shabeth olyene berwynn
Giulia Satmary
The 100 best horror films of all time.
The 100 best vampire movies of all time.
The 50 best zombie movies of all time.
The 50 best movies about serial killers.
The 50 best slasher movies of all time
The 50 best ghost movies of all time.
The best horror movies streaming on Amazon Prime.
The best horror movies streaming on Hulu.
The best horror movies streaming on Shudder.
Here's a fact: There has never been a great horror TV series. Try to think of one. Black Mirror? That's a sci-fi anthology and you know it. Channel Zero? I said great. American Horror Story? How dare you waste my time like this.
Here's another fact: Netflix's The Haunting of Hill House is the first great horror TV show ever. The series, based on Shirley Jackson's novel of the same name (which also spawned some really subpar movies simply titled The Haunting), pulls no punches when it comes to not just scares, but also the brutality it puts its characters through, physically and emotionally. It's not for the faint of heart, and it's fucking fantastic.
Haunting takes place between two time periods: One, the summer in which the Crain family (mother, father and their five children) spent in Hill House, an impressive but aging mansion. The other is the present day, in which the Crain siblings are once again brought together by an unexpected tragedy.
I hate to be this guy, but it does take a minute for the show to get going, only by virtue of its clever structure. Each of the first five episodes are told from the perspective of a particular sibling. There's Stephen, the staunch skeptic with little patience for the stories of Hill House, who capitalized on a family trauma at the house to write a book detailing his experiences, to the bitterness of the others. There's Shirley, a mortician, who, of course, experiences some pretty wild visions in her morgue every now and again. Middle daughter Theo is a child psychiatrist with a supernatural ability. Then there are the twins, Nell and Luke, easily the most vulnerable of the group, and the most darkly affected by the influence the house holds over them, even now.
We see events play out several times in these episodes from different perspectives. They aren't standalone stories so much as they are vital pieces to an intricate, heartbreaking puzzle. The ending to episode five is a moment of such terrible, cruel, inevitable horror that I had to sit with it for a few hours before hitting play on episode six: a bottle episode told in a single shot (of course, they cheat several scene transitions but you must respect the effort).
Hill House isn't just scary, but a seriously well-structured and well-considered story about the persistent insidiousness of trauma and the tragedy of not fully knowing another person. The siblings all share a deep pain, but that pain manifests and is expressed in different ways that often end up hurting the others. In its quieter moments, Hill House finds room to explore some heartbreaking dynamics around family, mental illness, addiction, and pain.
With The Haunting of Hill House, director Mike Flanagan (Gerald's Game, Hush) has added a new stamp to his reputation as one of the finest horror storytellers out there, with a penchant for being just that bit more creative, that bit more cruel, to begin to shape something new entirely. This is one of the best shows of the year, and one of the most truly chilling of all time.
Mike Flanagan had already built a reputation as a rock-steady horror filmmaker by 2016, but the sense of "holy crap, this guy can do anything" became set in stone once he took on a prequel to a critically-derided movie about an evil ouija board and made one of the scariest movies of the last decade. Ouija: Origin of Evil takes us to the 1970s, where fake psychic Alice Zander (Elizabeth Reaser) and her two daughters, Lina (Annalise Basso) and Doris (Lulu Wilson), perform seances for paying customers in the wake of Alice's husband dying. Doris, the youngest, spices up the act with the introduction of a ouija board, but the cursed item makes things all too real when it not only sends a dark spirit into the girl's body but exposes the deep-seated evil ingrained in the Zander's house. There is, to be very clear, absolutely no reason for Ouija: Origin of Evil to be good at all, so it's a downright shock that it's this horrifying and effective. And, because it's Flanagan we're talking about here, there's also a potent dramatic heart beating underneath all those bumps in the night. --Vinnie Mancuso
It's a common trope: a little kid has a crush on their sexy teenage babysitter. But Netflix's original flick The Babysitter turns that on its head, by making the hot babysitter also happen to be part of a Satanic cult. The cult - who has brought their ceremony into young Cole's house - will stop at nothing to prevent Cole from spreading their secret. It's not really a "scary" horror film; it's more goofy, super gory, and a kind of throwback to the campy horror of the 1980s. - Alyse Wax
The first installment of Netflix's Fear Street trilogy of films is an absolute blast from start to finish. Very much drawing influence from Scream, this R-rated slasher takes place in the town of Shadyville, where people going back decades have a habit of going on violent killing sprees. Rumors swirl that it's all to do with a witch's curse from the 1600s (which is covered in the third movie), and in this 1994-set film a group of teenagers find themselves the target of a bevy of masked killers as the try to figure out what's going on and how to survive it. At the center of the story is a queer romance that sets this apart from many other slashers of its ilk, and there's enough comedic relief to keep this from being bogged down as a horror film of the self-serious type. Again the Scream comparisons are apt, so if you're in for a spooky good time that also sets up a mythology that is concluded in the next two Fear Street movies, give Fear Street Part One: 1994 a whirl. - Adam Chitwood
It's tempting to loop all of the Fear Street films into one entry because they're such a satisfying (you might even say limited series-like) whole, but they're also so stylistically distinct and uniquely effective, they're worth singling out on their own. As for the second installment, 1978 takes audiences back to another Shadyside massacre, this time inspired by the summer camp horror trend of the 70s and 80s. Anchored around the story of two estranged sisters finding their way back to each other despite their differences, 1978 unleashes the Nightwing killer scene in the first film while investigating the story behind how he became a cursed mass murderer and deepening the established mythology and character work in the process.
I wouldn't recommend watching them out of order on your first watch but if you're looking to head back into fear Street and don't have time to watch the whole trilogy, 1978 is easily the most self-contained of all three, but good luck not immediately hitting play on the next one. - Haleigh Foutch
The final film in the trilogy, Fear Street Part Three: 1666 brings it all together by traveling to the origins of the curse, so if you're looking for a bit of period horror with a big action payoff, this is your best bet. It's stunning how writer-director Leigh Janiak created a distinct language for each installment, not just cinematically, but in the horror traditions she employs. In keeping, 1666 is the darkest of the three, delving into the rotted core of society behind the Shadyside curse. But Janiak keeps a tight tonal command, never fully abandoning the fun spirit that makes her trilogy such a treat.
Please note: This list pertains to U.S. Netflix subscribers. Some titles may not currently be available on international platforms. This article is frequently amended to remove films no longer on Netflix and to include more horror movies that are now available on the service.
Jordan Peele's weakest effort is still the best some filmmakers can ever dream of achieving. Us is rich with biblical references, doppelganger horrors, and classist storytelling in an ambitiously eerie package. Lupita Nyong'o and Winston Duke are tremendous as both their fearful selves and tethered attackers, helping Peele tell a mind-freaky story about "haves" and "have nots." It's never meant to be straightforward and leaves so much up to interpretation, but that becomes the film's beguiling signature. Sometimes the scariest enemy is what we can't understand, and Us isn't afraid to keep us cowering in the dark.
In the mood for a 2020s Polish slasher created by lovers of 80s American horror trends? Bartosz M. Kowalski uses the campground massacre template to execute a contemporary slasher that feels as throwback as rereleases of Crystal Pepsi. It's a familiar brand of campers meeting gruesome fates one by one with a massive emphasis on practical effects, the goriest and most obscene of which become an overall saving grace. Kowalski aims to prove that Polish slashers can hack 'em up with the best of them, even if there's not much else to praise with the same enthusiasm. If you want blood, you've got it by the truckload.
Netflix's original horror game rose to another level with The Ritual, David Bruckner's directorial debut outside segments in The Signal, V/H/S, and Southbound. Four friends take a northern Swedish hiking trip in memory of their deceased fifth, only to become victims of a woodland nightmare. Visions begin by layering psychological horror as the characters confront fears or guilt, then cultism adds communal dread, and lastly, Bruckner delivers on creature-feature goods. One source of terror feeds into the next and provokes future traumas, all interconnected as Bruckner weaves in and out of multiple horror subgenres with ease. There's so much to enjoy as Swedish forestation becomes an isolated outdoor prison, and then all hell breaks loose. Bruckner flaunts his filmmaking chops in a significant way.
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