Sex and Fear
Arousal and fear: Inexorably linked sensations through which the majority of life on Earth has managed to endure—the urge to couple, the instinct to survive. Profound thoughts for a piece about zombie-stripper flicks, but even a low-country bog’s got a few places deep enough to stash a body.
In any case, each of these primal impulses possesses an ability to inspire the same bottomless sensation in the pit of one’s tummy, the same butterflies, the same sense of wonder, of not knowing what’s around the corner. In fact, it’s an elixir so heady that people often seek to combine them in all manner of ways, from giving head at the office to autoerotic asphyxia and everything in between.
It’s no surprise, then, that sex and horror have been the Reeses Peanut Butter Cup of cinema since its inception. Sure, some people take horror movies at face value: Slashers. Aliens. Homicidal inbred families. Whatevs. But often, there’s a lot of subtext going on.
Horror can be a magnificent platform for bringing scathing social commentary to the drooling masses, tackling subjects like consumerism, racism, corporate greed—you name it—with aplomb. Said topics are deftly skewered, submerged in a sugary, undulating vat of fantastical violence and gore. After all, if you want the public to eat healthy, you’d best dress it up like a candy apple and call it junk food.
Sex, however, is ever-present. Whether gratuitous or graphic, beautiful or bloody, funny or freaky (or a piquant, visceral combination), sex is as much a part of horror as gore because fear and sex are conjoined. Fear, like sex, makes your heart race. It elevates your senses and amps your adrenaline. Fear is a pungent aphrodisiac because it’s entrenched in the unfamiliar. And nothing turns people on like a little strange.
In any case, each of these primal impulses possesses an ability to inspire the same bottomless sensation in the pit of one’s tummy, the same butterflies, the same sense of wonder, of not knowing what’s around the corner. In fact, it’s an elixir so heady that people often seek to combine them in all manner of ways, from giving head at the office to autoerotic asphyxia and everything in between.
It’s no surprise, then, that sex and horror have been the Reeses Peanut Butter Cup of cinema since its inception. Sure, some people take horror movies at face value: Slashers. Aliens. Homicidal inbred families. Whatevs. But often, there’s a lot of subtext going on.
Horror can be a magnificent platform for bringing scathing social commentary to the drooling masses, tackling subjects like consumerism, racism, corporate greed—you name it—with aplomb. Said topics are deftly skewered, submerged in a sugary, undulating vat of fantastical violence and gore. After all, if you want the public to eat healthy, you’d best dress it up like a candy apple and call it junk food.
Sex, however, is ever-present. Whether gratuitous or graphic, beautiful or bloody, funny or freaky (or a piquant, visceral combination), sex is as much a part of horror as gore because fear and sex are conjoined. Fear, like sex, makes your heart race. It elevates your senses and amps your adrenaline. Fear is a pungent aphrodisiac because it’s entrenched in the unfamiliar. And nothing turns people on like a little strange.
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