There’s something about fear that makes us kids again. Not in a nostalgic sense; we go back to being naïve, gullible, especially to a smirking clown in a storm drain beckoning us to come close. It may as well be a mysterious noise in the basement, or an ominous figure lurking down the hallway. We know we shouldn’t, but against our better instincts we venture into the frightening unknown. It’s a cliché, to be sure, one so familiar in horror that it’s apt to annoy rather than enthrall viewers. But how can we know any better? We’re just kids. Continue reading
Fear is a funny thing. When it’s coursing through your veins, the sudden creak of an open door becomes your worst nightmare. You tell yourself it’s nothing. It’s just the wind. But you can’t know for sure. So you go towards it, hoping to prove you were right all along. And slowly, you venture into the unknown, unaware that there are forces at work beyond your control. The Conjuring is one of the rare horror films that actually understands fear and the things we do because of it. So while you may be screaming inside your head, “Don’t do it! The witch is there! She wants you to go into the cellar!” you have to remember that these characters don’t want to believe it as much as they know it might be true. Before we see something, it’s still an unknown. Whether something is truly there all depends on you seeing it for yourself. Unfortunately, the Perron family are never let off the hook. Not only do they experience the horror, they also endure the psychological trauma that follows. “Hey, do you wanna play?” a voice asks, lurking in the dark. Carolyn Perron reaches for a match, desperately trying to prove that nothing’s there. A small fire burns away the shadows. All seems well. Then, a pair of clapping hands comes forth to engulf her in darkness. Fear is such a cruel thing.