As someone who is not a horror fanatic, it seems to me I only engage in the genre through short clips and reactions online. Have I watched Obsession? No. Backrooms? Also, no. And yet I seem to have picked up the plot and the twists just through scrolling on TikTok. For me, this is not a big deal, as I can be the first to admit I am too scared to commit to a true horror film, but it does raise the question: Have we forgotten how to be scared? And how will the horror genre survive when it is clipped down to its most frightening moments, and only circulated outside of the cinemas?
Now, I am not attempting to claim that horror has lost all ability to frighten us; rather, the digital environment surrounding it has changed our relationship with fear. Through constant spoilers, algorithmic exposure, and the relentless circulation of reaction content, audiences are increasingly encountering horror as something which is consumed and discussed rather than experienced.
It seems that we live in a Spoiler Epidemic, where fear can thrive without surprise. With the rise of streaming as a method of consumption, audiences have access to an entire series or film from the moment it is released. And as TikTok edits continue to thrive, savvy audience members with editing skills can clip and upload key scenes online, generating clicks and views instantaneously. This is even more noticeable when the horror in question is uploaded on a platform which requires a paid subscription or has differing international release dates. Therefore, algorithms can push out clips of the film to audiences who do not yet have access to it, or to users like me, who are too scared to watch the whole thing but are looking for a plot summary.
However, this method of detachment and mass access to spoilers is changing the relationship audiences once had with horror. When watching the film after already seeing clips online, the film can no longer rely on anticipation. Instead of fearing what might happen, audiences are left waiting for the striking scene to occur. Equally, a spoiler doesn’t just reveal information; it interrupts the function of a film. They remove the emotional journey which is required to experience that information, leaving audiences detached from the wider project.
TikTok has also facilitated the rise in reaction video culture, leaving other audiences watching horror rather than experiencing it. It is hard to deny the captivating nature of a horror film (from what I know after watching Scream), leaving you on the edge of your seat, fingers covering eyes yet unable to look away. However, TikTok creators are also aware of this, and by selling their reaction to horror, users love to watch others squirm. This leaves audiences watching other people’s fear before experiencing their own. Disturbing scenes become memes and sound trends, as horror once again becomes displaced from its origins.
Like every discourse piece I seem to be reading at the moment, I have to ask: is this something to do with the attention economy? Are we as Gen Z more scared of committing to a 90-minute film than the concept of horror itself? Maybe. It seems to me that we are consuming more horror than ever but constantly experiencing it less.
It is time we re-immerse ourselves in horror again. Don’t let TikTok tell the story for you. We need to stop letting algorithms dictate which media we consume, especially within the horror genre. By surrendering our cinematic experiences to curated clips and jump-scare compilations, we trade the profound, cathartic dread of the unknown for instant gratification. Make yourself uncomfortable and put yourself on edge like the directors intended. Turn off the notifications, sit in the dark, and remember that horror is supposed to be felt—not just seen in segments.
Words by Lily Bartle-Jenkins
Featured image courtesy of Karen Zhao on Unsplash. Image license: https://unsplash.com/license
