Oh, the horror

By MIKE GIBBONS
So a while back, I mentioned in a column that my 5-year-old daughter gets scared during movies. This weekend could be another test for her movie viewing mettle, when we take her to see “See No Evil.”
Ha! Kidding of course. I would never take her to see “See No Evil.” And I know that you’re thinking that is because “See No Evil” is an R-rated horror movie, and a child does not belong there. Sure, I suppose that’s one reason. But I can tell you another very good reason: Because you won’t catch me anywhere near a horror movie.
I confess, I cannot do horror movies. And it’s not because they’re bad movies. I love bad movies. But I just don’t do horror movies. Why? Because they terrify me and, I am embarrassed to say, I will have nightmares.
Yes, chuckle all you want. Enjoy it. I first realized that nightmares don’t mix well with me in the early 1980s, when I was about 10 and we received one of those free weekends for Cinemax. Whereas HBO kept the R-rated stuff on in the evenings, Cinemax was wide open all the time. And so one lazy Saturday afternoon, I flipped on the TV for some free Cinemax, and settled in for a quaint little family picture know as “The Shining.”
About four days later, I finally went to sleep. I remember my mother commenting that it was a valuable lesson learned. I remember thinking, “Lesson!?!?! I am afraid that if I shut my eyes, two creepy little twins are going to flood my room with blood! This is not a lesson! It’s a syndrome!”
So I carried that with me for years, avoiding at all costs horror movies. In high school and college, there were times when we got together to watch horror movies. Not wanting to tip my hand that I could not handle them,. I always managed to find something that had to be tended to elsewhere (”Yeah, I can hear it, just gotta finish alphabetizing the pantry.”) Basically, I tried to stay close enough to give the perception that I was watching the movie, even though I knew even catching a little bit of it would translate into nightmares.
Then, around 1996 or so, I decided that it was high time I kicked this irrational fear out the door. I am a grown man, and I am certainly not a chicken. I was at a friend’s apartment, and we watched the movie “Scream.” If you’re not familiar with ”Scream,” it is an intentionally campy slasher flick, paying homage to the horror flicks that came before it, with tons of surprise moments and references to earlier flicks. Enjoyable movie, I thought.
And then I woke up at about 3 in the morning, having just had a vivid dream involving an ax-wielding freak. And I can tell myself all I want that it was just a dream, but that doesn’t change the fact that my heart rate is racing and I’ve broken out in a cold sweat.
The whole thing really goes against my nature. I am not a scaredy-cat type. I have Bungee jumped and parasailed. I have caught alligators and venomous snakes. I have left an Atlanta Falcons game and walked back to the car at night. I know fear, and it doesn’t bother me. But when I watch someone on screen pretending to gut someone, something off-kilter in my warped little craw gets clicked, and it waits until I am asleep to ambush me.
The last movie that Allie had to leave was “Chicken Little.” My first inclination was to tell her that she was being ridiculous and then to toughen up. (Yes, I know – something for the Father of the Year application.) Then two things occurred to me: (1) She’s five and (2) I suppose being scared that the earth was about to be destroyed is on par with a fear that Drew Barrymore will be butchered and left in your tree.
I was talking about my horror movie issue with a neighbor, and he was trying to figure out what my threshold was. I told him that I like thrillers, such as “Silence of the Lambs.” But it’s the cheesy slasher flicks that do me in. I know there is no rational reason for it. It probably started with “The Shining.” Or possible the time I was at camp and all of my fellow campers were murdered with chain saws. (Ha! Kidding of course. It was an ax.)
So I guess I have to be more understanding when my daughter gets scared, and know that, from a simple genetic standpoint, the absurd notion of being scared at movies comes honestly. Maybe we’ll go to see “Over the Hedge” and help her tackle her fears, so she doesn’t have to be an adult carrying around a duffle bag of issues like her old man. Or maybe we’ll both go see “See No Evil” and work on this issue together.