Pillars of Horror

My trembling hands grasped the balusters of the stairs just outside my bedroom door as I peered through the narrow space between. Sweat covered my palms. The pounding of my heartbeat echoing in my ears was almost audible, like distant drums of a native tribe. Down below from my hidden vantage point, my father sat watching a horror movie.

A giant shark burst from beneath the water as if almost jumping out of the TV screen.

I bolted back to my bedroom. I was only six years old. This was the first horror movie I'd ever seen. Jaws (1975).

Since that night I have only seen a handful of other horror movies that offer the scares, thrills, and adventure as fluidly and flawlessly as Jaws. Why is that? Why are great horror films so scarce? I believe the answer comes from first understanding, "What is a great horror movie?" In trying to explain my theories, I considered there to be three important pillars of a great horror movie's foundation: atmosphere, authenticity, and attachment.


Atmosphere

Atmosphere is a rather broad portion of a film's presentation. However, to simplify it more, the right atmosphere creates mystery. There is a certain barrier every horror film must break within the viewer: knowledge. The modern moviegoer lives in a time where knowledge is always at their fingertips. The world isn't shrouded in as much mystery. Because of this, horror movies must find a way to take that knowledge (don't confuse this with understanding) and deconstruct it, if only for just an hour or two. An open mind is where fear cultivates.

In a way, mystery in turn builds more atmosphere. There must be a constant cycle between the two. Without it, the audience is much more prone to pulling themselves away from the story and mood. I've noticed a recent trend in horror films is for many scenes to take place in the daylight. I'm not implying that horror scenes can't happen while the sun is shining - it can be done - but those scenes lose a fraction of their threatening tone because the characters seem more worried about sunburn than the carnivorous beast chasing them. There isn't mystery.

One of my favorite films, The Thing (1982), used atmosphere to continually keep the audience perplexed. The confined quarters that the characters are trapped in is essentially a complex maze. The cunning layout of intertwining hallways disorients the audience. The knowledge of the space is stripped from the viewer, resembling a morbid game of hide and seek with the "monster". The intelligent art design contributes to the mystery of the movie as well. Every room within the remote research facility is cluttered with "stuff". There are really no empty areas within the rooms, which plays on our fear of the unknown. The Thing could be hiding anywhere.


Authenticity

This leads into the next pillar of horror: authenticity. The fears need to be genuine. Can you recall a nightmare in which your whereabouts within the dream are oddly similar to an actual place you know of but just slightly different? Those kinds of dreams are unnerving because they blend imagination with reality. Horror movies that keep you on the edge of your seat use real fears even if the setting isn't. For example, Alien (1979) preys on our fears of darkness and confined spaces. Mankind isn't anywhere near deep space travel but the fear of being lost in an unknown environment is more than releatable. Along those same lines comes the fear of dying alone. Isolation is possibly the most impactful and visceral terror in a horror film's toolkit. Every horror movie in some way, shape, or form utilizes isolation because it is one of the most genuine fears.

Hitchcock's Psycho (1960) is another great example of real terror. The characters are isolated within a remote motel. The motel's parlor is comprised of unusual objects and taxidermist fancies that evoke death no matter where one looks. Holes in walls behind pictures bring out the phobias of being watched and stalked. Showers become a new territory of death. However, the greatest fear of them all, is Psycho's honest realization that we all can go a little mad sometimes. The contemporary deviation towards hyper-realism seems to forget that audiences don't need to be overwhelmed.


Attachment

The final pillar of a horror film is attachment. By this I mean attachment to the characters and the story. I firmly believe that the viewer cannot have one without the other. A solid story needs great characters to live and great characters need a solid story to live forever. Since great horror needs real fears, real fears come from real characters, characters that the audience must feel for and root for.

Modern horror stories tend to involve characters that make irrational choices in order to conform to predetermined cliches. As with any genre of movie, there needs to be a reason for the choices that characters make. If the audience understands the reason for characters actions, the viewer is much more inclined to root for them. The prevalent scenes of women in baths is a common staple of horror movies these days, yet those scenes aren't as creepy because the audience simply doesn't care. The viewer needs a reason to care.

Jaws is one of the best horror movies to date because at it's core are simply great characters. The choices they make are relateable, their feelings sympathetic, and their fears are our own. When Quint speaks of his experience after the Indianapolis sinks, the viewer is in the red waters beside him living the story. As a whole, that's what audiences do when watching horror films. They live the story.


Many years ago, as I watched my first horror movie through the comfort of my secret hiding spot, I lived a story that frightened me. The scary films of today lack that capability. The horror genre has become muddled with inauthenticity and detachment. There is an absence of mysticism. I will never forget the odd excitement I felt after watching a great horror film for the first time. My only hope is that I will be able to experience it again.