20 Films That Prove The 1990s Was The Worst Decade For Horror

One of the key reasons behind the long-standing fascination with horror is that every era of the genre provides insight into what that particular generation was afraid of, and what was considered taboo. From a modern perspective, the 1970s and 1980s remain of particular fascination, as this period really blew the door open on what horror films were allowed to do, not only in terms of violence and sexual content, but also in the themes and issues dealt with.

So what happened in the 1990s? The most iconic franchises of the time fizzled out, the great filmmakers of the past two decades all seemed to hit dry spells; it was as if the genre itself suffered an identity crisis. Movies which tried to preserve the spirit of years gone by frequently failed; those which tried to do something new typically came up wanting.

This is not to suggest there was no great horror in the 90s: justly revered genre entries from the decade include The Silence of the Lambs, Bram Stoker's Dracula, Candyman, From Dusk Till Dawn, Ring, and Scream (although, as we'll see, the latter film's legacy is by no means 100% positive). 

But were these and others like them enough to fend off the stink of an era that otherwise struggled to produce horror movies to the standards of years gone by? Consider the following 20 films, and judge for yourself...

It was inevitable, following the success of Francis Ford Coppola's take on Dracula, that a similar take on Frankenstein couldn't be far behind. Enter actor and director Kenneth Branagh, whose Shakespeare movies had proved he was adept at bringing old-fashioned material up to date, and had also shown a flair for Gothic melodrama with offbeat film noir Dead Again.

Surely he could enjoy similar success with a new take on one of the greatest horror novels ever?

Well, we can say this much about Mary Shelley's Frankenstein: given that it sports John Cleese in an utterly straight role, and sees Robert De Niro share scenes with Richard Briers, the film most definitely has its share of novelty value.

To an extent it works, and in line with the title it's certainly more loyal to Mary Shelley's novel than any other Frankenstein movie. This doesn't change the fact that it's an over-familiar story which this adaptation fails to breathe new life into.

However, what really scuppers Mary Shelley's Frankenstein is Kenneth Branagh himself. The director miscasts himself as the mad scientist of the title, and on both sides of the camera his melodramatic proclivities get the better of him. Just as Branagh the actor is constantly whooping and wailing, his camera is constantly swooshing all over the place; everything is dialled up to 11, and it's impossible not to laugh at the patent absurdity of it all.