Sex, horror and friendship: the social side of scary movies

Torture porn hyperbole aside, the horror genre has several things in common with sexual intercourse. Leaving some room for interpretation, I’m only going to list three here. First, if done correctly then both sex and horror offer participants an intense physiological experience. Next up, an enthusiasm for each ought to emerge during the teenage years (this is especially true about boys) before continuing for life. Thirdly (and this is the big one) each benefits greatly from the presence of another person. Advertisers, critics and softies the world over claim horror movies shouldn’t be watched alone. And they’re absolutely right. But not because these movies are just so darned scary. No, it’s because they’re so much less interesting to watch. Picture this melancholy image. the other week I was in bed watching Insidious 2 on Netflix. Alone. Now try as I may, I just couldn’t get myself to like it. And not just because it’s an especially bad film (though it is that too). I mean I’ve got far more pleasure from far worse movies before. Hell, lately the inferior Devil’s Due better held my attention, and that was probably because it was seen in a group. Likewise with Yellow Brick Road, Pervert or Fright Night 2. None of these movies could be considered good, or even adequate – yet they all made for a reasonable watch, with their premiers being had in the company of friends.

Before becoming one of the many fashionable centre-belt-born Scots that lives in London, I used to live with a boyhood-to-adulthood friend (@abdnhorrorguy), slumming it up in a grotty Aberdonian flat. Picture the dankest furniture you can, old wallpaper mold and sofa tears, then add some, and you’re halfway there. Yet amidst the poor decor stood, against the livingroom wall, a rather large projector screen hooked up to a blu ray player and speakers. Now me and he were normally out doing our own things (whatever busy young men about town in their mid 20s did, I guess) living fairly independent lives. Yet this division promptly stopped when we both got back home. The routine would kick off when one of us heard the front door creep open. Then provided there weren’t voices heard, a few second later we’d hang in the hallway ‘til one of us would say ‘fancy watching a horror?’ Hardly much tension – almost always the answer would be ‘aye, why not?’ And from the livingroom we’d be transported out our dive to horror land, where shadowy monsters lurked, blood was spilled and big breasted women got hounded down by masked killers.

So what did we add to the movie for the other watcher? Depends how good it was. Something we’d seen before and dug, then there’d be a lot of discussing the good bits, much trivia exchanged or going swapping views on it. If it was a new one that was rubbish it’d normally provide a backdrop for a tonne of predictions, slag offs and (though I say so myself) damn funny remarks. Indeed, some of the most amusing nights of my life were spent with a horror movie on (our commentary during the loathsome Captivity was a particularly memorable one). This kind of formulaic horror, that meets almost all your plot and set-piece expectations, is practically designed for audience participation. Then sometimes if it was something genuinely good we’d watch in mostly silence (save for killing reactions) and get all ‘man, that was the shit!’ etc afterwards before discussing why it was, indeed, the shit. And you know, save for the few slow burning horrors that rely on instilling a feeling of isolation in the viewer, I can’t think of any movies that weren’t made better by watching them with him. Yeah, others joined us some nights but we were the nucleus. Sure, I’d seen numerous horrors with other people over the years, but he was one of few I’ve met who I’d say genuinely gets and loves the genre for the same reasons as me (@horror365 being another exception). And what a lot we saw over the years – exploitation movies, several full franchises and a load of cool indie ones. Were it not for him I’d never have seen Behind The Mask, Pin, The Stepfather (original) or The Burning among numerous others (in return I tended to offer Frenchies or found footages). This horror bond also included a trip to Glasgow for Fright Fest (complete with a shabby hostel) and went on right up til our last nights in that flat which were spent watching a bunch of shark and whale movies (the best being Orca).

Alas, now we’re on the other side of the night, with many hills, cities and farms between us. Yep, the UK is a big place. And living on the opposite end of Britain (many would say the inferior one) I’ve replaced that old horror habit with a new one. It happens about once a week, at the giant Asda up for the road from my house. With the green basket on the floor I’m skimming their DVD section (missing all the £3 backwoods crap from 101 Films which appears to have infested most shops) ‘til I stop at Cabin Fever Patient Zero. Now I was a big fan of the first in a gore-hound sort of way, and then kind of dug the second (there were a few brutal money shots that partly made up for the lack of characterisation and plot). Plus I been keeping a track of this since it entered production. And it’s cheap – the cost is no problem. So I got the money in my pocket and I want to see it, but I can’t get myself to buy it. Yep I know, first world problems through and through. But reason I can’t is it’s the epitome of a movie we’d have watched together and had a great time with – and that’s much better than me watching it alone and having a mediocre time ever would be. Sometimes I think I just need cooler flatmates down here, or more horrorphiles in my life (my buddies here are more corporate). Other times I just figure I miss my friend. So Ryan, if you’re there, you were to flatmates what the original Black Christmas was to the slasher genre (i.e. pretty fucking special).

‘But what about the big screen?’ I hear literally nobody ask. ‘That’s where most horrors get watched, right? Doesn’t that work against all the indulgent sentimental bobbins you’ve spouted thus far?’ Well true, horror can be very good fun with a vast room of mostly strangers. And yep, I hate people that talk during a screening. Caught me out. Same time though, I wouldn’t watch a horror I thought I’d snigger to at the cinema. For a good creepy one though, the atmosphere on the big screen can be unmatched though. I still remember the contagious fearful mood at Fright Fest when Elijah Wood got exposed as the titular Maniac, or the near silent ‘oh’ that got spread when the intruders made themselves known in You’re Next. That and a decent horror will likely inspire much chatter and beverages after. Yeah, we watch these films mostly for ourselves, but there’s something to the rising tension you get in a big audience. Frankly I wouldn’t think it dissimilar to gigs, theatre or sporting events, though the possible reason for this can wait ‘til an another article.

Last month I was queuing to get Fright Fest 2014 tickets for me and some buddies. I arrived down Vue 2 hours before opening and was met with horror fans stretched round 4 streets. Yeah, this is the famous sleepy queue – where folks from all walks of life (lawyers, lecturers, builders and nurses) come early morning to get the best seats for the festival. It’s a great equalizer. With this kind of youthful, sociological idealism in my head I joined the line and was promptly greeted by a hippy European girl and an older business man and from there we pretty much spoke horror ‘til 10.30 when our time to purchase came. Funny thing is at no point did I get their names, and nor did they get mine. There was also none of the usual ‘what do you do/ earn?’ that seems to underlie most London interactions between strangers. Instead a quick question of ‘any idea what the free film is?’ (it turned out to be the underwhelming Alien Abduction) had us chew the fat, as much as the Pret food we’d got on the way. In the couple of hours that follow we made tonnes of references, recommendations and debated the controversial titles, always with smiles on our faces (never ceases to surprise me how many horror fans think of Oculus as some sort of masterpiece, though the smug sod in me mutters back about Absentia). Would almost forget we were lining up. It was because of this togetherness I got so surprised when someone on Twitter later said their tablet got stolen during the screening. Genuine surprise – from a group that were that friendly, that welcoming and that united in their fandom I’d never have expected someone to stoop to doing that. And not just because of the malicious intent and needless cruelty of the act, but because it isn’t what fans do.

Anyway, this all seemed a lot more profound 1600 words ago when I started writing it. Sorry – sort of family I come from you get shit for using 10 words where 100 would do. Maybe this article still is vaguely meaningful, though more likely I’ve just stumbled upon the selfsame knowledge everyone else has had for years rather than uncovering some new truth about the way we ought to consume scary movies or frightening films. Meh. Canary Wharf is lit like a massive crossword puzzle in the dark. I look down the page at the clock and see this write-up is getting finished about eleven. Bah. It’s the social limbo part in the evening; too late to go out and too early for bed. Bored, I ponder the horror bits on Netflix then other parts of my recent web history – I can think of two things to do, and both are a poor stand in for the real thing.

I’m gonna go read a book.

@horrorinatweet