In the last decade, the horror genre has experienced a renaissance. Horror films have seen huge increase in critical acclaim, increased critical engagement in analysis of the genre, and an increase in available budgets for horror films and box office returns. One of the most noticeable trends within the genre in the 2010's has been an increasing divide in stylistic approach to the genre. On one hand we have more mainstream, "jump scare" horror films, on the other there are horror movies that take an art-house approach to the genre. The mainstream type leans into the conventional, established approach to scaring the audience, while the more art-house horror films focuses more on the metaphorical or psychological, looking to disorient its audience and create a sense of dread or unease instead of straightforward scares.
Both of these approaches have existed for decades, but with the new resurgence of the genre (as well as an increasing divide in the starkness of difference between the two approaches), an analysis of these two and the recent examples of each will be rewarding. This essay explores the different approaches that these two types of horror films take to the genre, the different techniques each use to scare audiences, how they gov ether audience information differently, the differences in narrative focus between the two styles, and the potential benefits and downfalls of both approaches.
Definitions and Distinctions:
First comes first, before we can really explore the differences between the two approaches to horror films we need to define them. These descriptions are extreme generalizations, but some basic description will certainly be useful to lay the groundwork for a more nuanced exploration. The first type, the mainstream horror is what is dominating the box office right now. It leans into the creation of tension and releasing that tension through a jump scare (a term for loud noise cues or something jumping out at the character on-screen designed to startle the audience). It focuses on the ebb and flow of that tension, setting up potential threats and paying them off with scares. It is like a roller coaster ride, with large hills slowly building up to the adrenaline-inducing payoff of the drops. Something happens to put the characters and audience on edge, such as a creaky floorboard. The sound drops out. The camera lingers in an uncomfortable way that makes us feel like something is watching us, creating tension because we know something is going to happen since the movie won't cut away. Then finally, when it feels like you are on the edge of your seat and the tension cannot build any more, it happens. Something jumps out at a character, accompanied by a loud noise or a blaring soundtrack. You are startled, but it releases the tension that the movie has been building up.
Mainstream here isn't an insult of course, this formula is proven and can be executed with extreme effectiveness. This particular approach to horror became so popular early in the decade thanks to director James Wan and his 2011 film The Conjuring. This film, as well as its sequel really energized the genre and showed the heights that this stylistic approach to horror can reach (though Wan had himself been doing films this way for many years including the Insidious franchise). The influence of The Conjuring is hard to overstate, spawning many knockoffs and imitations as well as a 7-film cinematic universe of sequels, prequels, spin-offs, and tie-ins. Some other notable examples of this a kind of horror include Andy Muschietti's It (and it’s upcoming sequel), A Quiet Place (directed by John Krasinski), and Sinister (Scott Derrickson).
On the other end of the spectrum, there are the kind of horror films that go far outside the mainstream and embrace the ambitious but divisive art-house style of filmmaking. These type of horror films have always existed, such as the films of David Lynch, but in recent years the divide has grown more stark between mainstream films and those with more art-house ambitions. These films are usually less narrative driven, more prone to focus on symbolism and metaphor. The focus is also often focused on the psychological underpinning of the story such the trauma inherent to the horror genre. These narrative risks set these "art-house horror" apart from more standard Hollywood film-making. Some of the best art-house horror of this decade include Jennifer Kent's The Babadook, Suspira by Luca Guadagnino, Robert Eggers The Witch, and both of Ari Aster's feature films (Hereditary and Midsommar).
Of course, every film exists on a spectrum between these two approaches. Films like Jordan Peele's Us is a perfect mix between these two approaches, delving deep into the metaphors of the film and prioritizing those themes over strict plotting, while also effortlessly providing the visceral thrills and build up and release of tension that characterizes the more mainstream approach to horror. Even films that fit into one of these categories can use elements of the other approach, such as the cosmic horror elements of It which operates on a much more art-house level than the other elements of the story. So, if every horror film exists somewhere along a spectrum between these two approaches, what are the differences?
Different Approaches to Scaring the Audience: Jump Scares vs a Sense of Dread:
One of the key differences between a mainstream horror film and an art-house one is the way it approaches scares. Obviously scaring the audience and creating fear are the foundation of the horror genre, but these two styles have very different ways of making the audience feel scared. The mainstream films usually focus on creating tension and jump scares, as previously discussed. Mainstream horror films delight in turning the screws for their audience, building up a sense of tension over the course of a long sequence before releasing that tension through a jump scare. When someone refers to "feeling on the edge of their seat," this is usually the approach they are referring to.
Mainstream horror films often use a specific set of cinematic techniques to create tension in these sequences. They limit the point of view (or POV) of the film, restricting what we can see on screen to either the characters perspective or restricted angles that make us claustrophobic and make us fear what might be waiting for us as we peer around the corner. The soundtrack either drops out completely or slowly builds up to leave the audience in nail-biting anticipation of the booming jump scare. The editing becomes slower, letting the longer takes make the audience feel like there is another presence (real or imagined) lingering in the scene with them, watching and waiting to attack. James Wan is a master of creating tension like this, a perfect example of how he uses these cinematic techniques to scare an audience can be found in The Conjuring:
So many techniques of mainstream horror films are on display at their most effective in this now-famous scene. The way that the camera restricts what the viewer sees by following Carolyn through the house, then restricting further to only her POV or shots directly facing her once the basement door slams shuts. The longer shot length slowly builds the tension. The soundtrack drops out in the basement and lets the silence make the viewer anticipate the scares more listening for every creak or movement, only for the strings to come in in-force once the jump scare happens. It is a perfect example of how James Wan is a master of the horror genre, and of this sub-genre in particular.
However, like any cinematic technique (particularly popular ones) jump scares can also be done poorly and this has resulted in a negative reputation for many mainstream horror films. For every properly tense and built-up jump scare in a film like those directed by James Wan or Scott Derrickson, there are movies that use these techniques and stylization of mainstream horror without any craft or thought behind it. They use jump scares as a cheap trick to startle the audience. Lazy filmmakers like to use jump scares with no set up, using a loud noise out of the blue in place of properly setting up tension within a scene. Likewise, "fake out" jump scares where we are anticipating a jump scare but it turns out to be nothing threatening (think a cat jumping out of the closet and making a loud noise which scares the character) hurt the reputation of this style, since it startles the audience but completely deflates the tension. We feel tricked as audience members, but it doesn't maintain the fear in the way a well-constructed jump scare does. Jump scares end up having this negative reputation because of their overuse since it is one of the easiest ways to scare the audience, but many skilled filmmakers who create mainstream horror films can still use the technique well.
On the other end of the spectrum, art-house horror usually attempts to scare its audience in a more subtle way. Art-house horror focuses on creating a sense of dread or unease; they want to disturbing the audience and make them uncomfortable. Instead of the build-up and release of tension that the mainstream horror film excels at, the focus of the art-house approach is to create a creepy atmosphere. As it builds these moods for the audience, it seeks to maintain them for an uncomfortable length of time to create an overwhelming sense of dread that permeates the film from start to finish. A sense of atmosphere is the way that art-house horror looks to create fear in the audience, through a creeping sense of dread for what comes next or what might happen and leaves the hairs on the back of the audience’s neck standing up.
This sense of dread and unease can be created in a variety of ways. The same long takes or tracking shots that a mainstream film might use to create tension can also create this atmosphere of unease by using longer shot lengths to make the audience feel a sense of voyeurism. Filmmakers often play with the focus of the shot to create a sense of dread: using extreme close-ups to create an overwhelming sense of intensity or claustrophobia, or very wide shots to make the character feel tiny. Unusual or disorienting editing that utilizing hard cuts, breaking the 180-degree rule, or an unusual rhythm can throw off an audience and make them feel uncomfortable. Likewise, a good use of a films score (whether it being a droning and atmospheric score, using dissonant musical choices to create a sense of irony or detachment, or the choice to remove soundtrack entirely from the scene) creates much of this dread that an art-house horror films look to create. An excellent example of this comes from the finale of Robert Eggers' 2015 horror masterpiece The Witch (major spoilers for the end of the film, obviously):
This scene is a great example of the more art-house approach to horror. Leading up to this scene, the entire film has been ambiguous about the nature of the large black goat that the Puritan family keeps around, named Black Philip. The smallest children of the family talk to Black Philip an odd amount, the goat seems to act with a level of menace, and later the small children say that Black Philip is the devil and they have talked with him and made a deal with him. At the end of the film, our lone survivor of the family violently tearing itself apart, Thomasin, confronts Black Philip in the pen he is kept in, begging him to reveal himself and make a deal with her because it is the only option that she feels she has left.
This scene shows how subtle cinematic techniques can create a sense of dread. Here we have the camera creates an extreme claustrophobia by keeping in a close-up shot where only Thomasin’s upper torso is visible in the darkness. Aside from an insert shot to show the book laying on the ground, we never see what she is looking at, only her reaction to it which creates a dissonance with the viewer. We as the audience are voyeurs viewing her reaction to the events, not direct viewers of events. This creates a sense of helplessness as we can only watching her experience these events. Since we never break from the view of her, we are more trapped in the moment of the scene, enhancing the claustrophobia and tension. This technique is quite common in art-house horror, since many filmmakers believe in the saying that what we imagine will always be scarier than what we can see.
The restraint in never showing either Black Philip the goat or the devil’s human appearance in full as he reveals himself is a strong one because it creates dread as we cannot help but imagining what he looks like, and it leaves the audience with a feeling that what we are seeing is incomprehensible. In a similarly restrained way, instead of booming and scary the Devil’s voice is hushed and smooth. It is alluring in a way that also makes your skin crawl. The lack of soundtrack and very limited lighting traps the audience in Thomasin's perspective in the scene, as we experience the same uncertainty of about what Black Philip is, disappointment at his lack of response, and then an equal mix of terror and intrigue when all is revealed. The choice not to end the scene on some sort of jump-scare reveal of the devil is a choice firmly rooted in the art-house horror mindset, as Egger's would much rather leave the audience still experiencing that feel of dread and uncomfortableness instead of simply relieving that tension by startling you.
Another of the main differences between how mainstream and art-house horror films is one that I already hinted at: the way they pace and build up to scares. Mainstream horror scares work like set-pieces in an action film. While they ramp up in intensity as the film goes on, their focus on build-up and release means that each scare is self-contained within the scene. Once the jump scare happens and the scene ends, the tension is reset for the next scene to build up again. Instead of this, art-house horror films seek to create that sustained sense of dread and discomfort throughout the whole film.
By often not releasing the tension at the end of a scene through a jump scare, art-house horror continues that build of tension, often not releasing the audience of that dread until the end of the film (if at all). This creates a longer build-up and slower pace to art-house horror films. They are often referred to as "slow burn films" since they slowly and methodically create that unease in their audience. This slow pace does not always work for every audience member though. Every time an art-house horror film comes out, inevitably there are complaints that it is "too slow" or "not actually scary." Of course, these complaints are subjective and legitimate for those who experience the films that way, but it highlights why the techniques for generating scares that mainstream horror films uses appears to a larger audience and why art-house horror can be divisive in that regard.
Trust in the Audience and Attention To Detail:
One of the other key differences between art-house and mainstream horror films is how they present plot details for the audience. Mainstream films usually adhere to traditional cinematic language of Hollywood, meaning that they visually highlight key pieces of information for the audience which set up for payoffs later and create tension. These setups are meant to direct the attention of the audience: the camera will often zoom in on a particular feature or object they want the audience to remember, or linger on something for a seemingly odd amount of time. A perfect example of how this planting of information can be used to create tension is from a scene in John Krasinski's A Quiet Place:
The scene very clearly takes the time to establish the nail being pulled up out of the wooden stair. We see both that it is there but also why. Then after taking the time to clearly set this up so the audience remembers the nail is there, the scene moves on. Once things escalate and the creatures (which hunt by sound) are approaching the house and Emily Blunt's character Evelyn has to flee into the basement to hide. At this point audience members think to themselves "Oh shit! The nail!" All of a sudden we are at the edge of our seats as she descends the stairs and the nail comes into view of the camera, and we are left with a hopeless feeling as the camera once again zooms in on the nail right as her foot comes down on it, and she screams. The visual language of the film used the camera to clearly plant the information about the nail, creating tension as it comes into play again and is clearly paid off.
However, art-house horror often has a different approach to planting information for the audience, and to a different effect. Art-house horror tends to plant information in the background of scenes without drawing attention to it. This creates a feeling of paranoia in the viewer because there are constant clues and horrifying things going on in the background that the audience member needs to spot. Since attention isn't drawn to the information, it makes the audience feel that there is terrifying events happening in the background and even off-screen, making the horror larger than the scale of the story and making the horror inescapable. Ari Aster's two films (Hereditary and Midsommar) are fantastic examples of this kind of planting of information. One scene near the end of Hereditary uses this technique to chill the audience to its bones:
This scene gets under my skin in a way that few scenes have ever managed to do, and while part of why it is so effective is the brilliant craft when it comes to things like the staging, lighting, and cinematography. However, the real reason why it works so well is how it reveals information to the audience, or rather how it leaves the information for the audience to discover themselves. The main choice in this scene is to leave the horrifying forces at work in the background, without drawing attention to them. At this point, Annie has finally become possessed by a spirit that is looking to take control of her son Peter. Peter wakes up in his room after a traumatic physical event, still groggy from the painkillers. Annie/the spirit is literally lingering in the corner of his room in the shadows.
Director Ari Aster chooses to let this play out in a simple wide shot, with Annie barely visible in the shadows in the corner of the ceiling. There is no close up or establishing shot of Annie, it just leaves her to be discovered by the audience. Due to the length of the shot, the audience begins to look around the frame for something hidden or threatening, because there has to be some reason why you are still watching this particular image. Then you see her, and it makes your skin crawl and think “oh my god has she been there the whole time?” It perfectly plays on one of the foundational elements of the horror genre. We fear what we cannot see or know, what might be lurking in the shadows or just around the corner. That paranoia of the unknown is infinitely more effective than any monster that a visual effects department can create.
These sorts of detals are ALL over the film. There are cult symbols everywhere in places that come back into play later (such as a certain telephone pole). Lines that seem inconsequential at the time become bone-chilling when you think about them later ("grandma wanted me to be a boy..."). Cultists are hidden in the background of so many scenes and later show up at the end. This information is littered everywhere in the background of the film, creating a feeling of danger constantly lurking in the background, as well as a feeling that the threats are much bigger in scale than our perspective.
This style of presenting information to the audience is risky though, just like the art-house horror approach to scares. It creates the risk of the film not giving the audience enough opportunity to discover the details, so they might miss key elements leaving the film feeling boring or cryptic. Or if they miss some of the set-ups regarding information that is supposed to pay off later and scare the audience, they miss out on the scare all-together. It is a fine line to walk between sprinkling creepy details in the background and actively muddling the story for the audience.
Narrative Focus: Plot vs Metaphor
The final crucial difference between art-house and mainstream horror is narrative focus. Mainstream films, like the majority of Hollywood films, are very character and plot-oriented. The arcs of the characters of the beats of the story are the main storytelling priority of the film. Art-house horror takes a different direction, focusing the time and energy on exploring its metaphors and the thematic message it is attempting to tell.
Mainstream Hollywood storytelling, and by extension most mainstream horror films, are either character or plot driven. The majority of films and television are focused on the development of the characters (including the majority of dramas and comedies) or fleshing out the details of a complex plot (such as thrillers or mystery films, such as Christopher Nolan's films). Things like theme and underlying metaphor are still important to telling a compelling story, but are not given the same attention as the plot or characters.
While It is a story with the theme of the cyclical nature of childhood trauma and how it molds and impacts our life for decades to come, the stories main focus is on developing and exploring its group of characters as children and adults as well as how their experiences impact them. The Conjuring is a story including themes about the consequences of the destruction of the traditional family unit and the rejection of religion, but the demonic possession and its effect on the Warren's and the family is the core to the story, not the underlying philosophical or political message.
Art-house horror is different because it often makes the themes the forefront of the story. This can work extremely well in that it leads to more in-depth exploration of the topics and themes of the film, but this can also be alienating for the audience in some situations where the film chooses to make the plot subservient to the themes and metaphors. This can result in some audience members feeling alienated if they feel that the plot doesn't make sense. Two recent examples of art-house horror films from 2019 that have generated complaints like that are Us and Midsommar.
With Jordan Peele's sophomore hit Us, some audience members felt alienated by some of the story choices that the film made. It is common to see complaints like "how did the tether underworld exist logistically?" "How did they get somewhat matching clothes to their counterparts?" "How do they have lights and power?" "Where did all the rabbit's come from?" In a similar vein, Midsommar reactions have had some audience members wondering "with all this crazy violent cult stuff going on why would the group stay? Why wouldn't they run or leave?" But reactions like this, while understandable in sentiment, ignore what the film is actually trying to do and focus on. The main characters in Midsommar do stay longer than a normal person would in that situation, but the film also goes to great lengths to explain how these two main characters are trapped in a toxic relationship that does nothing but hurt and endanger them both, but they are both so trapped that they stay. In fact, that inaction and the great pain that it takes to leave a situation like that is the central theme of the movie, so in that regard the character logic is a symptom of the exploration of that theme. In Us, the film does not try to logically explain the logistics of the existence of the tethers, it simply asks the audience to suspend their disbelief and accept the core premise. Peele and the other creators do this because they are far more interested in using the tethers and their relationship to the world above them to explore dynamics of class, revolution, capitalism, and social status. The film packs an honestly incredible amount of depth under the surface of a film while also managing to be incredibly entertaining at surface value, but the only reason it is able to do that is it makes the choice to not bog itself down in exposition of the mechanics of its world. These choices are not going to work for every audience member, but the criticism of these films and others for their "plot holes" usually represents the different storytelling focus of art-house horror films.
A good example of a film that perhaps went too far with this focus on theme to the point where it alienated a large portion of the audience would be the 2015 film by It Comes at Night (which despite the pervasive criticism of it, I still love). That is a film that goes all out on the metaphors of societal collapse and paranoia. But in the process, it eschews so many traditional horror elements that it leaves many audience members feeling cheated. They wonder "that's it?" It feels them living like a pretentious art film that tries so hard that it ultimately says nothing. While I personally feel that the craft of It Comes at Night generates so much dread and tension that narrative shortcomings are easily forgiving, it serves as a good example of why this approach can be so divisive with audiences.
Conclusions: Why Not Both?
These three differences in approach between mainstream and art-house horror films (approach to scares, way of giving detail to the audience, and storytelling focus) can result in vastly different kinds of horror films. Comparing something like Sinister to Suspiria showcases the variety and distinction that these two approaches to the genre are capable of. However, every film exists on a sliding scale between these opposing cinematic techniques and any discussions of these two approaches to the horror genre need to address the grey area between the two, because every film contains elements of both approaches. For example, many art-house horror films contain jump scares, while well-done mainstream horror films can develop a sense of dread. Even the most abstract art-house films need characters and (usually) a semblance of a plot.
While films exist on the extremes of each style (such as Midsommar and Suspiria existing on the more extreme art-house end of the horror genre), there are more and more excellent films that put elements of both styles to great use in order to scare audiences. While I have discussed at length how it's approach to planting details for the audience is firmly in the art-house category, the finale of Hereditary shows how to use both approaches to scaring an audience within the same sequence. The end result here is one of the most intense and horrifying sequences of the decade within the genre:
I have already discussed earlier why the part of this sequence in the bedroom subtly plants information in a way that trusts the audience but also generates a tremendous amount of dread, and that continues throughout the whole sequence. Once Peter begins to explore the house, the film takes its time to build the dread even further by continuing to show possessed Annie lingering in the background. The dread builds and builds as we are time and time again shown how surrounded Peter is and how unaware he is of the hopelessness of his situation. The creepiness factor is off the charts, but the sequence also contains several (very effective) jump scares. It mixes both approaches as it throws jump scares in to elevate the sense of danger and ramp up the scene, but continues to build the sense of dread as well by continuing to use the cinematic styles that were creating that dread even while the jump scares are happening. The film stretches those moments of dread out as long as possible until it feels like it reaches an absolute breaking point of dread and tension where Peter throws himself out the window in a moment of desperation.
Hereditary is hardly the only example of great films that proudly mix the mainstream and art-house styles of horror. Jordan Peele’s films Get Out and Us both include art-house approaches to detail and thematic focus in incredibly slick presentation with fantastic Hitchcockian tension-filled set-pieces. These set-pieces are often punctuated by jump scares, but also rely on an uncanny sense of unease and otherworldliness to make the audience feel uncomfortable (look no further than the cinematic triumph of the two home-invasion sequences in Us for a great example of how to intermingle the two). Mike Flanagan has made a career out of intermingling the two, from the trusting and precise way he communicated information in Hush, to the amount of creeping images of ghosts left in the background of The Haunting of Hill House, and the sense of disorienting dread that permeated Oculus.
Effective filmmakers know when to use certain techniques or to lean into one style when it is more effective for telling the story they want to tell. These styles have distinctive differences: they differ in the way they scare the audience, plant information, and different goals in terms of storytelling. It simply comes down to finding the sweet spot on the spectrum between accessible, mainstream horror and the ambitious but divisive style of art-house horror. No two stories are the same or needs the exact same mix of these two styles, but with an awareness of the strengths of both of these approaches, filmmakers will continue to make excellent horror films within and intermixing both of these sub-genres.
- Daniel Hassall