On Horror

My choice of film has recently been the subject of criticism. In brief, I've been accused of having an exceedingly narrow mind when it comes to choosing what to watch. Apparently, I will only admit to enjoying films that aren't in the English language [*cough* Bollocks! *cough*] and, according to my brother and N, I need to broaden my cinematic horizons from World Cinema and watch more mainstream films. If you ask me, that's a contradiction in terms and can only make my selection less varied, but I agreed in order to combat this assassination of my character.

The first genre of which I was deemed particularly ignorant was horror, so it was agreed that we would each choose one horror film, and watch them back-to-back. I had one condition: no torture porn. So I sat down yesterday evening with three DVDs (The Omen, Pontypool and Paranormal Activity), too much popcorn and a cushion to hide behind should the demons, zombies and the apostates of Hell get too much for me.

The fact that I haven't watched many horror films in the past is not, contrary to popular belief, because I think them unworthy. The fact is, they too often scare the shit out of me and I'm not very manly in my reactions. Despite being a complete wimp, however, I can't deny that it is fun to do. There's something about the adrenaline rush you get from horror films that isn't equalled by any other genre, and come to think of it, it's a thrill I'd never seek out in real life, either - you won't find me prowling dark alleys or graveyards in the dead of night looking for something to terrify me, thank you very much. It's all a bit odd really. I mean if fear is a natural reaction, designed to make us run as fast we can in the other direction, what are we getting out of putting ourselves through the nail-biting, blood-curdling, sleep-depriving scenes that we watch? Is that not a bit like self-flagellation? Why force yourself to be uncomfortable?

Perhaps it's meant to provide an escape from the monotony of reality - maybe we look to horror films to provide us with a surge of adrenaline that we don't get anywhere else. And, because the action unfolds behind a screen, we get the rush without the danger. I'd go with this - and add to the theory that, as the setting of horror films is usually rural US towns, I feel extra safe. I mean the chances of being allowed onto a plane with a chainsaw are slim, and I don't think demons have passports. I've also heard that horror films are often looked at challenges to overcome - endurance tests. This is, apparently, why horror is particularly popular with teenage boys - sitting through two hours of blood, guts and gore is a way proving their masculinity [perhaps this is where I went wrong - at their age I was probably still watching and re-watching Pretty Woman]. Others watch horror solely for the sense of relief at the end, the calm after the storm has passed.

While I'm not sure of the reason behind the popularity of the horror genre, I will admit to enjoying the films I watched last night. Perhaps the plan is working and soon I'll be horror movie buff, able to sit through all manner of torture scenes without flinching. But that's a long way off. In the meantime, I'm off to watch some more Almodóvar [my director of choice at the moment]. I need to watch something nice, something colourful, something relaxing. I didn't sleep last night you see; it's quite difficult with the light on.

On A Message From Beyond the Grave

I haven't written anything in ages, mainly because I didn't feel that anything that interesting had happened...and then I remembered this...

My mum's mum died before I was born, so I never had the chance to meet her. I did, of course, hear a lot about her. One particular story that recurred at family gatherings was my mum's visit to a medium the week before my uncle's wedding. During the session my nan, apparently, told my mum that she'd make her presence at the wedding known by 'making a flower fall'. During the ceremony, a rose fell out the bride's bouquet, followed shortly by one of the flower arrangements falling off the wall. Spooky stuff. [Not according to my cynical father, who stuck a petal in the guest book and wrote 'Guess who? Woooooo!' next to it.]

Well, this is a story that's been cemented into TBR family legend for a while, so when conversation at my friend's dinner party last week turned to the ghost in Three Men & A Little Lady, I told everyone about it. Not long after I'd finished, while someone else was telling their own spooky tale, a vase of lillies on the kitchen table six feet away fell over! Mass hysteria broke out, with C (the hostess with the mostest) shouting for the flowers to be thrown into the fire. No flowers were harmed, but after the panic died down there was much laughter. It was one of the weirdest moments of my life. Of course, having inherited my dad's cynicism, I put it down to coincidence (they were very big flowers in a very small vase). However, I still made sure I text C the next day to thank her for having me, and my nan, round for dinner. Wouldn't do to be ungrateful now would it!