Growing up it was almost mandatory for my brothers and I to watch horror movies. It was like a rite of passage amongst the family. That, and tolerance for spicy food. We’re snobs, what can I say. My oldest memory of this, was when I watched Dark Waters. A Japanese horror movie of a young girl who died in a water tank proceeds to haunt a mother/daughter duo through water systems. I couldn’t sit on the toilet for weeks. It was then the obsession started. However, horror movies get a bad rep for being nothing but jump scares and gory scenes. Yes, I am guilty of loving the crescendo of sinister music as a dim-witted protagonist walk towards the “weird noise” they heard in the equally dimly lit basement. However with time, I began to see some problematic tropes that plague the horror universe. This is particularly seen in the portrayal of mental illness in horror movies. And how the mental state of a character is insinuated to be the cause of violence.
The Stigmatisation of Mental Illness in Horror Movies
Friday the 13th 
Halloween
Think of 80s slasher films like Halloween or Friday the 13th. The violence of antagonists like Michael Myers’ and Jason Vorhees seem to point to their disabilities. . Vorhees’ was facial deformities (Hydrocephalus) and unclear mental disabiilties. Myers’ was psychopathy and schizophrenia. Disorders=murderous villains trope really stigmatised mental illness to the masses. I believe this problem stems from horror movies relying on the idea of the literal “other” instead of a collective “us”. I’m not a huge fan of slashers (too much blood, too little story), but this ill-informed portrayal of mental illnesses transcends into more recent psychological horror flicks too. Some, even I am guilty of enjoying.
The Split between reality and entertainment
Exaggerating symptoms to raise stakes for dramatic effect seems to be the easy way out for most of these films. Shock value is prioritised above all else. M.Night Shyamalan’s Split (2016) dealt with Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID). It portrays antagonist Kevin Wendell Crumb having 23 personalities. He kidnaps 3 young girls and plans to sacrifice them to the Beast. Spoiler alert: he is the beast. A 24th personality literally changes his chemical make up to embody an animal hell-bent on wanting non-sufferers to know true pain. While it gives us that Shyamalan twist, it grossly exaggerates the symptoms of someone with DID. It ultimately dehumanises them, as their reality is far from it. Yes, most of us don’t actually believe someone with DID can turn into a beast. Regardless, this somewhat careless portrayal leaves a negative connotation that they could be erratically violent, or a threat to society.
Shyamalan does attempt to humanise Crumb, with a psychiatrist character arc who helps explain his condition. He also alludes to early childhood trauma that’s a fairly accurate trigger point for DID patients. But was that enough? Admittedly, I liked this film when it came out, purely as entertainment. In hindsight, the beast twist amongst other heightened symptoms are hard to ignore. If a disorder is clearly referenced in the film, with a psychiatric arc, the portrayal should be more humanising and empathetic. Entertainment is still a big part of psychological horror, it can’t read like a research journal of course. So it is a tough line to tread.
So how do we tread that fine line?
This isn’t to say mental illness in horror movies can’t have good ol’ horror tropes. It can be humanising without ever needing sacrifice the thriller-like atmosphere. The horror universe is slowly working towards more complex plots, employing horror elements to function on many symbolic and interpretive levels. It discusses the human condition rather than slapping a label that ostracises them. Taking the most human circumstances and revealing the horror within them that can terrify but also identify oneself is the mark of true horror.
The Uncanny Theory
This is where the theory of The Uncanny could be helpful to look into. Two things to note
- I’m discussing this theory in a simplified manner.
- We’re zeroing in on psychological horror and not all categories of horror.
The Uncanny Theory elaborated by Sigmund Freud is the psychological observation behind that unsettling feeling we experience. It’s “related to what is frightening — to what arouses dread and horror” but is “that class of the frightening which leads back to what is known of old and long familiar.” (Freud, The Uncanny)
The Uncanny Theory delves into understanding that for something to be deemed frightening, there has to be a duality. Pairing the familiar and the unfamiliar. Heimlich (homely) and Unheimlich (unhomely), as Freud used. “Something has to be added to what is novel and unfamiliar in order to make it uncanny”. The intellectual uncertainty we experience in trying to comprehend this odd phenomenon is what invokes a feeling of mistrust and eeriness.
The Double in the Uncanny
Freud uses the idea of the Double to explain this theory. We’ve seen the twin trope used time and time again in horror movies. It dates back to even the godfather of horror, Edgar Allen Poe, using it in his short, William Wilson. A young man stalked by his shadowy doppelgänger, tells a tale of rationality, conscience and sanity. It shows us that something so familiar (yourself) can be so unsettlingly unfamiliar. Something about a look alike triggers a certain mistrust in us. Think of the twins in The Shining, the button-eyed Others in Coraline, and most recently Jordan Peele’s Us. This trope is probably used to portray a duality within us we may not necessarily want to see. An inherent “good” and “bad”. The double represents a shadow-self, that in its unpacking “becomes a foreshadowing of death, a source of criticism and persecution“.
The Shinning 
Coraline
This theory can be employed when portraying mental illness in horror movies. In the case of psychological horror, it’s through introducing the familiar (human problems: grief, depression, trauma) into unfamiliar circumstances (supernatural entities, cults etc). Treading the thin line between the two can create misdirection in the audience’s perception. Thus, very real issues can still horrify audiences as they try to figure out what’s real and unreal. All in efforts to unravel the psychology behind the character’s actions. But why do we need to put familiar in the unfamiliar?
The Human Need to Seek Patterns
The basic reason is probably because as humans we have a tendency to perceive a pattern where none exists. This phenomenon is called Pareidolia. A popular form being facial pareidolia, where we see faces in objects. It is in our cognitive nature to recognise faces or other common beings in the stimulus around us. Initially, said to be an evolutionary survival trait i.e. establishing what a predator looks like, recognising your parents’ face as a baby. However, in that ability to “recognise humanity in the faces of others, so we sympathise and trust them more easily”. (Conliff, Medium) Or in other words, we use familiar ideas to make sense of the unfamiliar.
Therefore toying with those senses and misdirection of trust can really invoke that uncanny feeling. This is done pretty frequently in horror movies. Seeing a misshapen human figure in the trees. Or catching a shadowy figure in the corner of your room at night. Turns out it’s a coat and hat on a coat rack, or is it? “We’re seeing something that gives off all the traits needed to be human, but subtle differences and inconsistencies warn our brain that something is wrong.” (Conliff, Medium)
Unfortunately most horror movies don’t take it any further than that. With psychological horror it would arguably be more crucial to have this trope function on many levels, not just a jump scare. For example, it can be used to convey a person’s mental state or used as a symbolic tool. This brings me to the second half of the Uncanny theory. That the uncanny is rooted in the familiar, leading us back to humanity. The balance of the two is what creates an emotional state of anxiety and fear.
The Familiar in the Uncanny
Uncanny is in reality nothing new or alien, but something which is familiar and old established in the mind and which has become alienated from it only through the process of repression.
Sigmund Freud, The Uncanny (1919)
Going back to the idea of the double, the trope of the twin. It’s not just meant to be taken literally, rather, that in every human being there is an inherent “other”. Repressed feelings, when push comes to shove. Hence when discussing the mental state in horror, we can apply the same dichotomy of familiar and unfamiliar. A good psychological horror film will frighten us with the unfamiliar. However, the lasting feeling will be an eeriness we can’t explain because it could hit close to home.
Instead of dehumanising mental illnesses, it walks us through it to ultimately understand the humanity and emotions within the horror it depicts. Because inevitably we all have that other side to us. Consequently, it reveals more to us about the human psyche by pushing these characters into unfamiliar settings. Much like pareidolia, we have the ability to trace patterns in our familiar, find meaning and empathise with another’s mental state. So why not utilise the uncanny in depicting mental illness in horror movies. Horror if used right, can coax us to examine the human condition. It’s something we potentially have within us already, if not at the very least something we can relate to.
The nature of the uncanny is entirely subjective, based upon our own experiences but haunts each of us to varying degrees.
Jamie Ruers
It isn’t to point out the “other” on the outside, it is within us, a reflection. A mirror on humans under incredibly trying circumstances. So let’s use a few good examples of exploring mental illness in horror movies…
The Invitation
The Invitation comes to mind, when I think of psychological thriller/horrors. It has a perfectly commonplace setting: a dinner party. However, from the very start of the movie we as the audience can sense that something’s off. Literally hit with the symbolic death of a coyote, our protagonist mercy kills it to end its suffering. The movie as a whole plays with the idea of suffering and death.
From restrained conversations, a hostess adorning an unnaturally serene attitude to her past trauma, we piece together the painful past they shared almost 2 years ago. Therefore, tension naturally builds up with our protagonist in constant suspicion as he tries to find out if this dinner party has ulterior motives. We go on a journey with him as his PTSD gives him flashbacks coming back to where it all began. As a result, we wonder if his mental state is causing him to see/feel things that aren’t there.
Without too many spoilers, this psychological thriller explores the extreme effects of shared grief and loss. How one person copes extreme loss compared to another, and the destruction it can bring. Something’s amiss as tension builds from the wine and disturbing truths flowing. This is familiar to a degree, with many boozy family gatherings you may have attended. Pair that with disturbing characters who believe in a specific “teaching” and a warped, perverse understanding of pain and guilt. This introduces the unfamiliar. As a result, this plays into our protagonist’s current state of reality. The Invitation creates an unsettlingly claustrophobic environment portraying a character’s mental state tucked in a common pastime amongst friends.
The Babadook
This movie on the other hand, takes a more metaphorical approach to handling the human psyche. The Australian film by Jennifer Kent, deals with an entity of the same name, a children’s bedtime story character who ends up terrorising a young boy and his mother. Although it seems to play with supernatural tropes of the boogieman, Kent focuses on the true conflict between a mother and her troubled child. While there are many jump scares, and freaky “what’s that” moments, the film appears to depict the physical manifestation of past trauma and unhealed wounds.
Taking it a notch deeper, the film shows the journey Amelia has to battle in order to overpower the Babadook. The battle itself is very human conflict such as the insurmountable pain from the tragic loss of her husband, grief, depression and exhaustion of single motherhood. Some say the Babadook represents that singular grief and depression in its lurking ways, as it makes their home an increasingly unpleasant, unfamiliar environment.
“If it’s in a word or in a look, you can’t get rid of The Babadook.”
Amelia’s pain affects her son as he seems to feel the Babadook’s presence before anyone else. It skilfully shows a child processing his mother’s condition, interpreting it the only way he can: a dark shadowy monster. It’s only Amelia and her son that see this entity, as the death anniversary of her husband approaches. The movie has the common tropes loved amongst horror fans. A shadowy entity, a poltergeist-like presence, two potentially “weak souls” terrorised. However, it’s the well developed mother-son dynamic and uncomfortably raw moments that brings this film to life.
Overall, the film deals with depression in a realistic way amidst all the unreal. We see Amelia struggle to connect with her friends. She feels trapped and isolated by her son’s troubling ways and her inability to move past her husband’s death. There’s inner conflict of pushing away her depression, wanting love and taking care of the son she resents due to his indirect involvement in her husband’s death. It all rears its ugly head in the form of the Babadook. A version of herself perhaps? The ending is certainly not a happy one, but it is one that provides a more humane and realistic touch to mental illness in horror movies.
Hereditary (2018)
Similar to Babadook, this movie plays with blurred lines between outside forces and a predisposed mental state that affect a family’s circumstances. The story on a base level deals with loss and grief of an entire family. Annie tries to handle the loss of her estranged mother at the start of the film. However, upon her death, Annie starts to notice odd things happening around the house. There are hints that Annie’s mother was secretive and manipulative, being part of a ritualistic group.
Odd symbols, uncanny patterns and foreshadowing plague the film until the accidental disturbing death of Annie’s daughter, Charlie at the hands of her brother, Peter. A painfully raw scene with a prolonged silence and stillness that is almost anxiety inducing. Peter chokes with panic, anxiety, dread and guilt and we feel it in our every pore. The fear of suddenly losing a loved one is something many of us have. Now the added burden of being the cause of it, is unimaginable. But Ari Aster (director) manages to induce this pain within us in such a visceral manner.
Simultaneously, there’s the impending doom from outside forces at play, closely related to Annie’s mother. The symbols and patterns Annie continues to see and feel throughout the house, heightens after the death of her daughter. Annie spirals, as grief can turn you inside out, making you vulnerable and susceptible to any coping mechanisms. Annie tries to decipher the meaning behind these patterns and symbols, even accepting help from a “new friend” through a séance. She is unknowingly led to bring the ritual full circle. Annie’s efforts to protect what’s left of her family is in vain as she falls into a (predestined) trap set by her own family, her mother.
Inheriting Mental Illness
This brings us the other side to Hereditary. Like its name, points out the parallels between generations. The deep- seated issues Annie’s current family faces, such as the rift between mother and son exacerbated in the wake of Charlie’s death eerily mirror her pained relationship with her mother but also her family’s medical history. Family drama takes on a whole new meaning as Aster explores what it means to inherit your family demons. Annie’s dad had psychotic depression, dying from starving himself, while her schizophrenic brother hung himself and her mother had DID. While we don’t learn too much of this past, the film does call into question the idea of mental-illnesses being passed down generations.
We see this in Annie’s husband’s recollection of Annie’s “episodes” in the past. She sleepwalked and held a matchstick over her sleeping children who she covered in flammable liquid, an unhealed memory between Annie and Peter. The relationship between mother and son continues to deteriorate, this time as Annie struggles to empathise with Peter. Strained familial relationships is something many of us can relate to. Annie also has “hallucinations” of Charlie and believes that Peter was going to die if she didn’t perform a ritual. We even catch glimpses from Peter, who goes through mental deterioration, following the traumatic accident. He hallucinates, seeing a reflection of himself smiling back at him, amongst other things. Arguably this may be the effects of their trauma or the demonic forces at play. While the film never explicitly points us into one specific interpretation, it allows us mull over it ourselves.
The Uncanny Experience in First Person
In an interview, Ari Aster said that he “wanted to make a conspiracy film without exposition.. We are with these people who don’t know what’s happening, and we’re with them in their ignorance.” This creates that uncanny feeling, as we are examining the tangible but also noticing the patterns and symbols Annie sees too. This turns the initial pareidolia, into a more severe form, apophenia, when the perceiver gives the pattern they detect significant meaning, which Annie executes by carrying out rituals. Whatever she is going through, we don’t see her as the other, because we follow her journey as well as Peter’s. We feel uncomfortable, troubled and traumatised as we witness this family’s destruction, relating to the grief, suffering and broken familial relationships on varying degrees.
Annie dabbles in making dioramas, of her house and family. Aster heavily uses this miniature family (the double) in symbolising her need to control the mishaps in her life as she recreates horrifying incidents to process grief. However as time goes on, with telling camera pans shifting from diorama to real life seamlessly, we find the uncanny. The Grahams themselves are living in a dollhouse as someone or something puppeteers them. Home, once a place of familiarity and safety, turns on them becoming the unfamiliar, a set up.
Whichever way you interpret the circumstances that led to the family’s unraveling, existentially it reveals that nothing was ever in their control. Are the Graham family’s actions due to family demons (genetics) or actual demons? It adds to the uncanny experience as we don’t know which to trust. This is one portrayal of mental illness in horror movies that plays on the feverish fear that no matter what you do or run away from, genetics can control your fate.
Horror can be Human…
Although the portrayal of mental illness in horror movies mentioned don’t explicitly name it, they have one thing in common-dealing with loss of some sort. But the point is, that these films anchor the supernatural or thriller-like tropes with much more grounding plots that are all very human. The settings, the character development and predisposition comes from very human issues such as loss, depression, family demons and genetics. While these films portray human pain in all its supernatural horror glory, it also has an empathetic view of the demons in the human mind, something we can all to a certain degree, relate to.
Another take home message when it comes to psychological horror, is even when you eliminate the horror devices, the story should still function as compelling drama of human life. A grown version of horror, because we stop worrying about the demons under our bed at night, once we realise they now reside in our minds.
