David F. Sandberg is too good for this shit. The guy made Lights Out, a two-minute YouTube short that scared the hell out of the internet and got him a studio deal. Then he turned Annabelle: Creation into the rare spinoff prequel that’s actually better than the original. This is someone who understands how to craft a scare, how to wring tension out of nothing, how to make you dread a dark corner in your own living room. And what does Hollywood do with him now? Stick him with another Amityville Horror remake. Because of course they did.
It’s not that Sandberg forgot how to direct. Far from it. But Hollywood has this thing called “director jail,” where a talented filmmaker takes the blame for bigger studio failures and gets punished with safe, corporate babysitting gigs. And Sandberg? He’s basically serving a life sentence. Shazam! Fury of the Gods wasn’t a bad movie—it was fun, colorful, goofy, everything people claim they miss about superhero films. But Warner Bros. was already pulling the plug on the DCEU, audiences knew it, and the box office cratered. Doesn’t matter that Sandberg delivered exactly what he was hired to do. The stink of “flop” clings to him anyway.
Then came Until Dawn. Not the Until Dawn gamers wanted, but a half-baked horror flick that slapped the name on something completely unrelated to the game’s story. That was a studio mistake, plain and simple. Fans rolled their eyes, critics shrugged, and the movie tanked. But in this business, nuance doesn’t matter. A bomb is a bomb, and the director gets thrown on the pile.
So now Sandberg—one of the most promising horror voices of the last decade—is rebooting Amityville. Again. As if the sixty-plus Amityville movies floating around out there weren’t enough. Seriously, sixty. You’ve got Amityville II: The Possession, Amityville 3-D, Amityville: The Evil Escapes, Amityville: A New Generation, Amityville: It’s About Time, Amityville: The Awakening, and about fifty more knockoffs with titles like Amityville Vibrator or Amityville Backpack. Yes, Amityville Backpack is a real movie. It’s about a haunted bookbag. You can stream it on Tubi for free, assuming you hate yourself.
The only reason we’re getting another one is because The Conjuring: Last Rites just crossed $200 million worldwide. Horror is hot again, and when horror is hot, studios go running back to their oldest, most recognizable IP. Forget fresh ideas. Forget bold new voices. Just crank the handle on the haunted-house machine and pray audiences show up.
But this is where it stings: Sandberg is not a “just crank the handle” guy. He came out of nowhere with a short that went viral because it was terrifyingly simple—light switch on, light switch off, monster in the dark. That’s originality. That’s vision. And now instead of letting him cook up something new, Amazon MGM hands him a reheated plate of Amityville leftovers and tells him to smile for the cameras.
The worst part is, this isn’t even going to be the last one. The Amityville name isn’t trademarked. Anyone can slap it on a horror script and call it a day. That’s why there are so many goddamn Amityville movies. It’s the cinematic equivalent of dollar-store candy: cheap, recognizable, and guaranteed to give you a stomachache. So why is Sandberg—an actual craftsman—wasting his time trying to polish something that should’ve been buried decades ago?
Look, I get it. The Safran Company is producing, the same team behind The Conjuring and Annabelle. That’s a comfort zone for Sandberg. And maybe, just maybe, he’ll find a way to make this thing scary again. But the bigger picture is depressing. Hollywood keeps tossing talented directors into the remake hamster wheel because it’s easier than risking something original. We don’t need another Amityville Horror. We need the next Lights Out. We need whatever Sandberg would make if he wasn’t shackled to dusty IP.
The guy deserves better. Horror deserves better. Audiences deserve better. But Hollywood doesn’t care about better. Hollywood cares about brands. And right now, the brand they’re betting on is a haunted house in Long Island that hasn’t been scary since 1979.
Hollywood After Dark 