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It’s Halloween season, and I know a thing or two about horror. I teach a class about horror stories and movies to undergraduates. I write about the neurobiology and psychology of this particular genre. I’ve published horror novels and horror short stories. I’ve even worked on some horror screenplays. I love horror, but only in the safe confines of a movie theater. I don’t want to see it in Washington.
And there is, sadly, horror in Washington. Let me give you a two-minute summary of a typical scary movie so I can explain.
The year is 1959. Your mom has been recently widowed. She’s getting by, but she misses your dad. Sure, their marriage had problems, but it was real at least. You knew what to expect.
Your old man created stability. He put food on the table. He worked hard and he seemed mostly level-headed. He didn’t much care for your music, but as long as you didn’t play it too loudly he wouldn’t object. If you got in some trouble, you knew that you could count on his disappointment but also his compassion and understanding. He had your back. But then there was this freak accident at the factory where he worked and he died. For the time being, your family is on its own.
One day your mom introduces you to a new suitor. He’s nice enough, well dressed and genially mannered, and he seems to have money. Your mom is smiling for the first times in months, and that makes you happy. She and this guy start dating. He takes you to a ballgame, maybe takes you fishing once or twice. He promises to buy you that jacket that you’ve been eyeing in the shop window for the last few weeks. He’s alright, you think.
Pretty soon they get married, and although it’s a small ceremony, there are good feelings all around. He’s sure to get the paperwork signed. It’s official, he tells you: He’s your new dad.
Some kids at school start to bully you. You take it for a while, but it burns you up and eventually you snap and punch one kid in the nose. The kid’s mom marches over to your house and demands to see your parents. Your mom isn’t home, but your step-dad is. How will he handle this?
He’s polite to the mom, makes small talk, nods gravely and assures her that he’ll be talking to you. Then he asks if he can call the guy’s father at work. He wants to apologize, he explains, one dad to another. The kid and his mother leave, and you sit just outside your room as your step-dad makes the call. You can hear everything he says.
“Listen,” he tells the other kid’s father. “You’re a small man from a small town with a weak son and an ugly wife. I don’t ever want to see your family again.”
A chill runs down your spine.
Then your step-dad hangs up the phone and goes out to the garage. You take the opportunity to get into your bedroom so that he doesn’t suspect you were eavesdropping. He comes back into the house with a shovel and he carries it over his shoulder as he walks towards your room. You tentatively open your door. He smiles.
“You’re worthless,” he tells you. “This shovel is worth more than you.” He walks over to the window and swings the shovel. The window pane shatters.
“Clean up the mess,” he mutters. “I’ll tell your mother that you broke it by accident.”
“I’ll tell mom,” you whisper. “I’ll tell her the truth.”
“You do that,” he says, “and this shovel will have a date with your teeth.”
He puts the shovel over his shoulder and walks out of the room whistling.
There’s nothing new here. This is the stuff of an old-fashioned horror flick. You saw Robert Mitchum play this guy in Night of the Hunter. You saw John Ritter play this guy on "Buffy the Vampire Slayer". You saw Chris Sarandon play this guy in Fright Night. It’s all about pattern recognition. The audience and the kid are the only ones who know that the dad isn’t what he says he is. He might look like a level-headed father, and on the surface he even acts like one. After all, as far as the rest of the town is concerned, that stepdad is a stand-up guy. He’s a “good dad.”
But there’s something way off. There’s something that doesn’t fit the pattern of “dad.” That mismatch is the source of good horror. It’s what makes the audience squirm.
But now, in our nation, that squirming is real.
We know how a president is supposed to behave. We know how a president is supposed to look. What’s happening in Washington is a mismatch in pattern recognition. That’s why much of America is a bit unnerved.
Every horror story has its naysayers. The president would never publicly tease heads of state. You must have heard that wrong. The president would never actively provoke a man with a nuke. This is his form of diplomacy. Our citizens are drinking from toxic waste? No, that wouldn't happen in America.
Good horror even has the tacit acknowledgement that some people know what’s going on and still choose to do nothing. The audience watches helplessly as the usual stopgaps fail. That is in fact the true source of the nightmare.
At the end of the day, we like horror stories because they’re fiction. A good scary movie allows us to think about what we might do in less outlandish but similar scenarios.
What’s happening in Washington is real, though.
I know some readers will view this comparison as partisan. I promise you that it is not. I even agree with some of the policies of our current leaders. But I cannot abide the way those policies are communicated. I cannot abide the mismatch between the patterns I expect and the patterns that I experience.
I’ll take my horror in the theater, thank you very much. I’d rather not see it in our leaders. When the horror is real, you can’t afford to close your eyes.
