We’re living through what can be considered the Great Horror Boom, scaring up an astounding number of new-release genre titles on a weekly basis, brought on by streaming’s ease of accessibility and perceived market demands. Brands continue to capitalize on horror’s ever-dependable fanbase, from AMC’s Shudder platform to Netflix’s jam-packed Halloween release slates. Horror fans of the streaming age can forever scroll Shudder’s expertly curated catalog of Giallo classics, splattery Z-Movies, and countless other subgenres for the low price of $5.99 a month — no more swapping fuzzy VHS cassettes with Jimbo Jones across the country via snail mail. We’re eating well in the streaming horror era, stuffed plump and about to burst like Greta Gibson’s chipmunk cheeks in A Nightmare on Elm Street 5: The Dream Child.
Shudder began beta testing in the summer of 2015 and was fully functional by October 2016, the same year it’d start releasing originals and exclusives like Nathan Ambrosioni’s Therapy or Hèctor Hernández Vicens’ The Corpse of Anna Fritz. Screambox emerged in 2015, to later become a more prominent player when Cinedigm acquired the service in 2021 (along with popular horror website Bloody Disgusting), adding Screambox originals as of July of 2022. Netflix started releasing horror originals in 2016 with the likes of Mike Flanagan’s Before I Wake or Oz Perkins’ I Am the Pretty Thing that Lives in the House, Blumhouse struck deals with both Hulu and Prime Video for exclusive streaming programming — and all that is in addition to routine theatrical releases (sans COVID-19 lockdowns), plus video-on-demand releases testing the digital rental market. How’s a horror fan supposed to keep up with it all?
“It's a boom, which is great — but at the same time, you have to start making choices,” says Fangoria’s Editor-in-Chief Phil Nobile Jr. “You’ll say, ‘I don't know if I'm going to get around to this one in theaters,’ and then, ‘I don't know if I can get around to this one on streaming.’ Movies just get past us.” Nobile summarizes the very first-world-horror-fan problem that most of us confront with so many choices. We’re in perpetual feast mode, but how did we even get here
Jump to:
- Streamers Are The New Video Stores
- The Event Spectacle Of Seeing A Streaming Title In Theaters
- There’s More Horror Than Ever Before
- Can Too Much Horror Be A Bad Thing?
- Streamers Provide More Opportunities For Filmmakers
- Can The Horror Genre Sustain This Current Output?
- The Reality of the Great Horror Boom
Streamers Are The New Video Stores
Streamers like Shudder and Screambox have taken the place of mom and pop video stores where knowledgeable staff could steer patrons towards groovy recommendations, except with less financial blockers. “I feel like I would just never have taken the $5 risk on so many of these movies in the Blockbuster rummage bin, but there's no risk when you click,” points out filmmaker Aaron Moorhead (Synchronic and Disney+’s upcoming Loki Season 2). Shudder and Screambox are operated by staffers who were horror diehards in their past lives before signing onto their respective positions, and that passion bleeds into their curation. Samuel Zimmerman was working for pre-relaunch Fangoria and Shock Til You Drop before eventually becoming VP of Programming at Shudder. Brad Miska co-founded the well-known online horror haven Bloody Disgusting before becoming VP of Business Development at Screambox. These aren’t just pencil pushers monitoring trends and crunching numbers to dictate what their subscribers will watch — they’re two of horror’s biggest champions.
“Initially, [Shudder] was to be a home for people who loved the genre and found themselves questioning the horror that they were watching on streaming elsewhere,” says Zimmerman of Shudder’s early mission statement. “Everything [else] felt like a dumping ground or a warehouse — no sense of quality or taste or filter.” That’s still somewhat relevant today when you look at Netflix’s contemporary-forward streaming horror catalog that doesn’t offer anything prior to 1998. “We could create something for people who love the [horror] genre, and then widen out from there because we [at Shudder] believe everyone's a horror fan even if they're not ready to admit it.” Shudder’s core competency from inception has been its gobsmacking range of offerings that cater to horror’s infinite walks of life, which is why it’s been able to build considerable momentum with savvy horror crowds who recognize its value versus bigger players that simply don’t care as much about their lineup.
“Everyone's always wanting to look at algorithms and stats to try and make sense of [everything], but I'm a horror consumer — that’s the easiest way for me to look at this stuff,” adds Miska about his approach to Screambox’s streamable horror goodies. “It's a very difficult and expensive process to own and run a streaming service — it's absolutely bananas to see the workings behind the scenes — but with the right resources, I've been able to focus on picking up films that, as a horror fan, I’ll get something out of [even if] not every movie's a 10 out of 10.”
International horror earned a deserved spotlight once streamers improved accessibility for all flavors of horror; imports that hardly found a fraction of prominence in United States theaters in prior years were now topping Best Of lists. These titles were going straight to video shelves or video on demand platforms with little promotion, in a time when consumers assumed anything not fit for theatrical distribution was skippable. There’s even sound reasoning behind pre-streaming distribution hesitance — does the average American moviegoer want to read subtitles in a multiplex on a Friday night? Can a local AMC pack a Spanish-language horror screening given its town’s population? Streamers don’t need to worry about these geolocation business decisions as much, and have shattered distribution blockers by redesigning the delivery system.
Shudder alone deserves credit for fueling an Indonesian horror resurgence by platforming original works by Joko Anwar (Satan’s Slaves, Satan’s Slaves 2: Communion), Timo Tjahjanto (May the Devil Take You Too), and Kimo Stamboel (Queen of Black Magic). “I am so thrilled we've gotten to work on so much of the newer wave of Indonesian horror — [Joko Anwar] is an absolute genius,” gushes Zimmerman.
Screambox champions international value in the same way, like distributing a Japanese remake of Vincenzo Natali’s Cube or Argentine punk-rocking splatterfest PussyCake. Netflix boasts an impressive selection of Indian horror titles given the culture’s immense and passionate following, as well as overseas releases that, while rarely marketed, will still catch eyes because they’re on Netflix. Max is home to Criterion closet picks like cannibal mermaid musical The Lure or 1977’s deranged Japanese paranormal comedy House. Even Prime Video, messy interface and all, hides golden nuggets like 2018’s knockout Tumbbad despite Indian distribution agreements being so hard to secure.
“People who love the genre and have that [horror] bone in their body aren’t held back by international barriers — they’re devoted and curious,” remarks Zimmerman. Shudder users renew their subscriptions because out of nowhere a 2005 Japanese found footage classic never seen in America like Noroi: The Curse will appear, or Julien Maury and Alexandre Bustillo’s French fantasy thriller Livid (which was lost for over a decade after Dimension Films purchased US rights). “You can't be releasing the same type of movie every week or every other week — it’d be ridiculous if we said here's a haunted house movie and then another haunted house movie and then a third haunted house movie.” Shudder’s impeccably eclectic catalog directly correlates to its emphasis on international horror, a model that keeps the platform’s name on the tongues of horror fans who’ve yet to show boredom in the service (Screambox shows equal promise in its early rebranding).
Accessing these previously hidden gems is laughably easy now, and we’re not only talking about international stunners or do-it-yourself indies getting the streaming bump. Leatherface became a Netflix icon, Pinhead was reborn as The Priest on Hulu, Paranormal Activity: Next of Kin tried to draw found footage fans to Paramount+, and Michael Myers saw a day-and-date release on Peacock for Halloween Kills.
“Part of the nostalgia for horror fans is looking back and remembering how hard it was to acquire some [titles] like Evil Dead or Dead Alive, because you didn't always see a movie in theaters, and then you’d wait like six months for it to show up at Blockbuster, then another six months for it to show up used, then in another six months maybe you could buy a brand new copy,” laughs Screambox’s Miska. Maybe you got cheeky and “lost” your rental copy of Evil Dead (in your collection), only to endure absurd Blockbuster late and replacement fees. None of that matters anymore, in a world where TikTokers are illegally streaming entire movies in bite-sized portions (bad). Zimmerman adds, “If you're a genre fan or even just kind of like horror, there's probably a whole world of titles you've heard but never seen — it took me so long to finally see The Town That Dreaded Sundown, that title just existed in my brain.”
Streaming also helped resuscitate franchises that were considered dead by box office standards. As Nobile Jr. recalls, “So many people watched [Prey] opening weekend because it was on streaming on Hulu, and that probably saved that franchise.” 20th Century Studios could gamble on a Predator prequel on streaming with no fears of floundering theatrically, which is precisely the risk-taking swing the action-horror franchise needed. “[Streaming] creates opportunities for films to have moments that they might not have had otherwise. If [Prey] was in theaters, everyone wouldn't have watched it that first weekend. It would have needed a strong word of mouth campaign, or a certain number of screens would have to have been bought out.”
Streaming platforms can be a testing ground for somewhat struggling franchises like Predator. A domestic gross of $51 million for Shane Black’s 2018 The Predator suggested American audiences didn’t seem ravenous for further Predator films, which the well-received Prey proved embarrassingly wrong under alternative circumstances. Turns out, audiences were happy to support more Predator films — they were just tired of what studios were churning out and didn’t want to risk that $20 ticket price. Now the franchise has new life, and that can translate into future successes. “Certainly the next one will be in theaters, because [Prey] was such a remarkable streaming success,” concludes Nobile.
The Event Spectacle Of Seeing A Streaming Title In Theaters
When you think about it, platforms like Shudder and Screambox share similar mission statements with film festivals like Austin’s Fantastic Fest. Each requires programmers who consider their audience’s needs, and strive to curate something unforgettable. Fantastic Fest director Lisa Dreyer aims to please in the same fashion as Zimmerman or Miska, although film festivals have the live element to consider — which has become more interesting since the dawn of streaming. Festivals are getting longer, and options are mounting. “The number of horror films that are getting made and getting seen has exploded — [you’re seeing] more movies because there's more money to buy them,” notes Dreyer.
Streamers are finding film festivals useful as preview venues for titles that will never project onto a theatrical screen again. Hulu’s Hellraiser and Disney+’s MCU Halloween special Werewolf by Night both graced Fantastic Fest as secret screenings, surprising some of the only audiences who will ever get to see either title in prime cinematic conditions. “It makes a really special experience for our audience,” notes Dreyer, who goes on to convey what that means to a filmmaker who otherwise never would have had witnessed live receptions to their artwork.
“It’s not Netflix making the movie, or Amazon making the movie. It's a real artist making the movie. I know a lot of directors who are disappointed when they can't have a theatrical release, but [festivals] give them that taste of [seeing their movie on the] big screen with an audience. Sharing that communal moment. That's what we really love — maybe [your movie] doesn’t get the full theatrical release, but you do right here at the festival.”
My mentality around skipping streaming titles at horror fests that would be available only a week later on Netflix has changed drastically thanks to ideologies similar to Lisa’s. I made sure to seek out David Bruckner’s Hellraiser reboot at Beyond Fest 2022, knowing it’d be destined to exist only on Hulu afterward. Too many streaming titles get lost in the eternal shuffle of virtual catalog cycling, where festivals have become a showcase for the next streaming gem like The Night Comes for Us. I didn’t see a lick of advertising for the indulgently brutal Indonesian actioner, but at least heavy waves of hype flowed out of Fantastic Fest, which became vital word-of-mouth recommendations. “Streaming services are seeing that value in film festivals to build up buzz. There's so much content that you can access streaming wise — cutting through the noise by having some sort of special premiere event really helps.”
Since streamers have gotten into the acquisition game, the pipeline from horror festivals to consumer screens has been drastically reduced. With more outlets requiring titles to keep their options fresh, and aggressive release schedules where Shudder and Screambox promise new titles every month, even week, festivals are no longer a privileged haven where film critics gather and review movies the average moviegoer won’t see for another year minimum. Where distribution deals sometimes wouldn’t be inked for months until after a film’s festival premiere (and then buried who knows where without proper marketing), Shudder is now announcing acquisition deals weeks before festivals even start premiering their lineups. As Dreyer noted, more purchasers equals more movies finding releases — and streaming is now one of the most popular destinations for festival favorites that don’t need to sell themselves on only theatrical potential.
There’s More Horror Than Ever Before
Speaking plainly, streaming changed the horror genre like it changed Hollywood: there’s more. But that “more” hits differently for niche horror-only services versus Netflix or Hulu. Netflix can introduce a romantic comedy one week, a war epic the next, yadda yadda. Shudder and Screambox cater to a solitary genre with committed fans who will rise to the challenge of seeing everything available. How can there actually be enough titles to populate theaters, video-on-demand platforms, subscription platforms, and FAST channels like the Fox owned Tubi? “Amityville sequels,” laughs Nobile.
“That's an interesting metric, though. Without streaming, you don't have 38 Amityville movies on Tubi — there was [previously] no place for stuff like that to go. The delivery system has been impacted.”
That actually is an interesting metric. With alarmingly lax restrictions over what can get uploaded to services like Prime Video and Tubi, you’ll find absurd microbudget releases shot in backyards finding placement because there’s a drive for what’s grossly referred to by business folks as content. “It's an ocean — your million dollar movie and your $20,000 movie make the same size drop in that ocean.” Go look up the posters for House Shark or Sharks of the Corn. Better yet, I dare you to count every single unsanctioned Amityville namesake on Tubi from Amityville Karen to Amityville in Space. Note the release dates. Nearly all are post-2016, with many from 2020 and later — coinciding with the popularity of free to stream platforms.
Horror movies were and are releasing with an unprecedented quickness because demand is astronomically inflated — or at least appears to have inflated. Rustic Films co-founder and Producer David Lawson Jr. counters, “I do think a downside is that [streamers] created a false demand.” Industries act reflexively when the landscape drastically changes, that’s Business 101, which could inorganically make the skyrocket in horror release numbers seem justified when it was really just a byproduct of corporate-bred competition. “Everybody revved the engine up but there was no track … That's part of the reason we're kind of in this slowdown right now. There isn’t the demand we were promised.” Of course, audiences only care about the end result, reasons and motivators be damned.
The question becomes, is horror’s quantity explosion a good thing? “There's something to be said about being excited about [a new horror film] coming out,” reminisces Miska. “The marketing for films is now pushed up and [streamers are] promoting everything a week or two before so the second you're excited, you already have the product.”
To understand how the horror genre seems to have quintupled its output thanks to streamers, we also have to acknowledge the COVID-19 pandemic and countrywide quarantines. Everyone was stuck in their respective quarters, and streamers acted with quickness. First came theatrical titles like The Hunt that forfeited any waiting games and became purchasable on Prime Video for theatrical prices — but that was a direct reaction to wide releases getting their theatrical run shut down. What happened in the horror genre was unprecedented once it became clear Americans would be isolating in safety, some with no work obligations, but everyone with a need for distractions.
Our first Halloween under quarantine brought with it a paralyzing 40+ new release horror movies available to rent, stream, or buy in October alone. That’s more than one new release horror screening per day. “Netflix & Chills” debuted 9 titles from an interactive adventure where WWE’s The New Day sneak into The Undertaker’s haunted mansion to Adam Sandler’s Hubie Halloween. Shudder served 5 festival darlings like Scare Me, Prime Video unleashed 4 “Welcome to the Blumhouse” entries — at what point does being a genre completionist become a chore? How are hidden gems supposed to stand out when prioritization and favoritism become necessary tools against an impossible task to watch everything available?
In January of 2021, after Netflix announced it’d release a new movie every week that year, Shudder doubled down on continuous output ambitions by revealing it’d be releasing a new horror movie for the next 11 weeks. When all was said and done for Shudder, they’d end 2021 with around 40 exclusives and originals on their platform (counting what’s available as per this publish date). They’d push even harder in 2022, finishing with around 50 exclusives and originals, none of which includes their retro programming with classics from famous icons to unheard of oddities, as well as television programming both rerun and brand spankin’ new. “I would say we [felt the pressures of demand] during the lockdown because it was so clear everyone was at home watching,” recalls Zimmerman. “We absolutely retained our curatorial personality during the lockdown. It was an accelerated and exhausting schedule — I think reducing our slate has helped us refocus our ambitions on the really cool movies.”
With no hyperbole, Shudder and streaming saved countless horror fans from much darker, depressive lockdown experiences. The Last Drive-in with Joe Bob Briggs became one harmonious horror “Kum ba yah” every Friday as the bolo-wearing horror host programmed double features while Shudder subscribers flooded Twitter with live-tweet chatter. Then there was the terrifying screenlife favorite Host, recreating that video chat purgatory we were all stuck in but with an actual demon — which became the defining lockdown horror title. Shudder was essential during pandemic quarantines, proving that proper curation could balance comfortable nostalgia plays harkening back to earlier models of entertainment — Joe Bob’s show dials right back to after-dark cable programming — with newfound visions paving a road for horror’s future. No longer were audiences stuck in whatever gear studios decided should dominate theaters.
The thing is, Shudder wasn’t the only platform to choose from during these times — and everyone wanted to drink horror’s milkshake. Shudder set a precedent for what to expect, and that became yet another norm horror fans could rely on. It’s like that book If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, except it's If You Give a Horror Fan New Movies Every Week. Nobile confirms how the Halloween uptick is still alive and well today via Fangoria reporting: “We make a page or multiple pages of graphics to show what's hitting streaming per month, and I’ll usually proofread 4 pages. There were, like, 12 pages last time and 3 of them — at least 3 or 4 — was Peacock, which was incredible to me.”
Can Too Much Horror Be A Bad Thing?
A byproduct of the oversaturation of horror marketplaces is the lifespan of buzz and reduction of lasting impressions. Remember when Netflix purchased Fox’s already completed Fear Street trilogy, directed by Leigh Janiak? Three bloodthirsty era-spanning slashers hit streaming in July 2021 for three consecutive weeks, and everyone devoured each entry as rapidly as possible. Let’s process that model for a second — let that whiplash sink in. Fox wanted to drop each Fear Street release once a month in order, a schedule Netflix didn’t blink at speeding along even faster. Netflix achieved something unprecedented by releasing a franchise basically at once (as only a Streamer could), but has Fear Street built the legacy it deserves over two years later? Anticipation stokes hype, which extends the longevity of conversations around media. That’s the opposite of what Netflix did, cashing in and skedaddling in on swift motion. The difference between dominating the horror conversation over 1 month versus 3 months is a big deal in terms of cementing a fanbase. Streamers have conditioned modern audiences to consume media like Joey Chestnut at Nathan’s Hot Dog Eating Contest, scarfing down titles and moving right on to the next.
There's a lack of prolonged pandemonium around horror films these days, largely due to the fact that there are just so many. Netflix’s marketing department only has the bandwidth to prioritize a percentage of new releases week by week — well-performing shows can earn a bump after a first week's success, but sometimes that's still too late to snag audience attention when there's already another wave of new titles to choose from. The Fear Street trilogy received a valiant, rare push by Netflix — dropping an entire franchise at once better pay off — but after that, they relied on internet chatter to increase longevity that frankly isn’t there. Think of how many times physical media companies rerelease brand new editions of Halloween or The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, or how Chucky infiltrated pop culture over decades (from SNL to WCW), keeping Child’s Play sequels in the public’s eye. Netflix doesn’t believe in physical media, and is all about immediate gratification, which has reduced the spectacle nature of what could have been an ongoing franchise for at least three years worth of nurtured fandom. We all watched Fear Street, then promptly moved on with our lives because people are easily lured in by the next shiny new toy — there’s always another distraction, something else to watch.
Horror journalism and criticism has become infinitely more important since streamers buried viewers alive in choices, helping with the general public’s curation of horror options. Fangoria’s quarterly magazine only has 100 pages worth of space to cover as many projects as possible, but Nobile doesn’t necessarily see that as a dilemma. “The good news is that there's never not a movie to put in the magazine,” he answers. “I just have to pay more attention to festivals and word of mouth because I could literally just look at 2 streamers and fill an issue.” The problem isn’t populating Fangoria’s pages with some of the best genre coverage in print (shout out to Rue Morgue and the rest), but attracting readers who’ve embraced the complacency of letting a computer dictate their watching patterns. “Audiences have gotten lazy — they’ve gotten used to clicking on whatever the algorithm is feeding to them, so then it becomes [Matt Donato’s] job and my job or Sam Zimmerman's job to try to mindfully point people toward the good stuff.”
Speaking of Zimmerman, he notes Shudder’s more recent shying away from dropping originals as rapidly as Jason drops counselors:
“We're already slowing [our] pace. Based on our slate, based on other streamers, I think the aggression — and especially on the larger scale streamers — with which they were releasing titles has … well you'll see in large scale Executive Netflix Profiles, you'll start to see those terms like ‘quality over quantity.’ What can users keep up with? There are a ton of streaming services. You have to put your best foot forward as often as possible. We started with a curatorial mission and we're never going to abandon that. The pace is already slowing down — but I don't think that means there's going to be less movies. We're headed toward a future where there's always more movies being made, but from our perspective, being smart about what we're releasing, and how we're releasing, is the way to go.”
So how can two streaming platforms thrive by releasing only horror movies — smaller fry Midnight Pulp adds a third to the mix — without cannibalizing themselves?
“If there was another [horror streaming service] I would subscribe to that too,” suggests Miska. “As a horror fan and as a consumer, I want to see everything.” Zimmerman adds, “People who like the [horror] genre, whether that’s really intensely or rather casually, are by nature curious and devoted.” You don’t see romantic comedy fans attending rom-com-cons in elaborate Gerard Butler from The Bounty Hunter cosplay, or bands like Ice Nine Kills except film noir themed. Horror fans are faithful to the Shudders and Screamboxes because the Netflixes of the world don’t seem interested in the licensing fees that would go into maintaining such a robust horror catalog. Although, according to Nobile, studios are finally catching on.
“Something happened this year where everyone realized that horror is a bigger draw for streaming than other genres. Paramount is now pushing a whole “Paramount Scares” thing — [but] if you're of a certain age like me, you remember when Paramount was embarrassed by their horror titles. They would pick up all the Friday the 13th movies, which were independent productions … but it was their dirty little secret for years. They weren’t proud of those movies. Now they've come full circle to embrace horror, and especially horror on streaming. They're [releasing] a 4K box set for their streaming offerings and [pushing] a huge initiative for them right now.”
Horror’s business is always booming — horror movies thrived at the box office despite pandemic cautions and continually overperform — which is a lesson studios begrudgingly learned from their super-secret backroom streaming analysis. Not only that, but they finally saw tangible evidence pointing toward the multitude of individual tastes that exist. As Zimmerman notes, “[Streaming] tamped down on larger horror trends in a great way because there are so many levels and avenues of distribution at the moment, where I find audiences are curious and adventurous. We're seeing less of when James Wan makes a movie like Insidious, then every [other] movie [after] is like Insidious.” Streamers pumping new movies into our veins like a 24/7 IV drip can’t afford to approach horror like fat-cat studios that release maybe 3 horror titles per year tops. Theatergoers dictate what’s in theaters with their wallets, while streamer metrics (as nebulous as they are) are about retention, return rates, and subscriber drop ratios. Wan rerouted mainstream horror trends twice — Saw’s “Torture Porn” era, The Conjuring brought back hauntings — because that’s what box office dollars told studios horror fans wanted, but streamers don’t abide by such reactionary methods. What’s a steamer worth whose catalog stinks of repetition?
Variety is not only the spice of life for streamers, but their main focus, leading to a horror landscape that’s deliciously à la carte. Shudder can invest in filmmakers like Australian transgender teen Alice Maio Mackay for the queer vampire tale So Vam, or actor-turned-filmmaker Alice Lowe for her pregnancy slasher Prevenge — both sitting right next to Mario Bava classics and Halloween sequels on Shudder’s digital shelf.
Streamers Provide More Opportunities For Filmmakers
In a studio system, producers pressure queer creators to make the “Gay Get Out” because executives are driven by cashing in on someone else’s success or squeeze filmmakers into franchise confinement instead of letting them create something new. Streaming seems to breed an excess of diversity to meet equally diverse user bases as evident by Shudder’s focus on widely representative originals (I’d love a digital passport to check where their movies have taken me), which empowers those otherwise silenced minorities with money to spend, not only the homogenized majority whose collective voice speaks loudest. Shudder and Screambox can take risks reinvigorating hype around tougher big-ticket sales like horror documentaries Living With Chucky or Sharksploitation while Lionsgate wheels Billy out for another Saw sequel. As Miska raves, “I'm really happy with all the documentaries [Screambox has] been able to acquire and release. I feel like [documentaries] are a really big blind spot in the community.”
There’s yet another curveball to the market that’s benefitted creators — the pathway to entry and ability to gain notoriety has been lowered. Not to say filmmaking is easy and all anyone needs is a digital camera or an iPhone and Tubi placement, but bigger streamer budgets are granting aspiring horror filmmakers opportunities that didn’t exist before. Something like Blumhouse TV’s holiday-horror-feature-film-per-month Into the Dark on Hulu generated 12 extra horror director positions each season it ran, and brought someone like Emma Tammi who would eventually go on to direct this year’s Five Nights at Freddy’s into the Blumhouse stable. They might be breakneck shoots under adversarial conditions with turnaround sprints, but they’re still an opportunity to direct a Blumhouse product for a major streaming platform..
Miska cites Adam Wingard as another prime template of indie horror struggles before the streaming era — the Adam Wingard before You’re Next, Godzilla vs. Kong, and Blair Witch. “[Adam Wingard’s] A Horrible way To Die as a good baseline example for an upcoming filmmaker. It’s extremely low budget, pulls resources, and is a pure passion project.” Wingard willed A Horrible Way to Die into existence and demanded people pay attention through execution alone — no streamer-backed cushions. “He was somebody with a ton of talent really digging deep to find a way to make their career happen.” That in no way suggests today’s rookies aren’t fighting for the jobs they earn, but with more proverbial gates open and guaranteed viewership, Miska ponders if such abundant opportunities have any negative effects. “[These conditions] have created a level of expectations from up and coming filmmakers who now expect a certain level of comfort zone in making movies.”
Getting your indie horror darling on Shudder has become a badge of honor for horror filmmakers trying to make their mark like the Adams family (yes, their actual name). Shudder acquired their punk-rock microbudget feature Hellbender, propelling an already growing genre stock when their previous feature The Deeper You Dig turned heads. Zimmerman’s dedication to curation has solidified a bond between streamer and horror audience, so when Hellbender hit Shudder after the service platformed the Adams’ prior microbudget feature The Deeper You Dig, users didn’t balk. “We want to provide [a worthwhile experience], and we demand your attention in return. We demand a little bit of your trust. Check out this weird movie, or check out this new voice that you may not be immediately hip to, but we want you to be.” Chances are The Deeper You Dig would have sunk into VOD obscurity without a Shudder bump and Hellbender might have walked a lonely road — instead, the collective’s next feature Where the Devil Roams became hot festival tickets that had horror fans at attention on Adams name recognition alone.
Filmmaker Justin Benson cites how streaming has become this double-edged sword for industry creators, because while there are issues with compensation around streamers, they still provide an invaluable platform. “It’s really interesting because on the one hand, the amount of people that probably see your movie, if they had seen it in a theater, that probably would have changed your life. It would have been the biggest deal. On streaming it doesn't change your life, and people may not even know that you made [what they’re watching] — but the flip side [for that experience] is it's really cool because so many people get to see [your movie] and that's especially true for left of center indies that aren't, say, A24 with brilliant marketing campaigns.” Benson and Moorhead’s Synchronic falls in line with that mentality, where the duo and aforementioned partner David Lawson confirm their 3 weeks as king of the Netflix Top 10 hill pushed no needles in terms of financial gains or behind the scenes metrics, and they watched excitedly as their film became a conversation point for Netflix audiences with added bragging rights.
For a bit of added context, while streamers offer unlimited access as an enticing benefit, the financial model has also changed for filmmakers looking to both gain an audience and see substantial profits. Decisions have to be made. Benson lifts the curtain a bit to weigh the options filmmakers now face:
“Say you pitch to a streamer. Hopefully they’ll offer some sort of pre-buy deal on the movie and in that case, it's probably going to be [universally] exclusive to that streamer. If you sold somewhere else, it would likely be for North American rights, and then they would parcel out the rest of the world. Usually you end up in a financial situation with streamers where what you're looking for is an offer that allows you to to pay all your collaborators a fair rate because that's the last money you're probably ever going to see. Traditionally, that one first sale wasn't the last [paycheck] — that's a big deal.”
There’s also the piracy danger of filmmaking that’s become even murkier thanks to streaming, especially in the horror genre. I remember talking to producer Ant Timpson about his horror anthology The ABCs of Death 2 and the possibility of another sequel, and he discouragingly revealed that pirates leaked the film even before its world premiere, before anyone spent a dollar on VOD rentals, which robbed earnings that are needed to justify further entries. Then you have this year’s Skinamarink, which was leaked in-full after a film festival and spread all over the internet, but Shudder isn’t relying on in-app purchases. What’s the point of pirating something you can watch whenever you want on a streamer with much better quality, which you can’t financially sabotage? It’s an unexpected benefit to a serious problem — genuinely, this whole posting entire movies on TikTok behavior is a crisis — but the ramifications aren’t as severe for streamer-set titles. Shudder even rolled out a special theatrical run for Skinamarink, because ticket sales were gravy at that point.
Can The Horror Genre Sustain This Current Output?
The biggest question mark, of course, is the overload of horror media that’s too much even for dedicated journalists who spend every waking hour pouring over the genre. Eight horror titles released the other week — EIGHT. IN A WEEK.
It’s frustrating because while there are more avenues, and more filmmakers breaking through, the algorithm still dictates what’s “important.” The algorithm tells us what’s popular, and trending topics deem that popularity important, so that’s what gets acknowledged online in a time where organic marketing has become arguably more important than traditional ad spaces. Streaming has unlocked a communal experience for horror fans where users can watch things simultaneously and share their responses in real time, but we’re right back to listening to what the algorithm has to say, which has weakened our abilities to self-curate.
“At what point does it stop being fun and become work,” questions Miska. “I hate the feeling of having to burn through things — I have a list of titles I need to watch and at some point you start watching things with contention.” Streaming may be the new frontier for horror, but in ways it has also turned horror upkeep into a nightmare for consumers. Keeping up with horror is (one of) my job(s) — one that I love dearly — but I am forever having to balance that upkeep with work, hobbies outside of the horror space, and just life in general. It’s gotten to the point that it feels like I could watch horror all day every day and still not be caught up.
That’s the doom spiral at the end of all this. Streaming, like most business endeavors, is a real-time movement that’s constantly evolving as streamers, traditional studios, and audiences all try to predict what will happen next. It seems too good to be true, and truthfully, I want it to be. Let me live ignorant and blissful in a streaming utopia where Netflix can tell us every new release is a viewing milestone — because if Netflix were to ever announce failure and vanish, exclusive titles like His House, the Fear Street trilogy, or The Babysitter vanish as well. At least Shudder and Screambox honor the importance of physical media by releasing choice originals on Blu-ray and DVD, because if streaming introduced a single fear to horror audiences, it’s the realization that when you don’t own your favorite movies, you literally can’t own them, and they exist in databases that could be wiped clean, so there’s a chance your umpteenth stream of The Ritual on Netflix could be your last.
I want to end with an encouraging outlook, because the horror genre has changed for the better overall under streaming models. Sure, the logistics of streaming and horror’s ungodly uptick in output sound insane — but Moorhead jogs our memory about another insane product. “[Streaming] reminds me a little bit of the first iteration of Movie Pass. It was really good for independent films, but we all thought Movie Pass was completely insane — we're all looking at each other and saying this is insane, right?” The amount of horror releases we’re getting right now is certifiably insane, but as Moorhead goes on to reassure, it’s about how initial disruptors adapt or second players to market who tweak the failures of ambitious trailblazers. “Movie Pass brought around Alamo Drafthouse’s Victory Program and AMC Stubs A-List, and those aren't insane.” The future, in other words, is even brighter.
Also, in solidarity with ongoing strike, Lawson fantasizes about how streamers can evolve into the next best iteration of themselves for not only the horror industry, but all industries: “I would love for [streamers] to start by paying residuals that are in line with industry standards so that artists can afford to make a living and we can shed this idea of a new media because it is now just media.”
The Reality of the Great Horror Boom
We’re all eatin’ good in the neighborhood as horror fans, sippin’ $1 vampire cocktails and watching more horror creativity than our brain can comprehend. Streaming’s dopamine hit of instant gratification isn’t just our new favorite drug. Streaming's accessibility has encouraged redistributions of power in the industry, created countless jobs, advocates for representation across all forms of the genre, and allows everyone to find the one movie that finally turns them into a horror fan.
Streaming has taken the responsibility of investigation away from audiences, now in the hands of platform programmers who earn our respect through their quality of curation. I’ll agree that audiences need to reclaim some of their independence and curiosity. On the other hand, the sheer volume of options is a goldmine itself. “It's hard to be cranky about [streaming] because when I would first rent a movie, it wasn't even a video store. It was a camera store, there was a shelf, there were about 20 movies on that shelf, and I want to say 4 of them were horror movies,” reminisces Nobile.
We’re living in the Great Horror Boom. All we can do is hold on for dear life and champion the movies we love as vocally as possible, because algorithms don’t understand love. They only understand clicks. Be as curious as Sam Zimmerman says you are. Listen to Lisa Dreyer and let filmmakers hear how much you enjoy their films at festivals. Prove to Brad Miska that there’s plenty of room for Screambox, Shudder, and twenty more platforms. At the end of the day, be thankful that our biggest problem as horror fans right now is an avalanche of new releases that assure there will always be something new to watch, or a new voice to discover. It could be worse — just ask adolescent Phil Nobile Jr.
