The IT Factor
Do you like scary movies?
Randomly remembering an awkward encounter from 8th grade
My love of horror started around age 10. For a full weekend, my uncle and I marathoned The Shining, Dawn of the Dead, and The Omen, completely disregarding my mother’s “no violence” rule.
Those movies were the obvious next step in a morbid fascination I’d already been harbouring. As a kid, I obsessed over plagues, medieval torture, and mummies, religiously watched Ghost Trackers, and secretly stole glances of Buffy the Vampire Slayer through the crack in my bedroom door.
By middle school, my love of all things dark and twisted became identity-forming. I thought I was a master of irony, and my humour became a carbon copy of what I watched in Heathers and Ginger Snaps.
Quelle shocker.
Over time my interest switched from spooky stories to serial killers. My teen years were marked with prime-time persecutions: Law and Order, Criminal Minds, Bones – you name it, I loved it. For years, I thought I wanted to be a forensic scientist because of CSI. If only my chemistry grades were better…
While scary movies have always been a staple, the scariest stories are the real ones. By university, I was bingeing true crime podcasts and reading Anne Rule like it was my religion.
Throughout the pandemic, however, my usual regimen of morning murder became daunting. For the first time I felt squeamish, and I couldn't possibly focus on another negative story. Instead, I funnelled that anxiety into writing about assault, trauma, and crime.
This Halloween has been a resurgence of all the creepy content I used to love. The world started opening up, and I hit play on my old favourites.
I’m being dragged back into hell, and I’m happy about it. Care to join?
What I imagine every Interpol fan looks like
Creature Comfort
While I needed a break from horror, at least one study has found that scary movies actually help manage anxiety. Many people use the genre to offload stress, dubbing an entire sub-genre of “comfort horror.” Generally, these entail the campy, cult classics we’re drawn to watching over and over again.
Watching the same shows can be therapeutic. Many people rely on old favourites to create a sense of safety, leading an entire generation of Millennials to rewatch The Office on repeat.
In horror, however, there’s a whole other element at play. Scary movies encourage anxiety, but in a completely fabricated way. It’s swapping out one for the other. For example, how could I stress over my next work meeting when a literal massacre is happening in front of me? When you watch that guy cutting off his foot in Saw, the stress you feel directly replaces any other anxiety happening in your day.
Horror movies provide an escape, albeit an extreme one.
The trick is that scary movies ignite a fight-or-flight response. The added stress benefits anxious minds in a similar way to exercise or an adrenaline rush. That said, not all horror lovers are adrenaline junkies. The key distinction is that scary movies offer a level of control. The stress is coming from a specific source that can be paused, turned off, or muted at any point in the experience. And, as soon as the film is over, the threat subsides.
By the end, there’s not only a sense of relief but a feeling of accomplishment at having persevered. There’s a payoff. The result is an effect similar to exposure therapy where people face their fears in controlled environments to minimize threats over time.
For me, the pandemic put my anxiety front and centre. For the first time, I dealt with layers of stress that I’d never felt before, maybe in part because I had been offloading to horror movies my whole life. I’d never coped without a gory distraction.
For others, the added panic of the pandemic let them right down into the spooky horror basement.
Me talking to HR
Apocalypse Now
Over the last few years anxiety rates have been rapidly increasing, and so have the number of true crime podcasts. In 2019 alone, women’s interest in true crime rose by 16%.
The pandemic has been particularly brutal on mental health. Spouts of depression are commonplace, and 56% of Americans aged 18-24 have reported symptoms of anxiety. Even before the pandemic, we considered loneliness to be a public health concern.
Now we’ve all been living like the Blair Witch for almost two years….
Some of the best prepared for COVID were those of us with pre-existing relationships with doomsday protocol. A study found that fans of “prepper” and survivor-style horror reported being better mentally equipped to go into lockdown. Similarly, those who are morbidly curious showed less psychological distress during the pandemic.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, Netflix saw one of its most successful shows rise to fame during the pandemic. Squid Game, a Korean thriller rooted in gore, took the world over for a few weeks this year. Over 100 million people have watched the show, a surprising stat for both a foreign and horror-based production.
The story follows contestants who compete in life-or-death children’s games as a way to get out of debt. Many attribute Squid Game’s success to its commentary on the class divide, faceless corporations, and social injustice.
It’s also super gory.
The high-stakes nature of the show helped me forget about the last year and redirect my stress onto the players. A huge part of Squid Game’s appeal was escapism, the relatability of the character’s struggles only helped us buy in even more.
Like Tiger King brought us together in the spring of 2020, Squid Game is one of the few ubiquitous media phenomena we enjoyed en masse. After almost all this time apart, having something in common feels nice. Moreover, going through fear-arousing situations can create intimacy. 100 million of us held our breath when the contestants crossed that glass bridge. For a moment, we were fully engrossed in something that wasn’t our personal lives, wasn’t work, and wasn’t a global pandemic.
Even beyond the brilliance of Squid Game, that connection is worth celebrating.
Standard Saturday night
Final Girl
Horror movies have also been said to help with trauma.
Often we gravitate to what we know. Those who have experienced trauma will sometimes take comfort in risky behaviour. A 2020 University of New Hampshire study by Matthew Moschella found that many sexual assault survivors seek risky dating partners or remain in abusive relationships after their attack. Similarly, people who are desensitized to violence may gravitate toward “sensation seeking, ” something at least one study has linked to a love of horror.
In scary movie selection, people choose what they believe to be plausible. If you think ghosts are real, for example, chances are you’ll pick a paranormal flick. When the goal is to be scared, you have to buy into the content.
Women are the largest consumers of true crime, mainly because we are predominantly the victims of violence. Many find solace in learning about what threats exist and how they can be avoided. Others find comfort in hearing stories that mirror their own fears or experiences. One of my favourite podcasts, Crime Junkie, constantly reminds listeners to keep “If I Go Missing” folders to help loved ones get organized in the event of their disappearance.
Horror movies rely on the “final girl” trope, and often that feels cathartic for viewers with traumatic pasts. Studies have shown that female horror fans are immensely satisfied in watching female characters overcome immense danger. When we see her face the unspeakable and survive, we think maybe that’s attainable for us.
Whether you’re full of trauma, anxiety, or regular demons, I hope you watch something scary tonight. Maybe it will help you exorcise a few things on your mind. At the very least, it’s a great excuse to eat a ton of Halloween candy.
