Jumping Off The Hype Train

You may recall my previous post concerning the bleak state of "blockbuster horror," how most of what is labeled "horror" in the theaters is either a sequel, or so reminiscent of tired themes and gimmicks that it might as well be a sequel. I came to the conclusion that there is an acute difference between horror fans and people who like scary movies, and both can exist in relative peace with one another, every once in a while meeting in the middle with a movie that even the Academy can appreciate.

I think the only time we're truly at odds is when one gives the other a recommendation, not realizing that their tastes are vastly different. Hardcore horror fans like me get bent out of shape when the world is gushing about a big blockbuster like The Conjuring, a movie I personally found to be overstuffed with cheap, ineffective scares. Meanwhile, general audiences get huffy when they hear The Witch is the scariest movie of the year, only to find themselves watching a molasses-slow period drama with inexplicable flashes of artsy weirdness. My initial reaction to the naysayers was to scoff and say "Well they just don't get it!" But it got me thinking about the effects of hearing about a movie enough to believe it will change everything, and the emotions that can follow after we finally see the thing.

Hype is an abstract, illusory concept. In today's world of social media and websites dedicated to every facet of geekery, it's nearly impossible to avoid hype, even for things you don't care about. Not that into superhero movies? Well, coming this summer, TOO FUCKING BAD. You're getting 400 of them--all over your cinemas, bus stops, billboards, toy aisles, burger joints, soda cans, candy bars, and Facebook feeds. You will either be beaten over the head with how awesome they are by every person you speak to, or have to take a break from your favorite movie websites to avoid the screams of jilted fanboys all over the internet. Just try not to see even a little of our movies, cackles Marvel, now an enormous sentient tower of industry. Just try not to have an opinion on our genius marketing scheme! You will fail! Muahaha! 

Sometimes hype can make or break a movie. There's the idea floating around that the new Ghostbusters movie will be a huge bomb when it's released because so many people are outraged about the very idea of a Ghostbusters reboot that simply no one will see it. (It probably won't totally flop, and hopefully not, because if so many other "childhood-ruining" movies seen out of curiosity can turn a profit, then an all-girl Ghostbusters certainly deserves to at least do okay.) In this case, hype could actually save the movie; if it turns out to be good, word-of-mouth and critical tapping might turn that sinking ship around. Plenty of people were nervous about The Force Awakens too, right? Look how it all worked out! And then there's Avatar, a hype-monster that was inescapable for months before swiftly disappearing into the shadows, never to be heard from again. But that discussion is for another day.

My point is that it's difficult to not let hype affect your verdict of a movie, and the bigger the movie, the harder it is to have a completely independent opinion. Self-loathing hipster compost heap that I am, it's important to me to recognize the difference between movies I genuinely love and movies I like in order to strike common ground with others...or, worst of all, movies I love precisely because they are so hated by others (Spiderman 3, anyone?...anyone?). In my younger days, I was guilty of being a constant contrarian merely for the sake of it--snotty towards critical darlings and sympathetic towards box-office bombs because I was just sooooo individual. I realize now that those opinions were largely shaped by hype, no matter how inverted. Even in my attempt to rail against the Hollywood machine, I was still basing my opinion off that of others. These days I'm more open to everything, and spend less time actively searching for flaws, and I don't really care whether or not someone likes the same things I do (though it is always nice to find that one critic that agrees with your unpopular opinion). But sometimes, even at my most genuine, I can't help but ruin the party once in a while and get really fucking mad about something popular.

Last year, there were two horror movies on the festival circuit that earned massive buzz at pretty much the same time: Jennifer Kent's The Babadook and David Robert Mitchell's It Follows. The two films were almost synonymous with one another following their release, often being listed side by side as the most anticipated films of the genre. They were both purported to be game-changers, with original perspectives and innovative ideas. Neither relied on familiar monsters, but they did address all-too-familiar fears. They even both starred blonde women as their protagonists. I was equally excited for both. Those scales would dramatically tip upon finally seeing the movies.


Here be spoilers.

The Babadook tells the story of widowed mother Amelia raising her young son Samuel. It's immediately apparent that something is off about Sam, and though it's never spelled out, we can at least guess he's somewhere on the spectrum. Throughout the film, we get more and more immersed in Amelia's silent anguish, suffering with her as she barely endures Samuel's hyperactive screeching and his relentless, often hostile energy. Over time, we realize that Amelia's husband died in a car accident on the way to the hospital to give birth to Sam, and the mother-son relationship appears even more uneasy. One day, a pop-up book appears and upon reading, it reveals the tale of a monster called the Babadook that "you can't get rid of." The Babadook slowly begins haunting Amelia and Samuel with more intensity and frequency, eventually possessing Amelia in order to get to Sam. The boy manages to fend off his mother and Amelia regains control of her body, banishing the Babadook to the basement. The end finds mother and son happily on the road to healing, while the Babadook remains locked away, only to be visited occasionally by Amelia, bearing an offering: a bowl of worms.

I tend to get emotional about movies, some may say too much. But sometimes you have such a raw, visceral reaction to a film that it's overwhelming. The worst part about being a horror fan is how you tend to grow desensitized to fear. You enjoy horror for its elements and atmosphere, but so rarely do you get to experience true definite horror--the kind of mad itching in your guts you felt when you were a kid sweating under your covers, trying to convince yourself to ignore that strange sound in the dark. That was the effect The Babadook had on me. It's as if Jennifer Kent reached into my head and strung together series of my own personal nightmares and gave it back to me as a gloomy, brutal, beautiful gift. Every ounce of dread I've ever felt at the thought of becoming a parent was in full color and surround sound. Every anxiety-fueled daydream of something awful happening to my beloved was felt deeply and animated with vivid brutality throughout the film. Even the most vulnerable, childish fear of all, the sense that some thing is watching me sleep, creeping ever closer with long fingers and a gleeful smile...it was all there on the screen, all building upon this ever-mounting sense of dread.

Not enough media explores the idea that some women are not fit for motherhood. Some women, like myself, are aware of the weight and responsibility of motherhood, and for whatever reason we know in our soul that it isn't for us. But some of us become mothers anyway, by accident or coercion, and it just doesn't work. What happens to those families? How long can she fake that motherly love? How long until her resentment consumes her? Mothers have killed their children before, and no one really talks about why, the crime too unspeakable to explain. How much does it take to push a mother that far? The Babadook shows the agonizing buildup to that psychotic break, and it's both glorious and terrifying when you find yourself fitting so easily into Amelia's shoes.

Pictured: my future.

The monster represents Amelia's grief for her husband but also her resentment towards Sam, which becomes an overwhelming force that threatens to drive her over the edge. She traps that force in a locked room with mementos of her husband, treating it with kindness--she doesn't need to destroy or abandon her grief and anger. She can still indulge in her pain, but now she keeps it put away, locked up but safe and unharmed, feeds it in private every now and then, and slowly learns to heal, for her own sake and her son's. It's a powerful message, and the happiest ending you could hope for after all that trauma.

After The Babadook went above and beyond anything I expected and skyrocketed to the top ranks of my favorite movies, I couldn't wait to see what It Follows had in store. It certainly seemed the more widely popular film, being American and paying homage to some of the more beloved aspects of American horror (i.e., shades of John Carpenter's Halloween). And it held a classic horror staple that everyone can recognize and on some level connect to: teenagers in peril.

More spoilers (and a little bitching).

It Follows introduces us to Jay, a pretty high school girl getting ready for a date. She goes to the movies with a boy named Hugh, a guy who absolutely fits the bill for "drinking age guy that dates high schoolers," and soon enough they have sex. Hugh then chloroforms Jay and when she wakes, tied to a wheelchair, he explains that he's passed on a curse to her. She is now pursued by a creature that can look like anyone but is only visible to her. Her friends rally around her and attempt to help with the usual teenage cure-alls: slumber parties, aimless car trips, laying out by the beach, and having casual sex with the neighbor boy. Despite this, the creature keeps closing in on Jay, driving her to more and more desperate paranoia. This all builds to a climax at the public pool involving some Scooby Doo scheme I can't even begin to describe that predictably goes awry, but doesn't quite fail as the creature appears to be dead, or at least wounded. The end finds Jay hooking up with good ol Friend Zone Paul, he (maybe?) passes the curse on to a prostitute, and we leave them listlessly holding hands, while behind them, but not too far behind, a figure slowly follows. Their fate is left up to us, if we think the figure is the creature or just some guy in a hoodie. Actually, a good hunk of this movie is left up to us...a frustratingly large hunk.

It Follows is...nice. It's a more or less a pleasant experience. The whole movie gives off the feeling of a chilled autumn evening--cool and eerily quiet with a certain electricity in the air. That fantastic Disasterpeace score adds a hint of the danger creeping up behind you, building with adrenaline and intensity, before dissolving into a dreamy spacey interlude. The scenery is lovely, with tree-lined suburbia juxtaposing the wretchedness of the overpass where Jay first meets her monster or the coldness of a deserted public pool. There has been a lot of attention given to the ambiguous time period, what with the mix of old timey TV sets and futuristic e-readers, which lends another layer of enjoyable weirdness to the film. The monster itself--a relentless presence with an ever-changing identity that only reveals itself as it's closing in on you--is top notch chilling. Every appearance of It is incredibly scary and perfectly structured.

Apart from one stupid exception.

I will say that on the second watch, I had recently read this article which posited that It is a metaphor for sexual assault. With that in mind, and the assumption that It can look like people it has killed, the creature's appearance is even more interesting...the old woman, the half-naked cheerleader with her teeth knocked out, the little boy...people who may very well have been viciously raped just to pass on a curse. It's a cool theory, and certainly holds more water than the STD-read.

Yet despite effective atmosphere, fascinating camera tricks, and excellent music, the movie just left me annoyed and disappointed with little to chew on as the credits rolled. (More like It's Hollow!) For the sake of fairness to this post, I decided to give it another watch...and I shut it off halfway through. (You can read the full extent of my insane rambling here.) I can appreciate that the director was going for the nightmare aesthetic, because the movie strikes that mood especially well. It is a lucid nightmare, some things concrete and others maddeningly ambiguous, and I will give it credit for that sense of disorientation. But it's more like that kind of nightmare you're having while heavily sedated on a long car trip, and you keep jolting awake with a crick in your neck only to fall back into horribly lifelike bad dreams--you reach the end of your journey shaken but ultimately grumpy with a terrible headache.

The fact remains that the film clearly states its rules and then leaves a frustrating amount of loose ends behind, and besides that I have to endure these morose teenagers all while trying to enjoy a couple of admittedly worthy scares. It just stresses me out, and not in the intended creepy way but the "I'm keeping this one in the collection merely on principle" way.

My feelings on It Follows makes me not so different from those unprepared souls that stepped out of The Witch with nothing but questions and complaints: we expected one thing due to the massive hype, only to get something we weren't anticipating and didn't necessarily like. It doesn't make my opinion any better or worse than anyone else's, it just didn't speak to me. Meanwhile The Witch and The Babadook were personal gifts bestowed on me by the movie gods. But these things are subjective, that's nothing new: critics adore aspects we common folk sleep through, just as young film-fans may see themselves reflected in a character I'd happily see get electrocuted in a pool. 

Liking a movie doesn't make someone a witless drone following the current, and not liking a movie doesn't make someone too stupid to understand it. Maybe the solution really is "Don't believe the hype," despite how impossible that may be in this internet age. As much as I enjoy reading reviews and analysis and spin my own from time to time, I still try to follow my own gut and move on from my days of endearing myself to something for the sake of joining the bandwagon...or my days of thinking that spewing bile at something popular was the superior opinion. There is no superior opinion, only yours. 

And on that note, give Ghostbusters a chance. Believe me, the only way to truly ruin your childhood is to go back to movies you adored as a kid and notice all the problems you have with it as an adult. That feeling is worse than anything New Hollywood could ever do to you. 

In which I state all my problems with It Follows

I decided to cut this from my previous blog, since I realized it was less analysis and more nonsensical ranting about a movie I'd only seen once, and to include it would make it overly long and straying away from the main topic. (I think you can sense my nitpicky rage building as it goes along.) Turns out I have a lot to say about it, worthwhile or not, and I've been holding onto this anger for far too long. And now I pass it on to you.

To be clear, I've watched this movie exactly one and a half times. The first time was breathlessly optimistic leading to a supreme letdown. The half-time was begrudgingly open-minded in respect to the film and this post, ultimately leading to tapping out just before the climax, secure in the feeling that I just don't like this movie. And it sucks because it's far from a bad movie, it's just....not for me.

For as many interesting shots and intriguing moments as there are, there is just as much artsy filler. I am a fan of film and filmmakers and visual storytelling and metaphor and ambiguity and all that crap, but filler is filler. When I'm watching a suspenseful monster movie and I keep getting tripped up by teenagers mumbling about what they used to do when they were kids, I call that filler. When I'm watching a film whose monster is clearly communicating a frightening, ambiguous sexual metaphor (whether for venereal diseases, or sexual assault, or whatever theory you subscribe to), then to see Jay staring down her panties and hyperventilating for no apparent reason (if only to drive it home that her pesky vagina got her into this mess) and never relate back to it, I call that filler. When I'm watching a movie that clearly states its rules and implores me to remember them, only to show me unresolved scenes that leave it up to interpretation whether or not those rules were followed, I call that fucking BULLSHIT filler. (I am very upset about that boat scene.) And when I walk away from a movie loving aspects of it but remembering an overwhelming amount of aimless nothing, I just end up mad. I just watched Halloween with even longer long shots and it was fucking exhausting.

It Follows' biggest flaw lies in a most familiar territory of horror: unsympathetic teen victims. I don't know where down the line teens in horror went from being outwardly stupid and obnoxious to being outwardly pretentious zombies, but I'd like to go back to stupid, please. These kids are the perfect age to think every mundane they say and do is its own kind of poetry, much like the irrelevant lyrical prose clumsily woven throughout the narrative. It's as if all their intense teenagery feelings have gone too deep and imploded into comatose indifference. In fact, the entire movie seems tinged with this teenage sense of wonder--but not sincere wonder, more like "This ant crawling on my arm reminds me how insignificant we all are." That kind of self-indulgent, manufactured wonder, like these kids know they're in a movie and are purposefully projecting those deep vibes and striking those languid poses in order to look alluring. How else do you rationalize that stilted car sex between Hugh and Jay? Sure, he's unloading a terrible curse so his guilt sort of overwhelms his arousal, but Jay responds to his absolute lack of passion with performed tenderness, like she's copying something she saw in a movie. How else to you explain Jay choosing to hide by sleeping in the woods curled up on a car hood like a fucking cat? Because it would make a nice photo on her Tumblr.

 In fact, maybe this movie had the Instagram generation in mind--that would explain all the nonsensical posing, impossibly flattering camera angles, and general self-absorption among the characters. (Not to mention the trappings of another time scattered in the background...hipster kids love retro shit!) The camera indulges these kids' desire to be watched, leering at their vacant pretty faces and careless nubile limbs in a way that's uncomfortably pornographic. With that mood in mind, the kids feel less like characters than window dressing, pretty mannequins that the director can put into compelling poses without the need for logic or continuity, merely the pastiche of a beautiful image.

Jay would have all the followers on Instagram. I mean look at her. The director certainly wants us to. Her closeups are fetishized with glorious slow motion and that dreamy score, which is sometimes compelling but often laborious. I suppose when you have your camera aimed at such a beautiful face as Maika Monroe's, you would want to capture every little microexpression. Yara is speaking to my very soul when she says to Kelly, "Your sister is so pretty, it's annoying." Yes, Yara, it really is. So this whole movie is going to annoy me with her prettiness.

Nice puka shells.

I don't dislike this actress or the performance--I'm betting the script didn't give her a whole lot to work with--it's just that we're being presented with a pretty girl and through the camera's adoring gaze, we are obliged fall in love with her without understanding the first thing about her. That's nothing new for pretty girls in the movies, hardee har har, but I just can't buy into this portrait of a beautiful teenage girl taken at a distance. Its too Virgin Suicides, like those neighbor boys watching Jay in the pool are also the ones writing the script: just keep looking at this angel and the rest will speak for itself. It's kind of icky.

Jay's rising paranoia is hard to follow given she can't crumple her beautiful face too much, aside from a steady knitting of her remarkable eyebrows into an ever-deeper pout. I suffer from resting-bitch-face myself, so I do sympathize, but Jay can't seem to muster an emotion outside of "tense" and "relaxed." Because she's apparently incapable of communicating her feelings, she appears as an entirely passive character throughout the movie. Whereas most final girls have some sort of agency in their fate, Jay's decision-making ends after she chooses to have sex with Hugh (which is just another stick in my craw...more unfeeling punishment for sexually active teens). For the rest of the movie, she's a little wounded kitten: chirping meekly and smiling weakly and taking teeny tiny bites of her beautifully photographed food, just begging someone to wrap her up in a blanket and kiss her forehead.

She's either running away with a baffling sense of direction (the middle of an empty park is the perfect place to hide!), or she's dragged along by her buddies into solving this mystery, all the while staring off worriedly into the distance and being entirely unhelpful, despite being the one whose life is on the line. While Hugh is explaining the intricacies of the curse to her and her friends, she's barely paying attention, apparently too consumed by her own misery to do anything but pick at the grass (that particular gesture--girls absent-mindedly picking or stroking things to communicate a troubled mind, or ya know, boredom--recurs throughout the movie like it's supposed to mean something and I fucking hate it). She turns into absolute dead weight, and given we're supposed to want to protect her and identify with her, she's so closed off in all her ethereal teenage dreaminess that she just does not make contact as a real character. She's the lovely-looking centerpiece to this lovely-looking display.

And an apparent attempt at making peacoats and cutoff shorts a thing.

Meanwhile, her sidekicks are steadfastly at her side. This little team of poker-faced go-getters jumps at every chance to help Jay on the grounds that they're all such besties, but often I get the feeling this group just doesn't have anything better to do. Like, they're good kids so they don't get high or vandalize property (aside from Greg the jauggernaut bad boy), but they're clearly bored enough to drop everything in their lives to help their maybe-crazy friend feel better. It's made fairly clear that even though they believe Jay's fear, they don't really believe there is a monster, (at least until Paul gets beat down by a green screen effect) so it's a bit odd that they would go to such great lengths to indulge in what they largely perceive to be a paranoid fantasy.

But remember that Jay is a pretty, blonde, quiet girl, which is movie language for "She's not crazy, she's on a whole other level." This is reason enough for those boys--Pouty Paul and Sleazy Greg--to trail after her like puppies, both baldly campaigning to be the lucky guy she passes It along to. And to be clear, neither of those guys is the better choice. Greg is a horny teenage boy with a wandering eye, but at least he's honest about it; he makes no bones about the fact that he's in this for the pussy. Meanwhile, Paul is carrying his crush on Jay with this martyred nobility that's nauseating to watch. They're childhood friends, and movie logic tells us they will eventually end up together, and Paul has clearly seen those movies. Despite his gentle demeanor, he bears this obvious territorial resentment towards anyone attracted to Jay. He even snaps at Yara's aforementioned "pretty" comment with "At least she's nice." [Subtext: "Not like all those other fake bitches who won't date me either."]. He's clearly biding his time being the white knight next door he feels he's supposed to be, trying desperately to hide the full body angst-erection he gets whenever Jay's in the room.

May I take your curse, m'lady?

When he and Jay end up together at the end, it feels forced and awkward which was possibly the intention, but it's one of the more hollow images that's selling itself as a payoff moment. The relationship isn't any more romantic than her connection with Greg. It ultimately boils down to sex: Paul that always wanted it, and Jay that wanted to get rid of It. After that, there's nothing left but shallow hand-holding and staring blankly into the distance, as if because they knew each other for years and then silently fucked on a couch while it stormed outside, now they should be in love. Again, just children striking a pose for the camera.

Jay's sister Kelly barely has any purpose besides providing the buffer between Jay and the others. One wonders why Jay doesn't have her own friends....is she so pretty that everyone is intimidated by her? Kelly has little personality outside of staring at Jay with concern, which I guess translates to unwavering sister-love. We sum up their relationship with exchanged glances and call it a day.

And Yara...what the hell are you even doing here, Yara? You're the one bright spot in this whole mess. All you do is read and sleep. You probably haven't made direct eye contact with a single person in your life. Why do you hang out with these people? You know these people are boring as shit, that's why you're always reading to them in an effort to have some fucking thing to talk about. Why do you need friends at all, Yara? You have yourself and your shell-phone books and that's fantastic. Yara, you're a beautiful bedraggled gap-toothed angel and you're the only person I can connect with in this shitshow.

Eat your sandwich, you perfect weirdo.

And most perplexing of all, WHERE ARE YOUR PARENTS? What world are you living in where you can just disappear on road trips upstate to the family cabin with no notice? Do you go to school? Is it summer break? Is it fall break? Is it "I'm really going through some stuff right now" break? How the hell are you not all grounded?

This, and everything covered in the Cinema Sins video is why this one is staying in the DVD collection strictly for show, until the day some unsuspecting guest picks it out for a watch and is subjected to my bitter heckling.

I realize I'm nitpicking things that are microscopic next to the things the film does right. And it does so many things right, which infuriates me most of all! There are superb moments of horror and suspense, lots of hypnotic imagery, and the ever-present feeling that you are not safe. Normally those things would make a perfect horror movie, forgivable for all manner of sins! But I only focus on these aspects because the film seems so focused on them, and it's infuriating because these scenes do not deserve the attention. These slow-moving interludes of banal reality that serve as a story merely make for an over-long series of distractions from the good stuff, weighing down every too-brief moment of fright with a whole lot of boredom and irritation. Maybe I relate more to these teens than I realized: I felt equal parts terrified, sleepy, and helplessly confused throughout the film. Maybe this David Robert Mitchell is on to something I hadn't considered, but I doubt it.

 Obviously a great deal of talent went into this fascinating concept, but it seems they got so caught up in how cool their idea was that they neglected the part about compelling characters and plot structure. Saying after the fact "You can't solve a nightmare" is a poor excuse when really you just couldn't come up with an ending.

Blockbusted, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Just Quit Going to the Movies

The last horror movie I saw in theaters was The Strangers in 2008. After that day, I swore never again to see a scary movie with a crowd. The reason is simple: other theater-goers around me were being obnoxious. Tale as old as time. I particularly remember at one point--during the famous sequence where Liv Tyler smokes a cigarette in the living room in a conspicuously wide shot--the woman behind me was muttering to her friend about something or other, giggling and munching on popcorn. She managed to turn her attention back to the screen just as a masked man came drifting into the shadow of the hall behind Liv--an image splashed all over the trailers, mind you--and proceeded to scream hysterically, causing her friends to laugh at her, followed by a noisy recovery, the whole incident making at least seven minutes of otherwise tense screen time incoherent. It was similar to an incident years earlier, when I sat through The Exorcism of Emily Rose with a front row filled with boisterous teenage boys. Their cackling at the film's most harrowing scenes let all of us sharing the theater know of their bravery and immunity to death. Given the film's subject matter, I hope they all burn in hell.

I realize that in any given gathering of a certain size, it's to be expected that somebody is going to be a jackass. No matter what movie you're seeing, you have to be prepared for the possibility that someone there is going to ruin your good time. I don't want to believe that there are people out there who go to the movies to purposefully destroy everyone's experience, but I know they're out there doing it anyway. So, given my experiences, when it comes to horror, I tend to wait longer for the movies I want to see. The experience of watching them in my dark quiet living room with nigh a teen in sight is well worth the wait.

In any case, that's where horror is thriving: outside of theaters. The best horror released in the last several years has gone straight from the festival circuit to home video and VOD, with a few exceptions making it to wide release. It's encouraging to know that the best content is coming from the more independent market, and even makes us feel proud as fans when a little indie gem becomes a big blockbuster sensation. These days it feels like a new world where horror has become (gasp!) art, untouched by the Hollywood machine. Of course there are still scary movies playing in theaters, for the kids, but the true horrors are lurking in the shadows, waiting on the Blu-Ray release. Maybe it means a bold new direction for scary cinema, a world accepting of all kinds of wacky, terrifying new ideas to pry at our psyches and tease our nightmares. One would hope that as time goes by, the two camps will merge more into one, and the masses can experience what horror can be at its absolute best. Or, they could just make another Insidious.

Maybe I'm just a jaded old crone of a gorewhore, but it is truly baffling to me what "the masses" find scary. There are trends (we seem to be in a g-g-g-GHOST! trend in the last few years), but no matter the monster, it has been a long time since the horror blockbuster struck any new ground compared to what is being done outside of traditional Hollywood. There have been innovations, sure--Paranormal Activity ignited found footage into an industry that just won't quit, and Black Swan was a trippy masterpiece that made it to the Oscars--but as far as content, it's the same shit that's been done to death in a thousand other titles. I'd wager that if The Conjuring didn't have its James Wan pedigree and its passably recognizable cast, it would have been just as easily forgotten as A Haunting in Connecticut.

Speaking of The Conjuring, let's take a second and talk about trailers. Aren't they great? If you just scrolled  through any given website, you'd think our entire society hinges on trailer releases. They've become a type of cinema in and of themselves, a hyper-condensed taste of a movie that is engineered to cause spine-tingling or adrenaline-pinching in the viewer. All of that is wonderful, and I don't know what kind of movie fan I would be if it weren't for so many kickass trailers. However, there are drawbacks to promoting your movie, especially when it becomes a surprise success. The Conjuring was huge when it came out, or at least that's what the utter hysteria of its campaign would have you believe. Every YouTube video had an unskippable trailer attached. TV spots popped up every single commercial break, sometimes back to back. Lili Taylor's candlelit terror-face was splattered all over every website homepage. The ads really wanted us to know this was a scary movie, maybe even the scariest ever, and they wanted us to remember it as we marked our calendars for the release date.

So, as is my style, I waited for the Redbox release, nearly a year and hundreds of breathless reviews later. Now, I try my very best not to automatically shit on something just because it's popular (I am hipster scum, but I'm doing my best), but The Conjuring was trying my patience from the beginning. The ads had beat me over the head to such a degree months before that the images were vivid in my mind. In some way I hoped that finally watching the damn thing would make them stop (an exorcism of sorts)... I also can't stand Lili Taylor even at the best of times. But the buzz was inescapable, and my curiosity was piqued, so I broke down and rented it.

It was the most spiteful movie experience I've had alone in my own house since I rented Avatar. I was outraged. If you didn't realize this, I'm here to tell you right now, they showed the whole movie in the trailers. Every jump scare, every creepy visual, every harrowing moment. Watching the actual movie merely served to lend context to everything I had already been watching on loop months ago. And yet this was the film that terrified audiences all over the country.

Insidious was a similar experience, although at least there was some element of surprise there. I will give credit where credit is due: Insidious definitely had me, but only up to a point. What is a pretty tense and engaging setup starts stumbling in its third act...I was teetering on the fence once Patrick Wilson went venturing into the ghost dimension, and fell right off of it once I recognized the dulcet tones of Tiny Tim.

 While I could definitely understand certain elements and visuals keeping more than a few folks up at night (that one lovely family is the definition of nightmare fuel), the rest was unremarkable. Hell, I don't even remember enough of Insidious to give a scathing review. (I have forgotten most of The Conjuring as well, aside from those few images burned into my brain from rote memorization.)

Now this isn't me saying I'm a big tough girl who ain't afraid of no ghost. I am not immune to the jump scare, or the creepy visual, or the spooky use of ironic music. (And for the record, I am very much afraid of all the ghosts, in and out of the movies.) I'm just saying I wish "blockbuster" horror wasn't so...basic. It's not that these movies aren't scary, they just aren't terribly creative. Moments shine through, but they are few and far between and you can bet you'll see them in the trailers long before they have the chance to properly scare you.

So what does this mean? Maybe it means those Hollywood bigwigs just don't "get" horror. They've seen the most successful scary movies and they take note of what causes them, or the test audiences, to jump or squirm. They often fail to realize what causes slowly-building tension, or how to portray main character that the audience doesn't want to see die. All they see are dollar signs in the bloody writing on the wall. Or maybe it's the audience's fault. After all, aren't we, the filmgoers, the ones who determine a film's success? Clearly, plenty of people found Insidious scary, enough to give it three sequels, while The Conjuring got a less-successful but still buzzed-about spinoff and an upcoming sequel. Why would the masses make these films wildly successful while I found them trite?

Maybe I'm the problem. Maybe snobs like me should realize that the average joe probably doesn't see many scary movies to begin with. It's an occasional interest, just as fleeting as anything to do on a Friday night. So when Average Joe and Jane take in a scary movie, it's fresh to them. Hell, it's fun, interactive, a whole event. For some people, it's even an aphrodisiac. In a way, it may be the closest those folks will get to a live Rocky Horror show.

So, if a basic haunted house flick gets Joe and Jane's blood pumping for a few moments, even if it's laughing at their friends' terrified screams, maybe that's not such a bad thing. It only demonstrates the flexibility of horror. Horror can be spoon fed, or it can be abstract; it can be exploitative or artistic; familiar images can be ripoffs, or homage. A nightmare, or a laugh riot.

I suppose it all really comes down to your perspective. And maybe I need to change mine, and stop getting so angry about okay movies making big money. Because here's the thing: either way, horror is being enjoyed. It's a golden age right now for horror, in a high state of evolution both on the big screen and streaming platforms. Some of the most popular television shows in the last five years have been centered on horror. Horror isn't dead, or cheap; in fact it's more relevant than it's ever been.

If you are someone who goes to scary movies to test your strength or mock your friends, you're still enjoying horror. You're still funding a production team or director who may go on to make something even better. That shouldn't hamper easily-miffed snobs like me and our good time. Those of us who stalk horror sites and keep a lookout for indie gems just enjoy a more exclusive side of horror that is constantly evolving with fresh, original, bizarre material all the time. We can see the rise of horror in popular culture and appreciate it for what it is, but we know a whole world of nightmares is open to us because we've earned it as fans. Honestly, I feel better knowing that something like Under the Skin didn't reach the masses, because it's all that more precious a treasure, and I know plenty of other fans feel the same about some of their own secret discoveries. It's our reward as fans of one of the most fascinating genres in the medium, and our patience waiting for that VOD release.

Let Joe and Jane have their fun at the movies. We're still in the Horror Club.