I have both good and bad news. The good news is that Southeast Asian cinema continues to rake in commercial success this year, thanks to the popularity of regional horror films shown on the big screen, and streaming platforms like Netflix. The bad news is that those who aren’t brave enough to watch another horror movie will likely have more things to avoid in the future.
The proven success of Southeast Asian horror cinema means that studios and production companies are likely to produce more titles of the same kind in the region. This is nothing new. Horror has a long track record of attracting cinema audiences, particularly in countries like Thailand and the Philippines, where communal reactions become their biggest endorsement to watch something in a movie theater.
But how can a Thai horror movie like The Whole Truth (dir. Wisit Sasanatieng, 2021) or a Filipino zombie drama like Outside (dir. Carlo Ledesma, 2024) quickly emerge on top of Netflix’s global ranking of most viewed films over other horror titles from Hollywood? The underlying reason can be attributed to the Southeast Asian identity.
Unlike their Western counterparts, Southeast Asian horror movies tend to put horror in the background of the narrative. Both The Whole Truth and Outside, while marketed for their respective scares, portray the supernatural and otherworldly creatures as a device to discuss the conflicts of their characters. Societal issues of generational gaps, family dynamics, and trauma are presented as obstacles they must endure and work together to rescue themselves from the fantastical elements of horror.
The characters of Southeast Asian horror movies tend to experience all of these in the discomforts of their home. What seems to be a safe space becomes a setting for personal growth and uncovering secrets. By keeping these at home, horror movies can echo the struggles that audiences may have with their personal relationships.
But it is more than just individual reflections. Films that show these types of conflicts offer viewers a clearer perspective of the problems of others, most of which are happening at home, a place they’re familiar with.
Thai author Katarzyna Ancuta puts it best in his article about Southeast Asian supernatural horror. He noted that the politics of representation on film allows the audience to be absorbed by the film’s reality, engaging in the narrative and its message on a deeper critical level.
“A self-reflexive turn in filmmaking, drawing attention to the artifice of film through the use of non-naturalistic sets and lighting, acknowledging the presence of the camera, or experimental editing, the purpose of which was to resist conventional spectator identification and encourage the questioning of the viewers’ relationship with the film instead,” Ancuta said.
The most noticeable difference between a horror film made in Hollywood and in Southeast Asia is the filmmakers’ acceptance of supernatural phenomena as a part of real life.
The presence of a spirit, ghoul or monster in horror films usually indicates that a character is getting punished for forgoing the mechanics of a supernatural belief, but the difference is in how readily people accept these beliefs—these superstitions are easily accepted by characters in Southeast Asian films, but in mainstream Hollywood films, these mechanics are often obscured by reactions of disbelief until they are proven otherwise. What it means is that a handful of horror films from Southeast Asia seek to validate their scares through cultural logic.
Southeast Asia has a rich history of folklore so it makes sense for many of its fictional stories to weave them naturally within the narrative instead of trivializing their existence.
The bottom line from all of these is that Southeast Asians love their horror films because they reflect their realities and traditions creatively and in an entertaining fashion, which does not come easily for other film genres. The horror genre will only continue to thrive and flourish, and it will be very exciting where it takes us from here.