Hella Horrorific: The Best ‘90s Horror Movies

Monster movies had pretty much dried up from cinemas at this point. But Tremors opened a whole can of “graboid” whoop-ass with its Jaws-in-the-desert approach. Trapped in a mountain valley that turns into one long smorgasbord, Kevin Bacon and company are beset by unexplained underground monsters who sense the vibrations of their human prey. So this is definitely not the time to cut footloose.

Built on the Atomic age monster flicks from decades past, Tremors was the pinnacle of practical creature creation—until Jurassic Park opened two years later and made it all obsolete.

As a screenwriter, Eric Red was responsible for The Hitcher and Near Dark, two of the ’80s best horror films. But Body Parts, his debut as a horror director, is nothing to sneeze at either. After losing his arm in a traffic accident—the scariest one caught on camera until Final Destination 2—a psychologist (Jeff Fahey) gets a transplant from an anonymous donor. Unfortunately, the replacement arm starts “acting up” (you know, beating his family, picking bar fights, the usual), forcing him to find out just where the appendage came from—and who else got the spare parts. The wild conclusion may push some logical limits, but it’s a gonzo tribute to other “haunted hand” movies like 1935’s Mad Love.

While neither film falls into traditional horror film categories nor was marketed to the masses, they’re both scary as hell. Beyond the Hannibal Lecter iconography and catch phrases, director Jonathan Demme’s film is a terrifying gothic crime thriller that takes the TV-friendly forensic investigation format, locks it in the dungeon, and throws away the key. At the same time, Scorsese’s remake is hopped up on visual extravagance and a performance from Robert DeNiro that lingers like the smell of a bad cigar.

Before he hung out with Frodo and Gandalf in the Shire, Peter Jackson was just a gonzo kiwi filmmaker whose first two features—Bad Taste and Meet the Feebles—were anything but family-friendly. Rest assured, neither is Dead Alive. But after Sam Raimi made buckets of blood and Three Stooges-style comedy cool again (like it ever wasn’t!), Jackson hit the jackpot with this pus-filled horror comedy about a rabid monkey whose bite turns Lionel’s domineering mother into a ravenous zombie. Pretty soon, all that stands between New Zealand and hordes of the undead is a sketchy gas-powered lawn mower. This one goes up to eleven.

With the author’s name above the title, one might expect a faithful, slow-paced, oh-so Victorian approach to the familiar vampire tale. But Francis Ford Coppola said, “To hell with that!” His low-tech, fever-dream approach uses every cinematic trick in the book to modernize Stoker’s story and dresses Gary Oldman’s famous bloodsucker up in the most outrageously original costumes outside of a Lady Gaga concert. It’s a bloody, sumptuous, campy good time that celebrates the history of filmmaking itself.

The all-star producers behind the hit HBO series elevated this story to the big screen with Billy Zane as a demon wrangler intent on stealing back an ancient artifact that will unleash hell on Earth. Unfortunately for the residents of a backwater boarding house, that means they’re in for a night of possession, dismemberment, and a stand-up comedy routine as Zane delivers some killer zingers along with satanic vengeance. It’s all very over-the-top, but the down ‘n’ dirty mythology is great fun, and the cast, which includes Jada Pinkett (pre-Smith), is a who’s-who of character actors. Just remember, keep Beelzebub’s name out of your damn mouth!

With six films and counting, the Scream franchise doesn’t need any more attention. But it is required viewing if for nothing other than the self-aware snarkiness of Kevin Williamson’s script, which captured the “been-there-done-that” attitude of its generation. And also the weird trend of wearing long-sleeves under a T-shirt, what’s up with that? Ghostface might be more inspired by Scooby-Doo than the paranormal baddies of the ’70s, but the suburban serial killer antics were the next logical evolution of director Wes Craven’s filmography, which always warned us that evil liked to stick close to home.

Alien already proved you could make a haunted house movie in space. But Event Horizon doubled down by adding elements of Lovecraftian soul-sucking with sadomasochistic tendencies. What you get is part sci-fi adventure, part demonic orgy as a crew sent out to explore the Event Horizon finds the ship physically empty but psychically-charged with evil energy from some interdimensional netherworld. With a cast way too good to be slumming in this sort of thing, Paul Anderson’s movie is an all-around creepshow classic that suggests way more than it shows. But what it shows is more than enough.

The American remake (2002’s The Ring) received more attention, but the Japanese original has a chilling sense of dread that Hollywood could never quite replicate. You know the drill: a cursed VHS tape kills whoever watches it after seven days unless you play hot potato and pass it on to someone else. But watching the urban legend origin play out here is an entirely different experience, one that would set the standard for the J-horror invasion to come. Like the off-center horror of David Lynch, Ringu exists in a world slightly removed from our reality, one where technology isn’t a buffer but an invitation to evil. Remember, be kind, rewind!

It might be trendy nowadays to bash this found-footage masterpiece as over-hyped and underwhelming just because its web-savvy marketing campaign made it the most financially successful independent horror film ever. But it still holds up as a brilliant (though sometimes annoying) example of what the genre is capable of even with limited resources. A team of documentary filmmakers get lost in the woods while investigating the truth behind a local legend. Their footage was the only thing that survived. That first Sundance screening (I was lucky enough to be there—I bathe in your envy) was an experience in group terror unlike any other. And it still has the power to make audience members hide inside their sleeping bags.

Of all the Scream-inspired slasher films that flooded the grunge years (Urban Legend, I Know What You Did Last Summer, etc), this one was the most ballsy. Think of it as that friend who convinces you to pierce a nipple when you just wanted a classy tat. A killer who targets only virgins inspires the entire student body to stage a group orgy to ensure their survival. Brittany Murphy plays the final girl, determined to save her innocence and her life in a movie that wound up premiering on the USA Network due to MPAA issues. But don’t let that make you swipe left; Cherry Falls deserves more than a one-night stand. Its wink-wink-nudge-nudge humor was a great way to send out the decade.