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As Tom Tykwer miraculously evokes smell upon grueling smell through the medium of the visual, he simultaneously casts one of the most poignant, yet poetic, visions of horror set to screen. The terror becomes all the more real once we realize that the central character, Jean-Baptiste, may not be aware of the ethical ramifications of his actions, thereby making him a truly harrowing threat in a film which is so unrepentantly unabashed in its nihilism that the only thing left to do is applaud its courage.

   Scott Glosserman’s shot-in-the-dark does the impossible: It gives satirical value to every throwaway slasher which precedes it and, much like Wes Craven’s Scream, has forever changed how we view the slasher pic. 

Mikael Håfström flips his nose to all of the PG-13 naysayers while reminding us what the Master of Suspense taught us long ago: True horror doesn’t reside in blood and gore, but rather in the creation and maintenance of sweaty-palmed terror. Hands down, one of the scariest movies to grace the Silver Screen in decades in the best adaptation of a work by Stephen King since Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining. 

   Mission: To make a truly gratuitous work of horror in the Grindhouse tradition. Robert Rodriguez achieves just that via frivolous nudity; excessive, unrepentant gore; an absurd plot; implausible characters; over-the-top special effects; and poor production value. The result? One of the most enjoyable escapist flicks to come around in a long, long time. Too bad Tarantino didn’t follow the directions . . . .

  Unfortunately, when the theme of Man vs. Man is pitted alongside that of Man vs. Nature, the all-too-sad truth almost always sallies undeniably forth. Such is the case in Michael Katleman’s vastly underrated political allegory where, ultimately, the killing machine of the cover fails to hold a flame to the terrors which its human victims-cum-hunters (and vice versa) are enacting upon themselves. 

  Juan Carlos Fresnadillo accomplishes the ever-so-rare feat of trumping his predecessor and, at that, the work of a master. By using the medium as a metaphor, the filmmaker highlights the lunacy of the Iraq War while reminding us where the genesis of the true horror lay--hubris. Hopefully Danny Boyle will take notes before closing the trilogy.

  William Friedkin’s belated return to the genre does not disappoint. It is not often a film confounds an audience so much so that it cannot steadfastly claim that what it is watching is a work of horror, a black comedy, or a love story. Regardless, each interpretation renders a fascinating reading of current affairs as only The Exorcist himself could accomplish with such aplomb.

 Who would have thought that the 21^st century would play host to a monster epic but, from out of nowhere, Joon-ho Bong gives the world a tadpole with a pituitary problem that is not only genuinely menacing, but relevant. Whereas Fresnadillo’s 28 Days Later proposes that the trouble with America is its overbearing presence, Bong wry states the opposite is the problem: the U.S.’s half-hearted attempt at concern. Yet the director does so with a smile and a growl. 

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Still in contention: 

Frank Darabont’s The Mist, Larry Fessenden’s The Last Winter, Juan Antonio Bayona’s The Orphanage, and Stuart Gordon’s Stuck

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