Fear and Fascination: How Horror Films Evoke the Sublime

Still from The Exorcist (William Friedkin, 1973)

Part of the appeal of horror films – which is underappreciated, I think – is their capacity to evoke the sublime. This is a curious and complex emotion. It’s a mixture of fear and fascination. It involves feeling simultaneously nervous or threatened by some perceptual phenomenon – because of its vastness or power – and feeling drawn towards it, unable to look away. The sublime is when we become transfixed, amazed, and absorbed by something that truly humbles us. The sublime typically involves a diminishment of the sense of self; one becomes a ‘small self’ in the face of the vast or powerful phenomenon.

Triggers of the sublime – as discussed by philosophers, represented in art, and experienced commonly – tend to be natural objects, landscapes, forces, and phenomena. Examples of such triggers include waterfalls, thunder, tornadoes, deserts, mountains, volcanic eruptions, and glacier calving. However, non-natural phenomena can lead to a feeling of the sublime too. Some examples include the technological sublime and the architectural sublime: when one experiences awe (essentially synonymous with the sublime) in the face of an impressive human technological or architectural creation, respectively.

Film also has the capacity to evoke the sublime, sometimes through its portrayal of natural phenomena, but other times through different kinds of visual representation and accompanying music and audio effects. Horror films have this capacity too, and in various ways, the sublime recurs within the same horror film and is commonly experienced when watching different films of this sort.

We can call the type of the sublime that horror films evoke a dark version of the sublime, or a negative variant of awe. While the sublime is defined as a mix of positive and negative emotions, or mental states, the sublime is not a static, set-in-stone emotion. It comes in flavours and degrees. The dark variant of the sublime, as is characteristic of the sublime, still fascinates us, but it is less likely to lead to feelings of joy, exaltation, and euphoria in the way the positive variant of the sublime would. Instead, it induces more negative emotions like nervousness and fear while also retaining positive elements like excitement, adrenaline rush, and attraction.

I believe there are two ways in which horror films can evoke this emotion: through what is represented on screen and through the felt experience of watching horror, more generally.

Representations of the Sublime in Horror Films

First, let’s begin with how the sublime is represented on screen. I recently rewatched Ridley Scott’s Alien (1979), and one of the scenes that left a strong impression on me this time was when the crew landed on Acheron (LV-426), one of the three known moons orbiting the planet Calpamos, located in the Zeta II Reticuli system. (This was one of the first planets to be infested by the Xenomorphs.) On Acheron, the crew encounters the Derelict (the informal designation for the spacecraft discovered).

The origin of the Derelict and the engineer who piloted it remain unknown, but it appears that the engineer crashed it after being impregnated by a ‘Facehugger’ (a parasitic lifeform that hatches from Xenomorph eggs; it acts as intermediaries for the Xenomorph with the sole purpose of implanting the Xenomorph embryos in other living beings).

The Derelict is vast, and its interior looks less like a spacefaring vessel and more like a living organism with skeletal walls, circular gangways, and steep passages. It was designed by the artist H.R. Giger, who also designed the ‘Space Jockey’ – the pilot found inside the Derelict – and the Xenomorph. Giger’s designs (and his artwork in general) can be seen to typify the sublime: his nightmarish, dark, machine-like imagery – which merges with the human body – captures our attention and fascinates us. Both the Nostromo (the crew’s ship) and the Derelict were intended to be updated versions of the haunted house setting. 

The exterior and interior view of the Derelict, along with the accompanying music, induce a feeling of apprehension and dread. The ship is visually imposing, dark, and disturbing – there is the sense that something terrible has happened on the craft and may happen again soon to the crew now exploring it. The ship becomes an unsettling mysterious object. Acheron is awe-inspiring in this sense too: it is a barren, desolate landscape punctuated by strange, towering, organic-looking structures. It creates an atmosphere of the unknown.

The alien in the film, the Xenomorph, can likewise represent the sublime. Ash (played by Ian Holm), one of the crew members who (spoiler alert) turns out to be an android, later in the film expresses his fascination with the Xenomorph in conversation with Ripley (Sigourney Weaver), Parker (Yaphet Kotto), and Lambert (Veronica Cartwright):

Ripley: How do we kill it, Ash? There’s gotta be a way of killing it. How? How do we do it?

Ash: You can’t.

Parker: That’s bullshit.

Ash: You still don’t understand what you’re dealing with, do you? The perfect organism. Its structural perfection is matched only by its hostility.

Lambert: You admire it.

Ash: I admire its purity. A survivor… unclouded by conscience, remorse, or delusions of morality.

Parker: Look, I am… I’ve heard enough of this, and I’m asking you to pull the plug.

[Ripley goes to disconnect Ash, who interrupts] 

Ash: Last word.

Ripley: What?

Ash: I can’t lie to you about your chances, but… you have my sympathies.

The Xenomorph is an entity defined by its perfection as a threatening entity. It is an entity perfectly evolved to survive, whose horrific nature relates to not only its prowess but also its lack of mercy. While the human crew members don’t share Ash’s admiration (they are only horrified by the creature), his fascination with it does help to further solidify the alien’s representation of the sublime for us, the viewers. The entity is truly alien. It goes beyond the stereotypical humanoid depictions of aliens, who have big heads and eyes and spindly bodies (which can be somewhat creepy, no doubt). Instead, this alien is horrifically powerful, threatening, and disturbing, unlike any earthly creature. By violating our models of what dangerous organisms are like – thereby presenting a new kind or degree of danger – the Xenomorph becomes simultaneously terrifying and fascinating. Other sci-fi horror movies, or other horror movies depicting monstrous entities, often achieve the same effect.

However, horror films can also portray familiar, earthly entities and objects in ways that make us feel both fear and fascination. One example is Jaws (1975). It can achieve this because the great white shark is an entity, in real life, that can induce a feeling of the sublime: it possesses an overpowering force – the human will is powerless against it – yet it commands our attention and interest for that very reason. Director Steven Spielberg encapsulates this feeling in the film, and he does so without even showing the shark; in fact, the feeling of the sublime is arguably greatest before the shark itself is revealed (around three-quarters of the way into the film). The ingenuity in Jaws is that the effects of the creature’s ferocity, and its mystery (lurking unseen in the water), are sufficient to induce the sublime. Nonetheless, Spielberg has come to regret misrepresenting the great white in Jaws, which has led to negative perceptions of sharks among the general public and has been linked to population decline due to overfishing and increases in trophy hunting.

Supernatural- and religious-themed horror films likewise represent, and evoke, the sublime through the entities depicted. Demons and evil spirits in film possess a power, force, and type of ability that are often overpowering; these entities – while sometimes eventually overpowered or dealt with – at least initially appear to be like an unstoppable force. They induce fear and trepidation through powers such as the ability to possess humans, as depicted in films like The Exorcist (1973), The Witch (2015), and Hereditary (2018). Being fundamentally invaded, taken over, and transformed by an evil entity is a deeply unsettling notion. This fear is magnified by the fact that these spirits are invisible and belong to an otherworldly realm.

The evil side of the supernatural captures our fascination, as is often reported by horror fans. In a Reddit thread about terrifying films, one Redditor said the following about their experience watching Hereditary: “I felt like I was in a trance or something. I had never experienced that before or since.” Another Redditor said that at the end of the film, when the demon (Paimon) possesses Peter (Alex Wolff), “I felt something inexplicable. A mix of terror and awe. Never felt that before.”

Overwhelming or absolute evil, like overwhelming or absolute goodness (as in the case of angels or a loving god), can – in horror – feel like an actual force to be reckoned with. It’s as if both the characters in the film, and the viewers, are invited to confront this reality. And it is only through this confrontation, which becomes a form of fascination and fixation, that evil can be defeated, or transformed into something else – leading to peace of mind. This accords with a Jungian perspective on threatening characters in nightmares; dark entities in horror films can likewise seen to be expressions of the shadowy aspects of our psyches – archetypal figures that we can learn from.

Indeed, demonic or evil entities in horror films often represent, reflect, or relate to the difficult emotions or memories of a character (such as in the 2014 film The Babadook). The entity becomes the externalisation and magnification of the power of these feelings, thus becoming a sublime entity. This is essentially what occurs in Jacob’s Ladder (Adrian Lyne, 1990), encapsulated in a scene featuring the protagonist, Jacob (Tim Robbins) and his chiropractor, Louis (Danny Aiello). Louis tells Jacob about an idea from the 14th-century Christian mystic Meister Eckhart:

Eckhart saw Hell too. He said: “The only thing that burns in Hell is the part of you that won’t let go of life, your memories, your attachments. They burn them all away. But they’re not punishing you”, he said. “They’re freeing your soul. So, if you’re frightened of dying and … you’re holding on, you’ll see devils tearing your life away. But if you’ve made your peace, then the devils are really angels, freeing you from the earth.”

So if we were to psychologise horror films of the religious or supernatural variety, we could say that they invite us to feel both fearful and fascinated by the overwhelming power of unconscious forces that exist within us. On the other hand, for those who hold genuine religious or supernatural beliefs, the sublime is not psychologised; the sublime is metaphysical, relating to external entities and realities much more powerful than us.

When You Want to Look Away But Can’t

In a sense, the sublime defines horror (or, more accurately, the enjoyment of horror, since not everyone is drawn to and enjoys these types of films). This is because well-executed and effective horror should, of course, be able to portray, emote, and instil feelings of nervousness, fear, dread, terror, disgust, shock, and fright. But the person who enjoys and appreciates horror will experience these emotions while at the same time being transfixed, amazed, impressed, and lost in the film. This is the sublime. We can see this from the common experience of watching horror: wanting to look away but being unable to. This is the paradoxical feeling of fear combined with fascination.

This is possible because of the simple fact of being an observer at a safe distance from the perceived threat. This distance is necessary for any experience of the sublime; one needs to be close enough to the object or phenomenon to be properly engrossed by its size or force but far away enough to be (or at least feel) physically safe. Differences in this size, power, and closeness can lead to different degrees, or intensities, of the sublime; it can also help distinguish positive and negative variants of awe. The closer you feel to the danger, the more the pendulum swings to fear than excitement.

In the case of watching a horror film, as in the case of watching any film, the distance is twofold: the physical separation (between you and the screen) and the abstract separation (between reality and fiction). Of course, when one is truly absorbed in a film, conscious awareness of both types of separation can fade – and this level of absorption is part of the sublime. At the same time, these separations nonetheless remain, and they are what make the sublime possible. The enjoyment of horror, including the sublime it evokes, relies on the feeling of being terrified in a safe environment. Mathias Clasen, author of Why Horror Seduces (2017) and A Very Nervous Person’s Guide to Horror Movies (2021), wrote a piece for Aeon on how this experience helps build community and emotional resilience. When we go through these fearful (but safe) experiences together, we bond more closely with fellow viewers, and we learn how to regulate negative emotions.

However, Clasen clarifies: “People who seek out horror want just the right amount of it. Too scary, and it is unpleasantly overwhelming; not scary enough, and it is boring. But just the right amount of fear, and you are in the zone of recreational horror”. He continues:

You don’t want something that overwhelms you with horror, as happened to me in 1992 [watching Sleepwalkers], but you also don’t want something too tame. Once you have found something that seems to fit the bill, invite a couple of friends over so you also reap the social benefits of collective horror-movie watching. And rest assured that, while you might suffer a few mild side-effects, such as a nightmare or a compulsion to sweep the bedroom for monsters before bedtime, there is a real chance that you will feel closer to your friends, learn something about yourself, and perhaps even emerge more resilient than before.

I experienced these kinds of mild side-effects recently, after watching Smile 2 at the cinema with a friend. (The film is in the demonic possession genre of horror.) I don’t remember having nightmares, but my adrenaline levels and nerves still felt heightened on the way home, and it was difficult to sleep. But it felt worth it.

Smile 2 used the tried-and-tested techniques of horror. The film was full of jump scares featuring creepy faces, and the intensity of the jump scares and creepiness of the imagery were ramped up for maximum effect. Yet the experience of watching the film didn’t feel trivial. On the one hand, it was like a thrill ride – a horror rollercoaster – but on the other hand, I can say that the sublime I’ve been describing was present. And the benefits Clasen describes – the bonding and resilience building – seemed related to this kind of experience.

The dark version of the sublime, as it’s represented in horror films, deserves greater appreciation for its potential psychological benefits. This would help challenge some of the negative stereotypes that some people might have about horror movie lovers. Enjoying horror doesn’t mean you’re disturbed or make light of actual violence; instead, this predilection points to the wish for positive kinds of experience: connection, awe, novelty, aesthetic appreciation, and resilience. The dark variant of the sublime enables horror to become part of an aesthetically rich life, and by allowing us to experience fear in a controlled way, it might even help us to deal with real-life everyday fears.