My Top 10 Favorite Halloween Movies.

"When the crypt doors creak and the tombstones quake,
Spooks come out for a swinging wake."

That day is almost upon us. It's nearly time for Halloween, a time that I like many others look forward to every year. And not simply because it signals Christmas as coming closer anytime it's over, but for being that rare time of year when everyone is free to let their freak flag fly, and the macabre spooks and haunts come to go bump in the night, full of festivities for everyone from trick or treaters, to those desiring something a little more ghastly, being that one time of year we welcome the frightening.

And key in this plays into those old annual classics to grace the silver screen and our home theaters, that linger and fester in our mind as they play their horrifying tricks on us, or give us something a little more light to ease us out of the terror and tickle us. Subgenres like the Slasher films were practically born because of Halloween, from Texas Chainsaw to (the appropriately named) Halloween, whose iconic villains and terrorizing nightmare fodder continue to haunt us even today.

It seems every film buff has his or her personal perennial favorite to sit back and enjoy this creepy time of year, and I'm no different. So in celebration of All Hallow's Eve, I've decided to leave my personal favorites for this time of year. These are not meant to be my favorite numerically ranked films, nor are they my attempt to say these are the scariest films ever made. Rather, these films stand here not by preference, but by how perfect they are to watch based on the atmosphere of the season, even if they have little to nothing to do with Halloween. Whether they be scary for the supernatural, for their humanity, or they work as nice counterprogramming to the grim and dark, I think these films are among those perfect to revisit this time of year.

And before we get to the main top ten, some honorable mentions to:

An American Werewolf in London, Evil Dead 2, The Addams Family, The Others, and ParaNorman.

And so, here presented in chronological order of their release, my top ten favorite Halloween films.

Alien
(1979)
Dir. Ridley Scott

Starting things off right away, a film I've already reviewed five months earlier. Figures that one of my absolute favorite films would be the big kick-off, and I can tell you that while Covenant has gotten worse upon reflection, it's remarkable just how impactful this little horror still remains nearly forty years later.

What makes it such a great horror film is that, for the most part, none of it has to do with the actual Xenomorph. You get the feeling that had that element been erased entirely, this crew could still have easily gone insane thanks to their time in space. The crew of the Nostromo are like space truckers, commodity haulers in a blue collar retro-fi future, so they've all been together and serving for a long time, having developed special bonds and subgroups. Time in space has not been easy for them, and as the creature slowly closes in, it's more the constant paranoia and cold claustrophobia that becomes the true monster for them, with secrets and ambiguities feeling like a massive threat in their own right.

But while we're on the topic, it certainly helps that the sleek acid-spewer is a threatening force to be reckoned with, and unlike the contemporaries of the time like Michael Myers and Leatherface, the much more animalistic and foreign nature of the creature was such a haunting quality. As vicious as it is, there is this purity to the monster, which is something that makes it stand as my personal favorite movie monster to date. Of course, just as important is Ridley Scott's excellent handle of direction, whose tightly wound tension and visual perfectionism slowly builds the horror in speed bumps, and whose power lies in what we don't see rather than what's in front of us. Regardless of the holiday, this is pretty much perfect for *any* time of the year.

The Shining
(1980)
Dir. Stanley Kubrick

Perhaps the most notorious of my inclusions, Kubrick's classic takes only the bare bones necessities of Stephen King's celebrated novel, before chucking the rest out and completely rewriting it. Despite it being a controversial move, and one that King remains infuriated over to this day, whether you like the film or not, there is no denying that it is an original, intensely moody experience.

To be fair to those naysayers, I want to be very clear in saying that I find it rather flat in terms of character. I don't think the Torrance family or any other human has very much in the way of depth or intrigue. In fact, from the moment these people are introduced, you can boil their entire character up in seconds. Kubrick has fortunately gone out of his way in garnering some impressive stars to help carry the slack, but when it comes to character in this movie, it's unfortunately lacking. But complaints and emptiness aside, this is one of very select movies in which I don't care about such a thing.

Style over substance may be seen as a dirty word, but in this case, the style *is* the movie. Kubrick's film is a disturbing and skin-crawling experience, slowly dropping us into a warm and lavish, but carnal and decaying purgatory with a unique story for every setting. The ghostly residents may not always have much to say, but their presence and their rotting facades can often say much more than any exposition, beckoning the characters like a moth to a flame, which serves as a great compliment to Kubrick's visual storytelling. Even without words, Kubrick's themes ranging from sexual frustration, to parental inferiority, crippling addiction, intense isolation akin to institutionalized solitary confinement, and the continuous decay of the unstable mind are delivered with stellar results, and just as much thanks for that is owed to Jack Nicholson's performance. He may not be much of an every man, but when called upon to be scary, he is horrifying. But, All talk and no play makes Jack a dull boy, so go check it out for yourself.

The Thing
(1982)
Dir. John Carpenter

Oh sure, John Carpenter's Halloween implies that film would be a perfect inclusion here, but I've always found the scares of Halloween to be a little too obvious and campy to truly be taken seriously. On the other hand, his remake of the 50's classic The Thing from Another World is a different beast altogether. And I do mean a beast.

Releasing in the midst of the watershed year of Sci-Fi that was 1982, The Thing initially struggled to stand out under the likes of E.T. and Blade Runner, soon finding reappraisal in the decades to come. Claustrophobia is a common theme of the films within my list, and The Thing's use of cabin fever may be the most twisted of all of them. Seeing a crew of researchers stationed and confined in a base in Antarctica, The Thing hews closely to the mold of Alien in which, even without the title creature, these people could just as easily turn on each other as the tension rises.

Paranoia runs rampant among the group as they attempt to keep track of the shape-shifting creature, growing increasingly hostile towards another and burning bridges as they fight to stay alive, and revert to their most primal instincts. One might be tempted to say that the monster only sped up whatever animosities might be boiling under the surface, as the humans prove just as scary as the mysterious creature. But even for those fans of gross-out gore, plenty of that is still on display as well, brought to life by Rob Bottin's ageless make-up and puppetry effects, whose graphic detail and bloody prosthetic work can make even repeat viewers squirm out of shock and uneasiness, an uneasiness that doesn't even let up as it reaches its fantastic cliff-hanger ending. Try as Michael Myers might, as far as I'm concerned, this is the scariest thing Carpenter has ever made.

The Fly
(1986)
Dir. David Cronenberg

I think I speak for everyone when I say the 80's gave us some of the greatest and most frightening horror movies ever made. After all, this is the decade that gave us A Nightmare on Elm Street, An American Werewolf In London, The Evil Dead, The Thing, cult classic Suspiria, as well as David Cronenberg's remake of the campy Vincent Price film The Fly. But more than simply being scary, is also deeply tragic to boot.

Simply put, in addition to being one of the most horrifying films I've seen, is one of the most depressing as well. What starts as a well-meaning experiment soon turns into a nightmare for inventor Seth Brundle, played by Jeff Goldblum. Attempting to master teleportation, Brundle becomes infused with a fly that starts altering his genetics, and warping his mind as his body deteriorates and transforms. From this point on, Cronenberg's signature sense of body horror takes center stage as the once brilliant scientist morphs into a hideous and putrid freak of nature, skin coming apart and his weight shifting in unnatural ways. The transformation is more than just that of aesthetics, here representative of a once ambitious, if arrogant man whose very identity has become buried by bitterness and fury, the product of a man so preoccupied with whether or not he could, he didn't stop to think if he should.

Much of this is owed to the excellence and sympathy of Jeff Goldblum's intensely physical performance, and the slowly worsening effects of Stephen DuPuis' ageless make-up effects, so gruesome one isn't sure to find it impressive or revolting. The Fly has often been seen as an allegory for AIDS and the treatment of those contracting it, and I can see that, but it could also carry shades of cancerous and Alzheimer's patients, those seen as beyond hope, that suffer stigmatization because of changes beyond their control, as once noble intentions become perverted into things more putrid. It's a downfall of classic Shakespearean status, and I dare anyone to watch this movie and not feel like they've been hit by a car as the terrifying and heartbreaking finale plays out. It's certainly one to linger with you.

Hocus Pocus

(1993)

Dir. Kenny Ortega

I think we all have that one nostalgic classic that while we see obvious faults in it, we frankly don't mind or just don't care, because the joy that it gives us is simply too strong to let us notice it. I suppose you could say I have one such case with Hocus Pocus, Disney's romp about three witches come back from the dead on Halloween, that while unpopular in its day, soon became a cult classic as it reran on TV many times.

Hocus Pocus is first and foremost a kid's film, one that my more demanding and critical adult mind reminds me is pure 90's cheese, with overplayed child performances and a general air of silliness, complete with a screenplay with hokey dialogue and weird logic gaps. Were I to watch the film sight unseen today, I'd probably be inclined to think so. But you know what? No amount of nit-picking can undermine just what a thorough delight this movie is. I'd classify it as a guilty pleasure, but that would imply I have something to feel guilty about. Cheesy as it is, Hocus Pocus keenly taps into my inner-child, with a simplicity and unabashed goofy charm highlighted through tremendous heart, towing the line of *just* scary enough not to be frightening, and that aforementioned dialogue being endlessly quotable.

But let's talk about the reason that you, me, and anyone who loved this movie as a kid watched it for: The Sanderson Sisters, as played by Bette Midler, Sarah Jessica Parker, and Kathy Najimy. These three single-handedly dominate the film, for good reason. Despite the fact that the trio are so eclectic and seemingly mismatched, the three share a terrific chemistry with each other, whose distinct quirks and cartoonish overreactions play off of one another with a gleeful and rapid-fire dysfunction. It's a terrific collective performance, whose fish out of water persona is hilarious as they navigate the advancements of the future, but also one with a delightful villainy, with Midler specifically relishing the pure wickedness of the eldest sister Winifred. Call it rose-colored glasses if you will, but I love this movie unconditionally. Out of all the entries on this list, this is the one I can never go a single year without watching.

Se7en
(1995)
Dir. David Fincher

So what about slasher flicks? Since its popularization in the 70's thanks to masked baddies like Leatherface and Michael Myers, the slasher flick has remained a thriving favorite among audiences. But what about films where the killer doesn't attempt to hide his face and willingly owns up to his actions with no cover? Strangely, that may be even scarier, and this is one area in which David Fincher's Se7en succeeds with flying colors.

Albeit, it's a stretch to call this a slasher film, given its roots are more in noir than outright horror, but that doesn't diminish the fear factor. Following his famously hellish detachment from Alien 3, Fincher proved his chops when tackling this restrained, but no less graphic mystery in which two detectives, played by Morgan Freeman and Brad Pitt, fight what is honestly a losing battle against the most undeterred nihilism of humanity. Part buddy cop movie, part investigative thriller, Se7en's fleeting glimpses of humanity come to be best represented through the interactions of the stars, Freeman's Somerset a veteran numb to the darkness in humanity, and Pitt's Mills a naive up-and-comer not yet accustomed and perhaps unprepared for the irredeemable actions of these unknown serial killers. Every big baddie needs his gimmick, the one in Se7en based on the seven deadly sins, which force both Somerset and Mills to confront their own moral compasses, as the case slowly builds to a shocking conclusion.

True, the film itself is quite a cold one, but I do believe that is befitting of it. Just as it forces our main detectives to confront our own moral compasses, it passes off those same dilemmas off to the audience, forcing us to gauge whether we really feel sympathy for those victims. Are they dealt undeserved fates, or are such barbaric fates justified in our minds? An uncomfortable personal decision to make, but one that Fincher and writer Andrew Walker pose with great confidence, emulating the grisly introspection of a Cormac McCarthy novel. It feels unfathomable, but some part of us knows it may be all too real, and rather than hide behind a mask like Leatherface, John Doe doesn't even attempt to hide his humanity. He publicly owns his monstrosity, and at the end of the day, that may be the scariest thing of all.

28 Days Later
(2002)
Dir. Danny Boyle

Zombies, zombies, zombies! As much of a staple as vampires, zombies have become inescapable for nearly two decades, surging in popularity with reinventions and hit shows like The Walking Dead. And because I couldn't leave an undead film off my list, I'd be remiss if I didn't include 28 Days Later, Danny Boyle's highly stylized survival film that served as one of the earliest inspirations for the 2000's zombie boom.

However, I use the word "zombies" to describe the creatures of 28 Days Later in the loosest form, here reimagined as the "infected", human beings turned hostile and ravenous after exposure to a deadly biohazard. These aren't slow, limping, cluttered hordes anymore, but brisk, coordinated flocks come sprinting at their prey, making split-second decisions all the more precious, and all the more desperate. But much like the best survival movies, much of the real soul of the movie is owed to those central figures caught in the devastation beyond their control, barely scraping by with whatever makeshift tools and escape plans they can conceive of with their limited resources, in fact not too dissimilar to still ongoing social divides within the UK's borders, wherein lower classes are the first to suffer from the mistakes of those higher.

That's just one of the weighty themes that screenwriter Alex Garland, who'd go on to become a great director in his own right, evokes the sharp divide between the privileged and underserved. With military units slowly closing in to contain the outbreaks, Britain begins to crumble under its superiority hierarchies, evoking a sense of post-9/11 anarchism, and a Neo-Nazism sense of domination and cruelty, with those higher classes seemingly regressing to the primal aggression of the infected. But the real hero of this film is Danny Boyle and his superb direction. His kinetic and pulsing cinematic voice has never been more perfectly matched than to the material here, infusing the film with an overwhelming visual and aural heartbeat, timed seamlessly to Chris Gill's heart-racing editing skills, that add a much needed adrenaline and intensity to the weighty emotions at play. To this day, I still get uneasy around ape exhibits.

The Village
(2004)
Dir. M. Night Shyamalan

Before his fall from grace, M. Night Shyamalan was once touted as the next Spielberg. It wasn't entirely undeserved praise, because in spite of the mixed results his own scripts gave him, he was nothing if not gifted on a purely technical level. Some of his films I feel were grossly underrated or misunderstood, with the mismarketed The Village suffering the brunt of harsh criticism, which I don't think the movie merited.

Typically at his best when working with simple and intimate fables, Shyamalan's horror within The Village is less interested in creature-feature frights, carrying the tone of a story from the campfire. As his first attempt at a period piece, Shyamalan relies heavily on the timeless and old-fashioned traditions of psychological terror, centralizing the narrative on a wary townsfolk that are slaves to their superstition and blind devotion. So much of the film is terrifying not for what happens onscreen, but what is deliberately hidden away. It's the fear of the unknown, whether they are justified or not, that fuels much of the haunting and grim nature of the film, in which myths are treated with such severity they may as well be fact. But even if they are false, is it really so simple? Would anyone be willing to leave if they could?  Even if those myths were disproved, is there something far worse to be afraid of beyond that? And is it fair to subject future generations to those same limitations and fear of the unknown?

But more than just an effective ghost story, The Village is also a beautiful humanist drama. In spite of the always pervading fear and superstition of the outside, the old-time village is also a place of tremendous compassion, honor, history, brotherhood, and innocence. It feels like a true paradise on earth, perhaps much too perfect and idealized, but it is also a place that bleeds and thrives from unconditional companionship, understanding, and optimism. It also allows for a sensitive, powerful love story to take hold, as Joaquin Phoenix's Lucius grows closer to Bryce Dallas Howard's Ivy (in a career best performance). That beauty is a very undervalued quality of The Village, a confident counter-balance to Shyamalan's terror, with a terrific sense of technical storytelling. Among its finest attributes are Roger Deakins' beautifully composed and near red-less photography, and an unforgettable violin-led score from James Newton Howard, one of the greatest heard from any movie ever, and I will hear no arguments to the contrary. If its twist ending veers it too close to a Twilight Zone episode, even that isn't enough to detract from the awe and horror it inspires.

Trick 'R Treat
(2007)
Dir. Michael Dougherty

But maybe you're not in the mood for Halloween. Maybe you're one of those who treat its traditions and fables like folly, and that it isn't worth the time, money, and resources it takes to celebrate. Just don't let Sam, the guardian of Halloween legend, catch you if that is your attitude. That little game can have consequences, or at least within the world of Michael Dougherty's cult dark-comedy it can.

Spread over the course of a long Halloween night, Trick 'R Treat is separated into six separate stories of interweaving characters, and their festivities. Part horror, part satire, part thriller, and part ghost story, Trick 'R Treat plays like a gloriously twisted, infectious love letter to the mythology of its holiday. In a terrific turn to the timeless ways of legends past, the little town within the film feels like a charmingly dated time capsule of myths and tall tales, harshly flying in the face of more modern advancements and attitudes of the present day, whose very lifeblood is provided by the macabre celebration and age-old traditions to come. In a way, this film tends to remind us just how important and how exciting a time Halloween is, when Christmas continually comes to steal its thunder earlier and earlier every year, and the chilling day not be given its due attention.

Here to preserve those customs and make sure that Halloween isn't left forgotten and rotting, Trick 'R Treat's mascot comes in the miniature form of Sam, an adorable, spritely, violent, frightening, and relentless protector of All Hallow's Eve seasonal celebrations. Sam is also commonly the one link between the six seemingly detached stories, sworn to observe and uphold as the merrymakers enjoy the night, with each story possessing a little bit of something for everyone. It's a film whose variety is greatly admired and appreciated, weaving through tales and their various meeting points keenly, and features one excellent cast of players including Anna Paquin, Brian Cox, and a standout Dylan Baker. Even if you care not for Halloween, you may want to think twice before you disrespect it next time. Sam is always watching.



Insidious

(2011)
Dir. James Wan

Finally, no Halloween would be complete without a haunted house story. As the premiere backer of independent horror fare, producer Jason Blum has managed to lift some engaging, and spooky tales the likes of Sinister, The Purge, and Get Out off the ground, but his launch of the Insidious series, brought to us by modern master of horror James Wan, remains the finest film under his Blumhouse label... except for Whiplash.

No horror film this decade makes my skin crawl the way that Insidious does. In an age where horror has devolved into filmmakers piling neverending jump scares into their films, with those the likes of the Platinum Dunes remakes taking prominence, it's a pure relief to see James Wan tone down the cheap tricks in favor of trickier, but no less terrifying tactics. The mood of Insidious is much more psychological, favoring old-fashioned parlor tricks meant to send our mind into overdrive, creating a space and atmosphere always intended to make us second guess ourselves. Did we really see what we thought we saw? It's a simple, but ingenious method in side-stepping the low-budget technical build of the film, in which Wan continually builds dread and tension through long, uninterrupted takes through the house.

But Insidious is interested in more than merely the possession story in the real world, but greater and more horrifying tales from the demonic inhabitants of the Further, a birthplace of fear and darkness stretching on like purgatory, making even the expansive dark space feel claustrophobic. This isn't to say that Insidious is devoid of jump scares, but this is an example of how to do them the right way. It's important to note that while most horror films are loaded with 15, 20, 30 jump scenes on average, Insidious is much more deliberately limited in how it utilizes them. Above all, those moments don't serve as the actual scares out of laziness, but rather merely serve as build up to greater scares and to enhance the film's atmosphere, often used only as a last resort, while still supplying some welcome pandering as well. Wan would go on to conclude this film's story in the second chapter of the series - with mostly good results, soon giving way to further installments centered on new families, and brand new demons, but none of them recreated the nightmare fuel this one instilled. "Tiptoe through the tulips..."

And so my list concludes. It's only one more week until the beloved night is upon us, and the festivities are in full swing by now. And only a few more days until Stranger Things returns!

Whether you be marathoning your playlists, trick or treating, braving haunted houses, or going wild at your local all-nighter party, I wish you all a Happy Halloween, and share a killer thriller tonight.