One Good Scare: ‘Halloween’ Fan Films and The Future of The Boogeyman
Last year, I wrote about the frightening, fascinating phenomenon of Halloween fan films. I watched 22 different fan films and had the pleasure of interviewing three different filmmakers who made remarkable, yet singular, pieces of Myers fan media. I had intended for it to be a standalone piece. As a (super)fan of the franchise and a self-acclaimed advocate for creatives everywhere, I wanted to immerse myself into the realm of fan fiction and get at the heart of what made Michael Myers so popular and so enduring.
If you haven’t checked the piece out, I would encourage you to do so. More importantly, watch some of the films I spotlighted. Some are bite-sized offerings while others are impressively cinematic in their carnage and respect for the franchise’s legacy and lore. Broadly, Michael isn’t just the boogeyman; he’s everyone’s boogeyman. And if the Halloween movies taught us nothing else, it’s that the boogeyman never dies.
In the year or so since, however, I was delighted—and a bit incredulous—to see so many filmmakers reach out with films of their own. I watched dozens more, though without the formality of writing a piece, and was grateful to feel a kind of kinship with the guerilla filmmakers working within a genre—and with a property—they clearly love. As time went on and I screened the work being sent to me, it incited new questions, especially when reconciled with the recent news of the Halloween franchise’s future. The boogeyman never dies, but why is that?
The Future of the Boogeyman
Last year, Miramax secured the television right to the Halloween franchise with plans to develop a series based on the collective Halloween universe. Rights holder Trancas International Films fixed a broad deal that extends beyond a television series, hinting at the possibility of a shared, cinematic universe that encompasses feature film offerings. Miramax is no stranger to the franchise, having been involved in five of the previous entries, including the rebooted 2018 trilogy helmed by David Gordon Green.
Total transparency, it’s arguably the least surprising news that could have come from the bidding war. There was always going to be more Halloween—until the franchise stops generating as much green as it spills red, it’s a perennial—and Miramax committing to what sounds, at least ostensibly, as more of the same isn’t “Michael and Laurie are siblings” levels of extraordinary. As a kind of flagship, media umbrella, it dovetails nicely into questions of filmmaking as content, posing tough questions about the types of media we consume, so to speak, and the kind of value we might hope to cull from them.
Media ownership, especially in the digital age, is more urgent than ever. Laterally and ideally, there’s a clear, consistent pipeline. Studios and grants bankroll creatives, creatives make art, that art is delivered to an audience. It’s certainly considerably more complicated than that—efforts to reduce vertical integration among the studios have been for naught, it’s basically happening all over again—but the broad schema should be one of supply and demand.
To better elucidate upon the point, consider the nature of test screenings. Art is subjective, certainly, and while some films have been constrained and eroded on account of misguided public reception, they’ve just as regularly been improved. I’m not one of those people who broadly think the public writ large is stupid (maybe a few too many critics feel differently), and sometimes, they’re the best available resource when accounting for what kinds of movies should be made and what kinds of movies people want to see.
Streaming and the digital age, however, have compounded longstanding problems while proving to be a fertile breeding ground for new, unexpected (though not really) ones. Now, studio heads are bankrolling movies they never intend to release to the public. Streaming rights expire with the same frequency Michael Myers himself comes back from the dead. Some shows simply vanish as empires merge and collapse inward. Absent a physical release, they’re relegated to backdoor pirate sites as the only haven for media posterity. Even purchased content, namely in the form of digital titles, risk being expunged forever.
Audiences and Halloween
Broadly, I think audiences are part of the larger moviemaking ecosystem, and they should have a role to play. Simultaneously, audiences don’t own media. They are not and should not be the singular arbiters of what gets made, how it gets made, and who makes it. There’s an innate selfishness in that, and to use 2022’s Scream as an example, however embellished and hyperbolized, it almost certainly won’t yield better results. Audiences don’t own the things they love. But in an era where the creatives themselves don’t either, it certainly becomes more complicated—more difficult—to simply dismiss the impulse outright.
I used to be vehemently anti-pirating. In many ways, I still am, especially when it’s akin to the Skinamarink phenomenon, a micro-budget indie that got both a theatrical and physical release. Pirating a title like that hurts creatives, and the thrust of the motivation was early access, nothing more. Audiences aren’t entitled to early access. But are they entitled to access more generally? Mike Flanagan’s Hush was removed from Netflix. At the time of this writing, it seems a physical distribution deal might have been made, but in the mess of that uncertainty, there is no legal way for United States audiences to stream Hush. Midnight Mass, my favorite series of his, also lacks a physical release. If Netflix never opts to release one, it might well suffer the same fate.
There’s a perennial cycle there and digging myself free from the muck is hard. I want more stuff, but I also simply want access to the stuff I already enjoy. I want new things, but there’s no denying the wistful kind of pleasure I get from seeing Michael Myers on-screen again. Are there new Halloween stories to tell? With the current franchise—and, well, the franchise that’s gone strong since the 1970s—no, probably not. That well of Michael, forever tethered to Laurie Strode, has run dry. Has been for a while, really.
“And It’s White”
And where does a new Michael come from? Not from the current system, the hegemony that has rooted itself not just in the moviemaking system writ large, but the horror franchise system specifically. The Conjuring Cinematic Universe, if you count The Curse of La Llorona, has had nine features released with another, The Conjuring: Last Rites, on the way. All nine, soon to be ten, have been directed by men. Halloween has had 13 features. All helmed by men. In Halloween’s case, all white men.
Before the comments devolve into chaos on account of the previous paragraph—please wait before hitting send on whatever post you’re directing my way—hear me out. Equity is of key concern, of course, but this isn’t meant to simply be a referendum on moviemaking ethos. That’s an argument I have, certainly, but it’s not my sole intention here. Access can and should be better for marginalized identities, but beyond that, think of the artistic implications. Moviemaking is about lived experiences, about transmitting those meaningfully, with efficacy, for an audience via the filmic form. When the lived experiences of key creatives are so homogenous, new approaches to storytelling, new wrinkles on familiar ideas, are jeopardized.
And identity, in some capacity, accounts for those lived experiences. David Gordon Green’s life is certainly not the same as Rick Rosenthal’s. For starters, Rosenthal and series creator John Carpenter had a contentious relationship on the set of Halloween II. From what I can tell, Green and Carpenter were in sync during the inception and execution of the reboot trilogy. But what I’m trying to arrive at is this—in however small a measurement, my lived experience is different on account of being a queer man. My Halloween, by dint of that alone, would look different.
Dovetailing from the nature of media ownership, Halloween isn’t simply a white man’s franchise, but it certainly looks that way, especially from a behind-the-scenes perspective. The first film stands out largely because of Debra Hill. It is impossible to overstate how much of the first movie’s success is attributable to her.
Decades later, however, there’s no impetus to reach that peak again, no desire to diversify the creative slate. No interest in bringing in a new Debra Hill, so to speak. Listen, I thought Halloween Kills was fine and really liked Halloween Ends. As much as I wish otherwise, however, my opinion doesn’t matter much to either executives or audiences. Broadly, the fan response was that Green failed upward, producing two of the weakest franchise entries there are. The consequences? Well, check them out for yourself. Think about this: that, undeniably, is an opportunity few women, especially women of color, would have.
One Good Scare
Among the fan films I watched for this go-round, the most refreshing thing was some attempt at diversifying the fan canon. There are films paying homage to Halloween 6, like Eric Yoder’s Thorn: A Halloween Fan Film Story. Running at about 14 minutes in length, it’s a remarkable recreation of The Curse of Michael Myers’ distinctly gothic vibe. Narratively, the source material falls flat, but Curse is arguably the best-looking Halloween movie there is. The 90s grunge remains unmatched, and Yoder successfully captures the autumnal swagger of Joe Chapelle. Plus, it’s got a gnarly reverse knife impalement.
Mark Murtha and Nic Studer’s The ’78 Slasher: A Halloween Fan Film has similarly strong throwback vibes, endeavoring to make a Halloween II of their own, dumping some of the canon for their own interpretation of life following Michael’s first Halloween rampage. It’s also, interestingly, one of the newer releases I watched, premiering in January of this year. Michael, as has been noted, cannot die. Just try—there’s always going to be a filmmaker eager and willing to bring him back for one more scare.
Isaac Rodriguez’s The Legend of the Boogeyman, released unfinished per his own description in October of last year, feels both more patient and assured in its retconning. Sure, The Chordettes’ Mr. Sandman features—as it did in 13 of the fan films I watched this go-round—but Michael also dons a flannel shirt, and the opening set to a broadcast from Haddonfield radio casts a beguiling, diegetic aura. It’s fan film as art, really.
Others, like Halloween: Bloody Resurgence, while dutifully conceived, accomplish less, sticking Michael in scenarios not all that different than the movies. It’s more of the same, and that’s not always a good thing. Consider Halloween – The Boogeyman A HALLOWEEN FAN FILM 2023 (actual listed title) and its frequent recreations of Annie’s death in Carpenter’s original. I’ve seen it once. Why do I need to see it again?
Jakob Owens’ Halloween: Official Halloween Fan Film 4K, released last year, similarly lets Michael loose in random settings, though the sound design successfully augments familiar material. Ethan Macri’s Halloween 2: One Last Breath goes big at 31 minutes, but it loses focus regularly. Of note is the opening title sequence with the pumpkin. Almost every fan film I watched started that way.
Halloween: Mask of Evil
Ken Maldonado’s Halloween Falls shakes the setting up some, reminding me a great deal of Anthony Knasas’ He Came Home, which I spotlighted last year. A simple, yet effective, bit of stalk-and-slash action. I additionally had the privilege of interviewing Michael Wright, whose fan film Halloween: Mask of Evil, recently released.
Wright worked as director, editor, and director of photography, pulling triple duty with his stylish fan film, harkening back to everything from Mr. Sandman to Carpenter’s original score. It has an easy, naturalistic pace and organic tension, accomplishing some noteworthy jolts along the way. Asked whether he’d like to see more Myers, he responded, “The short answer is yes, I’d like to see more Myers. A TV show with the right people and care for the franchise could be the best thing since the first Halloween, with an opportunity to even do a retelling of the original and beyond in HBO TV form, if you want to reboot it, only do that in TV form.”
Expanding on his fears as a “Halloween purist,” in his words, he remarked that it could easily become a cash-grab of modern horror failings, perhaps “TikTok [used] to stop Michael Myers.” And about whether Halloween needs to try something new? “. I would want to see an unexpected story choice in a new movie, like most fan films, not much has been done that’s original and unexpected.” Whether that includes a new anthology, which some fans point to as a path forward, remains to be seen, though Wright makes a compelling point, noting, “If you want to move past Myers, just create a new anthology. That ship sailed in 1982.”
Halloween Falls
Director Ken Maldonado, whose Halloween Falls adopted the same back-to-basics approach Miramax is now prioritizing, looks fantastic. Released in March 2023, and generating 57,000 views since then at the time of this writing, Maldonado’s effort was one of the more engaging fan films I watched. We chatted over email, where Maldonado remarked, “I want more Michael on film. Ideally, it would focus on any events that may have happened throughout the franchise rather than a remake or reboot. I don’t think there is any need to retell the same story or replace Laurie Strode.”
Indeed, most fan films include a grab-bag of new characters, none of whom are direct parallels to Strode herself. Of course, part of that is on account of low-budget constraints. Making a fan film is a singular, personal experience. While it would be great to have the resources of, say, Blumhouse, it often amounts to family and friends, anyone available for a weekend of guerilla filmmaking. And God, what a thrill that kind of filmmaking is. Anyone who’s ever been in a low-budget film with friends or family (I have, and no, you’ll never see it) knows it’s a thrill unlike any other.
Ken enjoyed it, sharing an interest in making a sequel to Halloween Falls. He wrote,
“My inspiration was the 2018 Halloween film. I wanted the film to focus on an uncertain relationship that is suddenly resolved by Michael’s brutality as he just so happens to be on a killing spree. The plot between the two main characters is meant to be vague. I will definitely focus more on Michael when I make a sequel.”
I’d be down for that, especially since Ken concedes, as I do, that Halloween, for better or worse, will always be Michael. “Michael is Halloween. I don’t believe the franchise can succeed without the shape. They’ve tried it before and it didn’t work.”
Horror Creatives (and Dread Central Friends)
But what about other creatives? While Ken Maldonado and Michael Wright have valuable perspectives to share, I wanted to hear from other artists. Our own Sharai Bohannon (follow her on Twitter here) was kind enough to share some of her thoughts with me. Broadly, I wanted to know what she thought about future Halloween properties, what Michael Myers meant to her, and a system that prioritizes the same voices time and time again, results be damned.
“Halloween has always been one of my comfort franchises,” she starts, sharing that, “I would only hold tea parties to hang out with my imaginary buddy Michael Myers.” Bohannon, like myself, considers nostalgia a powerful drug. If, for instance, a new Halloween reboot is released next year, I’d question the need yet still be there, on day one, to watch it in theaters. Would it be any different than what’s come before? Probably not.
Bohannon adroitly remarks,
“However, one of the things this franchise continues to fail at is the need to center the straight, the white, and the cis. Even when we step away from Laurie, or redo it Rob Zombie style, there is somehow never any attempt made at putting any of the rest of us as the focal point. With all of these different timelines not one of Laurie’s kids could’ve been biracial, or at the very least not super heteronormative? None of her grandchildren? How? Why?”
What’s left are the crumbs. LL Cool J in Halloween H20 or Busta Rhymes beating Michael Myers up in Halloween Resurrection.
Before the creative spirit changes, Bohannon notes, “We’ll see Michael Myers follow Jason Voorhees to hell, space, and Elm Street before we make the most obvious change and see if that breathes new life into this legacy.” To return to the point I made earlier, there is artistic merit at stake as much as there is equity. A different perspective would yield different results. Fans, especially franchise fans, often find themselves stuck in a Catch-22. They want the same people making the movies they love yet simultaneously expect different results.
Josh Korngut, Dread Central’s Managing Editor, conceptualizes the root of the problem as an issue with tone, namely a variable one post-Halloween that strays further and further from what the original was all about. “The main problem I’ve had with the Halloween franchise over the past thirty years is an issue with tone,” he wrote, continuing. “What made the first film such a standout was its unprecedented abuse of suburban horror; it’s a quiet story that takes place in our very own backyards. Both Rob Zombie and David Gordon Green eras seemed to have a fundamental misunderstanding of this shadowy, quiet, and sneaking source material.”
Korngut is right, of course, and augmented by the best fan films I watched, I can’t escape the profound simplicity of Carpenter’s original. It was, after all, just a boogeyman. Carpenter and Hill supplanted conventional thrills with verisimilitude, a kind of suburban ennui all too familiar to audiences across generational gaps. The hazy October twilight, the riffing with friends over a Homecoming dance—all of it is there. There is a distinctly lived-in quality to the original that subsequent entries have sacrificed for denser mythos and more grandiose Myers lore.
In terms of who should take over, however—who can capture that indomitable organic spirit of the original—it still isn’t entirely clear, though Korngut has some ideas.
He said,
“Someone like Sofia Coppola, who kickstarted her career in the liminal side streets of suburbia with The Virgin Suicides might be better suited to expand on what makes the map of Haddonfield so personal and scary. The male-coded edge lord culture of previous Myers eras needs to be replaced with a quieter, yet equally unforgiving energy, and I believe we need a woman to help us get there.”
That’s a project I’d Halloween Kills to see come to fruition. Yet, it begs again whether Michael needs to be around at all. As this foray into fan films comes to an end for the second time, I still don’t have an answer to that question. Michael, perhaps, is too far gone. Too cemented in his legacy to be rendered new again. He was, after all, conceptually a shape, and shapes are boundless. That same shape might not need to be Michael Myers at all. The best of the Halloween fan films exemplify that, perhaps, in a way I didn’t anticipate.
Maybe, for once, we can let our slasher killers rest. Michael can live on in memory, in fiction. In the fan realm, he won’t be going anywhere. Elsewhere, maybe it’s finally time to let someone else mold the franchise clay into an entirely new shape altogether. It seems impossible, but Carpenter and Hill did it back in 1978. Maybe, just maybe, there’s someone working today who can do it all over again. For 50 more years of nightmares, I think it’s a risk worth taking.
Categorized:Editorials
