When a genre has been around long enough - and when the same kinds of stories have been retold within that genre often enough - we can become detached from almost everything it has to offer.
Let’s face it, a comedy is never as funny as the first time you saw it, especially if you saw it in a packed theater with a perfect crowd, and it’s largely because you already know the punchlines. In the same way, once you know the scare is coming in a horror movie, it’s much easier to break down that fear, or to laugh at it.
Thus, the true sign of longevity is when a genre garners both spoof films and meta-commentary films as part of its roster. Superhero movies have Kick-Ass and Watchmen. Westerns have Blazing Saddles and Unforgiven. Murder mysteries have Clue and Gone Girl. And horror movies have Young Frankenstein and The Cabin in the Woods. Just as a few examples.
Now, there is a distinct line between spoof and meta. For starters, there is tone. Meta films don’t necessarily have to be comedies; in fact, I’d say they often lean dramatic. As for the tone of spoofs… well, it’s in the word, isn’t it?
First, I just want to mention Gene Wilder. Young Frankenstein wouldn’t be what it is without his hysterical presence (he was sorely missed in later Brooks films). Second, Young Frankenstein makes for the best kind of parody because you can tell writer-director Mel Brooks really adored the Universal Monsters, and so the humor comes from a place of love and homage rather than mean-spiritedness.
All of that is to say, while spoofs are mostly about the jokes and lovingly mocking the tropes, the main purpose of meta films is to deconstruct and comment upon the genre they are a part of in more “literary” ways.
In meta films, the filmmakers know that their audiences know the tropes of the genre, and so they address that with things like reversals (you think something will zig, then it zags) and self-aware dialogue.
Meta films also often want to tell a story of their own that goes beyond homage and reaches deeper with its themes. They want to be an ideal example of what their genre can accomplish as much as they want to poke holes in it.
Sometimes, meta films can even be a plea for new blood in their chosen genres...
New Nightmare (1994)
A Dracula story
Writer-director Wes Craven’s New Nightmare is the first meta horror film I can think of that was kind of a critique of its own genre. Not to mention it’s the first one where the creator of a horror series did a meta commentary on his own creation (unless you count 1990’s Gremlins 2: The New Batch, but that’s a horror comedy so your mileage may vary 😁).
This final chapter in Wes Craven's famous saga treats the entire Nightmare series as exactly that: a film series. The plot has enduring boogeyman Freddy Krueger come into the "real" world, where he proceeds to stalk the cast and crew who made movies about him. It really is a very original premise; the fourth-wall breaks really work well here. Moreover, seeing the guy who plays Freddy (Robert Englund) playing himself and frightened that Freddy will come after him is a hoot.
Revisiting this movie recently, I found that there was less “Freddy in the real world” stuff than I remembered. Furthermore, since most of the easter eggs and winks revolve around the other Nightmare films, I was also struck by the fact that New Nightmare ends up being more of a commentary on its own series rather than on the whole genre. But I guess Craven’s core critique here against the monetization of the horror series he created can be applied to other horror series too:
People are no longer afraid of Freddy Krueger because his story lost power through repetition, commercialization, and demystification.
The first Nightmare on Elm Street was atmospheric and creepy as hell, and Freddy himself was a terrifying villain. But then, in the sequels, they made Freddy funnier and gave him more screentime, and by the end, he had become a comedic jokester spewing puns and one-liners (like Fozzie the Bear with finger knives). That kind of thing certainly has its place – I do enjoy much of funny Freddy’s shenanigans - but it’s such a stark contrast from where Freddy started that he sort of became unrecognizable.
Thankfully, in exploring New Nightmare’s meta themes, Craven managed to make Freddy scary again. This is definitely a good thing, because there are few movie monsters as iconic as Freddy Krueger. The gnarly glove, the ratty hat and sweater, the primal, terrifying concept that he can kill you in your dreams - it’s no wonder why the character has endured, and why filmmakers will continue revisiting him for years to come.
All that said, it’s interesting to see how Wes Craven played with horror movie conventions in such a relatively contained way just two years before he tackled them again in a much broader fashion.
And this time, with the help of screenwriter Kevin Williamson, the formula was perfected.
“What’s your favorite scary movie?”
Scream (1996)
A Dracula story
I’ve always felt that the success of Scream can be boiled down to two scenes.
The first is the now-iconic prologue, featuring Drew Barrymore’s Casey* and her fateful phone call. The tonal variety and rollercoaster pacing of this scene are masterful – the way it starts off jovial and almost flirtatious, to menacing and then outright horrifying as the power dynamics shift is almost unparalleled in the horror space. Not to mention that the meta references came flying fast right out of the gate, letting us know instantly that this was not going to be your typical slasher film.
This scene also foreshadowed how Wes Craven and his team would go on to create many memorable stalking set pieces throughout this series going forward. They always made such excellent use of the widescreen format by having Ghostface sweep in and out of the edges of frames filled with negative space, indicating that he could jump out from anywhere at any time.
*Barrymore’s early exit from the film was an homage to Janet Leigh’s early exit from Psycho, but I don’t remember if it was kept as well hidden. In fact, I’m pretty sure that by the time I ended up seeing Scream, I already knew about it. Still doesn’t diminish the power of that prologue.
The main reason this all sticks, though, is because the filmmakers make us care about Casey, even without knowing anything about her. It’s mostly in the performance – Barrymore is vulnerable and tenacious simultaneously, but she also projects confidence and intelligence, especially when she meets the killer toe to toe with his horror movie trivia early on.
Casey is no mere damsel in distress - which is especially notable given that most victims in most slasher opening scenes are - making this the first big horror trope that is subverted here.
Speaking directly to that, Scream’s second big scene occurs when Randy, the surrogate movie nerd representing the audience, lists his three rules for successfully surviving a horror movie.
This is the moment when meta commentary and homage truly converged, redefining the horror genre and spawning a slew of postmodern slashers we are still seeing today.
Just as a reminder, here’s how Randy laid it all out:
“There are certain rules that one must abide by in order to successfully survive a horror movie. For instance, number one: you can never have sex. Number two: you can never drink or do drugs. And number three: never, ever, ever under any circumstances say, ‘I'll be right back.’ Because you won't be back.”
Scream subverts all of these rules, of course.
Plenty of people indulge their vices here and live, including Randy himself. Not everyone who goes off on their own dies (but one of the killers, who indeed says, “I’ll be right back” as a way of mocking Randy, does). And most importantly, the Final Girl – Neve Campbell’s Sidney Prescott, one of the genre’s best – actually has sex and survives. Collectively, these subversions serve as the film’s core critique, boldly stating that horror culture should move on from the moral panic and outdated sexual standards of the past.
Speaking of Sidney, I’ve always been moved by the fact that she expresses sadness and anger over every murder; it truly impacts her, and the storytellers know how important it is to show us that.
In short, Scream wants you to care about the characters and feel the kills apart from the homages and the subversions, which it showed right away when Casey’s parents found her body. It was a gut punch.
Like most meta films across all genres, Scream wants to be its own story with its own tone and mythology. It doesn’t want to exist solely within the context of other horror films, and that’s why it works.
That said, all of Scream’s meta references and new mythology come to a head when two horror fans are revealed to be the killers. And this serves as even further commentary on not just the horror genre, but on the people who adore it.
Meaning, Scream comments on its own story as well, seeing as how Randy is also a horror movie fan – one bad day and he might have put on a Ghostface mask too. A real “don’t mistake art for real life” kinda thing - meta within meta within meta.
Of course, Scream went on to spawn five sequels (and counting), and its web of meta-commentary only expanded and evolved. Here’s what “The Rules” of each sequel centered around:
Scream 2: “We’re in a sequel!” (It has my favorite set pieces in the series.)
Scream 3: “We’re in a trilogy!” (I’m a bigger fan of this one than most.)
Scream 4: “We’re in a remake!” (One of the better endings in the series.)
Scream 5: “We’re in a legacy sequel!” (Dewey Solo 😢)
Scream 6: “We’re in a franchise!” (Leaves me intrigued as to what’s next.)
In the end, what the Scream movies ultimately amount to is an unearthing of the tenets that govern the horror genre so it can upend them… which is known as revealing the edge of construct.
The Cabin in the Woods (2011)
A Dracula AND Frankenstein story
The construct in “edge of construct” can be applied to the idea that every obstacle we encounter in life was put in our way on purpose because there are “larger forces at play” in charge of our destinies.
In films like The Matrix, the “construct” is the grand design put into motion by the puppet masters behind the curtain (which can be a literal curtain, by the way, in the case of The Wizard of Oz). And finding the edge of this curtain is the key to discovering the truth because then the curtain can be pulled back and all will be revealed.
In Cabin in the Woods, anonymous workers at an unnamed facility are manipulating global events – they have literally constructed everything around us - at the behest of the secret overlords who rule our world, known as the Ancient Ones. And so our group of heroes must not only discover the edge of this construct and pull the curtain back, but they must then use this newfound knowledge to dismantle the construct and survive.
The ingenuity of this concept lies in the fact that those aforementioned global events are revealed to be orchestrated sacrificial rituals for the Ancient Ones, involving randomly chosen monsters from the depths killing randomly chosen victims.
And the joy for every horror fan comes from discovering that these rituals represent every horror film scenario ever – it’s almost as if, in the world of Cabin, our urban legends and movies were inspired by these mysterious events.
This is all explored through the most common horror premise: Five friends representing five horror archetypes* go to a cabin in the woods for a fun weekend. Meanwhile, their bonding time is intercut with scenes of various anonymous people pulling various nefarious strings at that unnamed facility to ensure the group’s sacrificial ritual goes according to plan.
*We have Dana, the Final Girl; Jules, the Best Friend; Curt, the Jock (played by Thor!); Holden, the Nice Guy Love Interest; and Marty, the Stoner Sidekick - yes, Marty is basically Shaggy. “Like, I dunno, Scooob…”
Along the way, we get hints of the edge of construct, quite literally when a bird smashes into an invisible shield that’s surrounding the area.
Suffice it to say, Cabin sets out to deconstruct the construct of the entire horror genre, analyzing how it was built and trying to get at why we have always been drawn to the dark things in life. It does so mostly by breaking form, and it does so right away.
Instead of opening with a kill or a chase scene, Cabin opens with two benign worker-bee men (Steve and Richard, my favorite characters in the film) having a benign conversation at a seemingly benign facility. We don’t know what they are up to yet, so we are instantly thrown off.
And just like with other meta films such as Scream, throwing us off is the main goal here, and the filmmakers do so with glee.
Two of the biggest horror tropes Cabin takes a swipe at are the notions of sexual exploitation and catering to the male gaze – basically, all the aspects of voyeurism that have existed in horror since the days of Norman Bates, but especially in the ‘80s when the genre was at its most sexualized and violent.
We see this most notably when a one-way mirror is discovered in Holden’s room, and then both Holden and Dana are tempted to watch each other undress before changing their minds. All in all, it’s a fun, subtle subversion of the male gaze, and a tacit acknowledgment that there is, in fact, a female gaze too, which often goes ignored* in the genre.
*And this, in turn, is punctuated later on when people of all genders at the facility are heard complaining about being denied a glimpse of nudity.
The way all of this is dismantled piece by piece and trope by trope is nothing short of brilliant – the horror codes and conventions are all here, and they are all upended.
And the fact that part of the dismantling involves introducing us to characters who defy horror stereotypes but are then made to fit them is even more brilliant. For example, Curt the jock character (Thor!) is actually smart but then becomes dumber after the facility workers release a behavior-altering chemical into the cabin that makes him embody his ordained archetype.
The trope subversions even happen with some minor characters as well, like the gas station guy (referred to as “the harbinger*” by the facility people) you see in every movie like this who always creepily warns the group of danger on the horizon.
*The scene where the harbinger gets progressively annoyed about repeatedly being put on speaker while he is trying to “harbinge” during a phone call is a particular highlight.
With all that in mind, it goes without saying that The Cabin in the Woods has a lot to say about horror films.
For starters, it is an unabashed love letter to the entire spectrum of horror (the Japanese horror running gag is my favorite – “happy frog!”).
Screenwriters Drew Goddard and Joss Whedon clearly know the genre inside and out. And this puts them in the perfect position to include a very clear critique about horror films here too - one that is aimed at both the makers and the watchers of horror.
To the makers, embodied by everyone at that unnamed facility, the movie seems to be saying, “Be responsible.”
Your duty amounts to more than just “appeasing the customer,” as one of the facility workers puts it. You are dealing with the depiction of mutilation and murder, even if it isn’t real. Make it about more than the kills – say something with your stories. Don’t give us the same stock characters to be “sacrificed” for viewer titillation. Make it matter.
In other words, since human beings are inherently prone to bloodlust, Cabin seems to be saying that the makers of horror have an obligation to “save” their viewers from themselves.
That said…
To the viewers, embodied here by the Ancient Ones, the film seems to be saying, “Love the genre, but don’t let it get to the point where death doesn’t mean anything anymore.”
Horror lovers always need to hang onto that very clear distinction: It’s a movie. Real people dying isn’t fun, we can’t go back to Coliseum times. We can’t let our bloodlust get to the point where we would actually sit and watch a reality show in which real people are really killed… like the people at the facility are.
Cabin dramatizes this idea in two sobering scenes: The first is when the facility workers start betting on the outcomes of the sacrifice – who’s going to get killed first, which of the monsters are the victims going to inadvertently choose to enact the sacrifice, etc.
The second sobering scene involves the juxtaposition of the attempted murder of Dana the Final Girl, which soundlessly plays out on video monitors in the background as the facility workers celebrate their supposed triumph by throwing a victory celebration.
And both scenes directly speak to the dangers of becoming desensitized to real-life horrors.
“You get used to it,” Wendy says.
“Should you?” Daniel responds.
The above exchange between facility security guard Daniel and facility scientist Wendy shows how the people there try to numb themselves to all the carnage, but they just can’t look away.
Even Daniel can’t help but watch – when Jules starts to take her clothes off, Daniel walks off-camera, but as soon as it’s clear that Jules and Curt (Thor!) are going to have sex, Daniel leans back into the frame (very clever shot). And this happens to be yet another incisive piece of commentary on the core voyeuristic appeal of horror.
At the same time, some people at the facility start to become invested in the outcome of the sacrifice, despite being the ones who are arranging it. In particular, Steve* expresses surprise that he is rooting for Dana to pull through, even if it would mean the end of the world. And this speaks to the idea of audience identification.
*The facility scenes, which is where most of the themes are worked through and meta-analyzed by Steve and Richard, are the best part of the film… other than the third act, which we will definitely get to.
As Scream reminded us by striving for audience engagement above all else, most meta films across all genres want to tell a story of their own that goes beyond homage and reaches deeper with its themes.
And just like those films, Cabin in the Woods knows that in order to make its themes of retaining our humanity matter, it must embrace the horror aspects of the genre it’s trying to deconstruct and take them seriously. Only then will its audience be put on edge and become invested, thus making them more receptive to the story’s message.
And by demonstrating such a firm grasp of their chosen genre, the Cabin storytellers remind us that horror filmmakers have always used every tool at their disposal to get inside our heads and do exactly that: drag us into the story.
As always, we can start with the “look” of things here, starting with the textured and layered cinematography, which adds so much to our audience investment.
I’m thinking of the scene where Marty stands facing the camera while the zombie girl slowly approaches through the darkness behind him. As that zombie girl moves in and out of the light, we see what’s coming for Marty while he has no clue, and that adds so much suspense to the scene. The clever lighting, blocking, and framing make us active participants.
I’m also thinking of the scene where the group first wanders through the titular cabin’s basement, and I’m reminded how important it is to keep the camera fluid.
When the camera stays in one static position for too long, it can keep us at a distance from the fear. We observe things from afar - from behind glass it seems - and as a result, we don’t feel as if we are part of the action.
But in yet another display of simply just knowing the horror genre, the filmmakers of Cabin in the Woods show us at every turn that the most impactful horror films utilize the power of the camera as much as possible to secure that crucial audience identification. It puts us right in there to see the killings and hear the screams up close, which is exactly what we want.
Although… is it actually what we want?
Again, like Scream, this film goes out of its way to make sure the deaths hit hard.
We see this right from the first kill, which is not played for laughs in any way. And because poor Jules is half-clothed when she is killed, the imagery of her death instantly invokes the uncomfortable link between sex and violence that is intrinsically linked to the horror genre.
And not only are our main characters affected by it, but the people at the facility are affected by it too. And of course, so is the audience - we are reminded that human life is fragile, and it makes us care.
Simultaneously, the surviving members of the group being forced to watch their friends die amounts to the notion that there’s a price to pay for trying to find the edge of construct and pull back the curtain. Discovering the truth is a struggle, especially when the puppet masters behind the construct of our everyday lives don’t want us to find it*.
*I love how Steve expresses his frustration over the gang fighting back and making the situation more difficult by saying, “Remember when you could just throw a girl in a volcano?” The one-liners are fantastic here, which is no surprise, given the writers.
This harsh lesson is reinforced by Curt’s (Thor’s!) doomed motorcycle jump, wherein he literally bounces off the invisible shield, just like that bird did. Curt tried to change the story that had been dictated by the construct, and he paid the price for it. He was punished for defying the puppet masters’ rules.
And this all speaks to yet another one of Cabin’s themes: control versus free will*.
*Can you believe they worked in a Body Snatchers concept in here too?! I’m telling you, this screenplay covers the entire genre, I’m staggered by it.
This is what makes it an especially clever touch for Marty the Stoner Sidekick - the exact kind of horror character who is usually the most open-minded of the group - to be the first one who is able to “see” the edge of construct here.
In hindsight, Marty had noticed something was off early on - in fact, he was the only one of the main characters who was able to hold onto his identity* in the face of that behavior-altering chemical. Turns out it was because of the drugs he was on, which counteracted said chemical and allowed him to uncover the mystery (just like Shaggy after all!)
*Marty also subverts his stereotype by being the least horny, which is a characteristic that is usually ascribed to the Final Girl. This movie is so fun!
Marty’s vices - the exact attributes that would’ve gotten him killed in any other horror movie, according to Scream’s Randy – are instead used as weapons against the construct here, which is a thematic stand-in for society’s repressive need to control our morality. (Not to mention Marty literally uses his giant bong as a weapon against some zombies.)
This means it is no coincidence that Marty is shown reading Little Nemo in Slumberland at one point, which is about a young boy who must escape from a dream world - a metaphor representing awakening to the truth, embracing our self-determination and autonomy, and throwing off the shackles of our oppressors.
Because, as Marty realizes when he goes outside and sees there are no stars above:
“We are abandoned.”
And now we have reached the THIRD ACT.
We literally bypass the edge of construct with Dana and Marty as they enter the elevator leading to the underground facility we’ve been seeing glimpses of the entire time.
Before they descend, they stop and stare at each other, as scared as anyone has ever been scared.
“Wait… Do we want to go down?” Dana asks. “Where else are we gonna go?” Marty responds.
But what she’s really asking is, “Do we want to know the truth?”
This is their moment of awakening.
The ensuing elevator descent is almost like a mini guided tour through the history of horror.
They pass by a glass cube, and a werewolf lunges at them – yes, the first monster is revealed by a jump scare. The second monster they see is a ghost. Then, as they move back-to-back to the middle of the elevator, a demonic little ballerina girl with jagged teeth across her face appears on one side, and a Pinhead-from-Hellraiser-like dude with buzzsaws in his head appears on the other.
We go from classic monsters to modern monsters in just a few shots. Magificent.
As they keep descending and more and more monsters are revealed in their cubes, Dana recognizes them from certain artifacts she saw in the cabin and figures it out. “They made us choose how we die.” Their free will was manipulated by their puppeteers, who want them to suffer because they live off their pain and their blood. Our subjugation is their gain.
And this leads to two of my favorite shots in all of horror.
After Dana’s epiphany, the camera pulls back to reveal cube after cube after cube, with Dana and Marty at the center, surrounded by death and monsters and the entire history and future of horror.
And once they reach the facility proper, Dana and Marty open all the cubes and unleash all the monsters… who pour out of the elevators as one and destroy the puppet masters who were pulling their strings too.
There aren’t enough words to praise these wonderful, instantly iconic shots.
As chaos unfolds, Dana and Marty take their fates into their own hands. They take back control.
They turn the tables on the construct by siccing the monsters on their keepers, which we witness by watching the gruesome deaths of facility workers play out on the very video monitors said workers had been watching for the entire film. (So, we’re watching people die who had been watching other people die, put into motion by some of the victims they were hoping to watch die… meta within meta within meta).
In that regard, it’s very interesting to see that Dana’s single kill is a regular guy, Richard, one of the puppet masters who was nonetheless a monster in his own right.
Meta within meta within... you get it.
And of course, even more tropes and stereotypes continue to be subverted to the very end of this monumental sequence:
First, we see a unicorn impale a man with its horn as happy “fantasy music” swells on the soundtrack. And second, we finally see what a merman looks like, as per Steve’s stated desire to see one. It’s a wonderful, ironic payoff to one of the film’s earliest setups - although I don’t think Steve would agree, given that he was devoured.
Before I go on, I just have to take a step back in admiration for a moment, because if you have any kind of affection for the horror genre, you simply cannot deny that the glee behind the mayhem in this third act - featuring nods to every kind of movie monster you’ve ever seen - is infectious.
It doesn’t just feel like the culmination of this particular movie’s story, but of all of horror – every scare, every nightmare, every reference, every theme. Not to mention that the monster designs, make-up, CGI, and gore effects are simply astounding.
To this day, I would still love to see a movie about each and every one of the creatures Cabin in the Woods showed us, please. Especially that merman.
Finally, Marty and Dana reach the central sacrificial chamber, where the Director of the facility is revealed (Sigourney Weaver cameo!), who in turn reveals the ultimate truth behind the construct.
These ritual sacrifices – which we now know to be the origins of every horror story – have been occurring since time began. The same archetypes are always chosen: the Whore, the Athlete, the Scholar, the Fool, and the Virgin. And they are chosen because they represent the core facets of youth.
Thus, these rituals are symbolic punishments for being young, for being independent, for embracing life, for seeking pleasure, and for seeking change. Another brilliant reveal that speaks not only to the very fabric of storytelling, but to the very fabric of society itself.
After all, we all know someone who fits one of those archetypes – heck, you are one yourself. And we also know that we are surrounded by armies of wannabe puppet masters who will always revel in subjugating every new generation and refuse to give up their antiquated power.
Naturally, this doesn’t sit well with our leads.
“Maybe it’s time for a change,” Marty says. “You can die with them, or you can die for them,” responds the Director… which is the crux of every crucial decision in our lives:
Do I act for myself, or do I act for the greater good?
Unfortunately, those two opposing forces also happen to be the source of pretty much all human conflict; too many of us are at constant odds over those two worldviews.
As such, Marty, who wants to let the world end, and Dana, who wants to save the world, turn on each other.
But this emotional upheaval is interrupted when Dana is maimed by the first monster they saw (the werewolf), and then the girl zombie they inadvertently chose back at the cabin as their means of sacrifice finally catches up to them and kills the Director.
And all of this means the world will not be saved.
It’s all one last adrenalized whirlwind of allegorical statements and dramatic irony and setup/payoff and trope subversion, and it is sooo good!
Moments later, as they sit there about to die together, Marty says, “I’m sorry I let you get attacked by a werewolf and then ended the world.”
Dana shakes her head. “You were right… It’s time to give someone else a chance.”
Marty sighs. “Giant evil gods… I wish I could have seen them,” he says… just as a giant, ancient hand erupts out of the earth.
And so the most meta horror movie ever made closes with one final meta grace note that shows how our voyeuristic natures will always compel us to make just one more demand for just one more thrill.
Even during the end of the world.
EPILOGUE
A horror story
Ironically, that final demand for “more” also happens to tie back in to one of the primary themes tackled by The Cabin in the Woods: Our unquenchable bloodlust will always leave us wanting.
And that’s exactly why this never-ending demand for more has led to the “sequel-ization” of horror.
On the one hand, this isn’t anything new. Back in the ‘30s and ‘40s, Dracula and Frankenstein (and the Mummy and the Wolf Man and the Creature from the Black Lagoon and the Invisible Man) were also featured in a bunch of sequels, until their popularity waned.
And just like what happened with those original monsters, many detractors feel that going to the well too many times has diluted the scare factor of their modern counterparts. And they might have a point - the more you see the monster, the less scary the monster becomes, and when once-innovative ideas are repeated over and over by subsequent movies, it can take some of their power away. (This is exactly what Wes Craven was getting at in New Nightmare.)
With that in mind, I don't think it's a coincidence that the first entry of any given horror series is usually the scariest. And the real problem with the worst of the imitators, sequels, reboots, and what-nots is that it's pretty apparent the creators of those things have no idea what made the originals great, so what we're given are bad karaoke covers of those iconic films.
Way too often, the horror sequel/reboot/remake factory manages to take movies of real weight and substance, movies that stand above the rest of the genre precisely because of how seamlessly they blend theme and style and real fear, and they turn them into shallow pantomimes.
But never fear (heh), it’s not all dire straits. Here are some highlights:
There’s a decent little trilogy right in the middle of the Halloween series that includes the first film, Halloween II, and Halloween H20, which has a gutsy ending that I really admire.
Some of the Nightmare sequels, namely Dream Warriors and the aforementioned New Nightmare, are solid fun. The latter in particular paved the way for other meta horror movies like Tucker and Dale vs. Evil and Happy Death Day.
There have been some really good remakes/reboots/reimaginings! The Ring, The Crazies, Fright Night, The Thing, The Invisible Man, The Hills Have Eyes, Cape Fear, War of the Worlds, Hellraiser, and Candyman to name a few!
Friday the 13th (2009) is my favorite of the latter-day ‘80s slasher remakes. Surprisingly, it is better than nearly all the Jason sequels, hitting all the right marks and tropes of what makes a good Jason movie.
In that same vein, the Friday the 13th and Nightmare series were brought together in the insanely entertaining mash-up Freddy vs. Jason. It was clearly made by fans of both series, lovingly combining (and slightly lampooning) the best of both worlds. The final fight itself is nuts, and way better than many of the battles in many other “versus” films.
Speaking of a slasher icon who started off dark and got funny, the Chucky movies are just full-on horror comedies now, and there is certainly some entertainment to be had there. That said, my favorite Chucky sequel is part 3, which finds him wreaking havoc at a military school. I think the balance between horror comedy and something darker came through the best there.
Not even Norman Bates was immune to “sequelitis.” Psycho 2 and 3 always get compared to 1, so of course they come up lacking. But if you compare them to the plentiful Freddy, Jason, Michael, Leatherface, etc. sequels, they’re better than many. Psycho 3 in particular gets into Norman’s head in a fresh way by having a rowdy tailgate party invade the Bates Motel (meaning that the rampant sex and hedonism make him short circuit) and ends with a surprisingly satisfying “confrontation” between Norman and Mother. In short, Psycho 2 and 3 are prime examples of “if you HAD to make a sequel” best case scenarios. (But they should’ve been filmed in black and white, though.)
Speaking of “if you had to” sequels, Exorcist 3 is so underrated, and it has plenty of freakishness to go around. We have some bleeding statues, demonic old women crawling on ceilings, and what to me is 1000 percent, unequivocally, next level, crap-your-pants absolutely the best jump scare of all time. The construction, the buildup, the moment itself - pure terror. You’ll know it when you see it.
Predator 2, Prey, and Aliens. That is all.
And finally, there are some horror series like Scream and Evil Dead that don’t really have a “bad” entry among them. It can be done!
Despite the good examples, though, the questions remain: Does all of this dilute the impact of the original works? And by doing so, are we doomed to kill off the horror genre?
As far as that first question goes, it is beyond important to never look past the surrounding context of those iconic horror films.
You must look at what was in the zeitgeist at the time they came out and what innovations other genre films up to that point had contributed to the lexicon when you consider why the classics are as powerful as they are.
We’d never seen a split narrative that killed off its protagonist in such startling fashion before Psycho. We’d never seen such stark social commentary married to such stark violence before Night of the Living Dead. We’d never seen a slasher movie that so effectively made us feel like both predator and prey before Halloween. And we’d never seen a demonic possession handled with such deft psychological realism before The Exorcist. I could go on.
Just because the cinematic titans of the past invented the tropes that subsequent films have turned into clichés, it shouldn't be held against them.
In fact, here’s a silver lining: The staleness of the bad sequels, remakes, and retreads is exactly why things like horror comedies, meta films, and reinventions come about. It’s not just to comment on said staleness, but to liven the genre up with fresh takes in order to spark audience reengagement.
Here are just some of the fresh takes we’ve been blessed with over the years:
Horror “siege” films - The Mist, Us, and 30 Days of Night (three of my favorite modern horror films overall)
Ghost films - Crimson Peak, A Ghost Story, What Lies Beneath, Insidious, Talk to Me, and The Night House
Slashers - time travel in Last Night in Soho, serial killers in Seven, sexual predation in It Follows, and home invasion in Don’t Breathe
Alien horror films - Fire in the Sky, No One Will Save You, A Quiet Place, Nope, They Live, and even horror comedies like Mars Attacks!
Horror-coded comic book adaptations - Constantine and From Hell
Monster movies - Brotherhood of the Wolf and The Host
Vampires - From Dusk till Dawn and Let the Right One In
We’ve even had a few new ways in to demon possession films - which I never thought I’d see again because almost everything in that subgenre seemed to have stagnated after The Exorcist - with Fallen, Frailty, and the recent When Evil Lurks
See? Every decade has its own fears and its own zeitgeist. In the ‘90s, the fears of genetic manipulation were folded into Jurassic Park (which, as we know, can be considered a Frankenstein story). In the ‘80s, the AIDs scare was tied into the subtext of the Cat People remake.
As such, when a filmmaker can meld something timely into something timeless like that, they can pass on the storytelling torch with pride, and it will just keep the fresh takes going. This means the future is bright for horror.
Besides, the reason modern audiences demand increasingly scarier films is so we can keep feeling the thrill, the rush of a new scare, and that will never go away. Horror fans are adrenaline junkies in that way – to us, there’s nothing worse than a boring horror movie. This means that once we’ve outgrown those fears, we will seek out new ones. And so on.
It’s all about meeting the audience’s desires with new takes on old ideas, or old takes on new ideas - every movie I listed above was a variation of one or the other. It’s all about execution, remember? Tapping into the innate psychology, intimacy, voyeurism, catharsis, and deconstruction of horror.
In the end, fear is fear, and scary is scary.
And that is why the horror genre will never die.