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PSYCHOS AND SLASHERS

"Raw Meat" / "Death Line" (Gary Sherman, 1972)

I first saw this supercreepy British flick at a drive-in, in a car full of weed-smokin' folk looking to get off on another silly monster mash. By the time the camera snaked its way deep into the bowels of the London subway system to slither through a stomach-turning abattoir where some thing encouraged its pregnant mate to drink from a corpse, we'd fallen dead silent. Seems that, back in 1892, an unfinished tunnel collapsed, cutting off a clutch of men and women laborers. Too expensive to dig them out, so the survivors were left to die -- but somehow they didn't. And now one of the last descendants of the tribe has come up for food. Trust me, you will never be able to scrape his mush-mouthed moan, "Mind the doors," out of your nightmares.

"Black Christmas" (Bob Clark, 1974)

The Canadian blandness of the characters and location in "Christmas" -- sorority girls (young Margot Kidder and Andrea Martin among them) bouncing around a fusty old mansion -- ups the horror generated by this little classic. Sure, the sisters may have some problems (unwanted pregnancy, possessive boyfriend, unloving parents), but these are human-sized in light of persistent phone calls from someone (or something) emitting bestial grunts, howls and slobbers. At the beginning, the camera sneaks into the sorority house like an unclean stalker or voyeur. By the shocker ending, as the film withdraws from what's become a slaughterhouse, the POV has devolved into something dead-eyed, inhuman -- making your flesh crawl even as you exit this very bad place.

"Reeker" (Dave Payne, 2005)

A terrifically smart, self-reflexive addition to its genre: A group of stereotypical twentysomethings (spunky heroine, dim sexpot, amoral cut-up, good guy, et al.) gets marooned at an abandoned motel in the middle of a desert and picked off (and apart, in variously inventive ways) one by one, each atrocity heralded by a god-awful stink. The creepiest bloodbath, set in a dilapidated outhouse, taps into our primal fear of what might be down there in that dark hole over which we trustingly place our most vulnerable parts. A black-caped figure wielding a huge scythe, the reeking horror jump-cuts across the screen like a bat out of hell. But "Reeker" kicks things up a notch, literally forcing us to see how getting the bejesus scared out of us is one way of laughing off death. Trouble is, the Grim Reaper himself is the star of this nasty little horror show.

Other recommendations:

- "Frailty" (Bill Paxton, 2001)

- "May" (Lucky McKee, 2002)

- "Hatchet" (Adam Green, 2006)

THINGS THAT GO BUMP IN THE DARK

"The Descent" (Neil Marshall, 2005)

This one is proof positive that the best scarefests, the ones that sink their teeth deep into your soul, conjure monsters out of our very own lives and psyches, David Cronenberg-style. A tribe of women spelunkers, one of whom is half in the grave with her recently dead husband and child, gets trapped deep in a cave after a rockfall. As these Amazons crawl into ever more claustrophobic wormholes, their psychological fault lines begin to fracture. And then there begin to be glimpses of ... what? Maggots? Mutants? Whatever the horror is, it's utterly alien, the color of corpses, as ravenous as death itself. "The Descent" is like being nailed up alive in a coffin with your worst nightmare.

"Wendigo" (Larry Fessenden, 2001)

From a child's point of view, the complexity of parental conflict, the awful mystery of death, everything that unsettles his world can look and feel like a horror movie. For Miles, sitting in the back seat of a Volvo, listening to his quarreling dad and mom lacerate each other, the sudden shock of a deer hitting the windshield seems like a natural externalization of the emotional violence assaulting him. It's not long before this shell-shocked little boy dreams up an antlered demon -- the Native American Wendigo -- that embodies everything that threatens him. This low-budget gem gets way under your skin, imbuing ordinary rural landscapes and behavior with a heightened quality of hellish hallucination. Father and son joyously sledding down a hill, a pair of boots sitting in an empty hospital hallway -- images that signal that your world can end anywhere, anytime.

"Pulse" (Kiyoshi Kurosawa, 2001)

Watching this atmospheric horror movie is like sinking into dark, warm waters in which amorphous black forms embrace you while you drown. The plot's relevant only insofar as it references a contemporary, particularly Asian, distrust of technology: Something feeding on our Internet "circuits" inspires those who hope for connection to commit suicide. What little impact these isolated souls had on others is reflected in the chilling "footprint" of their passing: a human-sized smear on the wall, a Hiroshima shadow. This is a movie that can mine extreme terror out of the slight movement of a see-through plastic curtain. And the shot of a dark boneless "thing" undulating across the floor toward us arouses pure, unadulterated revulsion.

Other recommendations:

- "They Came From Within" (David Cronenberg, 1975)

- "The Brood" (David Cronenberg, 1979)

- "The Keep" (Michael Mann, 1983)

VAMPIRES

"Habit" (Larry Fessenden, 1997)

Like David Cronenberg, writer-director-editor-actor Larry Fessenden often works the horror genre to expose our need (and incapacity) for love. Sam's an alcoholic bohemian, adrift in the mostly impersonal environs of New York. His emotional fecklessness has just driven his live-in girlfriend away, so he's eager to hook up with an androgynous, oddly exotic brunette he meets at a party. Their lovemaking is ultra-passionate and frequent, and Sam begins to notice what he thinks are bite marks on his body, along with feeling generally drained of energy. Yes, all the signs of vampire love -- but is it? Could Sam have AIDS? Delirium tremens? Could our sexual vagrant be overreacting to his fear of something more than skin-deep connection? "Habit" is deliciously scary, rife with spooky detail, and the line between vampirism and problematic human love remains tantalizingly blurred.

"The Wisdom of Crocodiles" (Po-Chih Leong, 1998)

Another tale of terror -- upscale arty in contrast to the slacker realism of "Habit" -- that tickles our nerve endings with the notion of love and lust as forms of vampirism. A handsome young fellow (Jude Law) almost absentmindedly pulls a suicidal woman back from plunging onto the subway tracks. They become lovers, she begins to bloom with happiness and then, in the midst of passionate embrace, her savior bites out her throat. In a journal in which he comments on his meals, he labels this one "disappointing." A gourmand, our vampire is dying for more refined, complex emotional flavors. An affair with a smart, sensual woman (Elina Lowensohn, exquisite as a New York vampire in 1995's "Nadja") only seems to derange the wisdom of this crocodile. Languid and introspective, "Crocodile" is a perfect showcase for Jude Law, an actor who always projects impenetrable narcissism.

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