Scary thing about horror films

A few years ago the Coen Brothers were asked whether they had any plans to make a horror movie.

The most able genre-hoppers in modern cinema said no, they reasoned that with The Shining Stanley Kubrick had 'pretty much gone as far as anyone could go with the horror film' - it was hard to know what to do for an encore. But Kubrick's all-conquering mastery and the Coens' words of warning have not stopped directors and actors on both sides of the Atlantic lining up to join a periodic horror revival.

Teen successes such as Scream and The Blair Witch Project have directed a new generation towards the dark side, using a blend of knowing winks, bad lighting and shaky camera work. The Sixth Sense and The Others have shown that the supernatural has appeal across genders and generations. Perhaps mindful that with his roles in Sleepy Hollow and the forthcoming From Hell Johnny Depp is set to become the new scream king, Liam Neeson has signed up to star as the priest in a prequel to The Exorcist, Nic Cage will fulfill a childhood ambition by playing DC comic character Constantine ('the Dirty Harry of the occult') and even rapper-turned-actor Snoop Dogg gets to play an anti-crack ghost in Bones.

Ridley Scott, who managed to turn the truly horrific Doctor Lector into a pantomime turn in Hannibal, is looking for someone to play supernatural sleuth Swift and hoping to add another chapter to the Alien franchise. While Francis Ford Coppola's Bram Stoker's Dracula and Kenneth Branagh's Frankenstein - two films that caused previous horror revivals to drown in their own blood - seem to have been conveniently forgotten, there's an unmistakeable whiff of desperation about the latest trend.

Richard Gere's imminent The Mothman Prophecies aims for spurious Blair Witch style authentication by not only claiming that it's based on true events but that the cast and crew believe in the power of the great beyond. What's harder to believe is that William Castle, a director who made the lamentable Ed Wood look like Eisenstein, is being given a posthumous multi-million dollar boost with remakes of House On Haunted Hill and Thir13een Ghosts.

For lovers of kitsch nonsense such as The Return Of The Mummy, designer violence ? la American Psycho or the fee-fi-fo-fumming of Hannibal, it all looks like good news. But it's less welcome if you still look to horror films to provide something more substantial.

No doubt, post-11 September, superannuated goths will argue that the horror film has renewed vital relevance. Our darkest nightmares have become reality, and it's the perfect arena to work out phobias and demons ingrained deep in the collective consciousness. But reality is painful enough - who needs a fantasy realm to understand it more clearly? Great horror films don't just require suspensions of disbelief and reserves of bravura technique, they also need to be able to break taboos. In a movie-making climate where even Spielberg is toning down the innocuous ET for next year's 20th anniversary re-release, the chances of the new wave of horror charting untested waters seem slim.

The part played in the scary stakes by the Brits can never be overestimated. Save for anomalies such as Witchfinder General and The Wickerman, we have been notoriously unable to provide the fright stuff. In recent months directors from France (The Brotherhood Of The Wolf), Japan (Audition, The Cure), Spain (The Others), Mexico (The Devil's Backbone) and even Canada (Ginger Snaps) have underlined our national weakness.

It's time to face the demon within. News that aged home-grown schlock horror production company Hammer is open for business and that Trainspotting director Danny Boyle will seek to reclaim the kudos lost on The Beach with the cannibal-centred 28 Days Later is scary, but for the wrong reasons.

With the delayed Long Time Dead, Tim Bevan (producer of Notting Hill and Bridget Jones) has a title that sounds as ominous as the plot - six students (including ex-EastEnder Joe Absolom) go to a rave club, pick up a Ouija board and trigger a chain of mysterious deaths.

An ex-EastEnder? At a rave club? With a Ouija board? Are you beginning to tremble? Exactly... The hollow laughter is coming from Stanley Kubrick's grave.