Two weeks ago Russia became the first nation to use an intercontinental ballistic missile in combat. Though the missile was reportedly experimental and not armed with nuclear warheads, its deployment was an ominous reminder of how close humanity still is to the brink of nuclear war. As international tensions rise, so too does the relevance of art that explores these catastrophic possibilities. Putin’s nuclear Sabre rattling will only grow lounder and so I think there is no better time to look back at Threads, a film that not only epitomizes the post apocalypse genre but I would argue is one of the most frightening films ever made, more so than any traditional horror film that is.
Threads, written by Barry Hines and directed by Mick Jackson, was created to outdo its American counterpart, The Day After, which the filmmakers believed softened the horrors of nuclear war. Set in Sheffield, England, the film begins by drawing the audience into the lives of Ruth Beckett and Jerry Kemp, an ordinary young couple preparing for marriage and parenthood. Through these relatable characters, the film grounds its narrative in the mundane realities of human life, making what follows all the more devastating. As geopolitical tensions escalate in the film’s background, life in Sheffield begins to unravel. Panic buying, protests and hastily constructed bomb shelters set the stage for the inevitable: nuclear detonations that reduce cities to rubble. The film’s depiction of the attack is painfully scientific and realistic, avoiding sensationalism. It shows how, in an instant, the fabric of modern society is torn apart, leaving survivors to face unimaginable horrors — radiation sickness, starvation and a descent into medieval-style barbarism.
What sets Threads apart is its unflinching realism. Unlike in many Hollywood blockbusters, there are no heroes or dramatic resolutions. The focus remains on the victims: ordinary people whose lives are destroyed by events far beyond their control. This approach ensures that the fear the film evokes is not just visceral but existential. Critics like Peter Bradshaw have likened Threads to horror films, but with one significant distinction: its plausibility. In his 2014 review for The Guardian, Bradshaw noted that while traditional horror films may shock or creep out viewers, they rarely instill lasting fear. Ghosts, monsters and slashers are, after all, imaginary. Traditional horror relies on the building of tension, jump scares and visuals are key, the whole film usually builds to singular resolving moments and if you can’t keep yourself invested in the tension, you won’t be scared. Nuclear war, on the other hand, is a very real threat. Tension doesn’t matter, there is no time limit on the horror of the aftermath of nuclear war. As Bradshaw puts it, Threads is terrifying because “everything [you] see could happen.”
The film’s power lies in its relatability. By focusing on the intimate struggles of Ruth and Jerry, it invites viewers to see themselves in the story. This connection amplifies the terror, as audiences are forced to ask: What would I do? Could I survive? Unlike horror films, where the fear dissipates when the credits roll, Threads leaves a lingering unease, a cold reminder of humanity’s fragility. No film has before or since has quite the same physical impact on me. When watching The Conjuring or Insidious, sure, I was scared a few times, but I was never left with such a unique sense of subtle dread as I was with Threads. The only thing I could compare it to would be a deep lingering ache. It’s a film you’re meant to feel in your bones.
Moreover, Threads abandons the linear structure of pre-apocalypse life after the bomb drops. The film becomes increasingly chaotic, mirroring the confusion and despair of its characters. Time skips ahead in disjointed intervals, showing the gradual collapse of society and the irreversible scars left on survivors. The grim final scenes — a return to feudal conditions and the birth of a radiation-deformed child — offer no hope, only the bleakest conclusion imaginable.
The recent use of an ICBM (well, technically an Intermediate Range IRBM but ICBM is the usual catch-all term) in Ukraine underscores the ongoing relevance of Threads. While the Cold War may be over, the specter of nuclear conflict remains. Modern advancements in weaponry have made the prospect of global annihilation even more plausible, as demonstrated by Russia’s missile launch. This context makes Threads not just a historical artifact but a vital warning for the present.In an era where pop culture often glamorizes violence and war, Threads stands out as a necessary antidote. Its stark realism compels viewers to confront the unthinkable and, hopefully, to reject it. As Bradshaw noted, the film leaves viewers “in a cold shivering sweat… followed by weeks of mild depression and anxiety.” This emotional impact is precisely why films like Threads are essential. They don’t just entertain; they provoke thought and, ideally, action. It forces viewers to grapple with the terrifying reality of nuclear conflict and the dire consequences of inaction. Given the state of geopolitics now it’s a film I think should be made compulsory viewing for any leader of a nation with nuclear weapons, we all need to come to the shared understanding that, as in the words of the WOPR computer from WarGames: In nuclear war, “the only winning move is not to play.”
James Palm is a sophomore in the College of Arts and Sciences. He can be reached at [email protected].