Because it’s a genre that aims to alter your mood, you could argue that all horror is psychological horror. But that viewpoint misses how certain movies remove their characters’ grasp of reality. If you’re being chased by a man wearing a mask made of human skin and wielding a chainsaw, that is horrific; no argument there. But it also makes total sense to run away from him in terror. The baseline reality is essential to making the outsized situation feel scary.
Psychological horror withholds that clear sense of danger to unnerve its audience on a cerebral level. The viewer feels dread even if it’s not obvious why. While there can be blood and gore, these elements exist in a heightened, surrealistic state (as with giallo movies). The foundations of psychological horror inform some of our most influential modern genre entries, like Osgood Perkins’ 2024 hit “Longlegs,” or A24’s contributions like Ari Aster’s “Hereditary” (2018) and Rose Glass’ “Saint Maud” (2019).
Here are five movies apiece for actors and directors that help illustrate what makes for a powerful performance or approach, respectively, for psychological horror. This list is by no means comprehensive—this is one of cinema’s most enduring subgenres, after all—but it will provide a useful starting point.
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Robert Mitchum in “The Night of the Hunter” (1955)
In a psychological thriller, part of the question is: Who has the power? Charles Laughton’s 1955 film, a mixture of noir, Southern gothic, and horror, immediately sets the viewer on edge with its ethereal, lyrical framing before diving into the seedy story of a serial killer posing as a preacher during the Great Depression. Mitchum is delectable as Harry Powell, an ex-convict who seduces his former cellmate’s widow, Willa Harper (Shelley Winters), in an attempt to learn about the loot hidden by her now-deceased husband.
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What makes Mitchum’s performance so charming (and you can also see shades of this in his turn as Max Cady in the original 1962 film “Cape Fear”) is that he doesn’t force the character’s violent nature. He lets it bubble just beneath the surface, an iron fist wrapped in a velvet glove. His voice croons and seduces, but we also know at a glance what this man is capable of. It’s one thing to tell the audience that this man is dangerous; Mitchum worms his way inside our psyches because he’s charming enough to get us to open the door.
Anthony Perkins in “Psycho” (1960)
Alfred Hitchcock’s “Psycho” certainly has some slasher DNA, but the core of its power resides in the twisted mind of its main character, Perkins’ Norman Bates. Hitchcock cleverly puts us into Norman’s off-kilter reality by killing off the character we thought was our protagonist, Marion Crane (Janet Leigh), making us wonder what we can really believe. However, the film’s tortured heart belongs to Norman, a man who seems unaware of his own split personality and whose mild-mannered facade belies a deep well of darkness. Like Mitchum, part of the power of this performance is that Perkins never has to overplay his character; if anything, Perkins sees Norman as a victim at the mercy of the domineering “Mother.”
Catherine Deneuve in “Repulsion” (1965)
Deneuve comes right up to the line of feeling like a cipher in Roman Polanski’s look at a woman suffering from mental illness. Unlike “Psycho,” there’s little attempt here made to sympathize or even understand Deneuve’s character, Carol Ledoux. The movie thrusts us inside her isolation and psychosis, and perhaps more than any other movie recommended here, tries to make the viewer get on the same wavelength as someone suffering a dark, inexplicable psychology. Deneuve’s performance eschews the comfort of any kind of archetype, and being able to hold onto that mystery is what makes her performance so compelling.
Kathy Bates in “Misery” (1990)
Bates won an Oscar for her unforgettable performance as fan, nurse, jailer, and mallet enthusiast Annie Wilkes in Rob Reiner’s 1990 adaptation of Stephen King’s “Misery.” Annie oversees bedridden author Paul Sheldon (James Caan) and offers to “care” for him. Bates is so compelling because she fully invests in Annie’s specific psychology; she’s able to go from cheerful to domineering within the span of the same scene without ever feeling off-key. Like Mitchum’s Harry, Annie holds terrifying power, but Bates wraps that power within an unnerving, neighborly package we can actually find familiar (no offense to the many traveling preachers who have the words “hate” and “love” tattooed on their fists).
Natalie Portman in “Black Swan” (2010)
Although convincingly playing a prima ballerina made for a great physical challenge for Portman, the actor never lost sight of the psychological stages in Darren Aronofsky’s drama. Similar to the director’s previous film, “The Wrestler” (2008), “Black Swan” is about a performer pushing their body past its limits because that’s what their art demands. But whereas “The Wrestler” looks for relatability and warmth, “Black Swan” veers into both psychological and body horror. Portman convinces the audience that her character’s mental state has unraveled to the point she can’t even recognize herself anymore.
“Peeping Tom” (1960)
Upon its release in 1960, critics and audiences viciously rejected Michael Powell’s gorgeous and haunting critique of violence within the male gaze. Perhaps that’s because he hit a little too close to home with how the camera gives unnerving power to the voyeur. The story of a man, Mark Lewis (Carl Boehm), who feels compelled to record his murders inherently indicts the audience and questions why anyone feels pleasure from witnessing violence. When a slasher knocks off a victim, we might feel fear, but we also feel empowered and titillated. Powell, who co-directed some of the most stunning movies of all time with “The Red Shoes” (1948) and “Black Narcissus” (1947), makes his psychological horror so unnerving because he can see the beauty in the bloodshed.
“The Bird With the Crystal Plumage” (1970)
A master of the blood-soaked giallo genre of Italian horror, Dario Argento kicked off his “Animal Trilogy” with “The Bird With the Crystal Plumage.” (The film would be followed in 1971 by both “The Cat o’ Nine Tails” and “Four Flies on Grey Velvet.”) In this film, Argento’s directorial debut, an American writer (Tony Musante) tracks a serial killer. Not to spoil anything, but the film has a great deal of fun playing with perspective and upending expectations, turning notions of heroism and justice on their heads to reach some dark places.
“The Shining” (1980)
King purists may take umbrage with Stanley Kubrick’s departures from the novel (and there’s a 1997 TV miniseries starring Steven Weber if you want a more faithful adaptation); but the 1980 movie is a classic for a reason. Kubrick turns the Overlook Hotel into a living, bleeding menace that’s able to unwind the fragile sanity of Jack Torrance (Jack Nicholson). Production design and camera movement are essential to making the nightmares of the Overlook come alive, to the point where even the carpeting is unsettling. There are plenty of reasons why “The Shining” is a masterpiece, but a key factor is in how it uses setting to convey psychological unease and oppression.
“The Silence of the Lambs” (1991)
There are many disturbing moments in Jonathan Demme’s adaptation of Thomas Harris’ 1988 novel. But where its sequels have simply fallen for the allure of Hannibal Lecter, “The Silence of the Lambs” is far sharper in how it uses psychology as both a hook and a threat to its characters. Demme’s decision to frequently have his actors look down the barrel of the camera creates a sense of claustrophobia, as if these characters are locked inside a dark psychosis where the notes of the procedural investigation are the only handrail back to sanity. I’d encourage you to watch the other Hannibal Lecter movies also starring Anthony Hopkins (2001’s “Hannibal” and 2002’s “Red Dragon”) to see why Demme’s approach to psychological horror is far more effective.
“Get Out” (2017)
Most films in the genre focus on the mind of one or two individuals. Part of the genius of Jordan Peele’s feature directing debut is how he takes on the entire psychology of race in America. Peele uses the “sunken place” to visualize the dehumanization that happens daily across the country. For Black Americans, there is an element of daily psychological warfare from those who, as the film shows, will greet you with a smile while planning your enslavement. Most psychological horror has you questioning your reality; “Get Out” provides an answer that’s even more disturbing.