

On Halloween, the cinemas and TV channels are filled with horror movies. But what should you do if you have a young child who wants to watch too?
Many of us have a childhood memory of a movie that gave us nightmares and took us to a new level of fear. Maybe this happened by accident. Or maybe it happened because an adult guardian didn’t choose the right movie for your age.
For me it was The Exorcist. It was also the movie that frightened my mum when she was a youngster. She had warned me not to watch it. But I did. I then slept outside my parents’ room for months for fear of demonic possession.
Parents often ask about the right age for “scary” movies. A useful resource is The Australian Council of Children and the Media, which provides colour-coded age guides for movies rated by child development professionals.
Let’s suppose, though, that you have made the decision to view a scary movie with your child. What are some good rules of thumb in managing this milestone in your child’s life?
Research into indirect experiences can help us understand what happens when a child watches a scary movie. Indirect fear experiences can involve watching someone else look afraid or hurt in a situation or verbal threats (such as “the bogeyman with sharp teeth will come at midnight for children and eat them”).
Children depend very much on indirect experiences for information about danger in the world. Scary movies are the perfect example of these experiences. Fortunately, research also shows that indirectly acquired fears can be reduced by two very powerful sources of information: parents and peers.
In one of our recent studies, we showed that when we paired happy adult faces with a scary situation, children showed greater fear reduction than if they experienced that situation on their own. This suggests that by modelling calm and unfazed behaviour, or potentially even expressing enjoyment about being scared during a movie (notice how people burst into laughter after a jump scare at theatres?), parents may help children be less fearful.
There is also some evidence that discussions with friends can help reduce fear. That said, it’s important to remember that children tend to become more similar to each other in threat evaluation after discussing a scary or ambiguous event with a close friend. So it might be helpful to discuss a scary movie with a good friend who enjoys such movies and can help the child discuss their worries in a positive manner.
How a parent discusses the movie with their child is also important. Children do not have enough experience to understand the statistical probability of dangerous events occurring in the world depicted on screen. For example, after watching Jaws, a child might assume that shark attacks are frequent and occur on every beach.
Children need help to contextualise the things they see in movies. One way of discussing shark fears after viewing Jaws might be to help your child investigate the statistics around shark attacks (the risk of being attacked is around 1 in 3.7 million) and to acquire facts about shark behaviours (such as that they generally do not hunt humans).
These techniques are the basis of cognitive restructuring, which encourages fact-finding rather than catastrophic thoughts to inform our fears. It is also an evidence-based technique for managing excessive anxiety in children and adults.
If your child is distressed by a movie, a natural reaction is to prevent them watching it again. I had this unfortunate experience when my seven-year-old daughter accidentally viewed Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children, which featured a monster with knives for limbs who ate children’s eyeballs for recreation.
My first instinct was to prevent my daughter watching the movie again. However, one of the most effective ways of reducing excessive and unrealistic fear is to confront it again and again until that fear diminishes into boredom. This is called exposure therapy.
To that end, we subjected her and ourselves to the same movie repeatedly while modelling calm and some hilarity - until she was bored. We muted the sound and did silly voice-overs and fart noises for the monster. We drew pictures of him with a moustache and in a pair of undies. Thankfully, she no longer identifies this movie as one that traumatised her.
This strategy is difficult to execute because it requires tolerating your child’s distress. In fact, it is a technique that is the least used by mental health professionals because of this.
However, when done well and with adequate support (you may need an experienced psychologist if you are not confident), it is one of the most effective techniques for reducing fear following a scary event like an accidental horror movie.
Did I ever overcome my fear of The Exorcist? It took my mother checking my bed, laughing with me about the movie, and re-affirming that being scared is okay and normal for me to do so (well done mum!)
Fear is a normal and adaptive human response. Some people, including children, love being scared. There is evidence that volunteering to be scared can lead to a heightened sense of accomplishment for some of us, because it provides us with a cognitive break from our daily stress and worries.
Hopefully, you can help ensure that your child’s first scary movie experience is a memorable, enjoyable one.
Carol Newall, Senior Lecturer in Early Childhood, Macquarie University
This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.
In December 1916, as war raged in Europe, an entrepreneurial pearl diver took a chance on some bleeding-edge technology and installed an outdoor cinema in one of the country’s most isolated towns – Broome, Western Australia.
Ted Hunter didn’t know much about cinemas. Not many people did at the turn of the 20th century. But that didn’t stop him beginning what has become a long history of outdoor cinema exhibition in Australia.
Sun Pictures in Broome opened with Jack Hulcup’s 1913 silent film Kissing Cup, in which a “squire’s jockey” escapes kidnappers and gallops across the Isle of Wight in time to win the race. Huzzah.
More than a century later, Sun Pictures still stands – the world’s oldest operating open-air cinema.
While the Guinness World Record is a nice-to-have, Sun Pictures’ survival has been ensured not by the latest Hollywood blockbuster, but by what the cinema offers locals and visitors each night: a moviegoing experience that is at once unique and familiar.
Before opening Sun Pictures, Hunter made his money as a master pearler. Pearl shells, which were turned into mother-of-pearl buttons, transformed the economic life of Broome in the late 1800s. Despite being so isolated, the pearling industry brought great riches to the town, while also entrenching workers along racial lines.
Racial segregation was firmly present in Broome’s “picture garden” for the first half of the 20th century. White Australians and their kids were seated in the middle, with Chinese and Japanese patrons behind them. Malays, Filipinos and First Nations people entered separately and were seated at the sides, or remained standing.
Aboriginal rights activist Charles Perkins would later directly challenge the segregation of Australian cinemas in his 1965 “Freedom Ride” throughout rural New South Wales.
My colleague Tess Van Hemert and I have spent the past three years researching the cultures and practices of cinemagoing and how cinema sites shape this experience.
Outdoor cinemas – whether they be the picture gardens of Broome or the Yatala Drive-In – function as special sites of culture, connection and community.
During COVID lockdowns, social distancing measures particularly invigorated drive-in cinema attendance. But even after lockdowns ended, David Kilderry, the long-time operator of Melbourne’s Lunar Drive-in, remains clear on the appeal:
You could open up the car or even sit outside it and if cool, hop back inside and snuggle up in private. […] You can talk about the film as it runs. Kids can ask questions and parents can explain. Patrons can use phones during the film without interrupting others, and babies and infants won’t annoy other customers […] The drive-in has always been more than just a movie experience. It’s where the two icons of the 20th century come together: the motion picture and the automobile.
While the Lunar was shuttered in 2023, Kilderry said this decision was less about the 400,000 annual patrons and more about the land tax implications of keeping a site of that size viable.
But it’s not all doom and gloom for drive-ins. Kilderry notes many operators now own their land, rather than trying to constantly negotiate leases.
There are currently about 12 drive-ins running regularly across Australia, with a few more opening for the occasional screening. New drive-in developments are also planned for Perth, pending local consultations.
Beyond drive-ins, Sun Pictures is in good company with a range of locations around the world that actively celebrate outdoor cinema.
During the European summer, open-air cinemas are popular in countries such as Germany and Italy. In Bologna, three large piazzas – Piazza Maggiore, Arena Puccini and Piazzetta Pasolini – are set up as cinemas for the annual Cinema Ritrovato festival.
Closer to home, the University of Western Australia’s Somerville Auditorium, framed by a “tree cathedral” of mature Norfolk pines, has long been a place of unique outdoor cinema experiences.
Perth Festival film programmer Tom Vincent understands the distinct pleasures of outdoor cinemagoing:
The m ost memorable cinemagoing anywhere will always engage the audience’s sense of place, usually through architecture and experience design. […] It includes a natural sensory mix that includes river breezes, ambient sounds and wildlife, alongside a sense of grandeur and good programming. Good outdoor cinema says ‘look, we are here, engage all your senses’.
But while seasonal outdoor cinemas such as the Moonlight Cinemas continue to operate around Australia – alongside local council park screenings – openings of new permanent outdoor cinemas are rare.
Phoebe Condon, manager of the new permanent Dendy Powerhouse Outdoor Cinema in Brisbane, explained how the site positions itself as a high-value leisure experience:
It’s more than just a night at the movies – it’s a destination […] What truly sets us apart from other outdoor cinemas is our focus on creating an elevated, year-round experience.
This framing of outdoor cinema as an “elevated experience” is vital. While the cost of cinemagoing has come up as a key consideration in our research (especially in the current economic context) the industry is quick to remind consumers it remains affordable compared with other out-of-home arts and leisure experiences such as live sports, music, comedy and theatre.
Despite legitimate cost-of-living concerns, census data continues to show cinemagoing as the nation’s most popular cultural activity.
Our research on Australian cinemagoing supports broader arguments for a more holistic understanding of cinema’s value in society. Cinemagoing shouldn’t be compared to your Netflix subscription, but to other leisure activities people get up and leave the house for.
As the International Union of Cinemas notes, “films reflect national culture or subcultures and the wider world to the audience; they frame moral and political discussions; and they entertain and educate”.
We also know cinemagoing has never stood still. Ever since Hunter took a chance on outdoor cinema in 1916, these spaces have evolved constantly to respond to new challenges and shifting appetites.
But one aspect remains the same: whether sat under the stars, or parked in a lot, Australians continue to see the value in leaving their homes to connect and share in new stories on the big screen.
Ruari Elkington, Senior Lecturer in Creative Industries & Chief Investigator at QUT Digital Media Research Centre (DMRC), Queensland University of Technology
This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.
Prudence Upton/Sydney Theatre Company Alexander Howard, University of SydneyWhat is comedy?
This is the question I kept coming back to while watching Andrew Upton’s adaptation of Anton Chekhov’s The Seagull, which opened to warm applause – and a touch of controversy – at the Sydney Theatre Company on Saturday.
Theatre scholar Eric Weitz notes that comedy is a genre “with characteristic features”.
Laughter, humour, distraction. These are some of the terms associated with comedy.
Comedy is also restless. As Weitz acknowledges, comedy “embraces a range of subgenres” and often “cross-pollinates with other genres to form the likes of tragicomedy”.
These cross-pollinations can often confuse.
Consider the very first performance of The Seagull, subtitled “a comedy in four acts”.
The notorious performance at the Alexandrinsky Theatre in Saint Petersburg on October 17 1896 was an unmitigated failure. The audience jeered; the reviews were scathing.
In a letter sent to the publisher Aleksey Suvorin the very next day, a wounded Chekhov declared he would never again “write plays or have them acted”.
The reason why the premiere went so badly has to do with audience expectations. As essayist Janet Malcolm explains, there were special circumstances on the night in question.
The performance was part of a benefit event for E. I. Levkeeva, a popular Russian comic actress, “and so the audience was largely made up of Levkeeva fans, who expected hilarity and, to their disbelief and growing outrage, got Symbolism.”
Primed for broad comedy, the audience didn’t know what to do with Chehkov’s groundbreaking spin on the genre, which broke with established realist modes and placed emphasis on metaphorical imagery and allegorical tropes.
While the play, which speaks to the themes of art and desire, has many funny moments, it simultaneously foregrounds discussions of mortality and depictions of madness. And it ends with a suicide.
Moreover, Chekhov’s play is one where, as the academic James Loehlin writes
the old win out over the young, where hope and the impulse for change are crushed, in part through their own fragility and lack of conviction, but in part by the proficient ruthlessness of the seasoned old campaigners, their elders.
I mention this because the serious and subtle aspects of The Seagull – many of which continue to resonate today – can get lost in modern takes on Chekhov’s play.
This is true of the Sydney Theatre Company’s production. Adapted by Upton and directed by Imara Savage, this version showcases the sound work of Max Lyandvert and features a meta-theatrical set designed by David Fleischer.
The adaptation is set in contemporary rural Australia and uses anglicised character names. Upton and Savage stick with Chekhov’s formal structure, but privilege the comedic at the expense of pretty much everything else when it comes to delivery.
This has ramifications for how the adaptation pans out.
The play comprises four acts and centres on four characters who mirror each other.
Constantine (Harry Greenwood) and Boris (Toby Schmitz) are writers. Boris is famous. Constantine – a college dropout who fancies his chances as an avant-gardist – is most definitely not.
Irina (Sigrid Thornton) and Nina (Mabel Li) are actors. Irina, who is Constantine’s mother and Boris’s lover, is a renowned stage star. The ingénue Nina, who is dating Constantine, desperately wants to make it.
Success beckons, but tragedy eventually befalls Nina – who leaves Constantine for Boris – in the two year gap between the play’s third and fourth acts.
These characters are joined by several others, including Irina’s ailing landowner brother Peter (Sean O'Shea), and a depressive young goth, Masha (Megan Wilding). With the exception of one, every character in the play is morose.
The first act is structured around an abortive performance of an experimental theatre piece Constantine has worked up. Nina and Boris grow close in the second, while Irina holds court. At the start of the third act, it is revealed Constantine has tried to take his own life. Boris threatens to leave Irina for Nina. Hilarity ensues as Irina tries to win him back.
The atmosphere that the Sydney Theatre Company creative team establishes in each of these acts is lighthearted and largely humorous. Indeed, there are some moments, as when a gravely ill Peter convulses on the ground in the third act, when the onstage action almost tips over into outright farce.
As Chekhov himself insisted, different types of comedy – including farce – had roles to play in The Seagull. However, the overarching tonal emphasis in this adaptation causes problems in the play’s last act, which is set indoors during the Australian winter.
Peter, not long for the world, spends his time talking about how he regrets his entire life. The other characters fob him off. Constantine has made headway as a writer, but is deeply unhappy. He pines after Nina, who dropped off the radar somewhere between acts.
Time passes, and trivialities exchanged. A bedraggled Nina reappears. The story she tells is one of sorrow and woe. A genuinely moving moment, the speech is delivered with real affective intensity – undoubtedly the high point of the production.
However, the tonal chasm between the final act and the preceding three is simply too great.
In keeping with Chehkov’s original, comedy ultimately gives way to tragedy, but something seems to have been lost along the way.
The Seagull is at the Sydney Theatre Company until December 16.
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Alexander Howard, Senior Lecturer, Discipline of English, University of Sydney
This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.