Regular readers of this blog know I love horror films. However, I often feel burdened by having to figure out what to watch based on convoluted descriptions and classifications. Perusing streaming sites is a nightmare with respect to descriptions not being specific enough or getting my head around super-specific categorisations, like Lovecraftian-body horror, found-footage folk horror, or some six-way hybrid. Sometimes that kind of thing can be off-putting, especially if you just want to watch a run-of-the-mill monster movie. So, here’s a three-component genre framework discussing what makes horrors scary, which might help make searching less daunting.
The Monster Genre
Despite initial disbelief in the existence of a monster (typically for tension-building purposes), common within these films is that the monster is eventually presented to viewers and is both observable and scary. Sometimes they possess human-like features (though definitely not human), like vampires, mummies, werewolves, and lagoon creatures—as in most classics. Alternatively, the monsters can be "special" animals, like "Jaws," "Cujo," and the spiders in "Arachnophobia." Other times, the monsters are just people who do bad things (e.g., "Silence of the Lambs," "Misery," and "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre"). What they all share is that a corporeal antagonist is "out to get you."
Regardless of whether they’re a person, animal, or a classic "monster," they all reflect something "abnormal" that elicits some form of fear, nervousness, or anxiety. Such abnormality can be implicit or explicit, the latter exemplified by some monsters having a scary appearance. Design goes a long way—the first time I saw Freddy Krueger as a kid, I couldn’t sleep for days. I even look at "Terrifier"’s Art the Clown, as an adult, and get the heebie-jeebies.
Implicitly speaking, what about monsters that don’t "appear" scary? Often the lack of a physically scary appearance is used to subvert expectations. A classic example is Jack Nicholson’s character in "The Shining," chasing his family through a hotel. Instead of drastically changing his appearance, the perceived decomposition of his "sanity" helps elicit fear in audiences.
With that, some people don’t get scared by "monsters" because once they see, observe, and, potentially, make predictions about them, then they cease to be scary. Depending on the story’s build, observation of the "monster" after its reveal may yield the opposite of the desired effect. For example, in "Predator," Dutch classically states: "If it bleeds, we can kill it."
One interesting exception to this point about "observation" is "It Follows," which focuses on a "cursed" character being pursued by a slowly moving shape-shifting entity for its duration, not unlike the "Immortal Snail" dilemma. In its exception (i.e., shape-shifting), it subverts the notion of what’s in pursuit (similar to "Drag Me to Hell" and "The Ring"); thus, representing a genre overlap of sorts, in that it really pushes this "out to get ya" trope, but the "monster" does not conform to the limitations above. Instead, arguably, it plays more by the rules of the paranormal genre.
The Paranormal Genre
The paranormal genre doesn’t depend on a visually presented villain (e.g., "Poltergeist"); rather, it works on atmosphere (e.g., "The Others"), tension (e.g., "Hereditary"), and compelling world-building (e.g., "Evil Dead II"), where events conform to specific rules with a clear internal logic (e.g., "Resolution"). What you don’t see can scare you as much, if not more than what you can. So, for a paranormal horror to work, it relies crucially on good storytelling.
Despite this sub-genre potentially being the hardest to master in terms of filmmaking, the reasoning behind its longevity is simple. People tend to fear the unknown and unexplainable. As I discuss in terms of critical thinking, we like understandable information and certainty. If we don’t have that, we get confused, anxious, even frightened. We do our best to avoid that or fill in the blanks ourselves (explaining away the uncertainty with potential, though typically unevidenced, rationales). We see this in ghost stories all the time.
When items go missing or start moving on their own, characters try to explain away the fear until they can no longer ignore the inevitable. Someone always jumps to the conclusion that it’s ghosts, while another uses reason to refute such a claim. As it’s a ghost story, the former is generally right, but this doubt facilitates the tension building. Of course, by the time agreement is reached, it’s too late. Examples are many and, yes, it is pretty formulaic, even cliché; but, when done right—with tension, atmosphere, and all of the above—it can do very well to scare the hell out of us.
Fear Essential Reads
The Unfamiliar Environment
Though similar to the paranormal genre in that it focuses on uncertainty and settings outside character experience, the "unfamiliar environment" genre doesn’t require the paranormal to be scary. Instead, the horror focuses on mystery and/or social interactions as the driver(s) of tension and suspense. Consider many zombie films, like "Dawn of the Dead." Though zombies are a key feature of the film, akin to the monster movie genre (again indicating potential for useful genre overlap), they are not the focus of the narrative; rather, the focus is the interpersonal relationships among the characters cooked up in a deserted shopping mall, surviving the apocalypse. The zombies simply amount to a plot device. The "Resident Evil" series represents another good example, as does another video game-based horror, "Silent Hill," which at its core is focused on a strange town and its troubled history, not necessarily the bizarre monsters that inhabit its dark corners.
In monster and paranormal movies, characters rely on what they know to get through the ordeal (e.g., experience and any survival skills they may have, be it running, moving house, learning history for a solution, etc.). But in unfamiliar-environment films, the characters are in unknown territory. Often, things don’t work the same way they do outside—be it in terms of physics or logic (e.g., "Cube" and "Backrooms") or sociocultural interaction (e.g., "Midsommar" and "The Wickerman"). In such films, it's often the case that poor decisions are made, not because of disastrously bad thinking (e.g., splitting up the group in a monster movie), but typically because the characters’ "moves" are not facilitated or do not conform to the rules of their distinct setting. Tension is created by the fact that there’s nothing the characters can do to escape unless they somehow figure out the strange logic and workings of the unfamiliar environment. Often, they don’t even know they need to escape before it’s too late.
Concluding Thoughts
I wouldn’t claim that this framework will fit every horror movie, but it certainly works on those I’ve applied (e.g., classics and favourites). See Figure 1 for an example. With that, the purpose is not perfection—it’s about more easily identifying types of horrors without having to be too broad or too specific. Indeed, some films overlap these "genres," be it in the case of fitting into two or perhaps even all three—and I think that’s a strength. If a film can successfully integrate monsters into a paranormal backdrop with a unique setting or population, that just enhances the types of scares possible. Moreover, these three overarching types don’t exclude key features of more niche sub-genres. For example, psychological thrillers can fit in well with any three here. Indeed, I find the best horrors, regardless of category, are those that really exploit psychological elements. It’s such specific features that help the scares succeed—genres are a preference, not what makes it good; rather, it’s the execution of storytelling and filmmaking.