After ‘Weapons’ and ‘Barbarian,’ it’s time we start calling horror the genre of Zach Cregger, this generation’s horror master.
If you think about Masters of Horror (the people, not the show), who comes to mind? Wes Craven? John Carpenter? The apotheosis of taste, Kiyoshi Kurosawa and Dario Argento? They’re all great answers. Easy as it is to forget, as horror fans, we’re all scared by different things, so while Kurosawa’s austerity or Craven’s humanity are more my taste, I’d never contend your personal preference is anything less than a genre game-changer. I’m not here to dredge up the past, however, but rather to put forward a new name for consideration; Among all the filmmakers we’ve seen this generation, I think Zach Cregger is going to be the biggest.
Now, I’m not saying Zach Cregger is the unequivocal voice of this era of horror. That’s an honor I’d argue he reasonably shares amongst Karyn Kusama, Jordan Peele, Damien McCarthy, Osgood Perkins, and Arkasha Stevenson (The First Omen is an all-timer). Cregger, however, has a different kind of energy. It’s an almost-manic, unprecedented approach to the genre that I’ve not really seen anywhere else. The former sitcom star (and The Whitest Kids U’ Know alum) taps into such a profoundly visceral well of feeling, my sensory experiences with Barbarian and Weapons were unprecedented. I can’t ever recall being so physically scared in an auditorium. We’re all scared by different things, yes, and Zach Cregger is my personal nightmare-maker.
Courtesy of Warner Bros.
While I was savagely bullied for being weak sauce last year, I did reflect on my experience with as someone with Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD). The movie almost killed me (really), and , “By the time the third act hit, my body was overcome with such severe panic, I thought it was the end for me. If it had been, what a way to go. almost killing me is the most complimentary praise I can give Cregger’s universally acclaimed sophomore feature. It’s also the first time in a long time I’ve really understood horror as catharsis.”
Now, Barbarian didn’t hit me quite as hard– though we did call it an “unpredictable, disturbing, and twisted horror experience” – but I’d still wager it’s one of the most strikingly original horror movies I’ve seen in my entire life. Lightning rarely strikes twice, though in Cregger’s case, it not only did, but did so with such ferocity, it’s akin to unlocking the Venus Sigil in Final Fantasy X. It’s a profoundly confident one-two punch, and if the early reactions to Resident Evil are to be believed (and I think they are), Cregger is primed to shatter my sense of cinematic horror safety once more.
Having seen so many horror movies, it’s easy to say, “Oh, nothing scares me anymore.” It’s ubiquitous and generational, and ergo understandable. Every horror fan reaches that point where sheer exposure renders each new scare that much less effective. Think of it this way; When flesh is flayed in Martyrs, it’s hard to gag at a cheese grater in Evil Dead Rise. Horror trajectories are different, yet within my cinematic purview and upbringing, Zach Cregger burst onto the scene at the perfect time for me to, however prematurely, herald him as the definitive horror filmmaker of our era.
When I saw Barbarian in 2022, I’d only recently started writing about horror movies professionally, having about a year and a half under my belt. Considerable, but chump change compared to my many remarkable peers. The opportunity forced me (luckily) to adopt a new perspective. While I’d always been critical, the professional ethos reframed my approach to what I was watching, whether the latest theatrical release or a bootlegged copy of Hide and Go Shriek. I had new appreciation for the sheer artistry on display in so many horror films, especially those helmed by debut filmmakers.
Courtesy of 20th Century Studios
I’m an aging Unc Millennial with orthopedic Vans, so I knew The Whitest Kids U’ Know going into Barbarian. That was all I knew, however. Following my peers’ advice, I avoided spoilers entirely and went in completely blind. Barbarian was a pulsating, visceral, wholly unpredictable experience. It was so friggin’ hilarious, and also profoundly tense, and I was wiping tears from my eyes while digging my nails into the Cinemark armrests. This was something entirely new, not like anything I’d seen before, and it seemed to come out of nowhere.
I’d been fooled by one-trick ponies before, however, so Weapons was the make-or-break moment. You already know how that went. Last year, Cregger, alongside Jordan Peele and Ryan Coogler, injected not just new life, but widespread recognition into a genre that (incredulously) remains hush-hush. I’m talking Oscar nominations (and wins), heaping box office returns, and a zeitgeist that was predominantly horror-centric.
Weapons, in particular, did so without a conventional structure. The movie was staggered, patient, big, obtuse, and very, very weird. And it was, in the words of our own Josh Korngut, “Shocking, satisfying, and singular – an instant horror classic.” Weapons totally changed the game for me, immediately ranking among my favorite horror movies ever. That’s no small feat, especially as a sophomore effort whose predecessor was nearly just as good.
So, in truth, the horror landscape right now is Zach Cregger’s genre, and we’re all just living in it. I haven’t seen this much humanity, this much tenderness and appreciation for narrative and audience, since the early days of Wes Craven. Is it a bold claim to make? Yeah, but I’ll say it anyway. The spirit of Wes Craven lives on in Cregger, and that’s such a beautiful thing to witness.
Still, I’d be remiss to not address the David Lynch Elephant Man in the room. Cregger is a white guy. Earlier this week, a viral post celebrated the YouTuber to Horror Superstar pipeline, framing Kane Parsons, Dan Trachtenberg, Curry Barker, Chris Stuckmann, Michael Shanks, Mark Fishbach, and Danny and Michael Philippou as the purveyors of this generation’s horror. Like Zach Cregger, they all have something in common, don’t they?
Now, yes, many of my favorite horror movies are helmed by white guys. I myself am white guy. Yet, while I remain assured in Cregger’s capacity to terrify me for years to come, there’s no denying that the best horror lives in the personal, in the cracks and crevices of our souls, and those same souls are inextricably linked to our identities. Curry Barker might very well deliver a bold new reimagining of the Texas Chain Saw Massacre mythos, but the previous nine films were all—you guessed it—helmed by promising young… white men. It’s not incredibly out of pocket to suggest that a Black filmmaker or woman would bring a perspective heretofore unseen in the franchise. Does that guarantee success? No, but it would no doubt add texture to a series that’s been pretty stale since 1995.
Which leads us to Cregger’s Resident Evil, an IP project I remain cautiously optimistic about. On one hand, it’s Cregger, and the game series remains a personal touchstone of mine (even if, as reports suggest, Cregger is eschewing most of the mythology). On the other hand, we’ve had the Paul W.S. Anderson era, Johannes Roberts’ take, and Andrew Dabb’s short-lived Netflix series.
Lived experiences are innately singular, though there’s considerable overlap behind-the-scenes with this series, and as propulsive as Cregger’s take will no doubt be, it will likely remain firmly in line with the expectations first set in 2002. Which, side note, says nothing of how these films prominently feature women, yet have only a few women with credited directorial gigs, all of which are from the Netflix series.
So, don’t take my newfound role as Cregger acolyte as sheer gospel. I still yearn for more diverse horror stories; Cregger has access that too many remarkable creatives are regularly denied. And, yes, it’s been a beautiful thing, and while Cregger is It, there’s always room for one more scare. Someone to match his freak, and maybe, I don’t know, almost kill me in a packed auditorium. I’m asking for it, and I hope the financiers can answer.
