The 31 Days of Halloween (2017): 10/1-10/7

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31 Days of Halloween, American Fable, cinema, Cult of Chucky, film reviews, films, George Romero, horror, horror films, horror movies, Housebound, Movies, Night of the Living Dead, October, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, They're Watching, Tobe Hooper

At long last, The VHS Graveyard returns from its slumber to present the annual 31 Days of Halloween. As longtime readers will know, one day out of the year is a paltry celebration for the kaleidoscopic glory represented by horror films: as such, we celebrate horror for all 31 days of October, forgoing any and all cinema that does not, in fact, go bump in the night.

While previous Octobers have seen the VHS Graveyard plowing through mountains of cinematic goodies, from the most-current chillers to old favorites, we’ve scaled it back a little this year. As always, however, our goal remains the same: screen at least one horror film for every day of the month of October. We didn’t quite hit the quota for this week but, nonetheless, we humbly present the six films that make up the first week of our October viewing. As always, we invite you to discover new favorites and reconnect with old friends. Welcome to the Season of the Witch!

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American Fable

My October viewing got off to a bit of a false start with writer-director Anne Hamilton’s feature-length debut, American Fable. While I didn’t expect the film to feature overt horror elements, various discussions had pegged it as magical-realist and a spiritual successor to Del Toro’s Pan’s Labyrinth, which definitely put it on my radar.

In actuality, American Fable is a dark coming-of-age drama with a consistently oppressive atmosphere and frequent forays into dream sequences and fantasies that put it closer to Peter Jackson’s striking Heavenly Creatures, albeit with a more mundane resolution. 11-year-old Gitty (the impressive Peyton Kennedy) has a lot going on in her world: her stressed-out parents are one thin dime away from losing their family farm…her shithead older brother, Martin, makes a game out of swinging an ax at her hand and threatening her beloved chicken, Happy…she’s dealing with the pangs of adolescence…oh yeah…there’s also the mysterious man (Richard Schiff) that Gitty finds trapped in her family’s abandoned grain silo, which, as always, can’t be a good sign.

American Fable was a lot easier to respect than actually enjoy, at least as far as I was concerned. Although the film looked and sounded fantastic (cinematographer Wyatt Garfield also shot Lila & Eve), with one carousel sequence that has to go down as the single most gorgeous shot of the entire year, it was also rather dull. The reveal did nothing to help things, turning the film into a much more middle-of-the-road crime drama than it was probably shooting for. The fantastic elements were an odd fit, to boot, feeling distinctly out-of-place with the grim seriousness of everything else.

There was enough here that worked (similar to Ryan Gosling’s odd Lost River) for me to be interested in Hamilton’s future work but American Fable certainly isn’t the calling-card it could have been.

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The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974)

I’ve watched The Texas Chainsaw Massacre more times than I can count, quite possibly more times than any other film on my “All-time Favorites” list. I don’t always screen it every October but I try to screen it most Octobers: it’s the kind of film I never get tired of seeing and it’s always as welcome as catching up with an old friend. I always find something new in this ageless tale of dumb teenagers getting on the wrong side of an insane family of cannibals, deep in the Texas badlands. It is, quite frankly, one of the very best horror films in the entirety of the genre and, might I add, one of the best films, in general.

There was no way I would miss screening TCM this October for one simple, sad reason: the man who made the saw scream, genre legend Tobe Hooper, shuffled off this mortal coil on August 26th of this year. While Hooper’s career was far from perfect (his last truly great film was actually The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2, way back in 1986), he was still responsible for some of the films that I hold closest to my heart: the aforementioned Chainsaws, Eaten Alive, The Funhouse and Salem’s Lot. He was a unique visionary who burned bright and fast but left an indelible mark on the world of film.

If you have any doubt of Hooper’s lasting power, do one simple thing to realign your compass: turn off all the lights, put your phone away and watch The Texas Chainsaw Massacre tonight. That feeling in your gut? That’s dread, buckaroo, and Hooper wrote the first and last word on it 43 years ago. Let that sink in.

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Night of the Living Dead (1968)

2017 has been a rather dreadful year, in general, but it’s been particularly shitty for old-school horror fanatics. Not only did we lose Tobe Hooper but we lost the Father of the Living Dead himself, George A. Romero. When you’re talking legends, they don’t get more legendary than the visionary who wrote the rule-book that zombie films (and pop culture) would follow for nearly 50 years and counting.

As simple in set-up as it is powerful in execution, Romero’s debut is an exercise in economy that does nothing to distill the apocalyptic fury that it contains. NOTLD planted the seeds for not only the entirety of zombie films that would follow but also laid the groundwork for siege films, ala Assault on Precinct 13 and Fort Apache: The Bronx. It featured a black lead who was portrayed as a strong, independent individual in the same year that the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was ripping the country apart. It featured graphic (remember, this was 1968) sequences of gut-munching and dismemberment and had no problem with killing off children (still somewhat of a cinematic taboo).

Romero had a rich career outside of his landmark Dead film, including classics like The Crazies, Martin, Creepshow and The Dark Half, but it all started back in that little farmhouse, in grainy black and white, with legions of the freshly dead clawing at the windows. George Romero changed my world, no small feat, but he also changed the world and that’s why he’ll never be forgotten.

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Cult of Chucky

On a happier note: Don Mancini is still alive and kicking and I’m eternally grateful for that! He’s been writing the Child’s Play series all the way back since the first one, in 1988, but only took over the director’s reins beginning with 2004’s Seed of Chucky. While that effort wasn’t amazing, 2013’s Curse of Chucky most certainly was: introducing a Hitchcockian element that sounds ludicrous on paper but plays out perfectly, Curse of Chucky was not only a breath of fresh air but a clear signal that the Child’s Play franchise was alive and kicking.

This year’s brand-spanking-new Cult of Chucky isn’t quite as perfect as Curse but that’s a minor quibble: trading Hitchcock for Cronenberg, Mancini comes up with another delirious, giddy, gorgeously shot bit of blood-soaked eye candy, providing fan service for the long-timers while managing to keep things fresh and new for everybody else.

This time around, Nica (the thoroughly kickass Fiona Dourif, channeling her inner Ripley) is confined to a mental institution and accused of Chucky’s murders from the previous entry. When the ol’ Chuckster shows up to finish what he started, it sets into motion a complicated series of machinations involving long-time series hero Andy Barclay (Alex Vincent, grown-up), Chucky’s insane girlfriend, Tiffany Valentine (the always amazing Jennifer Tilly) and various incarnations of Chucky from the previous films. Nica is going to have to be strong, though: one Chucky might be a handful but a whole cult of Chuckys? That’s murder, buddy!

Self-referential, beautifully shot (one set-piece apes Argento in the best way possible) and with a fantastic, smart script, Cult of Chucky is quality filmmaking from first to last. The pleasures to be found here are virtually endless (one of the most sublime being the scene where Fiona gets to, essentially, perform as her father) but the brilliant finale, which flips the whole series on its keister, indicates that Mancini has plenty of fun left in his bag of tricks. An easy lock for one of my very favorite horror films of 2017, hands down.

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They’re Watching

Originally screened as part of my eternally on-going pursuit to see every horror film released in 2016, I decided to re-watch They’re Watching as part of this year’s seasonal festivities for one important reason: I really dug it the first time around and was in the mood for a fun romp. As hoped, this fit the bill quite nicely.

Coming from the demented minds of writer-director duo Jay Lender (Spongebob Squarepants, Phineas and Ferb) and Micah Wright (videogames like Destroy All Humans and Call of Duty) comes a film that, no surprise, is equal parts video game, live-action cartoon and gonzo horror-comedy. Parodying endless cable home improvement shows, They’re Watching follows a hapless, woefully unprepared film crew as they travel to rural Slovenia and collide with murderous locals and, perhaps, something much more ancient and fundamentally dangerous.

From beginning to end, They’re Watching is a giddy romp, taking a kitchen-sink approach to its subject matter that actually works. Combing elements of backwoods brutality, found-footage, witchcraft, possession, horror-comedies, home improvement shows and ’90s SFX spectacles (albeit with much cheaper digital FX) makes for a finished product that is never dull and, at times, genuinely surprising. Suffice to say that I liked this just as much as the first time around, indicating that They’re Watching has earned a spot on my seasonal rotation list.

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Housebound

I’ve written extensively about Gerard Johnstone’s delightful Housebound in the past, even going so far as to name it my favorite horror film of 2014. This wonderful tale of an obnoxious petty criminal who gets the ultimate punishment when she’s placed under house arrest in her overbearing mother’s possibly haunted house became a favorite of mine from the very first time I saw it and the love has diminished not one bit.

What more is there to say about this charmer (think fellow New Zealander Peter Jackson’s The Frighteners but with much more heart) than that you should see it immediately? With news coming in that Johnstone has just been pegged to pen the Justice League Dark script, this might be the last chance to catch him before the superhero machine sends this talented writer-director straight into the stratosphere.

 

Stay tuned for Week 2 and keep it spooky, boos and ghouls!

 

 

 

 

 

 

10/18/14 (Part One): Run, Rabbit, Run!

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31 Days of Halloween, Bill Moseley, cheerleaders, Chris Hardwick, Dennis Fimple, derivative, Dr. Satan, dysfunctional family, Erin Daniels, feature-film debut, Halloween, Harrison Young, horror, horror films, horror movies, House of 1000 Corpses, insane families, Jennifer Jostyn, Karen Black, Matthew McGrory, Rainn Wilson, Rob Zombie, Robert Mukes, Sheri Moon Zombie, Sid Haig, the Firefly family, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2, Tobe Hooper, Tom Towles, torture, Walter Phelan, Walton Goggins, William Bassett, writer-director, zombies

As a teenage metal-head who just happened to be obsessed with horror films, White Zombie was pretty much the perfect band: ultra-heavy, groovy, brutal and a visual spectacle that relied heavily on shock imagery and schlock culture, I was a fan from the moment I laid ears on them. I followed the band religiously until they broke up before the turn of the 2000s, at which point frontman Rob Zombie decided to go the “solo” route, continuing to churn out the same brand of industrialized rock minus the feel of an actual band. While I’ve always felt that the solo stuff was a pale imitation of the band era, my rationale has always been “A little is better than nothing” and I continued to check out Zombie’s output, albeit with slightly less enthusiasm than before.

When Zombie announced that he would be turning his attention to films, I was immediately intrigued, given his lifelong dedication to all things horror. His resulting debut, House of 1000 Corpses (2003) ended up being delayed for several years, although I can still recall how excited I was to finally get a chance to see the film in theaters. At the time, I was completely blown away: the film was vibrant, entertaining, gory and as sick as they come, with some phenomenal performances from genre vets like Bill Moseley and Sid Haig. I remember being so impressed with the film that I ended up seeing it a couple of times in the theater, a relative rarity for someone who usually has a “one and done” mentality about seeing films on the big screen.

Over the years, I’ve returned to House of 1000 Corpses periodically, although I must admit that it’s been some time since I really paid attention to the film: it had become so familiar, over time, that I had a tendency to just let it play in the background, only focusing on it during any of the numerous setpieces. When it came time to plan this year’s Halloween viewings, I decided to re-screen both House of 1000 Corpses and its direct sequel, The Devil’s Rejects (2005), and actually pay attention, this time. Similar to my re-evaluations of formerly beloved films, I wanted to see if House of 1000 Corpses stood the test of time or whether it would end up receiving a Clerks (1994)-style drubbing from someone who had “moved on,” so to speak. As might be expected, I found that my impression of House of 1000 Corpses changed significantly after this viewing: while there’s still a lot of the film that I enjoy, it’s pretty impossible to see Zombie’s debut as anything other than a thinly veiled, white-trash re-imagining of Tobe Hooper’s gonzo The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 (1986). Suffice to say, the bloom had definitely come off the rose.

In many ways, House of 1000 Corpses plays like a more hyperactive, pop-culture savvy and polished mash-up of Hooper’s first two Chainsaw films. From the first movie, we get the crazy killer family, creepy farmhouse setting, big guy with a mask and sledgehammer and an insane dinner scene. From the second film, we get the lurid, cotton-candy-colored visuals, Bill Moseley revisiting his iconic Chop-Top character and loads of over-the-top gore, much of it ruthlessly tongue in cheek. While this relentless referencing of Hooper’s original material seemed easier to accept when the film first came out, there’s something about the whole business that I found rather tedious, this time around, like watching a particular rerun of a TV show for the umpteenth time.

Plot-wise, Zombie’s film is pretty old hat: two couples (Chris Hardwick and Erin Daniels as one pair, the Office’s Rainn Wilson and Jennifer Jostyn as the other) stop off at a bizarre roadside attraction, Captain Spaulding’s Museum of Monsters and Madmen, and learn about local legend, Dr. Satan. After finding out that the medical madman was reportedly hung from a nearby tree, the group of thrill-seekers get a map from the good Captain (brought to gloriously filthy life by the always awesome Sid Haig) and decide to check it out for themselves. Unless this is your first rodeo, you’re probably going to realize what a truly terrible idea this is, hopefully quicker than our lunk-headed heroes do.

Along the way, they end up picking up a hitchhiker (the director’s wife, Sheri Moon), who leads them to her family’s home after their car appears to get a flat. Once at the homestead, our intrepid young people meet the rest of the clan: Otis (Bill Moseley), the insane “leader” who’s one part Charles Manson, one part Ed Gein; the hulking, mute Tiny (Matthew McGrory), this film’s stand-in for TCM’s Leatherface; obscene, obnoxious and massively irritating Grampa Hugo (Dennis Fimple in a truly disgusting performance); silent, bearskin-bedecked Rufus Junior (Robert Mukes) and the resolutely over-the-top Mother Firefly (genre legend Karen Black, shoveling up scenery as fast as she can chew). Faster than you can say “These folks seem a little odd,” the Fireflys manage to capture our poor couples and subject them to some very disturbing, sick tortures (poor Dwight Shrute ends up getting the worst of it, bringing a disturbing new meaning to the term “merman”), before deciding that their “guests” should get their wish after all: they’re finally going to meet Dr. Satan, even if it’s the last thing they do.

If anything, Zombie’s debut is a pretty great representation of the term “sensory-overload.” For the most part, absolutely anything and everything is thrown at the screen, in the hopes that at least some of it will stick: fake commercials and infomercials, fake horror-movie hosts and their programs, zombies, evil doctors, murdered cheerleaders, Manson-style cult stuff, rudimentary Satanism, demons, creepy graveyards, underground bunkers, graphic amputations and surgical mayhem, deranged talent shows, sub-Tarantino “obscene but clever” dialogue, video game references and, of course, the ubiquitous Texas Chainsaw Massacre nods at every turn. When the film works, such as in the nonsensical but visually arresting Dr. Satan scenes, it’s still a full-throttle nightmare, full of fever-dream logic, crazy visuals and truly nasty gore scenes.

Just as often, however, Zombie seems more than content to simply remind viewers of Hooper’s (much better) original films. Tiny is a pretty weak patch on Leatherface, to be honest, and nothing about the Fireflys’ stereotypically “scary” house is one-tenth as affecting as anything in Hooper’s debut. Zombie’s version of the “wear somebody’s face” bit from TCM 2 is disturbing but nowhere near as upsetting as Hooper’s and Moseley, dynamic as he is, still isn’t doing anything more challenging than combining the characters of the Cook and Chop-Top into one cohesive maniac.

Lest it seem like my recent viewing of the film turned me against it, let me say that I still found it fast-paced, entertaining and endlessly interesting but it’s become rather impossible to ignore the movie’s huge debt to Hooper’s films. At the time of its release, many critics disparaged Zombie’s debut as nothing more than a horror movie “greatest hits” collection, gathering together disparate setpieces and characters from other films and dumping them into a generic “crazy family” story. At the time, I was loath to agree but my perspective now seem much more in line with these original critics, albeit qualified by my (general) enjoyment of the movie.

There are plenty of truly fantastic moments in the film, scenes that still pack as much of a punch today as they did a decade ago: the long, quiet shot as Otis prepares to shoot the deputy is still the greatest thing that Zombie has ever put on film, bar none, and the Dr. Satan scenes are wonderfully goofy, even if they occasionally seem to belong to a Resident Evil film. Sig Haig is awesome (as always), as is Moseley and it’s an absolute hoot to see Rainn Wilson in something like this. When the film takes a moment to calm down, Zombie is able to come up with some pretty great atmosphere: the graveyard scene, with the victims dressed in pink bunny costumes, is the perfect combination of eerie and outrageous, as is the evocative scene where Jerry and Denise are lowered into Dr. Satan’s lair.

Ultimately, my biggest issue with the film ends up being that it doesn’t do enough to stand on its own two feet: in many ways, it feels as if Zombie’s sole intention was to create his own, modern version of Texas Chainsaw Massacre, a feat which he mostly pulls off. The problem, of course, is that we’ve already seen that movie, just like we’ve already seen its sequel…how much use do we really have for yet another version of the same story, albeit one with a glossier, more post-modern edge?

While my re-evaluation of House of 1000 Corpses didn’t end up damning it to the basement, ala Clerks, it certainly managed to knock the film down a few pegs in my mind. That, of course, is why it’s so important to continually revisit films like this: as we grow and change, as viewers, so, too, do our relationships with these films grow and change. I’m definitely not the same person today as I was eleven years ago and my experience with the film only serves to drive that home. While it may be fun to stop in and visit the Fireflys, from time to time, I’m pretty sure that I won’t be spending much time there. There’s a reason why Hooper’s original is such an amazing film, a reason that Zombie’s re-do can’t touch with a ten-foot pole.

10/5/14: The Boy Who Cried “Martian!”

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'80s films, 31 Days of Halloween, alien invaders, Bud Cort, child heroes, childhood fears, cinema, Eaten Alive, film reviews, films, Hunter Carson, Invaders From Mars, James Karen, Karen Black, Laraine Newman, Louise Fletcher, martians, Movies, Poltergeist, remakes, sci-fi, sci-fi-horror, set in the 1980's, Spielberg, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, The Funhouse, Timothy Bottoms, Tobe Hooper

Despite beginning his career with ultra-gritty, low-budget chillers like The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974), Eaten Alive (1977) and The Funhouse (1981), horror auteur Tobe Hooper quickly moved into an odd, mid-’80s phase that saw him tackle bigger budget, more mainstream fare such as the smash-hit, Spielberg-produced Poltergeist (1982), the bizarre space vampire/sci-fi shocker Lifeforce (1985), a remake of the ’50s-era sci-fi classic, Invaders From Mars (1986) and a more expensive, candy-colored sequel to his debut, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 (1986). Since that time, Hooper’s career has been all over the place, although he hasn’t managed to return (as of yet, at least) to either his ’70s-era glory days or his inscrutable ’80s output. While none of his ’80s films, with the exception of Poltergeist, ever made much of a splash (indeed, his ’80s era Canon films actually helped to nail the lid on that studio’s coffin), they’re all infinitely better than the “paint-by-numbers” TV productions and Poverty Row genre pics that would dominate his ’90s-’00s filmography.

Of his ’80s-era films, Invaders From Mars is easily the slightest entry on Hooper’s resume. While Lifeforce wasn’t entirely successful, it was completely audacious, which certainly must count for something. Most critics and fans seem to detest The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 but I’ve never understood the derision or hate that gets heaped on that film: it may not be the same type of movie as the original but it’s a pretty genius production, in its own right, and handily slots into the series’ original mythology before subsequent sequels would scatter the storyline to the four winds. Poltergeist, of course, is almost universally revered, although the conventional wisdom has always been that Spielberg had as big a hand in the production as Hooper did (anyone familiar with films like Eaten Alive and The Funhouse, however, will see plenty of parallels in Poltergeist: Spielberg may have been a presence on the set…he is Spielberg, after all…but the film doesn’t feel like it was his, alone). Of these films, then, only Invaders From Mars seems to stick out like a sore thumb. Lacking the sheer, nutty verve of his other ’80s films, Hooper’s take on the ’50s sci-fi staple isn’t a bad film but it does feel slight and unnecessary, which certainly isn’t a particularly strong recommendation. More than anything, however, Invaders From Mars strikes me as a definite product of its era: unlike classics like The Texas Chainsaw Massacre or even The Funhouse, Hooper’s Invaders has not aged particularly well.

One rainy night, young David Gardner (Hunter Carson) happens to see some sort of alien spaceship descend from the skies and land somewhere over the hills behind his house. David’s a bit of a space buff, so his parents don’t entirely (or at all) believe his story about the UFO but his dutiful father, George (Timothy Bottoms), nonetheless goes over to check it out. Next morning, Mr. Gardner is acting extremely odd: he seems emotionless and robotic, is walking around with one slipper as if it’s the most normal thing in the world and has a strange mark on the back of his neck. David is instantly suspicious of his father but the situation gets even worse after his mother takes a walk with George in the hills (after she finishes washing the dishes, of course): the following morning, she’s equally listless and strange, although she also appears to have developed an appetite for raw hamburger. Something, clearly, is going on.

The situation continues at school, as David overhears his much-detested teacher, Mrs. McKeltch (Louise Fletcher) discussing some sort of secret plans with an equally suspicious police officer, plans which somehow also involve David’s father. David flees his sinister teacher and lands straight in the arms of school nurse, Linda (genre vet Karen Black). Linda doesn’t quite believe David, either, but she’s noticed that something seems to be going on and is determined to get to the bottom of it. “It,” of course, is an evil plan by Martians to invade the earth, a plan which only David and Linda seemed equipped to stop. With time running out and the whole town seemingly under alien control, David and Linda must risk their own lives and freedom in a desperate bid to repel the intruders and restore order to their formerly sleepy little town.

For the most part, Hooper’s version of Invaders From Mars is no better or worse than most similarly constructed/plotted sci-fi films. The creature designs, courtesy of legendary effects artist Stan Winston, are pretty excellent, although it’s a little distracting that the Supreme Martian Leader is a dead-ringer for Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle’s Krang: since Krang debuted sometime in 1987/88, I’m more than willing to wager that the character might have been influenced by Hooper’s film. On the other hands, many of the films other effects are absolutely awful, including some of the worst laser effects ever put to film. The musical score is thoroughly generic, although there are some nifty elements to the cinematography: in particular, the spaceship scenes are extremely well-done and favorably compare to similar scenes in Spielberg’s iconic Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977).

As with the technical side of the film, the acting in Invaders From Mars is equally hit-or-miss. Carson actually does a great job as David: he’s believable and only rarely irritating, two qualities that seem rather rare for ’80s-era child actors. The part where David calls the Martian leader “dickbrain” is pretty great, as it directly recalls the way that the kids speak in other ’80s films like Spielberg’s ET (1982) or Richard Donner’s The Goonies (1985). I also got a big kick out of character actor Bud Cort’s turn as Dr. Weinstein: the bit where he tries to talk sensibly to the Martians is just a hairbreadth away from greatness. On the flip side, Louise Fletcher is astoundingly terrible as Mrs. McKeltch, while Karen Black becomes tedious by the film’s final reel, reduced to no more than a living, breathing, running bag of scream. She begins the film strong but devolves into wet paste, which seems like a terribly shabby way to treat the scream queen.

Of all of these issues, however, none bother me quite so much as the obnoxious ending. Without giving (much) away, suffice to say that anyone who’s familiar with Umberto Lenzi’s Nightmare City (1980) will know exactly what I’m talking about. These kinds of endings always strike me as cheap, ridiculous cop-outs and it ends up being a severely deflating way to finish the film. Whatever good will had been built up by the final scene was largely squandered with one of those endings that seems designed to elicit nothing more than forehead slapping and audience groaning.

Despite my problems with the movie, however, I would still rather watch something genuine, if a bit clumsy, than something that feels like a carbon-copy of a million other films. When the film works, it’s a rousing, entertaining throwback to a time when effects were still mostly practical and kids’ movies (I still feel that this is aimed at slightly younger audiences) could feel dangerous and high stakes without seeming completely age inappropriate. It’s telling that my warm feelings once the film ended were largely nostalgia-based: while the film itself was fun, it reminded me pretty explicitly of my own youth, which really increased my appreciation of the finished product. Had I not grown up in this era, however, I wonder if I would find Invaders From Mars quite as charming? Despite its good qualities, I’m pretty sure that this won’t supplant TCM 2 as my go-to ’80s Hooper film, although it practically begs for a future double-feature with the original.

 

10/1/14 (Part Two): The Buzz is Back

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1980s films, 31 Days of Halloween, abandoned amusement park, auteur theory, Bill Johnson, Bill Moseley, black comedies, cannibals, Caroline Williams, Chop-Top, cinema, Dennis Hopper, Drayton Sawyer, dysfunctional family, favorite films, Film auteurs, film reviews, films, horror, horror franchises, horror movies, horror-comedies, Jim Siedow, Ken Evert, Leatherface, Lou Perryman, Movies, radio DJs, roadside chili, sequels, Texas, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Texas Ranger, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2, Tobe Hooper

As a general rule, there are two ways to approach sequels: filmmakers can take the “more of what they liked” approach and…well…give their audiences more of what they liked the first time. On the other hand, sequels can be conceived as continuing segments of an interconnected story (ala Jackson Lord of the Rings trilogy). The problem with the first method is pretty obvious: the more photocopying you do, the worse the reproductions become. If “Film X” was good, more of the same (Film X #2) should (theoretically) be just as good: if Film X #36 is just the same as the previous 35 editions, however, what’s the point? Despite how much you much may have enjoyed a particular film, would you really want to see the same basic movie all over again with minor tweaks? This, of course, becomes a bit of a moot point for anyone who grew up on ’80s slasher films: despite the fact that very few of these films were directly related, almost all of them managed to seem like generic sequels/copies of the others…call it guilt by association.

The flip side to that argument, however, is what I like to call the “Peter Jackson argument”: does every film need to be split into three equal parts? Trilogies have a long history within the film world but how many legitimate sequels are really necessary? Even something like the Hatchet series, which manages to keep a central narrative thread running through all three (at this point) entries begs the ever-important question: how much do we really need to know about a maniacal killer? There’s a tendency to want to do lots of “world building” in modern films, expanding simple ideas into full-blown mythos that rival the likes of anything Lovecraft or King could imagine: the idea behind this seems to be that “one and done” films miss a ton of marketing/box office potential…what good producer wants to be responsible for passing up all those easy ducats?

By taking one look at the above poster-art for Tobe Hooper’s direct sequel, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 (1986), it should be pretty easy to see that neither direction really appealed to the horror auteur. While the original 1974 film was a lean, mean, claustrophobic and ultra-low budget chiller about a group of friends being summarily ground up by a rampaging family of Texas cannibals, the poster for the late-’80s sequel directly references the previous years The Breakfast Club (1985) (Leatherface as Judd Nelson? Talk about inspired casting!). What gives?  A majority of film-goers and horror fans seemed to cry foul at the film, citing its tongue-in-cheek vibe, heavy-duty ’80sisms and dearth of legitimately sweaty scares as reasons to confine the film to the dustbins of history. Is TCM 2 really that bad? Was it the beginning of the end for the fledgling TCM franchise in the same way that the horrendously lame Hellraiser 3 (1992) should have killed off that series? Absolutely not. In fact, at least as far as my humble little opinion goes, I daresay that not only is Hooper’s sequel a fantastic film, in its own right, it’s a more than worthy followup to its iconic forefather. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it, naysayers!

My main problem with sequels is the inherent wheelspinning involved: not only do sequels inevitably rehash some of the same setpieces/beats from previous entries but they often, by necessity, need to rehash the same plot points (as audience refreshers, if nothing else). In a way, it’s like a champion mountain climber continuously conquering the same craggy peak: the first time you do it, there’s a genuine sense of accomplishment and wonder. The tenth time you do it, however, it probably feels an awful lot like clocking in for a day at the office. Since the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974) was already one of the most notorious, intense and unrelenting films around, how could the filmmakers possibly top it without resorting to completely over-the-top overkill? There is, literally, no way to strip the narrative down any further than the original: the film is already primal enough as it is. Faced with the prospect of making a pale imitation of an accepted classic, however, Hooper took the unexpected turn of making the exact opposite kind of film: rather than stripped-down, drab and serious, Hooper made the follow-up loud, brash, rude, colorful and kind of goofy. More of the same? Not on your life, buddy!

A similar text-crawl to the first film reminds us of the situation behind the original and informs us that the current narrative takes place 12 years later…bringing us, of course, square into the magical ’80s. The action kicks off when a couple of shitty high school guys dick around with the wrong sinister black truck and end up pissing off the Sawyers. As Leatherface (Bill Johnson) is standing atop a moving vehicle, chainsawing one asshat’s head in half, diagonally, the other one is on the phone to a call-in radio show. The soon-to-be ex-douchebags happen to be on the air with DJ Stretch (Caroline Williams) at the time and the intrepid DJ ends up recording the incident. Enter former Texas Ranger Lefty Enright (Dennis Hopper, chewing up scenery and spitting out hot rivets like a Warner Bros. cartoon), who just so happens to be Sally and Franklin Hardesty’s uncle. Sally, we’ll remember, was the original film’s Final Girl and sole survivor, while poor Franklin was the mopey, wheelchair-bound guy who got gutted by a rampaging chainsaw. Seems that Lefty has spent the past 12 years tracking down their killers and, after examining the “accident scene,” has determined that the chainsaw-wielding cannibals are up to their old tricks again. We know that Lefty is right, of course, since we’ve previously gotten a look at a familiar face: Drayton Sawyer (Jim Siedow), the insane cook from the original film, is back as a highly respected member of the local business community and frequent winner of the chili cookoff: “The secret’s in the meat,” he smirks, and we know he ain’t lyin’.

Lefty convinces Stretch to play the tape on the air, despite the protests of her second-in-command/not-in-this-lifetime-suitor L.G. (Lou Perry): Lefty’s plan to draw out the Sawyers is successful, since Stretch ends up with a couple of late-night visitors at the radio station: Leatherface and Chop Top (Bill Moseley). When Lefty is late to protect her, Stretch ends up having to fend off the killers on her own. During their interaction, however, it appears that Leatherface has taken a shine to her…at least, if his grunting, pelvic-thrusting and phallic chainsaw movements are anything to go by. When L.G. returns from a coffee run, he gets unceremoniously pummeled by insane Vietnam vet Chop Top (“Incoming mail!,” he shrieks, splatting L.G.’s noggin into paste in the process) and dragged off to the Sawyer’s secret underground lair (handily located beneath an abandoned amusement park, natch). Like any faithful friend would do, Stretch follows after him, rescue on her mind. For his part, Lefty heads to the amusement park, as well, albeit for a slightly different reason: he’s packing multiple chainsaws and fully intends to smite the heathen Sawyers with a combination of God’s wrath and a little good, old-fashioned extreme bloodshed. As Lefty runs around, sawing support beams in half and attempting to, literally, bring down the house, Stretch must sneak into the proverbial lion’s den and save her friend…or whatever’s left of him. In the process, Stretch will need to become what she struggles against: Hell, truly, hath no fury like a DJ scorned. In the unforgettable words of the original: who will survive…and what will be left of them?

There are a few very important things to keep in mind while watching TCM 2. First of all, the film is just about as different from the first film as possible, despite the fact that both were directed and conceived by Hooper. As mentioned above, the original TCM is almost like a photo-negative of the ultra-colorful sequel. Secondly, the film does function as a direct sequel, even if some of the specifics and timeline events get a little screwy. Drayton, for the most part, is a direct continuation from the first, as is Leatherface (albeit in much more of a “horny teenager” mode here) and Grandpa (Ken Evert). Chop Top, however, is a new construct, although he serves a similar function to Edwin Neal’s hitchhiker in the original. Since Chop Top was never mentioned in the original film, whereas the hitchhiker is never mentioned in the sequel, it’s not much of a stretch to imagine that it’s supposed to be the same fellow (how he survived the Black Maria running over his skull at the climax to the original is a good question, although his metal head plate actually seems to answer this pretty tidily, numerous references to Vietnam notwithstanding). This is all just a long-winded way of saying that TCM 1 and 2 actually fit together pretty well, drastic difference in tone aside. It’s not a perfect fit, mind you, but there’s more of a sense of continuity between these two film than in many more “legitimate” sequel situations.

The third and most important thing to know about TCM 2 is that the film is an absolute blast, almost the complete antithesis to the original’s unrelenting tension. In certain ways, the sequel serves as a sly commentary on the original film: people thought they saw more blood in the original than they did, so Hopper drowned the sequel in outrageously gory setpieces. The original film had a modest, claustrophobic feel, so the sequel feels expansive and expensive. The original was so serious that any attempt at humor felt less like gallow’s humor and more like the rope: the sequel has one goofy setpiece after another (my absolute favorite being the one where Leatherface accidentally chainsaw’s Chop Top’s head, destroying his favorite hairpiece in the process: “You ruined my Sonny Bono wig, you bitch hog!”

Indeed, TCM 2 ends up being a perfect combination of Hooper’s harrowing aesthetic from the first film and the over-the-top atmosphere of most ’80s horror films: everything is blown up to ludicrous proportions here. One of the best examples of this notion in practice is the difference between the Sawyers’ lairs: the farmhouse from the first film will forever stand as a feverish nightmare, while the abandoned amusement park set from the sequel is an eye-popping, Christmas-light-bedecked marvel. For Pete’s sake: TCM 2’s lair features a skeleton riding a bomb, ala Slim Pickens from Dr. Strangelove (1964): it really doesn’t get cooler than that, folks.

Whereas the first film made subtle references to the tide of modernization being responsible for the Sawyers’ situation, the sequel is much more explicit about this. In a film filled with plenty of delicious irony, one of the neatest tidbits is the notion that one of the cities biggest pillars of industry, Drayton Sawyer, is actually the insane head of a secret cannibal family: those damned capitalists! There’s also plenty of rich material evident in things like Chop Top’s plans for his own amusement park (“I’ll call it…NamLand!”) and scenes like the one where Lefty tries to use a disembodied skeleton arm to lift Stretch from a trapdoor, only to have the arm break off at the wrist and send her tumbling down. For all of its sustained carnage, TCM 2 is actually a very funny film.

Which is not, course, to say that it isn’t also 100% a horror film. The opening setpiece, featuring Leatherface riding a moving truck while “wearing” a corpse like a costume, as Oingo Boingo’s “No One Lives Forever,” plays on the soundtrack is a real showstopper, as is the bit where he comes rampaging out of a pitch black room. There’s one scene involving skinning a body that’s more extreme than anything hinted at in the first and Chop Top’s pursuit of Stretch through the compound and up to a hidden aerie is alternately thrilling and nail-biting.

While the film is much more over-the-top than the first, no of the acting manages to seem out-of-place. In particular, Moseley does a career-defining turn as the crazed war vet: the scene where he uses a hanger to scratch the flaking skin on his head, before eating it, is by turns repulsive and awe-inspiring. There’s never a point where Moseley appears to be acting: rather, it seems like they recruited the role from a local loony bin, which is the highest compliment I can pay something attempting to portray “pathologically crazy.”

Truth be told, I unabashedly love The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2. It may not have the same sweaty relevance as the original film but it’s exceptionally well-made, features tons of great practical effects, some stellar villains and amazing set-pieces galore. If there are some elements that fall completely flat (Leatherface newfound sexual interest in Stretch is awkward and never explored to any reasonable measure, although it does although Moseley to prance around shouting, “Bubba’s got a girlfriend…Bubba’s got a girlfriend!” at one point), there are countless other elements that hit the bullseye. I can only assume that folks don’t like The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 because it’s so tonally different from the first one. In my mind, however, that’s one of the film’s biggest charms: Hooper could have gone “cookie-cutter” but he went outside the mold and I think we’re all the richer for it.

Even though the Texas Chainsaw Massacre franchise would sputter to a finish with a couple lame sequels and a 2000-era reboot, nothing could ever tarnish the undiluted majesty of the first two films. The original film is and always will be one of my favorite movies: depending on my mood, the second one is, too. If you consider yourself a fan of the first film but have avoided the second like the plague, do yourself a favor: hold your nose, if you have to, but dive right in. I’m more than willing to wager that you’ll come to love it, too, as long as you keep an open mind. Proving that there’s always an exception to the rule, Hooper’s Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 is almost as strong, although in completely different ways, from the first film. Besides, how could you possibly pass up a chance to watch Dennis Hopper have a chainsaw duel with Leatherface? The answer, obviously, is that you can’t.

 

10/1/14 (Part One): Meat Is Murder

Tags

1970's cinema, 31 Days of Halloween, Allen Danziger, auteur theory, cannibals, cinema, classic movies, co-writers, cult classic, dysfunctional family, Edwin Neal, favorite films, feature-film debut, Film auteurs, film reviews, films, Gunnar Hansen, horror, horror films, horror franchises, iconic villains, isolated estates, Jim Siedow, John Dugan, John Larroquette, Kim Henkel, Leatherface, Marilyn Burns, Movies, Paul A. Partain, Sally Hardesty, Sawyer family, Teri McMinn, Texas, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Tobe Hooper, William Vail, writer-director

A text-crawl and voice-over narrator informs us that the story we’re about to see is true. As we stare at the black screen, the high-pitched, eerie whine of a camera flashbulb, followed by a split-second flash of light, illuminates extreme close-ups of what appear to be rotted body parts. We can hear muffled talking but there’s no way to pinpoint what’s going. As we gradually come to make sense of an overheard radio broadcast that mentions grave-robbing, the image fades into a shot of a recently disinterred body, posed jovially on a tombstone like a Halloween decoration ready to greet trick or treaters. We then smash cut into the opening credits sequence which consists of blown-out, blood-red images of body parts and out-of-focus solar flares, as crashing cymbals and insane percussive elements provide the score. Welcome to a perfect vision of Hell: writer/director Tobe Hooper’s landmark feature debut, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974).

40 years to the day that it was first unleashed upon unsuspecting audiences, TCM has lost absolutely none of its horrific, spellbinding power. Although filmmaking technology has grown by leaps and bounds in the four decades since its creation, modern films would be hard-pressed to approximate even one-tenth of the raw, visceral, feral power that this ultimate “meat” movie still possesses. Hooper’s TCM is a film that would not only come to define and revolutionize its era but would leave a lasting mark on the entirety of the cinematic horror genre. Like Romero’s legendary Night of the Living Dead (1968) would do six years before, TCM took traditional notions of fright cinema into the woods and shot them in the head, leaving the bodies to be reclaimed by the soil. It’s no hyperbole to say that traces and threads of Hooper’s modest little cannibal film can be found running through nearly all of the horror films that followed it, in one way or the other: if nothing else, any horror film that came after was constantly trying to one-up and out-do the sheer intensity of TCM, whether through a heightened reliance on gore effects or by trying to imitate the relentless drive of the film. Despite its endless army of imitators, however, one thing remains abundantly clear: there is no other film quite like The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

By this point in time, the basic plot of the film should be just about as familiar as a Grimm fairy tale: five friends, led by Sally Hardesty (the recently deceased Marilyn Burns) and her wheelchair-bound brother, Franklin (Paul A. Partain), head to their grandfather’s old homestead, deep in the isolated heart of rural Texas. Their grandfather was buried in the defiled cemetery that we’re introduced to in the opening and Sally and Franklin want to make sure his body is still lying where it’s supposed to be. Along the way, the happy group stops to pick up a strange hitchhiker (Edwin Neal), a cackling, bat-shit crazy piece-of-work who manages to cut both himself and Franklin before getting bodily ejected from the van. The group are shaken but determined to laugh it off: after all, Saturn is in retrograde and this is just the kind of crazy shit you expect to happen.

After stopping to get directions from an odd but friendly gas station owner (Jim Siedow) who sees them off with the classic horror movie warning to be careful since “old houses are dangerous and you might get hurt,” the group heads over to the dilapidated farmhouse. As Franklin, Sally and her boyfriend, Jerry (Allen Danziger) poke around the old place, Pam (Teri McMinn) and Kirk (William Vail) head out to find the local swimming hole. Turns out that the swimming hole is all dried up but the couple hear the sounds of a gas-powered generator and see a windmill poking above the nearby trees: a quick peek reveals another farmhouse, albeit in a seemingly worse state of repair than the old Hardesty place. After curiosity gets the best of them, Pam and Kirk decide to do a little trespassing and check out the hidden homestead. They need gas for the van, after all, and there’s obviously someone living there since the generator is running. As Pam pokes around outside, Kirk lets himself into the dark, stuffy farmhouse, slowly roaming down the long, central hallway. As he looks around, Kirk steps straight from reality into a living nightmare…and horror movie history.

While the set-up for TCM is pure simplicity, the film is such a powerhouse because there’s so much stuff happening in the margins and within the shadows, little elements that not only enrich the overall viewing experience but help to establish the film as something much more than a low-budget attempt to break into the splatter market. In a nutshell, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre is about a world gone mad, a world in which a hundred little oddities add up to a pretty terrifying picture. The Sawyer family may be the easiest example of this but Sally and her friends don’t seem to meet many “normal” folks during their fateful trip: the rednecks at the graveyard are leering and vaguely threatening, the drunk speaks a bunch of mystical mumbo jumbo and the cook’s gas station attendant doesn’t appear to be playing with a full deck. Solar flares…Watergate…grave robbing…genuinely bizarre people…this is certainly not the promised utopia of the ’60s but more akin to time-lapse photography of rotting meat: the promise of blissful unity decomposing into violence, hate and indifference.

While rewatching TCM for what must be at least the 100th time, I challenged myself to imagine what it would be like to see this film all the way back in 1974, perhaps at some out-of-the-way drive-in theater or a grindhouse in Times Square. It’s not easy to forget 40 years of genre static and unnecessary fluff but the reward ended up being particularly rewarding: when I tried to view the film in as cold and clinical a light as possible (attempting to gloss over the fact that I’ve loved it unconditionally for the entirety of my adult life), I found that it still retained every measure of its initial power. I knew the story by heart…every jump scare, every shot, every bizarre and wonderful image…but I still found myself on the edge of my seat, feeling nervous and fidgety. The infamous dinner scene is just as awful today as it was back in the ’70s (or the ’80s, when I originally saw the film). The opening is just as striking, the climax just as awe-inspiring. Unlike other beloved films from my childhood, TCM has lost not an inch of its initial power and allure: if anything, my appreciation for the film grows with every screening.

Why does TCM manage to have so much lasting power when other films of the era feel dated or slight? Chalk it up to a perfect storm of filmmaking: Hooper and his inexperienced crew stumbled their way into perfection, using each and every obstacle and problem as a springboard to something truly unique. This, in essence, is the furthest thing from “by-the-book” filmmaking. As was ably detailed in the excellent documentary, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre: A Family Portrait (1988), working conditions on the set were less than ideal: the bones and rotting food were all real, leading to on-set odors that would rival abattoirs, particularly in the scorching Texas sun; Gunnar Hansen was kept separated from the rest of the cast, so as to further the isolation of his soon-to-be-iconic Leatherface character; Marilyn Burns was actually psychologically tortured during the dinner setpiece, placing her terrified reactions in a queasy middle-ground between reality and art; the cast wore the same clothes for the entire shoot, lending everything a grimy, dirty feel. Reminding one of the stories from Coppola’s Apocalypse Now (1979) shoot, albeit minus the drugged-out insanity, actually filming Hooper’s classic seemed to be as much of a physical struggle as surviving the fictional Sawyers.

As a filmmaker, Hooper constantly surprises and impresses with TCM: the set design of the Sawyer farmhouse, on its own, would be enough to secure the film a place in cinematic history but there’s plenty else to extol. Despite the amateur nature of the cast, none of the acting feels awkward or out-of-place. The three villains (Edwin Neal, Gunnar Hansen and Jim Siedow) are pitch-perfect and nuanced: they’re obviously a severely deranged group of sickos but they actors never feel the oversell anything, even when the script is at its most teeth-gnashing. Similarly, the five young friends may not be exceptionally developed characters but they manage to avoid the “Nerd/Jock/Stoner/Cheerleader/Good Girl” stereotypes that have plagued “dead teenager” films pretty much from the get-go.

The cinematography is suitably grainy and immediate but there are a surprising number of effective flourishes: a propensity for extreme long shots that helps to make the characters seem tiny against the landscape…twitchy, insane extreme close-ups of Sally’s terrified eyes and that aforementioned opening…the constant smash cuts to the moon and sun (circular imagery is actually pretty prevalent in the film, which also includes plenty of circular flashlight beams, round windows, eyeglasses, etc…). The score (courtesy of Hooper and Wayne Bell) is subtle and unobtrusive but endlessly effective: much of the film takes place with only diegetic sounds and sound effects (crashing cymbals are a popular one) but the creepy score occasionally sneaks in to shake things up. The editing, appropriately frenetic and quick-cut during the action sequences, is still able to allow for more leisurely reveals and creeping atmosphere, when necessary.

As a film, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre contains many of my all-time favorite scenes: Leatherface’s first appearance…Pam discovering the bone room…the dinner scene…Sally’s initial escape…Franklin and Sally trudging through the pitch-black woods, with only a meager flashlight for a guide…Grandpa (John Dugan) constantly dropping the mallet and obscenely waggling his arms and legs like a happy infant…the opening…that amazing finale. Truth be told, the conclusion to TCM may just be my favorite ending to any film, ever (with the possible exception of The Good, The Bad and The Ugly (1966), depending on my mood): as Sally escapes into the promise of a new day and whatever remains of her shattered life, Leatherface stands in the middle of the road and spins and pirouettes, swinging his snarling chainsaw around in a perfect fit of what very well might be teenage peevishness. It’s horrifying precisely because it hints at the idea that these human monsters might have as much notion of their evil as kids who burn ants with magnifying glasses do.

Unlike modern films which take every possible opportunity to spin out an “origin” story, Hooper is more than happy to just give us the basics: terrible stuff has been happening for a while, the Sawyer family has “always worked in meat” and the modernization of the local slaughterhouse has left the former employees (Grandpa was always the best cattle killer at the place) disenfranchised and dangerously marginalized. If all you want is a high-octane film about a murderous, cannibal clan, look no further. If you want a sly commentary on how the inevitable march of progress chews us all up and spits us out, look no further: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre delivers on any level.

I’ve seen The Texas Chainsaw Massacre enough, at this point, to know that my love for the film is genuine: as I said earlier, I love it more each year, not less. As someone who watches between 300 (in a bad year) and 700 (in a good year) movies a year, there have been plenty of opportunities for films to vault over TCM. I won’t lie: each year, I invariably see a batch of new films that have “classic” written all over them and several of them have become new “go-tos” for me. In the 20+ years since I first saw the movie, however, I don’t think there’s ever been a horror film that has affected me quite as much as this did. It seems rather impossible to call any film “perfect” but Hooper’s classic is as close to perfect as they come, imperfections included.

While I’ve actually really enjoyed Hooper’s post-TCM career (if nothing else, you really have to admire the breadth of his catalog), nothing, with the possible exception of the much maligned sequel or his sophomore film, Eaten Alive (1977), have approached this magnum opus. While I tend to detest remakes, on principle, I really protested the 2003 remake of TCM for one very simple reason: the film was perfect as it was. With the possible exception of ramping up the gore (despite its reputation, Hooper’s TCM is almost completely bloodless, save for a few choice shots) and introducing “hot young actors,” a remake seemed a complete exercise in futility. After all, how could a sterile money-grab ever compete with the legitimate insanity of the original film? The answer: it can’t.

40 years after its release, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre still stands as a legendary piece of cinematic history. I’m willing to go out on a limb and say that 40 years from now, discerning audiences will still find something to appreciate about the film. I’m assuming that all horror fans have already seen the film but, if you haven’t, there are simply no excuses: this should be as much a part of any cinephile’s DNA as any of the classics, genre or otherwise. In a time when CGI rules the horror roost and films are so self-aware as to be numbing, the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre is that rarest of things: a breath of fresh air. This is a film with a soul and a beating, blood-red heart, crafted by a cast and crew that could have had no idea that their humble little project would be immortal. I’ve loved The Texas Chainsaw Massacre from the first time I saw it: come talk to me on my death-bed and I’m pretty sure I’ll tell you the same thing.

 

1/12/14: Toggling Your Brain – Off

Tags

bad movies, Bone Boys, Butcher Boys, cannibals, cinema, filmmaking basics, films, horror films, horror franchises, Jonathan Swift, Judgment Night, Kim Henkel, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2, Tobe Hooper

Journey with us to a land and time far away…or, as I like to call it, last Sunday. On this particular day, definitely lighter than the usual Sunday, I screened the polar opposites of the cinematic spectrum: a horror film so fundamentally stupid that I actually lost IQ points watching it and a historical drama that’s much deeper than I initially thought. Just another day at the theater, as it were. Since I’ve got several things to say about both films, I figured that I would split this particular day into two separate posts. First up: the cinematic marvel known as Butcher Boys.

Living up to past accomplishments can wear anyone down but it must be especially difficult for those entertainers who make a big splash upon entry only to be completely forgotten down the road. As with anything else, however, filmmakers have no more right to rest on their laurels than do the 9-5ers. If you’re only known for something 40 years in the rear-view mirror, you should probably do something else.

Kim Henkel had a bit more of an auspicious debut than many: he was, after all, the guy who wrote the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Together, Henkel and director Tobe Hooper crafted one of the most influential, legendary and flat-out terrifying films in the history of cinema. Unfortunately for Henkel, this happened back in 1974. Fast forward 20 years and we witness Henkel’s first (and last, thankfully) directing credit: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 4: The New Generation. Yes, boys and girls, that’s the one that starred Matthew McConaughey and Renee Zellweger and no, it is not worth watching, even if you’re curious. At that point, it really did seem as if Henkel would disappear into the mystical land inhabited by all former filmmakers that no longer make films: academia.

Apparently, however, this particular story would have an additional chapter. A pair of budding filmmakers in Henkel’s scriptwriting class struck up a friendship with him, got him to produce one of their films and, in the ultimate coup de grace, had him write the script for another film. This script, a slightly revised one that Henkel had been shopping around as a TCM sequel for decades, would become Butcher Boys (aka Bone Boys). It would also become one of the single worst films I’ve seen in years.

Opening your crappy Z-grade cannibal film with a quote from Jonathan Swift’s A Modest Proposal is a dangerous proposition. By doing so, you are making the inherent claim that your film bears some slight resemblance to one of the single greatest pieces of satire in the history of literature. As such, I began my viewing experience by looking for deeper meaning in this meaningless drivel than was necessary (or expected, I’m sure): suffice to say that I realized how completely I’d been duped about twenty minutes in, by which time the film was pretty much unsalvageable.

The plot is actually pretty basic and should be familiar to anyone who’s seen Judgment Night: a group of stuck-up, obnoxious young people journey into the bad part of town for a birthday celebration in a restaurant (because the good part of town was booked solid, obviously), only to spend the rest of the film running from “the other,” in this case, a bunch of generic gang members with cannibal tendencies and vein-popping acting styles. The entire film consists of the group running away, getting caught and beaten up, escaping and running away again. Lather, rinse, repeat. The formula lasts all the way to the last 20 minutes or so when the movie goes ape-shit insane and becomes Hooper’s Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 crossbred with a truly awful Troma film. No shit: play any Troma fan the final 10 minutes of the film and see what they say.

At first, I found myself drawn in by the things in the film that kind of worked. Note that I didn’t say “worked”: nothing in this film really works, if I’m to be honest. Certain aspects, however, aren’t as initially obnoxious as the later become. The opening manages to capture a tiny bit of the eerie atmosphere from the beginning of the original TCM, thanks to some odd sound work. There’s a car chase towards the beginning that reminds of the similar chase in TCM 2, although it’s somewhat ruined by the absolutely ridiculous behavior of one of the shrieking idiots on the “good guy” team. The urban setting is interesting, for a time, and the film has no shortage of energy. There are also tons of cameos by original TCM cast members, which definitely serves to up the gimmick factor, although most of these cameos are of the “blink-and-you’ll-miss-it” variety. Nonetheless, it’s briefly fun to play a game of “Oh Hey: That Guy!,” but this could also be because it momentarily distracts one from the elephant in the room: Butcher Boys is completely, unrepentantly, stupid.

Some films, like Big Trouble in Little China, feel stupid on the outside but are actually quite intelligent. Butcher Boys, on the other hand, is just stupid. Not only are the kids stupid (they do everything from falling loudly while hiding to staying in the same place while stalked) but the bad guys are equally stupid. They fight with each other for no reason, speak as if delivering thirty separate monologues and overact to the point that, as mentioned above, the film becomes a Troma production. Worse yet, none of the bad guys even approach the realm of frightening, much less nightmare-inducing. Most of them look like gang member extras from Hobo with a Shotgun (a feeling I got more than once, which really made me wish I was actually watching Hobo…sigh…). Once one reaches the end, it’s become painfully obvious that the two directors (did it really take two people to direct this mess?) have little grasp on anything, including such things as decent shot selection and filmmaking basics. The script, obviously, does no one any favors: I’d love to know whether Henkel or the directing duo was responsible for the half-naked guy covered in Crisco (you know, so he slides down tunnels easier…duh!) that pops up at the end but does it really matter? I’m pretty sure that all three of them thought it was one of the coolest things they’ve ever seen and who the hell am I to ruin their party?

Ultimately, I can find very little to recommend in this and I watch (and enjoy) a lot of bad films. Butcher Boys biggest offense, larger even than all of the filmmaking deficiencies, is that it is a deeply lazy film. Henkel has, essentially, assembled a TCM Greatest Hits compilation, as it were, but with none of the atmosphere or finesse of the first two films (like Hellraiser, TCM is a franchise that is only as good as its first two films). We get a large, mute, man-monster, just like Leatherface. We get a dinner table scene, just like TCMs 1 and 2. We get a bug-eyed crazy guy breaking into the bad guys’ compound, just like TCM 2. We get a car chase and radio station interludes, just like TCM 2. In short, the only thing that we don’t get is a wholly original, interesting film.

I’ll always have a place in my heart for TCM and TCM 2: I don’t think anything could replace the enjoyment that I still receive from these movies. There’s a reason, however, why I’ve only seen the other films in the series once, the same reason that I will never watch Butcher Boys again:

They are flat-out terrible films.