Long before Hollywood came calling, the Backrooms belonged to the internet.
The phenomenon that came to define a liminal horror genre — named after the unsettling feeling of being “in between” places — started with a single image of empty yellow hallways lit by dim office lights. It appeared along with a spooky caption on the massively popular imageboard website 4chan in 2019.
What followed was the creation of an exceedingly successful example of creepypasta, a user-generated internet urban legend, in which stories get passed between strangers and reshaped with every new adaptation or fan theory. In Backrooms mythology, victims become trapped inside endless labyrinths of empty hallways and industrial spaces, like an office from hell.
Backrooms became a phenomenon, inspiring even Apple TV’s hit series Severance. Few creepypastas have evolved as quickly into an entire universe spanning horror forums, games and merchandise. With each new contribution from around the world, users brought their own rules (don’t respond to voices calling your name!), dangers (quicksand!) and monsters (a sentient AI!).
The idea of the Backrooms is now looking like the foundation of a Hollywood juggernaut. A new adaptation, Backrooms, by zeitgeist makers A24 and starring two Academy Award nominees, is projected to earn more than $40 million this opening weekend on a $10 million budget. That success has some fans worried.
There are general adaptation fears, of course. (Is the vibe sustainable for 105 minutes?) But online chatter runs deeper on a more fundamental question of internet creativity: Who owns the Backrooms now?
The legality is straightforward: Nobody can own the concept. Copyright law protects specific creative expressions rather than ideas, which has allowed the Backrooms universe to expand through years of collective reinterpretation across forums and fan fiction.
“If you share your ideas openly in public, anyone can use them,” says Rebecca Tushnet, professor of First Amendment law at Harvard Law School. But filmmakers can copyright the distinct elements they create.
When everyone feels like they own an idea, mainstream monetisation reveals the blurry (ahem, liminal) space between audience and creator in anonymous internet culture. There’s pride, but also a sense of betrayal in the perception of a big-money player co-opting and becoming the face of a beloved project.
