(PAPP) Paranormal Snacktivities
It was a warm September evening when I first discovered Paranormal Activity. Usually ersatz-Blair Witch micro-budgeted horror films failed to pique my interest (the 'found-footage' genre had only recently come onto the cinematic radar after Cloverfield), but there was one tidbit that forced me to find this movie and see it.
The article's title read 'Paranormal Activity Scared Steven Spielberg Into Making a Deal'. Upon reading it, I learned that after watching a screener DVD, Spielberg became locked out of his own bedroom, subsequently returning the DVD in a garbage bag, refusing to let it anywhere near his home again. This internet urban legend had turned my interest into a feverish desire to see this movie. If it scared Spielberg half-to-death, just how bad could it be?
As it turned out, I wasn't the only one intrigued by this movie. My friend Kyle Goines, who I'd recently started working with and didn't know very well, had also heard about the movie. It was through him that I learned about the Coolidge Theatre's free midnight screening of the film that upcoming Friday (for those who need specifics, that's 9/24/09). Here was my chance. At the time, I had been trying to write a horror film, (three horror film attempts later, and it's still unfinished) and I really hadn't been frightened as much as I would have liked. To add icing on the cake, Suspiria was playing the next night at the Brattle Theater. It was going to be a great weekend for movie watching.
As Friday approached, I abstained from watching any trailers. If this was to be the ball-busting experience I had craved, I needed to go in free of expectations. This all reeked of a publicity stunt, releasing a no-budget horror film to college towns in order to create the next Saw franchise for 1/8th the cost. But I still needed to find out. I needed to venture into that dark cave to see whether a beast or a shadow lurked.
At least two convoys left at 4:00 PM sharp for the Coolidge. Fellow Aisle7'ers Dave, Sesto, and Coops were among the group. In total, we had about a dozen people. I parked my car right in front of the theater, preparing to camp out in a long line. There were... No people there. The rush-hour Boston traffic had sent us into an impatient frenzy to get there on time; this was replaced with the crushing disappointment of waiting for six more hours at the front of a line for a free movie we weren't even sure we'd like.
Luckily for all of us, there was beer provided. And a pizza shop happened to be down the street. Several slices and concealed PBRs later, there was the discovery of the grand opening for an adult bookstore. A handful of us wandered in while the others begrudgingly stayed in line, waiting for a movie that might never come. I enjoyed my bonding experience with Kyle and Sam Cooper, two gents who I'd spend a lot of time with soon after. The porn party was great, too. I bought about a dozen condoms that I'd never use at a discounted price, drank a glass of wine while pretending not to be underage, and I even won a Wicked Pictures sampler DVD starring Stormy Daniels. Even if the whole movie thing was a bust, I'd still have Stormy my girlfriend Stormy to keep me company.
The hours passed, and by 11:30 there was a line around the block. Others had heard. The sense of intrigue had reached epic, volcanic levels. There was a lot riding on this. For me, personally. The amount of cigarettes combined with the two drinks, salty pizza, and a lack of water gave me a terrible headache, threatening to crash this whole thing spiritually and emotionally.
At midnight sharp, they let us all in to the theater. The crowd became thick. I drank a lot of Vitamin Water and subsequently forgot to piss. Big mistake. The lights soon went down and the movie started.
I remember writing notes in my Necronominotebook Volume 1 (the last completed volume was 13), which later became lost. It was for the best. I began writing notes for the first twenty minutes or so, which were very not-scary. I stopped writing when 'the presence' first made itself known, and I never touched my pen for the remainder of the movie.
The audience was completely silent. It became clear to me that they all had underestimated the movie just as I had. Things got worse. The scares became scarier, the dread dialed itself past eleven. I'm not too proud to admit this, but I screamed as loud as everyone else did when Katie's demonic visage lunged at the camera lens and into the audience's nightmares.
You look back at a traumatic experience sometimes to sort of retrace your steps, in order to figure out where the problem began. Horror had played a cruel joke on me. I challenged the movie gods to scare me again, and scare they did. We returned to Fitchburg in a terrified silence. My lack of sleep combined with abject terror was not a good mix for driving home. I think I went past 80 mph on Route 2.
Sleeping was out of the question. It was only three more hours until the sun came up, until I could take solace in the daylight that chased the shadows away from the dorm that I lived in. My girlfriend was asleep. Prone to sleep walking and talking, her warmth offered no solace in light of her nocturnal activities. Even Stormy could not soften my hardened senses.
Later that night, we saw Suspiria. We had to. It was a technicolor print. I remember sitting in the theater in a hypnotized insomnia-induced trance.Suspiria had been the scariest film I had ever seen up to that point. Now it seemed fairly dulled.
My sleep problems steadily worsened after this. I'm told it was a preoccupation with horror films, namely ones by Dario Argento, that caused these problems. Seeing Paranormal a second time did nothing to console me. Neither did seeing Antichrist. Until early February, going to sleep at night became something to dread. Being in a house by myself caused an unbelievable amount of paranoia. There seemed to be no way out of this.
When I was a child, I became convinced that there were ghosts in my house. I used to see colored silhouettes walking up and down the halls at night. Strange noises from my basement were also experienced by my mother. From age six to seven, I used to keep the lights on as I slept. Funny how thirteen years later, history repeated itself.
I obviously got over all of this, and it all seems funny to reminisce about. I haven't seen Paranormal Activity a third time, nor have I paid much attention to its annual sequels. That movie kicked my ass, I'm ashamed to admit. But the night I saw it is still one of the most memorable and enjoyable movie-going experiences I've ever had. And that is something I'll never forget.
Also, the Stormy DVD sucked. Literally and figuratively. I returned that DVD in a garbage bag as well. Into the fucking trash can.
- Papp
