Seeking the Joy of the Jolt, From the Safety of an Armchair

On the big screen in front of me, a large Victorian house looms pitch-black, and a murderer is lurking somewhere inside. Michelle Pfeiffer, barely ruffled though someone has just tried to drown her in her own bathtub, is slowly backing down the stairs. I’m scrunched on the edge of my seat, muscles knotted with tension. The camera zooms in on Pfeiffer’s bare feet and then on her anxious face. She steps back and peers up toward the second floor, as if the crazed killer could be anywhere but behind her.

Unbelievably contrived? Yes.

Am I terrified? Yes, yes.

Did I come to this theater fully expecting--wanting--to be frightened? Yes, again.

“What Lies Beneath” is one of this summer’s big, star-studded thrillers. Claire Spencer (played by Pfeiffer) lives with her ruggedly handsome husband, Norman (Harrison Ford), in a rambling lakeside house in Vermont. Norman, a brilliant research scientist on the brink of an enormous scientific breakthrough, is loving but a bit remote. Claire, whose daughter has just left for college, now has plenty of time to tend her rose garden. It sounds idyllic except there may be a murderer in the house; there may also be a ghost.

After I left the theater, my terror was replaced by anger at the string of cinematic cliches used to advance the complicated plot. It made me wonder why so many of us like scary movies. What do we get out of them? And why do some of us find being scared not pleasureful at all, but just plain terrifying?

Psychologists say that for many, going to a scary movie is a chance to confront childhood fears. Remember how it felt to be alone in the basement when you were, say, 5 or so? By watching a frightening film, you are, in a certain sense, reenacting your childhood fears. If you can sit through the whole thing, you have conquered those fears, and that feels good.

“The scariness makes us feel like kids again,” says Barbara Thompson, a Baltimore psychologist and a member of Women in Film and Video of Maryland, which provides support and networking for women in the field. “What kid isn’t scared of the monster beneath the bed? I remember racing up the basement stairs because I was frightened to be down there alone. When we watch scary movies, the theater becomes a safe place to confront our wildest fears.”

There’s no question that feeling safe--and in control--contributes to the pleasure I get when watching scary movies. Part of the fun is knowing that it isn’t real. I can leave the theater any time I want. I assume I’m safe here, in this theater, surrounded by (I suppose) nice, law-abiding citizens.

I’ve developed a system to preserve that sense of control when I watch thrillers at home. I begin by choosing a video that’s scary, but not too scary. I think the 1998 film “A Perfect Murder,” starring Gwyneth Paltrow and Michael Douglas, is good, creepy fun. But I left the room long before the ultra-violent, 1992 film “Reservoir Dogs,” with Harvey Keitel and Quentin Tarantino, was over. Since my husband is a big chicken, I’m on my own if I’m watching anything more frightening than the 1995 mystery “The Usual Suspects,” starring Kevin Spacey.

Before turning on the VCR, I carefully lock all the doors, especially the one to the basement. As the suspense heightens and I begin to hear creepy noises, I can console myself with the knowledge that all the doors are locked, so it can’t be Jason; it must be a tree branch.

In essence, I’ve set the scene for a scary-but-not-terrifying evening. “You’ve arranged it so that you’ll get the maximum amount of reasonable fear,” says Dr. Jack Vaeth, a psychiatrist at Sheppard Pratt Health System in Maryland. “You have set things up so that you know ‘this is a scary movie, but I’m safe at home and the doors are locked.’ ”

There’s also a physiological component to a love of scary movies. Like bungee jumping or riding roller coasters, the films can give you a physical charge. When you watch a thriller, your body releases a surge of adrenaline, followed by a blast of endorphins; your heart races, blood pressure rises and pupils dilate.

The feeling that something was so scary your hair stood on end comes from adrenaline. Endorphins, on the other hand, can deaden pain and cause a feeling of well-being.

Remember the opening scene in “Jaws”? The burst of terror you felt released “chemicals including adrenaline and endorphins into your blood, which are similar to opiates. So what we are doing is stimulating ourselves to a point of chemical release which in turn is rewarding to our bodies,” Vaeth says.

Joggers who talk of a “runners’ high” or musicians who speak of being “in the zone” while performing are experiencing a similar chemical reaction to their activities. But in these cases, the euphoria builds gradually and is sustained over longer periods of time. With fear (in a movie or otherwise), the surge of chemicals comes in one big blast.

That explains why recently, after a bad day at work, I went directly to the nearest video store and checked out “The Jagged Edge,” with Glenn Close and Jeff Bridges. It doesn’t explain why, when I watched the film, I was scared to death, rapt and happy as can be, while my husband was scurrying toward the nearest exit.

It appears that some people’s bodies simply release more chemicals when they’re frightened. “They overstimulate and instead of being intrigued, they are terrified,” Vaeth says. “There is a degree of anxiety and nervousness that we like, and when our fear goes a little past that, it’s not pleasant anymore.”

Studies suggest that some of us may be “thrill-seekers,” or genetically predisposed to love scary movies--or other activities that produce the same kind of chemical reaction.

There’s still another group of moviegoers: people who are bored by scary flicks. These stoic souls use rationalization as a defense mechanism. They are the ones who can sit in a theater watching Janet Leigh taking a shower and think, “What’s the big deal? It’s a movie, for Pete’s sake.”

On the other hand, Vaeth says, “they never let their imaginations run away with them, which is part of the enjoyment.”

None of which, however, explains why I was so annoyed by “What Lies Beneath.” After all, I went to see a movie knowing--hoping--it might be scary. And I was frightened.

In that sense, the film worked perfectly. It’s just that I was afraid seemingly without pause throughout the entire film.

Instead of allowing suspense to build deliciously through character development and turns of plot, the film relied on cinematic cliches to alert its viewers that it was time to be scared. From the first time I saw Pfeiffer at home alone taking a bath (think “Psycho”), I knew I was supposed to be frightened--and I was. By the end of the movie, I had been in a state of high anxiety for about two hours.

That level and duration of nervousness may explain why I wasn’t happy with my scary movie experience, Vaeth says.

A good fright can be exhilarating, but chronic anxiety is just exhausting.

I can get that in real life.