I would like you to contemplate the following question: What is beauty to you?
Take a moment to consider your response to this question. Once you have a clear answer, I want you to consider whether you constructed an answer for what is beautiful or what beauty is, to you. The two thoughts come very close to each other, but the difference between them is quite important for this conversation. What we find to be beautiful tends to come easily to us. These are our personal tastes and feelings, which are fundamentally linked to who we are. However, trying to answer the question of what beauty itself is or means to you can be quite a head scratcher. At the very least, it takes a bit more careful consideration to formulate.
I would ask you to ponder this question as you read this article. I have no intention of providing you a clear answer to this question. The answer is yours, and yours alone. Instead, my aim with this article is to provide my own insights, thoughts, and feelings on the nature of beauty and how it relates to the horror genre.
Can a genre so dedicated to showcasing the depraved, the terrifying, and the bloody be beautiful? The wonderful thing about aesthetic experiences is that they are very specific. This means that although a horror film may have the bleakest story or some of the most upsetting imagery, there is just as much possibility for the exact same film to feature a wide variety of other aesthetics. This would also include beauty.
Like with most philosophical discussions, this one starts with a cliché. We all know the saying. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” What you find beautiful, I might find repugnant, and vice-versa. For the most part, discussions pertaining to aesthetic observations on film and television hold on tightly to this mindset. Although there is most certainly a subjective component present in our aesthetic experiences, as Immanuel Kant makes clear in his 1781 book The Critique of Judgment, there is also a strong objective observation at the root of our aesthetic categorizations. On this he writes, “The beautiful is that which pleases universally, without a concept.” It is important to note that Kant is mostly focused on creating a clear formulation of what constitutes a pure judgment of taste, and is primarily outlining what steps he feels are necessary in order to make an objective judgment of taste. Although I do not agree with every sentiment found in his theories, it is undeniable that this book was foundational for philosophical discourse on aesthetics and aesthetic experiences. His idea that beauty is a universally understood feeling that transcends our conception of an object or artwork is vital to create a clear distinction between subjective and objective observation.
What is beautiful to you might indeed be repugnant to me, but that does not mean that either of us are necessarily correct or incorrect on the matter. Not entirely, at least. What is often missing in discourse surrounding aesthetics is clarity in regards to what exactly it is about a piece of art that makes us feel a certain way. It is too reductive to say that “beauty is in the eye of the beholder” to wave off differing viewpoints. Likewise, it is too dogmatic to say that anyone who does not share your views is objectively incorrect, without exploring where objective observation and subjective taste factor in the discussion. Otherwise, it would be impossible to claim that horror films are beautiful. I assure you, it is quite possible to make that claim, but possibly not for the reasons you might think.
Still, how do you find beauty in a piece of art like a film — much less a horror film? There are so many ways to view or interpret any narrative artwork. It would be impossible to always be aware of all possible lenses you could view a film through. There are simply too many, and each one requires dedicated focus. Therefore, the trick is to go into a film with one specific lens in mind. Endeavor to weigh your experience of the film against the specific perspective you have chosen for that viewing. This is the best way to discover what works, what doesn’t, why, and — most importantly to me — in what context.
To prepare yourself to view a film from an aesthetic perspective it is important to prime yourself for what is referred to in modern philosophy as the “Aesthetic Attitude.” According to the Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy, it is not exactly known when the term was first used in scholarly work on aesthetic philosophy. All that is clear is that the concept seems to have gained popularity during the late nineteenth century, but there is no clear consensus on who originally coined the phrase. So, what does it mean? The Aesthetic Attitude is when you clear your mind of all preconceived notions, wants, assumptions, etc about a work of art before experiencing it. When we adopt an Aesthetic Attitude, we become “disinterested” in the work of art itself. This doesn’t mean that we show no interest in the work of art at all, but simply that we strive to only be interested in experiencing it as it is. Aesthetic engagement requires such a passive state of mind, because in order to make an aesthetic judgment we have to be open to experiencing aesthetics in their own regard. So, to be clear, the Aesthetic Attitude is the only sure fire way to filter out notions of politics, clarity, effectiveness, and quality in favor of focusing purely on how a work of art’s aesthetic features alone affect us.
With your mind prepped to focus solely on a horror film’s aesthetic decisions, it becomes much easier to sift through the terrifying tale and absorb its rich array of aesthetics. Take, as an example, the rich hues and highlights present in Dario Argento’s 1977 film Suspiria. The film is a feast for the eyes and the ears. It uses aggressive coloration, uncomfortable closeups of vibrant gore, and a sonically tumultuous score to attack the viewer on an aesthetic level. We don’t have any time to think about things like plot holes, bizarre, child-like performances from the adult cast, cuts to effects, or any other technical critique that could come to mind when watching Suspiria with an Aesthetic Attitude. In this state of mind, the film grabs us by the throat and bombards us with the same sensory overload and terror its cast of characters are going through.
Despite the deeply unpleasant feelings Suspiria’s aesthetic choices may cause viewers, it is often lauded as one of the most beautiful horror outings of all time. Despite the screams, the gallons of blood splashing across the screen, and Goblin’s unsettling score, these very elements are cited by many fans as breathtaking. The main reason for this is that Argento has crafted a film that basically forces you watch it with an Aesthetic Attitude unless you are adept at shifting your focus on command. As a result, what tends to stay with us the most when watching Suspiria is its strong use of aesthetics.
Now, Suspiria is, admittedly, a very easy example of an aesthetically strong horror film. That being said, the question of beauty remains. Is Suspiria a beautiful film? It is most certainly eye-catching and quite pretty. However, the sounds throughout the film are harsh and off putting. The bright hallways and strange lights conjure intense feelings of dread in equal measure to the awe and wonderment they cause upon first witnessing them. Is that beauty, though? My short answer to this is: yes and no. I would not claim that Suspiria is beautiful just because it features incredible use of colors and impactful sound design. These factors help a lot, but there needs to be something more to account for an emotion as powerful as beauty.
Back in 1757, Edmund Burke once wrote in his book, A Philosophical Enquiry Into the Origin of Our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful, that he found the feeling of beauty as akin to that of love. That’s a very strong emotion at its core. Although I find Burke’s overall criteria of what constitutes something as beautiful worthy of strong skepticism, I do agree with equating the emotions conjured forth by beauty with those caused by love. In both instances we are brought closer to the person, object, or work of art. Likewise, we are overwhelmed with feelings of protection, care, jealousy, desire, passion, and so on. To have such powerful emotions felt when confronted with something beautiful, it is simply not possible to accredit the beauty of Suspiria to its visual and audio aesthetic choices. There must be something more.
I am of the mind that what makes horror able to be beautiful is the genre’s profound ability to make us feel. Horror as an emotion is quite singular in nature, but horror as a genre is capable of manifesting and manipulating every emotion imaginable. At the very least, it is designed to make us feel afraid. From its very inception, the horror genre has relied on an audience’s empathetic responses to make us squirm, scream, and cry. It is this connection to human empathy that makes horror not only able to be beautiful, but beautiful as a whole, from my perspective. I would like to illustrate my point with a description of a scene from a widely beloved horror film.
A man closely inspects his features in the bathroom mirror with a look of dreadful curiosity. He begins touching his face, pushing against his flesh, and getting closer to the mirror. He feels there is something wrong with his hands. He looks down to check his hands. Something is wrong. What is so wrong? After applying some pressure to the tips of his fingers he gets his answer, as one of his fingernails starts peeling from the nail bed. He peels the rest of the nail off, and looks back at himself in the mirror with an expression of mounting terror.
The previous passage is a written description of a scene from David Cronenberg’s 1986 film The Fly wherein Seth Brundle (Jeff Goldblum) first notices signs that his teleportation experiment has taken some unknown toll on his body. It’s a scene that makes the viewer’s skin crawl. The thought alone of succumbing to an unknown illness that is ravaging your physical well-being is terrifying in and of itself. Yet, what makes this scene so much more cringe-worthy upon viewing are Seth’s responses to the situation. The camera focuses on his eyes nearly as much as it does on the decaying of his flesh. In certain shots we are doubly confronted with this man’s wincing visage due to his reflection appearing on the other side of the frame. Seth Brundle — and, as such, Jeff Goldblum’s incredible performance — is the key ingredient to the affectivity of this scene.
Sure, if we were to see anyone going through this situation, it would undoubtedly spark many of the same feelings it already does. Still, it is the fact that it is Seth Brundle we are watching that ties everything together beautifully. Up to this point we had gotten to know this man’s charming demeanor, his narcissism, his child-like wonder towards science, and his various insecurities. We’ve seen him love. We’ve seen him hurt. By crafting a complex and flawed character for us to get to know before this moment, we are all the more susceptible to a wave of emotion at any major change in his story. When this is combined with the visceral confrontation that our bodies can betray us in an instant, we are left quietly reeling. Seth Brundle is humanized before us, which makes his situation all the more felt. We are scared for him at this moment. And, as savvy horror fans, we are equally scared of him at this moment.
Our connection to Seth in such a simple and quiet moment of dread is what makes horror so incredibly beautiful to me. Not only is this scene a beautiful moment, it is an example of the beauty of the genre itself. There is much more to be said about this scene alone, but I only wanted to provide a brief introduction to a topic I find deeply valuable in horror discourse. Thank you for joining me in pondering such vague and seemingly intangible notions. This leads me back to my initial question. What is beauty to you? This article has served only as a brief introduction to what I find beautiful about horror. As such, it says even less about the complexities of the nature of beauty as a whole. To me, beauty is many things. Ultimately, it is an intense confrontation with the human condition whether it be painful or blissful. For beauty is as comforting as she is cruel.
