It happens every year around this time. Someone — usually a well-meaning-type just trying to make conversation — says something like “Hey have you seen that new movie Knifeclown 6: The Murder Forest?” and then the godforsaken dance begins anew.
“No, I haven’t.”
“Oh, you should. It’s so scary.”
“Nah, I’ll pass.”
“Why?”
“I don’t really like scary movies.”
“What, are you afraid or something?”
Dammit. No. I’m not afraid. I just don’t like scary movies. And I’m tired of having my beans roasted about it every October. (Another reason October is bad.) I know there are people like me out there, too. I’m not the only one stammering his way through a needlessly defensive explanation of why I don’t want to see whatever horror movie is burning up the box office. And so, what I’m going to do here is lay out my simple three-part case against scary movies. This way, next time some goon gives me a hard time about it, I can just send them the link and be done with it. Yes, you. I’m talking about you. The person who is reading this paragraph. The person I just texted this to. You are the goon. Don’t look up at me. Keep reading.
PART I: I do not like being scared
Being scared is bad and there’s already lots of things to be scared of. A few years ago, I read an article in The New Yorker about a massive earthquake that could destroy the Pacific Northwest at any moment. I think about it constantly. There’s a supervolcano under Yellowstone that is overdue for a potential life-erasing eruption. Go Google “superbugs.” (Actually, do not do that.) A solid portion of my day is spent trying to quarantine that kind of information in a low-traffic area of my brain where I won’t accidentally stumble across it while trying to remember the name of the guy who did “Gangnam Style” for reasons I do not have to explain to any of you. It’s how I’m wired. I’ve accepted that.
So why, pray tell, would I want to spend two-plus hours of my free time in a dark theater getting the hell freaked out of me by jump scares and demons sneaking up behind people in mirrors and evil creepy children with tiny evil voices? That sounds bad. And not fun. I do not want to do things that are bad and not fun. I would rather spend my time watching a movie about Tom Cruise dangling off of an airplane or a movie about Tom Cruise dangling off of a helicopter or literally any movie in which someone in a tuxedo steals a diamond.
And again, it’s not that I’m afraid. Think about a food you don’t like. Let’s say, oh, mayonnaise. Are you afraid of mayonnaise? No. You just don’t like the taste or consistency or whatever. Same thing. Same thing! I could maybe see if there was some invigorating adrenaline rush that came along with it (like, I understand why people jump out of planes and enjoy big-wave surfing), but no. Nothing. It’s just passive terror. Pass.
PART II: I do not want to pay to be scared
Okay, picture this. You have a friend. We’ll call him Trevor. Trevor likes to hide around corners and leap out and scare the hell out of you. He does it all the time. You’re carrying a bowl of popcorn from the kitchen to the living room for movie night and you come around from the hallway and all of a suddJESUS CHRIST, TREVOR. Popcorn everywhere.
We all agree Trevor sucks, right? Just the worst. Admittedly, I did tip the scales a bit by naming him “Trevor” (there are very few good Trevors), but the point stands. Okay, now imagine if Trevor charged you $15 every time he did that. See where I’m going here?
Yes yes, I know this is apples and oranges, to a certain degree. Seeing a scary movie means you are consenting to be frightened. Trevor popping up like a damn haunted house ghoul is an act of aggression. But the thing about apples and oranges is that they’re still both fruit. They’re not so different, after all. If you don’t want to be scared for free, why would you want to pay someone to scare you? It’s madness. Spend your money on something else. Go buy a cool-mist humidifier. Winter is right around the corner.
PART III: No, you’re the weird one!
Here’s the crazy thing. I’m not even sure how we got here. You’re the one — you! — who wants to pay $15 to go sit in a dark room full of strangers and get the holy hell scared out of you for most of an evening, but I — me, the one who is not doing that! — am somehow the one deserving of scorn? That doesn’t track, buddy. Not at all. I’m the normal one here. Ignore all the things I just said about earthquakes and volcanoes and antibiotic-resistant deathbugs. Lots of normal people think about that stuff, all the time, too much, shut up. You people — all of you, with your terrifying movies about ax-wielding faceless nuns or whatever — are the weird ones here. Think about this, rationally! Look at the evidence! It’s all right here in front of you like an undead beast from Hades who is ready to destroy you with a chainsaw made of logic.
Now, please, for the love of God, leave me alone.
