11 Scariest Horror Movies of All Time

Click on the link to see clips of each movie.

11 Scariest Horror Movies of All Time – Page 1 – The Daily Beast 

Just in time for Halloween and exclusively for The Daily Beast, the man who brought you Taxi Driver and The Departed shares his favorite horror movies of all time. Plus, watch clips of the scariest scenes.

“You may not believe in ghosts but you cannot deny terror!” was the tagline for this absolutely terrifying 1963 Robert Wise picture about the investigation of a house plagued by violently assaultive spirits.

There’s a moment in this Val Lewton picture, about plague victims trapped on an island during the Greek civil war, that never fails to scare me. let’s just say that it involves premature burial.

Another, more benign haunted house picture, set in England, no less atmospheric than The Haunting—the tone is very delicate, and the sense of fear is woven into the setting, the gentility of the characters.

Barbara Hershey plays a woman who is brutally raped and ravished by an invisible force in this truly terrifying picture. The banal settings, the California-modern house, accentuate the unnerving quality.

A British classic: four tales told by four strangers mysteriously gathered in a country house, each one extremely disquieting, climaxing with a montage in which elements from all the stories converge into a crescendo of madness. Like The Uninvited, it’s very playful…and then it gets under your skin.

Another haunted house movie, filled with sadness and dread. George C. Scott, recovering from the death of his wife and child, discovers the angry ghost of another dead child in the mansion where he’s staying.

I never read the Stephen King novel, I have no idea how faithful it is or isn’t, but Kubrick made a majestically terrifying movie, where what you don’t see or comprehend shadows every move the characters make.

A classic, endlessly parodied, very familiar— and it’s as utterly horrifying as it was the day it came out. That room—the cold, the purple light, the demonic transformations: it really haunts you.

Jacques Tourneur made this picture about ancient curses near the end of his career, but it’s as potent as his films for Val Lewton. Forget the demon itself—again, it’s what you don’t see that’s so powerful.

This Jack Clayton adaptation of The Turn of the Screw is one of the rare pictures that does justice to Henry James. It’s beautifully crafted and acted, immaculately shot (by Freddie Francis), and very scary.

Again, it’s so familiar that you think: great movie, but it’s not so scary anymore. Then you watch it…and quickly start thinking again. The shower…the swamp…the relationship between mother and son—it’s extremely disturbing on so many levels. It’s also a great work of art.

Just a Couple of Drunk Sluts Running Around The Big City in 1993

This weekend started out as any other, really: waking up naturally without alarms, watching home improvement/crafting/sewing programs on PBS, talking to the Apple customer service help line.

Escot picked me up in his 1976 Mercedes 300D and we went to the Apple Store at U Village. I wonder if I can find an audio system that only plays one song repeatedly? It would be “Ridin’ Dirty.” They see him rollin’ and they certainly are hatin’. The computer is fixed and I am determined to actually follow through on my promise to always back up everything. “Just this once, please let me recover all my data and I promise I will back up from now on, I swear!” We all do it for various risky behaviors. Except I am not making promises to a magical higher being, I am just making them to myself to stop being a lazy dumbass.

We had planned on going to the lake house on Sunday and closing it for the winter. Rick went out to his car to put some bags in it and discovered that during the night, someone had broken the front passenger window. Seattle was also experiencing it’s first torrential rainstorm. We had to find a place to stash the car for the day since it was raining so hard and there are not any auto glass repair places that were open. I know, seems hard to believe that they don’t think there is a need to be open on Sundays, but we couldn’t find any. We finally stash it in a repair bay at Chaplains Volkswagen and borrow one of their cars and head to the lake.

Six months ago on Sunday, Rick and I ran into each other again after meeting 17 years earlier. I had kept forgetting to look into the deep archives to see if there were any recorded interactions of when Rick and I first met. They are stored out at the lake house. So, I dug through them on Sunday and found the first mention of our meeting and interaction. It is quite poorly written and really just solidifies the beliefs and hazy memories that we were just drunk sluts back then. Speaking for myself, that is, and I am sure Rick could not dispute that assertion. It is cute, by no means long lost lovers separated by time, distance, a world war, or anything of that magnitude. I was 23, kicking around the big city, crossing paths with people at various bars, clubs, and cafes. So, here is the TRANSCRIPT from that portion of my life:

14 February 1993: Then on Friday evening, I went over to Scotty’s house to go to a party. Everyone I recognize from the clubs was there. I had way too much to drink and then went to QFC to buy more beer.

Back at the party, we drank for a while and then I got talked into going to Neighbours with all these people I totally didn’t know. I went and had a blast. I boogied on down and then we all piled into the car and went back to the party, this time it must have been at least 4:00 am.

All this time, I was with the same people: Rick, a cute little spanish boy who I’ve seen at the clubs for a while, Michelle: a drop-dead beautiful girl with the same eye color as me, and her brother, Michael, equally as beautiful.

Everyone except Rick and Me went home by then. So Rick and I went back into the part and hung our for a while. I kissed him in the bathroom. I know I mentioned I was drunk, really drunk. Aaron showed up and he gave us a ride to Rick’s apartment and I crashed there. We didn’t have sex, per se. We were both too drunk and too tired to have sex. We just slept together, naked.

The whole time we were in bed, I began sobering up and realizing how wrong I was. A: You do not sleep with strangers. B: You do not go to strangers apartments drunk (especially when you do not know where you are!)

We woke up at 11:30 am and his friend Lee came over. The three of us went dow to the market and bought breakfast ingredients and champagne. Scrambled eggs, champagne, and orange juice. Good champagne too, $20 a bottle. I guess Rick makes a lot of money.

Then Rick’s roommate came home with another bottle of champagne. We drank that too. By now, it was getting dark, so we went to the store to buy more champagne and got ready to go out. I took a shower and borrowed some of Rick’s clothes. I looked fabulous! I wore this black and white striped Rayon shirt/jacket that totally glowed under the black lights. I received tons of compliments on it.

Here is where it starts getting a bit strange. Rick’s boyfriend arrives (BOYFRIEND!). So, I’m feeling like the grand fool of all time, king fool, the fool of fools. A pawn’s fool.

[then I apparently copy the definition of “fool” from a dictionary]

So, my entire evening was spent going from one person to another, kind of keeping my distance from Rick. He said he was sorry and I know it wasn’t malicious. I didn’t feel angry or anything.

16 February 1993: I’ve been trying to get ahold of Rick so I can give him back his clothes, but he’s been sick.

I saw Chuck tonight and he told me how Rick was all over me all night. Oops! I guess I noticed, but didn’t notice the severity of it.

Anyway, I’m confused about the whole thing. I’d like to meed him once for coffee, completely sober. It may be completely different.

18 February 1993: [The only entry contains a list titled “Favorite Dog Names” and the only reason I even mention it is because #3 is Chelsea Clinton. Funny.]

21 February 1993: Last night my roommate and I went to the Vogue together. He sort of went off on his own and left me to play with my silly club friends.

Rick was there, drunk as usual. His boyfriend was there too. He still hasn’t broken it off with him. I’m thinking that maybe I’m not going to date Rick even after he breaks up with Craig. Rick probably isn’t the right kind of boy for me.

Anyway, for some stupid reason, I ended up making out with Rick at my apartment. Our pants stayed on.

I really do not know. I guess it would be nice to hang out with him when he’s (and I’m) sober.

22 February 1993: Rick called yesterday. We are going to go out some time this week.

28 February 1993: On Thursday, I went to ReBar with Scotty. We sat out in the parking lot and split a 40. We felt very Bremerton. then we had a few more once we got inside.

Rick was there, he looked very good as usual. Danny, the guy from Urban Outfitters, sort of schmoozed on me a bit. Also, one of the go go boys told me he thought I was sexy.

I went to Ashlee‘s apartment on Saturday and from there we went to the Frontier Room and had drinks. Ashlee has a fake I.D. now so we can go everywhere, we headed to the Vogue. Somewhere along the way, Ashlee picked up these two boys. They’re in a band (who isn’t?).

Rick was at the Vogue, but wasn’t feeling well. I guess he did a lot of [drugs] on Friday and was feeling all strung out. Then there was something about this guy who want money or something, so he left with Lee.

20 March 1993: Thursday night I was a drunken mess. Rebar should be renamed “ReBlur.”

From then on, there is no more mention of Rick in the archives. Amazing to think that from that brief interaction 17 years ago, we reconnected and have made our relationship into what it is today. It says a lot about timing, I guess.

In case you were wondering whay the 1993 Scott looked like and just why he was ever so popular, here is a photograph taken around Easter of that year:

Good Bye and Fuck Off!

“Because all my friends are fucking bitches
Best known for burning bridges
Do you need a character witness?”
TGIF” by Le Tigre

I slept horribly last night. It could be due to the excitement of newness and because yesterday was full of change.

I had a doctors appointment yesterday morning, just one of those check up type appointments. Nothing major. In the lobby, I got the final job offer call from the downtown Gucci. Weeks and weeks in the making, it finally happened. Dr. Chu was the first person I told face to face.

Gucci is closer to my apartment than the bus stop I used to get to NM. It also pays significantly better. That, and from what I can tell, I won’t be working with a store full of egomaniacal assholes who treated my crew horribly for no other reason than they could. I won’t be responsible for everyone’s disorganization, lack of planning and foresight, and refusal to work together. My team were the guys that followed the elephants in the parade: picking up the shit, fixing problems no matter how or who created them, and making sure everything looks perfect. Except that the shovels belong to the engineering department and the wheelbarrows are all being used by the visual department to store something that is only used once a year. So obstacles and conflicts were routinely placed in our path to task completion due to a huge ongoing pissing contest between the managers. They officially want to project a cohesive “one voice,” but that is only if it is the voice of the one who is saying it. If it is “too many chiefs and not enough Indians” or “too may cooks in the kitchen,” it was a constant battle to see which manager got to make the final decision. We hardly ever moved anything once because someone else would come along and have another idea of how or where or when, and it was more about ego than about what was actually good or right for the store.

They also financially encourage single-driver commuting by subsidizing employee parking, but not public transportation passes.

I could go on and on about scandals, firings, theft, favoritism, affairs, charity fraud, and blatant incompetence, but I would rather just forget that I was ever there. I will remember the people I worked with.

But it’s over and soon to be a foggy memory. I never did more in Bellevue than can be done in a jar.