My favourite place to be is a flytrap
Black Christmas (1974) dir. Bob Clark (A Canadian gem)
Growing up, the most consistent trait of my personality was being afraid of probably almost everything. Person, place, thing, idea; I was running away sobbing from most of them. As I've talked about in previous posts, my relationship with my emotions has never represented balance. I'm sure you can imagine how that must've felt as I was still learning how to harness them. All of this to say, my present-day love of horror movies is a perplexing switch-up. The adoration and exuberance I carry toward horror would lead many to assume that I've had a lifelong connection to the genre, but it's actually quite the opposite. To enjoy horror the way I do now, I had to discover it almost backwards. I became fascinated by SFX makeup and practical effects, which in turn helped me remind myself that the terror on the screen wasn't real. I'd read Wikipedia summaries of classic horror movies out of curiosity, gripped by the stories but still too timid to face the fright. Genuinely, in complete red-raw earnestness, I would religiously read this one Wikihow article on how to rationalize your way out of being afraid of scary shit. All of that work because I just couldn't help my intrigue. I chuckle a little now, considering my favourite subgenres of horror are usually the most gory, rotted, and doused in camp. I hate how obnoxious that sounds, GOD. It makes me come across like some edgelord, but it's the truth: how I got here is so peculiar to me.
Thinking back, it's quite a cute, maybe wholly strange relationship to have with an interest. In a way, it felt like a tangible representation of growing into myself, and into the passions that would shape my young adulthood. My early teenage years were unkind to my brain and body; finding myself felt inconceivable when my self-esteem was balancing on a shoddy foundation. I credit my love of horror as a pillar of my new sense of being. In it, I see the most innovation, creativity, and undiluted audacity that influences the art I enjoy making and even the way I strive to approach life. Call me desensitized all you want, but there's something unparalleled about a good horror movie scare. Jumpscares are one thing, but that uneasy wick-of-a-flame feeling you get from subtle terror is unmatched. To those who don't enjoy horror, this likely evokes an idea of a glutton for punishment. I guess that's partially true… I don't fully understand the psychology behind it either. This post didn't start out as a deep-dive into the intricacies of why some human brains love to be scared, but my nose is on the scent, and I've learned to always follow it.
House (1977) dir. Nobuhiko Obayashi (a new favourite)
A quick web search leads me to a new concept: recreational fear. That sounds so pusssssssss. Badass as hell, would be a great band name! In layman's terms, recreational fear gives us the chance to engage with scary stuff in a safe, controlled environment where our brains know we're not actually in danger. We can experience the rush of adrenaline without the genuine threat of bodily or mental harm. It seems like many like-minded horror freaks have explored this concept too! I discovered the Recreational Fear Lab, a research initiative based out of Aarhus University focused on this polarizing human response. You can find a link here to a really neat blog post which chronicles their research in a far more professional and detailed manner than I'll ever do here. There is a quote from this essay, written by RFL member Jens Kjeldgaard-Christiansen, that I believe captures some inklings of why I love horror beyond just the addictive fear it can fester:
It makes sense to discuss horror movies and haunted houses as "forms" of recreational fear, as is done in some studies, because they are typically enjoyed for their fearfulness. Typically, but not always. Many horror movies feature beautiful cinematography, biting satire, compelling characters, alluring mystery, and humour. When people watch horror movies to experience such non-horrific sources of pleasure, there is no “paradox of horror” involved.
A "paradox of horror" is in reference to the coined term by philosopher Noël Carroll in 1990, which speaks to the paradoxical enjoyment of horror or fear-inducing media. I appreciate the way the RFL's blogpost pushes back on the idea that this concept solely exists in relation to horror movies. They instead encourage the definition to broaden, inviting discussion on the plethora of other activities many of us engage in that cause heightened fear: riding a rollercoaster, skydiving, visiting a haunted house, and so on. Sure, the cortisol is a cold rush down the spine and all, but the true reason I love horror so much sings in this quote. The blood-splattered, grimy exterior of horror is often a cloak for rich character study. There is so much to admire in the way its directors paint these pictures of extreme violence and gore, only for the true horror to be humanity's depravity. We are nasty lil creatures at the end of the day, let's be real. The permission to be disgusting is so rarely allotted to us in our everyday lives! I think horror gives us a safety net as we explore who we truly are in relation to disturbing subject matter. How does it make us feel? What do we do with our discomfort? What does it mean to "enjoy" the grotesque?
I can't remember the account name (sorry) but I came across a video on Instagram where a creator said something along the lines of "feeling inspired by flesh" and I think that's the coolest and most relatable sentiment. Me too! It sounds so icky at first, but I do find soooooo much inspiration in the fleshy and fluid world of body horror. Stripping it further back (ha), flesh itself is so fascinating. Unique striations, grooves, and divots moving in slippery tandem. If it wasn't at the hands of violence, gore could be fascinating too. Like the rooted soil beneath us, it's just organic matter. We are all comprised of weird-looking bits of various combinations, and yet ever-so-slightly fucking with the parameters of normalcy sends many running and screaming. What makes gore so gross isn't the gore itself, it's a situational switch. Our bodies are nothing new to us; we all know what our blood and even by example what our damn guts would look like. There is nothing we can know better than our own bodies. It's when those deeply private and intimate parts of us get exposed to extremities that we cower in fear. Spotlighting our susceptibility to nastiness is the discomfort.
The Evil Dead (1981) dir. Sam Raimi (my favourite mess)
I'd be remiss if I didn't also talk about the connection between horror and queer people. At least in my social circles, sacred relationships between the genre and queer people are commonplace. I think there's something to be said about the counterculture aspect of horror, or the subversiveness of its roots which lends itself symbiotically to queerness. For way longer than we realize, horror gave us the representation we longed for, albeit some better than others. But still! The scraps meant something; they still do. Horror has consistently been viewed as an unsophisticated genre of filmmaking, rife with B-movies and so-bad-you-can't-believe-they-released-it gems. All the while, that vast openness and accessibility paves an avenue for the freaks, the undefinables, the fruitiest of fruits. Maybe a part of me always knew I'd feel at home in horror. I'd like to believe my own sacred piece of filth was waiting dormant within me, eager to claw it's way out of my flesh and let me feel it. The following quote from Queer Cinema Archive's Derek Le Beau from an interview with LGBTQ Nation addresses exactly what I'm getting at:
So many of us are drawn to horror. It’s one of the most popular genres in the queer community. I think part of that is because for decades it was one of the only genres where we had representation, whether it was good or bad. I think that’s one of the reasons so many of us are connected to it and why we might connect with a queer-coded villain. Or even the protagonist of the film sometimes. You watch something like Frankenstein, and it’s about this misunderstood creature on the outskirts of society that society kind of comes for, right? It’s that underlying… subtext or allegory that mirrors aspects of our own experience. On the other side of that, a lot of popular horror films are slasher flicks with final girls. The gays, we all love our strong female characters. Even better if she’s strong and sassy!
Discovering your queerness is akin to a horror movie in more ways than one. There's ugliness to the realization, a bitter admittance that you are other. You are the outcast, the exaggerated ghost story, the pitchfork's target. You're outside the party, looking in, and it's cold and wet but still more welcoming than going inside. Even if you know deep down that you'll be accepted and loved by those around you, the moment the switch flips is a jumpscare to all of us. It's a bittersweet rite of passage, but we live out loud in spite of it all. You can't go back to before. You can't crawl back into a broken cocoon. In horror movies, the fragilities of society are discarded; survival takes precedent. The classic tropes rely on those "outsider" characters to circumvent the carnage. We are smarter because we've seen the world in its full unyielding form. Queer people have survived far worse than slashers or psycho killers, and that resilience lets us see the art in the obscene. We take grotesque and turn it into glitter. Bars.
Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma (2026) dir. Jane Schoenbrun (lesbian slasher supremacy)
If you're a horror fan too, I hope this resonated with your cold, dead(ite) heart. And if not, I hope it gives a glimpse into why I feel so seen by the dread. I’m pasted to the glue in the flytrap, awaiting my own consumption, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. Special shout out to the Watchas! I love watching movies with you all. I love sharing this love with you <3
To be scared is to remember we're pumping blood… or red corn syrup.
Give my love to the monster under your bed!
PJ