Finding Comfort in Cosmic Horror
How have we gotten to the point where horror is better for my mental health than the news?
Horror was never something I held much interest in. After a particularly traumatizing experience watching The Woman in Black at a sleepover, I vowed to never watch another horror movie again — much less read or listen to anything in the same vein. YouTube trailers enticed me with visages of people moving into all-too-clearly haunted houses and plots featuring ghosts and ghouls of every sort, but I twisted away from their temptations.
In my eyes, the horror genre was nothing but a bag of jump scares to get me to scream in the movie theatre (which I did. Loudly. At a trailer, of all things). A bunch of cheap parlor tricks meant for entertainment purposes only; the modern movies in the genre didn’t seem to be making any real attempt at meaningful themes or introspective character studies. My oath against watching them didn’t stand the test of time, but my biases against horror remained. I did not like the genre.
Then, in the month of October, during the simpler time of 2019, I was proven so, so wrong. Through a lot of odd circumstance, I ended up picking up my earbuds to tune into a podcast by the name of The Magnus Archives. I had listened to it before, just a few episodes, but I had found it too dull. I even made jokes with my family about how bad it was. Yet, something drew me to it once again, so I decided to give it a second shot. I’m so glad I did.
What seemed at first to be a simple story about an archivist reading out the statements of people who had encountered the esoteric and the weird soon grew into a twining, fantastical tale about the price of power, the terrors that lurk within our minds, and the nature of humanity. Without giving anything away, I can safely say that this is one of the best podcasts I have ever listened to. Not only did The Magnus Archives unearth all my old expectations about horror, it made me rethink my stance on fear as a whole.
Fear is a twisted thing that sticks in your gut and pulls you along on a leash. In this day and age, fear can control us just as much as it can inform us. The fear of loneliness, the fear of judgment, the fear of loss — all of these can be used and abused by people in positions of power, who spit out vitriolic propaganda to whip up the masses against an enemy of their choosing.
The Magnus Archives uses these fears to its advantage, too, but for the opposite effect. By taking the coiling forms of all your personal and existential dreads and molding them into the fabric of its story, it subverts the propaganda we are constantly fed. It shows us the power of fear while also showing how that power can be manipulated. It reveals how fear is both inevitable and malleable — and how that can be worked from every angle, including your own.
Serious spoiler alert from here on out, so please be mindful of that. If this is the stop where you get off, my only message for you is this: Go listen to The Magnus Archives. Really. Do it.
Still here? Okay, let’s jump back into things.
In a genius move reminiscent of the old eldritch monsters of Lovecraftian legend, The Magnus Archives then gives these fears physical forms that are beyond the realm of human imagination. Even in the fifth and final season, in which descriptions of the bloody new world are frequent, we know these statements can never truly reach the rotten core of what these manifestations look like, because these beings defy description. They are said to be like gods, with physics-defying powers at their command and the ability to actively harm people however they choose. A perfect metaphor for today’s world, if I ever saw one. I think Alexander J. Newall, director and actor for The Magnus Archives, put it best when he said, “[The world’s] gotten so bad our cosmic horror show counts as topical.”
The Magnus Archives is eerily aware of the world it is portraying and often has story beats that are surprisingly similar to what we see in real life — sometimes by accident, sometimes by design. That’s what makes the whole thing work, and it’s also what makes the experience of listening to an episode so comforting for me. While the world that Jonathan Sims and Martin Blackwood inhabit is doomed no matter how you cut it, there is still promise for our world. The Magnus Archives shows us the atrocities that exist in our reality as well its own, but compared to literal fear gods ruling over a hellish land, our world has a lot more hope within it. A lot more ability for change. The horrifying acts of police brutality and war and disease in both stories hold serious significance, but the tricky bit is that the inhabitants of our world have much more potential to actually act on these issues and solve them.
Additionally, the show makes my own daily anxieties seem much less important by comparison. My fears of contracting the coronavirus or never getting a job are still legitimate and involve dangers that could have a very real impact on my life, but after listening to an episode of The Magnus Archives, they also feel like a slightly less painful burden to bear. Not much less painful, but enough that I can go about my day with a tiny bit more optimism than I otherwise might have. While the main characters of The Magnus Archives are off trying to save the world alone, I’m sat on my couch, contemplating my future. That’s not so bad, in the long run.
Plus, the story is just so damn good that it provides a refuge (no matter how gruesome) from the horrifying inanity and insanity of the world around me. The news cycle can’t touch me when I’m listening with tensed shoulders to this week’s 20-minute dive into these characters’ lives.
Overall, by showing us how absolutely awful things could be, cosmic horror stories like The Magnus Archives manage to make us feel better about the state of our world. They shed light on the fears of our waking world and give us the key to letting them go: Putting them in perspective. At least my fears of an infectious disease aren’t tied up with a giant eldritch being trying to suck on my anxiety like I’m a lollipop. At least there isn’t a giant eye watching me wherever I go.
At least on this planet, we can make a change, if we only band together.
Not to mention, cosmic horror gives us a peak behind the curtain of fear and allows us to see what really goes on beyond the overwhelming barrier of our anxieties. They give us the space to see that all our fears are controllable, which means that even when it doesn’t feel like it, you’re still in the driver’s seat. It’s not much of a comfort, but it’s enough.
At the very least, this podcast’s given me the chance to see the horror genre in a new, more appreciative light. I almost can’t wait for a good ol’ fashioned horror movie marathon of this Halloween season. Hopefully, I won’t scream loud enough to annoy the neighbors, but no promises.
