Scary Movies: A Companion Piece

     Mary is my friend, and sometimes we claim to be brain twins because we often think about the same things at the same time.  There are other times when we're not actually thinking about the same thing at all, but I'm desperately trying to get her to continue to like me.  This is one of those times.  I am going to attempt to write a thoughtful piece on scary movies as a companion piece to Mary's thoughtful post about scary movies.
     The first scary movie I saw was Nightmare on Elm Street.  I was 8-years-old.  I actually loved it and begged my sister to rent all of the movies in the series.  She did, and I devoured the Freddy Krueger series.  I believed it to be superior to all the other horror franchise films, based on nothing of course.
     Eventually they lost their luster.  I think it was about the time the fifth one came out and I was old enough to see it in the theater.  By then, I was no longer interested in purposely being scared.
     Somewhere along the line, I started hating horror films.  There was no fun it for me.  I hate being scared.  I can count the number of times I've seen a horror film on one hand, and I don't do it by choice.
     I saw What Lies Beneath in theaters with college friends because I was obsessed with all things Michelle Pfeiffer.  My roommate, whom I had gone with, spent a large portion of the film holding on to me or the stranger on the other side of her.  I didn't mind the movie, but I did not appreciate the experience.
     Another friend forced me to watch The Shining.  It was late at night and my walk home involved a cemetery.  I was freaked out for weeks.  It is a good movie, but I would not have been happy watching it by myself.
     I have been told there are sub-genres within scary films; there are horror films, slasher films, and just scary movies.  For me, they all involve going through emotions that are similar to losing your keys in a sewer drain and having rats eat your face.  Or other sets of emotions that I am just not interested in.
     My knowledge of scary movies could fit in an applesauce cup.  I remember watching my first Freddy Krueger film in the basement, then apparently something happened inside that made me never want to see that again, and I just stopped watching them.  Oh, and I think I saw Scream 2, but that hardly counts, because Monica was in it (and Mary says it's awful).