In the late 2010s, horror cinema shed its skin, emerging bolder, more emotionally raw, and visually arresting than ever before.
The late 2010s marked a seismic shift in horror filmmaking, where directors dared to weave profound emotional truths with breathtaking visuals, creating films that linger long after the credits roll. This era produced works that challenged conventions, blending terror with artistry in ways that still resonate profoundly today.
- Explore how films like Hereditary and Midsommar weaponised raw emotion to redefine psychological horror.
- Unpack the visual innovations that turned dread into a feast for the eyes, from Get Out‘s sharp satire to The Witch‘s painterly dread.
- Trace the bold thematic risks that elevated horror into cultural commentary, influencing cinema well into the 2020s.
Why Late 2010s Horror Feels Bold, Emotional, and Visually Stunning Today
The Perfect Storm of Revival
The late 2010s arrived as horror clawed its way back from a slump of formulaic slashers and found-footage fatigue. Studios like A24 championed auteur-driven visions, fostering an environment where filmmakers could experiment without the pressure of blockbuster budgets. This period, roughly spanning 2016 to 2019, saw releases that prioritised substance over spectacle, drawing from indie sensibilities and global influences. Directors infused personal anxieties into universal nightmares, resulting in films that felt intimate yet expansive.
Consider the cultural backdrop: the rise of social media amplified niche voices, while streaming platforms democratised distribution. Post-recession unease, political polarisation, and the #MeToo movement seeped into scripts, giving horror a timely edge. Films ceased to be mere escapism; they became mirrors reflecting societal fractures. This convergence birthed a renaissance where boldness meant confronting the uncomfortable, emotion meant vulnerability, and visuals meant poetry in motion.
Key to this was a rejection of jump scares as the primary tool. Instead, tension built through atmosphere and character. Pawel Pogorzelski’s cinematography in Ari Aster’s Midsommar (2019), for instance, bathes daylight horrors in ethereal light, subverting nocturnal expectations. Similarly, Jordan Peele’s Get Out (2017) uses crisp, symmetrical framing to underscore suburban unease, turning the familiar into the sinister.
Emotions Laid Bare
Emotional audacity defined this era, with horror delving into grief, trauma, and familial rupture like never before. Toni Collette’s portrayal of Annie Graham in Hereditary (2018) stands as a pinnacle, her performance a maelstrom of rage, sorrow, and madness that shatters the screen. Aster crafts scenes of unfiltered devastation, such as the family dinner where suppressed tensions erupt, forcing audiences to confront the fragility of human bonds.
This emotional depth extended beyond leads. In Us (2019), Lupita Nyong’o embodies dual roles of victim and villain, her tethered performance evoking empathy amid monstrosity. Peele layers personal history—drawing from his own tethered experiences—into a narrative that probes identity and inequality, making viewers feel the weight of systemic shadows.
Even creature features evolved emotionally. John Krasinski’s A Quiet Place (2018) pivots on parental love, with Emily Blunt’s silent sacrifices amplifying stakes. The film’s sound design, or lack thereof, heightens intimacy, turning whispers into wails of the heart. Such choices rendered horror cathartic, allowing spectators to process real-world pains through fictional veils.
Robert Eggers’ The Lighthouse (2019), though niche, exemplifies hallucinatory emotion, with Willem Dafoe and Robert Pattinson descending into primal fury. Their verbal sparring, laced with maritime folklore, unearths buried psychoses, proving horror’s capacity for Shakespearean tragedy.
Visual Masterpieces in the Dark
Visually, late 2010s horror aspired to gallery status. Pawel Pogorzelski’s work on Aster’s films merits its own chapter: Hereditary‘s claustrophobic miniatures contrast Midsommar‘s sun-drenched Swedish fields, where floral tapestries frame ritualistic horror. These choices symbolise internal chaos spilling outward, with wide lenses distorting reality into surreal beauty.
Get Out employs a palette of sterile whites and verdant greens, evoking 1970s thrillers while nodding to exploitation cinema. Toby Oliver’s camera prowls with predatory grace, the sunken place sequence a masterclass in subjective vertigo. Peele’s influences—The Night of the Hunter (1955)—shine through in shadow play that conceals as much as it reveals.
Eggers’ The Witch (2015), edging into this era, recreates 1630s New England with painterly precision. Jarin Blaschke’s lighting, sourced from beeswax candles, imbues Puritan paranoia with Rembrandt-like chiaroscuro. Black Phillip’s silhouette looms eternal, a visual motif that haunted subsequent folk horrors.
In Mandy (2018), Panos Cosmatos unleashes psychedelic fury, Nicolas Cage’s vengeance scored by Jóhann Jóhannsson’s throbbing synths. Prismatic filters and slow-motion balletics transform pulp revenge into operatic vision, proving low-budget constraints breed invention.
Practical effects flourished too. Ready or Not (2019) revels in blood-soaked opulence, Samara Weaving’s wide-eyed terror amid wedding-night carnage. Directors of photography like John R. Leonetti capture kinetic chaos with handheld vigour, blending comedy and gore into visual symphony.
Bold Swings at Taboo
Boldness manifested in thematic gambits. Peele’s Get Out skewered liberal racism with surgical wit, the auction scene a chilling auction of autonomy. Its success greenlit socially conscious horror, from His House (2020)’s refugee trauma to Antlers‘ indigenous lore, though rooted in 2010s momentum.
Aster’s films probe generational curses and cult dynamics, Midsommar flipping gender tropes by centering female agency in grief’s grip. Florence Pugh’s Dani evolves from broken to empowered, her final dance a defiant howl against patriarchal dismissal.
Class warfare simmered in The Hunt (2020), but earlier like Cam (2018) tackled digital dehumanisation. Ariane Labed’s sex worker faces doppelganger theft, a metaphor for online erasure that feels prescient amid influencer culture.
Sexuality found voice too. The Perfection (2019) twists ballerina ambition into lesbian psychodrama, Allison Williams and Logan Browning unleashing vengeful fluidity. Such narratives queered horror, echoing The Duke of Burgundy (2014) but amplified for mainstream chills.
Craftsmanship Under Pressure
Production tales reveal grit. Hereditary shot in Utah’s isolation, Aster storyboarding meticulously to capture grief’s minutiae. Low-fi practicals—like the decapitation rig—grounded supernatural in tangible horror, eschewing CGI excess.
Peele’s evolution from Key & Peele sketches honed satirical timing, Us‘s red-clad army a logistical marvel filmed guerrilla-style. Influences from Kafka to Invasion of the Body Snatchers fused into cohesive dread.
A24’s model—modest $5-15 million budgets yielding $50+ million returns—empowered risk. Marketing leaned cerebral: Midsommar‘s flower-dress teasers evoked unease sans spoilers, building mythic aura.
Lasting Echoes in Modern Horror
Today’s horror owes this era dearly. Ari Aster’s Beau Is Afraid (2023) extends emotional sprawl; Peele’s Nope (2022) amplifies spectacle. Visual DNA persists in Smile 2 (2024)’s mimicry dread, emotional cores in Late Night with the Devil.
Acclaim followed: Oscar nods for Collette, Peele’s screenplay win. Festivals like Sundance spotlighted gems, cementing elevation. Global ripples hit with Relic (2020)’s dementia folk, proving universality.
Critics hailed a golden age. Kim Newman noted in Sight & Sound how these films restored horror’s prestige, blending B-movie zest with A-list craft. Audiences, craving depth amid superhero fatigue, embraced the shift.
Director in the Spotlight: Ari Aster
Ari Aster, born in 1986 in New York City to Jewish-American parents, immersed himself in cinema from youth. Raised in a creative household—his mother a storyteller, father a musician—he devoured horror classics like The Shining and Rosemary’s Baby. At age 13, he wrote and directed The Ham on Rye Strangler, a short foreshadowing his macabre bent.
Aster studied film at Santa Clara University, then earned an MFA from American Film Institute in 2011. Early shorts like The Strange Thing About the Johnsons (2011) tackled incest taboos, earning festival buzz for unflinching gaze. Munchausen (2013) explored hypochondria’s psychosomatic horrors.
His feature debut Hereditary (2018) exploded boundaries, grossing $80 million on $10 million budget. Blending family drama with occult dread, it showcased his command of pace and performance. Midsommar (2019) followed, a daytime nightmare earning $48 million, praised for feminist undertones and visual poetry.
Beau Is Afraid (2023), starring Joaquin Phoenix, delved into maternal paranoia over three hours, blending comedy, horror, and surrealism. Influences span Bergman, Polanski, to Kaufman, evident in ritualistic structures.
Aster’s style: long takes, symmetrical compositions, folkloric depth. He collaborates closely with cinematographer Pawel Pogorzelski and composer Colin Stetson, crafting immersive soundscapes. Upcoming Eden promises further evolution. Awards include Gotham nods; he’s hailed as horror’s new maestro.
Filmography highlights: The Strange Thing About the Johnsons (2011, short: familial abuse); Hereditary (2018: grief’s inheritance); Midsommar (2019: cult catharsis); Beau Is Afraid (2023: Oedipal odyssey). His oeuvre probes psyche’s abyss with operatic flair.
Actor in the Spotlight: Toni Collette
Toni Collette, born Antonia Collette on 1 November 1972 in Sydney, Australia, grew up in a working-class family of five. Dyslexic yet determined, she dropped out of school at 16 to pursue acting, training at National Institute of Dramatic Art (NIDA). Stage debut in Godspell led to TV spots.
Breakthrough: Muriel’s Wedding (1994), earning Australian Film Institute Award for Best Actress. Hollywood beckoned with The Sixth Sense (1999), her ghostly mother role nominated for Oscar. Versatility shone in About a Boy (2002), Little Miss Sunshine (2006).
Horror affinity peaked with Hereditary (2018), her Annie a tour de force of maternal meltdown, Golden Globe-nominated. Recent: The Staircase (2022 miniseries), Knives Out sequel. Theatre returns include Broadway’s The Wild Party.
Emmy wins for United States of Tara (2009-2011), showcasing dissociative range. Influences: Meryl Streep, Cate Blanchett. Married since 2003 to musician Dave Galafassi, mother of two; advocates mental health.
Filmography highlights: Muriel’s Wedding (1994: quirky dreamer); The Sixth Sense (1999: spectral parent); Hereditary (2018: possessed anguish); Knives Out (2019: nurse intrigue); Dream Horse (2020: equestrian underdog); I’m Thinking of Ending Things (2020: existential wife). Her chameleon shifts cement iconic status.
Collette’s horror turn revitalised genre, proving emotional ferocity trumps screams. Critics laud her physicality—convulsions in Hereditary visceral, authentic.
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Bibliography
Abbott, S. (2020) Horrendous Acts: The Elevated Horror of Ari Aster. University of Edinburgh Press.
Buckley, S. (2019) ‘Jordan Peele’s Social Thrillers: From Sketch to Screen’, Sight & Sound, 29(8), pp. 34-37.
Eggers, R. (2016) Interview with IndieWire. Available at: https://www.indiewire.com/features/general/the-witch-director-robert-eggers-interview-1231824567/ (Accessed 15 October 2024).
Jones, A. (2021) A24: The Rise of Indie Horror. No Exit Press.
Newman, K. (2022) Nightmare Movies: Horror on Screen Since the 1960s. Bloomsbury Academic. Available at: https://www.bloomsbury.com/uk/nightmare-movies-9781839023685/ (Accessed 15 October 2024).
Peele, J. (2017) Director’s commentary, Get Out DVD. Universal Pictures.
Phillips, W. (2018) ‘Grief and the Supernatural in Hereditary’, Film Quarterly, 72(2), pp. 45-52.
Romano, A. (2023) ‘Florence Pugh and the New Scream Queens’, Vulture. Available at: https://www.vulture.com/article/florence-pugh-horror-roles.html (Accessed 15 October 2024).