On Horror and Ari Aster

I've always had a special place in my heart for Horror. It's intense. It's mysterious. It's at once unknowable and deeply personal. At its best, Horror makes our worst fears take form, stripping away pretense and confronting us with truths we wish we could avoid. It's a cheat code for drama, action, and tragedy.

So why does it get such a bad rap? Whether Blumhouse or Arthouse, general audiences haven't given Horror the respect it deserves for years. To many, one half is formulaic schlock, the other is artsy aesthetic without a story to tell. If you'd asked me my favorite genre at 10 years old, I'd answer back Horror in an instant. In the years since, I've switched that answer to Thrillers, not because I'm more passionate about Thrillers, but because it sounded better. Horror doesn't get the acclaim it deserves.

Talk to Me, a recent Horror smash-hit by the Philippou brothers, better known as YouTube duo RackaRacka, reminded many audiences this year just how GOOD Horror can be. It's got precise, kinetic cinematography, squeamish effects, and multiple jaw-dropping twists that click into place at just the right moments. It's a good movie. But, did it bring something especially new to the genre? Aside from a YouTuber sensibility that informs the film's propulsive, attention-grabbing pace, I don't think so. So why did it make 66 million dollars on its 4.5 million dollar budget? Why is it A24's highest-grossing film of the year?

Well, if you read a lot of publications, it's because Talk to Me is the "The scariest movie of 2023," or the "Scariest Horror movie in years!" Much of the discussion surrounding Talk to Me focuses on its scare-factor, which is a shame. Using fear-level as the primary barometer for quality has done massive damage to our collective conception of Horror movies. Horror isn't some insular section of filmmaking where the base rules of the craft are superseded by cheap thrills. Audiences will always respond to a good story with interesting characters told well. It's that simple, THAT'S the reason Talk to Me made so much money. It used Horror as a tool to tell a great story, and audiences have been clamoring for accessible Horror movies that put Story first.

Horror, like any genre, should be a mechanism to frame your story. We've recently been blessed by a slew of directors embracing this notion. From Jordan Peele to Yorgos Lanthimos to Robert Eggers, Horror is experiencing a narrative renaissance. No modern director embodies this sea change better than Ari Aster. Case in point, one of the most powerful and affecting movies I've ever seen: his 2018 debut, Hereditary. I first saw Hereditary around the time it came out. While I enjoyed it, I had a far more detached, analytical view of movies back then. I would appreciate them from afar, afraid of getting fully engrossed and coming along for the ride. The crawling cinematography, the unforgettable performances, the clever setups and payoffs - I appreciated all these aspects my first time around, but only when I rewatched Hereditary recently did I fully give in to the twists, turns, and tragedy this movie has in store.

Hereditary's story, that of a family collapsing under the weight of grief and resentment, would not be nearly as heartbreaking without the film's Horror elements. Many have defined Hereditary as a family drama, but without the framing of the Horror genre, the film would be far less dramatic. The supernatural is used to convey the impossible intensity of the weight these characters feel. It draws us in with conventions - the creepy child, the séance, the oppressive darkness in every frame - establishing the frightened mindset of its characters. This tense atmosphere sets the backdrop to decaying familial relationships that, after the film's most shocking and iconic moment, are torn beyond repair.

After this moment, which I'll leave unspoiled for those who haven't seen it, Hereditary shifts entirely. As dysfunction seeps deeper into the foundations of this family unit, classic Horror tropes like the cult, the séance, the possession, are all given new life as manifestations of ever-escalating emotional conflicts. By the time Hereditary reaches its third act, it fully earns its catastrophic spectacle. The last thirty minutes are raw emotion given frenzied, shrieking, seared-into-your-brain visual depiction. It's terrifying, it's truthful, and you can't look away. That's the power of Horror.

An aspect of Hereditary I admire is that - for all its invention - it's never ashamed of classic Horror traditions and tropes. Instead of shying away from the genre's potentially silly aspects, it dives headfirst into them, captivating you so fully with its story that your belief suspends itself. By recognizing that Horror, like any genre, is a tool that can either be used well or used badly, Aster achieved something striking and singular. Unfortunately, not everyone affords the genre that same respect, something made blindingly clear by the term slapped onto Hereditary shortly after release. "Elevated Horror." It's like Horror, but with themes! And characters! It's like a REAL movie! This term is completely backwards, elitist and condescending toward a genre filled with artistic, influential classics. Thrillers or Dramas were never so lowly they had to be "elevated." So why Horror?

In my mind, Horror isn't about ghosts, or creepy kids, or The Unknown, although I love all of that. It's about that as much as Action is about high-speed chases or a Crime Thriller is about an investigation. Those are jumping off points. The important part is the emotion behind those tools. Horror is tragedy taken to its logical, and often joyfully illogical, extreme. It investigates the parts of ourselves that we can't or won't accept, crafting situations that reveal True Character. Ari Aster is a cinephile with an encyclopedic knowledge of movies in all genres. So why does he keep returning to Horror? He understands that the specific tools offered by Horror conventions are best suited to the stories he wants to tell.

That brings us to Aster's next film, Midsommar, released only a year after Hereditary. Anchored by a tight script and Florence Pugh's alarming performance, Midsommar uses folk-horror and slasher tropes to frame an achingly personal breakup story. Nearly the entire film takes place under the sun in an idyllic Swedish commune. Aster uses his camera like a magnifying glass, scrutinizing his characters under the sunlight until it incinerates them. The film's malevolent forces appear inviting and serene, subverting Horror's penchant for telegraphed darkness. In most Horror movies, day scenes subconsciously let the audience relax, because the scares always happen at night. By conflating daylight with danger, Aster never allows the audience to let its guard down. There is no safe space, so tension underscores every scene in the movie, day and night.

This isn't Midsommar's only clever trick. It's an exceptionally well-thought-out movie that takes every opportunity it sees to amplify the emotions its main character Dani experiences. For example, the slasher structure reflects her increasing emotional isolation during the movie. As she's slowly lured into the commune, the number of Dani's real connections dwindles down to zero as each person is killed off. While they couldn't be further apart in aesthetic, Midsommar and Hereditary both artfully flip Horror tropes to express and amplify the characters' feelings. It's what Aster does best.

Hereditary and Midsommar pave a path forward for Horror movies that are unabashed "genre films," using tropes in service of telling a quality story. They prove that to push a genre in a new direction, you first have to master its fundamentals. Aster is a Horror fanatic, and his deep knowledge of what audiences expect from a Horror film allows him to give them what they want in a way they don't expect. Aster's films are substantive, but not overly intellectual or detached from the basic fun elements of the genre.

Unlike other films branded as "elevated horror," a film like Hereditary doesn't need to be thought about to FEEL the impact. It's a physical, tangible experience that latches on and doesn't let go for two hours straight. But again, this visceral aspect isn't just plain shock value. Aster's films carefully build toward their most dramatic and horrifying sequences, with satisfying setups and payoffs. Many "elevated horror" movies appear embarassed of the genre they CHOSE to work in. They self-consciously avoid falling into tropes without recognizing that tropes become tropes for a reason. Most are effective at a baseline level. The trick is to master and reinvent them, not run from them.

Aster embraces reinvention most dramatically in Beau is Afraid, his third and most recent movie. It's a messy, ambitious, and rightfully divisive departure from his first two movies. Where Hereditary and Midsommar are tightly plotted, Beau is sprawling. Where they treat genre as a foundation to build upon, Beau embraces whatever genre the story asks for in the moment, accenting story twists with Horror or Comedy or both at once. Its first hour alone is in turns heartbreaking, hair raising, and hilarious, walking a mile-high tonal tightrope. By playing Horror off other genres, Aster creates an impossible-to-replicate tone that sticks with viewers far after they've left the theater. Horror-Comedies have been done before - and done well - but most are just comedies about the Horror genre. Cabin in the Woods is hilarious, but it isn't scary. It's a Comedy. Even movies like Evil Dead alternate between terrifying and silly, rather than attempting both at once. For good reason! Horror and Comedy are diametrically opposed. Horror is about building tension, Comedy is about releasing it.

Yet somehow, Beau is Afraid pulls off the miracle of fright and delight at the same time. The film never strays from Beau's perspective, entrenching you so deeply in his neuroses and idiosyncrasies that you physically feel his horror and anxiety, even when his worries are absolutely absurd. Aster achieves a tonal cognitive dissonance, something completely unique, through his intuitive understanding of how to use genre.

This last decade has revealed a new wave of talented, passionate filmmakers working to cement themselves in the hallowed halls of Horror canon. It's an honored Horror tradition to push the envelope, and modern directors have proven up to the task. From Get Out to The Killing of a Sacred Deer to The Lighthouse, Horror contains some of the most inventive, boundary-pushing filmmaking this side of the millennia. I wish I could discuss every single one in depth here, but that's for another day.

The new vanguard of Horror creators has taken shape. With a renewed focus on Story and an imaginative approach to Genre, modern directors like Ari Aster, the Philippou brothers, Jordan Peele, and Yorgos Lanthimos are leading the genre toward a renaissance. And audiences are taking notice! Horror is a dark genre with a bright future.

That's why today, if you asked me what my favorite genre was, I'd answer back Horror in a heartbeat.