As a horror enthusiast who has lived through some of the most terrifying and transformative decades, I can confidently say that the 2020s have been a rollercoaster ride of fear and enlightenment for us “horror people.” The pandemic, police brutality, queerphobia, and misogyny have all served as fuel for some of the most thought-provoking and groundbreaking horror films to date.
These are undeniably anxious periods we’re going through. It might seem like there’s never been a greater cause for concern, and indeed, for certain groups of people, this could be the case. However, it’s important to remember that humanity has faced challenging times throughout its history.
From the time we etched fears on cave walls, humanity has created things to instill terror. Over the centuries, these fears morphed into actors wearing masks, writers penning chilling tales, and filmmakers using technology to bring our worst nightmares to life on the screen. As our world becomes increasingly terrifying, horror continues to mirror our deepest fears. In essence, we are a people drawn to horror.
The growth of Hollywood and independent filmmaking in the 20th century sparked an enduring conversation between the frightening narratives presented in media and the films produced as a reaction. In the mid-1920s and ’30s, American horror movies, especially those produced by Universal Studios, adapted famous horror stories from literature and folklore for the silver screen. For instance, “The Phantom of the Opera” (1925), “Dracula” (1931), “Frankenstein” (1931), “The Invisible Man” (1933), and “Werewolf of London” (1935) were all connected to European legends and history, elevating films with a sense of sophistication and literary value. However, as sequels became more ridiculous, the charm remained.
These timeless movies significantly boosted Universal Studio’s status as a significant force in Hollywood, yet the narratives in the Universal Monster series never truly resonated as if they were our unique tales. Similarly, an early addition to this collection, the independently produced film White Zombie (1932), portrays French colonialism in Haiti but lacks depth or criticism beyond highlighting the peculiarity of foreigners, particularly those who are not white.
America delved into domestic terror with the releases of Tod Browning’s Freaks (1932) and Merian C. Cooper and Ernest B. Schoedsack’s King Kong (1933). On the surface, the narratives of a trapeze artist plotting to swindle a dwarf from a circus sideshow and an expedition to film and capture the “8th Wonder of the World” appear disparate. However, both films tackled themes of rights violation, misjudging power, and wealth accumulated through exploitation during the Great Depression and Hollywood’s growth. These films were groundbreaking for their era, showing genuine compassion towards characters often viewed as monstrous, while instead, they cast blame on those deemed normal and civilized, hinting that they are the real monsters.
During the 1940s, horror movies didn’t offer much direct reflection of World War II. The lines between good and evil were clearly drawn, and there were plenty of mad doctors with a hint of Nazi influence, but most horror stories linked to WWII primarily emerged from other nations. America largely stuck to its previous path, providing audiences with a unique shock through newsreels instead. As a fan, I find it fascinating how these stories reflected the world around us while maintaining an eerie distance from the realities of war.
In the 1950s, the nuclear arms race sparked anxiety in American homes as people came to understand that the devastation seen in Hiroshima and Nagasaki could be replicated on their own soil. This fear was mirrored in popular culture, with America creating its own terrifying atomic creatures, such as giant, irradiated ants, as depicted in Gordon Douglas’ film Them! (1954), which originated from New Mexico.
During the rise of McCarthyism, there was an increase in the production of horror and science fiction films featuring “others”, such as extraterrestrial beings, humans in disguise, and mind-controlling aliens like “The Thing From Another World” (1951), “Invaders From Mars” (1953), and notably, Don Siegel’s “Invasion of the Body Snatchers” (1956). In this film, residents of a small town were replaced by cold, alien replicas, implying that our neighbors could potentially be enemies. Although often ridiculed over the years, particularly due to “Mystery Science Theater 3000”, Bert I. Gordon’s “The Amazing Colossal Man” (1957) and “War of the Colossal Beast” (1958) tackled the consequences of atomic tests. The U.S. military found itself facing one of its own who turned against them after a Lt. Colonel survived an atomic bomb explosion, only to grow 60 feet tall and lose his sanity in the process. The Red Scare led us to believe that spies and traitors were lurking everywhere, and even as Joseph McCarthy lost public trust, suspicions lingered. Sometimes, we all succumb to madness.
1960 saw Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho slicing through the air like a knife, marking a shift in fear from alien invasions to internal turmoil portrayed by Norman Bates (Anthony Perkins), dressed in a wig and his mother’s clothes. The terror no longer stemmed from lab experiments or colossal bugs, but rather the ominous whispers within our minds, the suppressed impulses that could erupt at any instant. We had become the time bomb. Tragically, three years later, one such bomb detonated as Lee Harvey Oswald, reminiscent of Norman Bates, assassinated President John F. Kennedy.
During the turbulent era of counterculture, young Americans sought their identities and values in opposition to their parents’ established institutions. George A. Romero challenged the norm with his groundbreaking zombie film, “Night of the Living Dead” (1968). Despite Romero’s assertion that the casting of Black actor Duane Jones as the protagonist Ben was race-neutral, the undertones of the Civil Rights Movement were evident. Jones’ defiance against a middle-aged white man vying for power was revolutionary, mirroring the spirit of the times. Additionally, the film’s climax, where the hero is fatally shot by simple-minded townsfolk who couldn’t tell him apart from the zombies they referred to as mindless creatures, was a powerful commentary on the resistance faced during progressive movements. Despite the strides made in the ’60s, the entrenched establishment was ever-present and often resisted change.
1968 saw the release of Roman Polanski’s film, “Rosemary’s Baby,” which premiered a week after the assassination of Robert F. Kennedy, signaling the end of America’s Camelot period and the start of a prolonged struggle with darkness. A year later, Polanski’s wife, Sharon Tate, along with their unborn child, were tragically taken by the Manson Family, marking a chilling conclusion to an era where rule-breaking was the epitome of the American dream. However, as these rules were pushed beyond limits, any sense of control began to fade away. The 1960s commenced with “Psycho” on our screens and culminated in real-life psychos invading our homes.
In the 1970s, horror films grew progressively brutal, with the focus shifting towards infamous serial killers such as Ted Bundy, John Wayne Gacy, and Ed Kemper. Wes Craven’s movie “The Last House on the Left ” (1972) portrayed a teenager’s vicious rape and murder, mirroring the raw, less censored news reports that became prevalent during this era. Craven, who advocated against violence and was vocal about the Vietnam War, intended to strip away the glamour from Hollywood-style violence. However, critics argued that he merely intensified its sensationalism instead.
In Tobe Hooper’s The Texas Chain Saw Massacre (1974), the lingering effects of the Vietnam War and the destruction of familial legacy were subtly incorporated into the narrative. A group of youthful explorers, venturing to investigate their ancestral property, unwittingly intruded upon the domain of a nearby residence, inhabited by the terrifying Leatherface and his family. Unlike typical slasher movies where the victims are hunted on public land, in Texas Chain Saw, it’s the invaders who violate private property. This deviation from the norm can be seen as an allegory for Vietnam, with the antagonists, rather than the conventional heroes, becoming the protectors of family values. However, this should not be misconstrued as justification for the ensuing carnage or cannibalism that unfolds in the film.
In the 1970s, movies like Bob Clark’s “Black Christmas” (1974) and John Carpenter’s “Halloween” (1978) drew on elements from Hitchcock’s early slasher film, “Psycho,” to create a sense of terror that resonated with teenagers during the era of active serial killers. However, these films were also pioneering in their approach. Clark’s work subtly touched on the topic of abortion and women’s right to choose, while Carpenter’s portrayal of Laurie Strode (played by Jamie Lee Curtis) offered a fresh perspective. Unlike traditional roles, she was an ordinary American babysitter who stood her ground against Michael Myers. Not only did she survive, but she also protected future generations. This wasn’t through a nurturing, maternal role, but as a strong, instinctual leader and fighter. These films, along with “Texas Chain Saw,” paved the way for the slasher movie boom that followed. The 1970s were a fertile ground for exploring various trends that reflected the American experience.
In the years following Time magazine’s controversial 1966 cover story “Is God Dead?” – which spotlighted the increasing number of young Americans distancing themselves from religion – horrifying figurines of a tormented Christ on a cross terrified Carrie, portrayed by Sissy Spacek, in Brian De Palma’s film Carrie (1976). Meanwhile, William Friedkin’s The Exorcist (1973) and Richard Donner’s The Omen (1976) summoned the devil through the countenances of children. As late-night TV questioned, “Where are your children?”, the question that Americans began to ponder was not just their location but rather their true identities: “Who are your children?
Following the impact of “Night of the Living Dead”, Blaxploitation, and a wave of Black filmmakers ventured into horror territory with films like “Blacula” (1972), “Ganja & Hess”, “Sugar Hill” (1974), and “Petey Wheatstraw” (1977). On meager budgets, these productions demonstrated that it wasn’t just white Americans who had reasons to be frightened.
In the ’70s, I feel like we were all grappling with a sense of loss. The U.S. had lost in Vietnam, taking away countless lives and the mental stability of many veterans who returned home. Even President Richard Nixon seemed to have lost the faith of the American people. With counterculture movements starting to fade from the spotlight, there was this lingering question, “What’s next?
In the 1980s, as America leaned towards the conservatism of that era, corporations propagated the notion that hard work and family life embodied the essence of the American Dream. However, Ridley Scott’s Alien (1979) challenged these ideals, portraying a future where the harsh realities of working-class struggles were not sugarcoated, and where the ominous prospect of enforced reproduction was only countered by Ellen Ripley (Sigourney Weaver). During this time, many of us drifted into autopilot living, though it’s important to note that there were still ongoing battles and injustices during the ’70s. Compared to previous decades, a sense of complacency seemed to settle among the public.
During Reagan’s presidency, slasher movies gained popularity, promoting conservative ideals through their grisly depictions of teenagers who indulged in premarital sex, alcohol, and substance abuse being brutally killed by masked villains. The release of Sean S. Cunningham’s Friday the 13th (1980) sparked this trend, leading to a seemingly endless stream of slasher films on a near-weekly basis. Titles such as The Burning (1981), The Prowler (1981), The Slumber Party Massacre (1982), The House on Sorority Row (1983), Sleepaway Camp (1983) and The Mutilator (1984) became stern warnings for teenagers about the consequences of their actions. Over time, the horror of these movies became less shocking, and instead a sense of familiarity and comfort emerged from these recurring icons that adhered to certain rules, often acting as symbolic figures of authority.
In 1984, Wes Craven elevated the slasher genre to unprecedented heights with “A Nightmare on Elm Street.” Freddy Krueger, played by Robert Englund, invaded even the sanctity of dreams, making everyone uneasy. What was surprising was the humor Englund brought to the character, causing audiences to root for Krueger instead of the movie’s teenage protagonists. Unlike other slasher villains during that time, Freddy Krueger manipulated and tempted teenagers into misbehavior, making their nightmares even more terrifying. In a sense, Kruegler was like the mischievous uncle who told off-color jokes and encouraged sneaky behavior – think of him as the one who’d encourage sneaking candy from the store. By 1988, with the introduction of Chucky in “Child’s Play,” the slasher family was complete. As these characters like Michael, Jason, Freddy, and Chucky evolved over time and became less frightening, they forged connections with their audiences that still resonate today. These lasting bonds have brought a mix of nostalgia and ownership that has proven to be both a source of joy and a challenge.
As the former hippies neared middle age in a country becoming more conservative and materialistic, it appeared the America they had fought for was vanishing. Horror films such as “The Thing” (1982), “The Dead Zone” (1983), “Day of the Dead” (1985), and “Re-Animator” (1985) reflected these fears of lost legacies. David Cronenberg’s “The Fly” (1986) served as an allegory for aging, showcasing Seth Brundle’s (Jeff Goldblum) terrifying metamorphosis and its impact on his girlfriend Veronica Quaife (Geena Davis). However, viewers also interpreted the film in light of the AIDS crisis that intensified during the Reagan era, as the administration declined to take action.
The ’80s emphasized following the rules, while ’90s slasher films rebelled against them. Films like “Scream” (1996) suggested that elderly pursuers were no longer frightening; instead, it was your peers you needed to watch out for. Movies such as “The Craft” (1996), “I Know What You Did Last Summer” (1997), “Disturbing Behavior” (1998), “Halloween H20: 20 Years Later” (1998), “Urban Legend” (1998), “The Faculty” (1998) and “The Rage: Carrie 2” (1999) continued this trend until the Columbine High School massacre in 1999 caused movie studios to briefly reconsider teen-on-teen violence.
In this decade, horror films featuring a darker perspective emerged, shifting the genre’s focus from suburban settings to inner-city neighborhoods where unique sources of fear were prevalent. Notable films such as James Bond III’s Def by Temptation (1990), Craven’s The People Under the Stairs (1991), Vampire in Brooklyn (1995), Bernard Rose’s Candyman (1992), Ernest R. Dickerson’s Tales From the Crypt: Demon Knight (1995), Rusty Cundieff’s Tales From the Hood (1995), Kasi Lemmons’ Eve’s Bayou (1997) and Jonathan Demme’s Beloved (1998) highlighted pressing issues like Black housing crises, interracial relationships, police brutality, the prison system, and the persistent racism in post-Civil Rights America. Regrettably, Hollywood did not fully utilize the talents and insights of these four African American directors – Bond, Dickerson, Cundieff, and Lemmons – which led to a scarcity of Black horror films during a time when they were more crucial than ever. This period was marked by President Bill Clinton being humorously referred to as America’s first Black president, the popularization of hip-hop and rap among white audiences, as well as the adoption of Black hairstyles and fashion.
In the ’90s, well-recognized directors who weren’t typically associated with horror movies attempted to gain acclaim by introducing an air of sophistication to a genre often dismissed by critics. For instance, Rob Reiner’s “Misery” (1990), Jonathan Demme’s “The Silence of the Lambs” (1991), Francis Ford Coppola’s “Bram Stoker’s Dracula” (1992), and Mike Nichols’ “Wolf” (1994) rekindled the literary flair of ’30s horror films. However, it was the emerging group of independent filmmakers who made a significant impact with low-budget and direct-to-video releases that truly stood out. While established directors explored the past to lend some credibility to horror, up-and-coming indie filmmakers were looking towards the future to establish their own reputations.
Larry Fessenden, who had been creating short films since the late ’70s, made his mark on the big screen with “No Telling” (1991), a thought-provoking Frankenstein tale that delved into environmental and ethical concerns, and “Habit” (1997), a gritty reinterpretation of vampire folklore viewed through the prism of addiction. Don Coscarelli gained cult status as a filmmaker with his “Phantasm” sequels, which explored themes such as childhood being more terrifying than we recall and no matter how hard you try, you can’t return home. Meanwhile, Don Coscarelli, Charles Band, Brian Yuzna, and Stuart Gordon kept the video market buzzing with fresh horror productions that celebrated the genre’s darker aspects.
Notably, Daniel Myric and Eduardo Sánchez, along with actors-turned-directors Heather Donahue, Michael C. Williams, and Joshua Leonard, produced the groundbreaking horror film The Blair Witch Project (1999). This movie boasted one of the most successful pre-viral marketing strategies ever, leaving many viewers convinced that this found-footage tale about a group of filmmakers pursued by a witch in a forest was based on real events. It paved the way for a new era of independent filmmaking, allowing anyone with a camera to step into the director’s role.
The beginning of the 2000s was swiftly followed by the tragic event of 9/11, which dispelled any remaining notions of security that the ’90s had nurtured. As television screens depicted American survivors enveloped in dust and military forces advancing into the Middle East, horror films mirrored this grim reality almost instantaneously.
Movie directors started to explore the senseless brutality of violence, occasionally finding pleasure in the harsh realities of life. Films such as Rob Zombie’s House of 1000 Corpses (2003) and Bryan Bertino’s The Strangers (2008) delved into nihilism, serving as a reflection of America’s aggressive policies like invasions and missile attacks on civilian areas. As one of the killers in The Strangers said, “you were home.” This trend extended to slasher villains who no longer just killed but tortured and caused pain, echoing stories of human rights abuses committed by the U.S. abroad and at Guantanamo Bay. Marcus Nispel made Leatherface more gruesome than ever in The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (2003), while Rob Zombie gave Michael Myers a similar brutal overhaul in Halloween (2007) and its sequel, Halloween II (2009).
With a surge in nationalism, horror films began to delve into the concealed corners of America, revealing homegrown extremists lurking, poised to strike with brutal force. Movies like Wrong Turn (2003), The Descent (2005), House of Wax (2005) and The Hills Have Eyes (2006) served as stark reminders that despite America’s push for unity, it was far from a united front. The dark chapters of America’s history were not just subject to examination in the War on Terror, but also in places we thought we had full control over.
The term “Torture Porn” was often applied to films such as James Wan and Leigh Whannell’s “Saw” (2004), but Eli Roth’s “Hostel” (2005) and its 2007 sequel more accurately fit this description. These movies, which revolve around college students being subjected to distress while abroad, questioned the notion that Americans could freely travel anywhere without repercussions. These films served as critical reflections of America, and movies like “Turistas” (2006) and “The Ruins” (2008) reinforced this image while also appearing less exploitative.
In the realm of cinema, Hollywood has drawn parallels between the 9/11 tragedy and ongoing terror threats in productions such as Matt Reeves’ Cloverfield (2008). American zombie films like Dawn of the Dead (2004), Planet Terror (2007), I Am Legend (2007) and Zombieland (2009) adopted a stylish, action-packed “us versus them” narrative, as groups of people banded together to form makeshift armies, defending themselves and their fellow survivors from the relentless onslaught of these undead invaders. The fantasy of surviving a zombie apocalypse resonated with some Americans during Obama’s presidency, mirroring a ‘prepper’ mindset that was further fueled by baseless accusations that he was the Antichrist. Notably, George A. Romero, director of Night of the Living Dead, continued to innovate within the zombie genre with Land of the Dead (2005), which critiqued fascism and feudalism, delved into the class system through the lenses of both humans and zombies, and even introduced Big Daddy, a zombie who regained some semblance of humanity and sought more than endless conflict.
In the early part of the 2010s, I found myself drawn to horror films that delved into our deep-seated fears of deception, surveillance, and control. Movies such as V/H/S (2013), Creep (2014), Unfriended (2014), and Be My Cat: A Film for Anne (2016) made me ponder not just our connection with technology but also the bonds we share with one another. The emergence of social media brought forth concerns like catfishing and teenage suicides, which these films brilliantly reflected.
During the emergence of Trumpism, horror films became a rallying cry for reclaiming our past, space, and sense of self.
In Robert Eggers’ film The Witch (2015), there was an emphasis on challenging restrictive family environments. On the other hand, Jeremy Saulnier’s movie Green Room (2015) portrayed a band of young punks battling for their lives against a violent group of neo-Nazi skinheads, serving as a revival of the punk ethos, not just as a type of music but as a way of life. Lastly, Jordan Peele’s Get Out (2017) sparked a resurgence in Black horror, scrutinizing traditional horror genre stereotypes involving Black people and drawing parallels between America’s past and present, revealing that seemingly enlightened white liberalism often masks deep-seated racist beliefs.
In the 2015 film “The Invitation” by Karyn Kusama, grief was explored through the perspective of a cult that had been popularized in the ’70s, mirroring the struggle for control in America by cult figures at the time. Similarly, Jenn Wexler’s “The Ranger” (2018) focused on a group of teens fighting for their personal freedom within America, while dealing with a rogue park ranger who enforced rules reflecting patriarchal oppression.
Ari Aster’s 2019 film Midsommar touched upon modern anxieties surrounding gaslighting, and Mike Flanagan’s sequel to The Shining, titled Doctor Sleep (2019), delved into the past as its protagonist, Dan Torrance (Ewan McGregor), grappled with his fears and found himself at a point where recovery, understanding, and forgiveness could commence.
As a gamer looking back, I’d say the 2020s were a tough journey, filled with more than its fair share of health crises. The COVID-19 pandemic, in particular, has cast a long shadow over our lives, influencing horror flicks like ‘Host’ (2020) and ‘Dashcam’ (2021), both set against the backdrop of lockdowns. Whether healing is truly on the horizon, only time will tell.
Beyond the pandemic, other ailments plagued America as well. Issues like police brutality, intolerance towards the LGBTQ+ community, and misogyny not only instilled fear but also paved the way for Black, queer, and female filmmakers to shine. Nia DaCosta’s Candyman (2021) resonated with audiences by portraying the ongoing physical and psychological abuse endured by Black individuals. Michael Kennedy, through his work as a writer and director on films like Freaky (2020) and It’s a Wonderful Knife (2023), brought queer narratives and fears to the mainstream horror genre. Jane Schoenberg, an exciting new voice in horror filmmaking, challenged conventions and offered a uniquely queer perspective in films such as We’re All Going to the World’s Fair (2021) and I Saw the TV Glow (2024).
Female movie directors addressed numerous critical concerns in America as they witnessed their rights and truths being taken away. Chloe Okuno’s film, Watcher, and Mariama Diallo’s 2022 production, Master, explored the anxieties arising from disbelieving women and contemporary interpretations of hysteria using two unique racial perspectives.
In 2020, Natalie Erika James’ film “Relic” and Coralie Fargeat’s 2024 release “The Substance” delve into the theme of female aging, while the upcoming works of Zelda Williams (“Lisa Frankenstein,” 2024) and Arkasha Stevenson (“The First Omen,” 2024) provide contrasting perspectives on women’s control over their own bodies.
Despite constant complaints from enthusiasts of genre-restricted sci-fi and superhero films labeling everything as “woke,” horror cinema has managed to create room for diverse perspectives, and these voices are increasingly gaining volume.
Moving forward, where are we headed in the coming years? What lies ahead for the 2030s, following the 2020s? The United States is approaching a significant juncture within the next few weeks. It would be ideal if there were less to worry about, but regardless of the outcome, we’ll continue to act as we always have. We’ll create shadows and, in some manner, we will figure out ways to confront our fears once more.
We are, after all, a horror people.
This story appeared in the Oct. 23 issue of The Hollywood Reporter magazine. Click here to subscribe.
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2024-10-23 16:27