Boo!
We talked about Stephen King's Carrie in class today and what it is that frightens us in horror movies or novels. According to Freud, nothing is scarier than when normal things become strange. I agree with him on that point, but fail to see what that has to do with castration anxiety.
Anyway, I thought I would write down what kinds of things scare me in horror movies or in real life, and perhaps we can compare them.
For me disgust does not equal fear. Gory movies do not scare me. In fact, they tend to be rather dull.
I'm more frightened by the psychological horror, what Freud calls "the uncanny". Knowing that there's something wrong, but not being able to explain it. Like when you're alone in a dark room and you hear a strange noise. Or when you're walking home and you feel like someone's following you.
I guess I am a bit scared of the dark. At least it makes creepy thoughts that seem completely daft in broad daylight appear absolutely sensible.
Clowns are creepy. Definitely.
I don't think I'm really scared of ghosts. I suppose the word "disturbed" is more appropriate. And I wouldn't touch a ouija board with a ten-foot-pole.
On a lighter note; it's strangely pleasant to be envied.
Anyway, I thought I would write down what kinds of things scare me in horror movies or in real life, and perhaps we can compare them.
For me disgust does not equal fear. Gory movies do not scare me. In fact, they tend to be rather dull.
I'm more frightened by the psychological horror, what Freud calls "the uncanny". Knowing that there's something wrong, but not being able to explain it. Like when you're alone in a dark room and you hear a strange noise. Or when you're walking home and you feel like someone's following you.
I guess I am a bit scared of the dark. At least it makes creepy thoughts that seem completely daft in broad daylight appear absolutely sensible.
Clowns are creepy. Definitely.
I don't think I'm really scared of ghosts. I suppose the word "disturbed" is more appropriate. And I wouldn't touch a ouija board with a ten-foot-pole.
On a lighter note; it's strangely pleasant to be envied.