This October, I’m going to be doing something a little bit different with my contribution to 4 Shots From 4 Films. I’m going to be taking a little chronological tour of the history of horror cinema, moving from decade to decade.
Today, we begin the 2010s!
4 Shots From 4 Horror Films
The Wolfman (2010, dir by Joe Johnston)
Insidious (2010, dir by James Wan)
Let Me In (2011, dir by Matt Reeves)
The Cabin In The Woods (2012, dir by Drew Goddard)
On July 3rd, 1954, Marilyn Sheppard was murdered in her bedroom.
The wife of a prominent neurosurgeon, Marilyn Sheppard was bludgeoned to death in her own bedroom. Her husband, Sam Sheppard, claimed that he had fallen asleep on a downstairs couch and was woken up by the sound of his wife screaming. Sheppard said that, when he ran upstairs to the bedroom, he saw a bushy-haired man in the shadows. The man hit Sheppard, knocking him out. When Sheppard came to, he saw the man fleeing the house and chased after him. The two fought outside and again, Sheppard was knocked out.
The police did not believe Sam Sheppard’s story and, after days of headlines that flat out accused him of being the murderer, he was arrested and charged with murdering his pregnant wife. The press had a field day with the story and the trial was frequently described as being a circus. Sheppard’s case was damaged by the revelation that he had cheated on his wife multiple times. Contemporary accounts of the trial portrayed Sheppard as being cocky and arrogant. As the jury was not sequestered, they saw every tabloid headline about Sheppard. After deliberating for four days, the jury found Dr. Sam Sheppard guilty of murdering his wife. He was sentenced to prison.
Sheppard would stay in prison until 1966. During that time, his mother committed suicide, his father died of an ulcer, and his former father-in-law also chose to end his own life. Sheppard’s original attorney died in 1961 and his appeals were taken over by a young lawyer named F. Lee Bailey. In 1966, Bailey argued before the U.S. Supreme Court that Sheppard was denied due process due to the jury not being sequestered. The Supreme Court agreed and granted Sheppard a new trial. This time, with the flamboyant Bailey defending him, Sheppard did not testify and the defense focused on the lack of any real evidence that would suggest Sheppard had lied about the Bushy-haired Man. Sheppard was acquitted.
Today, if Sam Sheppard is remembered, it’s for inspiring The Fugitive, a show about a doctor wrongly accused of murder. (The show aired while Sheppard was still in prison.) The majority of online posts and articles that I’ve read about Sam Sheppard have always focused on the retrial and usually end with Sheppard leaving prison. It’s rare that Sheppard’s life after prison is discussed, That’s probably because it’s a very sad story.
Sheppard may have been acquitted but he had also just spent 12 years in prison and he came out a changed man. Sheppard tried to return to practicing medicine but his surgical skills had deteriorated to the extent that two of his patient died after he nicked an artery. Facing multiple wrong death suits, he resigned from the only hospital that had been willing to give him a job. He became a professional wrestler and was known as “Killer” Sam Sheppard at some of his matches. He was also an alcoholic. Less than four years after getting out of prison, he was dead at the age of 46.
1998’s My Father’s Shadow: The Sam Sheppard Story features Peter Strauss as Dr. Sheppard and Henry Czerny as his namesake son. The film alternates between flashbacks to Dr. Sheppard’s life and scenes set in the 90s that focus on his son’s attempts to definitively clear his father’s name. The film suggests that the murder was actually committed by Richard Eberling (John Colicos), who worked as a handyman and a window washer at the Sheppard home and who, when he was arrested for burglary several years after the murder, was discovered to have some of Marilyn Sheppard’s jewelry in his possession. In the 80s, Eberling was convicted of murdering another one of his clients. Eberling himself died in prison, the same year that this movie aired.
It’s a big story and My Father’s Shadow tries to do a lot in just 90 minutes. Sometimes, it tries to do too much. The flashbacks are occasionally a bit difficult to keep track of. Sam Sheppard’s son goes from being a military school brat to a long-haired hippy so suddenly that, from a narrative point of view, it’s a bit distracting. Overall, though, this is an effective look at an interesting story and it features two excellent performances from Strauss and Czerny. It may not be the definitive telling of Sam Sheppard’s story but it’s a good place to start.
Here’s 20 suggestions, some of which are obvious and some of which are not.
The Essentials
What would Halloween be without watching Halloween (1978)? And, just to make clear, I’m talking about the John Carpenter Halloween and not any of that David Gordon Green crap. John Carpenter’s Halloween continues to be one of the most effective horror films ever made and it’s also the rare example of a slasher film in which the victims are just as memorable as the killer. I love Donald Pleasence’s performance as Dr. Loomis. Halloween can be viewed on Shudder.
Halloween II (1981) picks up right where the first Halloween ended. Jamie Lee Curtis doesn’t really do much in this version, other than spend her time limping through the hallways of Haddonfield’s nearly deserted hospital. However, that just means that we get to spend more time with Dr. Loomis! Halloween II is nowhere near as effective as the first film but it still introduced some really interesting ideas, like Samhain and Laurie being Michael’s sister. David Gordon Green decided all of that unnecessary. I disagree. Halloween II can be viewed on Peacock.
Halloween III: Season of the Witch (1982) does not feature Michael Myers or Laurie Strode or even Dr. Loomis. However, it does feature the Silver Shamrock theme song, Tom Atkins yelling like a badass, and Don O’Herlihy explaining the true meaning of Halloween. “….and Happy Halloween.” Halloween III can be viewed on Peacock.
The Exorcist (1973), William Friedkin’s masterpiece and the first horror film to ever be nominated for Best Picture, is one of the few horror film to remain frightening even after repeat viewings. I will add that you don’t have to be Catholic to get The Exorcist but it definitely helps. The Exorcist can be viewed on HBOMax.
Suspiria (1977) remains Dario Argento’s best film, a dizzying masterpiece of horrific pop art that mixes blood, ballet, witches, music, and names that start with S. From the moment that Jessica Harper (giving a great performance) steps into the rainy night to the shocking double murder at the red apartment building to the mind-bending climax, Suspiria is a brilliant mix of suspense and horror. Do not see the remake. (What is the deal with pretentious schmucks remaking brilliant horror films?) The original is all you need. It’s on Tubi.
Inferno (1980) is one of Argento’s more unfairly overlooked films. A loose sequel to Suspiria, Inferno is a masterpiece of both horror and paranoia. Irene Miracle’s opening swim is one of Argento’s most haunting set pieces. The killer kitties are adorable. The ending features effects work from none other than Mario Bava. Sadly, the making of Inferno was not a happy experience for Argento and it temporarily soured him on working in America. This brilliant film is on Tubi.
After his bad experience with Inferno, Argento returned to his giallo roots with Tenebrae (1982). A series of murders in Rome are connected to an American writer. Argento reportedly did not get along with star Anthony Franciosa but he still got a good performance out of him. The wonderfully quirky supporting cast includes John Saxon, Daria Nicolodi, Christian Borromeo, John Steiner, Lara Wendel, Ania Pieroni, and Giuliano Gemma. This film features several frightening and suspenseful set pieces. The relentless dog still freaks me out. Tenebrae can be viewed on Tubi.
A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984) — again, the original and not the remake — holds up surprisingly well. Whenever I watch it, I’m shocked to be reminded of just how scary Freddy Krueger actually was in his first film appearance. This Wes Craven shocker is available on HBOMax.
Poltergeist (1982) — the original, not the remake — also holds up well. JoBeth Williams finding the strength after being thrown around her room to limp down that ever expanding hallway to save her children continues to be both horrifying and inspiring. Craig T. Nelson’s over-the-top delivery of “YOU LEFT THE BODIES!” continues to make me smile. Poltergeist can be viewed on HBOMax.
It’s not Halloween without Bruce Campbell and Evil Dead (1981) — the original, though the remake isn’t bad — is available on Tubi. Though it lacks the humor of the sequels, the first Evil Dead holds up very well and one can definitely see why not only Bruce Campbell but also Sam Raimi went on to have active and successful career afterwards.
In my previous entry, I listed several Vincent Price/Roger Corman collaborations. Somehow, I failed to include The Masque of the Red Death (1964), which is the best of them all. Vincent Price is wonderfully evil. Roger Corman’s direction is appropriately intense. Nicholas Roeg’s cinematography is beautifully ominous. It can be viewed on Tubi.
The Wolf Man (1941) — the original, even though I like the remake — is one of my favorite Universal horror films, even if it does leave me wondering how Lon Chaney, Jr. could possibly be the son of Claude Rain. In future films, Larry Talbot would become a bit too whiny for his own good. In this one, your heart breaks for him and his father. The Wolf Man can be viewed on Peacock.
White Zombie (1932) is considered to be first feature-length zombie film. It’s a bit creaky but it does feature one of Bela Lugosi’s best performances. One should see it for its historical significance, if nothing else. It can be viewed on on Tubi!
Odds and Ends
One can debate whether or not Targets (1968) should be considered a horror film or a thriller but it features what is perhaps Boris Karloff’s best performance, playing an aging horror star who fears that his old movies can’t compete with reality. For once, Karloff is the hero, bravely confronting a madman who starts shooting at the people attending a showing of one of Karloff’s old films. Targets can be viewed on Pluto TV.
The Dead Pit (1989) is a personal favorite of mine. An amnesiac (energetically played by Cheryl Lawson) finds herself in an insane asylum where she spends a lot of time running around in her underwear while a doctor performs experiments and the dead rise. Lawson’s committed performance and director Bett Leonard’s atmospheric direction elevate the entire film. This is 80s, low-budget horror at its best and it’s on Tubi.
Night of the Demons (1988) asks the question, “Is it really a good idea to have a party in a deserted house?” Night of the Demons is enjoyable in its shameless and demented way. Linnea Quigley and Angela Kinkade throw themselves into the role of the two girls throwing the party. The film is energetic, surprising, witty, and occasionally even scary. It can be viewed on Tubi.
From the same director as Night of the Demons, Witchboard (1986) is the ultimate film about why one shouldn’t mess with a Ouija board. I relate to Witchboard because it’s about a redhead who never curses. Beyond that, though, this is a good horror film that features Stephen Nichols getting upset when everyone fails to take his Ouija board seriously. This film actually has its share of very real jump scares. It can be viewed on Tubi.
Wishmaster (1997) is well-remembered for Andrew Divoff’s creepy intensity as the Djinn but the cast is actually a who’s who of horror royalty. Robert Englund, Tony Todd, George “Buck” Flower, Kane Hodder, Reggie Bannister, Joe Pilato, they all made appearances. I like the fact that no one ever chooses their words carefully when speaking to Wishmaster. The film is on Tubi.
Dead and Buried (1981) features strange things happening in a coastal town. This film feels like a particularly gruesome episode of The Twilight Zone and features a strong performance from Jack Albertson as the coroner with a secret. It’s on Tubi.
Exorcist II: The Heretic (1977) has a terrible reputation that is largely deserved but I have to admit that I find it to be strangely fascinating. It’s such a misfire that you really can’t look away and it takes an all-star cameo approach to its story that feels so wrong that it leaves you wondering whether John Boorman was intentionally going for a parody or not. Richard Burton doesn’t waste any time with being subtle. See if you can figure out what’s going on during the flashback scenes. It’s on Tubi and I dare you to watch it.
Click here for the weekend’s list!
“It’s not just the darkness out there… it’s the darkness in here.” — Sheriff Daniel Carter
Steven Kostanski and Jeremy Gillespie’s The Void is a grisly, atmospheric plunge into Lovecraftian cosmic horror and John Carpenter-inspired body horror, set within a nearly abandoned rural hospital shrouded in eerie blue light and creeping shadows. The film expertly conjures anxiety and dread, as fragile boundaries between dimensions begin to dissolve, threatening to swallow all inside.
At the heart of the story is Deputy Sheriff Daniel Carter (Aaron Poole), whose weighty grief and fractured relationships drive his reluctant heroism. He stumbles upon a bloodied man and brings him to the hospital staffed by his estranged wife, Allison Fraser (Kathleen Munroe), a focused nurse haunted by their broken family. Dr. Richard Powell (Kenneth Welsh) looms as the villainous architect of the unfolding nightmare, his obsession with conquering death fueled by personal tragedy, twisting him into a leader of occult horrors.
The supporting characters—Vincent and Simon, survivors hardened by trauma; Maggie, a pregnant woman caught in the web of cosmic corruption; and Kim, a vulnerable young intern—saturate the siege narrative with survival-driven urgency. Though less developed than the leads, they embody the raw desperation and existential threat pervading the hospital.
The Void wears its influences on its sleeve, drawing heavily from the siege tension of John Carpenter’s Assault on Precinct 13 alongside the paranoia and isolation of The Thing. These classic Carpenter motifs—claustrophobic settings, unrelenting external threat, and mistrust among survivors—penetrate the film’s fabric, amplified by a synthesizer-driven score nodding to Carpenter’s sonic signature. The nightmarish body horror, occult elements, and grotesque practical effects owe much to Stuart Gordon’s work adapting Lovecraft’s stories, blending visceral horror with cosmic dread.
Yet, while the homage is clear and affectionate, the film sometimes falters by blending these iconic elements into a decoction that resists full cohesion. Instead of synthesizing the inspirations into an innovative whole, it assembles a patchwork—rich in style and atmosphere but struggling to commit to a coherent, fresh narrative. The mixture of Carpenter’s claustrophobic siege, Gordon’s visceral mythos, and the cultist horror trope occasionally feels like pastiche rather than a confident new voice.
The technical craftsmanship shines throughout. Practical effects—from mutated creatures to grotesque body transformations—are lovingly crafted and tactile, restoring a physicality often lost in digital horror. The cinematography and lighting accentuate the oppressive mood, favoring muted colors punctuated by blood-red and luminous blues, thinking as much about shadows as solid objects.
However, the film’s narrative and character work often leave something to be desired. While Carter’s arc of guilt and reluctant heroism is thematically resonant, key emotional beats suffer from underdevelopment, with his relationships, particularly with Allison, only superficially explored. Dialogue oscillates between exposition-heavy and clipped, hindering audience connection with the cast amid the unrelenting terror. The supporting characters serve primarily functional roles, their deeper motivations and backstories sacrificed for the sake of grim spectacle and escalating horror.
The climax descends into surreal, fragmented sequences that evoke fever dreams more than narrative resolution. This abstract finale, while visually striking, challenges viewers seeking clarity and can be polarizing: some will appreciate the cosmic horror tradition of unsolvable mysteries, while others may experience frustration with the loose plotting and ambiguity. Pacing reflects these shifts—building steadily in the opening act before devolving into frenetic, disjointed bursts that occasionally undermine tension.
Despite these narrative and pacing flaws, The Void remains a memorable experience for lovers of practical effects and cosmic horror texture. It’s a film rich with unsettling imagery and mood, capturing a form of existential terror that goes beyond cheap scares. The filmmakers’ love for classic horror runs deep, even if the resulting fusion occasionally feels like homage without full reinvention.
Ultimately, The Void is a dark, unsettling trip into the unknowable—a sonic and visual descent into a hellish siege where logic unravels and time shatters. It’s a film that prizes atmosphere and physical monstrosity over smooth storytelling, inviting viewers to surrender to dread rather than demand explanation. For fans of Carpenter’s minimalist tension, Gordon’s visceral adaptations, and the tactile nightmares of 80s horror, The Void offers a rewarding, though imperfect, journey into the cosmic abyss—an evocative invocation of terror where humanity is both survivor and prey.
No title card; so, I used this as the title card. *sigh*
This AI short gave me a little jump. It did have some suspense; so, I won’t feed the creator to the sharks. Sorry Sharks.
Woman alone brushing her teeth, but there is a malevolent force in there with her. The bathroom is by definition private and you’re almost always vulnerable. The film has some suspense and payoff.
It is worth watching.
“So it’s a fucking coin toss? That’s what 50 billion dollars buys us?” — Secretary of Defense Reid Baker
The end of the Cold War was supposed to close a chapter of fear. With the superpowers stepping back from the brink, the world briefly believed it had entered an era of stability. Yet that promise never held. The weapons remained, the rivalries adapted, and the global machinery of deterrence continued to hum beneath the surface. Kathryn Bigelow’s A House of Dynamite faces this reality head-on, transforming the mechanics of modern nuclear defense into something unnervingly human. On the surface, it plays as a high-tension political technothriller, but beneath that precision lies a deeply existential horror film—one built not on shadows or monsters, but on daylight, competence, and the narrow margins of human fallibility.
The premise is piercingly simple. An unidentified missile is detected over the Pacific. Analysts assume it’s a test or a glitch—another false alarm in a world overflowing with them. But within minutes, as conflicting data streams converge, what seemed routine begins to look real. The film unfolds in real time over twenty excruciating minutes, charting the reactions of those charged with interpreting and responding to the potential catastrophe. Bigelow divides the film into three interwoven perspectives: the White House Situation Room, the missile intercept base at Fort Greely, and the President’s mobile command aboard Marine One. The structure allows tension to grow from every direction at once, each perspective magnifying the other until the screen feels ready to collapse under its own pressure.
Capt. Olivia Walker (Rebecca Ferguson), commanding officer of the Situation Room, anchors the story with calm professionalism that gradually frays into disbelief. Ferguson’s performance is clear-eyed and tightly modulated—precise, disciplined, and quietly devastating. She stands as the rational center inside chaos, her composure the last gesture of control in a world that no longer follows reason.
Over her is Adm. Mark Miller (Jason Clarke), Director of the Situation Room, who represents the institutional embodiment of confidence. Clarke plays him with methodical restraint, a man who trusts procedure long after it stops earning trust. Miller’s authority is both comforting and horrifying: a portrait of leadership built on ritual rather than certainty.
At Fort Greely, Anthony Ramos brings an intimate immediacy as the officer charged with the missile intercept. His scenes hum with kinetic dread—the physical execution of decisions made thousands of miles away. Through him, the film captures the most primal kind of fear: acting when hesitation could mean extinction, knowing that success and failure are separated only by chance.
The President, portrayed by Idris Elba, spends much of the crisis in motion—first within the cocoon of the presidential limousine, and later, aboard Marine One as it carves through blinding daylight. Elba gives a performance of subtle, steady erosion. At first, he embodies unshakeable calm, a figure of poise and authority; but as the situation deepens, his steadiness wanes. Words become shorter, pauses longer. Every decision carries consequences too vast for resolution. It is a measured, understated portrait of power giving way to human uncertainty.
Bigelow’s direction is stripped of ornament and focused on precision. Barry Ackroyd’s cinematography heightens the claustrophobia of command centers—the sterile light, the reflective glass, the sense that every surface observes its occupants—while his exterior scenes pierce with harsh brightness, suggesting that no sanctuary exists under full exposure. Kirk Baxter’s editing maintains an unrelenting pulse, cutting with mathematical precision while preserving the eerie stillness of the moments where no one dares to speak.
A House of Dynamite also shows how even with the most competent experts—military, intelligence, and political—working to manage an escalating crisis, there is no path to victory. The professionals at every level stop seeking to prevent the worst and instead focus on saving what they can when the worst becomes inevitable. The film’s scariest revelation is not the potential for destruction, but the paralysis that intelligence creates. If the brightest, most disciplined people in the world cannot find an answer, what happens when power falls into the hands of those less prepared or less rational? In its quiet way, the film poses that question that we see more and more each day on the news and on social media and we are left with silence and realization of the horror of it all.
Despite its precision, the film isn’t without flaws. Bigelow’s triptych structure—cutting between the three perspectives—works brilliantly to escalate tension, yet the repetition of similar beats slightly blunts the impact. Each segment revisits the same crisis rhythms—a data discrepancy, an argument over authority, another uncertain update—sometimes slowing the natural momentum. While the repetition underlines the futility of bureaucratic systems in chaos, the transitions don’t flow as fluidly as the rest of the film’s airtight craftsmanship. The result is a film that is gripping overall, occasionally uneven in rhythm, but never less than absorbing.
When the final minutes arrive, Bigelow declines to deliver resolution. No mushroom clouds, no catharsis. The President sits in Marine One, head down with the weight of the world on his shoulders as he contemplates his options in the Black Book (options in how to retaliate) and knowing that he has no good choices in front of him. The world remains suspended between survival and oblivion, and the silence that follows feels heavier than sound. The ending resists closure because endings, in the nuclear age, are an illusion—the fear continues no matter what happens next.
In a year crowded with strong horror releases—Sinners, Weapons, The Long Walk and Frankenstein among them—A House of Dynamite stands apart. Dressed in the crisp realism of a technothriller, it’s a horror film defined by procedure, light, and silence. Bigelow builds terror from competence, from the steady voices and confident gestures of people trying to manage the unmanageable. This is not the chaos of fiction but the dread of reality, a reminder that the systems meant to preserve and protect might one day fail to deliver on its promise. For all its precision and restraint, A House of Dynamite shakes in the memory long after it ends—the year’s most quietly terrifying film.
Nuclear Close Calls: The situation and question brought up in the film has basis in history as there has been many instances of close calls and false alarms. The film itself doesn’t confirm that the missile detonated, but the implications in past confirmed events just shows how close the world has been to a completed catastrophe.
Whenever it’s time to share this film for Horrorthon, I have a little story that I like to tell:
Enter singing.
Little Shop.…Little Shop of Horrors.…Little Shop.…Little Shop of Terrors….
When I was 19 years old, I was in a community theater production of the musical Little Shop of Horrors. Though I think I would have made the perfect Audrey, everybody always snickered whenever I sang so I ended up as a part of “the ensemble.” Being in the ensemble basically meant that I spent a lot of time dancing and showing off lots of cleavage. And you know what? The girl who did play Audrey was screechy, off-key, and annoying and after every show, all the old people in the audience always came back stage and ignored her and went straight over to me. So there.
Anyway, during rehearsals, our director thought it would be so funny if we all watched the original film. Now, I’m sorry to say, much like just about everyone else in the cast, this was my first exposure to the original and I even had to be told that the masochistic dentist patient was being played by Jack Nicholson. However, I’m also very proud to say that — out of that entire cast — I’m the only one who understood that the zero-budget film I was watching was actually better than the big spectacle we were attempting to perform on stage. Certainly, I understood the film better than that screechy little thing that was playing Audrey.
The first Little Shop of Horrors certainly isn’t scary and there’s nobody singing about somewhere that’s green (I always tear up when I hear that song, by the way). However, it is a very, very funny film with the just the right amount of a dark streak to make it perfect Halloween viewing.
So, if you have 72 minutes to kill, check out the original and the best Little Shop of Horrors….
(Mourner by Erin Nicole)
“Most of the laugh tracks on television were recorded in the early 1950’s. These days, most of the people you hear laughing are dead.”
― Chuck Palahniuk
by Erin Nicole
Don’t look up.
This was one of the earliest music videos, featuring a band that seemed to be destined to take advantage of the format. The song was written a time when Jim Morrison was going through a period of depression. While watching the sunset at Robby Krieger’s house, he suddenly had the realization that “If you’re strange, people are strange.”
Enjoy!
Through the Shattered Lens 