248) The Innkeepers (2011)

Halloween 2026's Haunted Cinematic Playback Extravaganza – The Manifestation of Ectoplasmic-Saturated Spook, Spectre, or Ghost Movies (Part VI)

"If you expect nothing from people, then you go through life being pleasantly surprised."

Director
Ti West

Cast
Sara Paxton - Claire
Pat Healy - Luke
Kelly McGillis - Leanne Rease-Jones
Alison Bartlett - Gayle, the angry mom
Jake Ryan - Gayle's Son
Lena Dunham - The Barista
George Riddle - The Old Man
Brenda Cooney - Madeline O'Malley
John Speredakos - Officer Mitchell

The 2011 supernatural horror movie "The Innkeepers" was better the second time I watched it.
I first saw this movie around the time it was initially released on DVD. Back then I found it underwhelming and a little boring, but I remembered it all these years later.
I wanted to give it a second chance after "The Cobwebs Channel" on YouTube listed it as a supernatural ghost movie recommendation. So, I gave it another shot.
And I liked it better now that I did.
As a ghost story, it serves as something of a warning.
In this movie, an old hotel called the Yankee Pedlar Inn is about to close its doors for good. The only employees still working there, Claire (Sara Paxton) and Luke (Pat Healy), are basically winging it as the inn's last guests check out before the inn's final day arrives.
With little to do beyond tending to the remaining guests, Claire and Luke decide to make their final days of employment more interesting by investigating the hotel's alleged paranormal history. At first, there's little concrete evidence that anything supernatural has ever happened at the inn.
However, as they dig deeper and attempt to contact whatever spirits might be dwelling in the old Yankee Pedlar, Claire and Luke don't anticipate just how disturbed the spirits they awaken might be.
"The Innkeepers" has a moral to its story. To put it simply, if you go looking for ghosts, you're more than likely to find them. And once that happens, those ghosts may not be so easy to get rid of.
Director Ti West has a talent for slowly building dread and trepidation.
West is a director who takes his time building suspense.
Aside from "The Innkeepers," I've seen only a few of his other movies: "The House of the Devil," "V/H/S" (in which he directs the segment "Second Honeymoon"), and "The Sacrament."
Based on the few films of his I've seen, West has a slow-burn approach to pacing. His style can keep an audience intrigued by making viewers wait for the horror to unfold.
What draws me into many horror movies is atmosphere rather than jump scares and horrific monsters, although the monsters can be the icing on the cake.

Stories and films set in old homes and hotels with their age - pealing paint, clanging radiators, pattenred wallpaper and history that hasn't left - entices me. It pulls me in. Spaces like this, whether the interior is in need of repair or fixed up nicely, feel haunted not just by wandering souls but by a history only few know about. It's history alive or struggling to stay alive. Whatever is in these settings is waiting to be noticed.  

Sara Paxton as Claire in "The Innkeepers."

"The Innkeepers" has an enticing atmosphere that is enhanced by Sara Paxton's performance, particularly in her reactions to the various guests she encounters. All the while, Claire becomes increasingly consumed by her curiosity about the spirit realm, a realm she has no business meddling in.
What appeals to me most is the classic haunted-house atmosphere, with a hotel standing in for the usual spooky residence, and the gradual buildup of tension.
The film is particularly effective in that the hotel isn't initially spooky or creepy when it's introduced to the audience. The place is introduced as quite cozy and charming.
It's as though the Yankee Pedlar becomes a victim of Claire's curiosity and the trouble that curiosity brings upon the otherwise innocent little inn.
When I first watched "The Innkeepers," I recall thinking that the slow ride through the film, I thought the movie's payoff came too late and with too much ambiguity.
Now, I think the film works rather well.
Claire is an unusual protagonist for a paranormal movie. She seems motivated by mere boredom that gradually turns into curiosity as she explores the supernatural. The deeper she digs, and the more she meddles in things she shouldn't, the worse it gets. 

At first, she's drawn in by stories and rumors rather than by any firsthand experience of paranormal activity. Nothing happens until Claire and Luke approach it.
The whole setup feels much more plausible than that of many other paranormal movies. 
The ending initially struck me as too ambiguous, though I got the impression it's meant to suggest that the supernatural isn't necessarily something we can understand or control. Claire's curiosity leads her into a situation she doesn't fully comprehend, and her actions have consequences she cannot easily undo.
It's a potentially polarizing ending because it leaves so many questions unanswered. Audiences might find yourself asking, "What just happened?" I found it as a logical conclusion. She called up a spirit, only to be entangled in it, and it gave her what she was looking for. 
Still, the film achieves a great deal with very little: a few unexplained sounds here, a piano playing on its own there, and then Claire finally opens a door to a realm she doesn't realize may be a one-way trip.
That little bit is effective.
The entire movie works well as a cautionary tale about the dangers of searching for ghosts. But what will you do when you find them?

Oh, and Kelly McGillis from "Top Gun" is in this, too. I can't forget that added casting bonus!

247) The Lodgers (2017)

Halloween 2026's Haunted Cinematic Playback Extravaganza – The Manifestation of Ectoplasmic-Saturated Spook, Spectre, or Ghost Movies (Part V)

"Girl child, boy child, listen well. Be in bed by midnight's bell. Never let a stranger through your door. Never leave each other all alone. Good sister, good brother be, follow well these cautions three. Long as your blood be ours alone, we'll see you ever from below."

Director
Brian O'Malley

Cast
Charlotte Vega - Rachel
David Bradley - Bermingham
Bill Milner - Edward
Eugene Simon - Sean
Moe Dunford - Dessie
Roisin Murphy - Kay
Deirdre O'Kane - Maura
Carolyn Bracken - Lodger

After watching the 2017 Irish gothic horror movie "The Lodgers," I'm struggling to come up with something to say about it. After the general spookiness most paranormal horror movies embrace to get audiences in the mood for the ghost story they're about to dedicate their time to, everything that follows is drab and anything but thrilling. In other words, the movie falls dead, much like the ghosts it depicts.
I considered leaving this one out of October's horror flick lineup because I struggled staying focused, which was entirely the movie's fault. But I watched it. I sat through it. I struggled to stay awake. I grappled with what I was supposed to take away from it. I couldn't decide then, and still can't decide now, whether I liked it. That's a lot of work for one movie! I might as well keep it in.
"The Lodgers" is set in rural Ireland in the 1920s. The story centers on a pair of fraternal twins, Rachel (Charlotte Vega) and Edward (Bill Milner). They live together in a slowly deteriorating mansion that has been in their family for generations. 

From the outside looking in, the brother and sister appear to live alone. Well, they're not exactly alone. Thanks to a family curse, the house is also inhabited by ghosts who seemingly dwell in a watery void beneath the home.
These ghosts effectively keep Rachel and Edward prisoners in their own house, imposing three rules on the siblings. They must never allow strangers to cross the threshold. They must be in bed by midnight. And neither Rachel nor Edward can attempt to escape. If either tries, the life of the other will be in danger.
Rachel is about to turn 18, and like many young women her age, she wants to leave the nest and escape the dark curse that has weighed on her shoulders her entire life. She longs to leave the decaying mansion and be free of the spirits who loom over her with their wicked, imposing rules.
Edward, meanwhile, refuses to leave. He has succumbed to his cursed life.

Charlotte Vega as Rachel in 'The Lodgers.'

When a war veteran returns to a nearby village, he catches Rachel's attention. She thinks he may be able to provide a way out. Escaping the home, however, means risking the horrors that await anyone who dares to break the curse that has plagued her family for generations.
The storyline itself isn't the problem. A family curse, the sins of ancestors, and a haunted house are perfectly ideal ingredients for a ghost story. The presentation, however, nearly put me to sleep.
My interest was piqued at the beginning, but it diminished far too quickly as the story unfolded. Not even the sinister presence of the ghosts could revive my interest. Perhaps that's because the audience is barely treated to any ghosts at all. They're supposedly lurking beneath the house, floating around in some watery netherworld beneath the floorboards. A trapdoor in the middle of the main floor, at the bottom of the staircase, provides access to their domain. Yet the promise of something lurking just out of sight doesn't satisfyingly develop into the sustained sense of dread the film needs.

Aside from the sluggish pace, I think plot points came across as vague or nonsensical. For instance, why is there a curse in the first place. I honestly don't recall. If that's explained, my mind was probably wandering during that point in the movie. 

Also, the twins didn't commit the sins that supposedly condemned them, yet they're left to suffer the consequences all the same.
Rachel, however, is determined to break the generational cycle and confront the evil looming over her. Her desire for human contact is too strong to allow herself to remain indefinitely under the thumb of her family's ghosts.
I get the sense that "The Lodgers" is about breaking free from the past, which the film portrays as a burden that can become impossible to escape. It seems to suggest that inherited privilege can be a curse in its own right, and that the real darkness lies in isolating oneself from a changing world.

I see where this is going now! Rachel wants to break free, while Edward has surrendered himself like a prisoner to the past. Why?

I couldn't put my finger on whether he was a mere simp, or just wanted to be an obstacle for his sister.

I didn't see any convincing reason for him to just sit and take it. 

The haunted house represents that dying past.
I also sense a left-wing critique of inherited "privilege," a familiar buzzword among our pals on the left side of the aisle. The film seems to suggest that those who cling to tradition risk isolating themselves from the changing world around them. But there's another side to that argument. People can embrace

change so enthusiastically that they lose sight of the cultural histories and traditions that once gave their lives meaning. Not every old thing deserves to be preserved, of course, but neither does everything new deserve an automatic welcome.
I had watched "Fiddler on the Roof" a few days earlier, so the importance of tradition was still fresh in my mind. That film's treatment of tradition makes for an interesting contrast with "The Lodgers." Where tradition can provide a community with identity and continuity, the past in "The Lodgers" seems to have become a prison from which its inhabitants must escape. The more interesting question is whether the film distinguishes between a tradition worth preserving and a destructive legacy worth abandoning. I'm not convinced it does.
The allegory is rather obvious, honestly. Unfortunately, the characters and the plot feel shallow by comparison with the ideas the film appears to be pursuing. The atmosphere is there, and the premise has potential, but neither develops into a particularly compelling story.
"The Lodgers" is a brooding gothic tale that seems unable to get out of its own way. It has something to say about the past, privilege, and the freedom to forge a different future, but its allegory is more conspicuous than its characters are compelling. The result is a film that mistakes a gloomy atmosphere for genuine suspense and leaves its audience with more to ponder about its intentions than to remember about its story.

"The Lodgers" depicts a notion that escaping the past is the same as escaping mistakes. For a film that seemingly wants to critique history or tradition, or maybe both, as a burden, I'd respect its intentions more if the story bothered to understand the difference between a history that imprisons us and one that gives us something worth preserving. Here, the distinction remains murky, the characters remain remote, and the horror is nothing but a scary mask that the past is wearing.

246) Ghostwatch (1992)

Halloween 2026's Haunted Cinematic Playback Extravaganza – The Manifestation of Ectoplasmic-Saturated Spook, Spectre, or Ghost Movies (Part IV)

"What's it like living in England's Amityville?"

Director

Lesley Manning

Cast
Michael Parkinson - Himself as the Host
Sarah Greene - Herself
Mike Smith - Himself
Craig Charles - Himself
Gillian Bevan - Dr. Lin Pascoe
Brid Brennan - Pamela Early
Michelle Wesson - Suzanne Early
Cherise Wesson - Kim Early
Keith Ferrari - Pipes

"Ghostwatch" is a little-known showcase in televised horror, perhaps at least in the U.S. Not so much in the U.K. 

It's a Halloween activity that turns an otherwise ordinary BBC investigation into something considerably more unsettling.
The show is a faux-live investigation presented as a special report and hosted by British talk-show host Michael Parkinson. It's something along the lines of the 1938 "War of the Worlds" radio broadcast, but on TV.
It first aired on BBC1 in the U.K. on October 31, 1992.
And it's pretty much what I expected it to be. That is, it's something "scary" to tune into on Halloween night.
The storyline behind "Ghostwatch" clearly draws inspiration from the famous Enfield poltergeist case, which supposedly took place in the U.K. back in the 1970s. The case was the basis for the 2016 sequel "The Conjuring 2," which is, in my infallible opinion, the only worthwhile movie in the "Conjuring" franchise.
Anyway, like the Enfield case, the story in "Ghostwatch" revolves around a single mother and her two young daughters. It's presented as a live BBC television broadcast investigating reports of an alleged haunting at the home of Pamela Early (Brid Brennan) and her two daughters, Kim (Cherise Wesson) and Suzanne (Michelle Wesson).
The three claim they're being tormented by a relentless spirit. So, the BBC is there to investigate live and see what's really going on.

While Michael Parkinson is at the BBC studio, co-host Sarah Greene spends the night with the family, providing moment-by-moment coverage as disturbing, unexplainable spooky stuff gradually increases in frequency, suggesting that the haunting is real.
Mike Smith is in the studio with Parkinson, supervising phone calls from members of the public who want to comment on the ongoing haunting investigation.
The ghost supposedly residing in the Early home is an entity called "Pipes" because it seems to love banging on the pipes inside the house.
The television investigation uncovers a dark history of the house, including claims that a child murderer who lived during the Victorian era died there.
As the investigation pushes through the night, viewers call into the show to report sightings of Pipes hiding in the background of various scenes during the broadcast, as well as strange activity in their own homes. The paranormal activity eventually spreads beyond the house, revealing that the entire broadcast may have been manipulated into becoming a nationwide séance.
The situation spirals, leading to Sarah Greene disappearing inside the house. The ghost or ghosts somehow make their way into the studio. So now the BBC becomes haunted, and the broadcast ends with Michael Parkinson falling under the influence of Pipes.
Happy Halloween!
Outside of "Ghostwatch" being, well, a thing that exists, there's not much to take away from it. It's like a Halloween decoration.
It starts off with just enough supernatural suspense to captivate me and pull me in. But it makes a feeble attempt to throw in a twist midway through, lest the whole thing become another news-magazine gimmick.
One thing it does succeed at, somewhat, is exploiting the what-if factor behind ghosts and hauntings. What if these hauntings and poltergeists are actually real? It's effective.
Among the most laughable and irritating things on TV these days are those insufferable ghost-hunting shows.
There are so many of these reality ghost shows on TV and streaming platforms. All they have going for them is the "what-if" factor. Outside of that, they're all the same. Dull. Doubtful. Laughable. And all the while, they're claiming to be experts on something they admit is unknown.
These shows conveniently feature paranormal activity in every episode. I've only met one so-called paranormal investigator in my life, back when I was writing for a newspaper. This guy said that finding actual paranormal activity, even in allegedly haunted locations, is damn near impossible. And he used the same nonsense they use on TV, with all manner of recording devices and electronic toys.

At least "Ghostwatch" doesn't try to be anything other than what it is: a more-or-less entertaining (I'm being generous) spooky television special designed to leave audiences a little uneasy when they go to bed.
Still, it kept me invested from beginning to end. I wanted to see where the story went.
I heard about "Ghostwatch" from the YouTube channel "The Cobwebs Channel," which features entertaining lists of horror movie recommendations categorized by subgenre.
Even TV can be frightening, and I'm not referring to the news. "Trilogy of Terror" from 1975 comes to mind, as do those paranormal segments that used to be featured on "Unsolved Mysteries." I loved watching those. They definitely made an impression. And they were scary.
"Ghostwatch" strikes me as a one-time program that understands that. It attempts to be a frightening TV experience, and it succeeds at times, especially in those instances when I had to rewind because I thought I saw someone standing in a reflection or appearing in a random scene who wasn't supposed to be there. Well done, in that regard.

Despite it being a Halloween funhouse experience, it deserves a rightful niche somewhere in the corridors of television horror history. 

245) Kwaidan (1964)

Halloween 2026's Haunted Cinematic Playback Extravaganza – The Manifestation of Ectoplasmic-Saturated Spook, Spectre, or Ghost Movies (Part III)

 

Director
Masaki Kobayashi

Cast

The Black Hair

Rentarō Mikuni - the Samurai
Michiyo Aratama - the First Wife
Misako Watanabe - the Second Wife

The Woman of the Snow
Tatsuya Nakadai - Minokichi
Keiko Kishi - the Yuki-onna

Hoichi the Earless
Katsuo Nakamura - Hoichi
Tetsurō Tamba - the Samurai in Armor
Takashi Shimura -  the Chief Priest

In a Cup of Tea
Kan'emon Nakamura - Kannai
Noboru Nakaya - Heinai Shikibu
Osamu Takizawa - the Author/Narrator
Nakamura Ganjirō II - the Publisher

I have to give a huge amount of credit to Japanese filmmakers for making horror movies with such enthralling plots often so carefully put together like a fine tapestry. They seem to take the art of filmmaking, even horror movies, very seriously and with every bit of attention to detail. A lot of Japanese horror movies are crafted artfully and meticulously. Even when it comes to many of the Godzilla movies, Japanese filmmakers seem to give their films a lot of depth. Case in point, the 1964 horror anthology film, "Kwaidan."
It was directed by Masaki Kobayashi and taken from a screenplay by Yoko Mizuki.
I wouldn't hesitate to call "Kwaidan" a horror movie masterpiece.
This is one of the eeriest, most reverential, dignified, and captivating anthologies I have ever seen.
Watching this, there is certainly a sense of awe and historical reference that left me thinking I would be a huge jerk if I said anything negative about it.
"Kwaidan" tells four separate ghost stories that are taken from Greek/Irish writer Lafcadio Hearn's collections of Japanese folktales.
These haunting stories depict love, betrayal, pride, and spiritual consequence in a relatable way. Then they use these themes to tie the living with the dead.

"The Black Hair"
In this first tale, a samurai (Rentarō Mikuni) leaves his devoted wife (Michiyo Aratama) and heads to Kyoto so he can marry into a rich family. As he leaves his wife behind in tears and miserable loneliness, the samurai hopes that by marrying into a rich family, he'll improve his social standing and actually become somebody important and highly regarded.
He manages to find another wife, (Misako Watanabe) who can make all that happen. However, that marriage turns out to be a complete disaster, and not what the samurai was hoping for.
Disgraced, the samurai returns to the home where he left his first and more dedicate wife. Surprisingly, she welcomes him back with no ill feelings. The house, however, certainly hasn't been tended to very well during his absence.
It seems almost too good to be true. When the samurai awakens the next morning, he discovers that his first wife, who welcomed him back joyfully, is actually long dead. Her decaying corpse has been lying next to him during the night.
The samurai tries to escape, but his wife's long and gorgeous black hair entangles and subdues him.
It's an unsettling and emotional start to this anthology with its depiction of the horror of regret. It's a story that centers more on the dread of irretrievably losing something so precious rather than just being a spooky tale of regret.
Not only does the samurai find himself haunted by his wife, but he's also more keenly haunted by his own guilt and his longing for the good he had in his possession until he threw it away of his own free will. His is a longing for his own past. Now, it has become a source of torment.

"The Woman of the Snow"
This story begins during a terrible snowstorm up in the mountains. A woodcutter named Minokichi (Tatsuya Nakadai) witnesses a beautiful woman kill his elderly companion. Well, that beautiful woman is actually a yuki-onna, or a snow woman (Keiko Kishi), a supernatural entity linked to blizzards or whatever other severe winter conditions happen to occur. Though beautiful, the yuki-onna is a ruthless entity that kills unsuspecting people. Well, almost ruthless.
After she kills his companion, the snow woman turns her attention to Minokichi. However, she's taken by his handsome and youthful appearance, and spares his life.
However, she makes him swear never to tell anyone that she appeared to him and killed his companion. If he lets the cat out of the bag, figuratively speaking, she'll return to take his life.
Years roll by. Minokichi hasn't told a soul about what he witnessed during that snowstorm.
During those years, he finds himself a beautiful wife named Yuki and, together, they make a nice little family.
However, this little slice of heaven they made changes when Minokichi makes a pair of sandals for Yuki. He even places a little red ribbon on them.
He tells Yuki the ribbon symbolizes her young and gorgeous features. How precious!
Later, while watching Yuki sitting in candlelight sewing a kimono, Minokichi is reminded of the snow woman. He can't help noticing a resemblance.
So, he tells Yuki about what he saw all those years ago during that mountain snowstorm.
He didn't keep his end of the bargain, and now he has to pay the penalty. Yuki reveals herself to be the snow woman. However, she still can't bring herself to kill Minokichi or the children she had with him.
The fragility of a promise and the burden of secrecy are at play in this story. I like this story because, when it comes to horror, I’m drawn to that one thing in a horror story that disrupts a character's peace of mind in an otherwise peaceful existence. To me, that simple element is frightening. I picture that one horrific detail weighing on a character’s mind as something like a blemish or worm bothering one's conscience . It’s there in their mind. Amid all the joy and good things that surround them, the knowledge that this one bit of evil is still a part of their life keeps coming back every once in a while.
In this case, it’s the knowledge that evil, murderous, supernatural snow women exist, and that Minokichi can’t do anything about it or tell anyone what he has seen. That knowledge becomes a kind of secret burden he carries with him for the rest of his life. But there’s another tragedy here: love is stronger than the monster of the story, at least for a time. Minokichi manages to keep his life, but his true love is gone forever. And, in a strange twist, she wasn’t even exactly what he thought she was all those years. He loved her, lived with her, and built a life with her, all while unknowingly living alongside the very thing he had once feared. Tragic all around.
By the way, this story seemed very familiar to me. In fact, as the story progressed, I knew right away where I had seen this same story depicted before.
Anyone who's familiar with the 1988 horror anthology "Tales from the Darkside" will recognize this as the same plot as the story "Lover's Vow" with James Remar and Rae Dawn Chong.

"Hoichi the Earless"
This segment seems original yet familiar to me. I mean, I feel like I've seen a story similar to this third segment, "Hoichi the Earless," depicted someplace else, but at the same time, it strikes me as original. I get that originality from how reverentially deep the segment goes into old Japanese history, particularly the Battle of Dan-no-ura, which occurred in 1185.
In this segment, Hoichi (Katsuo Nakamura) is a blind musician who is a master at playing the Japanese lute-like string instrument called the biwa. He lives in a Buddhist temple and is known for how well he sings a chant called "The Tale of the Heike," which tells the story of the Battle of Dan-no-ura.
So much so that Hoichi is summoned by a mysterious samurai to perform this song for an audience of nobles, including the samurai's lord. The samurai instructs him not to tell anyone about this request.
Hoichi agrees. So, during the night, the mysterious samurai leads him to a strange court where he sings "The Tale of the Heike."
One of Hoichi's caretakers notices his late-night absence.
The samurai returns the following night to take Hoichi back to his lord and the nobles in the court to sing the tale once again.
His caretakers try to protect Hoichi, who doesn't realize the samurai, his lord, and the nobles he's playing for are actually spirits of the dead. To protect him, they write Buddhist scripture all over his body. Weird, I know. But that's what they do. This writing makes Hoichi invisible to the ghosts. But the monks he lives with forget to write on his ears. That means the ghosts can see Hoichi's ears floating around.
The samurai takes Hoichi's ears and leaves him...earless.
There's a real eeriness about the way this segment depicts the persistence and longing for the past, which the ghosts that seek out Hoichi are longing for. They're trapped in this ongoing recollection of the battle Hoichi sings about. They have him singing practically on repeat. It's like the ghosts are the haunted ones who can't escape their past of war, even in death. Their haunting won't let them rest in peace.
History and storytelling are doing the haunting, but history is still treated with the reverence it deserves.
This story is steeped in an almost sacred sense of history. The ghosts of the past demand to be remembered, while the living struggle to keep from being overtaken by it.

"In a Cup of Tea"
In this last segment, as told by a storyteller, a writer tells the tale of a samurai named Kannai (Kan'emon Nakamura) as he waits for a visit from his publisher.
While Kannai is waiting, he stops by a teahouse for refreshments. As he serves himself tea, Kannai suddenly starts seeing a random face of an unknown man in his cup of tea.
As disturbing and weird as this is, Kannai still drinks his tea, face or no face.
When Kannai and his publisher meet, the man whose face he saw in his cup of tea appears to him. He says his name is Heinai Shikibu (Noboru Nakaya).
Kannai tells others about what he witnessed, but of course they don't believe him.
Later that night, three spirit attendants of Shikibu manifest themselves to Kannai and then end up dueling each other.
However, the story deliberately ends without a formal conclusion. It ends with the eerie and unsettling image of the storyteller trapped inside a big jar. The story is left unresolved forcing the audience to use their imagination as to how the scenario ends. Uncertainty is one of the most haunting aspects of life. It can really bend a person in half, twisting their stomach with anguish. And that's what the audience is left with after this purposely unfinished segment. With the reverential historical tale told in song, this segment feels like the centerpiece of the film.

My thoughts
"Kwaidan" isn't just a spooky ghost movie. It's a substantial series of tales that's quite an experience. The frightening aspects go deeper than just seeing people haunted by spirits. These ghosts carry with them memory, guilt, broken promises, and uncertainy.
While I think a horror movie ought to depict the defeat of evil, this movie's ending on abrupt uncertainty rather than giving the audience a neat explanation gives a final and lasting haunting. It certainly works. The audience needs to regain its footing after the last segment.
One of the things that makes "Kwaidan" so effective is its atmosphere. Although every story is obviously constructed on a soundstage, the artificial sets give these worlds an uncanny feel. 

Reality seems to border the strange, dreamlike spiritual realm from which the ghosts cross over. The painted skies, semi-unnatural landscapes, stark colors, and theatrical sets distort reality just enough. The atmosphere becomes more and more unsettling as the stories progress. It's as if the audience is looking at a world that exists only a few steps away from our own, with the ghosts just on the other side of the curtain.
The human actions of the characters somehow invite the respective supernatural consequences.
The spirits in this movie are more than just souls of the dead. They act as metaphors.
This movie goes above just being a supernatural scare for a movie night. It gives the audience so much to take away in regard to human actions and supernatural consequences.
Some of the ghosts evoke pity more than fear. And, actually, it's the human frailty and weakness that drives each story. It's this human corruption that evokes the supernatural intrusion, for lack of a better word. All of this is depicted near flawlessly. It goes beyond conventional scares. It utilizes an amazing, almost dreamlike atmosphere throughout each tale. It's almost meditative in regard to our actions and what those actions may lead to. It doesn't pull any punches about it. The movie is certainly blunt in its depictions. 
Out of all the paranormal horror movies I've watched, this one is the most impressive.

244) 1408 (2007)

Halloween 2026's Haunted Cinematic Playback Extravaganza – The Manifestation of Ectoplasmic-Saturated Spook, Spectre, or Ghost Movies (Part II)

"Hotels are a naturally creepy place."

Director
Mikael Håfström

Cast

John Cusack - Mike Enslin
Samuel L. Jackson - Gerald Olin
Mary McCormack - Lily Enslin
Tony Shalhoub - Sam Farrell
Jasmine Jessica Anthony - Katie Enslin
Len Cariou - Mike's father


Horror writer Stephen King observed that hotels are naturally creepy places. How true that is. When I was a kid, hotels were a huge added bonus to the vacationing experience. Now, I'm kind of wary of hotels. Basically, I see everything in a hotel room as dirty. Everything has been used by hundreds of strangers before me. How many people have slept in the bed I'm sleeping in? How many people have used my towels to dry off their bodies and heads of hair? Did someone sit on the couch in my room bollock naked just to get a laugh at the thought that someone will sit in that same spot later? And these considerations come no matter how luxurious a hotel I'm staying in might be. Honestly, I don't stay in fancy hotels often. I'm willing to settle for a La Quinta or a Drury Inn. At least the Drury Inns have complimentary cocktails and complimentary dinners aside from the standard continental breakfasts.
Still, I can be paranoid about hotel rooms. On the other hand, it's best not to think about these kinds of things.
If only hotels would count hauntings as being part of their many amenities. I guess some do? It's usually the inns and motels that could use a gimmick to attract clientele. Free Wi-Fi. Free breakfast. Weight room. Hair dryer. Pet-friendly. Free on-site parking. Some rooms available with full complimentary poltergeist activity. Children under 12 stay free.
The 2007 movie "1408," based on the short story by Stephen King found in his book "Everything's Eventual," is a gem among paranormal horror flicks.
In this movie, John Cusack plays author Mike Enslin, whose catalog of published works deals with supernatural topics. His books include "Ten Haunted Hotels," "Ten Haunted Lighthouses," and "Ten Haunted Graveyards."
He stays at these "haunted" locations, conducts his paranormal research with all the usual ghost-hunting gadgetry, and yet doesn't believe in any of the things he writes about. Basically, he puts in a lot of work for something he doesn't really believe in. The big catch of his trade arrives when he receives a postcard from an anonymous source telling him not to stay in room 1408 at the Dolphin Hotel in New York City.
Of course, to Mike, it's an invitation to some great source material.
His intrigue spikes when he calls the Dolphin to book 1408, but he's told immediately that it's "unavailable" no matter what date he tries to book it for.
Thanks to Mike's publisher, Sam Farrell (Tony Shalhoub), and the publishing company's attorney, there's a legal loophole that if a hotel room is unoccupied, the hotel must give it to a paying customer upon request.
Just before checking in, the Dolphin's manager, Gerald Olin (Samuel L. Jackson), pleads with Enslin not to stay in 1408. Despite bribing him with expensive merchandise and a free stay in a nearly identical room, Enslin still insists on staying in 1408 for one night, just as he does with all the other haunted locations.

John Cusack as Michael Enslin in "1408."

But Enslin won't budge. He refuses to dupe his readers. Olin knows, however, that no one lasts more than an hour up in 1408. 
That's what Enslin quickly realizes within an hour of checking into the room. In that time, he realizes he should have heeded the advice on the postcard... whomever sent it. Maybe the room sent it? 
The evil that's staying in the room with Enslin seems to resemble the ghosts of his own past. His stay becomes an emotional breakdown once he has to wrestle with the evil as it uses memories of his deceased daughter, Katie, as well as his walking out on his wife after Katie's death, and his loss of belief in God.
"I've lived the life of a selfish man, but I don't have to die that way," he admits to himself.
There's something I like about this movie. Seldom, if ever, does a movie's creep factor stay with me to the point of making me wary of doing something or going someplace in particular...like a hotel room. That's thanks to one line in this movie: "Hotels are naturally creepy places."
My initial thought when I saw this movie shortly back in 2007 was that it would just be a jump-scare flick about a haunted hotel room. But it digs deeper than mere scares and creepiness. It's a story of a luxurious haunted hotel room. However, whatever resides in the room and prevents guests from leaving pulls its paranormal fireworks from within the guests themselves.
I read the short story just before writing this review. In the short story, just like in the film, room 1408 is the antagonist that pins the main character, Michael Enslin, against himself while nudging him around like a kid tormenting a bug.
But the attacks aren't just a scare here and an unusual happening there. The room attacks Enslin personally, digging into what he values most and tormenting him with his own memories, regrets, religious and supernatural skepticism, and emotional wounds.
That's well depicted in the movie, giving the haunted room emotional weight rather than making it just another ghostly gimmick.
It also gives the audience insight into Enslin and why he suddenly dedicated his life to writing about haunted locations after his young daughter dies. He claims he doesn't believe in God, and yet he's chasing entities he claims he doesn't believe in. Obviously, he does, as Enslin is really on a mission to get back at God for taking his daughter. Casting off faith and belief isn't enough of a revenge tactic against God. Enslin has to put in all his time and effort to convince himself and others that God doesn't exist, but nothing spiritual does either. 
"1408" is really a masterclass in showing and not telling.
King embraces uncertainty in his short story, making everything within Mike Enslin's reach inside room 1408 unreliable—the telephone, the room's door, and even time. He leaves Enslin with nothing to depend on.
I love how the movie doesn't make the monster thoroughly explained. It leaves a lot of ambiguity around whatever is in 1408. But whatever it is, the audience gets to sit and watch what it can do.
One scene sets this aspect off nicely.
When Olin realizes Enslin isn't going to bend on staying in 1408, he gives him the room key. To Enslin's amusement, the key is an actual key and not a magnetic card like hotels now hand to their guests.
"Most hotels have switched to magnetics. An actual key. That's a nice touch, it's antiquey," Enslin says.
"We have magnetic cards also, but electronics don't seem to work in 1408. Hope you don't have a pacemaker," Olin replies.

John Cusack and Samuel L. Jackson.

Throughout the movie, Enslin often talks into a small voice recorder he carries around with him when on an assignment for his books.
Enslin speaks into his voice recorder, "General manager claims that the phantom in room interferes..."
"I have never used the word 'phantom,'" Olin cuts him off.
"I'm sorry. Uh, spirit? Specter?"
"No, you misunderstand. Whatever's in 1408 is nothing like that."
"Then what is it?"
Olin leans in and whispers in his ear, "It's an evil f**king room."
The short story gives a bit more insight.
"There are no ghosts in 1408 and never have been. There's something in there—I've felt it myself—but it's not a spirit presence. In an abandoned house or an old castle keep, your unbelief may serve you as protection. In room 1408, it will only render you more vulnerable," Olin tells Enslin, begging him to reconsider.
I'm only on the second movie for this thread, and already I'm bending the rule with this review. The movie, like the short story, centers on something paranormal, but there's not really any ghosts except those of Enslin's past.
It's fitting that Enslin is a writer as the movie is his entrapment in his own mind. Writers are odd people because, among other oddities, they linger way too long in their own thoughts and considerations trying to craft clever ways to describe otherwise obvious truths and mundane observations. Writers generally love to artful ways of imposing their own ideas into truths and spaces where they don't necessarily belong. I'm probably doing that right now. It's like writers have to outperform the last guy.
And in typical King fashion, no one escapes their terror in the ideal way, and not without some kind of scar—external or internal, or both.
"1408" is a redemption movie. Evil inadvertently ignites a path back to God for Enslin. He ventured into evil despite being warned not to do so. He then got himself trapped. And that evil tried its darndest not to let him go. Even the skeptical Enslin turns his frightened and desperate glance to God and says, "You win."
Lastly, "1408" manages to turn the song "We've Only Just Begun" by the Carpenters into an unsettling experience. Nice move, movie!

243) Burnt Offerings (1976)

Halloween 2026's Haunted Cinematic Playback Extravaganza – The Manifestation of Ectoplasmic-Saturated Spook, Spectre, or Ghost Movies

Introduction

Halloween season is back, and with it comes another thread of horror flicks. That means it's that time of year when I dedicate the month of October to a specific genre of horror and thriller films. 

Last year, I watched a bunch of 1980s horror movies, one movie from each year of the decade, and commented on each one in a string of reviews I collectively called, "Halloween 2025’s rewind of terror ’80s horror movie thread extravaganza - the revenge!" 

The year before that, I dedicated October to vampire movies. Before that, it was the Leprechaun movies. And before that, I watched the first 15 Godzilla movies. This year, I'm going all in on paranormal horror, or haunted horror. Ghost flicks! Call it what you will. I'm referring to movies that involve ghosts depicted in some way or another so long as the movies are clearly about ghostly hauntings. 

Make no mistake. The antagonists in these movies I'm watching for this thread are spirits. Not zombies. Not demons. In fact, I'm intentionally staying clear of demonic/ occult movies. They're not vampires either, or any other form of the living dead. They're just...dead! 
When it comes to movie monsters, I'd have to say ghosts are my personal favorite. The "what-if" factor when it comes to ghost stories and hauntings is captivating. But don't worry. I'm not one to actually attempt to conjure up ghosts, nor do I have any desire to. 

I don't need ghosts flying around my house, opening my fridge and cupboards at 3 am, moving my car keys six inches to the left, using my checkbook to write bad checks, knocking on walls for no obvious reason, calling my name from the basement when I get up during the night to go to the bathroom, and doing whatever else ghosts do because they won't get a job and have to rub it in my face.

When it comes to the paranormal, the whole thing is more mysterious than outer space. Once someone's in the spiritual realm, there's no coming back. 
When the body and the soul are separated from each other, both things are considered disturbing. People are repulsed by dead bodies. And ghosts freak us all out. 

Plus, the term "haunted" is as quintessential a Halloween gimmick more than anything else. It's a term that can be slapped on anything just to make it Halloween-appropriate. Haunted houses. Haunted malls. Haunted Cadillacs. Haunted hospitals. Haunted dolls. Haunted bowling alleys. Haunted office supply stores. Haunted computer passwords. Haunted hamster cages. Haunted utility closets. The list goes on! 

This year, I have a sizeable list of titles, and many of those films I really want to watch. Since I'm starting this thread in May, instead of just picking out 10 titles I'm going to work through as many titles as I can get to and then post whatever I finish. Maybe it'll be 10. Maybe it'll be more. Maybe less.

There's a lot of good titles I could start off with, but I think this one is perfect. "Burnt Offerings" from 1976. 

The REVIEW

"The house takes care of itself." 

Director

Dan Curtis

Cast
Karen Black - Marian Rolf
Oliver Reed - Ben Rolf
Lee H. Montgomery - Davey Rolf
Bette Davis - Elizabeth Rolf
Burgess Meredith - Arnold Allardyce
Eileen Heckart - Roz Allardyce
Dub Taylor - Walker
Anthony James - the Chauffer


I'm starting off the creepy season with a supernatural horror flick I've had on my "gotta watch" list for years. That's no exaggeration.
"Burnt Offerings," directed by Dan Curtis and based on the Robert Morasco novel, is a movie with a haunted house as its main character. And it's a haunted house that studies its inhabitants while it haunts them.
But it's not just haunted. The house seems to be alive.
"Burnt Offerings" attracted me primarily because of the big names attached to it. The film stars horror legend Karen Black, Oliver Reed (each time I see Oliver Reed, my mind goes to his performance as Bill Sikes in "Oliver!"), Bette Davis, and Burgess Meredith. And what's even better, at least for me, is that the movie was filmed at the Dunsmuir House in my hometown of Oakland, California.
The Dunsmuir-Hellman Historic Estate, built by rich coal magnate Alexander Dunsmuir in 1899, is a huge house that's been seen in other popular movies, such as "Phantasm" (1979), the James Bond flick "A View to a Kill" (1985), and "So I Married an Axe Murderer" (1993).
I used to attend the Scottish Highland Games at the Dunsmuir House back when I still lived in Oakland. I have a fondness for the house and its grounds. They're absolutely gorgeous! The location is perfect for a movie like "Burnt Offerings."
There's dread hiding beneath the surface of such a beautiful home, bubbling and waiting to erupt. The creepy uneasiness wafts through the entire story, growing stronger, little by little, from the beginning. 

Oliver Reed and Bette Davis in "Burnt Offerings."

In this movie, Marian Rolf (Karen Black), her husband, Ben (Oliver Reed), their son, Davey (Lee H. Montgomery), and Ben's mother, Elizabeth Rolf (Bette Davis), move into an old mansion for the summer at the too-good-to-be-true price of $900 for the whole summer. The home's owners, brother and sister Arnold (Burgess Meredith) and Roz Allardyce (Eileen Heckart), ask the Rolfs to take care of their elderly mother, who remains locked in her bedroom upstairs while they stay. Marian loves the house and is eager to spend the summer there. Ben, meanwhile, is uncomfortable and doesn't want to stay. Of course, Marian talks him into it.
As far as the Allardyces' mother goes, all the Rolfs need to do is leave meals outside her door each day. That's all.
While the house is livable, it's certainly in need of repairs.
Strange events begin occurring, which doesn't sit well with Ben. However, Marian is all right with overlooking these oddities because she loves staying in the house so much.
Among these strange occurrences is the house actually repairing itself. Various injuries and mishaps coincide with the frequency of the house's self-repairs. Each time one of them gets hurt, something in the house is restored all on its own.
The more it does this, the more it feeds on their life force.
Meanwhile, Marian leaves the Allardyces' mother her daily meals outside her locked bedroom door. She also attempts to speak to the mother through the door, but the mother never responds. However, the meals are being consumed. Surely someone is secretly living in the bedroom.
Meanwhile, Ben starts having nightmares and hallucinations of an eerie chauffeur (Anthony James) in black clothes, sunglasses, a pale face, and a wide grin, whom he first saw in his youth driving the hearse at his mother's funeral many years ago.
This grinning chauffeur often appears to him at random times.
The family certainly suffers as a result until Ben realizes what's going on and what the house is really doing to them. It's not something coincidental. And it doesn't take long before he understands what the house actually wants.
But his wife is so taken by the house that she can't, nor does she want to, escape it. When the paranormal happenings reach their peak, and Ben and Marian realize they absolutely need to go, only one issue remains: What are they to do about the mystery woman locked in her bedroom whom they haven't actually seen the whole time?
I love the premise of this movie. And I love that the house is a crucial character in the story.

Right away, "Burnt Offerings" gives off sinister and foreboding vibes as soon as it begins.
It's Burgess Meredith and Eileen Heckart who give the story that initial ominous tone. And with Oliver Reed's character suspicious and cautious about staying there right from the start, only to be talked into it by his wife, the mood is perfectly set for the rest of this paranormal horror movie.
There's a similarity between this movie and Stephen King's story, "The Shining." Both stories have a husband, wife, and young son staying in an eerie and unsettling inn or hotel where a hidden evil lurks, preying on them slowly.
"The Shining," though, wasn't published until the following year. And Stanley Kubrick's famous movie based on King's novel wasn't released until 1980. Still, I definitely picked up on some "Shining" vibes as far as the general premise goes. I'm sure it's purely coincidental.
Lately, I've been thinking more about movies, horror and otherwise, that center on the subjects of family, isolation, and familial struggles.
As far as "Burnt Offerings" goes, it's a family up against an evil house. The house is the antagonist, whether it's haunted or simply an evil home. Something unseen and sentient is there with the family. It's the monster in the movie. It thrives little by little on their pain. And both Marian and Ben seem to transform under its influence.
The movie doesn't tell. It shows. My curious mind wanted more explanation, as the movie leaves plot points open to interpretation.
Maybe there's some deeper meaning in that premise regarding family secrets or a family's desire for wealth that leads to their deterioration. Or maybe it's simply a creative idea for a horror film.
The chauffeur adds an extra bit of perplexity to the whole thing.
There's certainly some personification of death, and of the fear of death that's always looming.
This chauffeur drives a hearse, after all. I mean, that's a little on-the-nose! Am I right? Of course, I'm right!
He also appears to Ben, whether in his memory or as an apparition, in moments of helplessness and tragedy, and when Ben recalls his personal trauma.
And when he shows up, an unnerving, predatory, and somewhat mocking grin grows on his pale face.
If the house is the killer, he must be the collector!

Anthony James as the Chauffer in "Burnt Offerings."

Overall, the movie has a slow feel and expects the audience to let their imagination fill in the spaces while conjuring up fear and uneasiness.

Bette Davis's supporting performance gives the impression that she has enough experience to recognize these occurrences. Having the legendary Bette Davis in such a grandmotherly role gives the family's experiences substance and uneasiness.  

And Burgess Meredith! I haven't seen a single one of his performances I didn't like. Versatile isn't a big enough word when it comes to Burgess Meredith. 
The movie doesn't throw the scares in the audience's face. It trusts the audience enough to let their minds help with the scary parts. Is there really a mother staying in that locked room upstairs? What was the deal with the Allardyce siblings? What is actually possessing the house? And while that may give the impression that the film lacks impact, it's the way a story is meant to be told—by showing rather than telling.
It's a good movie to kick off this thread with.

242) Obsession (2026) - New to horror

"I'll be anything you want me to be."

Director
Curry Barker

Cast

Michael Johnston - Bear
Inde Navarrette - Nikki
Cooper Tomlinson - Ian
Megan Lawless - Sarah
Andy Richter - Carter

There is, in the movie "Obsession," a reflection of the type of isolation that modern society has found itself in. 

The popularity of this movie, which somehow garnered a lot of attention despite being up against Steven Spielberg's highly anticipated alien flick, "Disclosure Day," is very telling of just how much this movie gets to its audiences.
In an age increasingly dominated by spectacle, technology, and artificial/digital connections, audiences evidently gravitated toward a movie whose appeal lies in something much more intimate, unsettling, and difficult to categorize. "Obsession" feels almost like an anomaly. It wasn't a big production. It has a small cast. Its budget was approximately $750,000.
Upon its opening release in May of this year, it earned over $17 million domestically at the box office, according to Box Office Mojo.
"Obsession" feels like an original movie, but its story feels pretty familiar, as if it has been told before.
It strikes a chord with audiences because it centers on loneliness. Its popularity may say as much about the audience watching it as it does about the movie itself. Perhaps modern audiences aren't looking to be blown away by another mega-blockbuster spectacle like "Disclosure Day." Instead, it seems they're looking for something that reflects themselves.
As I've mentioned before, horror movies more often than not reflect the societal anxieties and fears of their respective decades. I'll get to that in detail after I finish writing this review. Few fears are more unsettling and emotionally moving than loneliness.
Things such as digital communication, political polarization, and even the decline of a shared popular culture, which conservative commentator and filmmaker Matt Walsh calls the "death of the monoculture," have brought about this wave of loneliness and isolation among a lot of people. It's an unraveling of social connections.
"Obsession," directed by YouTuber Curry Baker, is a tale similar to the Monkey's Paw, with some "Romeo and Juliet," "Fatal Attraction," "Frankenstein," "The Twilight Zone," and a dash of "The Exorcist" to taste. Even so, it still taps into something that should be recognizable and blatantly obvious about our modern society.
Even with that said, "Obsession" still has something that's very much its own.
In this movie, lovestruck Baron Bailey (Michael Johnston) — "Bear" to his friends — is head-over-heels in love with his friend, Nikki (Inde Navarrette).
Bear and Nikki's friends and coworkers, Ian (Cooper Tomlinson) and Sarah (Megan Lawless), know how much he loves Nikki. But Nikki doesn't realize it. Or does she?
Bear wants to tell Nikki how he feels, but doing so might wreck their friendship. Maybe it won't? It's a gamble the likes of which a majority of audiences can surely relate to.

Inde Navarrette and Michael Johnston in "Obsession."

Instead of manning up and just letting her know, he's too apprehensive. She sends out vibes that she also has feelings for him, but then sends out signals indicating that she doesn't want a relationship with anyone.
On a whim, and in an act of desperation at its most ridiculous, Bear purchases a novelty wish-maker called a "One Wish Willow." It's supposed to grant the person who uses it only one wish.
So, Bear wishes that Nikki will love him more than anyone in the world. Then he breaks the "One Wish Willow." And it works. Nikki falls in love with him, but in the worst possible way.
Her affection for Bear starts off as a consuming obsession that can only intensify.
While it seems like a dream come true for Bear, he quickly feels trapped by her jealousy, attachment, violence, and emotional blackmail.
Just as Bear wanted a relationship with Nikki and got it in a supernatural way rather than an honest way, he becomes desperate to get out of it.
Obsession" turns unhealthy attachment, the desire to be loved, and what happens when someone tries to control another person's affection into a supernatural horror story in a way that is neither ridiculous, over-the-top, nor campy. The general premise of a boy in love with a girl is very relatable. And to make it into a nail-biting tale about loving someone versus loving the idea of someone deserves applause.
I love the realism behind the fantasy within this all-too-familiar scenario of unrequited love, or the uncertainty of whether or not someone we fall in love with, with what feels like a solid and unmovable love, shares those same feelings.
Heaven knows I've been in such a scenario. And there's absolutely no doubt that when that happened, somewhere within my hopes and imagination, I wished I could just wave a magic wand or say the right words, and that object of my affection would immediately like me back. No doubt that kind of thought has crossed the minds of millions of other hopeful young men and women at least once in their lifetime.
Well, what if that actually happened? We can see, without rose-colored glasses, what that might actually look like.

There are a few well-known movies somewhat similar to "Obsession" as far as the story's control-disguised-as-intimacy-or-affection plot point is concerned.
The movie that comes straight to mind after seeing this is the 1990 movie "Misery," based on the novel by Stephen King. That's certainly a story of infatuation and love turning into imprisonment.
"Fatal Attraction" from 1987 is also similar insofar as the actual obsession trope goes. However, "Fatal Attraction" is about someone becoming obsessed with someone else, whereas "Obsession" has someone making someone else obsessed with them.
I'm also reminded of the 1997 movie "Wishmaster." That movie is about getting precisely what you wish for, but with terrible consequences. In "Wishmaster," the supernatural forces that make the wishes come true interpret those wishes in horrific ways.
In "Obsession," with his initially innocent wish, Bear is trying to take on powers that don't belong to him by controlling Nikki's emotions.
By doing this, Bear ends up bringing destruction and chaos.
He starts to really doubt whether it's actually love. And that's the big question: Love or infatuation?
The latter is really the anti-love in that it's utterly selfish. The obsessed person projects their own desires onto another person. They don't actually love the person for who they are. Rather, they love their own idea of the person they're infatuated with, convincing themselves that they love them. It's a regrettable and easy fault to fall into.
The acting is absolutely amazing. Michael Johnston has to portray a character who second-guesses his decision rather quickly, and then second-guesses his own doubts as he does love Nikki. But his forced relationship brings misery and fear. Meanwhile, Inde Navarrette has to be both in love and terrifyingly smitten. She has to go from a likable character to a terrifyingly overbearing girlfriend more and more as the story progresses.
But even though Nikki acts obsessed, she's really going through all the motions of being completely in love, with random and short-lived moments of lucidity, only to be taken over again by what Bear initially wished for. It must have been difficult for both actors to portray constantly conflicting emotions throughout the story and to do so convincingly.
They also have to convince the audience that no person would be sincerely happy or satisfied with someone who loved them by force. Their performances are nothing short of amazing.
I'm sure "Obsession" will find a popular and respected place in the genre. Between this movie and another that came out this same year, "Backrooms," I think it'll be regarded as a decade-defining horror film. And Bear's terrible wish will be one heard around the world.

Fear through the decades

A scene from "The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920). 

Silent-era horror, which spread from approximately 1895 to the first talking picture "The Jazz Singer" in 1927, reflects upon themes of death, spiritualism, the unknown in general, and industrialization, as seen in films like "The House of the Devil" (1896), "The Haunted Castle" (1897), and "The Bewitched Inn" (1897). 

This was a perfect era for someone to film the earliest adaptation of, perhaps, the most famous of ghost story ever told, "A Christmas Carol," British filmmaker Walter R. Booth did turn "A Christmas Carol" into a movie called "Marley's Ghost." 
This very early period is best known for a genre called trick film. This genre, developed by French filmmaker Georges Méliès, was designed to show off and wow audiences with novel special effects they had never seen before. So, ghosts and the supernatural were certainly well-fitted subjects for trick films.
As the 1920s rolled around, the subject of ghosts and the supernatural morphed into fears of invisible threats and invasive outsiders, as well as psychological fears stemming from the aftermath of World War I.
"The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari" (1920), "Nosferatu" (1922), and "Faust" (1926) scared audiences during this period.
The 1920s ended with the beginning of the Great Depression. The film industry was booming at the same time that societal anxiety over widespread unemployment, poverty, industry, and social decline was growing, thanks to that lingering sense of uncertainty.
Horror became a mix of looming monsters and scientists practicing their evil deeds without moral restraints.
"Frankenstein" (1931), "Dracula" (1931), and "The Invisible Man" (1933) came out during this decade. This was the era of the Universal Monsters, including these three iconic monsters. And these monsters  came from foreign far-off places. 
Monsters transitioned rather well into the 1940s as World War II waged on throughout the decade.
America was certainly fearful of foreign invaders, along with the general paranoia over whether those around us were friends or foes.
So, the idea of monsters transitioned more into monsters hidden among us, perhaps disguised as ordinary people.
"The Wolf Man" (1941), "Cat People" (1942), and "Dead of Night" (1945) come to mind when I think of 1940s horror movies.
Things really changed once the U.S. bombed Japan and World War II ended. Things got really atomic in the 1950s. In fact, that era of horror, much of which melded with science fiction, is often called the "Atomic Age". By the way, I've read a lot about this kind of stuff. Does it show?
Anyway, this is the era when giant mutant monsters began attacking cities and towns.
"The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms" (1953) is such a perfect example of atomic horror, if anyone were to ask me. 

Godzilla (1954)

I would be terribly negligent (oh, yes...I would) if I didn't mention that the "King of the Monsters" himself first arose from the depths of the ocean thanks to hydrogen bomb testing, and first attacked Japan in 1954. Obviously I'm referring to Godzilla. Over 70 years later, they're still making Godzilla movies. 

Alien invasions were also a huge problem in this mesh of horror and science fiction back in the 1950s. So, alien flicks such as "The Thing from Another World" (1951), "It Came from Outer Space" (1953), "Invaders from Mars" (1953), "The Blob" (1958), and "The Day the Earth Stood Still" (1951) were just as frightening as giant-monster movies. There were a lot of these sci-fi horror/thriller flicks in the 1950s. But in my opinion, a lot of these movies were gimmicky.
Horror really took a dark turn as social upheaval, loss of faith, and attacks on conservative values sprang up in the 1960s. Horror became more plausible. Evil moved out of the dark castles and scary old mansions of Europe and moved in right next door.
Alfred Hitchcock's "Psycho" (1960) and "Rosemary's Baby" (1968) really cap the sixties with that premise.
That realism and plausibility became even more pronounced in the 1970s, especially as Americans were losing faith and trust in American leadership. It seemed that institutions were failing society. There were even radical changes occurring in the Church. Nothing seemed as dependable as it used to be. But evil was still real.And it was very plausible. 

So, horror got real, and filmmakers loosened a lot of restraints.
"The Exorcist" (1973), "The Texas Chain Saw Massacre" (1974), "Jaws" (1975), "Halloween" (1978), and "Alien" (1979) show how scary horror can be when given the chance. This era also introduced the trope that police can't always protect us and our neighborhoods.
When the 1980s came around, realism stuck around to a certain degree, but fantasy made a sort of comeback into horror.
While confidence seemed to be restored in our political system (the Reagan years, baby!), consumerism, materialism, body transformation, suburban anxiety, and the sins of our parents from the 1970s took over.
So, films such as "A Nightmare on Elm Street" (1984), "The Fly" (1986), "Hellraiser" (1987), and "Child's Play" (1988) were released during that period.
When it comes to the 1990s, I have trouble putting my finger on what the horror genre was trying to convey. Cold War anxiety seemed to fade a bit throughout the decade.
The Los Angeles riots took place in the 1990s, as did the Waco, Texas, siege—events that led to distrust of and heavy criticism toward law enforcement and government leadership.

"A Nightmare on Elm Street" (1984)

The suburban paradise of the 1950s and 1960s was long gone. Neighborhoods deteriorated, traditional family structures and ideas were far from what they used to be, and youth violence and gang activity continued to rise all thanks in large part to the Great Society agenda of Lyndon Johnson—a sorry failure, indeed.
"Candyman" (1992), "Scream" (1996), "The Sixth Sense" (1999), "The Faculty" (1998), and "The Silence of the Lambs" (1991) came out during all this turmoil.
America's fears and anxieties shifted considerably after the September 11th terrorist attacks.
Between 2001 and 2010, Americans seemed to think hard about random victimization, survival tactics, foreign threats, and surveillance. The world saw what unsympathetic, raw evil was capable of. Catastrophe can happen anywhere, anytime, unexpectedly!
And this certainly was reflected in the genre, with films like "Saw" (2004) and "Hostel" (2005).
That brings me to 2010 to 2020. The internet. Political polarization and division seem to be interwoven in our current social climate. The beginning of modern isolation also came about quickly, thanks in part to the introduction of the smartphone and social media. Constant accusations of racism. Radical progressivism taking over normalcy. And I did mention the internet, didn't I?
"Get Out" (2017), "Hereditary" (2018), "Midsommar" (2019), and "Us" (2019) were, perhaps, the biggest horror titles from that decade. These films depict isolation, societal polarization, and alleged racism.
So, here we are now in 2026. We're inundated with isolation as we all struggle to pry our eyes off our phones. And we're witnessing the scary reality of AI and the uncertainty it brings. One of its side effects is that it has brought about a large distrust of almost everything. It's as though we're continually being lied to. Scammers are constantly calling us or trying to get us to click on something. It's difficult to tell what's legitimate and what's not sometimes.  

As a society, we've already been struggling with a lack of trust in others. Everyone seems to be out to scam us.
Now, we can't even believe our own eyes. What's real? What isn't?
Our phones are such a convenient escape from reality. Trust in others isn't what it used to be. 
I don't think we've ever been this isolated. 
And two horror movies were released this year that press that painful wound of loneliness in our society in ways that seemed to strike a nerve. One was "Backrooms," which I'll get to later. The other is this one—"Obsession."