horror. The region lends itself well the genre: it is constantly haunted by the ghosts of the past begging us to remember and learn from it. It is a place steeped in legends and hauntings, many of which serve as the vehicle from which we can remember the past. A region in which to be the outsider can be dangerous and the push to conform can be suffocating. A place in which isolation can be both literal and figurative.
The all-encompassing darkness of rural spaces becomes tangible. The sense that ‘something is out there’ becomes very real. Sure, it’s most likely just a critter– an alligator, bobcat, opossum, or raccoon – shuffling along over in the shadows; but that just meant you were quite possibly about to find yourself in a creature feature. Going outside to explore in the pitch black the backyard or the nearby woods after watching a scary movie was a thrill. You could always imagine that that twig snap you just heard or wind through the leaves was really the monster or slasher about to emerge. You could close the book at night and imagine that shadow in the corner of the room was something other than an errant item of clothing; that the glowing eyes were not the pet cat, but the monster.
One of the most vivid experiences with horror as a kid was from a summer camp. I know that sounds immediately cliché, but it’s true. There was a camp that I was particularly fond of as a child. It was in a museum/preserve that focused on the natural flora and fauna of the area. It had an outdoor zoo of sorts that was really just large enclosures around natural habitat with some native animals (which also meant that sightings could be rare as they had plenty of space to hide). It also had a large preserve of wetlands and old growth pine forests. The perk of being a camper was we had full range of these swamps and forests. It was a blast. There was always a down time after lunch. Sometimes it included a movie, but sometimes it was story time. It was always the same counselor telling tales and it was always scary stories. And he was a master - he had a natural gift and would spin these amazing tales of ghosts, demons, and hauntings set in the very grounds within which we spent the day prowling. I was completely enthralled. I loved his stories and hung on every word. While I might not have consciously known it at the time, I think that in hindsight it is when I started to understand the art of the story. How important the craft of storytelling is – and how well horror itself it suited to this craft.
And if that wasn’t cliché enough, there was also the uncle who stood ready at every turn to feed and guide me through horror fandom and discovery. Whose den was full of books that he would pass along for me to take on the long drive home after a summer visit. That summer when I was 11 or 12 and he gave me my first Clive Barker book to read, and my mind was blown by the boundaries horror could push. Reading the Borderlands anthology and again having the horizons pushed and discovering a wide range of new authors to explore. Watching movies; the cult classics steeped in gore that jumped off the screen as well as the lurid VHS box. Someone who I can still talk to about the genre and share a common bond.
There is also something about the transgressive sense of horror that appeals. Perhaps it was growing up in the Bible Belt, subject to the veracities of the evangelical throngs eagerly waiting to berate any that crossed their paths, that the embrace of all that they would find most appalling became appealing. That this atmosphere led me to embrace the extremes in multiple forms of art: namely death metal and the goriest of the splatterpunks. The very oppositional nature of these art-forms becomes a tool to defend and undermine moralists blaming your interests for all of society’s ills anyway. That ultimately the oftentimes over-the-top nature of a splatterpunk story paled in comparison to the underlying violence to be perpetrated against the outsider within the evangelical society. That in the end, knowing the horrors on the page were fiction muted their impact and served as escape against the very real horrors of everyday. An understanding that the supernatural wasn’t the real threat, but humans. But also, it was inspiring – the outsiders won. Only in horror could the scrawny, bookish nerd, with the coke-bottle glasses win and persevere against the monsters.
So why do I love horror? Lots of reasons. It is a genre with no limits, that often embraces the absurd. One that understands the outsider and lays bare humanity. A genre that is steeped in place and history. A medium that exemplifies the craft of storytelling. But ultimately one that is just plain fun. A genre that just resonates down to one’s core and defies explanation. I mean, come on, how can you not love the monster rampaging through town leaving a trail of destruction; the bullies and closed-minded townspeople getting their comeuppance from the slasher or the demon; the over-the-top gory, bloody finale when viscera, brains, and blood abound covering everything in sight?!
No comments:
Post a Comment