Josh and Hilevy are watching The Grudge downstairs. Now, as I’ve probably mentioned before I am a huge chicken and don’t ride roller coasters or watch scary movies. Does this have to do with my super sensitive nature? Perhaps…I tried to think back to my scary movie history and this is what I recall:

Way back, we’re talking four years old or so, my family watched the Sesame Street Christmas on Christmas Eve. I became extremely scared when Big Bird fell asleep on the roof while waiting for Santa Clause and icicles appeared on his beak. The following year I became very distraught over the last scene when Cookie Monster eats the tree. This probably merely offended my sensibilities, but I expressed this by woefully crying over the eaten tree. My parents took this as an indication that I would probably not be ready for Snow White–due to the scene in the forest when Snow White is lost–and kept me viewing nothing but PBS programming for many years. Therefore I grew accustomed to Mr. Rogers, Nova, and Nature in my youth versus He-Man or GI Joe. I watched a lot of old movies, such as Music Man and Sound of Music and even sat through many an opera with my father on the weekends.

The first movie I saw where I thought I might be a little out of my “fear league” was Baby: Secret of the Lost Legend. This is the terrible movie about the couple who find a baby dinosaur in Africa and have to save him from being killed by poachers. Of course, the baby’s mom shows up and kicks ass at the end and everything is all fine and good. I watched this movie in third grade at my first slumber party. The whole experience was so traumatic it would be my last slumber party for five years (at 14 I decided I needed to tough it out and try another sleep over). It wasn’t just the movie, it had largely due to the group of back stabbing bitches that attended the party–culminated with a painful version of Sleeping Bag Tag where I was accidentally kicked. I know that watching a film with a lot of action and a mother dinosaur killing a poacher was the last thing my fragile spirit needed during my first night away from home. “It’s just ketchup,” another party-goer assured me. I watched through partially splayed fingers as the mother dinosaur tromped her way through the terrain only to capture a human in its jaws and hack the body in half (it should be important to mention that this was a gentle brontosaurus who had very unscientifically turned into a killing machine). Needless to say, the birthday girl’s dad had to take me home at 10pm. I didn’t make it. I wept from embarrassment in his trans-am as he drove the six blocks to my house. “You might be a little young for slumber parties,” my Mom consoled. “We’ll try again next year.” (Never, I secretly swore as I snuggled down into my own bed: I’m NEVER sleeping over again).

I have to say that there were a few other movies that frightened me but I eventually developed a tolerance for the scary parts. One of these movies was The Never Ending Story, which is just so excellent I couldn’t opt out entirely. I rewatched that movie with a bunch of kindergartners last year and I have to admit that the wolf-like creature is truly a scary character. I realized, as I watched is an adult, that I have ALWAYS closed my eyes during the scene where foxy Atreyu stabs the creature in the heart. Speaking of, let’s remember how much of an impact that character made on most of our young minds: nev01020.jpg I truly believe it was my attraction to Atreyu that kept me going through that movie–which we owned and watched repeatedly. I confirmed the acceptability of having a crush on Atreyu as a kid when Joey confided that he too had similar feelings. (Curious about where the actor went I did some browsing).

My Dad watched a lot of Dr.Who (on PBS of course) in the evenings and I occasionally watched with him. This was until I started having nightmares about box like creatures: deliks.jpg My Mom banned me from watching Dr.Who for a little while. I know, even campy british sci-fi was too much for me at one point.

I remember watching Jurassic Park as a young teen and realizing that if I just closed my eyes during the violent parts (of yet another dinosaur eating people movie), I could make it through. I toughed it out and could brag that I had seen the movie. (”Remember the toilet scene?” “Oh, yeah!” I lied, “I loved that scene.”) This actually serves me quite well, and it’s a tactic I still employ. The more subtler movies like The Sixth Sense managed to truly terrify me–even keeping me from going into the basement on the night we watched it. Which asks the question: Is it the violence or the thrill that scares me? I certainly couldn’t stomach violence for quite some time. As soon as someone starts waving a gun around I immediately put my hands over my ears–which made Pulp Fiction unbearable. I always say that I must have been shot in a past life because gun play freaks me out so much. Violence isn’t so much scary as it is gross and disturbing. However, movies like The Grudge, The Saw, etc. are just too frightening. Why, even the opening credits for The Grudge made me nervous…and stuff jumping out at me? I’m a heart attack waiting to happen. Just ask Gina, we went on the Haunted Mine ride at Lagoon back in 99 and I screamed my heart out at every jumping ghoul and ghost. I ask you: What is the appeal of being scared? Why does one desire the experience of leaping half out of their seat? Am I just a big wet blanket? Is it something you get better at with practice? Am I missing out by not being enthralled by The Grudge?