Horror sparks much debate about whether or not a certain film qualifies within the genre. With as many subcategories the genre contains, from slashers to haunted houses to body horror, there still is a massive list of films horror aficionados quibble with on their horror status. You will hear, "It's more of a psychological thriller than a horror movie," or, "It uses elements of horror but is not a horror movie," as defenses of particular classifications. Even extremely high-profile movies, most notably Jaws, are subject to the debate. Just Google, "Is Jaws a horror movie?" to see the plethora of articles and forum posts addressing this debate. Generally, the delineation comes down to whether or not a particular film sufficiently scared the viewer consistently enough to warrant the horror certification. Of course, each audience member has their own weak points of fear. For some, it's vampires. Others, it's extreme gore. And then there are the ones where anxiety fuels their fear.

What makes people anxious can be even more nebulous than what makes them afraid. Performing a basic social interaction for some is a feat of strength equivalent to being chased by a masked killer, but for plenty of other people, this is just something they do on a daily basis without thought. Horror movies tend to elicit screams and jumps from the audience as a means to momentarily release them of their fears for entertainment purposes. Films trading in anxiety do not leave room for the same kind of release of tension, because if they did, the authenticity of that anxiety would be broken. If people were to consider those releases "the scares" rather than the moments of consistent unrest, so many movies would be left out of the horror conversation. One such masterpiece that brilliantly captures that terrifying anxiety is Barton Fink.

Released in 1991 and winner of the Palme d'Or, Joel and Ethan Coen's film about a playwright headed to Hollywood to write for the pictures in the early 1940s boils with anxiety borne out of the titular Barton's (John Turturro) writer's block. He sees himself as a spokesperson for the people, wanting to create a "theater for the common man" and writing stories about fishmongers, despite being a New York intellectual. So, when he is tasked with devising a treatment for a wrestling B-picture, something he does not find suited to his interests, the stresses of coming up with a story start to mount. Alongside this emerges his new neighbor Charlie (John Goodman), who seemingly is the kind of "Average Joe" Barton claims to want to write about, and while Charlie is an affable guy, he brings his own sense of peculiarity and unknown to the proceedings.

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Image via 20th Century Fox

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Barton's anxieties manifest themselves most distinctly in his place of residence, the Hotel Earle. Wanting to stay away from the glitz and glamor of Hollywood, the Hotel Earle is dusty, sweaty, and falling apart. His room acts as a sweatbox where he wakes up every morning with mosquito bites. The wallpaper constantly peels as if it is way trying to escape being a part of this place itself. You feel as though you can smell the old, hot glue dripping down the walls. The hallways are long and vacant. Barton and Charlie appear to be the only people staying in the hotel, with just the old elevator operator and the bellhop Chet (Steve Buscemi) there as employees. Each subsequent day he spends in the Hotel Earle feels more and more like he has stepped into an evil place, culminating with it set aflame by either Charlie or maybe an otherworldly force.

The final, fiery set piece of Barton Fink most explicitly makes the case for it as a horror film. You have the terror of someone handcuffed to a hotel bed as a man charges down the hallway with a shotgun after two detectives, screaming, "I'll show you the life of the mind!" Though it is the only scene in the film this outrageous in its outward horror, the only reason the scene is effective as it is comes from it being that inevitable ripping off of the bandage seeded throughout the film's running time. All of those scenes and moments of Barton in his room sweating, messing with his wallpaper, and attempting to keep everything together lead to everything crashing down as the fire consumes all. Most disconcerting of all is we never really know why all of this happens, and the Coen Brothers use that unknown throughout the film to aid in the anxiety.

Horror movies are no stranger to the unknown, be it not knowing why your child is acting in psychopathic ways or simply what lurks behind a corner, yet most of the time, these questions do get answered. Barton Fink revels in the unknown. One morning, Barton awakes after a night with his idol's wife (Judy Davis) with her murdered in bed beside him. We never learn who killed her or why, although there are implications the killer is Charlie. Similarly, Charlie bestows Barton with a package to hang onto for a little while. We never learn what is in that package. Could it be the murdered woman's head? Could it be an unrelated person's head? Or is it something innocuous? We never know. These developments only add to the weight Barton places on his shoulders.

Of course, the most elemental reason for Barton's anxiety is writer's block coupled with a deadline. Whether you are in seventh grade writing a book report or a grown adult with a work project, we all relate to the stresses of meeting a deadline. This very article was written under a deadline, and its author was more than anxious about meeting that deadline. Many people thrive off conquering that challenge, and some crumble under the pressure, unhealthily retreating into the recesses of their own minds. Using that baseline as a central source for its psychological terror makes complete sense, and placing all these unknown, unexplainable elements on top of it makes for an armrest clenching experience.

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Image via 20th Century Fox

Being a film from Joel and Ethan Coen, Barton Fink contains its fair share of absurd humor and quirky characters, from the boisterous studio head (an Academy Award-nominated Michael Lerner) to the alcoholic novelist (John Mahoney). The Coen Brothers rarely make a film that squarely fits into one neat category, hence why the term "Coenesque" was coined. What the Minnesota-born brothers understand is anxiety and comedy need to coexist with one another, otherwise there would be no air for an anxious person to breathe. This year's Shiva Baby from writer-director Emma Seligman traffics in a similar blending of the paralyzing terror of an uncomfortable situation mixed with using humor to try and get yourself out of it.

While Barton Fink is an enormously enjoyable film, the horror of Barton Fink comes from a completely different place than most horror films. Its dread does not manifest itself in the same way as waiting in line for a roller coaster does, where you are excited by how scared you will be. Extreme anxiety and stress just propel you further into your own mind. Instead of reacting to external forces, you are thinking about internal ones, which may not make you realize just how scared you actually are. Every October, film lovers make lists of horror movies to watch in the lead-up to Halloween. Consider adding Barton Fink to these lists for a horror film that attacks the genre in a completely unique way than so many of the classics. Not only will it add variety to the parade of things that bump in the night and splattering pools of blood, but it may expand what you think a horror movie can be.

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