Alfred Hitchcock made fear a sophisticated form of entertainment. Above, James Stewart in Rear Window (1954) and Cary Grant in North by Northwest (1959). Let us begin where discussions of this kind usually begin, the market. Leaving thriller novels and short stories aside, market analyses of audiovisual thrillers suggest that the global OTT and theatrical market was projected to reach $10 billion by 2026. Although the United States remains its largest consumer, the vast Asia-Pacific region—including China and the Indian subcontinent—is not far behind in terms of compounded annual growth. India’s audiovisual thriller market has reportedly been expanding by more than 9 per cent annually, with an audience of nearly 60 million viewers a year. The reasons for this rapid growth are not difficult to comprehend: provocative subject matter, polished presentation and, as an additional post-pandemic stimulus, the increasingly common habit of spending substantial portions of the day at home. But is this at all a problem? If I choose to spend my days and nights watching thrillers in a free country, whose concern is it anyway? What I am trying to convey is: there are humanist and psychological burdens of too much thriller consumption. To make this thesis of mine more accessible let's start with the psychology upon which this enormous market has been built. The Market Psyche Nearly eight decades ago, the relationship between the consumer’s fascination with thrillers and the industry built around it was mapped with remarkable precision by none other than the maestro of suspense, Alfred Hitchcock himself. It’s that obvious right? Who better than Hitchcock - one of the principal architects of the modern thriller market and the director of such celebrated classics as Shadow of a Doubt, Rear Window, Vertigo, North by Northwest, Psycho, The Birds among other gems - to have understood its psychological machinery better? According to Hitchcock, when we watch a crime or psychological thriller, we observe an intensely personal horror from an impersonal distance. We temporarily project ourselves into the consciousness of the terrified victim or the frightening situation. Yet, beneath that identification, we remain aware of our own security. In his own words: “In our subconscious, we are aware that we are safe, sitting in a comfortable armchair, watching a screen.” The master also identified an indispensable method for manufacturing suspense: “Suspense can be created by allowing the audience to play God.” The audience may know who the murderer is, while the characters do not. Suspense then emerges from a different question: will the characters discover what the audience already knows, or will they be mutilated before the narrative culminates? The spectator can therefore sit safely with a bucket of popcorn and think, “Poor creature—dead before realizing what was happening.” The audience possesses privileged knowledge and is allowed to observe the characters from an almost divine vantage point. The market recognizes this latent God complex, stimulates it and converts the spectator’s detached, sometimes disturbing pleasure into a saleable experience. In his essay The Enjoyment of Fear, Hitchcock offered another formulation combining identification with safety: “They identify themselves with fictitious characters who are experiencing fear … but … the price need not be paid … is the important factor.” To explain this, he referred to an analogy with roller coasters. For a few moments, the rider’s body, mind and senses might be thoroughly unsettled. Subconsciously, however, the consumer knows that an invisible structure of protection remains in place and that their life is not genuinely in danger. Do you see Hitchcock playing Frankenstein and we, his psychological creatures? The thriller market therefore rests upon two fundamental psychological conditions: An impersonal, almost God-like sympathy for characters in danger, a detached indulgence in their fear and psychological disturbance. Secondly, the temporary projection of oneself into uncertainty, accompanied by the subconscious assurance that one remains completely safe. A Cleveland Clinic discussion of media consumption and psychology suggests that women consume thriller content more frequently than men. Many women reportedly say that such content makes them more conscious of the dangers they may encounter within contemporary patriarchal societies and consequently encourages greater caution. Nor does the research claim that prolonged exposure to thrillers necessarily makes a person criminally inclined. The more credible concern is that the thriller market may reinforce existing prejudices and intensify social insecurity. In the United States, popular thriller narratives involving Black characters have often perpetuated racist stereotypes associating Black communities with criminality, addiction or sexual misconduct. In many Asia-Pacific societies, excessive consumption of thrillers may similarly contribute to an atmosphere of suspicion, insecurity and distrust. The possible consequences include greater instability in personal relationships and a broader culture of social intolerance. In a country like ours where intolerance has already become a serious feature of civic life, the concern is that thriller mania may add further fuel to it. The problem, therefore, is not the existence of thrillers or the experience of fear as entertainment. It is the transformation of that experience into habitual consumption. An endlessly expanding market repeatedly invites us to encounter other people’s fear, pain and vulnerability without paying any corresponding emotional or material price. From the security of our armchairs—the invisible shelter described by Hitchcock—we consume dramatized versions of other people’s struggles, anxieties and everyday suffering. Their danger becomes spectacle; their vulnerability content; and our psychological distance from their reality becomes the commodity being sold. This does not mean that watching thrillers automatically turns either you or me into criminals or morally corrupt individuals. The more relevant question concerns psychological well-being and social responsibility: how much is too much? (The writer is a Lead Process Engineer with GE HealthCare in France and a columnist with four books to his credit. Views personal.)
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