My Nine-Year-Old’s First R-Rated Movie

Yes, I took her to see The Backrooms.

The short version: Milestone moment. She had a blast. Now, the long version…

I don’t know when the concept of “the backrooms,” or liminal spaces, entered our lives. Like many things, I suspect Roblox. (But it also could have been YouTube.) In either case, for several years now, my oldest daughter (who turns 10 at the end of the summer) has been fascinated by the conceptual horror for young people, transfixed by the notion of entering a forbidden space that feels strangely familiar and, yet, off.

The first trailer for a proper “backrooms” movie from Kane Parsons, the artist responsible for the hugely popular backrooms series on YouTube that establishes much of the accepted backrooms canon and lore, arrived earlier this year. We watched the teaser—it doesn’t show much—but my oldest, who didn’t realize they were making a movie, sat up from the couch and pointed at the screen. (Yes, like the meme.)

That was February. The movie wasn’t due out until May. But I already knew the conversation that would be bopping around the house that neared: “So…can I see it?”

A couple of important notes.

The Backrooms is rated R for “language and some violent content/bloody images.” Pretty vague! The YouTube series is also scary, a mixture of quiet tension and jump scares, but not gory. My daughter loved to watch them while under a blanket, peeking out whenever a creature, referred to as “entities,” show up. But that’s a description you could attach to Stranger Things? That show was our family’s obsession for months!

We’re a permissive family, but there’s balance between what a child believes they are capable of doing and what they are capable of doing. Part of our/my job is to navigate that, even if it means being the bad guy and saying no when they’re not ready yet.

What is “ready,” though?

Some important context: My wife and I saw the movie a few weeks ago, as part of a back-to-back viewing of The Backrooms and Obsession. We thought she could handle it.

The thing is, my nine-year-old’s ambitions can outstrip her actual convictions.

She likes to suggest ideas on what she’s capable of far in advance, because it’s easier to imagine doing them than actually doing them. We saw this play out in real-time with this year’s summer camp, an idea pitched to us months in advance. Her excitement for camp was such that we had to institute a “no more talking about camp” rule in the days before she left. And yet, as the car crawled forward at camp towards her cabin, it began to dawn upon her what was happening. She admitted to, finally, being nervous.

But ambitions outstripping bravery is how you end up doing brave things! It was too late to turn back from camp and her excitement exceeded her nervousness. It’s now a formative memory, so much so that she’s hoping to attend a longer camp eventually.

One of the trickiest parts of being a parent is trying to figure out when to push your kid. I’ve written about trying to navigate this with diving boards and rollercoasters:

My nine-year-old kept eyeing rollercoasters when we’d attend theme parks but her heart and head would take her in different directions. Her heart was telling her to try a rollercoaster—her brain was saying otherwise. Rollercoasters are one of my personal favorites, so while I have a vested interest in seeing her advance, it never felt like the right moment. I didn’t offer money, and I didn’t push it. We found other things to do.

While visiting Disneyland Paris, though, I decided to make a push.

At dinner the night before our sole day at the park, I pitched my daughter on doing the Tower of Terror for $20. She blinked, asked for $25—and I agreed. (Damn, got again.) I also didn’t expect to be paying that out. Tower of Terror is, like, the Final Exam option here. I’d settle for her going on a minecart rollercoaster, not a drop fest.

Out of nowhere this weekend, my daughter wanted a “daddy daughter date.” She also asked me to be the parent who woke up at 6 a.m. each morning for that weekend’s swim meet. I was tired, but she’s at the age where I’m not sure how long she’s going to ask for such moments, so at my wife’s encouragement, we decided on The Backrooms.

This was, like camp, a rubber meets the road moment. When I proposed the idea, her reaction was excitement—and then pause. “What if I’m too scared? I don’t want to waste our money.” This is a refrain that’s come up before, a worry that backing out means wasting money. Which, look: I cannot help but respect it a bit. But at times, I also think she’s using that as a coping mechanism against being a little more daring.

So, I made her a proposal:

We’d buy tickets to see The Backrooms. If she wanted to leave, there would be no drama. No shame. No guilt. Even trying to see the movie is brave! Plus, we’d make a quick visit afterwards to Dave & Busters no matter what happens, either as a reward for surviving the movie or a way to cool down and reset if the movie proved too much.

(One thing I couldn’t tell her: one reason I can propose such an option is because the backers of Crossplay, especially the paying backers, make bold experiments possible!)

We’re a permissive family, but there’s balance between what a child believes they are capable of doing and what they are capable of doing. Part of our job is to help navigate that, even if it means being the bad guy and saying no when they’re not ready yet. What is “ready,” though?

A brief pause, then a nod. She started crafting backrooms-inspired images on her phone in-between bites of food. Soon enough, it was time to walk over to the theater.

The thing about movie theaters, despite their broad mediocrity: they’re loud. It’s the part that you forget as an adult but kids clock immediately Whatever nice sound bar you have, there’s almost no chances it’s turned up as loud as a generic movie theater.

Such a volume tends to amplify the feelings of a young and slightly nervous child.

We had a plan, though, and we talked through it before entering the theater.

1. We’d skip the trailers. R-rated movies mean potentially R-rated trailers.

2. We’d cuddle up with our favorite blanket from home for two reasons:

   1. Warmth in a heavily AC-driven movie theater

   2. Somewhere to hide when we’re scared

3. Our seats were far, far away from anyone else. That would allow us to chat in respectfully whispered tones, in each other’s ears, throughout the movie

It was, truth be told, touch and go.

One trick: because I’d seen the movie, I could spoil everything in advance. I could tell my daughter if someone was going to survive. I knew when a monster was going to appear. And I had a sense when she should probably start hiding under the blanket.

The Backrooms has an interesting narrative framing, too. Nothing scary happens in the real world—only the backrooms. There are a couple of jump scare-y things in the real wold, but it’s not monsters. It’s not creatures from the backrooms. No one dies. This framing provided relief for my kiddo. Are we back in the real world? Breathe easy!

We also stumbled into another trick. Behind our seats was a layer of plastic, likely to prevent the seats behind us from spilling food or drinks. But as my nine-year-old discovered, you can see the movie on that plastic. During scary parts, she would wrap herself in the blanket, flip around to the warped plastic version of the movie, and it provided enough emotional distance from the massive screen to let her continue on.

The scariest moment in The Backrooms is the last 10 minutes. It straight up rips, man.

But it’s also a horrifying monster chasing a character down to tear them apart. I was white knuckling that scene with my wife, so I knew it would be the hardest part of the movie for my daughter, too. She tried hiding under that blanket. She tried looking at the plastic reflection. But I could feel her shaking under the blanket. It was at that point I asked if she wanted to leave. No shame. No guilt. It would be all be okay.

“How much movie is left?”

“Less than 10 minutes, kiddo,” I whispered to her. “If you can survive that, it’s all over.”

A brief pause. She nodded. I could see her peeking out from beneath the blanket.

Then, the credits hit. She’s fuckin’ did it. The movie equivalent of a rollercoaster.

As promised, we walked over to Dave & Busters. The server remembered us from before, and while making her a kiddie cocktail, he asked what movie we saw. My daughter didn’t hesitate and said “The Backrooms.” The look on that man’s face was priceless. He was impressed, and the smile on my kid’s face could’ve lit the damn sun.

Have a story idea? Want to share a tip? Got a funny parenting story? Drop Patrick an email.

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Also:

• I figured my kids would be into video games. The last thing I expected was that I’d be slowly raising little horror hounds. Can’t say that I’m too upset about it.

• We laid some groundwork with my six-year-old ahead of time, telling her the movie was too scary for her. (It is.) There was no jealousy in the morning.

• Maybe we should try playing a backrooms video game? That could be the bridge between the two worlds. If you have any recommendations, please let me know.