This year, Frame Rated turned 10 years old, and while it still isn’t old enough to legally purchase cigarettes, alcohol, or vote, it’s at a milestone of journalistic achievement. I haven’t been part of this team for long (as a matter of fact, my time here’s been a mere temporal blip in comparison to how long the site’s been operating), but I wanted to contribute a custom piece to celebrate its anniversary for Halloween, and to show my appreciation towards those who run the website for even considering my write-ups worthy enough for public consumption outside of trendy social media apps.

The genre of horror is my favourite of the medium. I get a lot of satisfaction witnessing the creative ingenuity behind crafting narratives and ideas around one of man’s oldest emotions. Eldritch/cosmic horror, psychological horror, historical horror, ideological horror, slashers, and folk horror—it doesn’t matter—I love the genre! Like anyone, though, I have my fair share of preferences, both genre- and flavor-wise, and this is my opportunity to show you just that.

Now, without further ado, sit back, grab your favourite bottle of poison, and light up some vegetation—whether medical/recreational marijuana or small-scale arson—as I rhapsodise about the best contributions to the horror genre these past 10 years.

10. Talk To Me (2022)

Talk to Me takes the familiar premise of ghastly apparitions and possessions and imbues it with immense emotional and psychological depth, fuelled by its strong characters and their personal journeys. It also creates a cinematic examination of how Generation Z would approach using an artefact that legitimately pierces the veil into the eternal and contacts those who once existed in corporeal form—ignore the naysayers who proclaim the film is a trite allegory on addiction; it is more than that. Talk to Me is a tightly written film throughout all three of its acts, while cinematographer Aaron McLisky meticulously frames each shot, each sequence, and each set piece, using lighting and colour to evoke the protagonist’s emotional and psychological state.

Talk to Me is a great example of how the wheel does not need to be reinvented every time a new film is released; there is value in films created around premises or ideas that have been done before, as they can bring something fresh or titillating to well-worn concepts.

9. The Wolf House (2018)

As a painter, I have a particular affinity for animation. I love how the possibilities within this genre are endless, but none come close to the level of ingenuity of Cristóbal León and Joaquín Cociña’s 2018 film, The Wolf House. It tells a story inspired by Colonia Dignidad (translation: Colony of Dignity)—an isolated colony in Chile established by Paul Schäfer, a former Nazi medic, in 1961, which became notorious for the internment, torture, and murder of political dissidents under General Augusto Pinochet’s dictatorship.

In the film, Maria, a small girl and prisoner of a semi-fictional colonia, escapes captivity, releasing two pigs in the process, and runs off into the woods. There, she finds refuge in a small house; however, the house itself is not just a physical space—it’s sentient. This eldritch entity, mirroring a place of comfort and safety, reacts to her psychological state and transforms to reflect her fears, desires, and internal conflicts, making it a key element in both storytelling and thematic evocation.

Both León and Cociña use the limitlessness of stop-motion animation to employ an innovative and experimental approach that blends 2D and 3D animation together. Characters and sets are constructed from materials such as papier-mâché, house paint, yarn, clay, and found objects, and the way these characters and sets change throughout the film is both jaw-dropping and unsettling. Combine this with the look of the film, including its chiaroscuro, and you have one immensely creative and chilling piece of animated horror.

8. Raw (2016)

Julia Ducournau is a name that has been receiving a lot of attention and praise since her 2016 release, Raw. Her notoriety has only swelled after she released her 2021 film, Titane—a genre-fluid film that flows from slasher to familial drama about grief and acceptance. Her style is akin to David Cronenberg’s in that it focuses on body horror, yet her films are not predicated on commentary about a particular subject, such as Cronenberg’s The Brood (1979) with psychotherapy, Scanners (1981) with pharmaceuticals, or Videodrome (1983) with society’s obsession with violence and television facilitating their appetite for capital; rather, they are predicated on characters with elements to their being, whether internal or external, that do not align with what is considered “normal” and explore these “abnormalities” while addressing themes of femininity, trauma, and the intricacies of relationships that plunge into the darker aspects of self-identity.

Raw is a coming-of-age film that centres on a vegetarian first-year student attending a veterinary school who, after being forced to eat a rabbit’s kidneys during the school’s senior hazing, develops a hunger for human flesh and tries to adapt to a new environment with this newly acquired “abnormality.” It’s unsettling, it’s visceral, and, most importantly for the coming-of-age nature of the film, it’s relatable. Ducournau may be a new filmmaker, but she is immensely proficient. Her work is bat-shit crazy in the most artistically positive and titillating way possible.

get out

7. Get Out (2017)

Jordan Peele is a comedian turned into horror-centric filmmaker—a cinematic metamorphosis that isn’t as uncanny as one might think (points in the direction of Zach Cregger). His debut film, Get Out, is one that took the contemporary cinematic climate by storm for two reasons.

Firstly, it’s a well-written, well-made Hitchcockian horror film, blending psychological dread with immense fear that’s interwoven within its themes of racial dynamics between Blacks and Caucasians, especially liberal Caucasians who need to voice their “love” for the Black community, how they’re “colour-blind,” and how they would vote for Barack Obama a third time. It also blends comedy perfectly into its racial psychological fray, sprinkling in bits of satirical hilarity to balance out the profundity of what may be occurring at the home of one of the wealthy elite.

Secondly, one of the production companies associated with Get Out was Blumhouse Productions of all companies. The same company responsible for nearly all the trite, banal, vacuous, cotton candy, high-fructose corn syrup, and ultra-processed horror garbage that exists within the world of cinema is responsible for funding Peele’s debut film. Yeah, let that sink in for a second. I still can’t believe it.

Get Out was a box office phenomenon, earning $176M domestically and $255M worldwide, and being nominated for, as well as winning, a slew of awards. I don’t want to sound condescending, but if you haven’t seen Get Out yet, what are you doing?

6. The Witch (2015)

Overcome with pride, a family is exiled from the communal village, forced to relocate somewhere within the neighbouring woods, where the family is met with theological contradiction and contention—a fatalistic folkloric horror tale unlike anything I’ve seen, and a strong début for filmmaker Robert Eggers. The Witch is historically, folklorically, culturally, and linguistically accurate, with adept acting, especially from the adolescent actors; impeccable and varied cinematography; and a tense, silencing ambiance fitting of its devilish nature.

5. Hereditary (2018)

Hereditary, Ari Aster’s debut film, is a horrific familial drama where the Grahams are the unfortunate victims of childhood neglect and a dark, otherworldly, and nefarious past. There is a fine line between psychology and occultism that Hereditary walks, yet despite there being a distinct separation of the two, they both work in tandem with one another. The film leans more towards the horrors of what neglect does to one’s psyche for a large portion of the film, while the horrors of the unknown lie underneath its familial tension and turmoil, slowly brewing and contributing to the film’s psychological elements until both reach a boiling point and become almost synonymous with one another.

Hereditary is true horror by definition. It’s disturbing, intense, chilling, horrific, and uneasy, and Aster’s direction of cinematographer Pawel Pogorzelski allows the elements to appear incredibly engaging. Aster, in my opinion, did a fantastic job combining two juxtaposing flavours of horror into a singleton film seamlessly—an effort that is not easy to do—and it’s only his first film. Simply brilliant.

4. The Zone of Interest (2023)

World War II was a turning point for many people throughout the world, as the events that occurred during its six-year span were enough for many to question the legitimacy of their theological belief systems. Many abhorrent occurrences took place, one of them being Shoah (שואה), or what most people know as the Holocaust or the calamity, which is considered by many to be the worst atrocity to have ever been committed in human history. Its horrors have been integrated into school curricula across the globe, spread through the ether via social discourse, and portrayed through the arts, specifically film; however, the means of conveying this through medium-specific practices of the latter presents a rather arduous challenge for its creator, as properly depicting such horrors to match the monumental nature of this abhorrent stain in human history will never be possible, though many have tried, and I appreciate them for their contributions.

Jonathan Glazer attempts this emulation of historical horrors with his latest film, The Zone of Interest, but in a manner I have never seen before: through one’s mind, as the visualisation of this atrocity from a singular perspective is futile. This chilling and haunting piece of Holocaust cinema commits itself to painting the profundity of evilthrough the outright refusal of showing any visual signs of fear, of suffering, of viscera, and of absurdity, and allows one’s pre-existing knowledge of the calamity and of man’s unconscious to paint the missing pictures using the ingenuity of one’s imagination and an impeccable sound design, which overwhelmed me with sheer ideological horror to the point that my emotional responses to what was occurring on screen brought forth physical convulsions. The Zone of Interest is a truly remarkable and chilling experience, and who better at presenting its terrors visuallyand sonically than Glazer?

3. The Wailing (2016)

The act of wailing is defined as crying with pain, grief, or anger—an apposite title for a film with such profoundly horrific imagery, stifling ambience, a compelling and gripping narrative, and ideologically pronounced themes. A small village is plagued with murders, riddling the homes of its inhabitants with their lifeless corpses. Jong-Goo (Kwak Do-won), a police officer, is assigned to investigate these murders, and we, the viewers, follow him along for the ride. Filmmaker Na Hong-jin weaves vividly visceral, chilling, and haunting imagery while he directs cinematographerHong Kyung-pyo to create impressively composed shots, whether it’s a serene landscape of someone fishing or the hellish aftermath of a family massacre.

Its themes of faith are a driving force for The Wailing’s narrative, as there is a struggle to accept and put faith into two juxtaposing ideologies: Christian ideology or cultural folklore. With this comes a level of scepticism and indecisiveness from both the film’s characters and the viewer, which plays into the film’s ever-present sense of escalation, as everyone, us included, is trying to pinpoint who is responsible for these atrocious acts. Depending on who it is proves the legitimacy of these belief systems. The Wailing clenched onto me tightly, digging its nails into me and never looseningits grip, leaving me floored by the credits. My goodness.

2. Midsommar: Director’s Cut (2019)

On its surface, Midsommar explores the toxicity within platonic and monogamous relationships, using horror as a means to accent its volatility and figure of disdain; however, this horror becomes something much more meaty and multifaceted the further one delves into the film. Beneath how many see the film—a breakup film where a woman’s grief concerning her monogamous relationship finds support and love in a community a million miles away—reside themes concerning the horrors of cult ideology, or ideology as a whole, and cultural respect versus disrespect.

Aster takes clear inspiration from Robin Hardy’s The Wicker Man (1973) yet creates something entirely separate from it, despite what naysayers proclaim. I’d describe Midsommar as an incandescent horror film—a custom categorisation I devised—due to the nature of the film. Many things that send chills down people’s spines are what lurk in the shadows, what goes “bump” in the night, what could be creeping up from behind, or what stands waiting around the corner, and they all happen at night; the penumbra masks the unknown and all of its severity, making them hit hard and heavy.

On the contrary, romantic abuse, sociopathic behaviour, cultist ideology, and cultural sacrilege can all occur during the day, and since they’re out in the open, for them to occur in broad daylight, their execution must be more subtle and socially acceptable, and when in a foreign land where a specific ideology is dominant, some of these horrors are more socially acceptable. The director’s cut is the superior cut, full stop. The additional 23 minutes add more to Dani’s (Florence Pugh) and Christian’s (Jack Reynor) relationship, as well as Christian’s relationship with all his college friends, making the escalation and climax of the film much more satisfying.

the lighthouse

1. The Lighthouse (2019)

The setting is New England during the late-1800s, and filmmaker Robert Eggers tells a tale of a man who tries to use the ocean as a means of escape; however, in his isolated state, with his strenuous relationship with his boss, the physical toll of manual labour, and a constant deluge of alcohol, this man begins to lose his grip on his consciousness, forcing him to explore the deepest reaches of his unconscious mind to confront a dark and horrific truth. Inspired by the work of Swiss psychoanalyst Carl Jung and Swedish filmmaker Ingmar Bergman’s film Persona, Eggers’ The Lighthouse is an analytical psychological horror masterpiece told via techniques of the art house genre, using provocative imagery to present the different elements of Jung’s map of the human psyche while simultaneously dressing it up as a contemporary Greek mythological tale.

The Lighthouse is similar to The Machinist (2004) and Shutter Island (2010), but on a much greater, more detailed, adeptly refined, and sophisticated extent. The previous examples, and films like them, are deliberately ‘on the nose’ and conveniently swift and glib in their protagonist’s arc for easier viewing, while The Lighthouse’s imagery portrays the intricacies of Jung’s map of the human psyche through imagery that assaults the senses yet promotes mystery and intrigue. I’d argue this approach makes psychological narratives far more effective. The Lighthouse isn’t for everyone, but it’s a film that I can sum up in a single word: perfection.