Horror Homeroom

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Posted on July 23, 2026

Ballads (1993) and the Shape of Queer Anger

Guest Post

Logan Moreno

Naoyuki Tomomatsu’s Ballads (1993) lingers in obscurity, as if its very circulation were shaped by the same quiet damage that defines the film itself. What is almost immediately striking about Ballads is how it folds J-horror’s fascination with bodies under pressure and the pinku subgenre’s obsession with desire-turned-dangerous into something emotionally fragile. The erotic scenes are soaked in grief and humiliation, so sex never settles into anything like pleasure. Tomomatsu treats discomfort as his expressive language, and that discomfort lets him get close to the feelings of marginalisation at the film’s center. Grief and anger saturate the sound and image, giving the grain, noise, and erratic pacing a force that makes feelings tangible and hard to shake.

Underneath the apparent chaos of Ballads, Tomomatsu builds a careful emotional and formal logic. Fragmented concert footage, recurring snuff tapes, and flashes of nearly illegible body horror mirror the protagonist’s interior state, showing what it feels like to live as a gay man in a world that refuses to acknowledge your pain and relishes your humiliation. Akihiko Yamamoto, still mourning Hiroshi, the lover he lost in a motorcycle accident, works in a video store that quietly pushes uncensored hardcore pornography under the counter. His grief is written into his body. He walks with a cane, carries visible scars, and those scars are pointed out and handled by his boss during sex, with his injuries turned into convenient proof of weakness and sexual availability. In the early stretches of Ballads, Yamamoto moves like someone whose whole body has learned to expect injury, with grief and subordination folded into his posture and the way he occupies space. Read more

Posted on July 22, 2026

Review: Marcus Kliewer’s The Caretaker

Dawn Keetley

Marcus Kliewer’s 2026 novel, The Caretaker, in true horror fashion, begins with a prologue. A man (David) is trying desperately to follow “the Rites” in order to ward off a “Visitor” who looks just like his dead son but isn’t. He fails. Then we cut to Macy Mullins, our twenty-something protagonist – and the story becomes hers. Indeed, one of the very many good things about The Caretaker is Macy Mullins, a character expertly drawn whom we can’t help but care about, despite her own conviction that nobody will.

Macy is looking after not only herself but her teenage sister, Gemma, in the wake of their father’s death in a car accident. Three years later, his daughters are struggling to come to terms with their grief – and, indeed, to get by at all. Without a job, with no money, and accumulating eviction notices, Macy answers a strange ad for a caretaker for an elderly man – only three days of work. She takes the job even after a still stranger interview where she discovers the elderly man in question is apparently dead and what she is really being asked to do is stay by herself in the house and follow a bizarre sequence of “routines.” Desperate, she agrees. (And who wouldn’t take $9000 for three days’ work?) The novel follows Macy over those three days.

Posted on July 20, 2026

Obsession and the Patriarchy

Guest Post

James Staynings

When my partner joked on our car ride home from the cinema about how Curry Barker’s Obsession (2026) is a metaphor for the patriarchy, the statement became a… fascination.

We stumbled and analysed our way through the woods on a Bear hunt. We read, listened and discussed others’ observations. I noticed something in much of the discussion around the ironically named protagonist who evokes the 2024 TikTok Phenomenon. Being so focused on the bear, what about the man-made willow forest that’s made the predator deadly?

There’s plenty of valid discussion of Obsession as a new entry in the category of “incel horror.” There are valid points of comparison with Bear and the insecure male protagonists of films like Passengers, Ex Machina, Don’t Worry, Darling and Bugonia. A lonely, flawed, insecure male protagonist takes a female character/s autonomy.

Posted on July 13, 2026

Backrooms, Texas Chain Saw Massacre, Dinner Scenes, and Discarded Workers

Dawn Keetley

The new power duo of Gen Z directors, Curry Barker and Kane Parsons, both seem to be influenced by an iconic horror film: Tobe Hooper’s 1974 Texas Chain Saw Massacre. Director of the record-shattering Obsession (2026), Barker is directing a reboot of the film for A24, which he plans to make “grounded, brutal, raw.” Kane Parsons, director of the similarly record-shattering Backrooms (2026), does not appear to name Texas Chain Saw Massacre as an influence (see this article in GQ for the list of the influences he’s claimed), yet he incorporated an extended homage to Hooper’s film into his own, in one of the most interesting scenes of the film.

Posted on July 11, 2026

Widow’s Bay and the Cassandra Problem in Horror

Guest Post

Valentina Ciarrocca

Gifted by Apollo and cursed when she refused him, to never be believed, Cassandra spent the fall of Troy delivering true warnings to people who looked at her the way Mayor Tom Loftis (Matthew Rhys) looks at Wyck Crawford (Stephen Root) in Apple TV’s Widow’s Bay (Katie Dippold, 2026): as a lunatic. The town crank is horror’s Cassandra by another name—the grizzled fisherman or grumpy elder who warns everyone that something evil is coming and people are going to die. This archetype is usually there to be ignored, to be proven right too late, and to die mid-sentence, delivering the exposition that could have saved everyone. We already know this, and after many cliché films, the horror genre has trained us to expect it. Widow’s Bay lets you settle into that expectation, and then does something the genre seldom does. It believes him.