Not today, Satan! On the surge of supernatural (and demonic) horror movies

Cut to the Feeling is a monthly column by Anne T. Donahue about the art and pop culture that sparks joy, grief, nostalgia, and everything in between.

The success of Smile 2 has taught us all an important lesson: process your trauma, or risk supernatural wrath. (Basically.)

Which is a theme horror films have started to increasingly embrace. True, there's always been ample room for the demonic, the possessed and the ghosts of Christmas past, but the success of movies like Longlegs, Oddity, I Saw the TV Glow and Immaculate have proven that in terms of fictional terrors, it's what we can't see that's most frightening. We've gotten tired of the devil we know.

Or, true crime ruined everything. In the wake of so much overexposure to explicable horror, we've begun turning to what we can't explain.

From Psycho to Scream to Ready or Not, the most jarring horror offerings have hinged on the notion that the people we purport to know (or assume are safe to be around) are the ones who will actually hurt us. The big reveal behind who-did-what would relay a motive rooted in a sensational backstory and expose seemingly harmless members of the human race as the most dangerous animals of all. The revelation that a predator could hide in plain sight and blend in until an a-ha moment was shocking — Norman Bates seemed so innocent! Billy Loomis was covered in corn syrup! Your in-laws aren't supposed to want to (actually) kill you! And then we got wise: real life played out and parlayed into "content," and through true crime documentaries, Dateline specials and the buffet of podcasts being released weekly, the notion that we were all surrounded by monsters was hardly novel or interesting. The horrors persist, but so do we.

The appetite for true crime is understandable, and the enthusiasm of its fanbase can be justified via explanations of wanting to "understand" serial killers, the need to "figure out" how to avoid befalling similar fates or even giving in to old-fashioned voyeurism. (True crime has always been a money-maker — shout-out to Jack the Ripper.) Yet its popularity has also bred apathy and insensitivity. It's not enough to know about a murder, we need to know who did it, why and how long it took. It's not enough to see photos of the survivors or victims when they were alive and happy, we want to see photos of how they looked in the wake of the worst experience imaginable. Our appetite for the cold, hard facts increases with almost every highly publicized investigation or murder trial, and every serving makes us realize that we now expect the worst, that we can't be shocked by real life anymore, and that, baby, we've seen it all.

So horror movies have adapted. Thanks to our increased understanding of trauma, directors have built on the sources of terror we can't necessarily see. We can't see into the minds of psychopaths who are out for blood, regardless of how many Mindhunter episodes we once binged. (If you think you can believe everything a serial killer tells you, I'm so sorry.) We don't know the impact of residual energy or the way it lingers in the wake of something unthinkable. We have no idea what happens after we die, or what fresh hell (or heaven!) awaits us when we cross over to wherever it is we go next. And that grey area is terrifying. Are the circumstances behind Smile 2 actually possible? Is Nicolas Cage really singing outside of our homes? If we watch the wrong things or say the wrong phrases or bring the wrong item home from the antique market, are we doomed to be descended on by something "evil"? We don't know! 

None of this is to drag true crime that's responsible in its reporting and coverage, or shirks tabloid sensationalism. The more recent pivots to stories that put victims first are important in reminding viewers that a tragedy is not entertainment. Pieces that examine our failing justice system or the social pitfalls that have created the landscape we're all trying to survive are crucial to sparking change. There is absolutely a place for discourse around the cultural, social and political climates that make it easy for predators to seek out "easy" victims. True crime can do better — and in some cases is succeeding — and it's on us to demand that. But it's also normalized an unsettling truth: "good," "ordinary" and "normal" people do drop their masks. The people we think we know can hurt us.

Which is why the most interesting horror movies have doubled down on what we can't see and will likely never really understand. And, for the record, that's a good thing. Our imaginations should be stoked, and the supernatural should seem threatening. This is why I won't watch Nicolas Cage movies anymore — who knows what could summon his singing.