The Problem With Modern Slashers—and the Promise of Dolly

For a genre built on violence, the slasher has become oddly bloodless in its ambition. Masks change. Weapons rotate. Kill counts escalate. But the underlying framework—the rhythm, the expectations, the emotional experience—has barely shifted in decades. Modern slashers often confuse repetition for tradition, leaning on iconography while quietly abandoning the discomfort that once made the form transgressive.

This is the context into which Dolly arrives, opening in theaters on March 6. And it’s precisely why the film has drawn early attention—not because it promises reinvention, but because it appears to understand what has been lost.

From its earliest footage, Dolly wears its influences openly. The shadow of The Texas Chain Saw Massacre looms large: rural isolation, abrasive texture, and a killer defined less by mythology than by presence. This isn’t subtle borrowing, nor does it pretend to be. But homage alone is easy. What matters is whether a film understands why its reference point worked in the first place.

The original Chain Saw endured not because of its iconography, but because it felt hostile. It was ugly. Exhausting. Emotionally draining. It didn’t invite the audience in—it dared them to stay. Many modern slashers lift the surface elements while sanding down that hostility, replacing dread with polish and chaos with choreography.

Dolly, at least based on what’s been shown so far, appears to resist that impulse.

Shot on grainy 16mm, the film favors texture over clarity and atmosphere over spectacle. The doll mask worn by the film’s killer is deliberately excessive, but not self-aware. It doesn’t feel designed for memes or merchandising. It feels confrontational—uncomfortable in a way that recalls older, rougher horror rather than contemporary studio slashers engineered for mass appeal.

That choice matters. The slasher genre has spent years chasing legitimacy through slick production and meta commentary, often mistaking self-awareness for depth. Dolly seems uninterested in those trends. Instead, it positions discomfort as the primary experience, not a byproduct.

Narratively, the setup is familiar: a couple retreating into isolation, hoping distance might offer clarity or healing. Horror has returned to this well countless times. But familiarity isn’t inherently a flaw. What separates effective slashers from disposable ones is how that familiarity is weaponized—whether it lulls the audience into safety or sharpens their unease.

Early reactions suggest Dolly aims for the latter. There’s an emphasis on control, possession, and warped intimacy rather than elaborate body counts. The threat isn’t just death, but violation—of autonomy, of identity, of personal boundaries. That psychological focus aligns more closely with the genre’s roots than with its recent output.

None of this is a guarantee. The slasher genre is littered with films that begin with promise and retreat into formula by the final act. Without having seen the full film, caution is not only reasonable—it’s necessary. Intent does not always survive execution.

But intent still matters.

What makes Dolly worth watching is not that it claims to reinvent the slasher, but that it appears to respect its foundations without embalming them. It recognizes that fear doesn’t come from novelty alone, nor from repetition, but from commitment—commitment to tone, to discomfort, to letting a film be abrasive rather than agreeable.

If Dolly follows through—if it resists the urge to over-explain, over-style, or soften its edges—it could represent something increasingly rare in modern slasher cinema: forward motion rooted in understanding rather than nostalgia.

For a genre that has spent years circling its own history, even that possibility feels significant.

Dolly opens in theaters March 6.

Dolly is directed by Rod Blackhurst (Amanda Knox) and stars Fabianne Therese (The Purge, Southbound) and Seann William Scott (Goon, Bloodline). The film is distributed by IFC Films and Shudder and opens in theaters on March 6. This article is based on pre-release materials and early festival reactions; the author has not yet seen the completed film.