Category Archives: Personal

Horror Comfort Food – part I

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Generally, I try to put some degree of thought into what goes here – taking a text as an opportunity to really consider something and put the brain to work. But sometimes, you don’t want to work. Sometimes, you’re not even looking for a scare. Sometimes, you just want to put on that movie you’ve seen countless times before and dwell in familiarity, draping it around you like a warm blanket. Towards that end, here is the first half of a list of ten of my favorite Comfort-Food-Horrors. 

Cinnamon rolls I made one Halloween – delicious really.

These are not necessarily my favorite movies (though some are), but they are all great pleasures to return to, and I tend to do just that. I think that when it comes to repeat viewings, it’s rarely the scares that bring me back. On a certain level, once a scare has worked, it is hard for it to do so again. But comedy works, atmosphere works, character works, and I think it’s those that rise to the surface in this case.

I’m listing these in no particular order (and I’ll list more in even less particular order later this week). I don’t think it makes sense to rank such unrelated films.  Some are horror-comedies. Some are atmospheric. Each has its own merits and can offer succor in its own way.

The Lost Boys (1987)

Everything about this one pleases.  The beaver. The soundtrack. Death by stereo. Using window cleaner as cologne, maggots in Chinese food, and possibly the very best final line of any film in history.  Seriously, I love it.  The boardwalk vibe is great – dark and lively, sexy and wild – and unlike any real boardwalk I’ve seen. My parents live in Ocean City, MD, which has a boardwalk – and it’s perfectly fine, but I think I’d enjoy the town more if it came with vampires with big 80s hair.

All of the characters draw you in. It’s easy to go along with Michael as he descends into this sensual underworld of blood and lust and dirt bikes. The story of Sam and the Frog brothers rallying to kill all vampires based on the lore found in a ‘very serious comic’ is one of the most satisfying kids-vs-monsters fights out there, and Nanook is a very good dog. And finally, who couldn’t feel for Lucy, the single mother trying to make a go of it after relocating with her two teenage boys, and just trying to have a bit of a life, a job, to even date?

While I like all of the acting, music, and film making on offer, I think the star of the show for me might be the writing.  It walks such a fine line between a more adult, sensual, traditional vampire tale and a light, funny, boys-own-adventure.  The comedy really lands, but so does the allure of the night. The twists and turns of the boys trying to suss out Max are very cleverly handled and really pay off in the final reel. And it knows what to hold back. Keifer Sutherland really shines as David, the leader of the young punk vampires, but he is wisely given rather little to say.  Mostly he is a presence, a threat, a seduction, with only a few sardonic lines. For a film that features an oiled muscleman playing saxophone to a wild crowd on the beach at night, surrounded by pyrotechnics, it has a surprising degree of restraint.

Suspiria (2018)

This is one of my favorite discoveries of the last few years, and I’ve already mentioned it here.  Luca Guadagnino creates such a strong sense of a time and a place, making the whole film so tactile. It has a physical presence, as does the dance work at its center, inspired by the choreography of such pioneers as Mary Wigman and Pina Bausch.  It would probably be difficult for a remake to be more unlike its progenitor, and I think, in a way, that honors the original work more than any slavish imitation could, taking the original idea and going somewhere wholly new with it.

Throughout, there is a subtle but powerful air of attraction. Whether between the characters (Susie and Sara, Susie and Madame Blanc), the draw of a place (Berlin, and specifically the dance company, calling to Susie since childhood, the beauty of its artistic freedom and vibrancy in contrast to her conservative, religious upbringing), the inherent sensuality and physicality of dance and movement—bodies in space, touch, weight, breath, or ultimately the drive to power, with its dark potential to become fascistic, be it political, magical, or abusively interpersonal.  The whole film is a mood.

Somehow it manages to be totally over the top and subtle and understated; oppressively gray and rainy and utterly vibrant; sexual without being explicit and cerebral without being tedious. It envelops, guides you, and calls on you to jump higher, to sigh.

Suspiria (1977)

While I loved how unlike the original the 2018 version is, that does not in any way lessen my love for Dario Argento’s dark fairy tale.  This is a wholly different and no less satisfying sensory encounter.  Light and color and sound wash over you. Art designed within an inch of its life, every still from this movie could be framed.  Nature, architecture and interior design conspire to enrapture and overwhelm.

This was probably my introduction to Argento and Italian horror in general and it’s a hard one to top.  It has it all. Style up the wazoo? Check. Elaborate, bloody, intense, artful kills? Check. Fantastic, driving, sometimes discordant music (from Goblin, one iteration of which I got to see play live in a small local club a few years ago)? Check. Weird dubbing of its international cast who were all speaking their lines in different languages and sometimes couldn’t understand each other, resulting in some interesting acting choices? Check. Udo Kier playing Doctor Exposition? Oh yeah. A cheesy bat on a string? You better believe it! A captivating female lead (Jessica Harper as Suzy) drawn into a web of conspiracy, witchcraft, deep red back lighting, and really gorgeous wallpaper? But of course.

This film is such a perfect choice if I’m having a stressful day and I just want to hide in fantasy, in sound and light, in something magical, and threatening, and beautiful.  It will always have a warm place in my heart (which is happily, unlike in the film, not exposed, still beating, and about to be stabbed).

Cabin in the Woods (2011)

Another beloved horror-comedy that I have mentioned once before (same link as above), I clearly remember the experience of seeing this in the cinema.  As the story began to come into focus and the Lovecraftian vibe – in confluence with its pointedly-critical-of-its-target-audience stance – coalesced, I just got so excited.  At once, it delivered such fan service (in offering up its amalgamation of every horror concept they could think of) and undertook a trenchant critique of horror viewership (in casting us into the position of the great old ones, hungry for blood, desirous of suffering). 

Cleverly, Joss Whedon and Drew Goddard’s film manages to really bite the hand that feeds it, suggesting that we, horror fans, are the real monsters, while housing it all inside a celebration of zombie redneck torture families, deadly puzzle boxes, mermen, ballerinas that are all teeth, murderous unicorns, and plot adjacent frontal nudity. The guys in the control room are just the film makers trying to keep the customer satisfied. I think it’s a really bold choice and it’s rich in its irony.  It feels made with love, but not without some ambivalence, which makes the whole thing that much more effective.

At the end of the day, as a kind of comfort food, it’s the fan favorite jubilee of horrors and fun play with genre tropes that brings me back again, but that other undercurrent always adds a soupçon of critical thought that I savor.

The Wicker Man (1973)

It should come as no surprise that if I am to list favorite films to return to and be comforted by, I’m probably going to end up writing about films that I’ve already discussed in some form. This is no exception.  A favorite film in any genre, I probably watch The Wicker Man at least once a year and I listen to the soundtrack with far more frequency.

I mean, Summerisle just seems like such a great place to live (at least in theory—in reality, I’m not actually that folksy). I can always come back to its cozy charms, even if I have to eat tinned fruit. The life of the community, so vibrant in the public house – singing about the landlord’s daughter, in front of the schoolhouse – erecting the phallic Maypole, nakedly jumping over a bonfire on the way to the Lord’s manor, or leading a patronizing jerk from the mainland on a merry chase before burning him alive in a sacrificial pyre, just comes across as warm, fulfilling – basically good.

It is a fantasy, I’m sure (I am fairly allergic to religiosity and probably wouldn’t really fit in).  But such an enticing one.  And such a cheap vacation – pop it on and instantly sink into the comfort of being on a small prop-plane, surrounded by the drone of bagpipes. I suppose that, put that way, it doesn’t exactly sound comfortable, but there we go…

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And that’s already a long post, so let’s save the next (and final?) five for later in the week.  More to come… stay comfy and cozy out there.

Horrors of Fandom

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So, since starting this blog, I’ve had to become a bit more active on social media. I don’t know any other way to promote the writing I’m doing here.  But now I’m a member of at least ten different horror groups, so that I can post about different blog entries in groups that seem specifically open to the content of the entries in question. And I will say that, while I appreciate some of the conversations that happen there, the space of fandom is…difficult…to say the least.

It’s strange how the primary activity of many fans seems to be hating things.

Whether it’s fans hating ‘Halloween Kills’ because it betrays the legacy of its characters and loses the thread of its story, the ‘Hellraiser’ reboot because it will feature a trans actress as the lead Cenobite (never named in the source material, but popularly known as Pinhead), or the 2019 ‘Child’s Play’ reboot because the studio ripped the property away from series creator, Don Mancini (who is running a ‘Child’s Play’ TV series currently), there’s a lot of anger out there.

Just as with everything else in modern life, there are endless cycles of outrage.  Someone is ticked off because Rob Zombie has unsurprisingly cast his wife in his upcoming ‘Munsters’ film (big shock – she’s in pretty much all of his movies).  Someone else is enraged that this other person was angry about it.  Yet another person chimes in, attacking the second poster personally, and we’re off to the races. Before you know it, we’re hundreds of comments deep into a sea of vitriol and aggression, just as with any political discussion.

Putting aside the specific merits, or lack thereof, of people’s complaints (which I can sometimes understand and which sometimes, as is the case with ‘Hellraiser,’ I find obtuse, grating, and rooted in the same kind of reactionary mindset that believes that rebooting ‘Ghostbusters’ with an all female cast could somehow destroy their childhood; ‘Pinhead’ has been recast before, most of the sequels have been weak at best, doing more to tarnish the legacy of the series than any casting choice ever could, and in the novelette on which it’s based, the lead Cenobite is described as neither male or female, but with a high, girlish voice, so this casting seems pretty appropriate), I do wonder why this trend has become so prominent.

Is it the inherent toxicity of social media, echoing and amplifying any negative sentiment to the nth degree? Is it just a natural outgrowth of the process of really coming to know something and therefore, having more fully developed critical reactions? Is it an issue of human beings simply being entitled and demanding, feeling some sense of ownership over things they love and assuming that film makers owe them for their allegiance? Does this just happen because we love something so much that we can’t accept any changes to it (for instance, would people have gotten angry about the 2019 ‘Black Christmas’ if it had had a different name – it was a completely different story and if they’d removed a couple direct nods to the original, it could have stood on its own legs; some trollish types could still object to its heart on its sleeve social consciousness, but they probably wouldn’t have paid it so much attention)? And is this all really a problem, or is it just a natural, if sometimes depressing, aspect of caring about something?

I mean, if we want to believe that good art in general, good film (more specifically), and good horror (most precisely) can be of value, can somehow do good, justifying the tremendous amount of time, energy, creativity, talent, and money that goes into producing it (and I do want to believe that), we must accept the inverse: bad art/film/horror is of negative value, can do harm, wastes vital time, creativity, care, and resources, and must, therefore, be stopped at all costs.

And I can’t say I’ve never gotten worked up over something.  Back in the early-mid 2000s, when Horror was on a big reboot kick, I was personally offended at the idea of Michael Bay producing an expensive, slick remake of ‘The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.’ How dare a film studio buy the rights to some property, with the blessings of its original creator, and try to make more money off of it? But seriously, I hated it at the time.  Same deal with the pretty popular Zack Snyder ‘Dawn of the Dead’ remake.  I remember thinking that this blatant cash grab, this expensive, action packed audience pleaser really missed the point of the original film, flying in the face of its critique of modern consumerism.

Maybe I was right on both counts. Maybe I was over-reacting to an innate feature of show business – this is a business and in both cases, as with other remakes I may have rolled my eyes at, there was an audience for the film. Neither was made for me, and I probably didn’t have any right to expect otherwise. Panned at its release, the 2003 ‘Texas Chainsaw Massacre” has since been reappraised by many fans and is held in better esteem. And the 2004 ‘Dawn of the Dead’ was a hit which, along with ‘28 Days Later’ from two years earlier, helped kick off a zombie renaissance.  I have not revisited either film since first viewing, but maybe if I did, with some distance, I could find things to enjoy in them both. Or I could find myself holding a grudge; I don’t know.

These days, I find myself more sanguine in the face of such things.  There is so much to see, so much to catch up on, that it feels like a waste of my very limited energy to focus on things that don’t appeal to me.  I’m trying on this blog to only write about films that I think are actually worth writing about. I think that’s a fair rule. I’m not a journalist. I don’t have some sort of responsibility to take in every new horror film on offer and give an objective adjudication of its value.  I can choose to discuss the works that actually interest me.  I can devote my efforts to analyzing only pieces that excite my critical mind.

Of course, I may eventually break this self-imposed restriction. I may get so offended at the aesthetic or social messaging crimes of some flick that I just have to come here to vent my spleen. I may see or read something wherein a blistering critique feels called for, feels like the most interesting choice. There are things, of course, that need criticizing. The world is generally, not great…

But, for now, let’s keep it positive. On my horror blog. Yup.

Chasing the Dragon and Different Ways to Appreciate Horror

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I wasn’t a horror kid. I liked a bit of spooky and I enjoyed monsters, but it took me a while to really grow into the genre.  I remember specific TV commercials for horror movies really freaking me out.  One of the Hellraiser films, a Phantasm, Poltergeist III, a Nightmare on Elm Street, and very specifically, Child’s Play.  The trailer for Child’s Play really got to me to such an extent that I took my beloved talking Alf doll (Hey, no problem!), tied him up, put him in a sack, tied the sack with ropes, put it in another sack, taped it up, and then put it in a box with books on top of it. I mean, I didn’t really think it would come to life and kill me, but why take chances, right?

These days, it takes so much more to get me to falsely imprison a childhood toy. I’ve grown to love horror and I’ve seen a lot, and as a result, it’s harder and harder to actually get scared. There are probably only a handful of films since I became a fan that have really rattled me, giving me that delicious tremble, leaving me in a new state. But I keep looking.

Elric Kane, the co-host of the Colors of the Dark podcast, of which I’m a regular listener, often terms this ‘chasing the dragon,’ drug lingo referencing the “elusive pursuit of a high equal to the user’s first in the use of a drug, which after acclimation is no longer achievable.”

And maybe it isn’t achievable. Maybe I’ve built up a tolerance. Maybe I’ll never again feel the way I did after the first time I watched Black Christmas (1974) when I felt compelled to lock the doors to my apartment, turn on all the lights, and check that there were no surprises hiding in any closets or under any beds (mind you, I was in my 20s when I saw it – what some might generously term an ‘adult’).

So does that mean that I’m doomed to be disappointed by everything I see from here on out? I don’t think so. I think there are different ways to appreciate a horror film, different ways to love one. Herein, I plan to present a few with some examples.

The Elusive Deep Scare

This is the above mentioned classic scary movie experience.  A film takes you in completely and keeps you in a heightened state for the duration, such that when complete, it stays with you, and for some time at least, you inhabit the ‘real world’ differently.  And really, this is what I always want from Art. I want the art experience to change me, even if temporarily, to leave me in a different place, looking with different eyes, at least for some time.

Most examples that come to mind are classics from early in my Horror fandom. After watching Candyman for the first time, I really needed to pee, but that sure wasn’t going to happen any time soon. I wasn’t willing to go near the bathroom until at least an hour later (after watching an episode of 24).

There was one episode of Twin Peaks. No idea which episode it was, but I remember I had been watching it on dvd on my laptop while lying in bed getting drowsy, and there was this sequence when Bob climbed over a sofa and started approaching the camera and, especially in my half-awake state, it really felt like he was coming directly at me. This was helped by the persistent quality of unreality, of the uncanny that pervaded Lynch’s series.  

I think a feature of a good ‘deep scare’ is that it is somehow enriched.  It is not only about getting startled, but that first you are unsettled for an extended period and that there is something else to the horror – not only some scary moments.  There is some horrific idea beneath it all (that even if you realize it’s only a dream, you still aren’t safe, that some toy you love, something innocent and soft, could have it in for you, that the home space could be so permeable, so vulnerable, and that therefore, there is no safety anywhere). There is some substance to the film in addition to the scariness that lets it get its claws into you. And, of course, it is scary.  Of course, this is the hardest experience to come by the longer I watch these movies.

The Enveloping Horror

Whereas Deep Scares are few and far between, this next experience is far more available. These days, if I see a horror movie and love it, this is what it’s probably delivering.  Some films can just take you in, holding you completely in their space, such that when they’re over, you take some of that space with you.  This is mainly distinguished from the category above by the fact that you don’t exactly get scared, but the horror on offer still satisfies in a deep way. 

Ironically, the emotion I often take away from this is delight.  I remember watching the 2018 Suspiria remake and just loving the feeling of the world, of the mystery, of the threat and ultimate rise to power, and that whole bloody, musical, ritualistic, stylized end sequence, the smile on my face spread from ear to ear. I danced home that night, just feeling magic in the night. And the feeling persists.

Watching Cabin in the Woods the first time was also joyful. I can’t claim it was scary, but the reflexive approach it took regarding horror fandom and specifically, what a fan wants to see, the play with genre tropes, and especially, the decision taken by the protagonist at the end all satisfied so deeply (it’s really not the direction most films would have taken) and left me elated.

Both of Robert Eggers’s films, The VVitch and The Lighthouse delivered the same high. And both left me smiling rather than fearful (really, who wouldn’t want to live deliciously?). And yet, I feel both of these, and all of the above listed films, are certainly horror.  A key element of this rapture consists in the pinch of the horrific, in this case quite similar to the dramatically satisfying pinch of tragedy. The awfulness of the thing, in juxtaposition with its own beauty (a parallel perhaps to Hegel’s definition of tragedy as the occurrence of mutually exclusive goods), is an essential ingredient of this envelopment.

While Deep Scares represent the dragon, ever chased, rarely caught, these Enveloping Horrors actually make up most of my favorite horror films. For one thing, they exist—you can find them. Also, appreciation for them tends to deepen on re-watch.  This isn’t always the case with the first category, which having been seen once, will never be quite so scary again. The best case scenario is that, sapped of its ability to frighten due to familiarity, the Deep Scare can carry on as an Enveloping Horror.  Candyman won’t keep me out of the bathroom any more, but it is still a pleasure dwelling in its space.

Good Movies with Horror

So this final group makes up most of the horror movies worth watching. Maybe the scare isn’t so deep. Perhaps the experience doesn’t exactly envelope. But it’s a good movie.  The characters are enjoyable, or the plot is engaging, or the writing compels.  Maybe there are really impressive practical effects and you can see the passionate creativity that went into its production. Often, they are just fun. A good movie, but with at least some soupçon of horror.

Scream is a good example. It’s a horror movie – masked killer gutting teenagers one by one and all, but the horror is not the primary element.  Character and writing, rather, are dominant.  It’s funny. It’s entertaining. There is enjoyable mystery to unravel in trying to determine who the killer is. The music is good. The filmmaking is solid.  It is, all around, a good movie, with a horror idea at its core.

Or for a more recent example, just the other day I finally checked out Jakob’s Wife on Shudder, and I really liked it.  Basically, it is a domestic drama with comic elements about a preacher’s wife, long bored in her marriage and life, who wakes up and commits to start living more fully. Can her husband go along, and will the marriage survive, or will she have to go it alone and leave him behind to become the person she wants to be?  Of course the event that wakes her up is being bitten by a vampire and living her best life means drinking human blood.

The thing is, I think that had this just been the domestic drama described, it could have been a decent flick.  Barbara Crampton is great in it as the titular character – I think it’s the best thing I’ve seen her do – and Larry Fessenden’s Jakob manages to be such a bore, while not veering into caricature. I believe them as people and as a couple. Plus, it’s often very funny, without exactly being a comedy. The comic elements all grow quite naturally out of the dramatic, and sometimes horrific, context (there is a surprising amount of gore that can elicit a startled laugh in just how far it goes).

But if it had just been that relationship drama, I probably wouldn’t have watched it.  Adding the vampiric element lifts it up.  Everything is quite literally life and death.  You know, it adds stakes…(sorry).  But seriously, the supernatural horror element really allows for an extremity in the story that might not have been possible otherwise and just makes it all more fun.  It’s a good movie with horror. And that horror makes it better.

Of course, there are many other ways to enjoy a horror movie.  I make no claims at exhaustive taxonomy, but I think these three cover much of the field.  

The Imp of the Perverse

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It’s a busy time for me right now. I’ve started this blog and besides writing, I need to stay on top of self-promotion. I’m working on a new show and there are texts to write and learn, rehearsals to organize and run, and tentacles and monsters to stitch together (more on that in another post). And of course, I also have to work (preparing and giving classes and doing proofreading) and earn money to keep myself in bandwidth, liquid latex, and fake fur. And yet, the other night I watched four episodes of a TV show that I don’t even really like that much. Argh.  Why? Why would I do something so pointless?

I think good old Poe put his finger on it in his 1885 story, The Imp of the Perverse, which puts into words so clearly, a human tendency at the heart of so much of his writing, a tendency which may often go unconsidered. The overwhelming urge to perform an act precisely because it is the wrong thing to do:

“I am not more certain that I breathe, than that the assurance of the wrong or error of any action is often the one unconquerable force which impels us, and alone impels us to its prosecution. Nor will this overwhelming tendency to do wrong for the wrong’s sake, admit of analysis, or resolution into ulterior elements. It is a radical, a primitive impulse — elementary.”

Perverseness

The story is an odd one, but I love it.  For the first half, it comes across as a treatise on this psychological element, its narrator (who I had first assumed to be Poe-as-essayist) expounding upon history’s failures to account for irrationality before describing and naming this drive and giving three familiar examples: the urge of a usually succinct and generally kind speaker to irritate his or her listener by blathering on in a circuitous manner (an urge which my wife could attest I sometimes indulge in—though, to be fair, I could never claim to be laconic to begin with), the temptation, when standing on a precipice, to take the plunge, and the penchant to put off till tomorrow that which we most want to do today.  His characterization of this procrastination is, perhaps, most striking in how true it rings.

“We have a task before us which must be speedily performed. We know that it will be ruinous to make delay. The most important crisis of our life calls, trumpet-tongued, for immediate energy and action. We glow, we are consumed with eagerness to commence the work, with the anticipation of whose glorious result our whole souls are on fire. It must, it shall be undertaken to-day, and yet we put it off until to-morrow, and why? There is no answer…”

I can only assume based on my own experience of living, that this is a situation everyone has been in.  But maybe it’s just me and old Edgar…

Shortly after, the story takes a turn and becomes, well, a story.  The narrator is telling us all this to explain how he ended up in this cell, condemned to die.  Having committed a very well calculated and painstakingly carried out murder, which had gone off without a hitch, and after which, he had acquired a large inheritance and lived comfortably for years, the narrator had realized that the only way that he could ever be caught would be if he “were fool enough to confess.”  Following that epiphany, he could not stop thinking about it until he finally snapped and publicly declared his wrong doing.  Thus, it was this imp of the perverse that has led him to his doom.

First of all, it is a tasty bit of irony that our example here of the imp is not the drive that led him to kill, which had been fully rational, but rather, that which has led him to confess.  You might take for granted that a devil on the shoulder is more likely to needle someone into crime, into “sin,” but in Poe’s conception it is simpler and more broad.  Simply the wrong act.  The one for which there is no good reason, no motive.  The motive for the killing had been obvious—money. The motive for admission is not so clear—but it surely wasn’t guilt.

Broader application

In this, I think Poe captures a human truth which, to this day, can still go overlooked.  How often are characters in books, in films, on TV, written to be internally consistent, psychologically understood characters, driven by clear motivations.  We criticize the writing when that lapses. And yet, I don’t think that’s who we always are.  And it’s not merely a case of some kind of Freudian death drive, but that sometimes we act with no clear motivation at all. Sometimes we do something stupid, something cruel, something self-defeating, or just something odd or nonsensical simply because that is the thing that we do.

And this is not only a literary concern.  I remember circa 2010, reading an essay reflecting on the economic crisis at the time, which criticized modern economists’ continued reliance on an outdated and inaccurate figure from classical economic theory, Homo Economicus. First conceptualized by figures like John Stuart Mill and Adam Smith, this theoretical economic agent “acts to obtain the highest possible well-being for him or herself given available information about opportunities and other constraints, both natural and institutional on his ability to achieve his predetermined goals.”  A great deal of economic models have been based on this notion that en masse, people act out of rational, informed self-interest.

While people may be essentially self-serving, I think it unrealistic to state that we are, as a rule, rational or informed. Thus, forecasts, economic or otherwise, based on such expectations seem doomed to inaccuracy.  To be fair, there are many competing theories and Homo Economicus was already being criticized in Mill’s day, but the idea persists. We still expect ourselves and each other to have reasons for doing what we do.

Horror

So what about horror? This is a horror blog, after all.

Beyond the fact that this qualifies as a horror story (murder, madness, and what not), I think that any time that horror (film, writing, etc.) falls into being too rational, it can ring false. Or at the very least, it can feel flat. But when a taste of mystery is sustained, when we can’t see the whole thing, when it feels that there are depths we cannot plumb, it is that much richer; it has a chance of delivering that delectable shudder of the uncanny.

I mean, of course, there should be motivations. I’m not saying that we should abandon all sense of psychological causality and lazily just offer up any old thing without thinking it through, but if at the end of the story, a killer can honestly and exactly state their motivation, whether it be revenge, money, fame, or love, it often underwhelms, not doing justice to the staggering inferences of a word like ‘horror.’ In counterpoint, think of the final moment of The Strangers when the killers, asked why they have done these horrible things, simply answer, “because you were home.”  Chilling.

Horror is best when there is an element of not just the unknown, but the unknowable. And that need not mean abstract, tentacled, ancient, evil gods from another dimension. Rather, if a work brings us into contact with that which is unknowable within the human heart and mind, it can be most effective.