Editorials
‘Halloween’ (1978) vs. ‘Halloween’ (2007)
Acting/Script
No one is ever going to say the acting in Carpenter’s original is Oscar-worthy, but it’s certainly not terrible. The same cannot be said of the acting in Zombie’s remake. I’m not exactly sure what was going on behind the scenes, but the acting is all over the place. From Malcolm McDowell’s over-the-top Sam Loomis to Sheri Moon Zombies (who I actually really like in Zombie’s other films) aloof Deborah Myers (her reactions to the photographs of the animals Michael has killed is especially awful), there isn’t a solid performance around (save for perhaps Brad Dourif and Danielle Harris, who have surprisingly brief roles in the film). A lot of this may be that the actors can’t prevent Zombie’s script from sounding so incredibly forced, but it does sound like a lot of the people on set were phoning it in. Really, the breakfast scene in the beginning is the make-it-or-break-it moment for you. If you don’t like this scene, you probably won’t like the entire first half of the film.
I maintain that taking the opening five or six minutes of Halloween 1978 and stretching them into 50 long, laborious minutes was a hug mistake, but it is what it is. The teenage girls in the latter half of the film fare slightly better than all of the actors in the first half, but there is still the feeling that a lot of their dialogue comes across as forced. Hardly anything comes off as realistic in Halloween 2007.
The beauty of the main trio of girls in Carpenter’s film is that they all feel like real teenage girls. Lynda and Annie are still obsessed with getting laid on Halloween, but they sound like actual people when they are speaking, as opposed to whatever it is the girls in Zombie’s film have to say.
If you want to get into the real issue with Zombie’s Halloween, look no further than the script. Sure, Carpenter’s script was incredibly simplistic, but that simplicity worked in that film’s favor. Zombie over-complicates matters, and attempts to give us a backstory for Michael to explain why he became such a raving lunatic. Look, I get the reasoning behind this. Carpenter’s Michael was just “The Shape.” He was the bogeyman (and at the time, no plans were made to make him Laurie’s brother) and thus invincible.
Zombie’s Michael is a real person who grew up in a white trash family who suddenly snapped when his sister wouldn’t take him trick-or-treating. From his fill-in dad yelling things like “I will skull fuck the shit out of you” to his sister saying “That drunken fuck prick fuck Ronnie ain’t my dad,” the entire first act is littered with obscenities and vulgarities (as in the previously mentioned breakfast scene). This is Rob Zombie’s style, which is fine, but none of it feels authentic.
As I mentioned before, the beauty of the original is in its simplicity. That film is just about a mysterious figure who stalks babysitters. It is more a “slice of life” film, and that realism is what makes the film so terrifying. Zombie’s film feels like a film, if that makes any sense.
In Zombie’s film, he takes the entire original 90-minute movie and cuts it down to one hour. We lose most of the characterization of the girls, and thus it makes it difficult to care about them when they are attacked and/or die. This section of Zombie’s film has some cool moments, but ultimately it feels like Carpenter’s film on crack. It just speeds through everything that made the original so special
Winner: Halloween (1978)
“Elevated Horror.” Of all the combinations in the English language, that one is the most insufferable.
It represents almost a decade of scary movies that, for the most part, took themselves too seriously. Horror responds to the moment, so its “why so serious” lean makes sense as we scuttle through the “worst of times” equation of Charles Dickens’ famous opening lines. But there’s still an opening and a need for a lighter approach; one that not only has fun with its audience but takes the piss out of a genre that is seemingly letting its newfound “respectability” go to its head.
Wes Craven believed devotees see horror films to let out their fears one primal scream at a time. At their core, these movies are roller coasters; they bring us as close to the edge as possible before pulling us back into a safety net of reality. The need for a bigger and badder coaster increases during times when the size of that net decreases.
There’s a thrill that comes from imagining being in a foot race with a madman, or outthinking the hordes of zombies on the other side of the door, plus the scavenger humans coming behind them. There’s even a rush that comes from imagining how one might deal with possession to see good triumph over evil in the end. It’s all about building tension and releasing it through catharsis. That cathartic release usually sounds like screams followed by laughter, which signals relief. Genre heavy hitters over the past 10 years offered very little of that respite when the credits rolled. Films like Hereditary, The Witch, Talk to Me, and even Smile (pick one) keep that tension going after the screen fades to black.
Hereditary
As the genre became obsessed with creating trauma metaphors, that lack of release made sense. Anyone with even a small sample size of traumatic experiences knows those emotions don’t magically resolve themselves in an allotted run time. But how much trauma can one take? Especially when there’s a mess going on outside that few of us can escape from. Movies offer that off-ramp, no matter how short.
Everything can’t be, nor should it be, “elevated.” Audiences need thoughtful explorations of life’s ills via monsters as much as they need murdering masked maniacs with kitchen knives. And no, it doesn’t have to go any deeper than that. Sometimes, a knife is just a knife, and it’s still worth our time and respect. As weird as it sounds, that simplicity is comforting not in spite of the trauma but because of it.
The worst of times should manifest more than just anguish. People need to laugh just as much as they need to think seriously about this moment in time. Even the Scream franchise forgot the meta rock upon which it built its church when the latest foray sacrificed the subtle comedy for serious drama. Scary Movie returned at the perfect moment. It provides the necessary laughs, but it’s not a cure-all.
This isn’t a call for Scary Movie imitators but a return to a mainstream landscape where Killer Klowns from Outer Space sat with The Serpent and the Rainbow, nestled neatly with the latest Nightmare on Elm Street, which took nothing away from The Vanishing.
They Live
Even They Live, John Carpenter’s horror sci-fi satire sandwich, kept its tongue firmly in cheek while discussing serious ideas still relevant in 2026. Yes, a film about aliens taking over the world through subliminal messaging only visible through coded sunglasses is, in fact, a tad silly. Carpenter understood that mainstream horror can’t become so self-important that it never looks itself in the mirror and laughs at that inherent silliness.
The thing is, horror historically excels at poking fun at itself. Most of the Scream franchise, The Cabin in the Woods, or The Blackening show adoration without kowtowing. They recognize tropes and trappings but invert them for an audience already in on the joke, but one that also finds solace in said conventions. This keeps the genre on its toes; once something gets parodied, it’s usually time to evolve. That breeds new ideas and fresh filmmakers, which not only strengthen the genre’s collective voice but also amplify it.
Get Out, as “elevated” as some critics want us to believe it is, is a cathartic, populist scary movie that spoke to an untapped audience rather than speaking down to them. Backrooms is one of the biggest horror hits in years, partially because it’s fine-tuned for modern-day teenagers instead of their parents. Movies like these tell everyone the genre is open for business; open for innovation and, yeah, open for new ways in which people can lovingly poke fun at with a wink and a nudge.
Horror needs dread as much as it needs laughter.
Catharsis is just as important as tension, and pulpy populism has the same merit as more high-brow material. Respectability shouldn’t come at the expense of an experience akin to walking through a haunted house. At a time when joy seems in short supply, horror should look to its past to map out its future, and make things just a tad brighter for audiences.
Backrooms
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