In a bid to make myself more interesting, and also in an attempt to fix my TikTok-ruined attention span, over the past few years I have taken up an avid horror movie hobby.

Whether it was “I Know What You Did Last Summer,” “American Psycho” or some indie horror that I won’t write about in order to keep my interests underground, I found myself fascinated by the genre. The gore, the subject or even the quality of the film didn’t matter — I was obsessed.

While I still attest that the most horrific thing I have ever watched is the so-called “red wave” of the 2024 election, the best horror movie I have ever seen is, by far, Meryl Streep DRA ’75 and Goldie Hawn’s “Death Becomes Her.”  While it does feel like a betrayal of the original “Scream,” which has been in my Letterboxd top four since I first watched it nearly a decade ago, there is something in Streep and Hawn’s performance that makes it rise above the rest. It also helps that Streep is a fellow Yalie — in the School of Drama class of 1975.

Much of the movie follows the traditional narrative of an affluent man leaving his wife for a more attractive — read: younger — woman. When the ex-wife, played by Hawn, reappears on screen, with her wrinkles gone and her hair shiny, the movie diverges from that traditional narrative. 

Instead of cashing in on traditional horror tropes, the movie sensationalizes the aging that is a natural part of being human. When the new wife realizes that she is no longer the more attractive — again, younger — of the two she begins her investigation into Hawn’s rejuvenation. She discovers and takes advantage of a magical process of rejuvenation practiced by a mysterious doctor.

Since the characters cannot age, their death is out of the question. But over the course of the movie, the women become more and more disfigured as they attempt to kill one another as a result of their ongoing rivalry.  As decapitations become inevitable and torsos are blown out of place, the Frankensteining of body parts — aka plastic surgery — starts to make them beautiful once more. Indeed, this film certainly is a horror movie. But I would argue something is happening, too.

It is true that the movie was originally a love triangle, but it devolves into a story less about the husband and more about the wives. The horror is not in losing the man, but instead in losing youth.

It is no secret that our modern world is especially concerned with staying young, or at least looking young. Lip filler, boob jobs, Korean skincare are all in their own ways a sort of magical process. By trying a new sunscreen that promises to protect against wrinkles, we too are playing into the fears that shape Streep and Hawn’s actions in the movie. The film is amazing not just because it is horrific, but because it challenges that fear we have within ourselves: the fear of aging. The monster is not someone hiding in a closet or jumping through an open window; it is time itself.

The film is one that has overcome the monster of time. With a Broadway run and a Sabrina Carpenter music video referencing it directly, the horror of the film is one that seems to remain prevalent. At the time of its release it was a resounding success, with box office numbers to prove it. But in my opinion — as a rather inexperienced movie reviewer, despite my committed relationship to Letterboxd — the true success of the movie comes from its ability to critique the societal problems that remain relevant 30 years on.

Many of my friends don’t quite grasp my love for the film. When I showed it to my best friend for the first time, I remember her saying that she didn’t see the point of the dramatics. At no point in the movie was it necessary for Hawn to have a gaping hole in her torso, my friend said. But as I said then — and as I do now — the sheer outrageousness of the film challenges the outrageousness we live with every day. Whether it is the literal taping and gluing of bodies within the movie, or the botox and filters of our day, “Death Becomes Her” speaks to the seemingly universal fear of aging that plagues our modern age.

So, whether it is the Broadway production or the film itself — I would strongly recommend watching it all the way through — “Death Becomes Her” is worth the watch. Maybe you don’t see the relevance of it. Maybe you’ve risen above the anti-aging tropes. But maybe, just maybe, our horrors are still the same.