Staff Picks: Movies that Scared the Sh*t Out of Us as Kids
In honor of Halloween, we asked some of our staff writers to write about the movies that scared them the most as kids.
The Descent: I tried to watch the spelunking horror flick with my parents when I was ten. I managed to make it through the horrendous opening sequence, which depicts a person being impaled through the head, only to start shrieking at the first sight of the film’s gray, pig-nosed monsters. My parents wisely turned off the film and, over a decade later, I still don’t know how it ends. —Torinn
When a Stranger Calls: This babysitter slasher was so normal and seemed so realistic, I still have anxiety answering unknown numbers to this day. The killer says close to nothing in this movie because his calls and the labored breathing said enough. I will say, the babysitter’s perseverance in protecting the children was redeemable. I can’t say i would go to the same lengths with a killer breathing down my neck. —Tess
Poltergeist: The television didn’t scare me. I had seen the image of the girl’s hands on the television so much that I was desensitized to it. However, watching a bunch of zombies pop out of the ground and force the house into a sinkhole while the family screams and runs for their lives — that took me off guard, and I hoped my house was not built on a graveyard for years to come. —Hannah
Chicken Run: In the eyes of the critics, Dreamworks hit a homerun with Chicken Run. It made a strong commentary on the oppression of minority groups in the Western World during the 18th and 19th centuries and — now that I’m an adult — I can appreciate its script. However to this day I still carry the scar of watching these clay creations of chickens and humans come to life in their discontinuous fashion. —Siani
Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom: I don’t know why, but I watched the Indiana Jones films out of order, saving Temple of Doom for last. The movie was far more gory than either the Last Crusade or Raiders of the Lost Ark (I don’t talk about the new ones) — something I was expected at the mere age of eight. I made it through one particularly graphic scene just once, only to run upstairs for it whenever the I watched the movie again. —Elyakim
How the Grinch Stole Christmas: How the Grinch Stole Christmas is commonly marketed as a Dr. Seuss classic about the spirit of Christmas. However, to me, it’s the story of how a deranged cat — colored the most sinister shade of green — wreaked havoc on a small town. To make matters worse, Jim Carrey embodied the Grinch using his signature talents, such as outlandish facial expressions and bizarre pronunciation of words. While they added a comedic element to his other roles, Carrey’s skills brought an air of unpredictability that, as a ten year-old, terrified me. Similar to the Batman’s Joker, you could never know what the Grinch is capable of. —Soubie
Coraline: Wanting to prove my worth as a “big kid”, I, at 10 years-old, was determined to finally watch Coraline. I powered through it like a champ with one eye open– that is until I had to watch Coraline’s Other Mother chase her around with the treacherous button eyes. To this very day, I have no idea how that movie ended. —Siani
E.T.: Late one night, I crept out of bed and tiptoed down the stairs to find my mom sitting in front of the television. There, I saw a misshapen brownish creature with bug eyes dying by the side of a lake in the woods. Horrified, I ran back upstairs and hid beneath the covers. —Victoria
Scooby Doo: Monsters Unleashed: I’ve always been a wimp when it comes to horror movies, so I have to say that, even to this day, Scooby Doo 2: Monsters Unleashed is the most terrifying film I’ve ever seen. I loved the cartoons and assumed the movie wouldn’t be so bad -- after all, it was made for kids. But, apparently, nothing is scarier to me than animated monsters. The eerie and cartoonish soundtrack sets an anticipatory tone throughout the movie, which makes even the cotton candy monster frightening. —Staci
The Seed of Chucky: I will never forget the moment I was flipping channels as a child and saw the terrifying image of Chucky on TV. Everything about Chucky was horrifying to me, — his voice, the gashes on his permanently twisted-looking face. To top it all off, when I visited California at a young age, it seemed like everywhere my family and I went, there was a man dressed up as Chucky looking for people to take pictures with him. As if seeing his image on screen didn’t scar me enough, I also had to deal with these encounters. There was no escape from Chucky. —Sydney
More in Horror Reviews
If you asked most people a few years ago who was “winning” indie horror, the answer would've been obvious: A24, of course. But between 2021 and now, something shifted. Not all at once and not always clearly, but deliberately. While A24 horror started to feel scattered, Neon built something more strategic.
What’s interesting is that Neon didn’t start with a clear horror identity at all. It was built over time, and I track that evolution in three distinct pseudo-phases: pre-Titane, post-Titane, and post-Longlegs. Each phase had a different strategy. First it was discovering talent, then experimenting with identity, and finally scaling into something that looks a lot like dominance.
15 years ago today, Daren Aronofsky’s psychological thriller Black Swan hit theaters for the first time. The film was seen as a return to form for the director, bringing back much of the neurotic style that his infamous 2000 film Requiem for a Dream had–now dressed in the suffocating clothes of ballet instead of drug induced paranoia. In the time between these two films, Aronofsky released the oddball sci-fi film The Fountain (2006) to mixed reviews, and the quiet and candid The Wrestler (2008) to slightly better reception. Both of these films were a stark departure from Aronofsky’s Requiem for a Dream and Aronofsky’s affinity for reveling in his audience's misery. Now 15 years since its release, Black Swan has seen continued life in the misguided discourses of social media comment sections. Before I critique these discourses however, I would like to critically discuss the film detached from its legacy and reception.
I didn’t like The Substance at first, likely because I was trying to avoid the reality that most women, indeed, are victims. That conversations around women’s bodies go beyond mere comments or jokes—they compose our being. They dictate how long others deem us worthwhile partners or employees. They tell us to spend our New Year’s at the gym instead of with our families. To spend that extra minute dawdling in front of the bathroom mirror. To gawk when we see a woman over 60 on our movie screen. And that no matter how good at your job you are, everyone is talking about your boobs.
I first argue for extending the class of common constructs for analyzing horror media to two more constructs: constraints and character responses. I then analyze horror films belonging to the Fourth Cinema, i.e. Indigenous cinema as described by Barry Barclay. I plan to argue that these films have a distinct conceptualization of these three constructs that stems from ideas about community.
There are few villains in cinema more iconic than Michael Myers. From his misshapen William Shatner mask to his trademark kitchen knife, mere suggestions of these images are enough to send chills down the spines of generations of Americans, even for those who haven’t seen the Halloween films. I’ll be honest with you from the start: I don’t like Halloween very much, but give me a chance to explain.
This visually striking film isn’t as scary as the trailers make it out to be, but instead it is a story about family bond, the history and importance of the black community in filmmaking, and of course, alien invasion.
Fresh has all the ingredients to be the perfect modern thriller. It’s a black comedy about the horrors of modern dating starring Daisy Edgar-Jones and Sebastian Stan. There are plenty of mundane horrors to be had in the dating world, but Fresh ups the stakes and throws a cannibal into the dating pool.
Only the Scream franchise would introduce the word “re-quel” – a term so cinematically dense – into its already meta screenplay and premise. I expect nothing less from a series that has psycho-analyzed the totality of the horror genre while simultaneously creating its own expansive, trope-filled storyline. And in an age of tired reboots and sequels of once original and groundbreaking cinema, you would think that the new Scream would be equally as tired, especially with the franchise being in the state it was in prior to this installment. But 2022’s Scream proudly proclaims that this reboot is exactly what the franchise needed.
Of all the movies you’ve ever seen, how many of them can you specifically remember? Not just when and where you saw them, but who you were with, maybe even where you were sitting and what you chose to eat. For me there’s a lot of nostalgia tied up with doing this. I remember my life changing as a four year old being taken to see Star Wars in 1977 by my dad, as a special afternoon treat away from the hospital where I was undergoing long-term treatment for a collapsed lung.
Last Night in Soho, a film directed by British filmmaker Edgar Wright, lives in between the 1960s and modern times in London, England. Starring staples of British stardom Anya-Taylor Joy (Sandie), Matt Smith (Jack), briefly Sam Claflin (Lindsey), and Thomasin McKenzie (Eloise/Ellie), this film follows the life of Eloise Turner, a young aspiring fashion designer with an infatuation with the swinging sixties of London as she navigates her extraordinary ability to body-jump into another young woman in her dreams.
When I was a kid, I used to lose myself in the Fighting Fantasy ‘choose your own adventure’ books. I’d map out the best paths through the story, making copious notes on optimal outcomes with deadly creatures trying to cut my reading short and my limbs shorter. I’d play along with dice, and unlike my reckless friends, try not to skip ahead to see if my choices were the right ones. If I died, I started over, and there was a tremendous sense of achievement in being able to successfully remember how to get to the end with one’s life intact.
What is the recipe for success for a half-hour comedy these days? Apparently, it's to take a beloved New Zealand mockumentary about vampires and adapt it to American television.
What We Do in the Shadows, helmed by Oscar-winning Taika Watiti and Jermaine Clement of the original 2014 film of the same name, is a vampire-centric mockumentary-style show entering its third season. For those unfamiliar with the show, the main premise is that a group of centuries-old vampires emigrate to Staten Island from Europe, hoping to conquer the New World, but end up just being roommates in a dilapidated manor, getting into weekly shenanigans.
Not a fan of horror? Well, this is the perfect ghost-themed show for you. Full disclosure: I hate horror movies. Whether it’s because of the jump-scares, eerie music or avoidable bad choices made by the protagonist, horror movies have never been my style. I have, however, always been fascinated by the idea of spirits and ghosts and can’t help but ask the same question whenever I watch a horror movie: what happens to all the normal people who die? Are all ghosts really vengeful spirits or creepy kids?
I Blame Society is a terrifyingly brilliant satirical film that touches upon many important issues of our time: sexism, art, crime, and Hollywood disillusion. Directed by Gillian Horvat & co-written by herself and Chase Williamson, the semi-fictional story follows ‘Gillian’ (a semi-fictional character played by Horvat herself), as she works on a film based on a semi-compliment from a few of her friends that she would make a good murderer. Frustrated by the constant rejection and belittling of her talent, Gillian decides to take the film to the finish line completely on her own, exploring how far her character can go in planning murders, while taking a camera with her wherever she goes no matter how her friends or boyfriend feel about it.
