i, #

enre,
Audience
and the
Anatomy
of Fear
Think horror is no more than cheap thrills from maniacal
serial killers and decrepit haunted houses? Think again.
MIKE JONES identifies the four facets of fear that the best
horror filmmakers deploy in their mission to frighten.

udience-focused filmmaking does not, and

should not, mean lowest-common-denominator
filmmaking. There is no reason why genre and
high art should not be comfortable bedfellows;
' the long history of great auteur filmmaker|s who
worked consistently within recognisable genres confirms this
story - Hitchcock, Kubrick, Spielberg, Campion, Ford, Scorsese,
Polanski and Cronenberg, to name a few. Within this prertnise,
horror stands as arguably one of the most consistently promi-
nent and popular film genres. The horror canon represents all
points of the quality compass, from the sublimely metapHoric
to the stupendously moronic. Despite this variety, horror is a
much-maligned genre - a mode of cinema easily capable of
delivering profound cinematic experiences at the highestlevels
of art [The Exorcist. The Wicker Man. Alien. The Shining, The
Ring, Nosferatu, The Drphanage, The Devil's Backbone, The Cars
That Ate Paris, Rosemary's Baby. The Sixth Sense'l yet too i)ften
mired in the simplicity, excess and banality of splatter without
metaphor (too many films to name, with Australian horror films
over-represented).

The very label of horror too often conjures a popular perception

(or indeed assumption) of mindless teen splatter and cheap,
disposable filmmaking. Hence we often see writers, directors,
producers and distributors employing labels such as 'super-
natural thriller' and 'psychological thriller' to brand filmsithat
otherwise fit clearly under the umbrella of horror, but whose
negative connotations they are hoping to avoid. Similarly, there
nany filmgoers who would defiantly declare that they!
do not watch horror films and yet, when probed, will open ,y
declare their affection for films that, aside from their con-
structed categorisation as supernatural *hrllintftfnr rjll
intents and purposes horror films - films designed to scare.

Films within the broad church of horror are certainly capable

of cinema's holy trinity: enduring audience appeal, box office
profitability and artistic currency. But to have a chance at this
triumvirate, filmmakers, and particularly screenwriters, need to
truly appreciate what horror is and what audiences expect
of it.
PREVIOUS SPREAD: NOSFERATU, ABOVE:

The horror contract

Just because a film has
Genre is a complex idea awash with different uses and per-
spectives, yet at its essence is a simple truth: genre is a
a vampire, zombie, ghost,
contract; it is a binding agreement written by the audience
and signed, in blood, by the filmmakers. A film's genre sets serial killer or monster
out expectations of what will be delivered, and the terms of
the agreement can be painfully apparent: fail to deliver on the in it doesn't necessarily
contract and thou shalt feel the wrath of the box office snub
and the critical panning. When it comes to horror, arguably the mean it's a horror film.
most classical and clearly defined of film genres, the contrac-.
tuai obligations should be clear and obvious. Scare me - scare Conversely, a film may
me now! This feeling-state of fear is the central pillar around
which all else revolves in the horror film, and while this may well have scary moments
seem entirely obvious it is also the element too often sub-
verted, diluted or misunderstood in unsuccessful (or under- and at times induce
achieving) horror films.
feelings of fear, but this
There is a tangible and important difference between a film that
wears the skin and trappings of horror and a true horror film.
Just because a film has a vampire, zombie, ghost, serial killer
doesn't necessarily equate
or monster in it doesn't necessarily mean it's a horror film.
Conversely, a film may well have scary moments and at times
to a horror film either.
induce feelings of fear, but this doesn't necessarily equate to a
horror film either. What truly marks a horror film is its intention:
does the film as a whole primarily aim to induce feelings of fear?
And when we consider what feeling-states a film seems intent to
deliver we are by proxy asking what the filmmakers intended to
achieve. If a film is not setting out deliberately and overtly to
scare its viewers then it is, quite simply, not a horror film. This
truism is important, particularly for screenwriters, as it allows
for clarity in what a film intends on an emotional level. More
practically, it allows us to identify those films that merely utilise
the dressings of the horror genre and aim more at undermining
or subverting it (and why these films very often fail).
Certainly there are comedies and parodies that wear the
decorations of horror - exploiting the imagery, icons and
archetypal creatures of horror - but when filmmakers mistake
these for being true horror films they run the risk of failing the
horror contract. Sra/ndeac/(Peter Jackson, 1992), Black Sheep
(Jonathan King, 2006), Shaun of the Dead (Edgar Wright, 2004)
- these are all films that work well as what is commonly called
horror-comedy, but it would be a mistake on the filmmakers'
part to conceive of these films as actual horror films based
on the expected feeling-state of fear. Does the film intend to
generate fear or laughs? A film can't easily do both; the two
emotions exist as polar opposites. The result is, in truth, not
horror-comedy at all, but simply comedy that parodies horror
and uses horror iconography with ironic or subversive intent.
A film that aims at being a horror-comedy clearly has no real
intent to scare you. The primary intention of such films as Black
Sheep or Shaun of the Dead is to make you laugh, even though
you may squirm and snigger at the horror iconography (such as
zombie sheep). Such films may certainly gross out' or shock
audiences (witness Braindead], but at their heart they have a
clear intention quite apart from the state of fear that the true
horror contract demands. Horror-comedies play for laughs,
and thus the terms of their audience contract are very different.
The desire for such subversion is substantial. In some cases
this desire comes from filmmakers who don't actually watch
or like horror films but who see the opportunity to appeal to a
broad audience by exploiting the genre. In other cases it comes
from a lack of understanding of the real expectations of horror
film viewers. Still further, and more cynically, subversive
horror films are too often produced as low-hanging fruit for
commercial viability - a way to get a feature-film credit with
minimal overhead. The subversion and parody of the genre then
becomes a way for the filmmaker or writer to distance them-
selves from the moniker of horror.
This is not to say that such films don't work (the examples
above serve as compelling case studies both at the box office
and artistically), but for filmmakers seeking clear conceptu-
alisation of what their film is, the feeling-states they wish to
induce and the genre contract that they seek to deliver on,
there is a need to clarify the definition of horror. If we are to
engage the high values and possibilities that horror films are
certainly capable of - elevate the horror film out of the mire
of splatter and absurdity - then we need to dig deep into what
this substance of fear is, and understand it in a variable and
complex way as the key objective of the horror film.
But is 'fear' a useful term? Or is it so broad and loose as to be
defunct? How can we be more specific about fear In order to
wield it as a deft weapon of emotional engagement rather than
a blunt instrument of gore?
Going beyond the monster
If we start at the macro level of the horror film concept it's
possible to discern an important separation between the
'horrific idea' and the horrific circumstance'. This distinction
serves as a highly useful way to see what elevates a horror film
from simple shocks, jumps and frights to a more complex and
metaphoric instrument of terror and anxiety.
Circumstances are, by literal definition, the given events and
parameters of a scenario; thus the horrific circumstances of
a horror film are those given events and parameters that are
innately dangerous and scary. A monster from the deep attack-
ing a city, a giant snake hunting human prey in the jungle, a
ghost killing off the crew of a ship, a serial killer stalking a
victim in the city: these are circumstances that have innately
high stakes, a level of direct threat that induces fear. Horrific
circumstances are where most horror films begin, originating
with the 'monster' - the force of evil at the heart of every horror
narrative, be it ghost, demon, killer or creature.
The horrific idea of a horror film, however, is something dif-
ferent aUogether: a terror-inducing concept that goes beyond
the monster; a fearful notion that Is delivered by the presence
of the monster but which transcends it and invokes something
deeper - something more human. Take Jaws (Steven Spielberg,
1975] for example: the horrific circumstance is a huge man-
eating shark terrorising a seaside summer resort town. Sharks
hunting hapless swimmers is certainly a scary proposition,
but the massive critical and commercial success of Jaws is not
owed to this two-dimensional circumstance. The horrific Idea
at the heart of Jaws is not the shark but the greed, ignorance
and arrogance of the town in placing the 'summer dollars' of
tourism above the safety of people. This centrat idea is the
essence that elevates Jaws above a basic fear of sharks and
into a greater metaphoric fear of greed, pride and arrogance -
all made manifest in shark form.
In a film with an entirely different mode of horror altogether,
Danny Boyle's 28 Days Later (20021, we see a zombie apocalypse
deliver a horrific idea above and beyond the horrific circum-
stance. Certainly a virus that turns people into maniacal raging
zombies is a very scary circumstance, but the scary idea at
the heart of 28 Days Later is much worse. The film's hero and
his companions flee zombie-ravaged London and seek refuge
with a ragtag group of soldiers, only to find that the desperate
soldiers have lost their grip on morality and the concept of right
or wrong. In very real terms the characters become more afraid
of the soldiers than the zombies. This is the horrific idea at the
heart of 28 Days Later, not a fear of zombies, but a fear of losing
our own humanity when faced with desperate circumstances.
In what is arguably the most celebrated horror film of all time,
William Friedkin's The Exorcist, we see the same paradigm of
the conceptual horror elevating the circumstantial horror to a
more universal and deeply affecting level. The circumstances
in The Exorcist are horrific enough - the demonic posses-
sion of an innocent girl - but there is a much more complex
mixture of horrific ideas flowing through the veins of the
film. More than half the film sees a mother exploring every
E
THE SHINING
 medical, scientific and rational explanation for her daughter's
'illness' until she is ultimately forced to acknowledge a power
beyond her comprehension and beyond her control. The horrific
idea in The Exorcist revolves around our modern faith in science,
logic and rationality being stripped away, leaving us unarmed to
face and deal with that which we cannot rationalise.

What these three cases tell us is that while every horror film
must have a monster, horror films are not aouf the mon-

5 ster. The monster of a good horror film is simply a metaphor,

allegory and catalyst for the truly scary bit: the horrific idea, it
is a way to manifest a horrific concept in a specifically tangible
form. When horror films become about the monster, their focus
falls to scary circumstances rather than to much more deeply
to 0) y and broadly affecting scary ideas.

o o ro Plausibility and transgression

(0 The notion of plausibility in horror films seems, on the surface

at least, somewhat of a paradox. In science fiction, plausibility
E is of paramount importance - a possible future extended from

> " ro the known present. But horror too relies on a certain kind of
plausibility, formed around causality, in order to cement the
to iJ -0* horror as tangible and apparent (and thus more frightening) to
the viewer. If the nature of the horror and the monster lacks
causality - if it is without a cause, a real-world trigger, a reason
to be - and remains wholly in the realms of either fantasy or
random circumstance, then the audience is positioned at a
distance from the fear that the horror induces. To be fully effec-
tive, the fear (and by proxy, the monster) must be positioned

15
close to the viewer by being neither random nor arbitrary but
intimate and tangible - a product of cause and effect. This kind
of plausible causality in the horror film stems directly from the
notion of transgression.

The horror film's transgression is what generates the horror

concept. It is the sin that creates, unleashes or invokes the
monster. Moreover, the transgression brings the monster into

o S .12 the world of the viewer - into their intimate experience. Horror
films that lack a clear transgression - where the monster just
is, without reason or cause - allow the audience to keep their
fears at a distance and dismiss the monster so the film's fears
o -a ^ are only able to operate at a surface level. A clear transgression
humanises the experience of the horror by making its cause
something that the viewer can relate to: a sin that they too may
be capable of committing, a line that they themselves, at some
micro level, may have crossed. Transgressions come in all
manner of forms across the diversity of horror films but they
can be broken down into three archetypal categories: moral,
physical and disobedient. ,
: o -'
v Z^ lA A moral transgression derives from 'doing what you shouldn't
have done'. The monster in such stories is usually summoned
as a result of a character crossing some sort of moral or ethical
line. Definitive monster movies, from Godzilla (Ishir Honda,
E O iJ 1954) onwards, often exemplify this moral trigger. In the case
of the breakout Korean film The Host (Bong Joon-ho, 2006), the
prologue sets up the transgression when an arrogant American o
scientist orders his assistant to dump toxic chemicals down A >

AUEN
the drain knowing full well that the drain leads to the river. In
a very different mode of horror, we see a moral transgression
at the heart of Wes Craven's 4 Nightmare on Elm Street (198^).
The film's backstory reveals that the parents of the Elm Street
kids had formed a vigilante party and burned Freddy Krueger
(Robert Englund) alive. That moral transgression of taking the
law into their own hands and committing murder as a pack
is the catalyst for Freddy's return to haunt the children of his
murderers in their dreams. A further definitive example can be
seen in Sam Raimi's Drag Me to Hell (2009), in which an ambi-
tious young woman deliberately allows the foreclosure on an
old gypsy woman's home to advance her own career, for which
she is subsequently cursed.
A physical transgression differs by placing the burden of sin
on 'going where you shouldn't have gone' - a physical tres-
pass. This transgression is most effective when it stems from
a clear instruction: a character is specifically told not to go
somewhere and they fail to heed the warning. In An American
Werewolf in London (John Landis, 1981), the two backpacking
American tourists are told in clear terms to 'beware the full
moon, stay on the road and don't wander into the moors'. It's
a warning they dismiss and they suffer the consequences of
lycanthropy as a result.
Physical and moral transgressions can also be blended, such
as in Pet Sematery (Mary Lambert, 19891, where the father
trespasses not only physically on the old Indian burial ground
but also morally by taking his dead son there to be resur-
rected. Similarly in Tobe Hooper's Poltergeist (1982), the ever-
expanding housing estate is built over the top of a graveyard,
which is at once a physical trespass driven by greed and a
moral transgression of sacred ground.
Disobedience, the final archetypal transgression, is less
common but nonetheless important. It refers to the disobedi-
ence of set rules and laws or, to think of it another way, when
a character fails to heed the adage of 'when in Rome, do as the
Romans do'. Such horror films see characters, through arro-
gance, hubris or ignorance, fail to acknowledge local customs,
laws and ways of thinking. They bring their own sensibility
to foreign circumstances, where they then suffer the conse-
quences. Robin Hardy's The Wicker Man illustrates just such a
scenario, whereby a deeply Christian policeman journeys to a
Hebridean island where the people hold pagan beliefs. As the
policeman attempts to impose his own values on this foreign
place, his failure to acknowledge local beliefs makes him blind
to the islanders' plan to sacrifice him to appease a pagan God.
A clearly presented and committed transgression in the horror
film delivers a way to bring the fear close to the viewer - to
make it personal and specific and to render it much more
difficult for the viewer to dismiss the horror as mere fantasy.
Transgression makes fear plausible through cause and effect.
THE FOUR FEARS OF HORROR

Here we are brought back to fear itself, the primal emotional

state that the horror film so deliberately seeks to manifest in SHOCK ANXIETY
sight and sound. By seeing fear not as an element unto itself
but as an umbrella term encompassing many archetypes -
a complex array of mechanics that induce fear - we can start
to tease out specifics and articulate divisions of scariness.

The first is to observe a binary between known and unknown.

This distinction stems from the monster as the source of the
fear, and what the character or the viewer knows or doesn't
know about it. The fright that a horror film induces can be
broken down into categories based on two questions: Does the
audience know only what the character knows? Gr does the
viewer know more than the character knows? In the former we
jump when the character jumps, we are shocked as they are
shocked. In the latter we squirm in anticipation of the horror
that we know is coming but of which the character is oblivious.
This binary allows us to understand a more articulate compre-
hension of the fears of horror and provide a stepping-off point
for identifying four clearly different fear-states that sit in pairs
either side of the known and unknown divide.

ILLNESS'. THE SCENE IS THEN SHAHERED BY THE SUDDEN ESCALATION OF REGAN'S (LINDA BLAIR) 'CONDITION' - CHRIS IS SHDCKED, AS IS THE AUDIENCE, BY THE SIGHT OF REGAN
SCAMPERING DOWN THE STAIRS LIKE AN INSECT, INVERTED AND COUGHING BLOOD.

Shock

An immediate scare. A surprise. A sudden jolt. An unexpected fright. The shock represents the most blunt, albeit effective, of
cinematic scare devices: the monster that jumps out from the.darkness, the sudden surprise that induces screams and involuntary
spasms of the limbs.

What is important to recognise is that the shock directly relies upon the viewer knowing only what the character being scared
knows - that they share the character's ignorance and so too share their shock when it comes. Yet shock is very much on the side
of known fears: when it happens there is no ambiguity on the part of the viewer as to what the source of their fright is. It is clearly
known, and the fear-state induced by the shock is felt in the acute moment that it happens and in the residue of its aftertaste.
 Dread
On the same side of the known-unknown fear
divide as shock, but with an entirely different
sensibility, is dread. The fear-state of dread
clearly comes from the anticipation of a fright
coming or an impending horror to be faced.
In this light, the term dread clearly indicates
a known horror. When we think about the use
of the word in everyday language we hear
phrases like I'm dreading going to work
tomorrow' or I was dreading having to tell
my mother'. These are low-stakes usages but
the implication is the same - we dread that
which we know is coming and which we know
is unavoidable.

MISERY- DREAD
IN MISERY (ROB REINER, 1980). ANNIE (KATHY BATES) LEAVES HAPPILY TD READ THE FINAL CHAPTER OF PAUL'S
(JAMES CAAN) BOOK, BUT THE AUDIENCE KNOWS MORE THAN THE CHARACTER DOES. THEY KNOW THAT THE
CRIPPLED AUTHOR AT ANNIE'S MERCY HAS KILLED OFF THE BELOVED PROTAGONIST OF THE STORY AND THAT
THERE WILL BE REPERCUSSIONS FOR THIS TRANSGRESSION.

Anxiety
Moving to the other half of the matrix we
encounter those fears predicated on ambi-
guity and ignorance. The clinical definition
of anxiety is a mental preparation for a
perceived fear. As such, anxiety disorders
occur when the body is in a continual state
of preparation for perceived fears that don't
exist or don't eventuate. Anxiety is a powerful
emotion brought on by speculation, imagina-
tion and anticipation of something that can't
be clearly identified or as yet comprehended.
Anxiety is the fear we feel when we perceive a
scare coming or encroaching yet cannot name
nor know what form it will take.

o rHi?/WG-ANXIETY
AS THE FILM OPENS, TWO GIRLS TEASE EACH OTHER WITH CREEPY STORIES. AS THE AUDIENCE, WE KNOW
NOTHING OF THE NATURE OF THE MONSTER, WHAT IS TO COME OR WHY WE FEEL ANXIOUS - YET WE FEEL
INTENSE ANXIETY RELATING TO THE UNKNOWN AS WE BECOME JIHERY AT SHADOWS, RED HERRINGS AND
TV STATIC.
ANIGh.-:..:.L ON ELM STREET -lERROR
FREOOY KRUEGER S INTENT IS NOT TO KILL, BUT TO TERRORISE. HE TAUNTS, TEASES ANO ACCOSTS HIS VICTIM LONG BEFORE DISPATCHING HER. HER FEAR - LIKE THE AUDIENCE'S FEAR - IS
BDRN OF QUESTIONS: WHERE IS HE? WHAT WILL HE DO? WHEN WILL HE STRIKE?
Terror
This term has specific cultural context in the post-9/11 age.
And it is from this context that we can draw a clear under-
standing of the unique fear device of terror within the horror
genre. Just as the terrorist and the auspices of terrorism are
predicated on warfare conducted in a manner that is unpre-
dictable and irrational, so too is terror in horror films built
on these sensibilities. Terrorism as violence is not focused so
much on casualties as it is on the psychological effects for a
larger community who are prompted into a state of panic and
fear. Similarly, in horror films a victim terrorised is quite dif-
ferent to one that has been attacked or shocked. In this light,
terror in horror cinema stems from the unknown - the mon-
ster embodies the archetype of the trickster, where the overt
intention is to taunt and terrify by irrational unpredictability. A
Nightmare on Elm Street's Freddy Krueger - arguably among
the most famous of horror monsters - is the very embodi-
ment of the trickster terrorist. At any time the avenging spirit
of Freddy could dispatch the children of Elm Street, but this
is not his desire. Instead he terrorises them, taunting them in
their dreams. The Elm Street kids (and the audience) experi-
ence the fear-state of terror because it is entirely uncertain
when and where Freddy will strike next, and what he will do
when he does strike. Just as a terror within a community
creates a deep fear of suspected but uncertain attacks, terror
provides a powerful, compelling and downright frightening
tool for horror films.
Loving horror
These four elements - shock, dread, anxiety and terror - stem
from fears known and unknown, and provide a matrix of weap-
ons to deploy in executing a horror film that intends to fulfil its
genre contract. Poor horror films often play as one-note songs,
stuck in the key of just one type of fear-state, but great horror
films know how to play the whole keyboard, moving the viewer
through a complex arrangement of these fear-states using one
as a stepping stone to another in the construction of high-
stakes tension and release. Good horror films mete out the
fear in carefully arranged patterns, exploiting the different fear
states at different times. They allow the viewer to know more
than the characters to build dread and they trap the viewer in
ignorance to embed anxiety. They shock the viewer with sur-
prise jumps and they prolong the agony of waiting, terrified, for
something impending to happen.
Mike Jones has more than fifteen years experience in screen and
media production spanning writing, creative project development,
technical praductian, education and screen research. He is an
award-winning writer ond a teacher, currently engaged in bath
traditional and new media productions, and is a lecturer in Screen
Studies at the AFTRS.
Endnote
' Details of these films as follows: The Exorcist (William
Friedkin, 1973), The Wicker Man (Robin Hardy, 1973), ^//en
(Ridley Scott, 1979), F/ie S/im/ng (Stanley Kubrick, 1980), The
Ring (Gore Verbinski, 2002), Nosferatu (FW Murnau, 1922), The
Orphanage (Juan Antonio Bayona, 2007), The Devil's Backbone
(Guillermo del Toro, 2001), The Cars That Ate Paris [Peter \Ne\r,
1974), Rosemary's SaJy (Roman Polanski, 1968) and The Sixth
Sense (M Night Shyamalan, 1999).

These four fear-states provide a spectrum for understanding

how the horror genre can employ sophisticated variations of
fear rather than lowest common denominator banalities of
gore and torture-porn. That said, irrespective of what types of
scares are used and how, there remains an overarching con-
stant that the horror contract relies on to be fulfilled: a writer
must love the genre. If you don't love the genre and, most of
all, respect the genre, then it becomes almost unavoidable that
you will parody or subvert it rather than engage with it. Horror
films written and made without passion for the genre slip
all too easily into a mode of tongue-in-cheek self reference,
becoming films that play with the conventions rather than hon-
ouring them. Such films are too often disingenuous, and horror
fans can smell this lack of authenticity (and breach of contract)
from a mile away - a transgression that may well be paid for
at the box office. Horror fans are a passionate, dynamic and
sizeable audience, and they are not stupid. Genre may be the
buzzword of funding and film development at the moment, with
horror films high on the hit list of an industry desperate for box
office hits, but the last thing Australian cinema needs is more
screenwriters and directors making films in genres they don't
love and don't respect.

Of course it's possible for a horror film to produce frights and

scares without such elements as transgression, a horrific
central idea or a carefully structured pattern of fear states;
indeed, the film world is awash with such fright movies. But
while we can argue that horror is a genre capable of box office
success and artistic value, it is also too often a genre mired in
a culture of disposability. Horror films that lack the core tenets
of transgression and concept, and which fail to orchestrate a
sophisticated array of fear-states, are the horror films that are
forgotten as quickly as they are made - cheap thrills without
substance or longevity. By contrast, the horror films that can
move beyond being just scary to resonate more deeply with a
cultural fear born of ideas are those that can transcend the
quagmire of disposable horror films and attain a more sustain-
able shelf life and audience appeal.

This essay was first published in LUMINA: The Australian Journal

of Screen Arts and Business, Issue 7, 2011.
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