"They're all gonna laugh at you!": On Horror Film Lecturing

I have seen my share of horror films, or rather, I have seen a lot of people's shares of horror films -- it is a must if you are writing a thesis on the subject. But nothing has unsettled or disturbed me in quite the same way, as when I was preparing to lecture on gender in horror films to a classroom of 300 first-year Film Studies students.

I was offered the opportunity to guest lecture during the genre unit, in the second week on Horror. While I was thrilled for the chance to talk about one of my favorite subjects to a group of young, impressionable minds, and despite my previous forays into theatre which entailed me to perform in front of crowds, the prospect of standing in a vast, cavernous lecture hall, attached to a squealing, static-prone microphone, facing a mass of students as they shuffle in their uncomfortable seats was terrifying.

I was worried: I might forget what I want to say; I might become so nervous that I speed-talk through my material, and finish lecturing twenty minutes early; the equipment might malfunction just to spite me, and leave me standing there, fidgeting angrily with wires and remotes.The

scenarios which crowded my mind began to take on lives of their own, chanting in unison: "Might! Might! Might!"

What if there is a terrible fire and the roof collapses in on the class during my lecture? What if a student snaps and attacks everyone with a large knife? What if aliens burst in and chow down on us before they can be destroyed with heavy artillery? What if I become possessed, and my head starts rotating 360 degrees, and I start spewing projectile vomit all over the podium?

 "They're all gonna laugh at you!"

I knew my imagination was getting out of hand when Margaret White's voice started echoing in my head. How silly! No one is going to dump pig's blood on me while I lecture... Right?

The day of my lecture arrives; I am armed and ready. I find myself standing at the front of the lecture hall, strategically setting up my laptop and cueing up of the day's screening - Halloween (1978). Having recently re-watched the film to scour it for discussion points, I discovered with much disappointment that there was very little gratuitous nudity in this film.  How was I going to demonstrate Linda Williams' ideas of 'excess' with a film that offers a considerable shortage of blood, boobs and butts, especially when compared with recent films like the remake of Friday the 13th (2009), in which a soon-to-be victim is wake-boarding topless, her breasts swaying in the wind, just moments before she is rammed by a boat and brutally ripped apart? 

Deep breath.

The students settle in, so I switch on my microphone and, after a short interlude of adjusting the volume so that I sound like the bespectacled phone service guy from Verizon, and with a thumbs-up from my fellow T.A.s (who sit in the first row, prepared to signal me to slow down, if need be), I begin.

I remember to keep it light and simple as I refer to last's weeks discussion of the central conflict of the horror film (the monster), and how the source of terror evolves over time, just as genre itself does.

I briefly outline industry trajectories: sequels and prequels, the remake and the reboot, trends and waves, etc, etc.

Then I hone in on the roots and changes in the slasher genre, describing its formulaic techniques, from low-lighting to the 'killer cam'. I push 'play' and allow Black Christmas (1974) to entrance them with its extensive opening POV murder sequence.

The rest of the lecture goes smoothly; I crack a few jokes, the students are enthralled in the images on-screen, and most of them take notes (in preparation for an upcoming essay) as I outline the various female representations in horror: from William's idea of the helpless victim [like in Dracula (1931), or The Phantom of the Opera (1925)], to Barbara Creed's depiction of the monstrous-feminine [the titular character in Carrie (1976), or Regan in The Exorcist (1973)], to Carol J. Clover's the Final Girl (Laurie from Halloween, Nancy from A Nightmare on Elm St. (1984)]. I toss out a brief summary of Sue Short's notion of the misfit [Sydney from Scream (1996), Ginger and Brigitte from Ginger Snaps (2000)], before hinting at my own research into the violent woman (see Neroni's book of the same name).

As it comes time to announce the start of the day's screening, students are loudly applauding, either in relief or perhaps out of politeness, but hopefully in appreciation of my hard work and brilliance. 

A get a few pats on the back from my fellow T.A.s, who admire the way I held attention captive with my sharp wit and knowledgeable manner. One colleague leans in and congratulates me on being able to solicit laughter from the students.

It seems Margaret White's echoing words -- less a warning and more a promise -- rang true after all. I leave the lecture hall, positively pleased with myself and, of course, with the fact that I was not drenched in pig's blood.

Lecturing on gender in horror to 300 first-year Film Studies students. 

Terrifying? Ha! Not in the least.

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