Editorials
What Are the Scariest Horror Remakes?
Should horror remakes exist? Should they not? I’m not too interested in answering that question. But the truth is that they exist, and considering how bleeding many of them there are, the question we need to ask is: Are they scary? I would like to take you on a tour of a few of the movies that respond to that question with an emphatic yes. They’re not ranked, because horror is such a subjective experience that the rankings would mean even less here than usual. And there are plenty I haven’t included, so if your favorite isn’t on the list, that doesn’t mean it’s not scary. That just means it’s not on my list. Also, a movie’s presence on the list doesn’t mean the original isn’t scary. OK, that’s the housekeeping out of the way. On with the frights!
Horror remakes get a bad rap. In an increasingly IP-driven movie marketplace, it’s easy to understand why. Many audiences want fresh, original horror movies with unique points of view and new things to say about the world. And they want to complain when those movies get remakes and sequels down the line. It’s how things are supposed to work!
Should horror remakes exist? Should they not? I’m not too interested in answering that question. But the truth is that they exist, and considering how bleeding many of them there are, the question we need to ask is: Are they scary?
I would like to take you on a tour of a few of the movies that respond to that question with an emphatic yes. They’re not ranked, because horror is such a subjective experience that the rankings would mean even less here than usual. And there are plenty I haven’t included, so if your favorite isn’t on the list, that doesn’t mean it’s not scary. That just means it’s not on my list. Also, a movie’s presence on the list doesn’t mean the original isn’t scary. OK, that’s the housekeeping out of the way. On with the best horror remakes!
Our Favorite Horror Remakes
The Woman in Black (2012)
This is a new mounting of the Susan Hill haunted house novel of the same name following a TV movie adaptation from 1989. Notwithstanding the chronologically confounding choice of casting Daniel Radcliffe as a father just one year out from the end of the Harry Potter franchise, it goes without saying that applying a movie budget to the title allowed it to bring the eerie Eel Marsh House to life in all of the elegant, crumbling squalor that Hammer Films (and its many partners) could provide.
This is a very jump scare heavy movie, so it won’t be to everyone’s tastes, but it pairs those jack-in-the-box moments with an atmosphere of such thick, oppressive, foggy gloom that the creeping damp of its central location gets into your bones even if you’re impervious to everything else going bump in the night.
Evil Dead (2013)
The thing this remake gets most right about Sam Raimi’s original 1981 masterpiece and its follow-up Evil Dead II, is that a movie can provoke a reaction by pushing the boundaries to the extreme, whether it be a laugh or a scream. There can be something terrifying about the sheer visceral nature of the gore in Evil Dead all on its own, especially in the smaller, more relatable moments like a person’s skull being slammed into the solid porcelain of a toilet.
But on top of that, you have director Fede Alvarez’s go-for-broke aesthetic there to disorient you while the movie throws scene after pulse-pounding scene of unmitigated mayhem upon the screen. It’s bound to get under your skin at some point or another. And maybe even deeper.
The Invisible Man (2020)
The Invisible Man, an adaptation of the H.G. Wells novel that so memorably became one of the cornerstones of the Universal horror unit in 1933, has big shoes to fill and does so with aplomb. It certainly helps that when Elisabeth Moss is scared of something onscreen, you can’t help but believe her. But this is also another entry where, whatever layer you peel back of the onion, there’s something different and disturbing underneath. In addition to some of the most exquisitely crafted scare gags of the decade, at its heart, the movie is about the very human and devastating violence that one person in a couple can inflict on the other.
The Thing (1982)
The Thing is a new adaptation of John W. Campbell Jr. novella Who Goes There?, which was previously adapted in 1951 as The Thing from Another World. Here’s the thing about The Thing. It ups the ante something fierce. In addition to throwing mind-bending, state-of-the-art special effects at the screen every opportunity it gets, John Carpenter uses every item in his toolbox to build and sustain a sense of creeping dread, from an all-timer cast of stars and character actors to Ennio Morricone’s brooding, lurking score.
The Ring (2002)
The Ring is an English-language remake of the 1998 Japanese-language movie Ringu, which itself was adapted from a novel by Koji Suzuki. So if there’s anything we’ve learned from this list, it should be that horror authors really deserve their flowers. Gore Verbinski directs the movie with aplomb, adding lavish visual elements that threaten to drown you in all their heady, vainglorious grandeur.
But he doesn’t shy away from the muscular, intense scares of the original movie, either. The Ring is a movie about someone trying desperately to save themselves while the clock ticks down to their death, and though it takes its time to get to the big, iconic showstopping moment, the movie doesn’t let up in its constant reminders that certain doom lies around every corner.
The United States spent most of this year celebrating its 250th anniversary. There have been parades, fireworks, and endless reminders of what the nation wants us to think are its founding ideals. Yet anniversaries are as much about what we choose to remember as they are about what we choose to forget. There is another anniversary this year. Five years ago this month, Candyman was released. The fact that both that film and America are sharing an anniversary this year may have been an accident, but that makes it no less significant.
Released amid another national reckoning over race, Nia DaCosta’s film asks a question that every celebration of America ought to confront: Is it possible to commemorate this nation without fully reckoning with the violence woven into its history? More than a sequel to a horror classic, Candyman is a meditation on the ghosts that haunt America because it has never fully reckoned with the past that created them.
How the Original Candyman Confronted America’s Racial History
The original Candyman understood this. Released in 1992 and set in the almost post-apocalyptic urban decay that was Chicago’s Cabrini-Green housing projects, Bernard Rose’s film arrived only months after the L.A. Race Riots, a moment when this country was coming to terms with the way the country’s relationship with Black folks was shaped by decades of segregation and racism.
Most audiences saw a supernatural slasher about a hook-handed killer summoned by saying his name five times into a mirror. But beneath the horror was a far more unsettling story. Candyman was about the lingering consequences of America’s racial history and the way white America has sometimes turned Black suffering into myth instead of confronting the systems that produced it.
The film’s true horror was never simply Candyman. It was the realization that monsters can be born from histories a nation refuses to face. That is exactly where the 2021 film expands the original’s vision.
Nia DaCosta’s Candyman Turns One Ghost Into Many
Bernard Rose’s Candyman explored the legacy of a single act of racist terror. Nia DaCosta’s film argues that the tragedy wasn’t confined to Daniel Robitaille, the man who became the monster. The 2021 film posits that Candyman is not one man but many.
Daniel Robitaille was lynched for loving a white woman. Sherman Fields takes on the mantle of the supernatural slasher because he was beaten to death by police after being falsely accused of harming a child. Anthony McCoy ultimately becomes part of the same legend. Their stories span generations, but they are connected by a nation that repeatedly produces the same injustice under different names at different points in history. The genius of the sequel is that it transforms Candyman from an individual ghost into a symbol of America’s recurring racial violence.
Candyman Shows How History Repeats Itself
History, the film suggests, is not something that happened once. It is something that keeps happening. That is why Candyman is one of my favorite films to teach in my Film and Philosophy course.
Students walk into class expecting a horror movie. They leave wrestling with questions about history, memory, and justice. We spend little time talking about jump scares or gore. (Because, let’s be honest, there is not much of that in the film.) Instead, we ask why some histories become legends while others are forgotten, what societies owe their victims, and whether a nation can ever move forward without honestly confronting the violence that shaped it.
The Horror of Remembering What America Wants to Forget
A good horror film reveals what we fear. What makes Candyman great is how it reveals what we would rather not remember. That is what haunted me the first time I saw it, long after the credits had rolled.
Five years after its release, Candyman remains one of the most unsettling movies in recent years because the history it confronts is not safely behind us. The original film understood that America’s racial violence could not simply be buried, while the 2021 film showed how easily that violence can be reproduced across generations.
Its Unquestionable Legacy in Horror
As America celebrates 250 years, Candyman reminds us that commemorating the nation’s founding requires remembering all this country’s history, including the parts that make the celebration uncomfortable.
We cannot exorcise a ghost by refusing to acknowledge why it exists. Perhaps that is the film’s most important lesson. The past does not haunt us because we remember it. It haunts us because we don’t.
Sometimes it feels borderline ridiculous to gush about John Carpenter’s The Thing as much as I do. It’s gotten to the point where when I’m asked about my favorite horror film by both friends and strangers, a little bit of embarrassment tinges my expression as I answer; it feels so obvious and rarely surprises anyone. Saying I love The Thing when people expect me to bust out an obscure foreign horror film or a cerebral thriller makes me feel like a rosy cheeked child with a propeller hat and a giant lollipop. “Wow, you love one of the most popular horror films of all time, congrats!”
But it’s just the truth. The first film of John Carpenter’s “Apocalypse Trilogy”, all three of its films are among my favorites. But The Thing has a special place in my heart. It shaped my taste in horror, my taste in most media in general, to be honest. It’s become the gold standard, 10/10 baseline test for the vast majority of my reviews; it is a perfect film, so I judge other films against it. And it’s one of the few movies I have to run back to and watch yearly like clockwork (usually when I’m spending a part of winter tied to the couch). It is, in all regards, the perfect film. If it isn’t the perfect film, then it is at the very least the perfect sci-fi horror film.
So, what exactly qualifies The Thing for literal perfection? It’s a high bar to clear. This article, as informal as it is compared to most of my editorials, is an attempt to explain it.
Even if Carpenter Isn’t the Goat, His Team for The Thing Was
As far as crews go, John Carpenter’s The Thing had the cinematic equivalent of the ’96 Chicago Bulls behind it. We’re talking about an amalgam of some of the most talented people to ever grace the silver screens with their work, boasting alongside John Carpenter two of the heaviest hitters in all of cinematic history: Dean Cundey, and Rob Bottin. Now, we can debate all day about whether John Carpenter is the greatest of all time when it comes to horror directors. Personally, I’m just as liable to say Cronenberg, Del Toro, or Hooper as I am to say Carpenter.
But the key factor to remember here is that Carpenter is the coach, not the star player; the Phil Jackson, if you will. Yes, he is the visionary who directed a near perfect cast of players and composed a tale of pure, apocalyptic paranoia. More importantly, he put together and coordinated the team that would make his vision manifest as reality. And if Carpenter is Phil Jackson, Rob Bottin is the team’s Michael Jordan here, the greatest of all time.
(And to all my Lebron fans, I love you, but you have to sit down for this analogy.)
The Legend of Rob Bottin
Bottin’s story is borderline unbelievable, but it’s the best way to explain how abnormally skilled he is and what he brought to the table for Carpenter. At age 14, Bottin became an apprentice to the at-the-time GOAT Rick Baker after sending him a letter seeking an autograph while sharing his creature designs. He was a quick study under Baker, joining him on the ’76 King Kong and Star Wars, before bouncing to Carpenter’s The Fog and then iconic werewolf picture The Howling.
When he reunited with Carpenter in 1982, he now had 6 classic films under his belt and was moving like an FX bullet train. From ages 22 to 23, he worked on The Thing for 57 weeks in both pre-production and on set. Nearly 24/7 for 400 days, Bottin’s all-gas no-brakes work ethic made The Thing at the cost of his own health, and it resulted in him being hospitalized with pneumonia. He survived and went on to make Robocop. And at least one of your favorite films.
Because no conventional disease or weaponry can kill Rob Bottin.
The Thing Still Features Horror’s Best Practical Effects
Okay, that last bit might be hyperbolic, but the man sincerely put his life on the line to make special effects that haven’t been topped since. Not the best effects in just horror history, or science fiction history, but effects that haven’t been topped in any genre for over 44 years. Not by his mentor Rick Baker, not by Screaming Mad George, not by Alec Gillis (though shoutout to him for his criminally scrapped work on The Thing (2011), and even more criminally ignored work on Harbinger Down). I love Dawn of the Dead, believe me, I do, but he certainly isn’t being beaten out by Tom Savini’s body of work. And that isn’t to disrespect and say that all of the artists that I just mentioned are bad, they’re the best in the game! But Rob Bottin was just that much better.
This inevitably invites the counterpoint: “But it wasn’t just Bottin! Stan Winston and his people were the ones who worked on the Dog Thing to give Bottin’s crew a break, and that’s the best monster in the movie!”. To which I say: look me in the eye and tell me the Dog Thing sequence is better than the Palmer Thing sequence. That’s not even counting the Norwegian Thing, both Norris Things, and the absolutely masterful final creature work that was the Blair Thing. The only reason Bottin and his people didn’t win Academy Awards for their work was because they got jumped by E.T., The Dark Crystal, Conan the Barbarian, and Blade Runner all at the same time at the Oscars. It’s just a consequence of being released during the best year for movies ever.
Okay, Now We Can Talk About Dean Cundey
But of course, these effects are then supported by another true legend: Dean Cundey. Selling people on Rob Bottin being the greatest effects artist of all time, isn’t nearly as difficult as advocating for Cundey, who despite an impressive catalog of filmography, slowed down in the back half of his career. He’s often overshadowed in conversations when it comes to The Thing; it’s always talk of Carpenter’s directing, Bottin’s effects, and Ennio Morricone’s incredible soundtrack up front, and rarely any of Cundey’s work. He isn’t spoken about in the same breath as John Alcott or Michael Ballhaus, cinematographers whose work is associated with prestigious cinema because of their proximity to great directors.
Cundey might not be the director of photography your Martin Scorsese’s or Paul Thomas Anderson’s went running to, but I would be lying if I said I didn’t think he was the most important cinematographer in horror history, just for his work with Carpenter and Spielberg. He helmed three of the most influential films in all of horror with his lighting and camera operating: The Thing, Halloween, and Jurassic Park. The man’s fingerprints are automatically on the cultural DNA of all slashers, most practical effects-driven horror films, and the biggest gateway horror franchise in film history.
The Dream Team That Made The Thing Perfection
Cundey has gone on record saying that despite Carpenter’s input, he was effectively given free rein to light and frame The Thing. The man didn’t just know how to shoot effects to make them evoke true disgust from the audience, he was able to manipulate every aspect of the shot to terrify. His sixth sense cinematography wasn’t just for lighting and playing with shadows, but for the speed of camera movement, the power of his blocking, and for having a complete grasp of communicating texture and temperature.
And temperature is the soul of The Thing. John J. Lloyd’s production design of the research station and the great white expanse around it feels just as bone chilling as the film’s antagonist, thanks to Cundey. There isn’t a single flat shot in the thing, not a moment that doesn’t feel dynamic, and it’s because of Dean Cundey.
Now, all this being said about Bottin and Cundey, they are far from the only ones who synthesized this structurally perfect organism of a movie. Every bit of Todd C. Ramsay’s editing splices the film’s scenes together to move perfectly in-time. David Lewis Yewdall’s sound design and how it gave a voice to the horrors on screen will be etched into people’s brains forever. The point is that everyone, every single person who had a hand in making the film, helped make the movie flawless.
Like the cells of the thing from another world, each crew member on John Carpenter’s The Thing moved in concert with the next, in unison, to create the greatest sci-fi horror of all time. So, is it any wonder why 40 some years later, the film still has us all captured?
