The Black Phone Franchise Ranked: Supernatural Horror Breakdown
In the shadowed corridors of modern supernatural horror, few franchises have captured the primal terror of isolation and otherworldly intervention quite like Scott Derrickson’s The Black Phone. Launched with its chilling 2021 film adaptation of Joe Hill’s short story, the series plunges viewers into a nightmare basement where a disconnected black phone becomes a lifeline to the dead. With The Black Phone 2 slated for release in October 2025, the franchise promises to expand its spectral lore, building on the original’s masterful blend of psychological dread and ghostly guidance.
What sets this franchise apart is its supernatural core: the phone calls from the Grabber’s previous victims, each a haunting vignette revealing their fates and offering cryptic clues for survival. These spectral interventions are not mere plot devices; they are the heartbeat of the horror, layering personal tragedies with ingenious escapes amid mounting terror. In this ranking, we break down the five key phone calls from the 2021 film—from #5 to #1—judged by their chilling backstories, the ingenuity of their advice, emotional resonance, and contribution to the franchise’s escalating supernatural tension. Criteria prioritise how each call amplifies dread, humanises the horror, and innovates within the genre’s ghostly trope.
Derrickson, a veteran of films like Sinister and Doctor Strange, crafts these moments with analogue restraint—no digital effects overload, just raw voices from the ether evoking 1970s grit. Ethan Hawke’s masked Grabber looms as a human monster, making the ghosts’ interventions all the more vital. As the franchise evolves, these calls set a benchmark for supernatural horror that feels intimately terrifying.
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Billy the Paperboy (The Black Phone, 2021)
Ranking at #5, Billy’s call delivers practical reconnaissance but lacks the visceral punch of his predecessors. A resourceful newspaper boy with a pocket watch collection, Billy recounts his abduction amid a mundane delivery route, his voice crackling through the receiver like static from a bygone era. His supernatural insight stems from glimpsing the Grabber’s house layout via parade balloons—a clever tie-in to the killer’s lure—mapping escape routes with journalistic precision.
What elevates Billy’s entry in the supernatural canon is its subtle world-building: his ghost lingers with tangible artefacts, like the watch he urges our protagonist to use, blending the ethereal with the everyday. Yet, the horror feels observational rather than immersive; his demise, implied through clipped details, builds unease without the raw savagery of later calls. Production notes reveal Derrickson drew from real 1970s missing children cases for authenticity, heightening the franchise’s grounded supernaturalism.[1]
Culturally, Billy represents the franchise’s nod to overlooked victims, echoing Joe Hill’s influences from his father Stephen King’s everyman horrors. While his advice proves pivotal, it ranks lower for its functional tone—vital scaffolding, but not the emotional apex that defines the series’ best scares.
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Griffin Stagg (The Black Phone, 2021)
Climbing to #4, Griffin’s stuttering transmission injects a pathetic vulnerability into the supernatural dread. A shy boy brutalised for his speech impediment, Griffin’s call unveils one of the film’s most grotesque mementos: a severed ear pinned like a trophy. This auditory horror—his voice halting, echoing basement acoustics—amplifies the Grabber’s sadism, making the phone a conduit for mutilated memories.
The ingenuity shines in Griffin’s tip on the basement wire, a desperate ploy born from his own failed bid for freedom. It underscores the franchise’s theme of fragmented knowledge pieced together from beyond, with sound design (courtesy of Oscar-winner Richard King) rendering the stutter a supernatural Morse code of terror. Derrickson’s direction here evokes The Exorcist‘s possession motifs, but secularised—ghosts as flawed allies, not omnipotent saviours.
Griffin’s impact lies in humanising the Grabber’s pathology, his backstory a microcosm of bullied isolation mirroring the protagonist’s plight. Reviews praised this call for its unflinching cruelty, with Variety noting its role in escalating the film’s body horror without gore excess.[2] It bolsters the supernatural framework but cedes ground to more dynamic spectral presences.
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Tommy Walker (The Black Phone, 2021)
At #3, Tommy’s magician flair transforms the phone into a stage for illusory terror. A budding illusionist snatched post-performance, Tommy’s call demystifies the Grabber’s mask collection—each face a persona from his twisted psyche. His voice, laced with showman’s patter, recounts a failed Houdini-esque escape, revealing the masks’ hypnotic power as supernatural-adjacent psychological weapons.
The advice, rooted in sleight-of-hand misdirection, injects whimsy into horror, a hallmark of Hill’s story where ghosts improvise with mortal cunning. Visually, the mask reveal ties into the franchise’s iconography, with Hawke’s performance drawing from real magician lore for authenticity. Derrickson cited The Prestige influences, blending prestidigitation with poltergeist vibes.
Tommy’s resonance stems from subverting expectations: a confident kid reduced to a spectral coach, his call heightens tension by exposing the Grabber’s facade. It marks a pivot in the narrative, where supernatural aid shifts from survival tips to psychological warfare, cementing the franchise’s innovative dread.
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Bruce Yamada (The Black Phone, 2021)
Securing #2, Bruce’s inaugural call sets the supernatural template with visceral, waterlogged horror. The golden-arm baseball star, idolised locally, narrates his drowning in the Grabber’s backyard pool—lured by balloons, betrayed by a false lifeline. His voice bubbles with residual liquid terror, the phone amplifying gurgles into a symphony of suffocation.
Bruce’s advice leverages environmental improvisation, urging use of the house’s hidden features, a motif echoed in sequels’ potential expansions. This call masterfully balances hope and hopelessness, with the ghost’s fading vitality underscoring the franchise’s theme of time slipping away. Young actor Theodore Pellerin imbues Bruce with charisma, making his loss poignant.
Culturally resonant, Bruce evokes 1970s sports kid archetypes from films like The Sandlot, twisted into nightmare fuel. Joe Hill discussed in interviews how this call personalises the supernatural, drawing from King family ghost story traditions.[3] It nearly tops the list for its raw inception of dread, edged out only by deeper emotional bonds.
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Robin Arellano (#1) (The Black Phone, 2021)
Crowning #1, Robin’s call is the franchise’s supernatural pinnacle—a fusion of brotherhood, brutality, and cathartic vengeance. Finney’s real-life protector, the karate-kid tough with a whistle talisman, Robin’s voice crackles with unyielding spirit, detailing his savage end and imparting fighting wisdom honed on schoolyard bullies.
The ingenuity peaks here: motivational mantras and combat choreography transform passive haunting into active empowerment, the phone a portal for spectral training montage. Sound design elevates it—fists on pads echo through static, blending 1970s kung fu flick homage with ghostly fury. Miguel Cazarez Mora’s performance lingers, making Robin the emotional core.
Robin exemplifies the series’ genius: personal stakes amplify supernatural horror, his call bridging protagonist’s arc with franchise lore. It builds to climactic release, redefining ghostly aid as defiant rebellion. Critics hailed it as the film’s soul, with RogerEbert.com calling it “a masterclass in spectral solidarity.”[4] As The Black Phone 2 looms, Robin sets the bar for evolving hauntings.
Conclusion
The Black Phone franchise redefines supernatural horror through these phone calls, each a layered testament to human resilience against monstrous evil. From Billy’s maps to Robin’s rage, they weave personal lore into universal terror, proving ghosts need not wail—they whisper strategies for survival. With the sequel poised to ring again, expect expanded basements and bolder spectres, potentially ranking new calls against these icons.
Derrickson’s vision, rooted in Hill’s sparse prose, honours horror’s analogue roots while innovating ghostly interactivity. This breakdown reveals why the series endures: not just scares, but spectral empathy amid isolation. As the franchise grows, it cements its place among elite supernatural sagas like The Conjuring, inviting fans to anticipate the next dial tone.
References
- Scott Derrickson interview, Fangoria, 2021.
- Variety review by Owen Gleiberman, June 2022.
- Joe Hill, 20th Century Ghosts afterword, 2005; updated podcast, 2022.
- RogerEbert.com review by Brian Tallerico, 2021.
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