Horror plots are getting madly complicated—and it's exhausting
Remember the rules? Don't have sex. Don't drink. And never say, 'I’ll be right back.' That's the kind of simple horror that stuck with audiences. But somewhere along the line, the genre seems to have traded suspense for convoluted timelines and mind-bending curses.
Why modern horror is overthinking it
The latest Netflix series, Something Very Bad Is Going to Happen, exemplifies this trend. The premise? A woman must marry her soulmate by sundown or face a gruesome death. But the stakes escalate: the curse carries over to future generations if she breaks the vow. The entire plot hinges on this central, almost absurd, concept. It’s a narrative knot just begging to be untangled.
This isn’t unique to Netflix. HBO Max's IT: Welcome to Derry doubled down on complexity, introducing the idea of Pennywise existing outside of linear time. The showrunners have promised to explore this further, suggesting more layers of temporal weirdness are on the horizon. Meanwhile, MGM+'s From, drawing comparisons to Lost, traps its characters in a mysterious town with increasingly baffling mysteries. One question consistently spawns a dozen more, leaving viewers adrift in a sea of unanswered queries.
This isn't to say intricate plots can't work. Paradise and Yellowjackets captivated audiences with their intricate twists and supernatural elements, but those narratives built upon a foundation of understandable rules. The recent indie horror film Barbarian, with its simple basement monster reveal, proved that sometimes, less is more. Weapons, from the same director, cleverly masked its true horror beneath a witch’s guise. Nope relied on classic imagery, and Hereditary crafted dread through atmosphere rather than elaborate exposition.
The problem isn’t ambition; it’s execution. Creators seem to prioritize shocking viewers with increasingly complex narratives—but the result is often less terrifying and more frustrating. The focus shifts from primal fear to deciphering plot contrivances. The sheer volume of information can overwhelm, turning viewing into a mental workout rather than a visceral experience.
The industry’s obsession with convoluted storytelling may be a symptom of a larger issue: the need to constantly outdo itself. But ultimately, a truly frightening story doesn't require a flowchart. A well-placed scare, a lingering sense of unease, a simple, compelling premise – these are the elements that truly haunt us.
The problem isn't a lack of creativity; it's a misdirection of it. Viewers aren’t clamoring for complex puzzles. They crave a primal kind of terror, the kind that lingers long after the credits roll. And that rarely requires a time-bending curse or an immortal, shapeshifting clown.