2021 was supposed to be a better year. Pandemics were supposed to be mitigated, the economy recovering, and people writ large would just be, well, generally better off. While true for some, 2021 was a gallows year, a protracted variant of an already really freaking exhausting twelve months. It wasn’t 2021– it was 2020 2.0. It was 2021: 2020 Lives. 2021 4: The Return of 2020. Wes Craven’s New 2020. 2020 Resurrection. Nia DaCosta’s 2020.
Yet, for as difficult as it was, horror served a role no different than it did last year. Horror, as it has always done and will continue to do, saved 2021. The high-profile releases delayed until this year were finally released. While reception on several was mixed, they resuscitated a struggling industry, reigniting the box office in a way only horror can manage. They reminded audiences that no matter how bad things get, there are haunts and spooks and slashers to make it better.
David Gordon Green’s Halloween Kills, despite a day-and-date release on Peacock, pulled an impressive $49.4 million in its opening weekend, solidifying the legacy of perennial icon Michael Myers. DaCosta’s long-delayed Candyman premiered, too, grossing $77 million against a modest $25 million budget. Oh, and the Warrens continued to be the world’s favorite horror couple, with The Conjuring: The Devil Made Me Do It. It grossed $201 million against a $39 million budget despite a same-day premiere on HBO Max.
A Quiet Place Part II, another 2020 COVID casualty, was emblematic of the return of movies, opening to $48.3 million, the largest box office showing in over a year. Movies, but especially horror movies, were back. The black sheep of the industry, a genre shunned at every major awards show and industry event, spilled some blood and saved the day. It did so with galvanized fervor, not just with theatrical showings, but alongside the smaller releases punctuating success on smaller screens.
Coming Home in the Dark was a bleak and brutal affair, an urgent reminder of man’s worst impulses, but also a harrowing cry to make the most of every day lest it be the last. Jakob’s Wife, released just shy of a year after the pandemic changed the world radically, was one of the freshest, funniest, most endearing horror comedies in years. It felt good to laugh again as icon Barbara Crampton wiped blood from her face. The Night House was a subversive, deeply curative exploration of grief in a year marred by so much of it. We Need to do Something was a cathartic exhale in a stifling year. Werewolves Within was wickedly fun and the Fear Street Trilogy amounted to a national, elongated horror event.
Horror, as it did last year, interrogated and healed. It penetrated anxieties and fears and offered respite. Series’ like Squid Games and Midnight Mass were unifying, threading people together through their shared humanity and benevolence toward others. They were warnings the audience heeded. Chucky gave a voice to the voiceless, and even I Know What You Did Last Summer was a sensational time-killer, nostalgic fun in a year that desperately needed it. Horror was hopeful. Horror was fun again.
It’s a reminder of how important horror is to the cinematic landscape altogether. It’s not to denigrate or discard other genres (e.g. the MCU which remains theaters’ financial foundation), but rather to call attention to a genre that still doesn’t get the credit it deserves. Horror consistently overperforms. It unites people. It’s a uniquely communal experience, one shared with family, friends and partners alike.
2021 was the year of families holding their breaths while monsters stalked Millicent Simmonds, inhaling and exhaling in sync. It was the year of broken souls finding strength online through a vampiric church. A year of shared laughs on Shudder and collective gasps with James Wan’s latest. Wrong Turn came back and dynamized a fandom. Paranormal Activity reminded moviegoers that found footage still had some life left in it. Hell, it was a year that reminded audiences that Megan Fox is really, really good.
There’s no telling whether next year will be any better or simply Dominion: Prequel to 2020. It might be better, and it might be worse. Still, through it all, horror will remain, and horror will endure. My heart goes out to all those grieving and hurting. But shared affinity in genre, however small, is something of a comfort. It’s comfort in a community of the kindest people I know.
As the year winds down, I would also like to thank my Dread Central family, both my peers and its loyal readers, for making this difficult year that much more bearable. Cheers to 2022. May the movies, not the year, be scarier than ever before. I mean, we are getting Scream after all.