Spirited Away (Hayao Miyizaki, 2001) Winner: 2002 Academy Award for Best Animated Feature

Almost certainly the best-loved and most accessible films within the Studio Ghibli canon, Spirited Away, through its triumph at the 2002 Academy Awards (so far the only non-English animated feature to win in the category) awakened the Western world to the presence of Miyazaki's work and Japanese animation as a whole. Before long, the entire Studio Ghibli collection was being dubbed and released on DVD, to be seen by a much wider audience. And rightly so. The films of Studio Ghibli, and Miyazaki in particular, deserve to be viewed by as wide an audience as possible. And with it's rich detail, wild imagination and dark, complex themes, Spirited Away stands as one of the grandest achievements in the world of animated cinema. Far less violent and disturbing than other Ghibli classics such as Princess Mononoke, but more adult-friendly than the cutesy My Neighbour Totoro, Spirited Away tackles themes of youthful alienation, dislocation and loss of innocence, channelled through a magical folklore-ish narrative.

The story sees young girl Chihiro, miserable about moving to a different town, separated from her parents in a strange abandoned themepark. Upon relocating her parents and discovering they have been transformed into pigs by dark magic, Chihiro realises she is in deep trouble as night falls and the themepark comes alive with bizarre spirits. Discovered by morally-ambiguous Haku, Chihiro is put to work serving spirit-guests in what turns out to be, not a themepark, but a bathhouse. Encountering various odd and freakish characters, including devious witch Yubaba and her grotesque giant baby; a spider-like boiler room operator called Kamajii; and a silent, stalking shadow figure appropriately named No-Face, Chihiro eventually earns the respect and friendship of her spirit captors and sets out on a surreal journey to rescue her parents and unveil the true identity of the mysterious Haku.

The Japanese equivalent of Alice In Wonderland, Spirited Away is a classic in its own right. A refreshingly imaginative take on the coming-of-age story, Miyazaki's film, with its memorable characters, gorgeous illustrations and complex yet coherent narrative, is truly an Oscar-worthy film. Yet with only one of the four Ghibli films produced since Spirited Away receiving an Academy Award nomination (Howl's Moving Castle in 2006), let us hope that Miyazaki's western success is not forgotten as quickly as it was recognised.

Academy Award Special

The Oscar. The most prestigious award in the cinema industry. Win one, just one, and a filmmaker can rest easy. Their name will forever be associated with the world of cinema legends. Gone With The Wind, Casablanca, Ben-Hur, The Godfather... well, it's easy to see why such a big fuss is made over the Academy Awards. But who will triumph this year? Will it be Tom Hooper's crowd-pleasing biopic The King's Speech? Or will it be Darren Aronofsky's fever-dream masterpiece The Black Swan? Or perhaps one of the underdogs; light-hearted indie The Kids Are Alright, or the critically-lauded Winter's Bone? Or how about Toy Story 3 to make it really controversial? Nothing is certain. Yet by the end of the month it will all be over and another picture will join the likes of Slumdog Millionaire and The Hurt Locker under the title of modern classic. So, in this time of excitement and uncertainty, let us look back upon some of the previous winners and remind ourselves of just what made them worthy of such prestigious immortality...

1. The Blair Witch Project (Daniel Myrick & Eduardo Sanchez, 1999)

An utterly revolutionary film, not just within the horror genre, but for the film industry as a whole, Myrick and Sanchez's ultra-low-budget mockumentary proved that you don't need a big budget to achieve big scares. Or big bucks...

Made on a shoestring budget of roughly $500,000, The Blair Witch Project grossed almost $250 million worldwide, creating mass hysteria due to its revolutionary marketing techniques and becoming one of the most effective and influential horror flicks of all time.

While much attention is paid to the filmmakers' approach to marketing (heavy emphasis on internet hype, "missing" posters of actors produced to further authenticity etc.), and rightly so, the film's content must not be understated when assessing Blair Witch's impact. Myrick and Sanchez manage to craft an entirely convincing legend to fuel their "documentary", using interviews of local Burkittsville residents to piece together the mythical Blair Witch, incorporating fabricated figures such as Rustin Parr, a 1940s child killer and Elly Kedward, a 16th century sorceress. The legend is pieced together by a trio of amateur documentarians, led by bossy matriarch Heather Donahue, who use the interviews as an introduction to their documented expedition into the dense woodland surrounding the town in an attempt to dismiss or confirm the existence of the purported witch.

Surprisingly, the interviews with locals, filmed entirely in an amateur manner, are considerably unsettling - a tribute to the strength of Myrick and Sanchez's made-up legend. And as the trio venture deeper into the forest, away from the smiling locals, the feeling of unease becomes more and more apparent. However, even after the protagonists leave civilization behind, becoming lost in the woods, surprisingly little actually happens. It is therefore a solid argument for inference over the explicit that horror can be drawn from simple sources such as a mound of stones mysteriously placed outside the trio's tent, strange stick figures suspended from trees and unidentifiable cracking noises in the night. Indeed, such small events, when placed within such an authentically realised and effectively-paced narrative become strikingly believable and utterly chilling.

And while it could be argued that the fabled Blair Witch may be one of the scariest monsters in cinema history, the true nature of the trio's tormenter remains unknown. Indeed, the figure itself is never caught on camera, raising the question of whether supernatural forces really are at work or if it is merely a clan of Deliverance-style yokels lurking in the shadows. The fact is, it really doesn't matter. Witch or not, the creature producing guttural noises outside the tent, leaving slime on the camper's belongings and luring them towards an abandoned cottage is a force of sheer horror.

In one of the most disturbing climaxes in film history, we follow Heather through the lens of her camera (on night-vision mode) as she and Mike search the derelict cottage for missing friend Josh, who disappeared without a sound two nights earlier. The terror reaches feverish levels as, through the nauseating handheld camerawork, we can see children's bloody handprints on the walls - an obvious reference to the story recounted by a local earlier in the film, about a notorious child-killer who dwelled in the forest. And what was it about him taking them into the basement and standing them in the corner?...

In the final moments, we hear Mike declare, "He's downstairs! I can hear him downstairs!" As Heather and the camera rush down into the basement to investigate, we catch a brief glimpse of Mike, his back to us, standing motionless in the corner of the room. A sudden scream from Heather and the camera drops, recording the silent gloom for several moments, leaving the audience unsettled and disorientated before shutting off and definitively ending the film. It is a bleak end to an utterly harrowing experience.

A triumph on every level, The Blair Witch Project stands as a shining example of industrious filmmaking, blending realism, effective storytelling, subtle narrative devices and naturalistic acting to create an entirely convincing and entirely horrific mockumentary. Paving the way for other acclaimed horror films such as Cloverfield and REC, Blair Witch may very well be the scariest horror film ever made.

6. Alien (Ridley Scott, 1979)

Though perhaps more sci-fi than horror, I feel justified in placing Ridley Scott's grim outer-space venture on this list due to its incredible implementation of intricately crafted atmosphere to create a sense of claustrophobia, isolation and, most of all, terror. While monster flicks tend to have little lasting horror in them, Scott's creation is as terrifying now as it was when it was released for the first time over thirty years ago. As an almost invincible, terrifyingly calculated predator, the sleek extraterrestrial in Alien is undeniably one of the scariest beings to ever stalk the screen.

However, while the design of the monster is utterly perfect, it is the direction more than anything else that gives Alien such horrific credibility. The spaceship in which Ripley (Sigourney Weaver) and her crew reside stands in stark contrast to the pristine, white minamilist designs familiar to audiences of Star Trek and Lost in Space. In his vision of a spaceship, Scott creates cramped, bleak conditions. Long, empty corridors are choked with buzzing wires and hissing pipes. Light is minimal and ambient noises constant. The set design evokes the claustrophobic atmosphere of a sewer or a mine. Indeed, floating through dense, pitch black space, confined only to the cramped ship, the characters in Alien may as well be trapped underground.

It is through the sense of isolation and claustrophobia that the horror stems, as well as fear of the unknown juxtaposed with a sense of dreadful knowing. In the scenes where the crew explores an abandoned terrain littered with the skeletons of giant humanoid creatures, this feeling of fearful epistemophilia is paramount. We the audience have no idea what has happened to these creatures, but we are burdened with the dreadful knowledge that it is going to happen again to our protagonists. And the skeleton with the shattered ribcage is particularly foreboding.

Our fears are realised in one of the most horrific scenes of the film. Upon discovering a hive of strange egg-like items, crew member Kane (John Hurt) falls foul of one of the creatures dwelling within the eggs. As he peers into the freshly-opened shell, a repulsive insect-like beast in the shape of a bony hand, leaps onto his face, curling its crooked claws around his skull and refusing to let go. Unable to prise the creature from Kane's face, his crewmates take him back aboard ship with the entity still attached. While this may be horrific enough, it is not until later when the true terror begins and the real monster is introduced.

In a sequence of horror matched only perhaps by Psycho's infamous shower scene, a seemingly recovered Kane interrupts tea-time conversation as he begins to spasm feverishly before collapsing onto the dinner table. It is at this moment that it becomes clear that the face-hugging creature left more than pinch-marks in Kane's body. As he writhes in pain and his friends struggle to hold him down, we see an ominous bulge emerge from his chest. After several seconds of intense confusion and absolute panic, a spray of blood spurts forth as Kane's chest erupts, ending his life and unleashing the deadly creature that will wipe out all but one member of the crew.

So continues the terror as the deadly dual-mouthed, acid-bleeding alien stalks the ship's corridors and ventilation shafts, picking off the crew members one by one. Another of the film's most memorable scenes is the one which involves the death of the ship's captain, Dallas (Tom Skerrit), who crawls through the air vents armed with a flamethrower as Ripley tracks his movements on a monitor. The dread escalates as Ripley spots a blip on the radar that is heading straight towards Dallas' position, to the point that it is apparently right on top of him. Unable to detect anything, Dallas informs Ripley that she must be mistaken. Suddenly, a flash of flame, a glimpse of the alien's glittering jaws, an abrupt scream and another chief protagonist meets his demise. No visual gore or drawn-out violence. Just brilliantly-crafted atmosphere and suspense. Other notable scenes of horror include Ripley's stand-off against crew member Ash (Ian Holm) as he reveals his treacherous plans, proving that the alien is not the only predator on board this cramped spaceship; as well as Ripley's final encounter with the creature in the escape pod, just as we come to believe that all will be well. The sudden, unpredicatable reappearance of the alien remains one of the jumpiest moments in cinema history.

All in all then, it is clear that Alien well and truly earned its position on this list, not merely because its horror remains intact after three decades but also for its ability to transcend genres, its remarkable crafting of atmosphere and its creation of the ultimate silent killer. Michael Myers in alien-form, Scott's monster is as cunning, brutal and efficient a villain as the horror genre has ever seen.

14. The Innocents (Jack Clayton, 1961)

A masterful supernatural horror, Jack Clayton's The Innocents is often criminally overlooked by connoisseurs of the horror genre. At 50 years old, it is staggering that it should still hold the power to horrify audiences. And yet it does. Indeed, Clayton's ghostly masterpiece lingers with the viewer much longer than the majority of modern horrors.

The Innocents is a screen adaptation of Henry James' acclaimed novella The Turn of the Screw, a chilling tale in its own right, and one that has had more than its fair share of reimaginings. However, The Innocents stands out as by far the most accomplished and effective interpretation of the novel. Its success can be seen as a combination of director Clayton's unique idiosyncratic adjustments to the source material and renowned cinematographer Freddie Francis' incredibly skilful and original approach to capturing the ghostly essence of the narrative. His utilisation of bold, minimal lighting and deep focus frays the edges of the frame and allows us to believe that terror lurks in every dark corner of the film's gothic mansion setting. Clayton aptly disregarded the title of James’ original piece, instead favouring The Innocents as a title, which is entirely appropriate given that the film centres its horror on the debatable innocence of the child characters, questioning whether or not it has been tainted. The change of title is notable also because, although the narrative is borrowed from James’ prose, the film is entirely Clayton’s vision.

The story tells of a young governess (Deborah Kerr - in her forties at the time but managing to channel innocent naivety) who is sent by a wealthy socialite (Michael Redgrave) to care for his two children at his idyllic country estate. The children, Flora and Miles, turn out to be charming, and the maid, Mrs Grose (Megs Jenkins) friendly and welcoming. However, the governess becomes unsettled when she begins to hear voices and see figures watching her, first from atop the tower and later from the far bank of the river. Clayton and Francis' superb filming techniques create ambiguity in the images of the figures, allowing we the audience to question whether the figures exist or are merely in the mind of the over-imaginative governess. The children, however, soon begin to appear secretive and devious and, upon probing Mrs Grose, the governess learns of the fate of her predecessor, Miss Jessel, who began an illicit affair with the valet, the devilish Peter Quint, their descriptions matching those of the figures witnessed by the governess. Why is this news so terrifying? Because both of them are dead. Now feverishly paranoid, the governess sees evil and corruption all around her - a letter from Miles' headmaster, stating that he is to be expelled for being a bad influence on the other boys; the eerie lullaby hummed with a knowing smile by Flora; and a disturbingly adult kiss goodnight from Miles. All suggest to both the governess and we the audience that not everything is as it appears and that dark forces may be at work, influencing and corrupting the children. The governess becomes more and more hysterical; her aggressive, desperate questioning of Flora prompting the girl to scream obscenities and denounce the governess as wicked. After sending Flora away with Mrs Grose, the governess accompanies Miles in a final confrontation with her ghostly demons...

The story alone is fairly unsettling but Clayton's vision of James' prose adds numerous more layers of terror. We, like the governess, are led to believe that ghostly figures could lurk in every shadow, adding to the suspense and heightening the horror. In one particularly haunting scene, a pale, ghastly face glides out of the gloom to stare through the window at the petrified governess. From that point on, we see horror lurking behind every window and are forced to question whether the dark figure in the background is simply one of the mansions many statues or something more sinister.

Sound is also effectively utilised throughout The Innocents and helps to convey the unearthly, supernatural qualities of the narrative. Be it via Flora's gentle lullaby; the shriek of a creature outside the governess' window; the steady tap of a curtain cord swinging against the window pane or the plethora of disembodied voices that plague the protagonist, the skilful manipulation of sound contributes to the feeling of unease maintained throughout the film, until its dreadful conclusion. In a terrifyingly fervid climax, which ultimately ends in tragedy, we the audience are left shaken, burdened with the ghastly images of Quint and Jessel and yet, chillingly, still none the wiser as to whether they were ever there at all.

5. The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (Tobe Hooper, 1974)

Much like Wes Craven's The Hills Have Eyes, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre introduced the unsettling notion of primitive barbarians existing within backwater America. While previously, American horror movies had highlighted faraway lands such as Transylvania, foggy London and frozen Antarctic plains as places of terror, a new generation of the genre, pioneered by the likes of Tobe Hooper, suggested that real monsters existed in the forgotten corners of contemporary America. The fact that Hooper based his screenplay on the antics of Wisconsin serial killer Ed Gein, further emphasises the sense of dreadful realism that is infused within the horrific narrative.

With such an explicitly violent title, it is perhaps inevitable that the horror emerges right from the get-go. The film's exposition sees a youthful group of friends pick up a hitchhiker on their way to a family homestead. The hitcher (Edwin Neal) immediately brings an unsettling atmosphere to the film as he garbles about working at the slaughterhouse and begins to slash himself with a knife. When he aims the blade at one of the friends, the group forces him out of the car, leaving him ranting on the side of the road. So far, so creepy. But things really take a grisly turn as young couple Pam and Kirk separate from the main group and set off to find a local swimming hole. Unable to locate it, they call at a nearby house to ask for directions. Unbeknownst to them, within this house dwells one of the scariest cinema monsters of all time. While Pam waits outside, Kirk ventures into the seemingly empty house. Stumbling over a trip wire, Kirk suddenly comes face to face with the lumbering figure of Leatherface, a towering maniac whose face is concealed by that of another person. After cracking Kirk's skull with a mallet, Leatherface drags his twitching body into his workshop. Meanwhile, Pam enters the house, curious as to why Kirk is taking so long. Upon discovering a living room full of bones, animal carcasses and furniture made from human remains, Pam too encounters Leatherface, who nimbly places her, kicking and screaming, onto the end of a meathook.

What is truly remarkable about Hooper's film is that, much like Carpenter's Halloween, the majority of the violence is implied, rather than graphically realised. Indeed, while the aforementioned scene is inarguably horrific, we the audience don't actually see the meathook penetrate Pam's flesh, nor do we see a drop of blood splatter from Kirk's skull. And while the character of Leatherface and his methods of murder are entirely gruesome, the true horror within this scene, and the entire film itself, is established through atmosphere. The juxtaposition between the perfectly ordinary exterior of the house and the death-entrenched items within it is one of the most effective elements of Hooper’s film. This factor is furthered in the film's climax in which, after witnessing her brother being carved up by Leatherface, main protagonist Sally (Marilyn Burns), is trussed up and forced to endure a dinner party with the rest of his deranged family, which include the manic hitchhiker; the initially friendly proprietor of the local gas station; and "Grampa", a disturbingly ancient man who is so weak with age he can barely move, except to sup at the blood from Sally's finger. Despite the sense of despair and helplessness of this scene, the film offers something of a happy ending, with a blood-soaked Sally escaping on the back of a pick-up truck and cackling manically as she speeds away from the deranged Leatherface.

Although typically viewed as an exploitation film, and often lumped into the category of "video nasty", The Texas Chainsaw Massacre endures as one of the most effective of all American horror films and also one of the most well-crafted. Although superficially a film motivated by extreme violence - certainly it possesses one of the most explicitly violent titles in cinema history - TCM exhibits raw filmmaking talent through its use of sound - the buzzing of flies and the relentless screams, particularly in the dinner scene, contribute to an incredibly unsettling viewing experience, while the use of setting and mise-en-scene - the somewhat idyllic rural environment starkly contrasted against grisly props such as the human furniture, the corpses in the rocking chairs and Leatherface's blood-soaked workshop - craft an undercurrent of death and stagnancy that flows throughout the narrative. The character of Leatherface also represents a terrifyingly grim masterpiece. He evokes many of the strengths that the figure of Michael Myers possesses - the silence, the masked face, the relentlessness - but he is much more complex than Carpenter's monster. Subtle scenes such as that depicting Leatherface sitting with his head in his hands, seemingly in despair of his murderous urges mark the antagonist as a troubled, complicated monster, and all the scarier for it. All in all, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre is everything good horror should be. Multi-layered, atmospheric, bloodthirsty, gripping and rotten to the core.

7. The Wicker Man (Robin Hardy, 1973)

Perhaps the most unique horror film within this countdown, and certainly one of the most original creations the genre has to offer, Robin Hardy’s The Wicker Man remains a deeply unsettling piece of filmmaking and one of the most acclaimed British horrors of all time. Though best remembered for its horrendously grim finale, Hardy’s film boasts many more chilling treasures than that.

Like many horror films of its era, The Wicker Man places heavy emphasis on lust and sexuality. However, unlike the Hammer Horrors that portrayed such themes via amorous vampires and the like, Hardy’s film channels them through an almost entirely untouched subject. Though a deeply disturbing and macabre topic, the notion of Paganism remains mostly unexplored within the cinematic realm. However, screenwriter Anthony Schaffer’s script boldly introduces the unnerving concept that, on a rural island off the coast of Scotland, dwells a community of Pagans who believe that the only way to ensure the success of their harvest is to present their gods with a live human sacrifice.

Edward Woodward portrays the islander’s offering, Sergeant Howie, a straight-laced religious policeman who, on visiting the island after receiving reports of a missing girl, is unable to hide his contempt and suspicion for the chirpy villagers who deny all knowledge of the disappearance. However, through the deliberately slow pace and commendable storytelling technique, both Howie and we the audience begin to sense danger amidst the collection of welcoming smiles. As Howie encounters various bizarre incidents; his plane is sabotaged, stranding him; a recently buried casket contains the body of a rabbit; a schoolmistress sternly informs her young pupils of the workings of the male genitals, it is clear that something sinister is afoot.

And at the centre of all the mystery and unease is the king of horror himself, Christopher Lee, as Lord Summerisle, the dashing ruler of the islands folk. Summerisle’s blatant disregard of Christian principals and deliberately perplexing responses to Howie’s enquiries infuriate and horrify the policeman, who is forced to continue his search alone and with renewed vigour and desperation. Ultimately, he unravels the mystery too late and endures one of cinema’s most memorable exits.

Though the protagonist’s ultimate fate at the hands of the cunning villagers is indeed horrific, what makes the film so enduringly unsettling is the ever-present atmosphere of unease built up throughout the film. Despite the fact that almost everyone in the film-watching world knows how the film ends, the sense of dread remains all the more intact as we watch Howie’s desperate plight, knowing full well what will become of him. Also, the ambiguous nature of the antagonists adds to the unnerving quality of the film. While we feel blatant fear towards the likes of Michael Myers, Freddy Krueger et al, how are we supposed to respond to the beaming villagers, who ultimately assure Howie that his sacrifice is a great honour? While we feel empathy towards the doomed police officer trapped in the torso of the ominous wooden figure, it is difficult to despise the jubilant villagers as they stand hand in hand singing “Summer is a-coming in.” Is the film not simply playing on our anxieties towards other cultures? Does not animal sacrifice still exist elsewhere in the world even to this day? Such ambivalent elements uphold the film as a masterful horror, one that allows us to carry the perplexing dread with us for a long time to come.

2. 28 Days Later (Danny Boyle, 2002)

While Blair Witch may hold claim to the most disturbing ending to any horror film, 28 Days Later without question possesses the most terrifying introduction. With a brief prologue succinctly setting the scene – a group of animal rights activists releasing infected animals from a laboratory unknowingly unleash a highly contagious virus – the film proper begins with our protagonist Jim (superbly portrayed by Cillian Murphy) waking from a coma 28 days after the aforementioned incident. Finding his hospital entirely abandoned, he sets out into a truly unnerving environment. The sense of isolation and apocalyptic dread reaches immeasurable heights as Jim wanders the streets of a deserted London, desperately trying to assess, as are we the audience, just what has happened while he was sleeping.

This chilling opening sequence bleeds into the main narrative as we realise that the virus has spread throughout the country, and that only the infected remain. To label these antagonists as “zombies” would perhaps be unjust. A far cry from Romero’s shambling hordes of the reanimated dead, Boyle’s nightmarish vision reimagines zombies as super-fast, utterly relentless killing machines. While Romero’s rotting corpses hobbling around shopping malls may stand as clever metaphors for hot topics such as consumerism and nuclear warfare, the monsters in 28 Days represent something much simpler and much more terrifying. They capture that primal fear of society breaking down and of the total isolation that stems from this notion. And within a post-9/11 world, such fears when envisioned as effectively as Boyle manages to achieve, become all the more horrific.

Indeed, it is the concept and the way it is established within the opening frames of 28 Days Later that is the film’s greatest strength. Inevitably, it somewhat loses steam in the narrative’s second half, when the threat shifts from the vicious infected to the cunning inhabitants of a fortified army base. Nevertheless, nothing can undermine the true terror of the first half which contains some of the most chilling scenes ever committed to the big screen; be it the empty London streets littered with bank notes; the creaky church with the message “the end is extremely fucking nigh” scrawled on its walls; or the plague of rats fleeing the encroaching hordes of infected.

Through such visceral, mortifying images, 28 Days Later stands as an example of complete, unrestrained horror, born from originality and brilliant directing. No colourful masked villains; no clichéd set pieces or hammy performances, Boyle’s film is quite simply a nightmare of unimaginably horrific proportions brought to life with remarkable believability and ruthless brutality. Utterly terrifying.

3. Halloween (John Carpenter, 1978).

Channelling the ominous shadow of Norman Bates, John Carpenter's Halloween stands as the pivotal moment in the creation of the slasher film. Truly a horror for the Halloween season, Carpenter's masterpiece provides heebie-jeebies galore as the truly terrifying figure of Michael Myers stalks the sleepy town of Haddonfield on Halloween night, searching for attractive young babysitters to unleash his insatiable bloodlust upon. Regarding the film's voyeuristic villain, Carpenter keeps it playfully simple. Myers is pure evil. Unlike the disappointing Rob Zombie remake, which unsuccessfully attempted to explore Myers' childhood in order to explain his chilling motives, Carpenter's original merely implies that the killer is an insane individual who was simply born to kill. And we the audience may need know no more than that.

A variety of factors contribute to Halloween's legacy as a triumph of the horror genre. Perhaps most notable is its use of music. The strikingly simplistic theme tune, composed by Carpenter himself, remains a sound that, much like The Exorcist's Tubular Bells theme, has become synonymous with terror. Throughout the film, Carpenter's moody soundtrack helps to form multiple layers of fear to build within the audience's mind.

Another praiseworthy element of the film is its direction and ingenious manipulation of light and shadow. Carpenter's frequent use of long shots and steady tracking shots, often accompanied by the husky sound of Myers' breathing, add a voyeuristic aspect to the film, giving the impression that the protagonists are constantly under surveillance by the ever-present menace, while at the same time, drawing we the audience all the more intimately into the horror, as we are forced to observe the oblivious victims through the killer's eyes. Carpenter's direction also allows for the figure of Myers' to be almost constantly obscured, whether he be hiding behind a hedgerow in the distance, hovering behind billowing sheets on a washing line or lurking in the shadows of a dimly lit living room, the audience is constantly aware of the possibility that Myers may lunge from any corner of the frame. As Carpenter commends of Hitchcock's Psycho; "the scariest scene is where Arbogast comes up the stairs...that moment of [the killer] coming out of nowhere is what influenced me for Halloween". It certainly shows; barely a frame goes by in Halloween where we the audience are unable to convince ourselves that Myers may jump out from the shadows at any moment.

A further noteworthy element of Halloween is the fact that, despite the intensity of the horror, the film contains very little gore and a relatively low body count. Within the main body of the film, only three deaths occur, and each are incredibly drawn out, the majority of the horror being established through suspense. And when the killer finally does strike, barely a drop of blood is seen. Similar to Psycho's infamous shower scene and the much-discussed fact that we never see the blade penetrate the victim's body, in Halloween, even when Myers uses his knife to pin Bob to the kitchen door, the majority of the gore is merely implied. Instead we see two ghostly silhouettes - one with a knife hilt protruding from its torso - framed within a mass of shadows, further proof that clever use of lighting and framing can be much more effective in creating an atmosphere of horror than any amount of graphic violence or buckets of fake blood.

Ultimately, Carpenter's Halloween, with its favourable comparisons to classic Hitchcockian horror, it's impressive status as the origin of all slasher movies and the confession from Christopher Lee that his decision to turn down the role as chief protagonist Dr Sam Loomis was the worst decision of his career, must therefore be regarded as one of the most impressive horror films of all time. Its memorably chilling villain, its portrayal of suburban America as a principal setting for terror and its immeasurably effective use of sound, lighting and camerawork all contribute to the creation of a genuine horror masterpiece.

Toy Story 3 (Lee Unkrich, 2010) Cert. U

It’s hard to believe that 15 years have passed since John Lasseter’s groundbreaking – not to mention risky – venture Toy Story, the film that pioneered the medium of CGI animation, revolutionised the concept of family cinema and secured Pixar as one of the most industrious, respectable and beloved franchises in the world. Indeed, such was the quality and originality of that first film, even after a decade and a half, Toy Story, despite the dozen other great Pixar movies that followed, arguably remains the grandest achievement of the company to date; the benchmark was set in 1995 and has yet to be surpassed. Everything stood in its favour. Practically seamless CGI animation, lovable characters, a witty, sophisticated script, plenty of imagination, an abundance of pathos and stellar performances by two fine Hollywood actors, Hanks and Allen – though their names were never overtly promoted to encourage audience figures, unlike rival CGI flicks such as Shrek. With a short and sweet runtime of just 80 minutes, Toy Story utilised its screentime flawlessly; a shining example of subtle, intelligent storytelling that was not blighted by the various factors that have affected other Pixar films, such as over-the-top vocal performances (Billy Crystal in Monsters Inc. was ultimately irritating), overambitious narratives (both Wall-E and UP suffered from poor second acts, abandoning the quiet, emotive qualities of the first halves in favour of overblown action sequences) and general lack of storytelling prowess (critics largely agreed that Cars did not have the emotional edge of the previous Pixar films). Nope, Toy Story was perfect. However, the sequel, Toy Story 2, which followed several years later, despite unanimously popular reviews from critics and audiences alike, somehow did not deliver to quite the same extent as the original. This of course begs the question; will Toy Story 3 - the closing chapter – live up to the standard set by its originator?

Unsurprisingly, the answer is no. To me, the original will never be rivalled. However, even I can’t deny that Toy Story 3 gave it a fair try. There was something incredibly sentimental and nostalgic about being reunited with these characters for one last time. And I count myself lucky that I was among that generation who enjoyed the first two episodes during childhood; thus providing even more of an emotional connection with the story, as the final chapter sees the colourful pals several years on from the original narrative, with their owner Andy all grown up and ready to move on. This is the notion that drives the story forward – what happens to beloved toys when their owners have no further use for them? Do they get stuffed in the attic? Donated to charity? Or –worst case scenario – shoved in a black bag and left for the bin men? Fortunately for Woody, Buzz and co, they find themselves relocated to Sunnyside Day Care Centre. However, with an anxious Woody desperate to return to Andy, a band of sinister new toys determined to lay down a strict regime, and a destructive classroom of toddlers intent on tearing the gang to pieces, adventure and peril are never far away.

The narrative is so similar to the previous two films that it comes across as rather contrived – elaborate escape plans, seemingly nice toys turned nasty etc. Nevertheless, Toy Story 3 contains enough fresh material and general energy and wit to keep the viewer thoroughly entertained. A fair few new characters are introduced, and all are entertaining – a flamboyant Ken doll is hilarious while a beady eyed wind-up monkey is humorously terrifying – and matched with an appropriate voice artist. And the many reflections upon the original film demonstrate a remarkable level of affection, sophistication and attention to detail on the part of the filmmakers. Such elements as the number plate on Andy’s mother’s car remaining the same; the inclusion of Sid, the original villain, as a grimy garbage man; and a beautiful closing shot that subtly echoes the opening frame of the first movie, all add to the sense of quality and devotion that infuses the film. And the final farewell between Andy and Woody is delivered with such poignancy that it won’t just be the children in the audience who leave in tears at the definite close of this remarkable trilogy.

As a further note, the fact that the film is in 3d makes little difference. While at times it is incredibly effective – there are moments where it seems you could reach out and touch Woody’s hand – on the whole it neither adds to, nor detracts from the overall level of entertainment that the movie offers. Unlike 3d-dependent flicks such as Avatar, this is one film that will be just as enjoyable on DVD.

Overall then, Toy Story 3 is a triumph on the part of Pixar. An appropriately affectionate and emotional conclusion to one of the most imaginative stories ever committed to screen. Not a classic in the sense of the original film, but a remarkable achievement nonetheless and a further reason to look to the people at Pixar as the pioneers of the modern family film and to regard Lasseter as the true saviour of the summer blockbuster. 9/10