Blank isn’t Horror
A recent tweet by Patrick Bromley was infused with palpable sass directed at a review that claim “Hereditary [(2018)] isn’t a horror film. As much as critics would would like to call it one. It is a family drama with some scary parts.” This isn’t a surprise to fans of the genre, it happens every time a new horror movie gets a big release. Hell, the very same day I saw this tweet from the editor-in-chief of Bloody Disgusting, John Squires: “Dude literally just told me #TheNun is “not a horror film” so it’s officially the opening weekend for another mega successful horror movie, folks.”
This week, I’m not going to address the misconception that a horror film is only a horror film if it focuses exclusively on ghoulies and goblins, masked slashers and things that go bump in the night – rather, I’m going to focus on what the best horror movies do, a little Scream Writing tip I shared on Twitter: “The very best horror films have more than just a horror element. If you take out the horror bits, do your characters still have struggles, conflicts, dreams, and goals?”
More Than Just an Exorcism
After posting the screenwriting tip to Twitter, special makeup effects artist Mark Shostrom replied that he “was just explaining this to a friend with The Exorcist [(1973)] as an example.” Mark’s a smart guy, so let’s start our discussion on The Exorcist. It’s such a classic it hardly needs a plot run-down but incase you forgot: actress mother is plagued with worry for her daughter Regan after she begins to act weird and show signs of severe sickness. When the doctors are unable to suggest a solution she turns to religion and with the help of a priest, Father Karras, is able to get her daughter an exorcism.
The exorcism and Regan’s sickness make up a good portion of the film, but there is so much more substance to The Exorcist than just a possession and an exorcism. Father Karras suffers from the guilt of neglecting his (now) deceased mother and this guilt manifests itself in the form of a crisis of faith. This guilt is rooted firmly with family drama (hey there, Hereditary) rather than within the realm of the horrific. 
Likewise, Regan is a sick child and a large portion of the film is spent exploring the helplessness of the caretaker – the doctors poke and prod yet mother can do nothing to help her and the weight of helplessness sits on her shoulders, draining the vitality from her. This is an experience of real world horror but not what we mean when we think of a horror film. The horror elements exist within The Exorcist (and it’d be pretty damn hard to argue this isn’t a horror film, considering its legacy) but the world and the characters do not exist to merely facilitate the trappings of a horror movies.
Regan, her mother Chris, Father Karras – each exist within a world that just happens to be punctured by the horrific. And, because of their struggles against the horrific, they are able to grow as characters. It’s through the interactions of their struggles, problems, desires and et. al. that we see them as characters in their own rights and not just chess pieces on a filmic board. A movie, like Friday the 13th (1980), can have characters that are just pawns and still be an enjoyable experience. However, they remain experiences – slashers don’t let you get too attached to the characters because if we get too attached we suffer emotionally when they die, and suffering is not the cognitive effect those films are after.
Forming Human Connections
Why is it that films like The Exorcist and Hereditary are able to connect so deeply with audiences? Why would a horror movie benefit from non-horror elements? To answer these, let’s take a look at our day to day existence.
Wake up, brush teeth, shower, eat breakfast, go to work, take lunch, work more, head home, watch a movie, maybe some video games or a little writing, maybe a beer or a joint, then back to bed to start it all over again. 
Now your life might be different, as is mine as well, but even just reading that description you began to get bored and realize that not much out of the ordinary happens. Every now and then we get caught up in a little bit of craziness: we crashed the car; work was robbed; little Timmy got diagnosed with cancer.
But what doesn’t happen in our day-to-day lives are fights against the supernatural, ancient curses, masked serial murderers, or brain-munching zombies. These hang out in the horror genre, sure, but they’re not experiences that we can connect too directly. But a crisis of faith? Worrying about a sick loved one? Emotional problems? 
Unrequited love? Familial abuse? These things are horrible but are horrible in a way that invites the audience into them; they give the audience a grounding within the story by asking them to reflect on their own experiences, to pull from human compassion, human understanding – human being the keyword, since it’s awfully hard to understand what it’s like to fight a poltergeist. I’ve never fought a poltergeist but I have lost people dear to me, I understand what it’s like to reason against hope for a way to bring them back – I understand the emotional and purely human experiences that exist in the best of films and through this understanding I am able to connect that much more deeply to a horror film built on this strong foundation.
So, actually, that first person was half right: Hereditary is a family drama. But it’s a family drama that’s gotten itself caught up in a horror movie. It’s like Seth Gecko and the Fullers in From Dusk Till Dawn (1996): they didn’t realize they were in a horror movie until it happened, they thought it was just another day taking hostages and escaping to Mexico. Turns out, it was both.
