Do you like scary movies?
I do — probably more than any other kind. And since there’s no better time to watch them than October, ideally all 31 days of it, neither is there a better time to make a list of the best horror films ever made. I hope you’re more shocked by what happens in the actual movies than you are by the omissions I had to make in order to keep it to 31, a painful process of elimination that forced me to kill several darlings.
“It’s all for you, Damien!” A kind of cinematic cousin to The Exorcist, The Omen was released three years later and is in many regards much sillier. But it leaves an indelible impression all the same as it explores the nature of evil as manifested in a boy who may or may not be the antichrist. Children have always been especially effective (and creepy) vessels for horror’s most unsettling tropes, few more so than Damien Thorn — bad things seem to happen whenever he’s around, and watching a smile appear on his face at the worst of them will make a believer out of even the most hardened skeptic.
There’s influential, and then there’s Georges Franju's Eyes Without a Face. In addition to Michael Myers’ expressionless mask in Halloween, this mad-scientist classic also inspired a Billy Idol song — not to mention countless sleepless nights. Fear arises not only from wondering what Christiane (Édith Scob) looks like under her mask, but also the growing realization that whatever disfigurement it conceals can hardly be more unnerving than her perpetually blank expression. Medical science may have advanced greatly in the last sixty-odd years, but not many horror movies have improved on this one.
A movie so disturbing it effectively ended director Michael Powell’s career, Peeping Tom was reviled upon release and reevaluated as a classic long after the damage was done. It tells of a serial killer who records his victims’ dying expressions, his camera proving more dangerous than any weapon could ever be — a self-reflexive statement on the power of images to shock and horrify. Peeping Tom itself has an abundance of that power, which has only grown with time.
Wouldst thou like to live deliciously? If so, just watch Robert Eggers’ self-described New England folktale, which introduced the world to not only Anya Taylor-Joy but, just as importantly, a terrifying, strangely charismatic billy goat by the name of Black Phillip. Whether or not there’s really a witch in the woods, the desperate Puritans trying to survive another winter circa the 1630s have already let any number of malign forces into their home — fear, suspicion, betrayal — that are just as harmful.
Though debate continues as to whether it fits the criteria of giallo, an Italian horror subgenre that’s as stylized as it is violent, there’s no doubt that Suspiria is a classic of horror proper. The first entry in Dario Argento’s Three Mothers trilogy is set in a German dance academy but really takes place in its writer/director's singular imagination, a place where vibrant colors and Goblin’s haunting score give life to the story of a ballet student who learns the hard way that ballet and witchcraft have a lot in common. Suspiria is a sensory delight like few others, and proof that sometimes style is substance.
Some of the best horror movies are as sad as they are scary and serve to remind us that true terror is often born of grief. So it is with Cat People, whose most poignant line — “She never lied to us” — might sound mundane in and of itself but is heartbreaking in context. The fact that Jacques Tourner’s feline frenzy of a movie spawned a sequel and a remake speaks to its impact, as does the fact that neither of its successors managed to fully capture what made the original so evocative in the first place.
By the time Grace (a never-better Nicole Kidman) admits to sensing the presence of “something which is not at rest” in her remote home in the Channel Islands, it’s too late — despite her repeated insistence that “this house is ours,” it’s clear that someone or something else in this World War II chiller disagrees. The Others itself is something not at rest, a Turn of the Screw–style ghost story with mood and ambiance to spare.
Oh, to be a slasher fan in the ‘80s. After forerunners like Peeping Tom and Psycho laid the groundwork and a handful of ‘70s classics established it as a genre in its own right, the floodgates were let loose. This began with the original Friday the 13th, which introduced audiences to the tragic story of Jason Voorhees (though not his instantly recognizable hockey mask and machete, which didn’t appear until later) and his vengeful mother. Seven sequels followed by 1989, as did another slasher with an iconic look and countless lesser imitators, but the first remains the best.
Just as it’s impossible to discuss the slasher genre without mentioning Friday the 13th, so too is it impossible to talk about folk horror without giving pride of place to The Wicker Man. Those unfamiliar with Robin Hardy’s genre-defining benchmark will have to see for themselves what happens when a police officer travels to a remote Scottish island while investigating the disappearance of a little girl, but suffice to say they’ll be as shocked by what they find on Summerisle as he is.
You can count on one hand the number of horror movies that have become cultural phenomena on the level of The Sixth Sense. In addition to drawing more people to the box office in 1999 than any movie besides a certain Star Wars prequel, it spawned more tributes, parodies, and genuinely shocked reactions than we’ll ever be able to count. Much of that is owed to its twist ending, which ranks among the best of all time, as well as a trio of inspired performances from Haley Joel Osment, Bruce Willis, and Toni Collette.
Before Jason, before Freddy, even before Michael Myers, there was Leatherface. In addition to being one of the most influential horror films ever made, The Texas Chain Saw Massacre is also a marvel of independent filmmaking that was produced for just $140,000. The low-budget grittiness of Tobe Hooper’s proto-slasher is very much part of its appeal, even if “appealing” seems an odd word to describe a film this deliberately off-putting.
No tour of the horror world is complete without several stops in Japan. Often rooted in folklore and frequently the subject of inferior English-language remakes, J-horror (as it’s known) has a distinct sensibility that many consider more disturbing than its Western counterparts. The movement reached new heights at the turn of the millennium, with Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s Pulse standing out among fellow classics like Ring, Ju-On: The Grudge, and Dark Water. That’s in part because it’s very much about the millennium and its attendant technology, with spirits making their way into the world of the living via the internet. While that premise may be of its time, the film itself has proved timeless.
Born of a premise as brilliant as it is simple — a slasher who kills you in your dreams — A Nightmare on Elm Street has inspired many a viewer to stay up all night after watching it just to be safe. Freddy Krueger remains a pop-culture icon four decades later despite the fact that only a few of the nine sequels, spinoffs, and remakes have come close to capturing the power of Wes Craven’s 1984 original. Even when the script has been lacking, Robert Englund’s performance has not. It’s been more than a decade since we last saw Freddy onscreen, an unusually long hiatus for the fedora-wearing dream master, but he’s certainly found his way into countless nightmares in the interim.
Of the five “movie brats” who emerged in the 1970s and changed Hollywood forever — Steven Spielberg, Martin Scorses, Francis Ford Coppola, George Lucas, and Brian De Palma — one was always a bit of an outlier. De Palma was much more inclined toward thrillers and horror flicks than his contemporaries, and Carrie was the best of them. His adaptation of Stephen King’s first novel remains one of the best silver-screen takes on the author’s work, with Sissy Spacek giving a haunted (and haunting) performance as an outcast teenager who ekes out supernatural vengeance on her tormentors.
One of only three movies to win the “big five” Academy Awards for Best Picture, Director, Screenplay, Actor, and Actress, The Silence of the Lambs remains by far the most successful horror film in Oscars history. But it would be just as much of a classic even if, like nearly every other movie in the genre, it had been entirely ignored by the Academy. The dynamic between Hannibal Lecter (Anthony Hopkins) and Clarice Starling (Jodie Foster) is simply inimitable, not that no one’s tried; for all its mood and atmosphere, nothing in the film is as compelling as simply watching them have a conversation separated by Lecter’s glass cell.
One of the first fully fledged slashers, Halloween is also arguably still the best of them; it’s no coincidence that Friday the 13th and A Nightmare on Elm Street followed in short order and the ‘80s were all but dominated by the genre. No matter how much time passes, John Carpenter’s theme song, Michael Myers’ mask, and Jamie Lee Curtis’ performance as Laurie Strode remain as stirring today as they were nearly half a century ago. Few franchises have gone through as many permutations as this one — keeping track of its overlapping continuities is as hilarious as it is confusing — and even fewer have been so perfect from the outset.
Plenty of great horror movies are literary adaptations, but only one features a script by Truman Capote: The Innocents, Jack Clayton’s take on The Turn of the Screw. Deborah Kerr is superlative as a governess who gets a baptism by fire at her first job, a remote country estate where she’s to look after two moppets who are, of course, creepier than they seem. Whether or not they’re also possessed is an open question, one that both protagonist and audience spend much of the film grappling with — when they aren’t too terrified to open their eyes, that is.
If you’ve never seen Takahi Miike’s best film — which is saying a lot, given that he’s directed more than 100 of them — and don’t know what kiri, kiri, kiri means, you’d be well advised to watch Audition immediately without reading another word about it. The premise and setup are a masterclass in misdirection, as the film doesn’t actually reveal itself as a horror movie for quite some time; it begins with a widow who holds auditions for a new wife — an odd and potentially ill-advised idea to be sure, but not necessarily one that lends itself to the relentlessly disturbing experience that Audition gradually becomes.
William Friedkin could never make up his mind as to whether or not he truly believed in demonic possession. Countless people who’ve seen The Exorcist have emerged from the experience with far more clarity. Reports of fainting, vomiting, and even spiritual crises were widespread upon the film’s initial release; some theaters went so far as to have ambulances on call. To say that The Exorcist was a runaway success would be putting it lightly: Only eight movies have made more money at the box office when adjusting for inflation, and it was the first horror film nominated for Best Picture (as well as nine other Oscars, two of which it won). It is terrifying in a way nothing else is.
Decades before the term J-horror was coined, Kaneto Shindō directed two of the scariest films ever made in his country or any other: Onibaba and Kuroneko. There’s no reason to limit yourself to just one, but the hannya mask worn by a lost samurai who wanders into the reeds near Kyoto one fateful night makes for an especially stark visual. About two women in the 14th century who subsist by murdering soldiers and selling their ill-gotten gear, Onibaba is also a parable for Hiroshima — Shindō’s hometown, and a place whose disfigurement is mirrored in the face of that doomed samurai. Few things are more horrific than the things people actually do to each other.
You could argue, as Roger Ebert once did, that The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari is the first true horror film. You could also argue, just as convincingly, that it’s still the best one ever made. It’s certainly close, as Robert Wiene’s landmark of German Expressionism has lost none of its power in the century-plus since it changed moviemaking forever. Its disorienting production design, jarring visuals, and twist ending have all been massively influential within the genre and beyond, yet there somehow still hasn’t been another quite like it.
Few horror movies have ever devastated a director’s career the way Freaks damaged Tod Browning; just as few have aged so gracefully. An unmitigated disaster that effectively ended Browning’s time in Hollywood just a year after he directed Dracula, this tale of sideshow performers is infinitely more nuanced and sympathetic than its premise suggests — not that people felt that way at the time. “There is no excuse for this picture,” wrote one critic; “It took a weak mind to produce it and it takes a strong stomach to look at it,” opined another. Featuring an ensemble cast of actual conjoined twins, bearded ladies, sword swallowers, and “pinheads,” Freaks wasn’t properly appreciated until the Venice Film Festival screened it again in 1962 — 23 years after Browning’s final film and just months before he died.
While it’s true that you had to be there to get the full experience, The Blair Witch Project is uniquely scary even without the associated cultural phenomenon. First-time viewers today might not be under the impression that it’s real, but the lo-fi visuals and largely improvised dialogue are uniquely immersive nevertheless. Whether or not the found-footage craze the film ignited was ultimately a good thing is debatable, but there’s no denying The Blair Witch Project’s influence. “I’m scared to close my eyes,” says one of the three students making an ill-fated documentary about the eponymous witch, “I’m scared to open them.” You will be too.
For as great as Night of the Living Dead is, the sequel is even more fully realized. That alone is a testament to George Romero’s singular abilities, as is the fact that he essentially created the modern zombie movie — a subgenre that has endlessly imitated his work without ever surpassing it. The second entry in the Dead series takes place at a mall, where legions of newly undead instinctively returned; take whatever message about consumerism you please from that, just don’t let your guard down as you watch four survivors do everything they can to avoid meeting the same fate.
As evidenced by The Witch director Robert Eggers’ upcoming remake, horror has yet to move past the influence of F.W. Muranu’s German Expressionist masterwork — nor should it. The real marvel of Nosferatu is that it still exists: after losing a copyright case over its status as an unauthorized Dracula adaptation, nearly all copies of the film were destroyed. A few survived, however, and Nosferatu lives on. That’s very much a good thing, though it might not feel that way to some first-time viewers upon catching their first glimpse of Max Schreck as Count Orlok.
For as beloved as it is, The Shining has one very notable (and vocal) naysayer: Stephen King, who absolutely hated Stanley Kubrick’s adaptation of his novel. He called it “a film by a man who thinks too much and feels too little.” He’s entitled to his opinion, of course, but it’s difficult to agree with him. The Shining is uniquely terrifying in its depiction of Jack Nicholson’s writer-turned-caretaker succumbing to a kind of cabin fever during a harsh winter in the Overlook Hotel, a descent into madness that his wife (an incredible Shelley Duvall) does everything in her power to prevent. But there are greater powers at play in this semi-sentient hotel, which is home to far more souls than it initially appears.
How to pick a single Alfred Hitchcock picture? It’s probably foolish to try, and indeed a case could be made for any number of the master of suspense’s nerve-jangling works, but Psycho seems to be the one most firmly lodged in our collective psyche. One twist gives way to another, Bernard Hermann’s legendary score prevents you from ever relaxing, and the final reveal somehow feels shocking every time you see it. It’s impossible to imagine the last sixty-odd years of horror films and thrillers without Psycho, especially considering how few of the movies it’s influenced have even approached its greatness.
“We belong dead!” One of only two sequels on this list alongside Dawn of the Dead, Bride of Frankenstein reunited director James Whale with star Boris Karloff while also introducing Elsa Lanchester in the title role. The Bride’s inclusion made the Frankenstein mythos even more terrifying, but it also emphasized how tragic the story was all along. Neither of Frankenstein’s so-called monsters asked to exist, and certainly not in the haphazard form they took on. We recoil at the sight of them, but the world that made them will always be more monstrous than they are.
The Thing could be anyone, and eventually it’s everyone. Or is it? The end of John Carpenter’s body-horror classic remains ambiguous more than four decades later, which is just as it should be: A movie that inspires this much dread and paranoia shouldn’t offer clear resolution. An initial failure with critics and audiences alike that eventually found the cult following it deserved, The Thing is now rightfully regarded as the all-timer it is. New details and clues emerge with each subsequent viewing, and yet a certain unknowable quality remains — it’s the best of both worlds, which is fitting for a movie about an entity that is very much not of our own.
The tagline is both a warning and a promise: In space no one can hear you scream. And though the sci-fi horror franchise continues to shapeshift into new iterations even now, with this summer’s Alien: Romulus proving a welcome return to form, Ridley Scott’s 1979 original will always be untouchable. It gave us Lieutenant Ellen Ripley, it gave us the Xenomorph, and it gave theater-goers more than they bargained for. As the cosmic entity comes aboard the USCSS Nostromo and picks off its inhabitants one by one, you’ll feel a bit like Jonesy the cat: unable to do anything but look on in fascinated terror.
Not all monsters are of the demonic variety, nor do they require an incantation to be awakened. For as terrifying as a satanic plot to birth the antichrist is, being betrayed by those closest to you is somehow worse. That’s the plight of Rosemary Woodhouse, played to perfection by Mia Farrow in the greatest horror movie ever made. At first you’ll be unsure, as she is, whether hormones and paranoia are getting the best of her or what she thinks is happening is actually happening; the inevitable truth is somehow worse than you could ever imagine. But family is family, and sometimes all you can do is sing a lullaby.
