This was a year when Australasia delivered in spades. Three of my favourites for the year were directed by women who knew very well what made the skin crawl and understood deeply the kind of terrifying things that go bump-squelch in the night, and they were only on their debuts or sophomore features.
Inspired lunacy was delivered with maternal revenge, the found footage sub-genre and Sasquatch had the perfect marriage, an alien seductress fell prey to human desire, the mother of all beasts roared again, and poor Richard Stanley was eaten alive by the monstrous egos that were Val Kilmer and Marlon Brando.
The macabre alphabet anthology had several segments that were worth wading through the mediocre ones, oh yes, D is for Deloused and K is for Knell, you little beauties. A New York wallflower shot his wad and his mind exploded, and a desperate gal in Tinseltown let her anxiety consume her.
There were a few curious nightmares I wanted to see, Tusk and As Above, So Below., but the night is only so long.
So here then are the nightmares that pleasured me so, this year.
Lost Soul: The Doomed Journey of Richard Stanley’s Island of Dr. Moreau
Eat
Meanwhile mediocrity continued to assault us with slick productions trying to pass themselves off as the real deal. Annabelle, Charlie’s Farm, and The Green Inferno, I’m looking at you. Yawn.