You know, horror stories on television ain’t what they used to be. You could pretty much depend on scary TV shows to be a bit watery; slightly sterilized and toned down.
Not this one, Jim.
From the creepy theme music to the truly scary, jump-out-and-blast-ya scenes (as well as more flesh and jiggle content than you’ve ever seen on basic network TV), American Horror Story (Wednesdays at 10 p.m. Eastern on FX) is just that: a horror story. And it’s frightening.
When the theme music comes on, I have to cover my ears and go “la, la la la laaaaaaa.” Why do I watch these things? What is it about our nature that makes us dare to be horrified? I remember doing the same hands-over-the-ears thing when the theme music to the old Dark Shadows played. When I watch them on Netflix nowadays, I fast-forward through the opening theme. Yet, I can’t stop watching.
Last night I watched American Horror with the Thriller, and dangit if I wasn’t petrified to go upstairs by myself. Ridiculous! I’ve always known that my empathy response was on overdrive; I put myself in countless situations right along with the actors. Internalizing this stuff ain’t healthy, lemmetellya. But I still watch. Why? I stop just short of making the Thriller sit by the bedside until I fall asleep. What a nutjob. (Me, not him.)
PS – HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MAVIS!