Why My Psychology Professor Assigned a Horror Movie as Homework
When Professor Reynolds announced that our psychology class would be analyzing a horror film for homework, the room buzzed with reactions. Some students grinned, others groaned, and a few muttered about how they’d need to sleep with the lights on. But as someone who’s always been curious about why we react to fear the way we do, I couldn’t help but lean in. Why would a psychology course use horror movies as a teaching tool? The answer, I soon discovered, was rooted in the science of fear, human behavior, and the surprising ways our brains process stress.
Let’s start with the obvious: horror movies are designed to unsettle us. From eerie soundtracks to jump scares, filmmakers manipulate sensory cues to trigger visceral reactions. But in a psychology class, the goal isn’t just to make students squirm—it’s to dissect how these techniques work and what they reveal about the human mind.
The Neuroscience of Fear
When we watch a horror movie, our brains don’t fully distinguish between real danger and fictional threats. The amygdala, the brain’s fear center, activates regardless of whether the threat is a zombie on-screen or a sudden noise in real life. This triggers the fight-or-flight response: our hearts race, palms sweat, and muscles tense. But here’s the twist: because we know the danger isn’t real, we’re able to process fear in a controlled environment. Psychologists call this “recreational fear”—a phenomenon where people seek out scary experiences for enjoyment, like riding roller coasters or watching horror films.
Analyzing this response helps students understand the brain’s dual processing systems. The prefrontal cortex, responsible for logical thinking, battles the amygdala’s primal signals. In other words, we’re simultaneously thinking, “This isn’t real” and “But what if it is?!” This tension is a goldmine for discussions about cognitive dissonance and emotional regulation.
Why Horror Films Mirror Real-World Anxieties
Horror movies often reflect societal fears. Take Get Out (2017), which uses supernatural elements to critique racism, or The Babadook (2014), a metaphor for grief and repressed trauma. By studying these narratives, psychology students explore how art mirrors collective anxieties. For instance, why do vampire stories surge during times of social upheaval? Why are zombie apocalypses tied to fears of pandemics or societal collapse?
Our homework involved watching Hereditary (2018), a film steeped in themes of inherited trauma and family dysfunction. Afterward, we dissected scenes to identify symbols—like the miniature models built by the protagonist, which mirrored her lack of control over her life. This exercise wasn’t just about film analysis; it was about recognizing how humans use storytelling to process complex emotions.
The Role of Empathy in Fear
One of the most fascinating takeaways was how horror films rely on empathy. When a character screams, our mirror neurons fire as if we’re experiencing their panic. This neural mimicry explains why we feel invested in fictional characters’ survival. But empathy can also desensitize us. Repeated exposure to violent or traumatic content—even in fiction—can dull emotional responses over time, a concept known as “habituation.”
This sparked a debate in class: Can watching horror movies make people more resilient to stress, or does it normalize fear? Research suggests both outcomes are possible. For some, confronting fear in a safe context builds emotional resilience. For others, excessive exposure might lead to heightened anxiety. The key, as our professor emphasized, is self-awareness and moderation.
The Ethical Dilemma of Fear as Entertainment
Assigning a horror film also raised ethical questions. Is it appropriate to use fear as a teaching tool? What about students with past trauma? Our professor addressed this by offering alternative assignments and encouraging open dialogue. It highlighted an important lesson: psychology isn’t just about theories—it’s about understanding human diversity and creating inclusive environments.
This homework also challenged stereotypes about horror as a “lowbrow” genre. By analyzing cinematography, symbolism, and character development, we learned to appreciate horror as a sophisticated storytelling medium. It’s not just about gore; it’s about exploring existential questions. What does it mean to be human? How do we cope with the unknown?
What I’ll Remember in Five Years
Years from now, I might forget the specifics of Freudian theory or the steps of classical conditioning. But I’ll remember dissecting Hereditary at 2 a.m., jumping at every creak in my apartment, and realizing how deeply art intersects with psychology. The assignment wasn’t just about fear—it was about curiosity. Why do we enjoy being scared? How do stories shape our understanding of the world?
Horror movies, it turns out, are more than entertainment. They’re windows into the human condition. And for psychology students, that’s a lesson worth staying up late for—even if it means double-checking the locks afterward.
So, the next time someone says horror films are “just for fun,” you’ll know better. They’re a masterclass in neuroscience, culture, and the stories we tell ourselves to make sense of life’s uncertainties. And hey, if you need an excuse to rewatch The Shining for “research purposes,” now you’ve got one.
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