#244. The Conjuring (2013)

 

 

Haunted house movies have never ranked very high on my list of horror subgenres (mainly because I don't believe in ghosts), but I can still find them effective if they keep things simple and sincere. And that's why something like The Conjuring works for me: it doesn't subvert a single trope, but it commits so hard to the material and atmosphere that the scares feel earned.

 

Sure, this means a lot of scenes where characters investigate strange noises and occurrences, but James Wan's direction is subtle and restrained enough to pull these moments off. Plus, they're generally restricted to the first half. Once the demonologists arrive, the approach becomes hands-on and investigative, with a team dynamic at play, both of which made the story much more enjoyable and compelling to me.

 

Also, you have no idea how relieved I was to see that the conflict was almost never interpersonal. So often in these movies, we get way too many scenes where characters either don't believe each other, or start behaving differently and no one catches on, and it's just nice to see one take the level-headed route. Makes for a more satisfying watch, and it also causes me to actually want the best for these characters, which inherently raises the stakes.

 

Grade: A-

 

P.S. I spent most the movie waiting to see Patrick Wilson notice that Darth Maul-looking guy in the mirror, only to remember near the end that this happens in Insidious.

 

#237. Kwaidan (1964)

 

 

A.K.A. Ghost Stories

 

About halfway through this movie, I was convinced that I was going to give it an A+. Like, just the concept of a horror anthology made out of four folklore tales was enough to immediately win my affection, and then both "The Black Hair" and "The Woman of the Snow" absolutely floored me with their slow-yet-mesmerizing pace, eerie moods, and heightened, artificial backdrops.

 

Unfortunately, the final two stories bring it from "all-time masterpiece" to merely "extremely great" for me. I thought "Hoichi the Earless" lacked the colour and rhythm of the first two, and "In a Cup of Tea" lacked the weight. They're both decent segments in their own right, but I think it might've been a wise choice to subtract twenty minutes from the former and add twenty minutes to the latter.

 

Regardless, though, it's quite the accomplishment. Between the subject matter, the style, the scarce dialogue, and the slightly off-kilter movements, the whole thing feels like a weird dream. And the scope and imagery are just wonderful. Maybe I'll eventually come around to those last two stories, but, even if I don't, I can already tell that the first two are going to be more than enough to bring me back.

 

Grade: A

 

#228. Coma (1978)

 

 

Both a medical drama and a conspiracy thriller, Coma is one of those tales of paranoia that tries to keep you guessing at every turn, in a Rosemary's Baby kinda way. And while that's not generally my preferred brand of suspense (I tend to find "Why won't anybody believe me?" plots more frustrating than fascinating), it mostly works here thanks to Michael Crichton's tight, straightforward approach.

 

Like, you can easily imagine this subject matter being either intensely dry or ridiculously silly, but he avoids both extremes by including an ordinary protagonist, an emotional entry point via her central relationship (and the casting of Michael Douglas as her partner is inspired; there's just something inherently untrustworthy about that guy), and some real-world social stakes, as well as a few shadowy stalkers and creepy care facilities to keep things pulpy and energetic.

 

Granted, it's not always a perfect balance (some of the cards are revealed a bit too early for my liking), and the lone conflict can sometimes get kinda tedious, but there's nevertheless an eeriness about the hospital setting, the slippery doctor characters, and the mere concept of acceptable losses that makes these two genres a solid match.

 

Grade: B+

 

#223. Prom Night (1980)

 

 

I'm a ridiculously easy mark when it comes to slasher-whodunits. Even in the case of something like Prom Night, which isn't especially creative (it's basically Friday the 13th in a Carrie costume), doesn't have as many suspects as I'd like, and is pretty tepid as far as violence goes, I was nevertheless absolutely absorbed by the mounting tension, intriguing mystery, and killer dance moves.

 

I think it helps that the movie doesn't mind taking its time. Sure, it results in an extremely dry opening hour, with maybe a few too many scenes centered around blah characters and dynamics, but it also keeps the slow burn suspense simmering for as long as possible, which draws things out in such a well-paced way that the eventual chase scenes actually have some weight and urgency to them. 

 

Beyond that, I liked the school setting, the warm, glowing, almost dreamlike cinematography, the faint echo of the dance music in some of the scarier sequences, the two main casting choices (while Leslie Nielsen doesn't have a big part, it's always a treat to see him in a serious role), and the clumsy action, which only adds to the overall believability. I guess I can understand why this movie doesn't have a stellar reputation, but I'd be lying if I said that I didn't have a lot of fun with it.

 

Grade: A-

 

#214. The Uninvited (1944)

 

 

This has to be one of the most approachable and, ironically, inviting haunted house movies ever made. It has an unusually light and jaunty tone (which, aside from keeping the material fun, is perfect for establishing some investment in the horror elements and dramatic backstories), and a familiar-yet-unearthly presentation that ensures a certain warmth and coziness throughout.

 

Of course, a lot of that also has to do with the dark and elegant beauty of the house itself. When I see this place, with its enormous staircase (I was kinda hoping to see Ray Milland slide down that banister at some point, but I digress), open rooms, and stunning views, I can understand why these characters would take such a risk. And the gorgeous use of light and shadow only adds to its allure.

 

Even zooming out from the setting, though, nearly everything about this movie delighted me. I'm sure a lot of people find it slow and quaint, but I thought it was cute, funny, and spooky in equal measure. My only issue is that it gets a bit plot-heavy down the stretch, but even that doesn't really detract from the bouncy pacing, colourful moods, and adorable effects.

 

Grade: A

#208. The Ninth Gate (1999)

 

 

This is one of those instances where the journey is far more interesting than the destination. I was really into the intrigue-heavy opening hour, with its eerie premise, cozy sets and settings (libraries, trains, hotel rooms), patient - often bordering on slow - pacing, and subtle menace. The whole thing's very sinister and atmospheric, and yet it also possesses a loose, almost silly tone that keeps the material light and playful.

 

For the most part, I think the movie balances this strange combination of moods reasonably well. But the same can't quite be said for the third act, which regrettably crosses over into "downright ridiculous" territory. There's admittedly some charm to that (for instance, hearing Frank Langella repeatedly yell "Mumbo Jumbo!" almost makes the entire portion worth it), but the forced theatrics, terrible fire effects, and largely unsatisfying final scene end things on a bit of a sour note for me.

 

Still, the majority of the adventure kept me invested, thanks especially to Johnny Depp's focused performance and Roman Polanski's assured direction. And even if I wasn't entirely satisfied with some of the later results, the ambience, buildup, and ambition ensured that I was always curious to see where it was all heading.

 

Grade: B+

 

P.S. I'm no expert on the matter, but shouldn't dealers wear gloves when handling old books? Or, at the very least, not blow cigarette smoke all over them?

 

#207. An American Werewolf in London (1981)

 

 

Prior Viewings: 2

 

There aren't a ton of horror-comedies that manage to succeed as both horror and comedy, but American Werewolf is one of the few that walks that difficult line nearly perfectly. And I think that's because John Landis never really allows the genres to get in the way of each other. As much the scares tend to come with playful nods to werewolf tropes (lycantropes?), they're also played straight enough that none of the intended intensity is lost.

 

But it's not just the balance of tones that makes this movie great. It's also the murky, fog-shrouded atmospheres, the simple-yet-effective locations (I'm a sucker for a spooky subway station scene), the fantastic music choices (why include just one version of "Blue Moon" when you can have three?), and, of course, those killer makeup effects. We're all aware that the transformation scene is iconic, but I'm also a huge fan of Jack's rotting flesh - particularly that little piece of skin that dangles from his neck.

 

Plus, there's something kind of lax and awkward about the movie that I find mildly endearing. Even if it makes the result a bit imperfect (some of the timing choices, like the ending, still don't fully work for me), it keeps things from getting too smug or clever for its own good, which ensures that the homage/contemporary equilibrium is just as sturdy as the horror/comedy one.

 

Grade: A

 

#203. Sinners (2025)

 

Hey, I actually managed to crank out all ten nominees in time. Kinda came down to the wire there, but still.

 

Anyway, I intentionally saved Sinners for last because it appears to be right up there with One Battle After Another as one of the front-runners for taking home the prize. I personally preferred the latter by a fairly decent margin, but I can certainly still see the broad appeal here. This thing's dripping with sex, style, tension, and atmosphere, and it does a great job of laying a compelling and character-heavy foundation before pulling the rug out from under you.

 

That's not to say that I think the movie's flawless, though. I wasn't blown away by the action and horror elements, the structuring gets extremely messy at times (particularly in the last twenty minutes, which are rushed and disorganized in a way that I didn't care for), and the metaphors are so on-the-nose that they're practically similes. But I'm sure these complaints are largely a product of the hype; after all, they're relatively minor compared to the powerful imagery, charismatic characters, electrifying music, and amusing combination of genres.

 

Plus, that one-take scene where we see all the different musical eras of multiple cultures through one song is the kind of ambitious creativity that can turn a pretty good movie into an instant classic.

 

Grade: A-

 

P.S. And now, my ranking of the nominees:

 

10. Hamnet

9. Train Dreams

8. F1

7. Frankenstein

6. Sinners

5. The Secret Agent

4. Bugonia

3. Sentimental Value

2. Marty Supreme

1. One Battle After Another

 

Honestly, though, this is a really strong group from top to bottom. I don't think there's a single entrant that's not at least somewhat worthy of recognition.

#197. Frankenstein (2025)

 

I'm starting to worry that Guillermo del Toro might be on something of a Tim Burton trajectory (though not nearly as severe) in that he's continuing to pick projects that feel a bit... obvious? Expected? Like, you hear "Guillermo del Toro's Frankenstein", and the images you picture in your mind aren't far off from the real thing.

 

Fortunately, unlike Burton, del Toro hasn't gotten noticeably lazy yet, so this movie's about as striking, gorgeous, and tangible as anything else he's made (even if the visuals are occasionally marred by dark lighting, unconvincing CGI, and excessively slick digital cinematography). And while he sometimes takes a few bizarre and frustratingly literal liberties with the source material, his perpetual enthusiasm ensures that the tones, textures, and emotions are appropriately operatic.

 

Plus, I love his sense of scale. We can discuss whether the world needed another Frankenstein movie in 2025, but the fact that this version has such a consistent vision, while also being more ambitious and over-the-top than any of the prior adaptations I've seen (even the Branagh one), not only justifies its existence in my eyes, but it gives the experience a certain maximalist conclusivity. Whoever tries to tackle Mary Shelley's story next will have a difficult bar to clear as far as ambition is concerned.

 

Grade: A-

 

#193. The Golem: How He Came Into the World (1920)

 

 

A.K.A. Der Golem, wie er in die Welt kam

 

Apparently, this was actually the third in a trilogy of Golem movies made by Paul Wegener, but the reason I'm covering it first (and last) is because the other two have unfortunately been lost to time.

 

On the bright side, How He Came Into the World is a prequel, so its story is pretty comprehensive. It's also, as you might expect, rather basic (though I give it credit for beating nearly every Frankenstein adaptation to the punch), but the structure is sturdy enough, the pace is steady enough, the emotions are compelling enough, and the horror elements are effective enough that I was mostly captivated by what was going on. Plus, the fact that this 1920 movie is both German and rooted in Jewish heritage/mysticism gives it a cultural significance that bumps the overall resonance up a few notches.

 

Helps, too, that the whole thing looks as good as it does. Like, even if the style isn't particularly original (it's basically just Dr. Caligari with a touch of Georges Méliès), that Expressionist combination of striking imagery, unusual angles, heavy makeup, and insane architecture is guaranteed to bewitch me no matter how many times I see it.

 

Grade: A-

#192. Let's Scare Jessica to Death (1971)

 

 

Bit of a misleading title here. You'd think it would imply either a tongue-in-cheek tone or some kind of narrative about an evil and elaborate plot against someone, but it really isn't either of those things. Instead, this is mostly one of those slow, grimy, downbeat psychological horror movies that were quite common in the '70s, albeit with a few noteworthy characteristics that help to set it apart.

 

The biggest is obviously Zohra Lampert. It can't be easy to convincingly pull off a character that's losing the ability to distinguish reality from fantasy, but she nails this complex and vulnerable role by staying as present and grounded as possible. It's a great performance, and it overshadows the other actors to such a degree that you quickly feel alone with her and her fragile mental state, which gives everything that much more legitimacy and gravity.

 

Beyond that, the atmosphere is adequately macabre (with visuals that give off a slight Italian horror vibe), the setting is beautiful and haunting, and the post-hippie seediness of it all really adds to the sense of dread. So even if the movie's ultimately a bit cheap, silly, and sedate, those murky moods and internal scares work well enough that I can understand why its cult legacy is continuing to grow.

 

Grade: B+

 

#186. The Birds (1963)

 

 

Prior Viewings: 1

 

Surely, this script, about birds that suddenly lose their minds and start terrorizing a small town for seemingly no reason, is the silliest one Hitchcock ever attached himself to, right? Like, it's the kind of concept that probably should've led to an all-time disaster (a la Birdemic), or at least been remembered as little more than a bizarre curiosity.

 

But The Birds isn't a bizarre curiosity, and that's because it's in such seasoned and capable hands. Hitch combines mysterious atmospherics, clever set pieces, and that patented mastery of suspense (a good example: his decision to rely on realistic sound design instead of a conventional score) to lend a world of credibility to this premise. And the result is one of the most vicious films of his career.

 

Here's how you know it's a genuine winner, though: even if you were to remove every single bird, you'd still be left with a compelling, cozy (there's a lot of lighthearted rom-com energy here, and I just love that quiet coastal setting), and slightly deranged movie about sexual longing and familial relationships. The character drama is as compelling and effective as the horror elements, which makes the eventual bird attacks feel seamless as far as tone, conflict, and overall consistency go.

 

Now, does it ever actually add up to anything? I'm honestly not sure (though the lack of answers/closure definitely contributes to the eerie effect), but, either way, I enjoyed this rewatch enough to place the movie just outside of its director's top tier.

 

Grade: A

 

P.S. The surviving members of that town should count themselves lucky that geese weren't involved. Take it from a Canadian: those fuckers are ruthless.

 

#182. Deep Blue Sea (1999)

 

 

I have a soft spot for late '90s studio schlock, as well as simplistic horror movies where a small group of characters fight to survive in an isolated setting. This one manages to hit both of those weak points, and has a good time doing it, so I can only dock so many points for stupid writing and terrible effects.

 

Actually, if anything, those two qualities only serve to enhance the charm. This isn't a Sharknado situation, where the entire project reeks of laziness and cynicism. No, Deep Blue Sea cares, and plays everything completely straight (with just the right amount of self-awareness), which makes the cornier elements a million times more likeable and fun as a result.

 

Plus, while this earnestness often takes us in some strange directions (the whole religious subplot, for instance, goes over really weird), it also allows for some effective genre scares, creative violence, cheesy dialogue, committed performances, surprisingly decent action set pieces, and LL Cool J's absolute masterpiece of a theme song. The whole thing's a junk heap, but it's a determined and entertaining junk heap.

 

And regardless of where you stand on the movie's quality, I think we can agree that Sam Jackson's big speech is a legitimate top hundred horror moment.

 

Grade: B+

 

#177. The Body Snatcher (1945)

 

 

In almost every regard, The Body Snatcher is a very small movie. It's less than eighty minutes long, there aren't a lot of characters, and the financial constraints are obvious. And yet, the whole thing's so rich and creepy and fun that it never feels especially slight to me. Helps that Robert Louis Stevenson's source material is as smart, provocative, and conflict-heavy as it is (with some fascinating dynamics and parallels), and that Boris Karloff's as delightfully sinister as ever.

 

The bulk of the credit, though, should probably go to Robert Wise, who's working overtime to ensure that this thing's as atmospheric as possible. Nearly any moment will serve as adequate evidence, but I'll note my three favourites: the camera staying on an empty arch while a singer abruptly goes quiet, the silhouette-bathed cat witnessing a fight, and the tense carriage ride climax. It's genuinely breathtaking stuff, and a reminder of why this guy managed to have such a long and fruitful career. 

 

Honestly, this one really surprised me. I was expecting something on the level of the Universal Monsters, but what I got was leagues ahead of most of those. It may even be an early contender for my favourite horror movie of the '40s (which, granted, was a relatively weak decade for the genre).

 

Grade: A

 

P.S. This was the final film to feature both Karloff and Bela Lugosi, and while they may not have much screen time together here, seeing the two of them roll around trying to strangle each other feels like a fitting conclusion to their on-screen relationship.

 

#175. The Sentinel (1977)

 

 

This is a horror movie from the '70s, so it's predictably pretty heavy on atmosphere, which is fine by me. Michael Winner's direction isn't always as flashy as I'd like, but his slow-burn approach mostly manages to keep things creepy and foreboding, and the gory practical effects go a long way in providing some grotesque tactility. Plus, I really like the apartment building as a primary setting.

 

Unfortunately, the story's a bit of a letdown. Granted, both ghosts and Satanism generally rank quite low on my list of genre topics (mainly because I don't think either one's especially scary, and because they both tend to follow predictable and frustrating narrative beats), so it's possible that I was never gonna fall in love this one. But I also thought the mystery was kinda weak, and the religious plot just sort of felt like nonsense to me after a while.

 

There is one successful source of intrigue here, though, and that's how Winner got so many big names to sign on. I don't know if they were that hard up for work, if the script was that much better than the final result, or if blackmail was involved, but, whatever the reason, I'll admit that it's pretty fun seeing so many familiar faces. I love a good game of "Spot the Star", especially when the movie involved is only sporadically interesting.

 

Grade: B-

 

#167. Still of the Night (1982)

 

 

As you already know, if there's one genre that's almost guaranteed to enthrall me, it's neo-noir mysteries from the '70s and '80s - particularly the ones that were influenced by Hitchcock and giallo (which probably explains why I'm such a big De Palma fan). So while Still of the Night is a fairly safe and otherwise unremarkable little movie, the fact that it manages to hit all of those qualifiers means I predictably really enjoyed it.

 

Something that does marginally set this one apart, though, is the conspicuous lack of stylizations and operatics. That sounds like it should be a negative (and maybe it is; the presentation can be a little dry at times), but it allows for a simple story, some dreamy pacing, a lot of cool, crisp autumnal textures, and a quiet mood - one that makes the transition from drama to thriller to horror feel surprisingly seamless. 

 

And even if the runtime is a bit on the meager side, I think some of those later set pieces, as well as the long, single-take Meryl Streep monologue (while we're here: she's probably overqualified for this character, which causes her to feel mildly miscast, but it's nevertheless kinda cool to see her in a femme fatale role) make for a satiating experience overall.

 

Grade: A-

 

#164. The Picture of Dorian Gray (1945)

 

 

Regardless of your familiarity with Oscar Wilde, you can tell this movie's based on a book. The dialogue's intelligent, and the themes are potent, but the presentation is a little too stuffy for its own good. Everything's on the dry and talky side, with storytelling that simultaneously feels rushed and padded (as though some chapters are given far too much focus, while others have been ripped out entirely), and a whole lotta narration that, particularly in the middle hour, completely derails the momentum. 

 

Still, there's an old school gothic horror feel to the movie that mostly works. The cinematography, compositions, and sets are uniformly stunning, the actors (especially George Sanders) give these words some life, and the scenes featuring the actual portrait are truly unsettling. I adore the sparing-yet-striking use of colour for those insert shots, and the harsh musical stings that accompany them really add to the terror, in a proto-jump-scare kinda way. Plus, the ending is a solid payoff.

 

It's just a shame that this aspect takes such a backseat. If we spent as much time on the genre stuff as we do, say, Gray's inner turmoil, or the interchangeable romances, the movie likely would've had a much stronger hold on me.

 

Grade: B

 

#160. Weapons (2025)

 

 

The guy who once walked around with a gallon of PCP turned out to be a great horror filmmaker. Who knew?

 

Actually, if you're at all familiar with comedy and horror, it makes a lot of sense. The two have a much bigger Venn diagram overlap than you might initially think (heightened emotions, anticipatory expectations, an element of surprise, etc.), and Zach "Now You Fucked Up" Cregger cleverly intertwines them to tell an electric, creative, and often hilarious tale of grief and paranoia.

 

I obviously love the tone of this one, but I'm also big on the way it uses different perspectives to slowly reveal itself. It makes for a more effective mystery, it paints a clearer and fuller picture of this suburb, and it allows for some amusing and conflicting interactions (plus, I'm just a fan of this kind of kaleidoscopic storytelling in general; it's big and messy in a way that appeals to me). The whole thing builds pretty flawlessly, and eventually pays off with a dark, emotional, and worthwhile climax.

 

As much as I enjoyed Barbarian, I think this one's a step up in almost every way, to the point that, for the first time in my life, I'm actually a little curious about a Resident Evil movie. 

 

Grade: A

 

#156. They Live (1988)

 

 

Prior Viewings: 1

 

When I marathoned John Carpenter's filmography a few years back, They Live was actually one of my least favourites (maybe not bottom three, but close). And I think a lot of that had to do with the fact that I couldn't conflate the satire being so outlandish and on-the-nose compared to the dreary presentation. I was expecting something quick and silly in the vein of Big Trouble in Little China, and what I got instead was honestly much closer to Dark Star.

 

Now that I knew what tone to expect, though, the dryness and overall story started making a lot more sense to me. Granted, I still think the first third's a little bland and the final third's really sloppy, and the Meg Foster stuff continues to flatline for me, but I was much more compelled by the rhythmic pacing, the downright hypnotic scoring, and the arrow-straight commentary this time. This movie might not have Carpenter's usual energy, but it sure has his pulse and bitter sense of humour.

 

It also has two of the best scenes of his career, and you likely already know what I'm talking about. The first is where Roddy Piper initially puts on the sunglasses, which is just a great bit of worldbuilding. And the second is the unending alley brawl, which feels like it takes up a third of the runtime, and which is the exact brand of kinda sincere/kinda tongue-in-cheek excess that fits this movie like a glove.

 

Grade: B+

 

#154. Gerald's Game (2017)

  

Like a lot of Stephen King adaptations, the premise of Gerald's Game is really strong. Honestly, just the idea of having our protagonist handcuffed to a bed in a remote cabin for most of the runtime is inherently urgent and suspenseful (while also being simplistic and primal in a way that appeals to me), and the heavy use of hallucinations is a clever means of expositing some internal dialogue. Plus, it doesn't exactly hurt that Carla Gugino sells everything as well as she does.

 

Also like a lot of King adaptations, though, the execution is... flawed. Not bad, necessarily, but definitely sloppy. The flashbacks, for example, are appropriately dark and thematic, but they're also pretty blunt and heavy-handed in the way that flashback storytelling often is (while also being a total retread of Dolores Claiborne, right down to the use of the eclipse), and the Moonlight Man subplot, creepy as it was, seemed out of place, or at least incredibly underbaked, to me. Again, neither of these directions are terrible ones, but I feel like they're a bit of a letdown in relation to the setup.

 

I did kind of enjoy the unusual epilogue, however. Like, sure, it's rushed and tonally dissonant, but I also thought it was a creative, satisfying, and well-earned note to end on - especially after being subjected to that goddamn hand scene, which got an audible "Jesus Christ..." out of me.

 

Grade: B