Top Horror Directors Pick the Scariest Scenes of All Time
Matt Bettinelli-Olpin and Tyler Gillett (ABIGAIL)
The start of the home invasion in The Strangers (2008)
I don’t think anyone took a breath the entire scene. We collectively gasped when he appears behind her and we all screamed when she opens the shades and sees him up close on the other side of the window. It’s a masterfully orchestrated scene, from the use of handheld long takes to the haunting Joanna Newsom song and Liv Tyler’s pitch-perfect performance. From this scene on, all the idle whispering and chatter disappeared as the movie held the audience by the throat.
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Leigh Whannell (WOLF MAN)
The blood test in The Thing (1982)
The blood test scene in John Carpenter’s The Thing is a high water mark of terror for me. Kurt Russell’s character MacReady is using a flamethrower to heat up a wire and then stab it into a blood sample taken from every member of the science team. We know that the blood will react and reveal which of them has been taken over by the alien, and the suspense is unbearable. As a filmmaker, I’m always trying to come up with scenes that deliver suspense but do it in a way that is somehow new. This scene does that so well. It’s so scary, but it’s such a unique setpiece. Simply testing each person’s blood becomes the engine of suspense, and it’s simple – but when the scene explodes, it gets me every time. In a movie that is, in my opinion, perfect in every way, this remains the highlight. The first time I saw it I could barely look at the screen…but even now, after the dozens if not hundreds of times I’ve seen the film, it still works.
Zach Cregger (BARBARIAN)
The appearance of the twins in The Shining (1980)
Everyone warns you that the first time you shoot a hard drug into your veins that the rush can be so powerful, there’s a danger you might devote the rest of your life trying to find that feeling again. For me, that rush came not from a needle but from a rented VHS tape at a friend’s house. A kid on a tricycle pedaled through the halls of an empty hotel and turned a corner to find two waiting twin girls. An electric shock ran through me. Pure terror that seemed to stop time. I’ve hunted that thrill ever since.
Robert Eggers (NOSFERATU)
Whistle and I’ll Come to You sheet scene (1968)
Among the most successful horror sequences in film is the climax of the BBC’s adaptation of M.R. James’ story Oh, Whistle and I’ll Come to You My Lad. It was the first M.R. James ghost story adapted for television in this period and gave birth to the series A Ghost Story for Christmas that began in 1972. I first saw it after the release of The Witch by the recommendation of my friend and composer Robin Carolan. It’s 40 minutes of slow-burn atmospheric and understated horror that all leads up to perhaps the best articulation of a shroud-like ghost and of sleep paralysis in film. I watch it about once a year.
Parker Finn (SMILE)
The empty apartment in Kairo (“Pulse”) (2001)
Kiyoshi Kurosawa is a master of atmosphere and tension, and KAIRO (aka PULSE) is a frightening case study in both. The sequence where the character Yabe investigates an empty, foreboding apartment plays out in utterly dreadful silence as he explores deeper into the dark, hollow space. When he reaches a dead end plastered with strange red markings, we’re holding our breath, desperate for him to turn around and leave. But then an unsettling choral cue breaks the silence, and suddenly, we want him to not turn around, to not face the horror standing on the far side of the room. Our eyes can just barely make out the ghost of a woman, standing perfectly still in the dark. The ghost approaches Yabe, but her movement is wrong and nightmarish, as if she’s walking on the bottom of some ethereal ocean. Yabe stumbles back and hides behind the sole piece of furniture in this dreadful space: a small couch. But Kurosawa isn’t done with us yet, as the ghost peers over the couch, staring down at Yabe, as he (and we) screams in the terrible dark.
Scott Beck and Bryan Woods (HERETIC)
Winkie’s Diner in Mulholland Drive (2001)
A scene in broad daylight. A breakfast diner with design flourishes that evoke Seinfeld. A mid-day chat with an associate. Elements that don’t coincide with crafting a suffocating ambience, and yet here is David Lynch in full command of tone at its most horrifying: the Winkie’s Diner scene in Mulholland Drive.
Then you add the dialogue. Almost wooden at times, and yet pitch perfect for the end goal as Patrick Fischler’s character recounts a dream. And we’ve all had friends recount a dream. If you’re anything like us, you tune out immediately, because there’s zero stakes – whatever you’re about to hear is imaginary. There’s no real world danger.
So why does this scene work so well? Why, as soon as Patrick Fischler begins reminiscing his fearful nightmare, do we become so entrenched in every word? Is it the floating closeups? Or the subtle nervous glances to his friend at the cash register, fulfilling the prophecy of his dream? We’re witnessing a cinematic alchemy, one that we dare not overanalyze, for fear that it’ll pierce the magical spell of what Lynch is casting over us.
Lynch then does the inevitable: we walk with the characters behind the diner, to see if the nightmare bears any truth. The camera drifts past a payphone, into the empty trash-filled lot behind every restaurant you’ve ever walked through in LA. And beneath the afternoon sun, there’s a graffitied cinder block wall, guarding a dumpster. There’s nothing unique here, and yet we feel our pulse quickening beyond measure. Our hearts pounding from our chest until… THE NIGHTMARE STEPS OUT. This scene has buried itself deep into our neural tissue as the scariest we’ve ever seen committed to film. Thank you, Mr. Lynch.
This story appeared in the Oct. 23 issue of The Hollywood Reporter magazine. Click here to subscribe.
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