I FOUND myself mingling with the ‘undead’ at the Northern premiere of a Hammer Horror classic last week.
Bradford’s Pictureville Cinema is currently showcasing Hammer Films favourites in a Halloween season, which launched with a gala screening of the 4K restoration of the 1958 Dracula film.
I met some diehard fans who’d travelled across the UK to see the film. Most were dressed in black, there were some impressive looking Goths - “I’m a massive Hammer fan,” said a woman in a corset with fangs pinned to her backcombed hair - but while I admired their devotion, it left me cold. How could they all be so awestruck by a creaky old melodrama?
Ahead of the screening, I did a tour of the National Science and Media Museum’s horror props collection, which includes original designs by Hammer Films make-up specialists Philip Leakey and Roy Ashton. It was a fascinating insight into the creative process of special effects maestros who revolutionised the look of horror films and created some of the most memorable creatures in cinema. You can read my feature in today’s T&A.
But I didn’t stay for the film - I gave the tickets to a colleague, telling him: “Horror isn’t my thing”. While I appreciate the art, and the legacy, of horror films (Dracula is, of course, way more than a creaky melodrama) I can’t watch them. Because they literally give me nightmares.
I blame video nasties. I would never have watched The Texas Chainsaw Massacre at the age of 14 if it hadn’t been for my friend’s brother and his dodgy supply of horror videos. We’d pile into their living-room - they were the first family I knew to have a video recorder - and watch films like The Exorcist and Friday the 13th with the lights off.
It was The Texas Chainsaw Massacre that hit me hardest. I’d never seen anything so horrifying. I remember lying awake at night thinking about it. I’ve never really got over it. Chainsaws still give me the shivers.
So I don’t watch horror films. I think the last one I saw at the cinema was the Blair Witch Project, which still creeps me out. These films just stay in my head, forever. And frankly, I can do without the low level trauma.
But horror is huge. The film genre is thriving, particularly among young people. A recent survey revealed that 91per cent of Gen Z regularly watch horror content, in films and TV streaming.
We are in “the renaissance of horror” according to one of the stars of I Know What You Did Last Summer, the 2025 ‘legacy sequel’ to the slasher franchise.
Obsession, Resident Evil, Scream 7 and Lee Cronin’s The Mummy are among the highest-grossing horror films of this year. Clayface, Breeder and Hell House LLC are some of the new releases set for Halloween.
Why do we love this stuff so much? What’s so great about being scared witless? And why is horror so significant, and beloved, in film history?
Horror comes in many forms - including psychological, supernatural, survivor, indie and ‘found footage’. It’s a genre where film-makers can use style, suspense and metaphor to frighten us, set us on edge, occasionally make us laugh and comment on society in ways that other films can’t. Any horror aficionado will tell you that zombie films aren’t just about zombies.
On a basic level horror movies relate to our response to danger. They test our fight or flight reactions. They perhaps make us feel safe too, in knowing that the horror on screen isn’t happening in real life, however terrifying it seems.
And then there’s the storytelling. Across cultures, people have been telling stories about ghosts and ghouls for centuries, to make sense of death and the unknown.
Horror films have come a long way since Christopher Lee was terrifying audiences in 1958 - in a film that revolutionised horror cinema at the time - but they continue to tap into our primal fears and morbid curiosity. They still make us scream, with the lights off - and maybe that makes us feel alive.