After a tragic incident in her childhood, Anna (Riann Steele) has become distant from her estranged family for years. Due to her grandmother, Lucy (Jane Lowe) suffering from Dementia, Anna travels back home to become her caregiver. However, soon after she arrives strange ordeals begin to happen with increasingly drastic effects, leading to Anna discovering the connection between the sinister occurrences and a disturbing family secret.
The classic ghost story has made a home within horror for decades, seemingly the entire premise of ghoulish apparitions and dark entities have become entirely synonymous with definitive status within genre cinema. Yet, despite the traditional arrangement being so notorious, it is difficult to come across a modern horror film that is a streamlined quintessential ghost tale without unwarranted cheap scares and easy gimmicks. Jamie Hooper’s The Creeping is exactly what audiences have been begging for and precisely the type of cinema that horror has been longing for all these years. It’s that sense of habitats becoming infected with sinister otherness whose threat knows no bounds.
Director Jamie Hooper’s natural talents have graced many award winning short films over the years including Unto Death (2017) and Don’t Peak (2020). Joining Hooper in co-writing this gothic inspired story is Helen Miles, known for sound mixing on films such as The Gentlemen (2019) and His House (2020).
The familiarity seen within The Creeping is immediately a warming surprise, with sheet ghosts and dark hallways purposefully talking the audiences hand and promising a by-the-book haunted house legend where we know exactly what to expect, falsely creating a comfortable environment only for Hooper to brutally pull the rug out from under and deliver intensely frightening jumps and riveting jolts. In a formidable sense, The Creeping knows exactly when to take its sweet time building up ammunition and when to exactly pull the trigger. This push and pull layering method refuses to mimic similar filmmaking techniques seen by the likes of Mike Flanagan’s work in The Haunting of Hill House (2018), or travelling further back in time with Robert Wise’s The Haunting (1963); instead Hooper reinvents principles in a valiant and effective way that ensures The Creeping’s status within independent cinema will not be forgotten any time soon.
The cottage, English countryside setting belongs to an innately intimidating aesthetic where ominous bodies can lurk around every dark corner. Establishing the malevolent force strung over every scene is the deeply seeded character development that takes a keen precedence throughout, and for a very vital reason. A horror film can easily conjure a quick reaction with a scary visual combined with a loud sound, but it takes a lot more grafting for that trembling fear to come from a deeper place that plants its roots early on, meaning that by the final act the audience literally cannot catch their breath. The Creeping elaborates a theme of generational trauma that comes to light within Anna and Lucy’s touching relationship. Lucy’s withering condition pulls at Anna’s heartstrings, but it also unearths a frightening realisation that her place within the family is dwindling as Lucy’s memory diminishes. The performances by both Riann Steele and Jane Lower are not only crucial to the film’s effect, but they are also utterly commendable and richly authentic.
The Creeping is a methodical, wickedly dark, and effective horror that will indefinitely take indie horror to new heights.
Check out thefilm and much more at this years festival, tickets here…
OJ (Daniel Kayuuya) and Emerald Haywood (Keke Palmer) have been making ends meet at their Californian horse ranch ever since their father died in a freak accident. With savings becoming dire and OJ selling the horses to neighbour/former childhood star Jupe (Steven Yeun) to get by, they discover a jackpot hovering over them. With the help of tech installer Angel (Brandon Perea), they venture out on a mission to capture evidence of a UFO.
The contingency of exploitation is an enigma that defeats logical explanations. Humans as a species crave that feed that comes from tragedy, a lustful but apprehensive desire to absorb terror like an uncontrollable need to blemish a chance of achieving a completely placid mental state. Shamelessly forming from the attraction of the spectacle is a myriad of threats, keeping the mind on alert, knowing that danger is just around the corner; Obsession is a blessing and a curse. Jordan Peele’s follow up from the acclaimed Get Out (2017) and equally applauded Us (2019) is Nope (2022), quite possibly the most jaw dropping sci-fi, horror, drama, mystery to enter the mainstream market in the last twenty years.
Just as the world was seemingly crumbling in 2020, many cinema aficionado’s were concerned over the future of film, with Peele belonging to the worried mob. It was at that moment that he knew his next film had to be a total pageant that deliberately dishes out way too much for the audience to handle, spiritually force feeding the masses as much onscreen swindling, distress, and catastrophe as they want.
In all of the tormenting comments made about the trajectory of human behaviour within Nope is the deeply enigmatic setting, performances, cinematography, and stupefying score. The dusty and desolate landscape filmed in IMAX comes straight out of an old fashion western, with monotonous beige dirt tracks absorbing any nearby signs of occupied space, as if the ranch is just a small pinprick in a grand vastness of nothing. OJ, Em, and Angel are made to feel insignificant, especially in comparison to what lies above them. This ignorance to their being doesn’t just open up the screen to stunning exhibition shots captured by cinematographer Hoyte Van Hoytema, but it also embodies the physicality of the situation. The beastly UFO isn’t necessarily a spaceship hoarding wide eyed, green skinned aliens, the saucer is the extraterrestrial product itself that chews people up and spits them out whilst also psychically resembling a biblically accurate angel. The sheer lack of respect Nope dishes towards its characters is just one step in the chaotic ladder Peele climbs in order to tyrannise the hierarchy. Not a single character feels untouchable, they all have an equal share of not making it through to the end, instead, the most innocent of all creatures and somewhat deserving of peace is the UFO.
Through distancing the ranch from common land, and detaching OJ, Em and Angel from others, the ‘being’ further obtains this status as otherness, and more importantly deadliness. Unlike in alternative alien features there are no throngs of weapons held by jacked-up Navy Seals ready to let rip an armour of projectiles. Instead, it treats the ranch like its playground, free to roam like one of Haywood’s horses.
Consequently deriving from the autonomy held by the UFO is the lack thereof shown within the lands occupants. A large factor of Nope’s narrative surrounds an incident that occurred on Jupe’s sitcom in the late 1990s surrounding its main character- a chimpanzee named Gordy. The events leading up to and following on from Gordy’s rampage is horrific to say the least, but what stands out most besides the visual escapades is the reality of the situation. Gordy was a wild animal that was treated like a ‘worker’ made to perform to appease a live audience, and like a ticking time bomb waiting to go off, it was only natural that a sudden change in scenario would cause Gordy to essentially ‘loose it’. Peele purposefully doesn’t show the massacre in graphic detail, in fact he doesn’t show the event (as it happened) in full length without interruptions at all. Somewhat, teasing the viewer knowing that they want to see Gordy go bananas ripping off faces and tearing into whatever flesh he finds. Peele’s dangling of the carrot firmly confirms his suspicions about the viewer, we may want to voyeuristically survey the primate gone mad, but we shouldn’t. Nope both tests the theory of spectacle and the greed for a show, whilst also denoting a sense of dignity back to the spectacle itself.
The same argument could be said towards Jupe, the childhood star who instead of discussing Gordy’s tragedy in a humane way, replays the tale through an SNL sketch that was held in its memoir. Jupe’s glassy reflection discussing the hilarity of the event, combined with the fact that he sits in his theme park profiting off of his childhood stardom is a deeply sad feat. Nope is a horror that shocks and scares, but more importantly it’s an emotional analogy of how fragility and empathy is only to be experienced temporarily, with grief to be fought off in an attempt to get back on the wagon as soon as possible.
Further clawing its way down to the bone is Nope’s unbeatable horrific elements that enforce an inescapable air of claustrophobia, enhanced by unspeakable imagery revolving trapped, bloody spaces and viscera soaked exteriors encased with a suffocating soundscape brimming with echoed screams and Martian-like humming. The internal UFO scene in question is a given for any viewer familiar with Nope, and for those that want a juicy infill before watching the future sci-fi staple, it can be guaranteed that the visual is nearly impossible to forget. Even harder to forget is that horrible sickly sensation that washes over you as you watch unsuspecting people meet the worst demise possible.
Joining the intense brigade of travesty is Peele’s signature mark of satire comedy that is veiled enough to not overpower the film, but still enough to share a chuckle, particularly the darkness of his humour. For instance, when OJ is asked by an actress what his name is, she cannot help but turn a judgemental eye towards his initials; of course, making an ill-informed nod to OJ Simpson, who in its entirety belongs to one of the media’s biggest spectacles in history. Exercising the brutal script to its maximum potential is the talents of Daniel Kaluuya and Keke Palmer, the film’s titular characters. As with many realistic family siblings, they are near complete opposites- a total extrovert vs introvert situation. OJ connects with the ranch’s horses with a sense of expertise because the peace within wrangling holds a devoutly vital equilibrium within his aura. In contrast is Em, who takes no prisoners in every situation she is placed in, lighting up the room and naturally drawing the limelight to her. The texture of having polar opposites join forces is a neat melody that Peele initiates. In a film about division from one another and the monetisation of adversity, perhaps Peele is making a statement showing that dissection and detachment is not the key to survival, but instead unity is.
Ultimately lying at the bottomless gut of Nope is the disgruntled commentary directly spitting back what society has become infatuated with. And in a cruel way, Peele stealthy knows that critics, vloggers, casual movie-goers, and diehard horror fans will all be commenting upon the spectacle and the need for dissection. The irony of digesting Nope’s message as fact, only to then perform exactly what Peele is commenting upon (via blasting the film all over social media) is such a stern example of the decisive layering that goes into his filmmaking.
Looking for more top horror lists and reviews? Check out our blog here..
During the dreary days of the pandemic, a group of tight knit friends from the New York theatre scene gather together for their weekly online Dungeon and Dragons campaign. This time round a new member is introduced to the group, Meredith (Taylor Richardson). Part of the campaign sees them sharing ghost stories to set the scene and warm Meredith to the exciting evening ahead. However, after the drinks begin to flow and things get heated. The tales become sinister, little do they know that one story will change the course of events far more than they could ever imagine.
Rejuvenating the independent horror scene is Kevin T. Morales’s ultra nerve mangling horror Shadow Vaults. During the tumultuous era of quarantine periods, online gatherings, and panic buying the quest for fresh entertainment was a rocky road, but amidst all the cinematic lows was Morales’s future hit Shadow Vaults, which he belovedly directed, wrote, and co-produced.
The talent tree runs within Morales’s family line, with his uncle being the Academy Award winning filmmaker Victor Fleming, creator of Gone with the Wind (1939) and The Wizard of Oz (1939). With an already rich career within the industry for years, 2019 saw Morales make a jump to creating feature films with his debut Generation Wrecks, a touching and hilarious comedy brimming with nostalgic delight, also starring Heather Matarazzo, Emily Bergl, and Alice Kremelberg.
Desktop horror has bloomed in the last couple of years, with notable entries such as The Den (2013), Unfriended (2014), and Host (2020) bringing the horrors of the World Wide Web to screen. Shadow Vaults makes use of the familiar setting of internet chat rooms and video calls to encapsulate that intimate ambience that online engagement triggers, knowing that although you may be talking to people and have access to endless forums and fellow virtual users, the cold truth is that in reality it’s just you, alone, in an empty space vulnerable to anything and anyone…
Shadow Vaults exudes an eerie tension that thrusts the viewer right into the film, as if they are joining along with the meeting, like a phantom member. Further amalgamating this sense of personalness is the very socially rooted context and setting of the film. Set during a pandemic where company is rare and loneliness is the new tone, comes a great texture of isolation and abandonment where unprecedented times already have nations on alert. When combining this timely background with a malignant overtone steeped in trauma and biases the claustrophobic mood is enhanced, along with the ever classic element of uncertainty. Predictably is what breaks a film. No matter the genre or subject, obviousness is the curse. Shadow Vaults utilises the precariousness of its background to enrich a whole new level of extremity. For instance, the essence of Shadow Vaults belongs to a classic ghost story, one that starts off as sharing folklore, making easy entertainment for its listeners, wrapping the viewer up in a spooky but comfortable blanket, before Morales brutally snatches away the security to reveal a harsh ghostly pathos that dives into cycles of abuse, spirals of violence, and blissful ignorance.
Shadow Vault’s gripping hold on the viewer will have audiences sleeping with the lights on, thanks to the unstoppable sense of dread, chilling tonal portrayal of close bonds, and the all encompassing terrifying aura. As the film unravels we learn all sorts of sordid secrets that have been lurking under the surface for some time, bubbling under the pressure waiting to implode. And although Morales could have easily relied on shock to determine the mood, he meticulously embellished the characters to be so entwined with the inner workings of the horror that the terror becomes interwoven and malevolent, sneaking up on you before you’ve even had the chance to run. As the group holds a friendship dynamic that has been held strong for eight years, the threat level is always going to be more advanced than in an environment with strangers. And due to the enclosed online setting, naturally it’s impossible to not feel a part of the group; thus directly positioning the horror close to home.
The element of safe spaces being infected is not lost, even throughout the telling of the bone-chilling ghost stories. And it’s sufficient to say that the tales certainly hold up, namely through the staircase-like method Morales’s uses to escalate the alarm. The recitals begin off with formidable accounts of faceless otherworldly beings, legless ghouls, and haunted dolls nicely spicing up your senses, meaning that by the time you get to *thee* story (definitely to be experienced with no prior knowledge), the atmosphere is so taut that it would take nerves of steel to not shudder at the sheer thought of what’s going on.
Shadow Vaults travels far deeper under the surface than many of its kind, and in doing so dismantles the strict and disquieting truth of evil. Horror is indiscriminate, there is no shield to prevent the fear, instead trauma is universal. And that actuality is electrifying.
Check out thefilm and much more at this years festival, tickets here…
Beth Conner (Lyndsey Craine), a vegan-goth student falls in love with her English teacher Miss Campbell (Lala Barlow), and soon develops a forbidden taste for human flesh.
Backed by Troma Entertainment’s Lloyd Kaufman and Michael Herz is Eating Miss Campbell (2022), starring Lyndsey Craine, Lala Barlow, Vito Trigo, James Hamar-Morton, Charlie Bond, Emily Haigh, Annabella Rich, Dani Thompson, and Laurence R. Harvey, with a cameo from Kaufman himself.
The film takes the likes of high school hierarchy flicks such as Heathers (1988) and Tragedy Girls (2017), adds a dose of epic lunacy made notorious by Troma classics, coupled with a whopping punch of cannibalism, adolescent suicide, mass violence, and an infectious sense of daring humour.
The Yorkshire born and bred Liam Regan grabbed the horror world by the horns with his full-length feature debut My Bloody Banjo (2015), chronicling a bullied desk worker on his revenge seeking mission. The film was met with beloved reactions by those brave enough to sit through the bloody spectacle which saw acts of brutality be taken to another level, even garnering enough attention to be shown at the Cannes Film Festival in 2015, as well as having its world premiere at the one and only FrightFest. However, although horror fans take this as a stern compliment, the film was at first rejected by iTunes and Walmart due to its ferocity. This badge of honour only pushed Regan to continue his filmmaking pursuit with the upcoming classic that is Eating Miss Campbell, which has no qualms in pushing the viewer through an intense roller coaster where the maximalist approach is at full blast the entire time.
The kinetically charged feast goes through its leaps and bounds against the backdrop of Beth’s turbulent journey of a more-than-forbidden romance story, all the whilst juggling her rambunctiously vicious parents, the coven-like mean girls at school, and a multitude of perverted ‘associates’. It’s this audacious cacophony of themes and events that truly places Eating Miss Campbell as a mighty force, with no controversial matter too dark to explore. Censorship may seem like a bygone past time, but the current consensus is far from being fully expressive, at times it seems that filmmaking freedom is near impossible. Troma films have always aimed to displease, shock even, and without being a carbon copy or testing for the sake of it, Regan puts up a valiant fight to keep the film down there with the most gnarliest, loathsome, and most importantly compelling horrors that tackles and triggers as much as it can.
As established, the zealous gumption really is a sight for sore eyes, but just as stellar as the fruitful narrative are the performances, setting, and effects that all render together to create a mini universe so out of bounds and unique to the film. Lyndsey Craine sealed her status as an upcoming scream queen through her powerful performances in Book of Monsters (2018) and Zomblogalypse (2021), and with Eating Miss Campbell, it seems that her horror heroine capabilities are only on the rise. The character of Beth Conner is so enriched in meticulous sarcasm and a sense of clever wickedness, especially when it comes to her sharp tongue lashing out the most hilarious insults you’ll ever hear. Craine’s ability to nail the razor edged persona is a standout feat, and joining her on the performance path is every single other character, whether that be the fiery role of Miss Campbell herself (Lala Barlow), or the beyond creepy (and deadly inappropriate) teacher Clyde Toulon, played by Laurence R. Harvey, who many fans will recognise as the barbaric antagonist in The Human Centipede 2 (2011).
Eating Miss Campbell is a stroke of much-needed absurd darkness amidst all the socially conscious films entering the market. Still, Regan’s enigmatic efforts in creating a boisterous display are not without its depth. In fact, underneath the veil of obscurity is a witty subtext that uses a brave and bashful temperament to comment upon the dramaticness seen within educational settings, which ranges from the brave but truthful idolism of school shootings, the influx in assault, and the arising generational divide pitting misaligned toxicity against one another. The sheer audacity of topics is a mouthful, but for hungry audiences with an appetite for contentious dispositions, Eating Miss Campbell is a dream!
Check out thefilm and much more at this years festival, tickets here…
“Somebody in this camp ain’t what he appears to be” says MacReady (Kurt Russell) as he and his fellow researchers stuck out in the desolate Antarctica squabble over a shape-shifting parasite that takes no prisoners in the quest for power. Rose-tinted glasses are a great shield, but deep down the seedy underbelly will eventually swell, and before you know it, complete hell on earth will be released. The Thing revitalizes that sense of fear over unknown territory that lies beneath every individual to devise one of cinema’s greatest hits.
When it comes to such a classic, it’s assumed that the road to success was an easy sail, yet, whilst John Carpenter’s terrifying alien feature is a flawless rendition of sci-fi extremes, the production was filled with bumps and jolts. A string of everybody’s favourite filmmakers including Tobe Hooper (joined by writing partner Kim Henkel) and John Landis were all invited to recreate the novella Who Goes There? (1938), which had already been adapted in Christian Nyby’s The Thing from Another World (1951). The arrangements for production were made, but something was missing, that special touch, however, when Carpenter and scriptwriter Bill Lancaster put pen to paper and opted for a touchingly dark and menacingly brutal narrative arc, the cameras began rolling and the rest is history.
It’s no surprise to anyone that the 1980s were a whirlwind of a time for horror, flocks of people were either greedy for the startling nature that horror had to offer, whereas others were actively campaigning for the ‘nasties’ to be axed, done, and dusted. Needless to say, the appetite for The Thing was more than turbulent. And since the mainstream media (which at the time controlled the marketing and awareness of new releases) were not eager to sing Carpenter’s praises, The Thing stayed in the dark for many years.
The production was no walk in the park either. The twelve weeks of filming in the harsh Alaskan grounds with plenty of mishaps, including camera lenses freezing due to the cold, and actor Keith David breaking his hand the day before filming.
To follow on from the turbulent events that came across during production was the unfortunate reputation that clung onto the film thanks to the rocky reputation expressed by unfair reviews and a damning case of word-by-mouth. As soon as The Thing hit theatres the feedback from major outlets including Roger Ebert, Variety, The New York Times, and The Washington Post all obliterated the fine craftsmanship that had gone into making this genre defining classic. The bleak tableau of cynical mindsets and the void of formulaic arcs left a stain on those who were lucky enough to see it in cinemas upon its initial release. Ironically, for a time that would publicly blast horror for not being original and more like a gory slapstick, The Thing’s devotion to marrying intense character dynamics with an analogy-ridden path was simply ‘too much’. From a retrospective point of view, the only thing that was excessive about the film is how much it has to offer; whether it’s the masterful practical effects or the haunting atmosphere, The Thing aims to be *thee* ultimate spectacle.
The basis for The Thing surrounds an American research station in the faraway and foreign land of Antarctica where snow takes up every ounce of space, and where permanent habitation ceases to exist. The immediate vastness is a daunting facet alone, furthering the velocity of events the team eventually endures. With the aid of an anamorphic lens, the idea of an airy vacant setting is forced upon the viewer, with the stretched, wide frame providing ample space for action to be seen, also subtly showing ‘too much’ bare room around the characters, almost insinuating that there is bound to be someone or something imminently creeping into the frame all of a sudden.
This premise of suggestion is a theme that runs throughout The Thing’s veins, with uncertainty, precariousness, and ample amounts of delusion infecting the entire course of reason amongst the characters. Tiptoeing alongside the effectiveness of the atmosphere is the deliberately conspicuous and savage research team including the unpolished helicopter pilot MacReady (Russell), Childs (David) the in-house skeptic mechanic, Blair (A. Wilford Brimely) the paranoid biologist, and Nauls (T. K. Carter) the quick-thinking cook. In what can best be described as a motley crew of personalities is a variety of identities that outwardly play out as clashing souls whose inner dynamics pave the way for disaster to strike, however, internally a much more complex picture is being painted than what meets the eye.
Each character is assigned a general emotion that protrudes further than any other feeling, the characters are simply puppets in Carpenter and Lancaster’s plot to manipulate the viewer into a state of complete shock and fear over the unfolding narrative. The Thing invites the viewer to go on an emotional rollercoaster, with MacReady’s brash feistiness embodying our fight or flight response, Child’s uncertainty and mistrust representing the hastiness that we feel over every new spectacle, Blair’s irrationality epitomizing the panic experienced as we also learn of the parasite’s ferocity, and Naul’s curiosity sparking our need to unravel the origins and motives of the assimilation.
The Thing plays out with an air of fluidity that seems so natural, and whilst that was the goal, behind the scenes Carpenter meticulously plotted out every little detail to enhance the horror and ultimately conjure a trance-like spell over anyone brave enough to watch it.
Above everything, one aspect that will forever remain synonymous with The Thing’s cult classic reputation is the outstanding effects. Considering the entire premise surrounds a creature feature show, the design of the monster itself was of utmost importance to Rob Bottin, the lead effects creator. Originally, Carpenter wanted “the thing” to be of one design, a whole being, not a shapeshifting leech. In fact, when Bottin initially expressed his ideas of the various forms the monster would take, Carpenter was more than unsure about going down that valiant route. However, the surreal design soon won him over and the thirty five person team went to work in creating one of cinema’s most infamous creatures of all time.
The 1980s didn’t have mountains of technology to aid in the graphics, instead handy work and dedicated creative geniuses would spend hours moulding full body casts of actors and glueing together faux flesh to fashion severed bloody limbs. One of the most impressive scenes shows the crew’s dog assimilating into a gigantic extraterrestrial being complete with multiple snarling dog heads crowning the top of a bubbling pile of viscera filled with mutating blobs and more than enough blood and slime. To form such a grotesque but fascinating effect, Bottin enlisted the help of fellow effects artist Stan Winston to construct a large hand puppet from makeup artist Lance Anderson’s body. The puppet would then be layered with latex foam and hooked up to wired legs and radio controlled eyes to force the alien-like movements expressed by the thing. Even the mass pile sat below the creature was given its texture from mayonnaise, melted bubble gum and plenty of K-Y Jelly.
In true old-school fashion, no CGI blood spurts were to be had, instead, Anderson would have to wear a blood-squib suit which would eject plenty of fake blood on cue.
Blood, sweat, and tears went into concocting the visual feast that The Thing has to offer, with Bottin being hospitalised from exhaustion over literally working for nearly 24 hours everyday just to achieve the perfect aesthetic for the film.
Upon a modern perspective, the bumpy road The Thing traveled down for its first couple of the years wasn’t down to poor filmmaking or lack of inspiration, the sole reason was that viewers were just not ready for something so monumentally confrontational, a product that dares to end on a gloomy note and not succumb to the Hollywood flow of moviemaking. The legacy of The Thing is still felt to this day, forty years on. Comic books, video games, miniseries, and prequels have all come and gone within the last twenty years, with Blumhouse Studios even releasing a statement in 2020 confirming that The Thing is getting the now-standard remake treatment.
In a landscape where seemingly everyone’s true colours can be exposed and evil is more free than ever, John Carpenter’s 1982 showstopper is more important now than ever.
Looking for more top horror lists and reviews? Check out our blog here..
Creepshow is a highly regarded classic that hasn’t once been pushed aside in either popularity or cultural significance even after an entire 40 years. This timeless gem was created by two of horror’s most devilish minds, Stephen King and George A. Romero, with legendary effects artist Tom Savini also joining the macabre team. What inevitably works so well within Creepshow is the anthology method of filmmaking which allows for plenty of short films to unfold, all encompassed by an overarching story, which in Creepshow’s case regards a young boy, Billy (Played by King’s son Joe Hill) who is scalded by his domineering father for reading a horror comic, leading to the comic book’s host ‘The Creep’ coming to life and showing Billy what true horrors lie ahead. Over the years, Creepshow has inspired multiple sequels and a TV series on Shudder following the same anthology format.
The Thing (Directed by John Carpenter, 1982)
John Carpenter needs no introduction, with staples such as Halloween (1978),The Fog (1980), and Christine (1983) all residing in his densely rich filmography. However, one of the most important and groundbreaking entries to come from his work (and the 1980s in general) is The Thing, a body horror spectacular that shows off a plethora of fascinating practical effects like it’s participating in a gory pageant show. Quite surprisingly, upon its initial release the film was rather bashed by seemingly everyone, apparently it was too ‘nihilistic’ for audiences. However, just as Carpenter says himself, the film was incredible, but the cinematic territory of the time was just not prepared for something so intense, unpredictable, and electrifying. The film would purposefully take its time in setting up a cushty relationship with the characters and divulging into the backstory, only to disrupt any sense of harmony in the most shocking and gnarly way possible. As The Thing turns 40, it’s more important than ever to look back on how the land of film has changed overtime and how previously thrashed horrors have come back with a bigger bite than ever before.
Poltergeist (Directed by Tobe Hooper, 1982)
“They’re here”… That famous quote that terrified audiences for years still rings as eerie today, 40 years on. And whilst ghost movies have gone through leaps and bounds since then, Tobe Hooper and Steven Spielberg’s sensational collab is just as gripping and action-packed as it was when it was first released. Poltergeist transformed the ghost story from being one set in a grand manor occupied by Victorian spirits to one that shows an unstoppable force that fashions itself to suit its victims fears. Hooper takes his time is dissecting all of the madness and mayhem, leaving no horrific stone unturned.
Candyman (Directed by Bernard Rose, 1992)
Based on Clive Barker’s short story The Forbidden (1984) is Candyman, a legendary take on injustice through the lense of a meticulously startling premise. The entire idea that a creature from the great unknown will appear before you upon muttering their name is not an alien concept within filmmaking, urban legends such as the ‘Bloody Mary’ hoax all stir that urge to connect with something beyond reality; through Candyman implicating that this barrier can be broken in the comfort of familiar surroundings makes the boogeyman lore even more terrifying. But, rather than the film focusing too much on the above gimmicks, a tale of retribution and moral corruption is additionally explored, creating a narrative that stands the test of time.
Army of Darkness (Directed by Sam Raimi, 1992)
When Army of Darkness is reminisced upon 30 years after its release it’s easy to see it as a simple irreverent ride that has no trouble in standing out. And whilst part of that sentiment is true, this third entry in TheEvil Dead franchise also served as a stepping stone in creating the action horror hero, as well as cementing the franchises reputation of managing to deliver the rare combination of gory frights and absurd comedy all at once. As the years have progressed, Army of Darkness is largely responsible for all of the expanded works to come from The Evil Dead, including a span of successful comic books, a video game focusing solely on the Army of Darkness events, and a TV series titled Ash vs Evil Dead.
28 Days Later (Directed by Danny Boyle, 2002)
Zombies have enough potent power to knock spiny tingling fear into even the most ‘nerves of steel’ viewers, with their rotting skin, appetite for brains, and expressionless persona making for the perfect creature feature. The undead are visceral enough on their own, but when these attributes are combined with supersonic speed and senseless rage a recipe for gory success is created. Danny Boyle’s 2002 zombie extravaganza 28 Days Later brought the weakened, overdone genre back to life in what can be described as a chaotically violent and nail-biting display of how horror can both provoke a pure visceral reaction whilst also leaning in on the social disposition zombies originate from. The film expertly weaves in the common notion of morbid curiosity, and how the downfall of society is due to humanity, not some act of god. 28 Days Later is grounded in realism, making it beyond terrifying and a fright to remember.
Dog Soldiers (Directed by Neil Marshall, 2002)
Neil Marshall has become a horror extraordinaire with his features Dog Soldiers and The Descent (2005) creating an acclaimed ridden tidal wave amongst critics and viewers alike. And whilst The Descent reigns champion on nearly every genre list, it’s important to remember where Marshall’s journey began. Like all ghouls and goblins, werewolves have a long running history in the genre, with films such as The Howling (1981) and Ginger Snaps (2000) focusing on the bestial connection within the body, but rather than Dog Soliders placing the horror in second place to favour a story dripped in empathy towards the beast, Marshall emphasises the sheer fear and teeth-chattering terror that werewolf’s exude. Dog Soldiers quintessential Britishness, including plenty of dark off-kilter humour, combined with Marshall’s talent for grounding the dread in such a brutal way ensures that this lycanthrope masterpiece will remain of utmost cinematic importance for many years to come.
The Ring (Gore Verbinski, 2002)
Hideo Nakata’s Ringu (1998) perfectly displayed the early 2000s underlying fear of technology taking over through the guise of an Onryō ghost origin story. And whilst remakes receive a rocky reputation, Gore Verbinski’s retelling of Japan’s number one horror film was both a financial triumph and a kickstarter in the J-horror era of cinema. Summoning a beyond bleak atmosphere that surveys heavy melodramatics and themes of guilt and hopelessness is the film’s attention demanding cold palette that acts like a spell, positioning the viewer to unearth their own feelings of loss and doom. Above everything, what allows The Ring to be held as such a highly regarded 2000s horror is Verbinski’s dedication to retelling Ringu under his own unique interpretation without butchering or over-westernising the original’s motives.
Sinister (Directed by Scott Derrickson, 2012)
Scott Derrickson is hot off the press at the minute with his latest feature The Black Phone (2021) receiving endless deserving praise. However, let’s not forget his 2012 showstopper that has been named as one of the scariest films according to a 2020 study. Sinister wielded intensely disturbing imagery found within the reels of super 8 footage, alongside the hauntingly memorable character design of Bughuul (Nick King), the resident boogeyman for the film. Across the horrific journey that Derrickson takes the audience on is a keen sense of deliberate misdirection, where the origins of Bughuul and the third act’s fate remains very much in the dark until the very last minute, ensuring that plenty of hair raising tension is to be had.
The Cabin in the Woods (Directed by Drew Goddard, 2012)
Although it seems like yesterday when the movie scene was all about the latest meta-horror The Cabin in the Woods, it actually turns out that it has been a whole decade since this self-referential puzzle was released. The feast of raunchy humour, throwbacks to beloved classics, and overarching sense of pandemonium over the whole ‘world is ending’ commotion results in a film that is so complexly winded that it’s hard to not want to congratulate Drew Goddard for managing to put on such a circus so flawlessly. Amidst all the dynamic effects and scenes is the film’s way of throwing in something for everyone, whether it’s gigantic arachnids, zombie rednecks, or a merman, The Cabin in the Woods has it all!
Looking for more top horror lists and reviews? Check out our blog here..
Audiences have become rather accustomed to quick-buck, bright and bloody horrors that come about every couple of months from large studios, where nearly every moment of tension is ruined by a falsely acquainted jumpscare, and a lack of believable performances. Honestly, this is exactly how I believed The Black Phone would turn out. Never have I ever been more wrong!
The Black Phone follows Finney (Mason Thames), a middle schooler who along with his sister Gwen (Madeleine McGraw) have become a form of careers to their widowed alcoholic father, Terrence (Jeremy Davies), making sure that he doesn’t cause too much harm once he begins bingeing. Together they fight through the hardships, especially as Terrence has a penchant for berating Gwen over her psychic dreams. Amidst their other daily struggles of school bullies and playground antics Finney is captured by The Grabber (Ethan Hawke), a local masked kidnapper. All alone with no help in sight, it seems that Finney is destined for death, however, a mysterious black phone and Gwen’s visions may hold the key to his survival.
Adapted from Joe Hill’s (son of genre proficianado Stephen King) short story of the same (2004) is Scott Derrickson’s latest feature that calls back to one of his previous horror’s Sinister (2012), in being a shockingly gut wrenching delight that will have you peeking through the gaps of your fingers as you sit on the edge of your seat. The boxes are ticked in all categories, whether it’s the creepy performance from Hawke playing the bloodthirsty local kid-snatcher, or the illustrious whodunit mystery that goes on in the background as the cops race against time to get to the bottom of the killings before it’s too late.
As with most classic auteurs in the making, Derrickson uses his common collaborators Hawke and writer C. Robert Cargill to plunge The Black Phone into a refreshing territory that holds up for the entire film. The film transports us back in time to Colorado circa 1978, where kids would play out on the streets unequipped with no phones in sight, feeling safe amidst the presence of strangers, however, it is this exact uniformed trust that The Black Phone uses as a backbone for terror to ensue, constatnly toying with our knowledge that times are no longer as simple and Finney should definitely not be walking home alone with an unknown boogeyman lurking about. And although we sit waiting for the ‘big surprise’ of The Grabber’s appearance, what we are not prepared for is how petrifyingly wicked the prowler truly is.
Hawke’s career spans across a plethora of films including Dead Poets Society (1989), Reality Bites (1994), and Boyhood (2014); Whilst these works portray his outstanding capabilities, his recital of a maniacal deranged serial killer in The Black Phone is a career-distinguishing extravaganza, exhibiting Hawke’s duality of being a deeply disturbed individual whose depravity also oozes a sense of childlike giddiness. Convoluting the story even further is the dark land that the film doesn’t neescarly assert, but is suggested throughout. Finney’s ghostly conversations with his captive chums allude to The Grabber’s motives as somewhat being connected to a regressive state of adolescence, where he doesn’t see himself as a grown man abducting little boys, but instead a fellow child. Here, Derrickson very much leaves further analogy and the dissection of what The Grabber is ‘capable’ of doing to the viewer’s imagination. Hawke’s performance is more than commendable, but it’s important not to forget all of the other characters that make the film what it is. Spiritually joining Finney in the basement is the titular gang of fellow victims who include a small town bully, a local baseball player, and most importantly Finney’s own friend Robin (Miguel Cazarez Mora), who over the course of the film becomes Finney’s ghostly sidekick, keeping him motivated to escape the cell and tackle his inner fears.
The surveyance of suggestion is another feature that is pushed constantly throughout the film. Gory imagery does not always equate to an overused gimmick to get a visceral reaction, instead it can be used as a rather quintessential and necessary plot device for cinema, especially in the works of zombie features or body-horrors. The Black Phone delicately works with heavy material without becoming too infatuated with the sensory elements. Yes, you will feel a shiver as you come to terms with how The Grabber has anihilated his victims, but the reaction isn’t thanks to a harsh show-and-tell, instead, Derrickson takes his time in unravelling the backstory and fleshing out the grounds to conjure a narrative that employs your own imagination, forcing the misdeeds to stay in your own psyche for long after watching. Through The Black Phone continuously telling not showing, we mould the story around our own fears and worries, making the film memorable and beyond personable.
In keeping in touch with Derrickson’s pathos of personalness is the setting and time that the film uses to force a further level of despair into Finney’s chances of escaping. During the 1970s and early 1980s there was an influx in abductions, raising the now too familiar saying of ‘Stranger Danger’ into public domain. During this time, milk cartons were plastered with missing posters, meaning that the threat and knowledge of alarming events were in the family home, not just a distanced and avoidable event on the news.
As with any major event, cinema took ahold of these panics and manifested the terror into works of media, with recent entries including Prisoners (2013), The Captive (2014), and I See You (2019). Films akin to these mystery dramas with heavy doses of horror have had a slight rehaul over the years, with studios opting to position the ‘missing kids’ narrative during one of the more notable heights of worry– during the 1970s/1980s. Rather than Derrickson using nostalgia and retro framings as an easy trick to hone in on the trend, the vintage aesthetic is used appropriately and to the film’s utmost advantage. In honour of the throwback vibes Finney becomes entirely hopeless, with zero social media to track his location, nor any savvy list to keep track of neighbourhood creeps.
Everything, whether it’s the dim layer where Finney is held, the retro style complete with grainy intercuts of 8mm footage enlightening viewers of Gwen’s visions, or even the foreboding score that knows exactly when to quieten before erupting into a thunderous peak- The Black Phone has it all, making it not only one of 2022’s most standout films so far, but also a strong contender for being one of Blumhouse Productions best releases yet.
Looking for more top horror lists and reviews? Check out our blog here..
1. Shaun of the Dead (Directed by Edgar Wright (2004)
The lives of aimless salesman Shaun (Simon Pegg) and his do-nothing roommate Ed (Nick Frost) are turned upside down when a zombie apocalypse hits the streets of London.
Burrowing itself as one of Britain’s most iconic films is Edgar Wright’s Shaun of the Dead, a gory zombie mashup with a classic sentiment and enough one-liners to get even stone-faced viewers a right belly laugh. The world Wright establishes from the get go is dull and monotonous, giving Shaun and Ed’s habits a paint-by-numbers feel. Even after the first zombie appearance nothing much changes, they ‘keep mum’ about the severity of the literal apocalypse. Although the humour thrives in the humdrum moments, what keeps the script fresh is the continuous trajectories that Wright throws in the mix.
The original strategy for Shaun’s zombie action plan is to go to his mum’s (Penelope Wilton), kill his snobby step-father (Bill Nighy), grab his disgruntled girlfriend Liz (Kate Ashfield), then “go to The Winchester, have a nice cold pint, and wait for all of this to blow over”- if that doesn’t ring true to the good ole’ British spirit then I don’t know what does! Overtime Shaun of the Dead has done nothing but continue to defy everyone’s expectations for both British cinema and horror, with the film even featuring in the likes of Stephen King and Quentin Tarantino’s top film’s lists, and that’s not to mention the fact that the Zombie Godfather himself George A. Romero was so impressed that he gave Wright and Pegg a cameo role in Land of the Dead (2005).
2.The Wicker Man (Directed by Robin Hardy, 1973)
Sergeant Howie (Edward Woodward) lands on the grounds of Summerisle, a small Scottish island, to investigate the disappearance of a child. Howie’s puritan ways are tested after being shocked at the Islander’s worship of pagan Celtic gods and behaving in an open frivolous manner, leading Howie to suspect that something suspicious lurks around the corner.
British folk horror has seeded its way through the roots of classic cinema with the assistance from The Unholy Trinity- Witchfinder General (1968), Blood on Satan’s Claw (1971), and The Wicker Man (1973) with the latter being a distinctly respected piece of British cinema. In the early 1970s, writer Anthony Shaffer read the novel Ritual (David Pinner), detailing the events of a Christian police officer investigating a supposed ritualistic murder in a small village. Shaffer and Robin Hardy decided to use the novel as a source to create a horror focused upon old religion to contrast against the flow of Hammer horrors being released; lead Christopher Lee was also keen on breaking away from his archetypal Hammer roles.
Over the production course, it was decided that the film would stay away from graphic violence and gore as a focus on visceral material was not the method they wanted to adopt as their fear provoker. Hardy wanted a slow burning sense of doom to gradually unveil itself within the viewer, bubbling up an atmosphere of complete dread where we know that something terrible is going to happen, but are unaware of the when and where’s. And that’s precisely what was achieved. The Wicker Man has an earthy quality, one whose quiet tension is sown from the first scene, brewing a disconcerting air of trepidation and awe over the alarming exposition and dark landscapes.
3. Eden Lake (Directed by James Watkins, 2008)
School teacher Jenny (Kelly Reilly), and her boyfriend Steve (Michael Fassbender), take a trip to a remote lake in the English countryside to spend a romantic weekend together. However, a group of delinquent teens takes their chaos a step too far, resulting in a bloody fight for survival.
Eden Lake is a rough and gritty story that uses contemporary moral panics against a muddy backdrop to expel a level of savageness that rings back to classics such as Straw Dogs (1971) and Deliverance (1972). James Watkins works at a fast pace to immediately portray Jenny and Steve to be wholesome and soppy, far from the violent criminals they’ll be running from. Whilst the plot is being thickened we are lulled into siding with the couple. During this Watkin subtly plants in elements that foreshadow their fates. For example, instead of enjoying a chill evening in a beer garden, they are surrounded by screaming kids who are way up past their bedtime, followed by angered parents slapping the littluns. It may not be much, but from the getgo, a divide is created.
During the mid to late 2000s, every news channel and paper would have a feature on rising violence amongst adolescents, raising the alarm over the knife crime epidemic, but rather than give admittance over how these problems are created due to social and generational issues, the blame would be placed on ‘hoodies’ and grime music. Filmmakers such as Watkins employ the worries of Broken Britain to create a film that makes you feel morally conflicted and worrisome. Collaborating with the commentary is the film’s genuinely frightful nature. The woods have birthed an incredible setup for horror to thrive, with the dark trees casting haunting shadows and exuding a sense of isolation. Eden Lake tactically positions us alongside Jenny and Steve in the hardened wilderness, knowing that like them we are all alone amongst the terror.
4. 28 Days Later (Directed by Danny Boyle, 2002)
Cillian Murphy in “28 Days Later” (Photo by Sundance/WireImage)
A team of animal rights activists clumsily free a chimpanzee infected with the Rage virus which causes its host to go into a zombified uncontrollable rage. Four weeks later, Jim (Cillian Murphy) awakes from a coma, not knowing that civilization has come to an end. Whilst hastily discovering what’s happened he runs into a group of survivors and travels with them to a supposed safe haven.
The scene is the early 2000s, slow brooding zombies have held the spotlight for long enough, it’s time for rapid, furious, rabid zombies to rule the platform. By nature zombies are abject, their entire basis repulses, what with their drooling mouths and mangled decaying skin. When combined with the fact that the infected can climb and race, a terrifying recipe for fear is created. Danny Boyle knows how to alert our darkest anxieties, and 28 Days Later rivets and rolls to sharply hone in on that white-knuckle terror from the very first scene.
The setting avails use of the desolate grounds of the skeletal London town and dispiriting countryside as a terror provoking instrument that contrasts against the quick-paced camerawork and of course the zooming undead themselves. Adding to the intense pandemonium created in 28 Days Later is the panic-inducing score composed by John Murphy. The soundtrack continuously blasts synthesised electric drones that faintly mimic the air raid signals which would have gone off within those 28 days of the apocalypse. All of these elements, from the widescaped cinematography and booming score, to the heated performances and crazed zombies all meld together to create an unmissable showstopper.
5. The Devils (Directed by Ken Russell, 1971)
In 17th-century France, Father Grandier (Oliver Reed) attempts to protect the city of Loudun from the corruption-fueled establishment run by Cardinal Richelieu (Christopher Logue).
Ken Russell was a known agitator of the BBFC, igniting feuds amongst movie-goers over the graphic content of many of his films, and The Devils really take the honours for being not only one of his most controversial films but also a conqueror in 1970s banned British cinema. A large part of the contention resides with the themes of promiscuity painted upon a religious foreground, highlighting hierarchical abuse structures within worship and Rusell’s conscious wielding of distasteful, excess debaucheries. The Devils lewd principles take centre stage and become entirely inescapable, luckily enough the horror aspects are not covered up by the excess vulgarity. Plague-infested bodies being dumped into a limb pit, self-mutilation, and maggots sliming out of skull sockets are just some of the ghastly imagery that audiences are subjected to, thrusting the film into a dark territory that drives out a panicked and tense reaction.
6. Dog Soldiers (Directed by Neil Marshall, 2002)
A small squad of soldiers attend a mission in the Scottish highlands against a Special Air Service unit. Morning comes and they come across the unit’s sprawled apart remains, pushing the conclusion that someone or more like something is after them.
Neil Marshall forgoes a cosmopolitan setting and characters in favour of occupying the screen with rural land and pragmatic characters that waft an essence of realist brutalism throughout a fantastical storyline. Furthering the tough as nails exhibition is the apt lack of dramatics surrounding the werewolf’s existence. Marshall has stated that the werewolves purposefully do not have a lore background or curse-infused reasoning for their being.
The werewolves’ tall, gangly stature is enough to be absolutely nerve-wracking, especially when they bare their protruding fangs ready to sink into their prey’s unlucky flesh. The maximization of terror actually comes from an unexpected place, the humorous dialogue. Witty quips such as “We are now up against live, hostile targets. So, if Little Red Riding Hood should show up with a bazooka and a bad attitude, I expect you to chin the bitch” have the audience cracking up, but rather than linger in the comedy Marshall exploits the fact that our guard is down and uses the settled mood to throw in unexpected lashes of gore and frights, shaking the expectations of the audience. Dog Soldiers both mopped the floor with many creature features and created the blueprints for many werewolf films to come.
7. Kill List (Directed by Ben Wheatley, 2011)
Jay (Neil Maskell) and Gal (Michael Smiley) served together in the forces, creating a strong bond. Eight months have passed since they left an unspecified disastrous assignment, leaving Jay mentally scarred, making him unable to work. After an argument between Jay and his wife Shel (MyAnna Buring) over money worries he joins Gal in a contracted job to kill a list of people.
Ben Wheatley over the years has created some true standout British horror’s including Sightseers (2012) and A Field in England (2013), and most recently In the Earth (2021). Kill List unveils Wheatley’s naturalistic filmmaking methods in a remarkably raw manner that inflames a deep level of disturbance amongst the viewer, guaranteeing a hold over them for long after watching. Joining his fervent displays of provocation are the award worthy performances from Michael Smiley, MyAnna Buring, and Neil Maskell who all bring such ferocity and realness to their characters that it’s nearly impossible to tell that they’re actors and not the actual people they are portraying.
Kill List somehow goes both full throttle and gentle within its storytelling, with the subtle elements of something darker lurking amidst the surface, whilst also pushing frenzied chaos into the frame. This perplexing balance is even more advanced by the unpredictability of Jay and Gal’s actions, pronouncing the ambiguous nature of events and the slight art-house style that Wheatley adopts.
8. Prevenge (Directed by Alice Lowe, 2016)
Pregnant widow Ruth (Alice Lowe) loses her partner in an unfortunate climbing accident, leaving her alone. Shortly after, she begins to hear her baby talking, convincing Ruth to exact revenge on anyone involved in his death.
Alice Lowe’s directorial debut is an absolute shocker of a film. Prevenge is literal proof that budget constraints and the brackets of independent cinema are not blockades in creating a potent piece as Lowe hatches an audaciously somber and fruitfully macabre vision of a woman unhinged. There is not a single moment where we don’t align with Ruth. We have to listen to her and follow her every step, encouraging us to see the world through her damned perspective.
This creates an off-kilter atmosphere that fashions a normal-looking world, but with a surreal and untrustworthy ambiance, similar to British TV shows such as Green Wing and The IT Crowd. Prevenge is entirely impressive as it is, but what pushes the film’s intrinsic likeability even further into the atmosphere is the personable energy that the film emits. Lowe wrote, directed, and stars in this one-woman show, all whilst she was actually pregnant in real life. The level of dedication and the film’s success has to be owed entirely to her.
9. The Ritual (Directed by David Bruckner, 2017)
A tragedy strikes in a group of friends, leaving the bond disabonded. To rekindle their friendship the four of them set out on a hike through the rural Scandinavian wilderness, however, when a wrong turn ends them into ominous land, they must fight for survival.
The Ritual remains efficient, rich, and menacing– heeding onto the complexities of trauma and the threat of expelling one’s grief inwards, rather than seeking the comfort of shared loss. Boasting The Ritual’s emotional rhythm is David Bruckner’s ability to take elements of the source material (Adam Nevill’s 2011 novel of the same name) and manifest a story that alludes to Nevill’s rural atmospheric strengths, but with a surreal edge that transcends the barriers between the mind and the psychical body.
Due to this constant escalation of illusory texturization, the viewer can never decipher what the fates of the four will be. Immediately, when an isolated forest setting is disclosed an air of the ‘other’ forebodes the script, with many recalling the likes of The Blair Witch Project (1999) or The VVitch (2015) as an archetypal framework for The Ritual to base itself around. However, Bruckner dismisses the urge to be predictable or imitate previous works, opting for unfamiliar occurrences that have you questioning whether the sinister happenings are held within the fragile group’s mind or if something very real and very evil is actually at play.
10. Hellraiser ( Directed by Clive Barker, 1987)
Frank Cotton (Sean Chapman) opens a portal to hell after solving a puzzle box, unleashing sadomasochistic beings called Cenobites, led by their leader Pinhead (Doug Bradley) who tears Frank’s body to shreds. Frank’s brother Larry (Andrew Robinson) and his wife Julia (Clare Higgins) have a strained relationship, which led to Julia having a secret affair with Frank before his death. To rekindle their estranged relationship the pair move into Frank’s old house, where a skinless Frank is accidentally resurrected, who convinces Julia to lure men back to the house for him to drain.
Director Clive Barker originally was a writer, having written the screenplays for Underworld (1985) and Rawhead Rex (1986), however, he was rather unhappy with the final execution of his developed work, leading him to direct the film adaptation of his novella The Hellbound Heart (1986). Immediately, Barker knew that he wanted to create a piece dosed in creative eccentricity and a horror betrothed to the atmosphere and cutting edge originality. Considering the fact that the film developed into an entire franchise, it’s assured that Barker’s goal of a successful adaptation was achieved.
Hellraiser’s moral compass is enriched with a dreamlike quality, resulting in dark sequences of death and destruction, and whilst the overall effect is beyond alluring, the primary source of the film’s seduction is due to the cruel unearthly creatures donning sharp exteriors and bondage-like clothing. The genealogy of the Cenobites has been diagnosed as ‘religious based’, with them deriving from a religious sect in the underworld known as the ‘Order of the Gash’ where their evolution has made them unable to differentiate pleasure and pain. Pinhead and his followers’ existence transport the film into a higher level of transgressiveness, allowing for the viewer to become blinded and lost within the utter absurd nature of Barker’s vision.
Looking for more top horror lists and reviews? Check out our blog here..
A nightmarish videotape has begun making the rounds, leading to the unlucky viewer’s receiving a mysterious phone call warning them that they will die in seven days. After investigative journalist Rachel Keller (Naomi Watts) learns that her niece and several other teenagers die mysteriously after watching the video, she attempts to track down who made it and why. The investigation soon takes a sinister turn after her son Aiden (David Dorfman) watches the tape, causing her to contact her ex-husband Noah (Martin Henderson) to help her untangle this curse once and for all.
Upon discovering the dark secrets that the tape beholds, it is learnt that thecontent is not the cause of a typical urban legend, but instead a treacherous story about a young girl named Samara (Daveigh Chase) and her vengeful spirit.
Hideo Nakata’s 1998 horror sensation Ringu could be defined as an ubiquitous feat of fragile relationships, infestation of the home, and anxieties over the ever booming spec of technology. All of the above radiate nothing but the truth, yet to condense Ringu’s spine-tingling allegories to mere themes and societal reflections is simply reducing how evoking the film is on an affective level. Even those with nerves of steel will inevitably feel an eerie whisper of fear whilst viewing the film’s terrifying climax, which will not leave your thoughts until long after watching. With any groundbreaking media, there will be those who want to see it go further, to push the interest and increase profits. The most prolific case to date of Japanese horror being remade is Gore Verbinski’s The Ring (2002) which will celebrate its twentieth birthday this year.
Whilst the remake at hand would not win in an original vs remake battle, what The Ring does deserve praise in is its capacity to attract viewers to the genre, influence a string of filmmakers, and allow international cinema to flood the market, enriching horror cinema for the better.
The crash that 1990s horror saw was retrospectively quite damning. Besides a few standout films such as Scream (1996), the market was overwhelmingly flooded with uninspiring films, that was until the early 2000s came and a whole new tidal wave of creativity rushed in. The shift that the millennium film market saw was largely helmed by Verbinski. His previous credits at the time were scarce, hence the reason why he was not the producer’s first choice. Luckily enough David Lynch turned down the offer to direct The Ring, clearing up that spot for some new raw talent. From the very first point, it was made clear that The Ring would not be a grand guignol display of bleeding wounds and tedious jump scares. In contrast, the result is a brooding voyage that meshes both a sense of linear passiveness, akin to a false sense of stillness and a fantastical descent, rife with tangled backstories that pivot the film into unique supernatural territory.
Catalyzing the film’s premise is the infamous cursed tape that is making the deadly rounds. Verbinski folds in layers of symbolism through using smouldering surreality that can come across as slightly ‘film-school-y’, what with all the grainy footage, melding together a heap of Rorschach-esque imagery. Nevertheless, the presence of the tape remains to be nothing less than disturbing, particularly the scenes which mimic the now infamous experimental film Begotten (1989). Permitting shock value is not the tape’s only purpose, the texturized visual scenes of ladders, burning trees, darkened eyes, and most importantly glowing rings are inducing awareness of how Samara’s life mirrors Rachel’s own relationship with her surroundings. Through giving the tape a symbolistic consciousness a deeper meaning of explanation is adhered to.
There is a clear level of juxtaposition between divulging into elaborate character arcs, whilst remaining coherent and uncluttered. In a similar way, the anatomy of the original material and Verbinski’s re-envisioning both make the choice to expose familial-based issues, except the two filmmakers’ methods are rather oppositional. Verbinski has an archetypal take on the tape’s origins, quite bravely he’s not afraid to lean in heavy and get down to the story’s bones. Whereas Nakata conservatively creates a simple backstory of why the events were occurring. If you were to dissect the film with a fine-tooth comb there are major confusions, but it’s fairly obvious that the nonsensical mystery is purposeful. Not everything needs to be untangled, especially when it comes to horror which innately blooms through enigmas. It’s possible that this is the reason why The Ring resonates so well with many, there is no labyrinth of answers to fumble about with, the mystery is fully decoded for you.
Western produced cinema tends to heavily expose and reveal every little crumb through plenty of exposition, like a story being read out to a child. Yet, Verbinski’s fattening of Samara’s sensibility comes across as a valid attempt at painting a picture that tells a sorrow-ridden story. Rachel, Noah, and Aiden all have distant relationships with one another, causing Aiden to have an unusually sensible manner about him, allowing his parents to slightly take the backseat. Quite refreshingly, Verbinski does not suggest that Rachel should forfeit her career to create a meaningful bond with her son.
Instead, an emphasis is put on Noah who abandoned his own son, leaving Rachel to raise a child alone. Rachel’s career and access to certain technologies actually benefit her in solving the case of the cursed tape, diffusing any stereotype that a person cannot both have a family and a riveting profession. Within the subplot involving parenthood lies the true essence of the narrative. Samara’s wrath stems from the lack of humanity she endured, reflecting Aiden’s bond with his parents. He is now in danger, and it is up to Noah and Rachel to bandage together the tape’s context to save Aiden from a harrowing fate, facilitating themes of unification and regret.
Accompanying the film’s impassioned pathos is the distinct style that allows for The Ring to stand out amongst the rest.
It may be basic to revert back to colour theory. Reds and pinks are warm, thus presenting a passionate tone, with blues and green summoning a cold, bleak mood. But alas, Verbinski takes these elementary principles and maximises them to their full advantage. Nakata’s work across the board thrives in its minimalism, that placidity. In comparison American blockbusters relish in their vividness. The colour grading of The Ring defines the entire film, it can even be claimed that the final result would not be the same without it. Dull greys, murky blues, and waterlogged greens catapult the already gloomy Seattle concrete-jungle atmosphere into a horribly dark environment where horror breeds.
The Ring understands the rich history that preludes it. The film’s horror motifs all derive from fantastic 1990s Japanese cinema- the presence of an onryō, cruel technology, cityscapes, distant relationships, the delicacy of time, and an overarching emotion of loss. Presenting these tangible strands of dread through an Americanised light proved to be an exceptional profit builder and genre booster. Twenty years on, The Ring still holds an almost unattainable reputation that remakes find it hard to do- become integrated as a valuable, vital piece of cinema.
Major names such as Takashi Miike, Kiyoshi Kurosawa, Takashi Shimizu, and Kōji Shiraishi are all honourable within Japanese horror, but prior to their work that propelled J-horror, there were many older films that are under-appreciated on a mainstream level. Work’s such as Tales of Ugetsu (1953), Kwaidan (1964), and Onibaba (1964) kickstarted the trend of positioning societal matters through a supernatural lens. The underlying contemporary issues that Japanese horror explores are entirely compelling, forgoing trivial circumstances, and that is entirely thanks to the above cinema. Without these films, Ringu and the book that acts as its source material (Ring, [Koji Suzuki, 1991]), let alone the remake, would not have been the same.
The Ring acknowledges that the marketed audience expectations would result in the film needing to adapt its cultural conjectures, hence the heavy background story and subplots. In a bittersweet way the conformity to a westernised forecast resulted in the aforementioned success, but at the same time, the film triggered a string of almost insulting remakes from J-horror classics such as Ju-On: The Grudge (2002), One Missed Call (2003), Apartment 1303 (2007), Pulse (2001), and Dark Water (2002). In trying to continuously adapt culturally-rooted stories a sense of villianisation against these major studios is created. Reimagining plots that belong to Japanese folklore without recontextualizing or appreciating their origins is rather unjust. The Hollywood system is known for its ruthless, remorseless stretches, and the influx of capitalising on East Asian cinema can be viewed as questionable. I highly doubt that Verbinksi created The Ring with the premise of fashioning a recycled meaning of Japanese horror in the west, and considering that Nakata openly admires this adaptation, it’s safe to say that The Ring is actually one of the few remakes that deserve acclaim.
Despite all the doom and gloom, there is a comforting prospect to come from J-horror’s influence. As with many people old enough to watch these films, I didn’t have a smartphone growing up to research world cinema, nor were there streaming sites that worked on importing foreign language horror for people to adore. Instead, I would watch The Ring or The Grudge (2004) in hopes of experiencing a film that ventured outside of the UK or the USA, seeing a new world. It was Verbinski’s work that helped spark my interest in world cinema. As I became older and had easy access to the internet I was enthralled to learn that The Ring was in fact not an original and that I now had an epically long watchlist from films across the entire land to sink my teeth into. Luckily enough with sites such as Netflix and Youtube, potential horror fans can experience films such as Audition (1999), Visitor Q (2001), Battle Royale (2001), and Marebito (2004) with ease.
It is a tricky one to fully decode my thoughts on The Ring. Without a doubt, it is a moving film, brimming with touching connotations that work on sympathising with Samara’s motivations. But the most novel part of bringing this Japanese spirit story to life is the widely sparked interest for a section of cinema that is beyond deserving of international attention.
Looking for more top horror lists and reviews? Check out our blog here..
Dead Northern reviews the greatly anticipated fifth instalment in the slasher film series below.
There are SPOILERS AHEAD, you have been warned!
One fateful night Tara Carpenter (Jenny Ortega) is all alone at home texting her friend Amber (Mikey Madison), convincing her to come over. But all of a sudden the landline starts ringing, at first the slightly off-kilter banterfull conversation is innocent, that is until we hear that iconic low, scratchy octave ask Tara “would you like to play a game?”. And just like that Scream is BACK!
In 2019 when filmmaking duo Matt Bettinelli-Olpin and Tyler Gillett announced that they would be taking the bull by the horns and brazenly tackling the fifth instalment in the Scream franchise, many fans were beyond thrilled that Ghostface would be continuing their rampage. The man, the myth, the legend Wes Craven who created the franchise sadly passed away in 2015, leaving behind an unbeatable legacy. Could Scream even continue without the helm of Craven? Well, let’s find out…
After twenty-five years since a string of savage murders erupted in the small town of Woodsboro, a new villain takes on the identity of Ghostface, leaving a bloody trail amongst the unlucky residents. Scream’s next generation serves a purpose. They are all connected to previous characters, including Woodsboro’s own movie expert Randy Meeks (Jamie Kennedy), Sheriff Judie Hicks (Marley Shelton), and everyone’s favourite partners in crime, Stu Macher (Matthew Lillard) and Billy Loomis (Skeet Ulrich).
The original Scream jostled with the postmodern boom that 1990s films thrived in. It’s this combination of self-referential treatment mingling with meta-cinema that facilitated the quick ironic humour that the franchise is known for. Across the previous films, every joke about sequels, franchises, fandoms, actors, and the Hollywood cycle has been done. Nothing else could possibly be added. Here’s where writers Guy Busick and James Vanderbilt regenerated the already embellished one-liners. Many of the filler characters have extensive movie knowledge, allowing for hysterical tirades about how devoted horror fans don’t want increasingly popular “requels” (reboot-sequel) to be a stand alone story with no continuing context- à la Black Christmas (2019); alternatively, franchise-enthusiasts want a connection to an original legacy. Just as Amber states “you can’t have a bonafide Halloween without Jamie Lee”.
The film exchanges with the audience directly, transfusing the fourth wall with reality. These rants about movie rules are precisely aimed at the viewer, making quips about how obsessive diehard fans are to please. Almost digging at those who’d immediately shun this new entry before even giving it a chance. Of course, many chuckles were had at the numerous easter eggs and mention of the fictional in-house ‘Stab’ movies, but the film’s strength doesn’t derive from the humour which will eventually fade after a couple of watches, instead the cardinal prizewinner is the unyielding brutality of the kills. Throughout all five films, this one takes the lead as the most shockingly savage and graphic film to date. Casey Becker (Drew Barrymore) has one of the franchise’s gnarliest deaths. Whether or not she can continue to hold the top spot is now another issue. Ghostface slices and dices their way through bodies with ease, not holding a single ounce of remorse, nor does the camera shy away from the direct insertion of their gleaming hunting knife.
As delightful as it was to see Sidney (Neve Campbell), Dewey (David Arquette), and Gale (Courteney Cox) step back into their stomping grounds, the film’s main protagonist Sam who was fantastically portrayed by the very talented Melissa Barrera was indeed a breath of fresh air. Her natural ability to be both vulnerable and fiercely strong allows her to stand beside the genre’s greatest final girls with ease. Joining Barrera is her on-screen boyfriend Richie Kirsch, played by Jack Quaid, who is the receiver of the film’s best jokes by far. Lurking alongside the stellar performances is the factor of unexpectedness. Not a single soul is safe. Scream isn’t the first and last franchise that sheds characters as and when needed, however Bettinelli-Olpin and Gillet truly don’t have a whiff of compassion at all for who gets to survive and who gets to die. The ever looming threat of death loiters over every character’s head, legacy or not…
Much praise has seen the light of day in regards to the film. Yet, there does seem to be a general critique floating around about the lack of scares. Horror is subjective, there’s no denying that. What works for one person will almost never work for the next, but within the last couple of decades, horror has evolved and changed. As controversial as it is, horror cinema does not have to make your blood run cold or have you quaking in your boots to be considered ‘good’ anymore. Scream raises the threat level and creates admirable tension, despite the fact that it didn’t have me terrified to turn the lights off. Although the 1996 original did give me the ‘heebie jeebies’, it wasn’t intended to be blood-curdling terrifying.
This instalment playfully mocks pestering film bro’s who mention the term that makes my eyes roll- “elevated horror’. When asked what her favourite scary movie is, Casey replies with John Carpenter’s infamous Halloween (1978), whereas Tara answers with The Babadook (2014), a fantastic film in its own right. But what comes next is Tara’s betrayal of the genre. She disavows typical horror as pure schlock and guts. Almost directly commenting on how elevated horrors wouldn’t stoop to the level that slashers do, opting instead for emotionally developed, politically enamoured narratives.
It is with this boldness and knowingly critical lens that Bettinelli-Olpin and Gillett shine. They know how to rinse inside genre jokes and make fun of their own attempt of recycling an already perfect classic. The Scream franchise has always managed to tiptoe between not taking itself too seriously, whilst still not becoming a total parody. Scream (22) captures this essence with ease, making it a solid and welcomed entry into horror’s most unique franchise.
We use cookies to ensure that we give you the best experience on our website. If you continue to use this site we will assume that you are dead happy with it.OkNo
