15. “Bug” (2006)
No doubt part of our ongoing affection for this small-scale, scratchy little nightmare of paranoia is that it represents a triumphant return to the horror genre for the director of the film many might consider the greatest exemplar of all time: “The Exorcist.” But William Friedkin himself might take issue with that, frequently referring to “Bug,” which was based on the play by Tracy Letts and marked the first project in what looks to be an ongoing collaboration between the two like minds, as less a “pure” horror than a kind of pitch black comedy love story. But with respect, its effect may be all twisted up with irony and perversely self-defeating psychology, but in the main it is simply unsettling as hell, featuring a terrific (and shamefully undervalued) performance by Ashley Judd and giving Michael Shannon one of the first of the big roles that really had us sit up and take notice of him. It’s a simple, near single-location story of a relationship that starts off a healthy influence on Agnes (Judd), but is soon undermined by the conspiracy paranoia that Shannon’s Peter holds, which manifests itself in the delusion that his very cells are infested with bugs after government tests were performed on him in the army. Yet its resonance runs deeper than that —Agnes herself is far from well. An Oklahoman waitress haunted by the disappearance of her son, menaced by her ex (Harry Connick Jr) and a frequent drug and alcohol abuser, it’s one of the great tricks of Lett’s script and Friedkin’s absolutely sure grip on the material that the inversion of our sympathies happens as gradually and inexorably as it does. Peter initially seems like he might be Agnes’ redemption but he is really her damnation, as Agnes herself, more afraid of being alone than she is of going insane, falls down the rabbit hole of his delusion. A slightly unsatisfactory ending aside, this is a superb example of achieving a great deal with minimal resources (and was recognized by FIPRESCI when it played Directors’ Fortnight in Cannes), and its ideas and images linger in the mind long after it ends, sticky and foul as old flypaper.
14. “The Descent” (2005)
Great, nourishing horror movies often have a kind of allegorical value as well as a visceral one, in which universal themes resonate while also scaring you silly. Neil Marshall’s “The Descent,” however is not one of those. And it’s far from perfect, delivering a rather botched last third in which the creeping dread of the first two acts is lessened when we actually see the creatures doing the menacing. It was also released with a different ending in the States, which was designed not to seem as utterly bleak as the UK finale, but just feels compromised as a result. But it rides high on this list, which goes to show just how much we think of the first half of the film, tapping brilliantly into the innate fear of small spaces and the magnification of interpersonal issues that can happen in extreme situations. A group of six female friends go spelunking (a pastime also known as “Oh God, oh God why on Earth would you put yourself through that?”) and ends up trapped in an unmapped underground cave system with no hope of rescue. To be honest, at this point we were already swooning with fear, before the women’s relationships start to disintegrate as agendas are revealed and old grudges resurface, and before long they start to hear odd, unidentifiable, echolocation-y clicks drawing closer. The atmosphere Marshall creates in this first hour pretty much sings with tension and a kind of ancient, deeply-held fear of the dark and what it might be concealing, and nothing, not even the later rather generic unraveling of the plot can dispel the hold those icky, dread-filled moments early on have on us. Proof positive that our imaginations can conjure up terror infinitely more distressing than anything that can be shown on screen, “The Descent” may lose faith later on, but nonetheless deserves our deep admiration for so forcefully and cleverly pointing our imaginations straight down into the claustrophobic dark heart of some pretty primal fears.
13. “28 Days Later…” (2002)
Danny Boyle was riding an early career high after the one-two punch of “Shallow Grave” and “Trainspotting” made him a young filmmaking star to certain cinephiles, but then came “A Life Less Ordinary” and “The Beach.” Both works saw him jump headfirst into the Hollywood pool, working with name stars and bigger budgets, but both underperformed domestically and received mostly tepid reviews.So after two quickie TV movies in 2001, Boyle went back to his low budget roots with this take on the zombie outbreak movie, and established a consistent track record of trying new things every time out, not always succeeding, but with a vigor and love for cinema that saw him win a Best Director Oscar six years later. And ‘28 Days’ remains one of his very best. Shot on consumer grade DV cameras, it has a lovely Dogme 95 aesthetic perfectly in keeping with its subject matter. The pixelated imagery only adds to the confusion, paranoia and news-level reality of a terrifying apocalypse that spreads faster than the rage-fueled monsters at its center. Some get bogged down in whether or not it’s a true zombie movie, but come on, is there any doubt? It is an original take on the genre, but it is a zombie movie, down to its humans-are-as-bad-as-the-monsters third act. And every time Zack Snyder gets credit for inventing fast zombies, our hearts sink while our cynicism reaches stratospheric heights. Then we put this great horror film on, remind ourselves once again why we love it so, and forget about all that noise.
12. “The Devil’s Backbone” (2001)
“Pan’s Labyrinth” is probably Guillermo Del Toro’s masterpiece up to this point, but though that film contains horror elements, we consider it more of a fantasy/fairy tale/coming-of-age picture. But that’s okay, because what not enough people acknowledge is that “The Devil’s Backbone” is almost as good as “Pan’s Labyrinth,” another deeply existential meditation on the nature of war that takes place in a orphanage during the Spanish Civil War. As a piece of imagery so on-the-nose that it can’t help but resonate, an unexploded aerial bomb sits in the courtyard of an orphanage, forcefully lodged in the earth, waiting to go off. And since the words “directed by Guillermo del Toro” appear on screen, it should also be noted that there is a ghost, supposedly the spectral remains of a young boy who went missing on the day that the bomb landed. “The Devil’s Backbone” is a deeply uneasy movie, with a palpable atmosphere so thick you could carve it into slices, beautifully shot by del Toro’s frequent collaborator Guillermo Navarro and featuring the kind of moments that are not just memorable; they’re downright haunting. It might not be as ornate or magical as “Pan’s Labyrinth,” but it’s every bit as emotionally powerful and visually stunning. The two are obvious companion pieces, set at roughly the same place at roughly the same historical point, and near-equals in terms of quality as well. Here’s hoping next year’s “Crimson Peak,” his return to the genre, hits the same heights.
11. “The Others” (2001)
A splendidly atmospheric, old-fashioned ghost story featuring all the staples —haunted mansions, creepy ambivalent servants and afflicted children— Alejandro Amenabar’s “The Others” has more than enough evocative style to make up for the lack of gore-dripping talons or Asian demon children with scraggly hair. Featuring a lovely turn from Nicole Kidman that taps into her facility for neurotic, nervy characters who live oddly pristine existences, the film can also be read on multiple psychological levels. Like the terrific “The Innocents,” to which it certainly owes a debt, “The Others” has subthemes about faith and piety and the dangers of isolation and sexual deprivation (especially for women), but Kidman’s sympathetic portrayal makes her role much more than simply that of a borderline hysteric. It’s also a terrifically well-made classic ghost story, beautifully shot and composed, with gas lights flickering across the faces of people who may or may not be there and every room feeling cavernous and stately, but cold. And in the set-up of the children’s rare condition which means they are hyper photo-sensitive and cannot be exposed to sunlight, contains an all-time great premise for a horror movie, and one that in using darkness and shadow so integrally must have been something of a dream job for cinematographer Javier Aguirresarobe. It is a slow film and about as far from the “Texas Chainsaw Massacre” as it is possible for two films in ostensibly the same genre to be, but its pleasures increase as it goes along, building to a truly satisfying finale that is equal parts tragic, cathartic, hopeful and despairing.