What I get really excited about are movies that I connect with

In the world of storytelling, few emotions hold the same raw power as fear—a fear not of monsters or the supernatural, but of the fundamental threat to life and love. Katie Aselton’s reflection, “What I get really excited about are movies that I connect with emotionally. 'Deliverance' was on TV, and they don’t really make movies like that anymore, just simple and scary. The truly scary thing is, ‘I’m going to threaten your life, I’m going to threaten the people you love. What are you going to do about it?’” speaks to the very heart of human existence. In these words, she captures a timeless truth: the deepest form of fear is the vulnerability of those we hold dear, and the real terror lies not in what we face, but in how we respond to the threat to everything we cherish.

In ancient Greece, the playwright Sophocles understood that fear arises not from external forces, but from the inner turmoil that arises when one is forced to confront their deepest values. In his famous tragedy, Oedipus Rex, Oedipus is confronted with the horrifying truth about his identity and the consequences of his actions. The real fear in the play is not the prophecy itself but the reckoning that comes with realizing the limits of one’s control over fate and the power of one’s choices. Similarly, in Deliverance, the terror comes not from an overblown, fantastical monster, but from the very real and immediate threat to life and family. The characters must confront what they are willing to risk for their survival, and the ultimate terror is the reality that they are vulnerable to forces beyond their control.

In the ancient world, warriors and heroes were often tested not by the monsters they slayed, but by the choices they made when faced with true peril. The Romans celebrated their soldiers not just for their victories, but for their courage in the face of unimaginable odds. The story of Hannibal, the Carthaginian general, who crossed the Alps to wage war on Rome, is one such tale of extreme risk and sacrifice. Yet the true fear was not in the battle itself but in the constant threat to his army’s survival as they traversed hostile lands. Hannibal's story, much like the characters in Deliverance, asks not whether one can survive a battle, but whether one can maintain their humanity in the face of extreme danger. Aselton's reflection on Deliverance resonates deeply with this ancient theme: the greatest fear is not physical harm, but the threat to that which we hold most dear—our loved ones and our sense of self.

It is this deep emotional connection that elevates a simple movie into something profound and lasting. Deliverance, with its stark portrayal of vulnerability and survival, taps into a primal fear: the fear of losing control over one’s life and the safety of those they love. This fear is universal, for every human being carries within them the instinctual knowledge that life is fragile, and that it can be threatened at any moment. In much the same way, ancient myths—whether they tell of Hercules' labors or Achilles’ rage—are not merely about physical challenges, but about the emotional and psychological struggles that arise when one’s values and identity are threatened by forces beyond their control.

The lesson here, then, is one of recognition: the most authentic fear arises not from the external, but from the internal response to threat. To be truly afraid is to confront the possibility that our loved ones and values could be taken from us, and in that moment, we are forced to ask ourselves, “What are we willing to do to protect them?” The characters in Deliverance—and indeed in many great works of literature—are not merely facing danger, but the profound moral questions that arise when we are pushed to the limits of our humanity. This is where Aselton’s insight on emotion comes into focus: the most scary thing in a story is not the external monster or villain, but the intimate fear of what we may lose, and how we will face that loss.

In our own lives, we must learn to recognize the true source of our fears. It is easy to be consumed by fear of external threats—the unknown, the dangers that lie ahead—but the real fear often lies in how we will respond when faced with the threats that challenge our deepest values and relationships. Just as Hercules faced his labors with the knowledge that his strength alone could not always guarantee victory, we must face the challenges in our own lives with the understanding that true courage comes not just from strength, but from our resolve to protect that which is most precious to us.

Thus, let us take from Aselton’s reflection the courage to confront the true nature of our fears—not the things that go bump in the night, but the threats to the people and values we hold closest. In doing so, we learn not just to survive, but to live with purpose and clarity, knowing that it is not the monsters we fear, but the decisions we must make when our life and love are on the line. Let us embrace this challenge and, like the heroes of ancient tales, rise to meet it with bravery, honor, and the resolve to protect what we cherish most.