Despite my current love for all things horror, I was quite the scaredy-cat when I was a kid.
(This may have something to do with the time my dad let me and my sister watch Poltergeist at the tender ages of 4 and 7. Apparently, I refused to enter any room by myself for an entire month afterwards. I’m sure my dad didn’t have any regrets about that parenting decision…)
Wes Craven’s Scream was my official introduction to the joys of scary movies. I saw it in the theater twice and bought it on VHS as soon as it was available. That smart, funny, and meta slasher movie helped me to understand the ways horror movies can subvert expectations and shine a light on our collective fears. Seeing Neve Campbell’s Sidney Prescott claim her agency and kick Ghostface’s ass gave me a framework for understanding the subtext behind the scares.
Of course, I often spend my time thinking deep thoughts about pop culture–and my profession as a financial writer means those thoughts are frequently centered around money.
But considering the way scary movies reveal and reflect the cultural fears we collectively grapple with, and the fact that money is such a common source of anxiety, it’s no wonder that some of the scariest specters in our favorite spooky movies represent our financial worries.
Here’s what I’ve learned about money from my favorite horror movies:
Jaws: Prioritizing Profit Over Safety Sacrifices Both
Other than the shark himself (R.I.P., Bruce), the only real antagonist in Steven Spielberg’s 1975 masterpiece is Larry Vaughn, the mayor of Amity Island. As played by Murray Hamilton, Vaughn is a glad handing pillar of the community who is only looking out for the economic interests of the business owners on the island. They count on tourism for their livelihoods.
When Roy Scheider’s Chief Brody attempts to close down the beaches after the first shark attack fatality, Vaughn leans on the coroner to declare the death a boating accident and pressures the chief to keep the beaches open–which leads to many more deaths. Only after the shark kills a man in front of Vaughn (and nearly eats Brody’s son) does the mayor change his tune.
The first time I saw this film as a teenager, I remember thinking Vaughn’s character was cartoonish. “No one who was responsible for an entire community would act that recklessly!” I said to myself, while simultaneously patting myself on the back for seeing through such blatant black-and-white characterization.
(I’m sure you can imagine my surprise a few years ago when elected officials were suggesting that the nation's nanas were willing to die to keep the economy going…)
Time has shown me that I owe Peter Benchley and Carl Gottlieb an apology for maligning their writing, since Vaughn was actually a more nuanced version of what we often saw during the Covid lockdowns. But watching Jaws post-Covid has also made it clear how often the film hammers home the message that putting profit above safety sacrifices both.
Mayor Larry Vaughn is the most obvious example of this, since he is unwilling to agree to any safety measures that might hurt the town’s finances, from shutting down the beach to using Amity’s resources to pay the shark-hunter Quint. Not until Vaughn sees a man die at the beach does he go back on his profit-centric worldview–at which point Amity Island is in the news about the shark attacks, which will hurt its economy for years to come.
But Vaughn is not the only character who puts profits first. When we first meet Quint, he tells the town that he will find and kill the shark for $10,000 (nearly $60,000 in 2024 dollars). He knows it's an outlandish amount of money, but he warns the town council they can either pay him that money or see all of Amity financially struggling over the long winter.
Once Vaughn hires him, Quint consistently makes decisions that prioritize that money over his own safety and that of Brody and oceanographer Matt Hooper. When Brody sees the shark and realizes they’re going to need a bigger boat, Quint refuses to return to the island for said larger watercraft and convinces the men to stay on the water overnight.
When the shark destroys part of Quint’s boat, he smashes the radio to keep Brody from calling for help. While it’s unclear if Quint is motivated by the money and fears having to share it or if he simply wants single-handed revenge against the shark, his actions directly lead to his own death. Which means he never gets a chance to enjoy the cool 10 grand.
A Nightmare on Elm Street: Wealth Cannot Protect You From Tragedy
Freddy Krueger was the boogeyman of the 1980s. Despite never seeing the film until the ripe age of 45, I was certain that the burned man with the knife glove and a dark sense of humor was out to get me throughout my childhood.
When I did finally watch this film, I was surprised to discover a fascinating lesson about how wealth can’t insulate you from tragedy.
Though it’s never quite articulated by the movie, the teenagers living on Elm Street are clearly privileged. Just look at final girl Nancy’s home (and the across-the-street house her boyfriend Glen lives in) to see that these kids are clearly upper middle class.
On the other hand, Fred Krueger lived in a boiler room when he was alive, and seemed to have some sort of blue-collar job when he wasn’t killing kids. The class fears of a blue-collar predator could be its own PhD thesis, but it’s interesting to look at what made Freddy so terrifying both before and after he died:
Krueger was responsible for the deaths of local children and finally apprehended, but a legal technicality allowed him to walk free. A vigilante mob of parents set his boiler room on fire, and he died in the blaze. But Freddy came back years later in the dreams of the town’s teenage children, killing them while they slept.
Before his death, the residents of Elm Street weren’t safe from Freddy, despite their resources. Their homes couldn’t protect them. The police couldn’t protect them. And the justice system couldn’t protect them. Elm Street was vulnerable to this man’s evil until the parents, led by Nancy’s mother Marge, took matters into their own hands.
The same thing happens years later when Freddy haunts the kids’ dreams. Nancy and her friends are not safe in their homes, even when the house is boarded up. The police cannot make them safe and Nancy’s police chief father uses the justice system to blame an innocent boy for the deaths.
The story is an excellent metaphor for the fact that tragedy can strike anyone. The parents of Elm Street refuse to believe Nancy that Freddy is attacking her in her dreams because they are counting on the safety of their nice homes, their privilege in the community, and their access to resources like a sleep clinic to protect them. But that’s all false security.
Only Nancy recognizes that the threat won’t be foiled by privilege. She relies on herself rather than her resources–and she prevails (if you ignore the fake-out ending forced on Craven).
The Shining: Financial Abuse is a Precursor to Physical Abuse
Despite Stephen King’s view of the film, I consider the 1980 movie The Shining to be a feminist examination of domestic abuse. The movie shows Jack Nicholson’s Jack Torrance losing control of his mind and his temper while spending the winter as the Overlook Hotel’s caretaker–a job he mostly leaves to his wife Wendy, played by the late Shelley Duvall.
As much as I love this film–and I would never presume to question Stanley Kubrick’s directing choices–I have always felt like the character of Jack is portrayed as a little too unhinged from the beginning. Even when we see Duvall and Nicholson interact early on when things are supposed to be fine between them, the viewer has trouble imagining these two people falling in love and getting married. They just seem to occupy the same space together.
But the lack of chemistry between these two characters may also be part of Kubrick’s genius because it shows just how trapped Wendy was in her marriage.
She is already in an abusive relationship even before the Overlook’s ghosts get their hands on Jack. He had harmed their little boy in a drunken rage prior to the events of the film. Wendy is a stay-at-home mother with no resources of her own. Without her own income, she has very little choice but to follow him to the Overlook and make the best of a terrible situation.
It’s significant that Jack does not actively try to harm Wendy or their son (again) until after the snow traps them at the Overlook–and after Jack has disabled the sno-cat that is the only vehicle able to traverse the mountain. Just as less supernaturally-driven abusers slowly reduce their victims’ options over time, Jack starts by financially and emotionally trapping his wife, then physically trapping her, before violently attacking her.
Wendy proves herself to be remarkably resourceful, intelligent, and resilient in the face of Jack’s attacks, which also offers viewers an excellent allegory for the survival strategies of abused women.
The Overlook ghosts and Jack are surprised by Wendy’s skills because they assumed her go-along-to-get-along attitude was a sign of weakness. But learning to make the best of a bad situation is a valid survival skill that countless women have had to master in the face of financial abuse. Wendy shows us how we could also use that skill when things get more dangerous.
The Essence of Horror
I have realized over time that one of the reasons I love scary stories is because it helps me face my own fears and recognize fear responses in others. While I don’t worry that a giant shark or sleep monster or Jack Nicholson are going to get me when I least expect it (well, I don’t worry about it much), I do get frightened when I see profit prioritized over safety or when I remember that tragedy touches every person’s life or when I recognize the prevalence of financial control and abuse.
But horror films don’t just show us the scary stuff. They also subvert our expectations by showing us how overlooked and underestimated people can fight back. We’re more than our fears, and the best scary movies make sure we know it.
What have you learned from your favorite horror films? Let us know in the comments below.
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