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The "Blair Witch" itch
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Sept. 18, 1999 |
For most of the film, I was fine. Bored, even. I began wondering whether my companion and I would discuss the movie afterwards, and (more pleasantly) how we might pass the remainder of the evening if we didn't. Unfortunately, three segments -- which I trust "Blair Witch" viewers will recognize as the disappearance scene, the bloody bundle scene and the final cabin scene -- so unnerved me that, upon exiting the theater, my date said I was visibly shaken. Walking back to my building, my date -- a sophisticated and somewhat older man -- seemed pretty calm to me, which compounded my discomfort at letting him witness my wordless freak-out. I was sufficiently spooked that I would have appreciated an overnight guest -- but on the other hand, this was a second date, and I wasn't ready for that. I couldn't ask him to spend a chaste night with me just so he could alleviate the fallout of my fright, could I? A little nervousness on my part might've been kittenish, sexy, an excuse to shiver under his arm. Dazed horror, on the other hand, seemed just plain burdensome. We decided to reserve the tête-à-tête at my pad for a future time, when I might actually be in the mood for a little tête. But preserving my virtue had its consequences. That night, my empty home seemed a crime scene waiting to happen. Whatever evil had destroyed the kids in "Blair Witch" (a force not only fictional but milieu-specific) had somehow mutated into something that might invade my urban domicile. So I reverted to my childhood habit of peeking inside my closet doors and behind my shower curtain, and as I finally passed out on my living-room couch, with the lights on and the TV blaring, I cursed my lack of a live-in lover. Weren't such indignities as dateless weddings and involuntary periods of celibacy enough of a trial? Must my single status increase the likelihood of a grisly demise as well? That's why, the next day, I wasn't surprised to learn that an acquaintance of mine had invited her otherwise unappealing "Blair Witch" date to spend the night. Where are the sex researchers when you need them? I would love to know what this summer's celluloid divertissements such as "The Blair Witch Project," "The Sixth Sense" and "The Haunting" have done for American bedrooms. As the wave of creepy flicks continues (with "Stir of Echoes," "Stigmata" and "The Minus Man") are lechers everywhere getting unreasonably and unseasonably lucky? Will fear replace lust on the list of top 10 reasons to go to bed accompanied? After all, it's not so surprising that terror would serve as an aphrodisiac. My friend Tom (whose girlfriend ridicules him for refusing to take her to her beloved horror films) believes that when couples see scary movies together, their physiological arousal -- thumping heart, quicker breathing, adrenaline rush -- can easily be mistaken for a heightened appreciation of the other's alluring traits. The subsequent biological imperative? Fight, flight or spend the night. Moreover, the trauma of seeing something horrific might well function as a bonding experience for people who survive it together, suggests Joanne Cantor, Ph.D. She's a psychologist, professor of communication arts at University of Wisconsin-Madison and author of "Mommy, I'm Scared: How TV and Movies Frighten Children and What We Can Do to Protect Them" (Harcourt Brace, 1998). Unfortunately, the benefits of thrill-seeking don't always outweigh the drawbacks. Cantor has spoken to many adults who have suffered, either as children or grownups, serious freak-outs from scary movies and TV shows. So if my irrational post-"Blair" reaction -- which included an impromptu overnight visit to my parents' house followed by a second night of lights-and-TV back home -- seemed puerile or pathetic, at least it wasn't uncommon. "I see 50-year-old women who say, 'I have this thing ever since "Psycho" about showering [alone in the house],'" Cantor says. "They know Norman Bates isn't there, but the emotion of fear is so basic that it continues on through life." She adds, "There's a lot of continuity between children and adults in viewing scary movies." I guess the difference is that traumatized kiddies typically bring teddy bears to bed instead of guys on the make. "Adults don't want to admit [their fear] because people think they're nuts," says Cantor. Tony, a friend of a friend, is a case in point: A single 35-year-old who doesn't want anyone to know that he has trouble sleeping after seeing "really cheesy" vampire and zombie movies, he says, "I hate the lurid images in the cheesier ones. That really stupid movie "From Dusk Till Dawn" disturbed me. So did "The Evil Dead." I hate all the blood and gore. I'm a doctor, and I'm fine if I see blood in a controlled situation -- but not in a totally chaotic situation, when there's no good reason for it." (Interestingly, more sophisticated flicks about the undead, such as Abel Ferrara's "The Addiction," don't upset him as much. This suggests that perhaps his psyche is a snob.) Tony thinks his avoidance of these movies is less than masculine, but I think it's healthier than his erstwhile, "macho" response to his fright, i.e., sleeping with a knife under his pillow. That would not, he concedes, go over well with the ladies. | ||
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