Horror films. They make us jump, scream, and bury our faces behind our hands, in the flickering darkness of a movie theatre or the cosy confines of a living room. From classic black-and-white thrillers to the latest supernatural blockbusters, they remain a wildly popular genre, raking in millions at the box office and cultivating a devoted fanbase. The genre’s enduring popularity begs the question: why do people love watching horror films?

This question lingered throughout my childhood. It was a question I frequently asked those who found joy in horror films. I, on the other hand, was a self-proclaimed scaredy-cat, I avoided them at all costs. There were few things I had less shame to admit than my cowardice toward horror. When family movie night rolled around and the chosen film took a turn towards the spooky, I'd do whatever it took to avoid the frights, even when my younger sisters would eagerly gaze at the screen, while pivoted on the edge of their seats. You see? That’s the thing! How can someone claim to enjoy something if they are so spooked up by it that they have their heart in their mouth and have to frantically bite at their fingernails as if it is the lifeline that keeps them from having a psychotic breakdown? Sometimes, I'd skip the movie altogether. Other times, I'd find myself buried beneath a pillow, desperately muffling the creepy sounds on screen or at the slightest hint of anything scary. Thank goodness for pillows! (Although they were pretty ineffective when confronted by jump scares).

I would rather have a peaceful sleep than be constantly woken up by night terrors, drenched in sweat, paranoid that something is lurking in the corners, waiting to get me. Yet, many of my friends and family love watching horror movies, which meant I had to watch my fair share. Fear is a pretty strange phenomenon, don’t you think? 

To explore the nature of fear, let me revisit a childhood memory. During a family trip, we stayed in a rundown hotel with a creepy bathroom. The bathroom was clean but had an unsettling atmosphere, and the light switch was a cord hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the room. In a bid for some twisted amusement, I told my younger sister that a monster lived in the toilet, with long, fang-like teeth, claws, and glowing red eyes. Fortunately, my sister didn't believe me and bravely used the bathroom. Tragically, my scheme backfired, rendering me incapable of going in alone. I had convinced myself the monster was real. Looking back, this illustrates how fear is a creation of the mind rather than an inherent quality of a place or person. I had fabricated the fear in my own head and was paying a heavy price for it. Fear is the anticipation that something bad will happen, making you feel unsafe. This experience underscores that our minds can create powerful illusions that shape our reality, for better or worse.

Let us take a scenario, you are in your home all alone near midnight… There is no one else around. You are minding your own business when the light flickers, plunging the house into an inky blackness. Now, given the recent torrential storms in Sri Lanka, this is considered normal, so as sophisticated human beings you whip out your phone and turn on the torch to look for the fuse box, just to be sure it wasn’t an electrical fault. But as you creep down the hallway, an unsettling detail snags your attention – a faint flicker emanating from the kitchen. Instinctively, your body tenses and shifts your senses on high alert. Unlike the utterly foolish characters (I mean, who does that?!) in countless horror movies, you steer clear of the source of the disturbance, seeking refuge in the familiar safety of your own room. You get inside and close the door, the lock clicks reassuringly. Yet, a sound pierces the silence – a barely audible rapping against the kitchen window. Was it just a stray branch? Uncertainty gnaws at you. You shove a chair against the door, a makeshift barricade against an unknown threat. Huddled under the covers, you strain to hear. You know you are home alone, yet you hear footsteps, slow and deliberate, which seem to echo closer, coming your way. You know you are home alone, but you hear a scraping sound, like long nails dragging against the wall. You know you are home alone, but a raspy whisper, barely audible like a breeze, brushes against your ear. You can’t take much more of this standing up as your trembling knees seem to be so eager to give up, which is not much more than can be said about the rest of your body! You immediately seek refuge by tucking yourself under the ostensibly safe covers of your bed where, of course, no one can get to you! Your breath hitches. Heart pounding, you gather all of what remains of your courage and peek over the edge of the covers. Someone has stopped in front of the door, and a shadow emanates from its gap.

Who in their right mind would willingly seek out fear and be in this situation? Therefore, can it be possible that we like fear? Fear isn't pleasurable. If it were, wouldn't we crave constant chills? If we genuinely dislike being scared, why is there an undeniable allure to horror films? The answer lies in the unique sensation they provide. Typically, we watch movies to escape the daily pressures of life. They whisk us away from the familiar grind of ordinary life, transporting us to fantastical landscapes, thrilling adventures, or even historical eras vastly different from our own. For a few hours, we can forget the weight of our worries and immerse ourselves in a compelling narrative. This serves as a respite from the reality of life. This experience is called ‘Escapism’.

This phenomenon happens because when we watch these films or episodes, we become absorbed in the story, living vicariously through the characters, and experiencing the world through the protagonist's eyes. We hear what they hear, see what they see, and feel the thrill of fear without being in danger. This immersion allows us to experience an adrenaline rush in a safe environment, offering a temporary escape from our controlled lives. So, for a brief period, we shed our worries and live a different life, completely forgetting that we will be bombarded with them later.

Our minds play a fascinating role in this. The mind's, or to be precise, a citta’s primary function is to receive and interpret stimuli. While engrossed in a horror film, cittas (the basic elements of consciousness) continually arise to perceive images and sounds, and, using those and other information like knowledge and experiences, understand the narratives. This constant engagement leaves little room for dwelling on real-world problems. Since the mind can only process one stimulus at a time, it can only focus on this moment. It cannot perceive more than one stimulus at a time, so when the mind is seeing, it cannot hear, or remember the past or imagine the future. Each of these experiences has to be a product of a separate citta. This means that a problem only exists when you think about it. Numerous instances in your life can illustrate this, particularly when watching a movie. Think of it like this: you're swamped with studying for a crucial exam, feeling overwhelmed by stress. You decide to watch a new blockbuster film. For the duration of the film, your mind is perceiving and interpreting a flood of stimuli relayed to the mind by the senses and it is wholly absorbed in its plot and characters. The sights and sounds demand your full attention, pushing your exam stress into the background. However, the break isn't permanent. Once the credits roll, the reality of the exam returns, potentially compounded by a touch of guilt and a heavy feeling of regret at the knowledge of lost time. This highlights the double-edged sword of escapism.

As we watch a film, we immerse ourselves in its world, living and breathing alongside the characters. The main characters become relatable figures, almost like friends, and some might even argue they become extensions of ourselves, a part of us. Horror films exploit this connection in a fascinating way. In the case of horror films, this immersion means we feel as if the terrifying events are happening to us, experiencing the protagonist's terror firsthand. As the story unfolds, it impacts us on a visceral level. Studies using brain scans like fMRI have shown that while watching a horror film, regions of the brain associated with survival and self-preservation light up dramatically. The levels of adrenaline surge, preparing the body for a fight-or-flight response. This indicates that on some level, the brain perceives the events on screen as genuine threats. This revelation seems contradictory at first. We don’t enjoy real-life fear, yet we willingly subject ourselves to it in horror films. The key lies in another factor.

When watching a horror movie, we get a taste of the primal thrill of fear, the adrenaline rush of facing a threat, all within the safe confines of our living room. It’s this combination of immersion and safety that creates a uniquely exhilarating experience, blending the discomfort of fear with the comfort of knowing it's not real. This paradoxical enjoyment is what makes horror films so compelling.

In previous articles in our series ‘Buddha’s Guide to Happiness’, we've explored the equation of pleasure. If you haven’t read those, I strongly recommend doing so for a more comprehensive understanding. Here's a brief explanation: pleasure is not an inherent quality of an object or experience; rather, it is a process and effect of the mind. The journey begins with the ingrained belief that pleasure can be obtained from the world and the indoctrination of the view that a certain item or experience will bring pleasure. Once this connection is made, the mind starts to pressurise or vex, creating a desire for it. This buildup of pressure gives rise to negative emotions, compelling us to seek relief. When we finally obtain what we believe we want, the relief from this pressure produces a sensation of pleasure.

Experiencing this pleasure reinforces the initial, albeit ostensible view, creating a cycle. This cycle can lead to frequent behaviours as we continually seek to relieve the pressure and experience pleasure again. If these behaviours negatively impact one's health, lifestyle, or other people, they can become addictions. Pleasure, therefore, is a complex, self-reinforcing cycle that can have profound implications on our behaviour and well-being.

The key to horror's paradoxical appeal lies in the release we experience after a scare. The sense of safety is what ultimately relieves the pressure built by fear. Let's use a classic jump scare from a horror movie to illustrate this: The protagonist approaches a mirror, their reflection staring back. In the background lurks a shadowy figure, a subtle hint of danger.  This sows the seeds of fear, building tension as we, the viewers, anticipate the inevitable. We share the protagonist's apprehension, pressure mounting with each passing moment. The character turns, the space behind them empty. A reprieve, but the fear and pressure increase. They return to the mirror, the figure closer now, details more pronounced. The tension intensifies, our hearts pounding in rhythm with the escalating threat and often harmonising with the background music carefully curated for maximum effect. Another glance back reveals nothing. They look back into the mirror a third time and see the figure so close that they can make out its face and see a hand reaching toward their shoulder. They spin around, and once again, nothing is there. Finally, they turn back and come face to face with the figure.

Locking eyes with the grotesque figure in the mirror, fear and pressure explodes. But here's the twist: as these feelings reach a crescendo, we are suddenly reminded that this is mere fiction, a crafted illusion on the screen. This realisation instantly relieves the pressure, replaced by a wave of relief and, strangely enough, pleasure. The sense of safety—knowing that we are not in actual danger—allows us to enjoy the adrenaline rush without the real-life consequences. This cycle of building and releasing tension is what makes the experience of watching horror films so exhilarating.

What is the worst thing a horror film can do? I've asked this question to many people to uncover the answer. It's not about scaring you, failing to be scary, or even lacking a happy ending. What simple element can amplify the fear a thousandfold? Five words: "Based on a true story." This simple phrase transcends the on-screen narrative, burrowing into our primal fear of the real world. These words have the power to keep you awake with the lights on, double-checking the locks on your doors, rocking back and forth on your bed, wishing you lived in a spherical house with no dark corners, and ultimately regret ever watching the film. Even as the credits roll and the movie magic fades, a seed of doubt lingers. Knowing a story is based on real events shatters the comforting illusion that it's all make-believe. The line blurs and the pressure builds.  Suddenly, the safety of our living room feels less secure. Even as you try to reassure yourself that it’s just a movie, a small part of your mind can't help but wonder if such horrors could happen to you. The film's horrors may be fictional, but the possibility of a similar event, however remote, sends shivers down our spine.
The more realistic and relatable the film, the greater the fear it evokes. This unsettling power is amplified by psychological thrillers. By delving into real-world disorders and human vulnerabilities, they tap into a deeper fear – the one that resides within ourselves and those we know. They blur the line between fiction and reality, making us question the people around us and even our own sanity. The more lifelike the horror, the more pressure we feel, and the greater the thrill when that pressure is finally released.

This is the science behind horror films and stories; this is the science behind fear and pleasure. Is this the kind of pleasure you seek, or do you yearn for a deeper, more lasting happiness? Does pleasure always have to stem from pressure, and what’s worse - self-inflicted? Why must we endure pain to experience gain? If you would like to learn about true happiness which does not require you to sacrifice yourself on the altar of unnecessary suffering, join us at Jethavanarama Buddhist Monastery. Scan the QR code to find out more about us.