In cinema, the horror genre is a glaring inevitability. I should know, as a movie theater employee. No matter how terrible a new horror movie in theaters is, it will always draw in at least some meager crowd of teenagers or couples. This is not the case for other genres, but, looking at box office returns, it is clear that in America, horror will always sell.
As a moviegoer myself, it’s obvious why this is the case: the genre promises excitement whether it’s good or bad. The very worst horror films have gone on to cult status, where they travel through word of mouth and still influence pop culture today (see “Troll 2” and “Sharknado”). Since then, even the sloppy B-movie can turn out a profit. As long as it’s horror, studios continue to crank them out seemingly month after month.
Gone are the days of filmmakers like Wes Craven and John Carpenter. After many years of working under the postmodernist school of thought, some modern horror directors either fail miserably in attempting to build something with thematic staying power (“Men,” 2022) or create something so pandering and pulp that it just leaves a bad taste in your mouth (“The Conjuring: Last Rites,” 2025).
It is admittedly difficult to balance content — the plot and form — with what the movie is attempting to say on a broader scale; few get it completely right. What many filmmakers neglect is prioritizing content. When people go to see a horror film, they want to be entertained, and so the content and the element of fear should be maximized for this effect. Maximizing fear is admittedly difficult, even though it may seem that certain directors have it down to a science.
To analyze the science of creating effective fear within a film and its narrative, it may be helpful to compare and analogize its opposite genre of comedy. Just like comedy, there is a discreet timing and rhythm to how things play out; smaller jokes, each with crafted comedic timing, exist within the larger looming narrative gag that all unfold into the final punchline. It is for this reason that the premise and plot itself must be so strong, and the traits of the main characters in the respective genres only advance the joke/horror of the situation.
Also similar to humor, fear taps into more primal and latent parts of the human mind, as the things that we find utterly hilarious or deeply fearful are likely things we would rather not admit to feeling. This is what a good horror film must tap into; after all, that’s what moviegoers are paying for.
All of these things gone right, while maintaining an interesting thematic form, can be found in 2024’s “Longlegs.” The notable thing this film manages to create is apparent even through its title. The enigmatic nature of a killer named “Longlegs” is established in the first scene, but that is the last time the movie gives the audience anything straightforward.
The strange case that is Longlegs becomes one piece in the larger puzzle that the main character, an FBI agent, attempts to uncover as the film unravels and more and more killings happen for a reason that the audience is forced to wonder about. As the film unfolds, incremental scares happen, always with well-tuned timing; things are set up and knocked down, always relevantly prodding at the larger mystery behind the various killings in the film.
When everything is finally revealed at the end, the finale is unexpected yet inevitable, leaving only a further sense of dread as you leave the theater. There is a great thematic presence as well — many viewers can take many different messages from the film’s story, although it seems to deal heavily with the sacrificial nature of parenthood, adding to the feelings of discomfort.
What’s more important, though, is that the movie scares you — the content is maximized to deliver a disquieting experience. Even though the standard that “Longlegs” follows seems to have existed forever, other modern horror films will have to adapt similarly if they want to attract more than just that one couple who buy tickets to make out during the credits.
