Dir - F.W. Murnau
Before fleeing to the US to finish out his directorial career, F.W. Murnau made what was then the most expensive movie from the German production company Ufa, the exceptional interpenetration of the legend of Faust. Drawing from Johann Wolfgang von Geothe's 1808 tragic play of the same name, this was a technically dazzling work for its day. With elaborate sets, staging, miniatures, and special effects, its depictions of archangels, demons, a plague-ridden village, and the suffering of an innocent woman make an impressive spectacle. Several versions of the movie exist, with different edits and takes making up each one that was meant for a specific market. Murnau's perfectionist tendencies resulted in a grueling production, but the hours upon hours of shooting has made this in a landmark film in fantasy cinema.
(1967)
Dir - Jack Hill
Dir - Jack Hill
An early work from exploitation maverick Jack Hill, Spider Baby has endured as a beloved cult movie that features one of the last significant roles from Lon Chaney Jr. and one of the first from Sid Haig. The script is odd enough as it is, (an inbred family of mental degenerates terrorize distant relatives who come to visit), but the presentation ups the quirkiness to agreeable heights. Tonally, it rides the line of ridiculous black comedy, low budget sleaze, and disturbed horror, plus the cast maintains a level of camp and sincerity that makes the entire movie more fun than gruesome, even when it gets gruesome on paper. Throw in minor scream queen Carol Ohmart, Golden Era comedic character actor Mantan Moreland, plus the strangest dinner scene this side of Eraserhead and this is both delightful and macabre in the best possible manner.
(1964)
Dir - Sidney Salkow
The first, comparatively most faithful, and best adaption of Richard Matheson's novel I Am Legend was the Produzioni La Regina/American International Pictures co-production The Last Man On Earth. Filmed in Rome with an exclusively Italian cast save star Vincent Price in campless top form, it makes effective use out of the post-apocalyptic setting where a metropolitan area is sporadically littered with abandoned cars, dead bodies, and zombie-like vampires. While the undead are nonthreatening and weak, the consistently creepy atmosphere, (which is helped by stark, black and white cinematography and an eerily choral music score), goes a long way in conveying the hopeless plight of Price's Dr. Robert Morgan. The film is thankfully more interested in portraying the disturbing effects of perpetual loneliness than adhering to cliche-ridden blood-sucker tropes, overcoming its meager production values along the way.
(2001)
Dir - Alejandro Amenábar
For his first English-speaking movie, Spanish-Chilean writer/director/composer Alejandro Amenábar made the effective old school haunted house mystery The Others. A kindred spirit to Henry James' novel The Turn of the Screw and its 1961 film adaptation The Innocents, it has the same core framework of two young siblings stuck in a sprawling abode with a minimal amount of other characters keeping them company, all while supernatural tomfoolery is clearly afoot. While the mood and atmosphere are wonderfully subdued with both subtle and highly nerve-wracking scares, Nicole Kidman's performance as a tightly-wound mother suffering from a nervous breakdown carries the film. Classy, emotionally potent, spooky, and with a twist ending for the books, it is that rarest of works that makes the familiar come off as refreshing.
(1925)
Dir - Rupert Julian/Lon Chaney/Ernst Laemmle/Edward Sedgwick
The elaborately produced The Phantom of the Opera became a landmark horror film for Universal and possibly the most famous of Lon Chaney's career. An adaptation of Gaston Leroux's novel of the same name, it has been brought to the screen numerous other times in the near one hundred years since it premiered in September of 1925. A partially re-shot edit was made in 1929 as well,which added new scenes with different actors and sound sequences. Visually, the impressive sets, German Expressionist-inspired lighting, and of of course Chaney's iconic and deformed make-up are still captivating despite some of the dated pacing issues and elongated musical numbers. This would in turn set the stage for Universal's early sound monster boom and is an essential place to begin such a cinematic, historical trek.
(1979)
Dir - Leslie Megahey
Airing on December 23th, 1979 as part of the BBC's Omnibus series, Schalcken the Painter served a similar purpose as the A Ghost Story for Christmas series which had wrapped up the previous year. It is based on the 1809 short story "Strange Event in the Life of Schalken the Painter" by Irish writer Sheridan Le Fanu and is a quasi-educational docudrama that is visually inspired by the works of the title Dutch artist Godfried Schalcken, as well as that of Johannes Vermeer. In accordance with such supernaturally-tinged BBC productions from the era though, it is intense and eerie due to its stark, minimalist direction. Leslie Megahey stages a handful of wonderfully spooky scenes from behind the lens and the artful cinematography by John Cooper is striking in its period accuracy. For low key and atmospherically drenched horror, this is another shining example from the BBC.
(1986)
Dir - Charles Martin Smith
The best, (only good?), Satanic panic/high school bully/heavy metal horror movie ever made, Trick or Treat takes a preposterous premise and oddly pretends that it is not so preposterous. This was the directorial debut and only work from behind the lens in the genre from actor Charles Martin Smith, who takes a fun yet surprisingly sincere approach to something that easily could have been played up for comedic schlock. Even with sly cameos from Ozzy Osbourne as a televangelist, Gene Simmons as a radio DJ, and Tony Field's villainous Sammi Curr using the power of rock and roll, electricity, and Satan to deliver backwards vinyl messages, make a puppet demon attack a girl in a car, and crash a Halloween dance, it is all effectively ham-less as well as even downright creepy at regular intervals.
(2018)
Dir - Tilman Singer
A full-length thesis project from Tilman Singer, (who handled writing, directing, editing, and production duties almost solely), Luz takes early 80s throwback horror into the unapologetically avant-garde. This is all style as Singer sets up a suffocating and impenetrable tone with snail-paced takes, artificial film print scratches, a challenging sound design, wood paneling everywhere, David Lynch styled abstruse dialog, Dario Argento styled color schemes, more fog than an indoor location should ever have, bursts of absurdity, and a prominent soundtrack full of dissonant violins, tribal drums, and synthesizers. Narratively, do not even try to comprehend a single moment that transpires, though this is part of the fun as the sinister atmosphere alludes to more unwholesome things than are ever shown. It is not so much an irresponsible exercise of less is more than it is a bold and captivating bit of experimental filmmaking, pushing the genre somewhere that most people would not even come close to conceiving of.
(2005)
Dir - Neil Marshall
English filmmaker Neil Marshall went a different route with his sophomore effort The Descent; one of the most intense horror films of the early 2000s. Whereas his debut Dog Soldiers was a testosterone-driven black comedy with werewolves, here he switches to an entirely female cast and forgoes humor to a large extent. In its place is claustrophobic mayhem with plenty of limb-splitting, as well as visuals and sound effects that are both squishy and loud. Amazingly, the film was not shot in real caves, but instead at the famous Pinewood Studios in England and the results are some of the most convincing that have ever been accomplished. While the performances are committed enough, the narrative gives way to a few silly/badass action cliches, plus the plot twist/"villain" reveal does not work as intended. Still, what the movie does well it does incredibly well and if anyone is looking for something to deter you from ever going spelunking, search no further than here.
(1974)
Dir - Kevin Conner
Amicus Productions closed out their series of anthology horror films with the once again excellent From Beyond the Grave. The first and last story are of a similar nature and are also the most old fashioned and ghoulish, each involving antiques that usher their occupants into a ghostly world maintained by supernatural entities that require fresh victims to sustain their unholy existence. The second segment "An Act of Kindness" is the most unique out of the entire series and has subtly unsettling performances from the father/daughter team of Donald and Angela Pleasence. "The Elemental" supplies the film with a dose of silliness where Margaret Leighton hams it up as an eccentric spiritualist who is tasked with exorcising an invisible, shoulder-mounted creature that is up to no good. Editor and first time director Kevin Conner creates some spooky atmosphere when called for and Peter Cushing returns as the mysterious ringleader, bookending his original role as the title character in Amicus' first such film Dr. Terror's House of Horrors.
(1975)
Dir - Gilberto Martínez Solares
For a handful of years, nunsploitation was all the rage across various continents and Mexico's Satánico Pandemonium from director Gilberto Martínez Solares is one of a handful to dip its toes into horror terrain as well. The story is a familiar one; a devout nun is living in a convent and then gets tempted by the Devil, at which point she succumbs to a number of heinous acts which increase in blasphemous and violent severity. Cecilia Pezet quickly retired from acting after turning in a command performance here as the tortured Sister. She is on screen almost exclusively and becomes a diabolical, rage-killing seductress just as fearlessly as when she gets appalled and repentant over her actions. Though the film is eye-brow raising in some of its set pieces, it is also exotic and beautiful in its deliberate progression. The soundtrack is both trippy and eccentric as well as haunting when it uses a sombre religious choir, plus Solares indulges with numerous shots of lush scenery that were filmed in actual convents in both Morelos and Michoacán, Mexico.
(1965)
Dir - Roman Polanski
The first in Roman Polanski's loose "Apartment Trilogy" as well as his first English-speaking film, Repulsion helped put the director on the map and rightfully so. Catherine Deneuve was hot off of her career-making turn in Jacques Demy's The Umbrellas of Cherbourg and she delivers a mesmerized performance as a traumatized neurotic woman who is relentlessly and aggressively pursued by men. The film's pacing is unforgiving, particularly in the first act. Still, Polanski manages to make the monotonous flow disturbing as Deneuve tries to wall herself off from society as both her hallucinations and behavior become more and more bizarre. Polanski shot the film on two different sets; one that was natural scale and another that was noticeably more vast in size. This emphasizes Deneuve's isolation and cracked psyche, plus frequent visits from a ghostly rapist, (presumably that of her father), hands coming out of the walls, cracks erupting from the ceiling and walls, plus a dead rabbit provide plenty of unsettling imagery.
(1961)
Dir - Alfonso Corona Blake
In general, mid-century Mexican horror films had a quirkiness to them that was partially due to low production values and something getting skewed in translation from the American and European genre movies that informed them. El mundo de lose vampiros, (The World of the Vampires), has many Gothic trappings, but also plenty of unique attributes that Universal monster films would have never attempted. The lead vampire is dashing in a strictly Lugosi-styled costume, turns into a bat, and sleeps in a coffin fit for a nobleman, yet his underground cave dwelling is decked out with other upright caskets, a giant organ with skull pipes, a sacrificial altar, and a massive pit full of sharpened spikes. Why a vampire would have the latter in his dwelling is certainly a logical oversight. Most amusing of all though are his minions of cloaked undead bat monsters wearing ludicrously cheap papier-mâché masks. Also in this universe, such creatures can be swayed with minor key music being played because why not?
(1976)
Dir - Paul Naschy
After several years of penning screenplays for his own staring vehicles, Paul Naschy got behind the lens himself for the first time with Inquisition. This arguably contains his finest dramatic performance as the increasingly tormented witchfinder who discovers love amongst one of the damned. By 1976, numerous witch execution movies had been made in the exploitative vein and this one is no different in its brutality. What distinguishes it though is that by and large, such films shined a light on religious fanaticism and hypocrisy where no diabolical forms of witchcraft were ever depicted. Perhaps because the story here is not based off of any actual historical text, black magic is shown to fully exist, with Naschy doubling as not just the main inquisitor but also the goat-headed fiend of the underworld during a naked Satanic mass.
(2014)
Dir - Justin Benson/Aaron Moorhead
If Before Sunrise had been a horror film, then the result would be a lot like Justin Benson and Aaron Moorhead's Spring. To date the most accomplished work from the independent writer/director/cinematographer/usually actor duo, the romantic coupling of immortality and love is explored with a fantastical concept that presents us with a unique hybrid of a movie monster. In the two leads, both Lou Taylor Pucci and Nadia Hilker have a natural chemistry and their characters become more and more easy to fall for as things progress. The story is so emotionally riveting that the obvious CGI effects, (which could be seen as the movie's only flaw, be it a minor one), are forgivable, as few genre films of any kind portray a troubled romance as lovingly as here.
(2001)
Dir - Sion Sono
In the long tradition of head-scratching Japanese cult movies, Sion Sono's Suicide Club fits snugly in there. While it is a mess in many respects, such haphazard and occasionally frustrating boldness seems more intentional than inept. On the one hand, Sono appears to be making a statement about pop culture's ability to brainwash a sheepish society, be it in a ridiculous and extreme way. He also seems to be saying something about infamy worship like when the movie takes a bizarre detour as androgynist musician Rolly Teranishi shows up and serenades while stomping on puppies wrapped in bed sheets. Behind it all, it is a skewed tweak on the Pied Piper legend, only with gushing splatters of blood, sport bags full of stitched together skin shavings, and pre-teen J-pop musical numbers. The story ends up going nowhere while trying to go everywhere at once, yet the fascinating and undeniably unique method in which it indulges itself is disturbed and fun to be confused at.
(1988)
Dir - Chuck Russell
Hot off of the success of A Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors, director Chuck Russell and co-screenwriter Frank Darabont's reimagining of The Blob significantly improved upon the famous though stale original. Emerging in the heyday of practical effects, it pulls no punches with outrageous gore sequences, some of which are nearly on par with Rob Bottin's work in John Carpenter's The Thing, the most stellar of all 1950s sci-fi remakes. While nasty death sequences of the title monster devouring and melting its victim's bodies apart are the main attraction, the script pulls off some wonderful bushwacks, setting up and then killing off would-be main characters and introducing a mysterious military operation out of nowhere. Plenty of humor is scattered about as well, all without sacrificing what is a quick paced and tightly put together giant, gooey monster movie.
(1976)
Dir - Brian De Palma
Following-up two straight Alfred Hitchcock homages and one strange horror rock musical in between them, Brian De Palma made his best film in the genre with the celebrated Stephen King adaptation Carrie. Appropriately the first cinematic version of one of King's stories in that it was also based on his first published novel, it contains an exemplary sympathetic performance from Sissy Spacek, (even though she does not at all adhere to the the homely and overweight depiction of the title character in the source material), plus there is a positively scenery-chewing one from Piper Laurie as her horrific and religiously insane mother. De Palma still channels his directorial hero with split screens and mounting suspense, which of course culminates in the prom night sequence that has gone down as one of the most memorable in all of horror cinema.
(1973)
Dir - Nicolas Roeg
Few horror movies ever made have dealt with grief as their primary theme so expertly as Nicolas Roeg's Don't Look Now. An adaptation of a short story by English author Daphne du Maurier, the film is set in a labyrinth like Vienna where the streets and alleyways weave around the canal in a deliberately off-putting manner. Both Julie Christie and Donald Sutherland become increasingly tormented by the loss of their drowned child in such a setting, where a creepy figure in a red coat persistently leads them on. The actor's on-screen chemistry and likability plays a large part in the film's emotional success and it resulted in one of cinema's most infamous, (and convincing), sex scenes that was long presumed to be real and ergo pornographic in nature. This is far from an exploitation movie though and remains a powerful and sincerely frightening examination of haunted trauma.
(1960)
Dir - Wolf Rilla
Boasting a naturally creepy premise and stark, mannered direction from Wolf Rilla, Village of the Damned remains one of Britain's most enduring horror films. An adaptation of the 1957 novel The Midwich Cuckoos by John Wyndham, the screenplay was originally written by Stirling Silliphant when the project was in development at the American branch of MGM. It was eventually switched to England where Rilla and producer Ronald Kinnoch made a quick-dash effort to British-up the story. This contains one of the best openings for any such movie; a mostly music-less sequence where an entire town simultaneously and mysteriously falls asleep. Rilla keeps things low-key throughout and the unsettling performances from the blonde-wigged, glowing-eyed children are perfectly alien, representing an overall macabre distortion of English politeness as well as cold and unemotional detachment that was much in keeping with the Red Scare hysteria of the day.
(1962)
Dir - Sidney Hayers
In Sidney Hayers' exceptional Night of the Eagle, (Burn, Witch, Burn! in the US), the fundamental concept of skepticism vs. belief is explored, where a level-headed psychology professor comes face to face with powerful supernatural forces. The second cinematic adaptation of Fritz Leiber's novel Conjure Wife, Richard Matheson and Charles Beaumont both split screenwriting duties with each one penning half of the script. Hayers' direction emphasizes the power of suggestion even as the presence of witchcraft becomes undeniable. The stubborn agnostic character had long been a staple in horror fiction by this time and the movie represents an attack on not only rationalism but male societal dominance as the women are the ones practicing the mystic arts in order to either curse or advance the careers of each other's husbands.
(1977)
Dir - Juan López Moctezuma
Mexican filmmaker Juan López Moctezuma directed only a handful of horror films in his career and the most blasphemously insane of them was his 1977 nunsploitation scream-fest Alucarda. Featuring nuns wrapped in bloody bandages, two lesbian/quasi-vampire orphans who become possessed by evil forces, a Satanic gypsy cult led by a hunchback, a convent inside of a cave with its walls adored with life-sized crucifixes, and more screaming, thrashing about women than you can shake a bottle of holy water at, it is a non-stop bombardment of loud and ridiculous sacrilege. The story may as well not even be there as it only serves as a loose backdrop for critiquing superstition-fueled traditionalism, (or something), and it gets right to the exaggerated heresy from the very first scene until the blaring, fire-ridden last. Imagine Alejandro Jodorowsky making Ken Russell's The Devils and that gives you an idea.
(1972)
Dir - Sergio Martino
Even with an ending that does not land in a third act that runs out of steam, Sergio Martino's All the Colors of the Dark still stands as one of the more unique and trippy giallos of the sub-genre's heyday. In place of clandestine black-gloved women-murderers with red herrings hither and tither, the story here somehow fused together childhood trauma, a Satanic cult, and a vast inheritance between two sisters. Martino's third giallo in a row and strongest overall, he handles the bizarre combination of ingredients with a fiendish flare, throwing his main heroine, (Algerian-born/Euro-scream queen Edwige Fenech), into an endless stream of reality-challenging set pieces. For any fan of 70s occult nonsense, glamorous European women in their birthday suites, creepy blue-eyed stalkers, dated fusiony soundtracks, and topsy-turvy plot details, this excursion has all of it in spades.
(2002)
Dir - Lucky McKee
Lucky McKee's full-length debut May brings the quirky indie girl into the horror genre while running through a gamut of emotions. This is an impressive work that manages to make an unmistakably disturbed central character sympathetic by having us witness her tragic unraveling, all until it becomes too much for her to bare. Angela Bettis's May succumbs to the worst and most destructive aspects of her wackadoo nature only after making a genuine attempt to sever her lifelong loneliness by trying to connect with an outside world that will not accept her. Even though her behavior ventures into the deplorable, McKee's script is so nuanced and patient with its sensitive subject matter, (plus Bettis is so outstanding in the lead), that the audience cannot help but to feel for her full cataclysmic downfall by the final scene, which is one of the most heartbreaking and memorable in any from the genre.
(1988)
Dir - Wes Craven
Wes Craven's strongest movie The Serpent and the Rainbow is an ambitious one that was beautifully shot on location in both Haiti, (where it is set), and the Dominican Republic, balancing itself as a respectful adaptation of Wade Davis' alleged non-fiction book of the same name. At the same time, it is an outrageous horror work that encapsulates Craven's visual strengths as a filmmaker. Apparently this was another attempt on the director's part to distance himself from his more bombastic and commercially viable genre vehicles, but the studio's insistence on including a boatload of freaky practical effects and gore actually enhance the narrative where the darker aspects of South African character actor Zake Mokae's voodoo methods result in some terrifying, mind-warping fun. The political elements are underplayed and Craven cannot help but to bust out the schlock in the finale, but no film involving being buried alive, (with a tarantula to keep one company no less), is any better.
(2018)
Dir - Panos Cosmatos
Two entries into his career and filmmaker Panos Cosmatos delivers another singular and realized bit of bizarro world nightmare fuel with Mandy. Inspiration from Frank Frazetta paintings, Heavy Metal, paperback fantasy novels from the 70s and 80s, cenobites, European extreme metal aesthetics, hallucinogenic drugs, and the Charles Manson family all morph together in a lava-esque, explicitly violent assault on the senses. Nicolas Cage is perfectly cast in a largely nonspeaking yet increasingly gonzo role where the magical turned monstrous universe that he inhabits transforms him into a being of pure vengeance. Cosmatos' relentlessly surreal style is comically over the top, but it is also intoxicating and calculated, making for a living, breathing, mind-melting, and horrific experience.
(1989)
Dir - Brian Yuzna
For his directorial debut, producer and Stuart Gordon collaborator Brian Yuzna made one of the most off the wall films in any genre, the gooey and perverse social commentary Society. The script was by Woody Keith and Rick Fry, though Yuzna changed the ending which originally and merely revealed a clandestine blood cult. Instead of going in such a standard horror movie route, the final "shunting" set piece is legitimately jaw-dropping in its audacious distgustingness. While nothing earlier in the movie, (or any other movie), wholly prepares one for the last thirty or so minutes here, it is an eccentric and unusual product the entire way through. Some of the quirkiness seems unintentional and could be chalked up to Yuzna's inexperience behind the lens, as many of the plot threads appear half-baked under such an awkward presentation. When special effects artist Screaming Mad George takes over though and delivers a slimy and surreal gore orgy of "WTF-ness", it is not likely that any audience member will remember anything that came before it anyway.
(2022)
Dir - Alex Garland
For his folk horror homage Men, writer/director Alex Garland crafted something outrageous and heavy-handed, yet it is that much more extraordinary because of its chosen discourse. It is a gimmick movie in one respect as every male, (save one), is portrayed by the same actor, Rory Kinnear specifically who turns in a nuanced performance by remaining unsettling in each and every one of his otherwise singular incarnations. Centered around Jessie Buckley's grieving widow whose trauma has followed her deep into the English countryside on a self-healing retreat, the story examines all manner of stereotypical male aggression and manipulation where ambiguous pagan mysticism, (or something), has forced our protagonist to come to terms with her all-consuming grief. Richly photographed and painstakingly paced, it all leads to one of the most hilariously absurd, graphic, and befuddling conclusions in modern-day arthouse horror, that inexplicably still manages to sail off on a glimmer of revived hope.
(1987)
Dir - Alan Parker
The only horror movie from British filmmaker Alan Parker, Angel Heart is flawlessly designed, researched, and performed, plus brimful of gritty, sweaty, neo-noir atmosphere. Though the bare-bones story stayed intact, Parker re-wrote the source material which came from William Hjortsberg's 1978 novel Fallen Angel, switching some of the locations, nearly all of the dialog, and the ending to something more psychologically complex. As a part murder mystery, some of the plot details are not surprising, yet the look and feel of everything on screen helps it work as a dark fable. A well-in-his-prime Mickey Rourke is outstanding as the increasingly tormented private investigator Harry Angel and Robert De Niro makes a hardly subtle turn as his mysterious employee who goes by the nod and a wink moniker Louis Cyphre. As a side-note, the movie was also controversial for the violent and surreal sex scene between Rourke and Lisa Bonet who was then widely known for her steady day job in the clean-cut The Cosby Show.
(1977)
Dir - Mario Bava/Lamberto Bava
The final theatrical film Shock from Mario Bava finds the director stripping down his more unnaturally lurid and explicitly violent tendencies by mildly jumping on the Exorcist bandwagon with a contemporary story revolving around a creepy kid getting possessed by his dead father. The fact that said father was a junkie and the boy's mother spent six months in a mental institution warrants an increasing handful of psychologically dubious occurrences to spring up. Bava delegated a number of scenes to his son Lamberto, (who was also one of the four credited screenwriters), and the two of them manage to pull off simple yet effective scares. In probably her best leading role, Daria Nicolodi unwinds excellently, screaming in wide-eyed terror as her slick, late 70s house serves as more of a prison while her homely looking bratty child cries, whines, and smiles like a maniac. The fusiony score from Italian band Libra may be dated, but the main piano theme that plays frequently is as chilling as they get.
(1962)
Dir - Roger Corman
For the fourth round of their Edgar Allan Poe series, Roger Corman and Vincent Price were once again joined by Richard Matheson who adapted "Morella", "The Black Cat", and "The Facts in the Case of Mr. Valdemar" into an anthology framework for Tales of Terror. All of the usual splendid trappings of these Corman/Price/Poe vehicles are present, (trippy dream sequences, cobweb-ridden set design, ghostly wives come back from the dead, creepy houses getting set on fire, etc.), yet humor was introduced into the proceedings for the first time. Bringing Peter Lorre on board for "The Black Cat" and having both he and Price duke it out in a hilarious wine testing segment with Lorre as the ill-mannered drunk and Price as the prissy professional is just oodles of fun. Thankfully, every story is solid though and the tone shift in the middle proved a successful experiment that would be expanded upon in the following entry The Raven.
(2000)
Dir - Higuchinsky
This adaptation of Junji Ito's manga Uzumaki is singular, baffling, and impressively atmospheric J-horror for the turn of the century. As the film was being made when the source material had yet to resolve itself, certain details, (including the ending), were tweaked and the results would be frustratingly limited if not for the evocative and bizarre style adopted by first time director Akihiro Higuchi, here using his common alias Higuchinsky. A montage-like, quick-cut energy undermines some intense mood building where everything slows down to an eerie crawl, giving the audience enough time to notice circular shaped decor everywhere as well as computer generated spirals. For a story that essentially boils down to "a town cursed by circles", the obsessive amount of detail is both essential to the wacky narrative and ideal in hypnotizing the audience with otherworldly calm, laugh-out-loud strangeness, and a visually dazzling presentation all at once.
(2019)
Dir - Ari Aster
For the anticipated follow-up to his remarkable debut Hereditary, filmmaker Ari Aster explores similar terrain of grief via paganism with Midsommar. Besides the fact that this and Aster's debut both feature strange, ancient rituals performed by eerily benevolent-minded white people enacting a drawn-out scheme, they are tonally and thematically different. A warped break-up movie amongst other things, Aster channels his own real life relationship malfunctions while juggling various other concepts that occasionally do not land. The alarming practices of the Swedish Hårga commune are treated as well-respected and meaningful to the ancestral body that upholds them, yet because they also involve murder and manipulation, the fact that it all ultimately spells enlightenment, redemption, and a loving sense of community for Florence Pugh's emotionally ravaged May Queen is a purposeful juxtaposition. Operatic in scope, the tone fascinatingly struggles with Aster's indulgences as the film is intentionally humorous, deeply troubling, bizarre, and uncomfortably uplifting all at once.
(1932)
Dir - Carl Theodor Dreyer
A seminal work of several from Danish filmmaker Carl Theodor Dreyer, Vampyr bridges the gap between the silent and early talkie era in a similar fashion to Fritz Lang's M. Dreyer originally envisioned it without any sound design, but he obliged to the current commercial demand for such things by including sparse dialog, yet he kept the use of intertitles and overall fashioned it as a hazy and surreal fever dream. Cinematographer Rudolph Maté shot several scenes through a gauze and his flowing camerawork as well as the use of some primitive special effects further enhance what is already an eerie work in supernatural horror. Though it is not technically linked to German Expressionism, it still fits into the movement with its evocative and otherworldly imagery, plus nearly a century later, it remains one of the most unique cinematic interpretations of the undead that has ever been done.
(1998)
Dir - Hideo Nakata
One of the highest grossing films in Japanese history and an influential one that helped to popularize the jerky motioned, "long hair in the face", technologically-linked supernatural entity, Hideo Nakata's adaptation of Koji Suzuki's novel Ringu proved to be a J-horror game-changer. The book had been brought to the small screen three years earlier by Chisui Takigawa, which was a more faithful retelling of the source material. Nakata was already making a name for himself in the horror genre when he took the theatrical-destined project on and the story had a solid enough gimmick and slick enough execution to launch a franchise on both sides of the Pacific. The film would seem dated or even silly due to the plethora of imitators that it spawned, if not for the fact it has such a spooky and fun premise, as well as containing a few excellently creepy moments. None of them hit harder than the famous television emergence scene at the end, which is well worth the wait to get there.
(2007)
Dir - Jaume Balagueró/Paco Plaza
Probably the most famous and successful found footage horror movie to emerge out of Spain, [•REC] takes a rudimentary concept and unleashes it in a punishing manner. The fact that the writer/director team of Jaume Balagueró and Paco Plaza went for blunt realism first and foremost lends itself to the finished product as everything is accounted for in the plot department, plus the mostly unknown cast maintains the proper heightened level of hysteria in accordance with the situation. Long, complex takes go off without a hitch and the practical make-up effects are equal amounts grotesque and convincing. Best of all and rare in the genre though, everything builds to a wonderfully unsettling finish that raises further questions which frustratingly leave the viewer wanting more in the best possible way. Thankfully, Balagueró and Plaza would deliver just that two years later with the even better and more daring [•REC]².
(1981)
Dir - Lucio Fulci
The second in Lucio Fulci's "Gates of Hell Trilogy" is not only the clear stand out, but it is also the Italian filmmaker's masterpiece. Like both the worst and best of Euro-horror, The Beyond can only properly be enjoyed if the viewer's internal logic preceptors are turned off since the "script" solely serves the bare-minimum purpose of setting up one unrelated and memorable set piece after the other. Here though, such arbitrary and freaky sequences compliment a purposely unnatural tone where the less things make no sense, the more sense they make. Fabio Frizzi's diverse musical score and Sergio Salvati's cinematography also benefit the wacky creepiness, all of which is highlighted by Fulci's trademark gore spectacles and molasses-leaking zombies that are shot everywhere but in the head, with revolvers that apparently never need to be reloaded.
(1976)
Dir - Richard Donner
As the cinematic shift towards horror films in the 1970s continued in its more serious direction, Richard Donner's successful The Omen represented another milestone for big-budgeted genre movies. The end of days subject matter was nothing new, nor was the concept of the Antichrist, yet the movie would in turn influence the general public's perceptions of such things, which are hardly scholarly accurate. Jerry Goldsmith's instantly recognizable, Latin-chanted score has become synonymous with demonic story telling, as has 666 tattoos and creepy, unemotive children who seem to cause misfortune for those that get in their way. Camp-less performances from its respectable cast and one memorable death scene after the other, (including one of cinema's most glorious decapitations), the movie's placement in the zeitgeist is justified.
(1968)
Dir - Kaneto Shindo
Another outstanding supernatural folklore film from Kaneto Shindo, Kuroneko is stylized in traditional kabuki and Noh theater tropes, plus various others that were common for Japanese genre cinema at the time. Atmospheric and sparse in its staging, it concerns the usual vengeful bakeneko spirits; blood-consuming cats that possess and take the form of wronged humans who have prayed to dark forces after being murdered. Feline ghost stories became their own horror sub-genre of sorts in the country and also like many other such films, this is set in feudal Japan where samurai took on mythic status as both protectors and tormentors for lower class peasants. Shino's script adheres to its own otherworldly rules, with ritualistic dancing, actors flying and flipping around on wires, and haunted sound effects and tribal music. The entire movie flows at an unnaturally ethereal pace, both beautiful and spooky in equal measures.
(1966)
Dir - John Gilling
Hammer Films' only foray into walking corpse land was the outstanding The Plague of the Zombies. It was filmed back-to-back with The Reptile, (both of which were directed by John Gilling), and has some familiar company players such as John Carson, Jacqueline Pearce, André Morell, and Michael Ripper who had the distinction of appearing in more Hammer movies than any other actor. As the film emerged pre-George A. Romero's influence, the zombies are of the Hatian voodoo variety, yet their ghastly look represents some of the most striking imagery that any such movie ever produced. There are a handful of fog-ridden, bright red blood-soaked scenes and the performances are of the usual excellent variety, with both Morell and Carson making memorable adversaries. The overarching elements to the story are set up straight away, yet thankfully there is still a creepy air of mystery as to the specifics of a diabolical squire and his elaborate means of securing slave labor for his abandoned tin mine.
(1995)
Dir - Álex de la Iglesia
Following up his ridiculous apocalyptic action comedy Acción mutante, Spanish filmmaker Álex de la Iglesia chose to stick with the comedic angle while introducing Satan into The Day of the Beast. Taking blasphemy to inventive heights, Iglesia and frequent screenwriting collaborator Jorge Guerricaechevarría stage an absurd scenario where an unassuming priest stumbles upon a some Bible text about the Antichrist being born on Christmas Eve, so he concocts the logical plan to commit as many sins as possible in order to get in the Great Deceiver's good graces enough to attend the birth and murder baby Beelzebub. Things are consistently funny, down to great performances from Álex Angulo as the Father, Santiago Segura as his heavy metal cohort, and Armando De Razza as a huckster occult TV personality. At the same time though, Iglesia makes the horror theme paramount and what starts as just a goofy situation that no one on screen or watching should take seriously, eventually turns to something legitimately sinister. It is as fun of an end of days movie as has ever been made and any film that references Napalm Death while summoning an evil goat should be applauded.
(1987)
Dir - Fred Dekker
For children of the 1980s, director Fred Dekker and screenwriter Shane Black's Universal horror love letter The Monster Squad conjures up feelings of warm nostalgia, but a large part of its lasting appeal is due to the sincerity of the film itself. The way that it seamlessly interweaves its tropes may be lacking in logically sound plot points, but the script is persistently funny and emotionally potent. Likeable characters from almost top to bottom, (sans Duncan Regehr who makes a wonderfully scene-chewing and evil Count Dracula), the friendship between Tom Noonan's Frankenstein monster and Ashley Bank's little Phoebe Crenshaw is just lovely, providing the movie with a positively tear-jerking ending. Stan Winston's crew does an outstanding job with the monster design as well and despite the clearly kid-friendly appeal, it still delivers where the violence and freakiness is concerned.
(1999)
Dir - David Cronenberg
The last work in body horror for David Cronenberg before he would take an over two decade break from the sub-genre that long defined him, eXistenZ is a fitting culmination of what he had always done best and done most. Fusing addictive technology with human evolution, the story ups the surreal trippiness to Videodrome levels, placing its characters in the most realistic of video game simulations that because Cronenberg, is achieved by way of organic connection. Player's pierce their spines and utilize pulsating, flesh-like controllers, entering into a world which twists and turns with funny and violent results that keep the viewer as confused as the participants are. The movie is more gleefully inventive than disturbing, but that just makes it that much easier to go down if one can keep their brain from short-circuiting while experiencing it.
(1920)
Dir - Robert Wiene
The German Expressionist milestone to rival all others, The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari became one of the most influential silent films of all time. Everything from Universal's monster cycle, to film noir, to zombie movies, to psychological thrillers that utilize a twist ending can be traced back to director Robert Wiene's groundbreaking work here. Screenwriters Carl Mayer and Hans Janowitz deserve plenty of credit as well for crafting a fable that anticipates a type of disillusionment with German society at the time, with the title character representing a manipulative, feared authority figure and Cesare the somnambulist being his obedient subject. Visually, the exaggerated sets with their crooked frameworks and painted on shadows and light patterns give the film the best unnatural feel where everything seems snatched from a distorted fairy tale. This was one of several memorable roles for Conrad Veidt and as the unwilling, sleepwalking fiend, it is the first such character in horror cinema to maintain a lasting impression.
(1972)
Dir - Freddie Francis
Possibly the most famous of Amicus' horror anthologies due to its EC comics source material and for eventually inspiring the HBO series of the same name, Tales from the Crypt is equally as solid as the best of them. This would be the final directorial effort that Freddie Francis did for the production company and the third in their omnibus collection after Dr. Terror's House of Horrors and Torture Garden, respectfully. While British thespian Ralph Richardson hardly makes for as memorable of a Crypt Keeper as the John Kassir-voiced animatronic host of TV show would decades later, there are the usual caliber of other recognizable faces throughout. Each story is ghoulish and sincerely handled, with the book-ending Yuletide nightmare "...And All Through the House" and the home for the disabled comeuppance spectacle "Blind Alleys" being the strongest.
(1964)
Dir - Kaneto Shindō
The first of two supernatural horror works from noted Japanese filmmaker Kaneto Shindō, Onibaba weaves harrowing social realism into an unabashed and otherworldly ancient Shin Buddhist parable about a bride-scaring mask that becomes fixated on the wearer as a form of supernatural punishment. Indeed, the world depicted here, (which takes place soon after the Battle of Minatogawa at the beginning of the Nanboku-chō period), is an uncompromising one of hardship. In a time of civil war which has rendered the countryside impoverished, the women that are left behind are reduced to begging and are constantly at the mercy of those who would do them harm, which could be any men lurking in the bamboo bushes. Stylistically, Shindō creates an appropriately barren atmosphere, where Hikaru Hayashi's sparse and avant-garde music breaks up long moments of eerie stillness where the threat of both demons and criminals is ever-present.
(1935)
Dir - Lew Landers
A long standing horror tradition is the "based" off of Edgar Allan Poe movie which in fact has nothing to do with their alleged source material. This is the case for Universal's delightful The Raven, which was the third and last in their Poe cycle. Each of these films stared Béla Lugosi in the lead and he is marvelously over the top here, easily stealing the movie as the torture-obsessed Dr. Vollin. Boris Kaloff was still the studio's propped-up star though and even in a comparatively smaller part, he received top billing and double the pay check over Lugosi, which is a shame as this is one of the Hungarian screen legend's most memorable portrayals. Various screenwriters took a crack at the project and the end result plays off of the sadistic angle in a more straight-forward fashion than the previous year's quirky The Black Cat. Still, if you want to see Lugosi manically laughing as he proclaims how much he loves torture while Karloff delivers another in a long line of disfigured characters worthy of sympathy, this delivers.
(1977)
Dir - George A. Romero
George Romero's personal favorite of his films and the first of many collaborations between he and make-up man Tom Savini, (who appears on screen as well), Martin could be the most unassuming vampire film ever made. All of the romance about the undead is explicitly left out and even openly mocked by the title character; a disturbed and socially inept young man whose mental illness of vampirism is fueled by his family's superstitious legacy. Romero regular John Amplas is excellent in the role, coming off miserable as he awkwardly stumbles through murdering all of his victims, conversing with women, and confessing his inner turmoil to a patronizing radio DJ. Despite some psychologically dubious "flashback" sequences that are shot in black and white, the film uses its humble setting, loose dialog and performances, and somber tone to convey something singular and devoid of blood-sucking glamorization.
(1979)
Dir - Werner Herzog
The late 1970s saw an alarming amount of cinematic Dracula adaptations, yet easily the finest of them as well as the most haunting was Werner Herzog's F.W. Murnau remake Nosferatu the Vampyre. One of five collaborations between Herzog and lunatic thespian Klaus Kinski, this is the strongest outside of their first Aguirre, the Wrath of God. Two versions of the movie were simultaneously made, one in English and the other in German, yet regardless of the language choice, it is a masterwork in arthouse horror. Shot in Mexico, Czechoslovakia, and the Netherlands, once again utilizing the musical services of Krautrock band Popol Vuh, and conservative on the dialog, Herzog creates an ethereal environment that optimizes the loneliness of the undead, which literally spreads itself like a plague here. Kinski's Count is more feeble and grotesque than sinister or intimidating, but Isabelle Adjani counters this by arguably being the most strikingly beautiful woman to ever go up against his vampiric spell.
(1957)
Dir - Jack Arnold
That rarest of 1950s B-movies that doubles as an introspective musing on humankind's place in the cosmos, The Incredible Shrinking Man was one of the last horror/science fiction hybrids from Universal's contract director Jack Arnold. It also serves as the first screenplay from prolific genre author Richard Matheson, who adapts his own novel The Shrinking Man and infuses it with his own anxieties about providing for his family as a freelance writer. Here, the story centers around a married man who mysteriously begins to shrink and the increasingly traumatic anxieties that such an inexplicable ailment would entail. The third act is loaded with suspenseful special effects sequences that turn a doll house, a feline, a spider, and a basement into a relentless danger zone, but the ending goes for a type of profound acceptance of one disappearing into the ether and welcoming whatever further profound experiences there may be.
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