John Agar, actor-icon of 1950s horror and sci-fi movies whose credits include Revenge of the Creature, Tarantula, The Brain from Planet Arous and Hand of Death, once admitted, "I always kind of had the feeling that when people looked at some of these science fiction things, we were going to get a big laugh. On a couple of occasions, some of the things that were supposed to frighten people really looked rather ludicrous -- funny, rather than scary."

The unseen is always scarier than the seen -- the unknown more horrifying than the known.

Like the horror movie, the dark ride plays off both the unknown and the known. The unknown, the literal darkness that surrounds its passengers, is its most frightening aspect as it suspends wide-eyed riders for a few moments in the void. Like horror movie patrons waiting white-knuckled in the darkened theater for the monster to jump out and attack on screen, dark riders travel through the twists and turns anticipating the sudden shock they know will come. Strangely, revelation -- bringing the unknown to life with a sudden trigger of hydraulics or bright spotlights -- depletes the dark ride's power because the ride momentarily surprises but offers only the same old shit.

To portray the abstract, the dark ride reworks the clichés that will not die because we as dark riders fully comprehend and expect the language of symbols. We want to see something for our trouble and money, and we want it to conform to our previous experience with and fondness for things scary. And things scary, once they're born, quickly devolve into self-parody.