As Fright Fest hits London with blood, guts and a myriad of other bodily fluids both human and mythical, swarms of horror-lovers will gather together for a marathon of twisted, deathly voyeurism. Their idea of a perfect night out could entail showers of blood, head spinning devil children, innocent nannies diving to their death or self-inflicted amputation. It can only be natural to assume, therefore, that this sub-section of society are at best sado-masochists waiting to happen, and at worst blood-hungry psychopaths stashing away ideas for gory world domination, alongside their machete and Dummies Guide to Satanism (and possibly a framed photo of Jeremy Kyle).
Try as you might to convince me that watching horror films is an activity for sane human beings, I shall not be moved. Settling down to an evening of shuddering, mild heart palpitations, guaranteed nightmares, cold sweats and staving off reflex terror-weeing is tantamount to voluntarily signing yourself up for an evening of having your toenails soldered off by Louie Spence in a damp cupboard with Paris Hilton's greatest hits on loop. It's warped, it's wrong, it's everything the human race should have evolved a zealous, unrelenting aversion to.
As a film blogger, however, expressing a dislike for the horror genre is the equivalent of lifting up my t-shirt to reveal an android motherboard. Horror, to my mind, is quite clearly the poor man's thriller, but something tells me that according to the film community, such views are punishable by excommunication. For little old me, it's like being a God among men, dear readers, a Liberal Democrat among Tories- so patently right, yet so painfully silent.
So I went looking for some famous names to back me up- everyone loves a famous name- it's like the real-life version of referencing, adding clout to your claim. I stumbled across Stephen King giving his two pence on the horror genre. Now, obviously, Mr King has got some serious vested interest, and has the imagination of a dictator (but luckily the humanity of an average Joe). Mr King's two pence on horror, anyway, was that 'if pro football has become the voyeur's version of combat, then the horror film has become the modern version of the public lynching.'. Hear that, horror lovers? Even Mr King reckons you have the mind of a LYNCHER. He did, admittedly, go on to endorse this organised-lynching mentality, claiming he 'liked to keep the gators fed'. Well when the rest of the world was in line for the inner-gators I must have popped to the loo or something, because my gators are definitely not hungry enough to drag me to any ritual orgy of torment.
I tried, I really tried to like horror. I watched The Exorcist... for a bet. Crucially, I made the terrible mistake of watching the exorcist in a wooden bed. A wooden bed exactly like the fateful bed of the devil-riddled, fanged, spitting animal of anathema spinning her head round 360 degrees on my television. It ended in tears, and many sleepless nights. I tried the remake of The Hills Have Eyes, but about 20 minutes in, I'd had enough dismembering and rape for a decade, and refused to look at the screen (although I'm not sure if actually, the sounds are a lot worse). It was mindless, it was cruel and I was having the exact opposite of fun. To this day, I'd still rather jump into bed from about 2 meters away in case Mischa Barton tries to grab my ankles and tell me about her dead Mother while spewing bile on my toes or something. Sixth Sense should not be shown to delicate children, and I was off the richter scale for delicacy- a gun-hating, flower-loving, hug-giving hippy before I even knew what they were, or that I might have to be a bit smelly to fully be inaugurated in their gang. Have a hug, not a horror is my campaign poster.
So there - I've said it. I hate horror. But next time you're snuggling up to plague your minds with fairgrounds of brutish sadism, bear in mind Mr King's wise words... and as a final thought, Mr King believes that 'good liberals' do not feel the same pull toward horror. So if you, like me are a sane person/ good liberal, give yourself a pat on the back. I'll expect my letter of film community dismissal in the post.