I’ve just finished Paul Tremblay’s Horror Movie and it’s one of those books that lingers. Not in the sense of jump scares or gore, but in the way it seeps into your head and quietly unsettles you long after you’ve put it down.
The premise is simple on the surface but slippery underneath: back in the late 1990s, a group of young filmmakers come together to make a low-budget horror movie. They’ve got ambition, energy, and a kind of reckless belief that they can make something unforgettable. And they do—but not for the reasons they intended. The film never truly gets released, only whispered about in underground circles, and what happened during production leaves scars that the cast and crew carry for decades.
The book picks up years later, when one of the surviving actors finds himself being interviewed, asked to revisit the past. From there, Tremblay shifts us back and forth—between the chaotic shoot days of the film, with all the tensions and strange occurrences piling up, and the present, where the survivors are left to reckon with what it all meant. I really enjoyed this alternating structure. At one point you’re caught up in the raw energy of these kids trying to make art, and the next you’re in the now, staring at the wreckage and wondering what broke these people.
What makes it so compelling is how ordinary it begins. It’s not about vampires or haunted houses. It’s about the process of making a film, with all its clashing egos, bad decisions, and flashes of brilliance. But slowly—so slowly—you start to notice the cracks. A scene goes too far. Someone begins to act strangely. And then the unease ratchets up another notch. Tremblay builds dread in the same way The Ring does (still one of my favourite horror films). It’s a slow burn, but it keeps climbing, tightening the screws, until there’s a moment of no return. A tipping point where fear transforms into something else. When the story shifts from being about people making a horror movie, to being about them living in one.
That’s the clever trick here: the monster isn’t just in the story they’re filming, it’s in the making of the story itself. And by the time you reach the conversion moment—the crossing of the line—you realise the book has been tightening around you the whole time.
I don’t want to give too much away, because this is definitely a book best experienced without spoilers. Part of the tension comes from not knowing exactly where it’s headed, only feeling the dread coil tighter with every chapter.
If you like horror that trusts you to be patient, that doesn’t rush its reveals but instead layers on unease until you’re practically vibrating with it, Horror Movie is absolutely worth your time. It’s not just about scares, it’s about memory, trauma, and the way stories consume the people who tell them.
