The Empty Man
Dumped by the studio with no marketing, runs 137 minutes, and has a 20-minute prologue people rave about.
486 entries, from the 1931 Universal cycle to last year. Curated, not exhaustive: a short shelf of things worth knowing about beats a long one nobody can navigate.
486 films · page 9 of 14
Dumped by the studio with no marketing, runs 137 minutes, and has a 20-minute prologue people rave about.
The Turn of the Screw done perfectly, and it never once tells you whether the ghosts are real.
James Whale between the two Frankensteins, having a wonderful time, and Karloff is the least of it.
A yacht, a storm, an ocean liner, and a loop that keeps folding back on a single mother.
Four interlocking Halloween stories and the best anthology since Creepshow. Warner shelved it for two years.
Norwegian students follow a poacher who turns out to hunt state-secret trolls. Deadpan and enormous.
The hinge between giallo and slasher. Friday the 13th Part 2 lifts two murders almost shot for shot.
Bava could not afford colour and made the best-looking gothic ever shot. Barbara Steele's face did the rest.
A Swedish customs officer who can smell guilt meets a man who smells like nothing she recognises.
William Friedkin directing a two-hander in a motel room about shared delusion, and it is not what the trailer sold.
Val Lewton was told to make a film from a title and a poster. He made one about a woman afraid of her own desire.
The puberty metaphor made completely explicit, very funny, and unusually well acted.
Austrian, cold, and it works out its own twist early enough that the dread is the point.
The film that named New French Extremity in the popular imagination, and its ending is still being argued about.
Four ghost stories on hand-painted sound stages, three hours long, and among the most beautiful films ever made.
Jennifer Connelly communicates with insects at a Swiss boarding school, and there is a chimpanzee with a razor.
Joe Dante's Jaws cash-in, written by John Sayles, and it is far smarter and funnier than it needed to be.
Argento's last great giallo, and the one with the three-minute crane shot up the side of a house.
A fake trailer from Grindhouse turned into a real slasher, and it is a very good one.
Almost no coherent plot and that is the argument for it. One of the bleakest endings in the genre.
A widower, an empty mansion and a wheelchair coming down the stairs. Enormously effective.
Rob Zombie's second film, and it turns the killers from his first into the protagonists, which should not work.
Rebecca Hall carrying a film about grief with unusual use of negative space.
Makes them fast and talkative. Easily the funniest film in this category, and a bleak ending under the jokes.
Dreyer shooting through gauze at a plot that barely exists. Closer to a bad dream than a film.
The first zombie film, made independently, with Lugosi controlling the dead on a Haitian sugar plantation.
Three backpackers in the Australian outback. The first hour is a holiday film and it is not padding.
A descent into the Paris catacombs that becomes a descent into hell, shot for real under the city.
A dinner party the night a comet passes, and reality starts to fork. Shot in one house in five nights.
Seventy years on, the series returns to what it was for: the war, the guilt, and the cost.
A secret agent catches a serial killer, releases him, and does it again. And again.
Nicolas Cage, a chainsaw duel and Jóhann Jóhannsson's last score. Not for everyone and not trying to be.
The weakest of West's trilogy and still a better-shot 1985 Los Angeles than most films manage.
A tall undertaker, a flying silver sphere, and a film that runs entirely on dream logic. Don Coscarelli was 23.
Unrated, made for very little, outgrossed studio horror, and the effects are the entire proposition.
Ken Russell's best film, cut in every territory it has ever played, and still not properly released.