With so many horror films now going directly to Video on Demand, the ability to generate buzz and make a cinematic splash has grown progressively more difficult. Consequently, a number of recent, worthwhile films failed to gain traction with horror fans. So I thought the time was right to shout out seven horror titles that are currently available for instant streaming on Netflix. Each film profiled offers a take on the horror genre that falls outside of the expected. From updated tales of possession to wry social commentary couched in blood and guts, these titles are the best bang for your Netflix bucks!
Like many, the news of Wes Craven’s death last night left me stunned. As someone who writes about the cultural impact of horror, it is difficult to overstate Craven’s contribution to the genre. Leaving behind a catalog of work that provokes and challenges, Craven was a visionary who understood that the only way to truly understand what it is that scares us, is to look into the darkness unblinkingly. By continually manipulating horror tropes to keep pace with audience expectation, Wes Craven’s body of work stands alone for both its diversity and its longevity.
Here are my choices for the top three not-to-be missed Wes Craven moments.
The Last House on the Left (1972)
I was scared to watch this film for literally decades, and when I watched it for the first time only last year, I was blown away. I was not in the least bit prepared for the complexity of the film, the richness of the mise-en-scène, or the humanity of the “monsters”—Krug Stillo (David Hess) and his allies, who kidnap and rape two girls. In fact, my favorite moment comes in the aftermath of their stabbing and rape of Mari (Sandra Cassel), when the camera pans around the faces of those who participated in the act and we see their shame—realize they’re not as monstrous as we might want them to be. Craven’s camera shows us first that the rapists won’t look at each other, and then it turns to their hands—where we look, where they look. In that move, the camera functions to detach their hands, conveying how Krug and Weasel (Fred Lincoln) Sadi seem to feel, momentarily, that their hands acted alone: how could those hands have just done such a horrible thing to an innocent girl? The moment forces a kind of empathy for Krug and Weasel: haven’t we all done things we couldn’t believe we’d just done, as if our body acted without us . . . ?
After seeing over 100 horror films, I would call myself an avid horror fan. From Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956) to I Know What You Did Last Summer (1997) to The Human Centipede (2009), I have seen a plethora of horror films from all the horror sub-genres: psychological, science fiction, slasher, splatter, etc. Yet, if you were to ask me what my favorite horror films are, you might be surprised to learn that my favorites are primarily 21st century films.
Today’s latter millennials grew up during the era of horror movie remakes. As a result, my love for horror is perpetually deemed “fake” by adults who deeply question how I could like today’s horror films and not the classics. Adults have ridiculed my so-called “interest” in horror and doubted my appreciation for the genre since I did not see those classics that shaped the genre into what it is today. Why is it that this does not apply to other genres? If someone loves comedies, nobody says to them, “Seriously? You like the movie The Hangover (2009)? What about The Nutty Professor (1963)?” If somebody loves romances, nobody says to them, “Seriously? You like The Notebook (2004)? What about Sleepless in Seattle (1993)?” If someone loves romance films, classic romance films would certainly be suggested to them; however, nobody would seriously doubt their interest in the genre if they hadn’t seen them.
In a previous post, I wrote about how Barbra’s ability to see in Night of the Living Dead (1990) aligns her with the monster. Upon rewatching Tom Savini’s remake, I was struck by how the characters as a whole disrupt the audience’s expectation of behavior attributed to females. To understand how Barbra employs a uniquely androgynous form of killing, we must consider her in relation to the other women who occupy the house. Unlike Helen who has Harry, and Judy Rose who has Johnny, Barbra is not sexually linked to any male in the house. This sexual independence marks her, like a monster, as abnormal. Also entering the equation is how each female is situated to represent an aspect of the feminine.