Best Korean Horror Films That’ll Keep You Up at Night

Shamanic dread and folk terrors

The Wailing (2016)

If you would indulge me, start here. Na Hong‑jin’s rural nightmare runs 156 minutes and never wastes a heartbeat. It scales from police procedural to full folkloric possession, and that ritual duel between shamans—cut at a pulse of roughly 2–4 seconds per shot—still rattles me. Released in 2016, it drew roughly 6.9 million admissions in Korea and became a modern benchmark. The film leans on Korean syncretic beliefs, unspooling suspicion and xenophobia with unnerving patience. Watch the sound design in the low frequencies; the sub‑bass rolls in around the ritual sequences are not just loud—they are oppressive. I once measured a sustained rumble around the 40–60 Hz range on my subwoofer, and it made my floorboards hum. Please do not multitask during this one. It rewards your full attention, painfully and beautifully.

Exhuma (2024)

Occult horror about geomancy, ancestral graves, and malignant energy—if that combination already gives you goosebumps, you are in for a treat. Jang Jae‑hyun’s Exhuma became a phenomenon in 2024, crossing 11 million admissions domestically. It’s a coolly controlled film about moving a grave that should never be moved, and it puts Korean mortuary rites and pungsu‑jiri (feng shui) on center stage. The cinematography quietly steps down exposure in night exteriors so your eyes keep searching the blacks—yes, that is deliberate. I could feel my breathing slow during the digging scenes; the film is paced like a ritual, measured and inexorable. If you are new to Korean occult narratives, this is a contemporary, muscular introduction.

The Priests (2015)

I attended a crowded late-night screening of The Priests when it opened, and I will not forget the collective silence after a particularly feral exorcism beat. Jang Jae‑hyun (yes, the same director as Exhuma) stages Catholic rites through a distinctly Korean lens—parents, duty, and social order weigh heavily. The film sold about 5.4 million tickets in Korea, and at 108 minutes, never drags. Pay attention to ADR layering and breath tracks during possession scenes; you can hear multiple “voices” jockeying for space, mixed at different depths. It’s not just scary, it’s tactile.

The 8th Night (2021)

A sleeper on Netflix, The 8th Night is a monk’s quest horror, drawing on Buddhist lore about the “red eye” and “black eye.” It is more hushed than flashy, using practical effects and subdued color grading—skin tones drift warm while night exteriors lean cyan. When I watched it with a cup of barley tea at 1 a.m., it felt like a bedtime story told by someone who might not have your best interests at heart~?

Family madness and haunted minds

A Tale of Two Sisters (2003)

Kim Jee‑woon’s classic is still the gold standard for psychological Korean horror. Inspired by the folktale Janghwa Hongryeon, it set records for the genre in Korea on release, with over 3 million admissions. At 115 minutes, it’s all precision—dollhouse compositions, lace curtains, and a score that caresses and cuts. On a rewatch in 2025, I noticed how the production design uses repeating floral motifs to suggest memory loops. Please watch this on a calibrated screen; the nuances in the off‑whites and shadow details are part of the storytelling. The last 20 minutes are a symphony of reveals—no spoilers, but you will want to pause and breathe.

The Mimic (2017)

Based on the Jangsan Tiger myth, The Mimic terrifies not with jump scares, but with the wrongness of familiar voices. It runs a tight 100 minutes. There is a particular hallway scene where the “child’s voice” comes from the dark, and the reverb tail is just a fraction too long—smart sound work that makes your brain protest. I watched this with a friend who insisted the house was making noises; it was not. The film was.

The Call (2020)

A cross‑time phone call between two women spirals into a moral death spiral—The Call is a high‑concept thriller with horror bones. Jeon Jong‑seo’s turn won Best Actress at the 2021 Baeksang Arts Awards, and you will see why. Look for the set redesigns after each timeline shift; props migrate, wall colors inch cooler, and wardrobe clocks the power dynamics like a barometer. When I watched it again last month, I muted for 15 seconds after a particularly vicious sequence, just to let my pulse settle. You may wish to plan short breathers—this one escalates.

Sleep (2023)

A couple, sleep paralysis, and the creeping dread that the person next to you might not be themselves at night. Jason Yu’s debut premiered at Cannes Critics’ Week 2023 and plays like a finely tuned domestic horror. At 95 minutes, it is compact and relentless, with needle‑drop POV shots of nocturnal wanderings that turn the apartment into a trap. I advise dim ambient lighting if possible; the film’s shadows have gradations that are best read in a dark room. After my first watch, I woke up at 3:11 a.m. and stared at my bedroom door for a full minute. Yes, it got me.

Monsters, trains, and outbreaks

Train to Busan (2016)

If you have somehow missed it, please correct that. Yeon Sang‑ho takes the zombie genre and welds it to a two‑hour pressure cooker. It premiered at Cannes Midnight Screenings and sold around 11.6 million tickets in Korea. One thing I love: the choreography. Zombie waves are staged with repeatable geometry, so your eyes learn the flow, then the film breaks the pattern (!!). The father‑daughter arc genuinely earns tears. Watch the color timing—the corridor fluorescents go greenish, then train exteriors soften to a grayer palette as hope drains out.

The Host (2006)

Bong Joon‑ho’s creature feature is still wickedly funny and marinated in social satire. It shattered Korean box office records at the time with about 10.9 million admissions. The Han River is not just a setting; it’s a character soaked with history and resentment. The monster reveals early, which forces the film to succeed on staging and family dynamics—it does. Turn off motion smoothing, please. I recommend a screen with good motion handling; the early daytime chase has lateral pans that punish poor frame interpolation.

Rampant (2018)

Zombies meet Joseon‑era court intrigue. This one is pulpier and handsomer than it is profound, but the night battles are gorgeous. Torchlight color temperatures hover around 1800–2000 K, and the VFX team keeps the firelight interactive and convincing. I watched this on a rainy Friday with friends, and it served as atmospheric comfort horror—yes, that’s a thing.

Peninsula (2020)

A spiritual sequel to Train to Busan, Peninsula is bigger and louder, with Mad Max‑style car chases. It is action‑forward horror. Manage expectations: it won’t pin you to your seat with emotion the way its predecessor did, but the warehouse set pieces are a night‑vision fever dream. If you enjoy high‑octane dystopia with your scares, it will scratch that itch.

Found footage and schoolyard phantoms

Gonjiam: Haunted Asylum (2018)

I made the mistake of watching this with headphones, lights off, volume a little too high. Found footage rarely feels this credible. It drew about 2.6 million admissions in Korea, outstanding for its format. The film builds with tech details—IR cams, latency stutters, mic pops—and then weaponizes that realism. When camera rigs start failing, you feel genuinely abandoned. For maximum dread, resist the urge to look at your phone; the diegetic camera feeds are the entire architecture of fear here.

Whispering Corridors 6: The Humming (2021)

The long‑running franchise has always married exam pressure, authoritarian schooling, and spectral vengeance. The sixth entry finds a melancholic tone, with school corridors that creak under decades of secrets. The Humming uses sound—faint, spatially ambiguous, often barely above the -30 dB floor—to make you lean in. If you ever studied late in an empty school building, this will stir something you don’t want stirred.

Death Bell (2008)

A killer midterms puzzle where each test wrong answer costs a life, literally. Not subtle, very on‑the‑nose, but the grim glee is… effective. I screened this with a group of friends in university, and half the room started solving out loud while the other half hid behind pillows. It’s a participatory watch in the best way.

The Silenced (2015)

Set in a 1938 girls’ boarding school under colonial rule, The Silenced inhabits a twilight zone between mystery and horror. The production design does heavy lifting: corridors that narrow by a trick of perspective, a clinic too pristine to trust, and uniforms that shift palette as characters’ loyalties shift. It’s aesthetically lush and quietly horrifying.

Extreme visions and moral nightmares

I Saw the Devil (2010)

Not a pure horror film, but let me put it plainly—few movies feel more horrifying. A cat‑and‑mouse revenge tale by Kim Jee‑woon that stares into the abyss. The 141–144 minute cuts (depending on version) test your endurance with violence that is both clinical and cruel. If you are sensitive, please proceed with care. I waited years to rewatch it, and when I finally did in 2025, I paced my living room during two scenes just to break the spell.

Bedevilled (2010)

A woman pushed past all limits on a remote island—what begins as social drama becomes something primal and unspeakable. Jang Cheol‑soo’s film is a scalpel cut to patriarchy and communal complicity. The violence is not stylized; it is personal. I still recommend it, but with the caveat that it will stay with you long after. The finale’s sound mix mostly drops the score, leaving raw diegetic noise; your nerves will hear every scrape.

Project Wolf Hunting (2022)

High‑seas prisoner transport turns into a bloodbath from hell. This is gore‑forward, 18+ material, almost a stress test for your tolerance. If your appetite runs to splatter and industrial horror, it delivers. The practical effects are committed, and the sound range spikes to punishing transients—keep your volume sensible to protect your ears.

Thirst (2009)

Park Chan‑wook’s sensual vampire tragedy is about desire, faith, and the monstrous in love. It won the Jury Prize at Cannes. Song Kang‑ho and Kim Ok‑bin are magnetic, the color palette luxuriates in deep reds and sickly greens, and the morality is thrillingly messy. I like to let this one breathe—watch, step away, then revisit scenes. It’s that rich.

How I watch Korean horror in 2025

Where to find them in 2025

• Netflix carries a strong slate in many regions, including The Call and Sleep, and often rotates Train to Busan and Peninsula. Availability changes by territory and quarter, so I always check JustWatch before I plan a group night.
• Shudder tends to feature The Wailing, Gonjiam: Haunted Asylum, and classics during seasonal lineups.
• Prime Video and Apple TV offer reliable 4K rentals of titles like The Host and A Tale of Two Sisters; I have found Apple’s bitrates steadier in my tests.
• Physical media fans: look for Region A or Region B Blu‑rays with commentary tracks; the A Tale of Two Sisters special editions are superb for craft insights. If you value stable blacks and no streaming compression banding, discs still win.

Home setup that actually matters

• Picture: set gamma to 2.4 for dark‑room viewing, color temperature Warm 2, and disable motion smoothing. On OLEDs, I keep OLED light around 50–60 for night viewing and raise it to 70–75 if there is ambient light.
• Sound: if you have a subwoofer, an 80 Hz crossover is a good baseline. Horror thrives on LFE; The Wailing and Exhuma, in particular, build dread with sustained low‑frequency energy. I watch at roughly -20 dB from reference; your ears and neighbors will thank you.
• Seating and light: a single dim lamp behind the screen reduces eye strain without washing out blacks. I learned this the hard way after a double bill left my eyes buzzing.

Subtitles or dubs and why it changes the film

• Please use original audio with subtitles. Performance nuance—breath, edge of a whisper, a cadence cracked by fear—often carries information you cannot replicate in a dub.
• For group viewings, I use subtitles with a 110–120 ms delay if the player allows, so rapid cuts don’t yank your eyes off the image. If that sounds fussy, it is—but it helps.

Safety and aftercare

• Content warnings: I Saw the Devil, Bedevilled, and Project Wolf Hunting are extreme. If you have triggers related to sexual violence or graphic gore, please research beforehand.
• Decompress: I keep something gentle queued up for after—music, a nature short, even a comedy clip. Sounds silly, but it resets your nervous system. The point is to savor fear, not marinate in it forever.

Suggested viewing paths that work

The newcomer path

• Train to Busan -> The Call -> The Host -> Sleep

You will get range—zombies, time‑twist thriller, satire, domestic dread—without jumping straight into extremity.

The folklore and ritual path

• The Priests -> The 8th Night -> Exhuma -> The Wailing

A staircase from “accessible” to “devastating.” Please block a quiet evening; these breathe best without interruption.

The brave heart path

• A Tale of Two Sisters -> Gonjiam: Haunted Asylum -> Bedevilled -> I Saw the Devil

You will travel from elegant psychological horror to raw nerve. Hydrate, and maybe text a friend after.

Final thoughts

If you have read this far, thank you. I take horror nights seriously because they have a way of revealing what we fear when the lights go off—loss, guilt, change, the unknown. Korean horror, at its best, brings those to the surface with artistry and cultural texture that feel both specific and universal. In 2025, with better access and better home setups than ever, we have no excuse not to watch them the way they deserve. May your screen be dark, your sound deep, and your sleep… well, let us just say I hope you sleep eventually?