is horror Serious?
As we lurk upon the autumn months, the wind turns to a dry chill, our pages come below cinnamon-laden candlelight rather than an insomniatic sun, and the hunger for the macabre becomes insatiable. I tend to start my feast rather early. Not long ago, over the summer I believe, I began reading Matthew Lewis’ The Monk– a used copy. And in the margins, the previous owner had raised the question “is horror serious?”
To label a piece of art as “serious” is a high form of praise– it’s the accreditation of a merit indicative of superiority over other forms. It is from this division that the distinction between “high brow” and “low brow” originates. Among the prior, there is a unifying characteristic: some form of intellectual brilliance. Looking to the literary world, it is apparent that certain works are considered with higher regard by the critic than others: there is a reason why the image-centric- academic prefers to be seen reading Dostoevsky or Kafka as opposed to something from the #booktok shelf. There tends to be some level of brilliance among the highly regarded, whether that lies in its profundity, its sincerity, or simply its artistry. The serious cannot exist without some level of brilliance. Horror, however, tends to be buried alongside the low brow despite the fact that a good deal of classical horror is celebrated and awarded with sincere acclaim: Frankenstein, The Picture of Dorian Gray to name a couple. The world of film alike, the works of Hitchcock, Croenenberg, and Lynch are all well-received and well-respected. Their brilliance is transcendent of the aforementioned distinction. But still, there are a multitude of contributions to the horror-sphere that are quite brilliant, and I embrace the thought that the vast majority of horror deserves this level of respect. Of course there are entries into the horror media space that deserve their negative reception. Case in point: the Terrifier franchise, which lacks in depth and innards despite leaving so many on display. That being said, it is foolish to dismiss the whole genre based on a few severed extremities of the whole. I believe that this is where the notion that horror is a lesser form originates.
Art is an amalgamation of the social, cultural, and political affairs of the period in which it is conceived. Horror is no exception to this notion; Its brilliance and intellectuality lies in its encapsulation of fears pertinent to the time of its creation. Therefore, horror is as serious as we consider those collective fears to be. Consider Bram Stoker’s Dracula, which came as a response to the diseases and epidemics of the 19th century. Vampirism in this instance serves a metaphor for the transmission of illnesses in a society inadequately equipped to combat it through scientific understanding and effective medicine. Another example lies in the rise of the slasher film in a time marked by conservative attitudes toward sexual promiscuity; it seems all but surprising that there would be an influx of films that posit a masked killer as a divine judge of the sexually active and praise chastity through the survival of the final girl. Of late, there has been a pull toward the exploration of the human mind. For example, Zach Cregger’s Weapons, which examines the parental response to the loss of a child while simultaneously commenting on the politicization of tragedies, and Coralie Fargeat’s The Substance, which deals with self-hatred and devaluation with age. The underlying commonality between all of these is their monstrification of pervasive fears, giving the very real beast–whatever it may be– sharper teeth or a chainsaw.
With this comes a curiosity about the genre’s future. What of our “now” will be the first to manifest itself in the creature form? Headlines passing detail the horrors of our world as they come, and the trauma-inducing threats will no doubt become a form of source material as younger generations take up the directorial cloak and mask. And while I cannot assuredly predict what wave of trends is to come– though I have my inclinations– it is an incontestable truth that fear is an innate, primeval force. As long as there is a means, it will be channeled into art.
Strike Out,
Parker Defriese, Editorial Director