Paul Tremblay has been a bit hit or miss for me, over the last several years, but I get excited about his books. The dude has mastered the art of making you leave the lights on at night though doesn’t always do so as consistently as when he released 2015’s A Head Full of Ghosts. While I enjoyed The Cabin at the End of the World in 2018, I was pretty ho-hum when it came to The Pallbearers Club in 2022. So, when I read the synopsis of Horror Movie, I got my hopes up for another hit.

Spoiler alert: it’s fine.

Let me set the scene for you: it’s 1993, and a bunch of guerrilla filmmakers decide to make a horror film. Fast forward a few decades, and this movie, which never saw the light of day beyond a few leaked scenes, has gained a cult following. Enter the protagonist, the Thin Kid, the only surviving cast member. He’s dragged back into the nightmare when Hollywood decides to reboot the so-called cursed film. Sounds intriguing, right? Well, buckle up because this ride is anything but smooth.

The pacing of Horror Movie can only be described as slow. The narrative structure, however, is interesting. It jumps between timelines, from the original filming to the modern-day reboot, with snippets of the screenplay thrown in. While I enjoyed the approach, I feel like it should have added layers of mystery and suspense but instead created a bit of a labyrinthine mess that’s more frustrating than frightening.

And let’s talk about the film within the book. The so-called “cursed” movie that everyone’s losing their minds over is simply not scary. Seriously, the scenes we get to read are tame, dull, and lacking most horror. It’s like Tremblay tried to channel the unsettling vibes of “The Blair Witch Project” but ended up with a bad student film.

Then there’s the Thin Kid, our main character. Oh boy, where do I start? This guy is a bizarre cocktail of self-pity and arrogance, shaken—not stirred—into an insufferable blend that makes you want to smack him. He’s constantly whining about his tragic past while simultaneously boasting about his “infamy.” Didn’t know Eeyore and Kanye West had a love child. I think his inner dialogue made me see my own brain my eyes rolled so hard.

The supporting characters aren’t much better. Valentina, the obsessive director, and Cleo, the ethereal screenwriter, are caricatures of pretentious artists. Their motivations are murky at best, and their interactions with the Thin Kid are what you might expect.

One of the book’s redeeming qualities is Tremblay’s prose. He’s got a knack for crafting eerie, atmospheric descriptions that occasionally send a chill down your spine. I always enjoy his writing. But these moments are too few and far between to save the book from its plodding pace and unlikable characters.

The plot’s twists and turns are predictable. You can see them coming a mile away, and when they finally arrive, they land with the impact of a wet noodle. The so-called “reveal” about the true nature of the cursed film is more of a shrug than a shock.

Sadly, Horror Movie is a slow burn that never ignites. It’s like lighting a firework only to have it fizzle out with a sad little puff of smoke. Tremblay’s attempt to blend psychological horror with a meta-narrative about filmmaking falls flat. If you’re looking for a horror novel that will keep you up at night, this ain’t it. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Sorry, Tremblay, I love you, but this just wasn’t for me.

William Morrow
Published June 11, 2024