Where are the Students? Who are the Students?

If we thought that the course would attract students who already lived horrific lives (abuse, divorce, no money, no time) we were mistaken. Our students were Midwestern scrubbed clean, fresh as the coffee-on-the-way-to-class could make them, and on the outside – ordinary. On the inside, once they began talking – and often they began talking before the clock hands moved to our designated start time – they were unique.
They reveled in blood and ingenuous ways to commit murder. Not the Vincent Price pendulum for them, though they analyzed its mechanics. Not the straightforward throttling or bullet to the brain: they’d seen enough of that in their early (crib? Toddler?) fascination of horror. They critiqued special effects and tossed comparisons on plot with the skill of professional reviewers. Why? They were immersed in the format, familiar with the canon of movies, and apparently buttressed from continual exposure. They analyzed plots and dissected characters with more sophistication than a college lecturer, before they rolled back to their own lives, “And then I barfed up supper. Not because I was scared, mind you, but because I was so tired and didn’t have the brains to go to bed instead of watching another flick.” They also took on some of the characteristics of the format, infrequently in appearance and often in its inflexible values.
“I wouldn’t let my child watch…” was one of their staples. “My child will not watch – until he’s – old, although when I saw it younger, courtesy my brother/sister/parents, I did just fine. But then again I had nightmares for a few years.” The caveat of, “When my child watches – for the first time, I’m going to be right there with him, keeping him feeling safe. But the lights will be out.”
King argues that one of the characteristics of horror is its old-fashioned morality. Good is good and shall be rewarded (or killed off nicely). Bad is bad and shall be condemned, to possibly rise again in a sequel. There are no characters who are humanistic mixtures of good and bad motives. Our students agreed, citing references (the pedagogues in us cheered), and added their own experiences. Stupid means early death. Blonde means hysterical, female, foolish, and early death.
Midwestern ordinary, yes – but with minds aglitter. Nick was on track to become a lawyer; Kerri wanted to work for a school in England – any school. Maybe she wanted ghosts and thought they were more plentiful there. Heidi was fascinated with the puzzles woven into horror stories. Julio compared the villains with contemporary dictators. They fought among themselves: best movie, best director, best presentation of the classic: vampire, Dracula, zombie. They argued their favorites, copied down the suggestions of others, and came to class two weeks later clutching books or touting movies.
There were a few exceptions to the normality of appearance. Dan Berkowitz had the most wonderful leather jacket, with chrome points on the epaulets. He was the one with the flame colored spray painted hair: strawberry gold at the forehead, red misted in the middle and black at the nape of the neck. Dennis wore shirts advertising the wrestling matches he had won, matches which accounted for his trouble hearing and his tendency to forget, he said. Livia had black-of-night hair and self-inked tattoos as well as earrings as elaborate as a chemistry equation. For most of them, the only sign of their fascination was a fanatical gleam in the eyes and a determined set to their mouth. No one was going to convince them that their favorites weren’t top quality horror.