Editorials
Is ‘Final Destination’ the Best Horror Franchise in History?
Final Destination is the best horror franchise in history. A part of me feels guilty saying that, especially as I survey all the figures of Jason Voorhees, Freddy Krueger, and Michael Myers adorning my desk at this very moment. But while Friday the 13th, A Nightmare on Elm Street, and Halloween all ultimately squandered their potential in later sequels, Final Destination has remained surprisingly consistent throughout its five entries, providing cheesy thrills without ever jumping the shark.
To understand how, let’s take a closer look at some of the issues other horror franchises have fallen victim to in the past.
A frequent dilemma is that the original film simply does not have much sequel potential, and so there is nothing new to say in future installments. As a direct result, storytellers begin throwing anything they can think of at the wall to see what sticks, getting nuttier and nuttier until a relatively serious picture has become a parody of itself. Think of A Nightmare on Elm Street; though a guilty pleasure, it’s a bizarre series just because of how all over the place it ends up being. One minute, Freddy is a terrifying representation of our subconscious fears, but the next, he’s like a demon Joker, slaughtering teenagers with a Power Glove and saying “bitch” a whole lot.
To a lesser extent, this applies to Friday the 13th as well. It became apparent after Part III that teens being offed in the woods could only last so many movies and the kills had to be taken to the next level. So before long, Jason’s dead, he’s alive, he’s fighting a girl with telekinesis, he’s in hell and, finally, he’s in space. Once again, this is definitely not to say the franchise is bad, but it’s certainly erratic, jumping up and down in quality as regularly as an American Horror Story season. With both Nightmare and Friday, the problems stem from the first installment, which works on its own and doesn’t leave much room for continuation. The directors of each sequel had nowhere to go except somewhere utterly insane, inevitably leading to a shift in tone.
Then there’s the case of the overcomplicated franchise storyline. When writers realize their series will be around for a while, as moviegoers have inexplicably not grown tired of it, they might start developing an overarching narrative. Theoretically, if returning characters and cliffhangers are utilized from now on, it will look slightly less ridiculous that so many sequels are being produced. Very quickly, though, that storyline usually turns into a complete disaster, with each sequel like a Jenga block being added to an increasingly unstable tower.
Just recall what happened to Saw: the main villain died in Saw III, which seemed like a fine place to wrap things up. Unfortunately, Lionsgate wasn’t ready to leave Saw behind, and so the next few sequels devolved into an incomprehensible onslaught of plot twists, flashbacks, flashforwards, and parallel events in an attempt to craft a mythology to put most soap operas to shame. It was a valiant effort, but in the end, Saw just became too convoluted for its own good. It wasn’t a Nightmare on Elm Street scenario, where the series took a nosedive because it was difficult to keep coming up with ideas. Instead, Saw actually had far too much going on.
An even more cataclysmic example of the botched expansive narrative is Halloween; Tommy Lee Wallace should be commended for trying something different with Halloween III: Season of the Witch. But, as we all know, everyone wanted Michael Myers back, and so Compass Pictures sadly had no choice but to hunker down and prepare for a long stay in Haddonfield. The result was an absurd ongoing plot about a cult that is eventually revealed to have been in control of Michael Myers all along. By adding so much backstory and so many ludicrous reveals, John Carpenter’s simplistic slasher had transformed into a bloated mess.
Learning from history, then, a successful franchise must start off with sequel potential, and it must connect each installment without completely running the plot into the ground. That brings us to Final Destination, which meets exactly that description and which has proven itself to be our finest horror series.
From the beginning, Final Destination is clearly built to last as a franchise. The killer of the piece isn’t a specific man or monster whose return must be explained. No, the killer is death itself, an invisible antagonist who will be taking lives until the end of time, whether these movies are made or not. The premise is ideal for followups, as by definition it’s a story about something that happens all the time.
The deaths themselves are also always entertaining because the series allows for unlimited possibilities. With Friday the 13th, there are only so many ways a man with a machete can murder teenagers. Sure, some of the sequels get creative, like the sleeping bag kill in The New Blood or the frozen head smash in Jason X. But even the most innovative deaths are still some variation of a strong man slaughtering his victims with blunt force.
In the Final Destination movies, absolutely anything can happen and it will fit within the established rules without any issue. Want to kill someone in a brutal and realistic fashion by having them get hit by a bus or strangled by a clothes line? That works! Want to do something preposterous like have a flying barbed-wire fence slice someone into three pieces or have a set of weights crush a guy’s face like a watermelon? That works too! Death does whatever the hell it wants, and so the screenwriters can do whatever the hell they want. Friday the 13th had to journey into space in a desperate search for something unique, but Final Destination requires no such reach.
Final Destination also perfectly integrates its overarching plot, letting each film stand on its own but also ensuring it feels like a piece of a larger puzzle. Final Destination 2, for instance, reintroduces Clear Rivers, the only survivor of Flight 180. She becomes an integral part of the story, continuing her arc from the original and offering the valuable knowledge that comes with being a seasoned death-dodger. This sequel also expands upon the rules of the Final Destination canon, establishing what happens when a new life is added into the mix. Yet at the same time, it is not even necessary to have watched the first installment to enjoy this one. Right away, Final Destination is serving up sequels that please both casual and hardcore fans.
The same is true of Final Destination 3, which clearly exhibits the franchise’s DNA but is also a totally fresh narrative. Just as Final Destination 2 played with the idea of new life cancelling out death, this sequel involves a series of clues in the form of pictures that heavily foreshadow how each character will die. There were omens in the other movies, but now getting to the bottom of these specific photos is a major part of the drama, another effective way to spice things up.
The Final Destination, which is a bit more predictable compared to the predecessors, still answers another fascinating question: “What happens when someone who isn’t next in line tries to kill themselves?” Next up, Final Destination 5 revolves heavily around figuring out how committing murder affects death’s priorities, a cool idea not at all reflected in the previous four films.
As you can see, every sequel is connected as to not create a Season of the Witch scenario, but the bridge between all five is mostly a bonus intended to please hardcore fans. Never is the story dragged down by the need to explain an overly complex narrative with dozens of characters and increasingly stupid ideas like the lead character being under the influence of a cult. Instead, each movie is self-contained while nevertheless carrying over familiar elements, throwing in fun easter eggs, and addressing unanswered questions.
The only weak link is The Final Destination, which is cheapened by the poor special effects and awkward use of 3D, but it thankfully never verges into the franchise-ruining territory of Halloween: The Curse of Michael Myers or A Nightmare on Elm Street 2: Freddy’s Revenge. Even if fans found themselves disappointed with the fourth entry, the series quickly bounced back with Final Destination 5 just two years later, correcting every complaint and standing out as one of the strongest films yet.
What other series brings the same basic feel to every sequel but requires they all say something slightly different? What other franchise consistently impresses with the creative kills and jaw-dropping moments to top what came before, never jumping the shark with a trip to space? Most importantly, in what other franchise are 80% of the entries absolute perfection? Not Friday the 13th. Not A Nightmare on Elm Street. Not Halloween. Not Saw. Not The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Not even Scream.
In terms of pure creativity and consistency, Final Destination reigns supreme.
Of the three films that make up the Diabolical Trinity of classic religious horror films—Rosemary’s Baby (1968), The Exorcist (1973), and The Omen (1976)—The Omen is the most purely entertaining.
While Rosemary’s Baby digs into the societal shifts of the 60s and The Exorcist explores spiritual tensions between faith and doubt in an ever-shifting world, The Omen seems most interested in just telling a thrilling story. It achieves this by blending two major trends of the 1970s, the devil movie and the paranoid thriller, into one crackling adventure yarn. In the process, The Omen has sparked fear and curiosity about what could happen in the “end times” if such events are to occur.
After seeing The Exorcist, producer Harvey Bernhard contacted writer David Seltzer and said something along the lines of, “Hey, write me one of those.” Seltzer, having never read the Bible, thought it would be an interesting challenge, so, according to various interviews, he read the Bible and several commentaries in search of a story. Then he stumbled upon a passage in the book of Revelation, the image of a great Beast rising out of the sea, that sparked his imagination. In the commentaries, he found that the sea represented politics in some interpretations of the text, and he began building his story on that foundation.
Seltzer has told this story often, and I am inclined to believe him. However, from there, much of the theological-sounding lore of The Omen was created purely by Seltzer. Many of the ideas surrounding The Antichrist in the film appear to be drawn much more from the pop-eschatology sensation of the 1970s, The Late Great Planet Earth by Hal Lindsay, than any Biblical source.
Lindsay’s book was the bestselling nonfiction book of the 1970s and re-popularized views of the “last days” that had been dying along with fundamentalism for decades, namely Dispensationalism, Millennialism, and the Pre-Tribulation Rapture. In dispensationalism, history is broken into several epochs of time (or dispensations) that culminate in the return of Christ and his thousand-year (millennial) reign.
Before this return, a seven-year Tribulation will occur in which the Antichrist comes to power and persecutes all who oppose him, culminating in a battle between the forces of good and evil at the valley of Megiddo, usually called Armageddon. Of course, in this worldview, the true believers in Jesus will be lifted out, or raptured, before all this takes place. Since the publication and popularity of The Late Great Planet Earth, this has been the prominent belief in Evangelical and Fundamentalist Christian circles, though Roman Catholic, Orthodox, and mainline Protestant denominations largely reject it.
Lindsay also did something unique that had not been the case even in dispensationalist circles before him—he posited that the creation of the modern state of Israel in 1948 started the countdown to Armageddon. Fans of the film will immediately realize where Seltzer ran with this idea in the first line of the poem created for the movie: “When the Jews return to Zion…”
Damien Thorn and the Creation of Horror’s “Innocent Villain”
Seltzer’s next inspiration focused on the idea of the Antichrist as a child, what he would call the film’s “innocent villain.” In watching The Omen, it is readily apparent that Damien Thorn (Harvey Stephens) does not really do anything evil beyond a bit of normal kid mischief. Even the moment in which Damien knocks Kathy Thorn (Lee Remick) over a second-floor railing can be read as an accident orchestrated by Damien’s diabolically connected nanny, Mrs. Baylock (Billie Whitelaw). The film takes this idea of the innocent villain a step further by casting Gregory Peck, best known for playing arguably the greatest father in film history, Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird (1962), as Damien’s earthly father, an element that greatly satisfied Seltzer.
The New Testament itself says very little about the Antichrist and certainly nothing about his childhood. In fact, the word antichrist is used twice (1 John 2:18 and 2 John 7 for the curious) and refers to groups of people, not a particular person. There is also a passage in 2 Thessalonians 2:1-12 in which the writer (usually attributed to Paul) discusses “The Man of Lawlessness” who will “exalt himself over everything that is called God” and “proclaim himself to be God.”
Then there is the Beast of Revelation chapter 13 with “seven heads and ten horns” that Seltzer latched onto, which has been interpreted in a multitude of ways over the centuries. Powerful people throughout history, from Charlemagne, various Popes during the Protestant Reformation era, Napoleon and Hitler, to modern politicians, including Ronald Reagan, Bill Clinton, Vladimir Putin, Barack Obama, and Donald Trump, have all had the label placed on them by various circles. Even religious leaders like Billy Graham have not escaped being called the Antichrist.
Lindsay and modern dispensationalists are certain the Antichrist will be a 21st-century individual as they are equally certain that the Rapture, Tribulation, and return of Christ are imminent, likely within their lifetime. Many scholars and theologians, however, interpret these passages as symbolic representations of the Roman Empire and the first-century Caesars who persecuted, tortured, and murdered Christians and Jews who refused to submit to Imperial rule and worship them as gods. For example, that the Beast from the sea in Revelation has seven heads is symbolic of the famous seven mountains of Rome, with the 10 horns referring to rulers and magistrates of the Empire.
But this is all really of no matter to Seltzer and the story of The Omen. Instead of being concerned with any historical or theological accuracy, he instead built his own lore, which sends Robert Thorn and photographer Keith Jennings (David Warner) on a globetrotting investigation into the nature of the Antichrist and how to stop him. Some of this lore includes the child being born of a jackal, the reaction of animals, the protective cult that arises around Damien, the daggers of Megiddo, and maybe most interesting of all, the peculiar flaws in Jennings’s photographs that presage the ways certain individuals will die.
All these aspects are where the paranoid thrillers come in, as films like Blow Up (1966), Z (1969), The Conversation (1974), The Parallax View (1974), 3 Days of the Condor (1975), and All the President’s Men (1976) were all the rage at the time. Especially in the wake of the Watergate scandal, the idea of journalists (like Jennings) as ordinary heroes who could bring down the powerful, nefarious forces in the world was exactly what audiences craved. And what greater hidden evil force was there than the Devil? This is also why the device of the daggers of Megiddo is so important to a movie like this. If Damien is indeed the Antichrist, there must be a way to stop him, though in the Biblical text, the only power capable of destroying the Devil is God Himself.
The Mark of the Beast, 666, and the Film’s Most Famous Religious Symbolism
The piece of lore created for the movie with the most solid Biblical grounding is the Mark of the Beast. Revelation describes a mark on the forehead or hand of those who worship the Beast and his image. Again, this is symbolic language differentiating those who belong to the power of the Roman Empire and those who belong to Christ, who have the Mark of the Lamb. In Seltzer’s hands, the mark is very literal, a birthmark that is borne by not only the Antichrist but all his followers, meaning they are marked from before birth as belonging to Satan, and there is no escaping it. This is all rather distressing to the priest Father Brennan (Patrick Troughton), who betrays his mark by warning Thorn about Damien and pays the price by memorably being impaled by a spire that falls from a church steeple after being struck by lightning.
Why is the mark three sixes? Again, this is drawn from a passage in Revelation that states that the Beast can be identified by calculating his number. In Biblical scholarship, this is believed to be the sum of the name of a man transferred into Hebrew numerology, a practice in which each Hebrew letter also represents a number. Using this method, the number of the name Caesar Nero, which many believe to be the most logical choice, is six hundred sixty-six. In the film and elsewhere, this number is changed to three individual sixes. According to the film, this represents the Diabolical Trinity (a designation also unique to the film) made up of Satan, the Antichrist, and the False Prophet. That Damien carries this unique birthmark under his hair convinces Robert that the child is the Antichrist, and it’s up to him to destroy him.
Part of what makes The Omen great is its ambiguity. Damien could be the Antichrist, or he could be at the center of a series of coincidences. Director Richard Donner stated in interviews that he believed Robert Thorn had gone insane by the end of the film, which, to Donner, is the only explanation for why Thorn would attempt to kill an innocent child. However, that enigmatic smile in the final shot suggests that Damien does embody a spirit of great evil. The sequels, however, all but erase this ambiguity.
In audiences, The Omen sparked a renewed interest in the concept of the Antichrist and the dispensationalist interpretation of the end times that continues to echo throughout the last five decades. Around the time of the film’s release, even Elvis Presley was photographed brandishing a paperback copy of Seltzer’s novelization. Dispensationalist authors like Hal Lindsay, Tim LaHaye, and John Hagee have made millions publishing books and giving lectures about the Antichrist and the end of the world.
The Legacy of The Omen, 50 Years Later
Though A Thief in the Night (1972) preceded The Omen in initial release, it gained quite a resurgence (along with the ability to create three sequels) in the wake of the popularity of The Omen and went on to scar the psyches of Evangelical children for decades. Hal Lindsay was also able to release a film version of The Late Great Planet Earth in 1978, complete with narration and a brief onscreen appearance from Orson Welles.
In the 1990s, the Left Behind series became a cultural phenomenon, spawning twelve books in the core series, a YA spinoff series, video games, and a movie series (2000-2005) starring Kirk Cameron. A bigger studio adaptation of the first book was released in 2014, starring Nicolas Cage. 20th Century Fox and The Omen got in on the renewed “end-of-the-world” vigor by releasing a remake of the original film on June 6, 2006. The franchise was revived once again in 2024 with The First Omen, which explores ideas of the Antichrist and the motivations of those in power in our current religious, social, and political context.
But despite all the sequels, spinoffs, rip-offs, remakes, and “end times” money grabs of the last 50 years, the original version of The Omen remains untouchable. Its greatest strength is that it seeks, first and foremost, to entertain. And it does so admirably.
After half a century, its influence can be felt in horror, the culture at large, and even in various faith circles. It is a testament to the power of story and film that, consciously or unconsciously, fans of The Omen and those who have never seen it alike are, to this very day, marked by the Beast.
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