In keeping with the essence of Friday the 13th and the superstitious nature behind the day, I once again attempted the almost impossible; a movie night with my wife of the horror variety. Getting her to watch a horror movie is like trying to beat a game set by “Jigsaw” himself, possibly because her heart pounds out of her chest as if I’m putting her through just that.
“Hello Shannon, I wanna play a game,”

The closest we’ve come to my wife selecting a horror movie by her own accord, was the terrifying “The Other Woman” starring the equally terrifying Leslie Mann and Cameron Diaz. There are movies that have you watching them from behind a pillow and then there are movies that have you holding said pillow to your face in hope of losing all consciousness. “The Other Woman” is of the later variety.

I have succeeded in getting my wife to watch mild horror movies over the years. Starting off with comedy elements was a always a solid start with “Shaun Of The Dead” and “Tucker And Dale Vs Evil” doing the business. From there I have struggled to gain her full attention as she insists on occupying herself with other things whilst the movie continues in the background, it’s as if she doesn’t want to watch them at all. She has been able to slip back into her comfort zone of “Hocus Pocus” and I quote “Jurassic World” while I’ve been unable to engage her in other movies, try as I might.
“Hey, I like Jaws too!” She protests “Nanna Nanna Nanna Nanna Nanna Nanna Nanna Nanna,”
“Um, I think that’s Batman, honey,”

The Shining, The Thing, even The Babadook, all flashed by without the recognition they rightfully deserved. This sinful attitude must be stopped. There’s something not quite right about a person who doesn’t take pleasure in watching people being mutilated in graphic detail or terrorised by demonic beings, something not quite right at all. Perhaps I’ve watched so many horror movies that I’ve grown numb to their effects? Who knows what it is that makes these movies so enjoyable.

At times I wonder which of us are the most depraved. The people who came up with the idea, or those of us who’s body’s tremble with absolute joy when the whining teenager is decapitated by anything from a chainsaw wielding maniac to a rogue frisbee (I’m yet to witness the rogue frisbee, but surely it’s out there)
This couldn’t be a truer statement for the movie monstrosity that is “The Human Centipede” Never before have I witnessed something so vile, so terrible, something so devoid of plot and purpose, and yet I watched the entire movie like under some kind of trance. When the credits finally rolled it was as if somebody had snapped their fingers and I was free, left with nothing but a bad taste in my mouth and a “WTF” expression. Its two sequels have since been added to Netflix, where something inside me fights a daily struggle against hitting PLAY, an internal battle of my very own Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde.

Approaching the subject carefully, I enquired with my wife about our evening plans.
“What do you wanna do tonight, honey?”
“Sleep,” She answers honestly.
“You know,” I start “With it being Friday the 13th and all, I figured, you know, maybe, possibly, if there’s some chance, we could perhaps watch a horror…”
“Nope!” She cuts me off abruptly.
“But, honey…”
“No!” She continues “I know what you’ll choose. You’ll choose The Evil Dead and you know I draw the line at The Evil Dead,”
Well, there you have it. Despite presenting my proposal with such conviction and confidence, She gave it to me straight.

I shall continue to press the issue and exploit any moments of weakness that arises in the future, as for now, this Friday the 13th was not the one to break down those walls. For what is life without sleepless nights, jumping at every sound and seeing things in the dark? That’s right, no life at all.