Why we love to be afraid: the thrill behind horror films and '28 Years Later'

Later this month, ‘28 Years Later’—the long-anticipated sequel to ‘28 Days Later’ (2002) and ‘28 Weeks Later (2007)—hits UK cinemas.

The original films didn’t just redefine the zombie genre; they rewired it. As the saga returns, Dr Pete Turner, Lecturer in Film and Digital Media Production at Oxford Brookes University, explores the psychological appeal of horror, and what makes this franchise endure.

Why do some people love being terrified while others can’t stand it?

The world is a scary place sometimes! The more I watch horror, the more prepared I feel for the terrible things that might befall me. There are many reasons people enjoy horror. It stimulates us, gives us the thrill of fear without real danger, and lets us engage with complex moral issues. Some watch purely for physiological arousal; others are drawn to subtext and reflection.

I’m researching childhood memories of watching age-inappropriate films in the 1980s. Many children fell in love with horror back then—feeling simultaneously terrified and delighted, disgusted and awestruck. Very few now say they hate horror films, though some do. For some, there’s simply no desire to be scared or disturbed by entertainment. They get enough horror from the news. Personally, I find the news far worse. Horror films are safe. They can be silly, fun, and disturbing all at once. For those of us drawn to extreme sensations and imaginative engagement, it’s often the most rewarding genre.

How does nostalgia shape audience reactions to long-awaited horror sequels?

Nostalgia is a powerful force. As my research into childhood viewing shows, people often form deep attachments to the horror films they saw when young. This can lead to resistance when sequels or remakes appear. How dare they make a ‘Texas Chainsaw Massacre’ sequel with a bus full of influencers? These legacy sequels can feel like cynical cash-ins.

But horror has always been a cash cow—from Universal’s monster movies and Hammer’s remakes of those, to modern franchises like ‘Paranormal Activity’, ‘Saw’, ‘Final Destination’, and ‘Scream’. Fans often get excited when the original creative team returns. 28 Years Later is one of those rare cases. It reunites director Danny Boyle and writer Alex Garland, whose collaboration helped make ‘28 Days Later’ such a milestone. With Ralph Fiennes and Jodie Comer also onboard, expectations are high.

‘28 Days Later’ arguably saved British horror in 2002, at a time when some said the genre was dead. It was suspenseful, emotional and thought-provoking. Its sequel was exciting, though less intellectually rich. The hope is that this third instalment finds the right balance. The original is one of my very favourite films of the 21st century—so I’m excited, but cautious. High expectations are always risky.

Why do post-apocalyptic horror films resonate so strongly?

Although the world feels frightening, many of us now live with comforts our parents or grandparents never dreamed of: central heating, clean water, endless groceries, and the internet. And yet, we’re riddled with anxiety about what could take it all away. Will it be nuclear war? Climate collapse? Pandemic? Aliens? Zombies?
Science fiction and horror tap into these fears. Studies show that people high in morbid curiosity are more likely to enjoy horror. Maybe we want to understand the mindset of a killer or picture how society crumbles—and how we might survive it. ‘28 Days Later’ captured this brilliantly. Sprinting rage-infected zombies? Horrific. But wandering a deserted supermarket, helping yourself to supplies? Could be fun. ‘28 Years Later’, like ‘The Walking Dead’, will explore what it means to survive in the aftermath—without supermarkets, heating, or smartphones.

How does the isolation in these films intensify psychological fear?

‘28 Days Later’ opens with what I think is one of the most iconic moments in horror history. There are no monsters, no blood—just a deserted London. Empty, littered streets. Jim, played by Cillian Murphy, wakes from a coma and walks alone through the city.
I once showed this scene to an American student who’d laughed off every other horror clip I showed—from Hammer films to ‘The Texas Chain Saw Massacre’. But after watching that opening, he was silent. Eventually he said, “Now that is horrific.” The sight of an utterly empty London—usually buzzing with people—hit him deeply.
The scene was filmed at 4.00am, with police holding back traffic. It perfectly captures the dread of isolation. And just when you get used to the silence, the terror ramps up: the sound of footsteps sprinting towards you. That’s when you realise you’re not alone.

Do horror films help people cope with real-world anxieties, like the Covid-19 pandemic?

Some studies suggest horror fans coped better during the pandemic. Coltan Scrivner and colleagues (2020) found that horror fans showed greater resilience, and those into “prepper” genres like zombie or alien-invasion films showed both resilience and preparedness.

I’ve recently bought an SAS Survival Guide and other books on how to care for my family if civilisation collapses. I’m not sure if horror has helped with my anxieties, but it hasn’t made them worse. If anything, it lets us mentally rehearse what might happen—and how we might respond. It’s a kind of psychological fire drill. Watching horror is less terrifying than watching the news.

Will immersive horror experiences make future films like 28 Years Later too overwhelming?

Just last year, we had an MSc student exploring how to create an immersive atmosphere in a psychological horror game. Our students now experiment with VR headsets and 360° cameras, pushing the boundaries of how horror can be experienced.

It’s true that immersive horror games and VR experiences are changing the genre. Whether they overwhelm audiences is another matter. Some people will always avoid horror. Others are constantly seeking to test their limits.

Look at haunted attractions across America each Halloween. These are limit-testing experiences—live-action horror films, essentially—where customers walk through haunted houses, forests or mazes filled with actors, props, and jump scares. They’re big business, generating around $300 million annually in North America alone (America Haunts, 2019). The appetite for fear is strong. With new technologies, people can now be terrified from the safety of their own homes. Horror fans want to be overwhelmed—so the more immersive, the better.