This has been such an exceptional year for horror that it feels misplaced. By that I mean that finding pure enjoyment in anything these past few years seems anachronistic. Like future generations would look back on joy as some archaic discipline, like alchemy. But here we are: 2022 has come to an end and most of my favorite moments came sitting in the dark, watching worlds fall apart.
With this in mind, trying to rank this year’s best horror movies would be a disservice. It’d be like ranking our favorite antidotes. Neither one saved me better, just in different ways.
Instead, let’s follow the thematic threads that bind these films together and make them so emblematic of the time in which they were made. Horror has a special way of reflecting our world back at us, so let’s spend some time taking a look at the mirror.
Nope
I don’t think anyone was surprised that Jordan Peele’s third film was good. But what stuns me to this day is how much time I’ve spent unpacking it throughout the year.
While Nope features a cast of lovable characters (with the kinetic Keke Palmer) trying to unravel and capture video proof of a mysterious alien creature, Peele does that thing he does and masterfully builds upon layers of meaning.
Nope is a movie that you like to sit with. You peel it apart over time in the free spaces of your mind. It can be enjoyed. Then analyzed. It also captures the frustration and pure joy of creating art.
Nope is a homage to Westerns that also examines the genre’s erasure of the Black cowboy in American history. It’s a film about filmmaking, but it’s also about the predatory nature of the industry. This would be a common trend throughout horror this year.
X and Pearl
In a surprise twist, director Ti West successfully launched the X Cinematic Universe this year. First up was X, a throwback to 70s sleaze and the Texas Chain Saw Massacre that shows an unlucky cast and crew trying to make an adult film. X was filmed alongside its prequel, Pearl, which shows Mia Goth deliver an arresting performance as a farm girl with dreams of Hollywood. When people talk about how horror movie performances are overlooked during award season, this is what they mean.
Pearl’s setting during the influenza pandemic serves to increase our connection with the titular character and her desire to escape. And just as X borrows its aesthetics from the cinematic era of the 70s, Pearl mimics the Golden Age of Hollywood, only this time Dorothy never gets to leave Kansas.
And this being a horror film, the allure of big-screen fame proves to be Pearl’s undoing as she descends into madness and obsession in bloody fashion. Just like with Nope and the next film we’ll be discussing, the very act of filmmaking becomes a deadly compulsion.
Something in the Dirt
It makes sense that the pandemic would result in filmmakers analyzing their craft and industry in their work. Nowhere is that depicted more intimately than in Something in the Dirt.
As a writing and directing duo, Justin Benson and Aaron Morehead have created some of the most inventive horror and science fiction films in recent memory. Their previous film, 2019’s Synchronic, was their most high-profile project to date, with starring performances from Anthony Mackie and Jamie Dornan. After that, Benson and Morehead scored some gigs working on Marvel projects and fans would be reasonable to ask if these unique talents were about to cash in and simply churn out uninspired Ghost Rider sequels for the rest of their careers. Instead they made what is their most personal film to date.
This being a pandemic movie, Something in the Dirt features Benson and Morehead as the two leads and practically no other characters. This movie mainly takes place in one apartment, filmed with a skeleton crew. It follows main characters John and Levi as they establish a tenuous personal relationship while trying to make a documentary about the unexplainable phenomenon discovered in Levi’s apartment.
Clearly some elements of the film are taken directly from Benson and Morehead’s filmmaking partnership. There’s a particularly pointed debate about the title for their documentary that feels like it’s borrowed from real life.
As the characters become more isolated and fixated on their film, the conspiracies and hidden messages that appear to explain the phenomenon begin to show up everywhere. Anyone who has spent any time online during the pandemic is familiar with this.
While things don’t really work out great for our characters, Benson and Morehead dedicated Something in the Dirt to “making movies with your friends.” One of the great things about horror movies is that they so often feel like they are made against all adversity. Shoestring budgets. Tiny crews. Zero prestige. But it’s this persistence — even in the face of a global pandemic — that resonates with fans.
We’re All Going to the World’s Fair
We’re too close to it now, but eventually there will be a group of films known as pandemic cinema. Those who study film will pull out the various themes and traits of these movies and crystalize the new genre. Just like Pearl and Something in the Dirt, We’re All Going to the World’s Fair will be categorized firmly within this group.
The film follows Casey, an isolated teenager (played by Anna Cobb in her first film role) who embarks on the mysterious “World’s Fair” internet challenge. After following through with the game’s initiation ritual, she continues to share updates of her condition with viewers on YouTube.
The film provides a troubling look at the extent to which someone’s life can be lived completely online. Casey has maybe one real-world interaction in the film, and it only drives her further into the digital space. She watches ASMR videos to fall asleep and streams video after video of other World’s Fair participants as they document their transformations. Casey too begins to lose herself.
Jane Schoenbrun, the film’s writer and director, is a nonbinary artist who used the film to navigate transness and gender dysphoria. With this in mind, We’re All Going to the World’s Fair is as intimate a portrait as you’re likely to find. This closeness to a character who feels so real only adds to the horror as she falls apart in the glow of her computer screen.
The Sadness
Moving from the perils of social isolation to the threat of human contact, The Sadness is a different kind of pandemic movie.
This 2021 Taiwanese film didn’t come to U.S. streaming services until 2022, so I’m counting it. It tells the story of a zombie-like outbreak, but instead of becoming the living dead, this virus brings out people’s most violent and base desires.
It’s a film about watching those around you lose all regard for the preservation of human life and decency. The government response only worsens the trauma and dangers faced by the uninfected.
The film is extreme to say the least. It is graphic and violent and disturbing throughout, but that’s because it has to be. That’s the point. To shock you to the point where you ask, “Why do we do this to ourselves?” and “How do we get better?”
Barbarian
And then comes something completely unexpected.
Throughout this retrospective of 2022’s standout horror, I’ve done my best to connect these films and provide a cohesive image of this year in horror. Then comes Barbarian. That’s pretty much how it felt watching this movie in theaters.
I walked into Barbarian cold. The movie had generated some good buzz and was making a surprising amount of money, but I wasn’t expecting more than a good time.
We saw Barbarian in a sprawling cineplex anchoring a strip mall on the outskirts of Baltimore. It was empty, save for a group of teens looking for a cure to that brand of adolescent boredom perfected in the suburbs. Just past the theater for Barbarian was a venue for corporate events that you can reserve for magic shows. While not frightening, this place did its best to unsettle.
Barbarian begins simply enough: a young woman arrives at her Airbnb, only to find a man already inside who suggests that the unit had been double booked. They follow through the reasonable solutions to vetting one another. Things seem fine. A simple mix-up.
Then our protagonists find a hidden passageway in the basement that seems to not end. Then we find they’re not alone. Then… we cut to Justin Long singing as he drives down a sunny coastal highway in his convertible. As a transition, it is shocking. And the people responsible for this movie knew this.
We stick with Long’s sleazy filmmaker as he falls into professional and financial peril, but what does this have to do with the beginning of the film? The dramatic shift in narrative becomes a mystery in itself.
Then Long is forced to deal with his short-term rental units in Detroit, and we see that this movie’s plot is like singing in a round. We are watching how all these various characters were brought into this house — and the hell it caused them. Each time we return, we go deeper and deeper with a truer understanding of the trauma and horror hidden in this home.
Each year you hope to find a film that surprises you — and in one of the greatest years in horror, Barbarian is that film.
