We’re a far cry from the days where it was easy to falsely generalize horror films as disposable low-brow entertainment. Today, the genre has firmly established itself as both a reliable money-maker and a playground for intellectuals. Not a year has gone past in the last decade without a major horror release making waves critically and amongst general audiences, and the success and appreciation isn’t just reserved for arthouse-aspiring “elevated” attempts either — splatterhouse crowdpleasers like last year’s Final Destination: Bloodlines can perform just as well as a dense, cerebral mystery like Weapons. For years, people have complained about the lack of originality in theaters these days, packed endlessly with superhero films and remakes ad nauseum. But horror has always been there with a steady stream of inventive, unpredictable, and genuinely stimulating art.Out of all the fantastic horror films released so far in 2026, two in particular have absolutely galvanized the industry. Kane Parsons Backrooms, an adaptation of the overnight internet horror sensation, quickly became the studio’s highest grossing film and already inspired a wave of greenlights for movies based on everything from the SCP Foundation to Sirenhead; the other is Curry Barker’s Obsession, a movie that’s simply inescapable online and has launched its director into the spotlight. Both are films from young twenty-somethings, and their Gen-Z artistic sensibilities bleed into the work in different ways; Obsession specifically, now streaming on Peacock, is a distinctly 21st century nightmare of unrequited love.The idea of a horror movie about love gone wrong is certainly not a novel concept, but Barker’s take on it is certainly of the here and now, in many key ways. Less Fatal Attraction and more Wishmaster, hopeless romantic Bear (Michael Johnston) doesn’t become a stalker or boil any stuffed animals as a result of his massive crush on his coworker Nikki (Inde Navarrette). In fact, the deceptive sincerity of his feelings and his nervousness about them feels endearing, and the blurry platonic intimacy of their friendship feels like a cringe-worthy yet somewhat relatable canon event for anyone — until, absent-mindedly and sarcastically, he makes a wish on a novelty toy for her to love him more than anyone else in the world.There’s something about the potent mix of Bear’s idealized fantasy of Nikki as well as his conflict-avoidance that feels so similar to the relationship many men have about dating in the online world. There’s no Tinder substitute and Bear and Nikki’s pre-wish relationship exists in-person, but it’s hard not to think of the way that dating apps have now granted us the ability to gauge a connection based on a constructed idea of who someone is, all without the friction and natural uncertainty that comes with being vulnerable with someone face-to-face. It’s a skill that Bear functionally lacks, and while it’s certainly far from his main problem, it’s one that plenty of people can empathize with.Obsession actively weaponizes the instincts of movie romances against its audience. | Focus FeaturesIn fact, everything about Bear’s pitiable loneliness and romantic ineptitude is designed to be empathized with; it’s not until the honeymoon phase is over, and Nikki’s behavior starts manifesting in uncanny and dangerous ways (ways that suggest she’s acutely aware of how her autonomy has been violated), that the dissonance of who he truly is comes into play. The self-aware critique of the “nice guy” archetype Barker is playing with is the result of a cultural shift that began around the mid-to-late 2000s and is now something Gen-Z is acutely aware of and reckoning with in different ways. Rising discussions about the so-called male loneliness epidemic have been hijacked to launder the same regurgitated idea — that “good” men are being denied the satisfaction of a relationship, a conversation that conveniently erases the personhood of the women being implicitly blamed for the problem.The erasure of personhood is precisely what happens to Nikki (a thematically intentional choice that the movie nevertheless struggles with), and in typical horror movie fashion it comes in the form of the real Nikki being entirely subsumed by an inhuman replication, one whose erratic, single-minded behavior continually escalates in order to mimic what it believes love to be. Inde Navarrette’s performance is the foundation the film rests on, a tightrope that requires her to be at once terrifyingly alien and yet heartbreakingly authentic and afraid in those moments of lucidity that are so key. But many have also noticed the similarity between her flawed imitation of human behavior and the regurgitative qualities of generative AI. Her hallucinatory slip-ups, her confidently false replication of “romance,” even her sycophantic interactions with Bear feel like the end result of asking ChatGPT to pretend to be your girlfriend.Even if it wasn’t Barker’s intention, the parallels are frightening. | Focus FeaturesPerhaps the most striking way the film reinvents a well-worn premise for modern audiences is in the very point-of-view itself. The introduction of Bear as a seemingly sweet guy who allows Nikki to suffer endlessly for his own gratification forces the film’s male audience to confront the way they perceive other men, and perhaps their own inaction, in a larger system of misogyny — after all, if Bear is capable of something like this, who else is? It’s a question women have had to consider forever, and one that has become a very widespread conversation in the aftermath of the #MeToo movement and broader modern conversations about sexism.Obsession’s success this year isn’t a simple formula that can be boiled down and replicated by the studio system. It’s the result of a filmmaker aware of what his generation is experiencing, making a movie that speaks to them. If horror as a genre is to remain in the successful and culturally relevant position it currently enjoys, it’ll have to continue finding creative ways to engage with the anxieties of our current world.Obsession is streaming on Peacock.