My son has reached the age when it is not just uncool to trick-or-treat, but even walking the neighborhood with younger siblings is not even remotely desirable. He wanted to forge a new tradition. But his plan to watch scary movies was not as satisfying as he’d expected. “We started watching Children of the Corn and didn’t find it frightening at all,” he told me. This is probably my fault.
He more than likely built up a mystique about the experience because we don’t watch horror movies in my house. No big reason, I just don’t like them. They’re scary. Scary is not a thing I like. It’s not because I’m some big weenie. There are a number of movies in the horror category that I enjoy: Alien, Aliens, Shaun of the Dead, Tucker and Dale vs Evil, and any number of vampire movies that don’t glitter. But I think that it’s because there are other elements at play in these films, rather than just the straight up horror-for-horror’s-sake. That, and I’m a little bit of a weenie.
But when I reflect on video games, this same philosophy doesn’t really carry over. I’ve enjoyed my share of Resident Evil, Silent Hill, Doom, Alone in the Dark, BioShock, F.E.A.R., and other franchises. When you think about it, an individual game provides many more adrenaline rushes than any two-hour feature film. And, in my opinion, they are often a lot scarier. (I remember being freaked out during System Shock 2 simply because of the sounds in my headphones when nothing was even remotely threatening me on the screen. If you’ve played it, you know what I mean.)
Video games put you there. The sound and direction are your key to survival. You are painfully aware of exactly how much ammo you have. You have full control of where the screen is facing at all times. If something catches you unaware, only you are to blame. Your death is your fault.
So, if I don’t like horror movies, what makes a video game any different? I think it all comes down to control. In a movie, when the director has the protagonist in an insanely precarious situation, I am rebelling internally: “Don’t go there! Not alone. I would never do that!” Also, in a theater the room is dark. Our eyes are fixed on the screen. The screen takes up much of your peripheral vision. It feels as though there is no escape.
In heroic movies, presumably I identify with the protagonist and wish that I could be doing that crazy-awesome stunt I see played out before me. In horror movies, I’m forced to be saddled with a protagonist that is making crazy-bad decisions that would end my family tree right then and there.
Even though video game narrative is leading me to an inevitably deadly place with unspeakable horrors, I’m in control . . . making the best of the bad decisions that I can. It allows me to immerse myself more in the experience by making me the protagonist, seeing and hearing first hand. Yet, simultaneously, it allows me to disengage so easily. The comfortable surroundings of my room fill my peripheral vision. And I have the assurance that no action will be taken without my permission via my keyboard or controller. This is the experience I enjoy.
My advice for my son next year is to take a page from my book. When it comes to scary movies, I’ll wait for a video game.
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