I love a year-end list, but the obligatory opening paragraphs are starting to feel like those personal memoirs that precede every online recipe (so I’ll keep this short).

The main reason I compulsively click on yearly horror roundups is because I never stop marveling at the range of subjective responses to the art that we share as audiences and creators. Many films I’ve seen on other horror-themed lists this year did not work for me at all—and that’s OK. Let’s not allow social media to ruin movie discourse! Talking about our diverse reactions to art and entertainment is supposed to be fun.

Here, in no particular order, are my absolute favorite genre films from 2021.

SAINT MAUD

The buzz for Rose Glass’ much-hyped debut swelled for 17+ seemingly interminable months before American audiences were finally able to lay eyes on it. Well, it was worth the wait. Glass deservedly won Best Debut Director at the British Independent Film Awards last year for this psychological drama about a devout hospice nurse (Morfydd Clark) in charge of a disaffected American dancer suffering from stage four lymphoma (Jennifer Ehle, in a wonderfully mercurial performance).

Adam Janota Bzowski’s patient score runs in parallel with a plot that uncoils at its own pace, and the co-leads are hypnotizing in a film that explores the ghastly underbelly of spiritual extremism and mental illness. This is one of the most sure-footed debuts we’ve seen in the past several years, and one of those special films that leaves an emotional residue long after its awful and conflagrant ending.

PSYCHO GOREMAN 

When the unstoppably sarcastic Mimi and her brother Luke find a mysterious crystal in the family garden, they discover that it summons (and controls) none other than the interplanetary super-marauder, the self-proclaimed Arch-Duke of Nightmares. After a riotous brainstorming session Mimi renames him Psycho Goreman (PG for short) and orders the increasingly infuriated super-villain to do her fickle bidding.

PG is an explosion of self-aware insanity that plays like an R-rated, TROMA-produced Power Rangers knockoff with buckets of gore. Steven Kostanski is a makeup and special effects veteran, but his directorial portfolio is growing: Psycho Goreman provided the perfect type of absurdist escapism that I needed in the wintry depths of an incessant pandemic. According to Kostanski, a sequel is already in development.

SATOR

Rarely does the term “passion project” feel so apt as it does with Jordan Graham’s Sator. Over the course of seven years, Graham performed nearly every facet of the creative process (with the help of a small but talented crew): he wrote, directed, produced, shot and edited a story that co-stars his own grandmother, whose real-life experiences inspired the story. Graham did the foley work, the SFX, and even built the cabin of the isolated lead Adam (Gabriel Nicholson).

Perhaps the most remarkable thing about Sator, given the context: it fucking works. It is, in a true auteurist sense, a singular vision of familial trauma and demonic possession. Its pervasive atmosphere of stark spiritual discomfort is punctuated by moments of sudden violence and inexplicable visions, all the more impressive because it does not lean on score for mood (the minimalist, nearly atonal score was created, of course, by Graham). There is a jarring and personal nakedness to Sator, and I can’t begin to imagine where Jordan Graham goes from here.

TITANE

Writer/director Julia Ducournau made quite an entrance with her debut feature Raw, which blended coming-of-age emotionality with grisly body horror. Her Palme d’Or-winning follow-up asks: you think that was violent? Titane jettisons the adolescent inquisitiveness of Raw and replaces it with cold metal and hyperviolence, going seemingly out of its way to generate audience antipathy towards its pathological antihero.

The hard-won tenderness found in the film’s final act may be inadequate emotional compensation for some, but nevertheless Titane is an uncompromising vision that inspires some riveting performances from Agathe Rousselle and Vincent Lindon. Ducournau’s sophomore effort stretches the elasticity of the genre to its breaking point, but when it comes to the horror genre I carry a big umbrella. Horror-adjacent movies, get in here!

THE GREEN KNIGHT

Speaking of horror-adjacent, David Lowery’s fantastical retelling of Arthurian fable depicts a version of Sir Gawain (Dev Patel, embracing his growing star power) who is living an unexamined life, unceremoniously passing his days among living legends. After hastily glossing over the fine print in a Christmas challenge thrown down by the imposing Green Knight (Ralph Ineson, mostly unrecognizable) he must embark on a journey towards—what, exactly? When questioned about what he hopes to find in his quest, Gawain stumbles. Honor? Respect? Are these more valuable than his head and his life?

There is a winking self-awareness in this engrossing remix of medieval lore, which casts a critical and slyly humorous perspective on well-established folklore. We mythologize history and its characters with the benefit of hindsight (and usually plenty of subjective editing) but in the moment none of us truly know what we’re doing, or why. The Green Knight is a strange and sumptuous journey that hesitates to apotheosize mythology, and it also happens to be the most gorgeous movie of the year. 

CENSOR

The onset of home video technology in the late ‘70s set the stage in Britain for a glut of gory exploitation films that bypassed theaters and the BBFC (British Board of Film Censors). When noted conservative reactionary Mary Whitehouse took the bait of distributor Go Video (part of a rather brilliant marketing campaign for Cannibal Holocaust), conservative outrage towards these violent “video nasties” culminated in the repressive Video Recordings Act of 1984. 

UK filmmaker Prano Bailey-Bond positions her first film in this rather specific historical context, and explores the logic of censorship at face value. If censors protect society from moral corruption, who protects the censors? Censor’s clever manipulation of format and structure uses the language of film (and the tropes of giallo thrillers) to scrutinize “ambiguous loss” and the emotional trauma that no amount of censorship can erase. 

THE QUEEN OF BLACK MAGIC
(Ratu Ilmu Hitam)

Indonesian production company Rapi Films keeps reinventing their own catalogue, and I am here for it. Their heyday was the ‘80s, but a new wave of Indonesian horror filmmakers is breathing life into the same properties which, in some cases, traumatized them as children. 

Joko Anwar (who co-wrote this with Anna Tenney) describes his industry as an exporter of uniquely Indonesian folk horror, and The Queen of Black Magic is no different. A remote Dutch Colonial house in Cirebon provides the setting for a twisted revenge tale that tackles the deep-set trauma of patriarchal violence while reveling in gross-out thrills. It’s possible that my preference for exactly this type of ghost story is blinding me to some storytelling flaws, but honestly I don’t care. The pulpy, squirm-inducing violence and smothering atmosphere of Stamboel’s remake just further whets my appetite for more Indonesian horror.

WEREWOLVES WITHIN

Video game adaptations have a notoriously dreadful track record, but in just his second feature film Josh Ruben has directed the best reviewed game-to-film translation to date. The relentless charm of this small town mystery can be attributed to all the various pieces of production coming together harmoniously: Mishna Wolff’s script works as a comedy first and foremost, Brett Bachman’s editing nails the timing, and the endlessly likeable Sam Richardson moors a fantastically funny cast who all understand the assignment.

Werewolves Within harnesses the political chaos of small town America in a way that finds the good in people while acknowledging that some people are just assholes (and we won’t mind terribly much if they’re dismembered by a werewolf). The snowed-in Hudson Valley setting and irreverent charisma set this up to be a perennial December rewatch. 

CANDYMAN

In parsing the varied reactions to Nia DaCosta’s rebirth of Candyman (co-written by Jordan Peele and Win Rosenfeld), you will probably need to wade through the petulant outcry of a vocal minority of moviegoers whose criticisms are made in bad faith (hint: they use “woke” as a pejorative).

It’s a shame because there are some valid criticisms of this new era of Candyman (cogently illustrated by Angelica Jade Bastien of Vulture). Candyman’s social commentary is vital but at times ungracefully delivered, and it struggles down the stretch to cohere its various narrative and symbolic threads. Even so, this is a righteously angry and visually arresting exploration of the same themes that helped make the ‘92 original such a slasher classic (framed by gorgeous puppetry from animation studio Manual Cinema). For all the messiness of its third act, the final scene is a bloody and memorable showstopper that urges us to keep telling stories that challenge the status quo.

THE NIGHT HOUSE

Following the unexpected suicide of her husband, Beth (Rebecca Hall) doesn’t seem sad so much as angry: suddenly alone in a house her husband built, without answers or the emotional space for mourning. When she starts looking for clues that might explain his inexplicable death, she starts to find them—and it becomes clear that she is not alone in the house.

The Night House is constructed like a classic haunting, full of familiar but compelling tropes: muddy footsteps on a dock, text messages from a dead husband, lucid and terrifying dreams that blur the line between sleep and waking. It builds an atmospheric mystery that owes a lot to Hall’s performance. Her sharp-edged grief and relatable desire for meaning ground a story which is not ultimately as complex as the early clues would suggest. Regardless, the journey to that end is satisfyingly thrilling.

MY HEART CAN’T BEAT UNLESS YOU TELL IT TO

The fiercest form of tribalism may be the family, a society unto itself. This lo-fi drama is itself a family project, with direction by Jonathan Cuartas, cinematography by his brother Michael Cuartas, and production design by their father Rodrigo Cuartas. Together they present an engrossing portrait of codependency and shared trauma that convincingly strips all the romance from vampire mythology.

The 4:3 aspect ratio complements a script that divests the story from context or explanatory exposition: this is a stripped-down and achingly personal portrait of beleaguered family bonds and the ways that they become frayed. Cuartas’ renovation of popular lore demonstrates for the umpteenth time the adaptable nature of genre films, and their capability to affect us in unexpected and heartbreaking ways.

THE VIGIL

In Keith Thomas’ terrifying debut, Dave Davis plays Yakov: a young man struggling to make a living in Brooklyn’s Borough Park—home to a well-established (and growing) Hassidic Jewish community. Yakov is attempting to leave his Orthodoxy behind while struggling to pay the bills, and he can’t pass up a cash offer to serve as Shomer for a night, and hold vigil over a recently deceased holocaust survivor.

In a subgenre dominated by Christian theology, The Vigil finds a fresh take on a familiar format by way of the sadistic Mazzik, and the onerous metaphors attached to it. It is through this uniquely Orthodox lens that Yakov’s personal and religious trauma is examined, and his mortal struggle to find absolution suggests that we can’t run from our past, or ignore the way that it continues to live in our present. The Vigil is one of the most frightening movies of the year, but its designs are not cynical: there is empowerment to be found in facing our pain where it lives.

Honorable Mentions

This year (as compared to last) I made a purposeful effort to more rigorously pare down my best-of list. It wasn’t easy. But it did lead to a powerful section of runners-up that most definitely belong in the queues and conversations of genre fans.

THE MEDIUM

This Thai mockumentary is overstuffed and a tad overlong, but hoo boy does it pack some serious thrills into its spellbinding folk horror story. The found footage format both helps and hurts, but the naturalistic performances and balls to the wall second half make it required viewing for fans of possession films.

COME TRUE

Anthony Scott Burns is a triple threat. In addition to writing and directing, he scored much of Come True‘s dreamy soundtrack (along with Canadian synth-pop duo Electric Youth). The atmospheric dream-pop score and arresting visuals of this sci-fi nightmare make for a captivating journey, even if the controversial ending eventually collapses in on itself.

LAMB

The horror label has director Valdimar Johansson scratching his head, but he admits that audiences will find what they want to in this quiet, vaguely folkloric drama that utilizes the imposing Icelandic landscape to great effect. Lamb is a touching and idiosyncratic curiosity buoyed by its location, smart direction, and the commanding presence of Noomi Rapace.

JAKOB’S WIFE

Travis Stevens’ second feature puts vampire lore to good use when the diffident Anne (horror darling Barbara Crampton) finds a newfound sense of empowerment after a chance encounter with an old supernatural force. Genre conventions are playfully utilized to tell a story about feminism, patriarchy and the challenges of marriage.

LAST NIGHT IN SOHO

Edgar Wright’s latest genre-buster applies some striking giallo influences to a story of would-be stardom in ‘60s London. The twisty adventure hides some serious pulp at its core (which might be good or bad depending on who you ask)—regardless, Anya Taylor-Joy and Thomasin McKenzie both shine as overlapping leads in a visually dazzling psychological mystery.

MALIGNANT

I’ll let James Wan speak for himself, but it sure feels like he’s trolling us. Reactions to Malignant run the gamut, and I think it’s the worst film on this list (despite some ingenious cinematography). Regardless, its supernatural-giallo mashup belies an audacious final act that clearly takes a big swing. You be the ump.