Who wants to date a sissy?

I have always wondered why most men have an aversion to horror films. Well, most men I know at least. I had always thought that it was sissy-ish, this refusal to sit through a scary movie because, come on, how bad can it get? It’s only a movie — duh!

But when we were children, my brothers, who were the rough and tumble kind of boys, had violent objections to movies of this genre and were quite vocal about it. Never mind the endless teasing they got from me (forget machismo), one couldn’t pay them to see such films.

Once, my father insisted on taking the whole family to watch Chitty Chitty Bang Bang so all of us were forced to go. When the Child Catcher, a spooky character with spindly limbs, beady eyes, and a long nose appeared (“I smell children!”), my brother slouched so low into his chair that the screen was out of sight. My father asked what the matter was and told him to straighten up so he wouldn’t miss a thing but he said, “It’s okay, Dad. I’m just really tired.” 

So I said to my brother, “Tired? But you’ve just been sitting there and you’re going to miss the best parts.” He threw me the sharpest dagger look ever. After several minutes he became even more restless and insisted on going home because he claimed he had gotten even more tired. 

And so my mother, finally catching on, said, “It’s okay, go ahead, close your eyes and sleep. I’ll wake you up when the movie’s over.” He closed his eyes all right but asleep he definitely wasn’t because he curled tighter into a ball each time the music got more eerie.

For several days afterwards, the yaya had to go with him everywhere, even to the bathroom when he had to brush his teeth. My brother has since grown into this large, chunky man and can be easily mistaken for a football line backer but I don’t think he’s ever seen a scary movie after that, not even a Disney flick, for as long as it has a scary character (like that fat she-octopus, Ursula, in The Little Mermaid).  But shhh! Don’t tell.

In high school, my girl friends and were watching The Shining on VHS at a friend’s house. Her brother walked in the room during the scariest part of the movie and my friend, who was infamous in school for being a prankster, sidled up to the light switch by the far wall as everyone else was glued to the TV. She switched it off and screamed, “REDRUM!” at the same time. Her brother, the only boy in the room, let out an unmanly yelp, bolted, leaving one slipper in haste, and ran smack into the huge, decorative urn at the top of the stairs. It was a mighty crash — something he’s had to live with for much of his life. I knew then that I never wanted to be associated with a man who couldn’t withstand spooky stuff. No scaredy-cat ninnies for me, thank you very much.

Later on, in adult life, I had inadvertently risked life and limb by forgetting how men and horror movies simply don’t mix. In college, I was able to bully this towering, Caucasian, varsity basketball player who was trying to persuade me into seeing Amityville Horror 4. He wanted a date so he got his date — to a horror movie. He was gallant enough to sit through it to the very end although he did take around eight long bathroom breaks, four popcorn runs, and three soda refill runs (or maybe I should say “walks”) in triple-slow motion.

On the walk back to his car, I made the grave mistake of rushing ahead and ducking behind one of the other cars on the lot and popping up to let out a big shout of “BOO!” Everything after that was a blur. I know he sort of tackled me to the ground but the details of the event happened so fast. I only remember going home with a sore butt that stayed sore for several days. I chose not to see him again. “But why?” a classmate asked. “He could score us free tickets to every Bronco game. You realize this, don’t you? Don’t you?!” 

“Yes,” I said, “but who wants to date a ninny?” 

“He’s not a ninny!” she said, shouting this time, “because he didn’t run the other way when you spooked him; he charged you. There’s a difference. Hello!”

“Whatever, still a ninny,” I insisted under my breath and kissed the season tickets goodbye.

Another date, many years later. This wonderful man to whom I had grown emotionally attached took me to see the Harrison Ford action flick, The Fugitive. We both were fans of action films, so it we were looking forward to it. As we sat down glued to the screen, a series of trailers of future attractions flashed. As soon as Amityville: A New Generation came on, he snapped his head toward me and said most regretfully, “I don’t like these things. I really don’t like these things,” without a trace of embarrassment or discomfort. He said it matter-of-factly, like it was the most natural thing in the world. He looked away from the screen until the entire trailer was done. “I don’t know why they show this scary s**t when it’s supposed to be an action film coming up. They should keep the previews strictly confined to action stuff so paying customers know what they’re getting into. Is this too hard to understand?” He really felt strongly about it. But too late for me to go anywhere else; I was already hooked on this guy by that time and a phobia for horror films wasn’t substantial enough to justify a breakup. I had to live with it — a minor concession, really.

Since then, I’ve vowed to find out why this phenomenon afflicts men.  I’ve asked around and yes, a huge number refuse to expose themselves to horror movies and I think it’s because they — especially those with type A, take-charge personalities — enjoy being in control. 

It is the sense of the unknown cropping up when least expected that disorients such men. It gives them a feeling of losing control. The element of surprise upon which all horror and suspense movies are anchored upsets type-A male personalities who tend to be control freaks, planners, always seeking to stay a step ahead of the rest of the world. This type of man doesn’t really enjoy letting go.

Men may enjoy slaughter fests staged for their testosterone-fueled crowd in sports arenas, or sit through bloodshed and violence — the gorier the better — as long as the perpetrator is the devil they know, be it a slasher, a mass murderer, a serial killer, or a killer robot. But give them ghosts and creepy crawlies and they’re out of that movie house faster than you can say “Boo!”

Women, meanwhile, seem to cherish the jump-out-your-seat scenes because they like scaring themselves; it probably spices up their otherwise staid and predictable lives. 

All of us, men and women alike, are perhaps looking for the same thing in such movies —a periodic jolt to the nervous system and a roundabout peek at our innermost fears, all within the comfort of a secure environment. It’s just that, as with everything else when it comes to gender, we want it served up in different ways.

And so ninnies and sissies these men are not. So all of you type-A guys who dislike horror films because they are exactly that — frightening — you may now out yourselves to the whole world and take pride in the defense that you don’t dig scary films because you have a take-charge personality. You are, in fact, macho. No, really. Now sit up straight!

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Thank you for your letters. You may reach me at cecilelilles@yahoo.com or visit my blog at www.fourtyfied.blogpsot.com.