Well, this could be safe for work, if you work at home. But, since I'm going deep into The Texas Chain Saw Massacre (1974, not 2003) here, you might want to read this entry when you clock out.
More after the cut--
Tobe Hooper is something of a mad scientist. For the last three or so decades, he made the one film that winds up topping many "best of" horror lists. It is a film that is known for being excruciatingly violent, but if one pays attention to the film, one will notice that very little violence is ever on camera. It's a suspense film, in technique, and the definitive Grindhouse picture of the 70's. Hitchcock would be proud. Appalled, a bit, maybe, but proud nonetheless. His influence shines brightly here.
But, make no mistake about it, this is a film about small moments. It is languid, a tad lyrical in its execution, and no more than a series of terrifying moments. Moments that amount to nothing in the end, but that's almost the point - to examine the pointless, among the cruel and unusual. Deep down, it's a film about acceptance and rage, if looked at from Leatherface's (or Bubba Sawyer's) point of view. Oddly enough, it's also a film about vegetarianism, though probably more of an anti-cannibalism platform sort of thing. But, on the surface, it's a film about escape, in all forms.
There is, however, one key moment that stands above most others when it comes to why I love film as much as I do. My mother would have killed me, but I saw this film at a pretty young age back when HBO ran horror movies in the middle of the night. I was probably ten or eleven. It isn't the hitchhiker in the beginning - who burns up the screen and his scenery with a completely ridiculous and ultimately creepy piece of work, nor is it the dance Leatherface does with his chainsaw at the end of the film after losing his final victim. No, it's a small moment that involves a slamming door, and it signifies the beginning of a ride none who see the film will ever forget. It's a perfect moment, and there aren't that many of those. Tobe Hooper should have been Oscar nominated that year. Sadly, Best Director in Retrospect isn't a category.
Let me paint a picture -
A group of teenagers are on their way to make sure their friend's grandparent's graves haven't been tampered with, after hearing news of several grave-robberies in the area. Their car breaks down in the middle of backwoods Texas, and they stop into a small town house to ask for help. One disappears, and our descent into Hell is begun.
A man in a mask made of human flesh (either from fresh graves or from fresh victims) appears behind him, wielding a sledge-hammer. The young boy is unaware. The hammer comes down against the back of his head, and the boy drops, and begins to seizure. After a moment, he dies, and is angrily dragged into a cellar and literally kicked off screen. With a howl of pain (more emotional than physical), Leatherface slams the cellar door - a giant sliding sheet of metal - behind him. And we sit, for a brief moment. It is then that the film truly starts, and we witness a macabre carnival like only the 70's could deliver.
Conversely, the 2003 remake takes that moment a step further. The door scene is executed almost shot for shot, but after that, there's a moment which isn't really played up in the original. Where the remake truly starts, is after that scene, where Leatherface opens the door and cranks his chainsaw, using some of the best sound mixing I have ever heard. Brilliant. But, not what we're talking about.
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| now you know why. |
More after the cut--
Tobe Hooper is something of a mad scientist. For the last three or so decades, he made the one film that winds up topping many "best of" horror lists. It is a film that is known for being excruciatingly violent, but if one pays attention to the film, one will notice that very little violence is ever on camera. It's a suspense film, in technique, and the definitive Grindhouse picture of the 70's. Hitchcock would be proud. Appalled, a bit, maybe, but proud nonetheless. His influence shines brightly here.
But, make no mistake about it, this is a film about small moments. It is languid, a tad lyrical in its execution, and no more than a series of terrifying moments. Moments that amount to nothing in the end, but that's almost the point - to examine the pointless, among the cruel and unusual. Deep down, it's a film about acceptance and rage, if looked at from Leatherface's (or Bubba Sawyer's) point of view. Oddly enough, it's also a film about vegetarianism, though probably more of an anti-cannibalism platform sort of thing. But, on the surface, it's a film about escape, in all forms.
There is, however, one key moment that stands above most others when it comes to why I love film as much as I do. My mother would have killed me, but I saw this film at a pretty young age back when HBO ran horror movies in the middle of the night. I was probably ten or eleven. It isn't the hitchhiker in the beginning - who burns up the screen and his scenery with a completely ridiculous and ultimately creepy piece of work, nor is it the dance Leatherface does with his chainsaw at the end of the film after losing his final victim. No, it's a small moment that involves a slamming door, and it signifies the beginning of a ride none who see the film will ever forget. It's a perfect moment, and there aren't that many of those. Tobe Hooper should have been Oscar nominated that year. Sadly, Best Director in Retrospect isn't a category.
Let me paint a picture -
A group of teenagers are on their way to make sure their friend's grandparent's graves haven't been tampered with, after hearing news of several grave-robberies in the area. Their car breaks down in the middle of backwoods Texas, and they stop into a small town house to ask for help. One disappears, and our descent into Hell is begun.
A man in a mask made of human flesh (either from fresh graves or from fresh victims) appears behind him, wielding a sledge-hammer. The young boy is unaware. The hammer comes down against the back of his head, and the boy drops, and begins to seizure. After a moment, he dies, and is angrily dragged into a cellar and literally kicked off screen. With a howl of pain (more emotional than physical), Leatherface slams the cellar door - a giant sliding sheet of metal - behind him. And we sit, for a brief moment. It is then that the film truly starts, and we witness a macabre carnival like only the 70's could deliver.
Conversely, the 2003 remake takes that moment a step further. The door scene is executed almost shot for shot, but after that, there's a moment which isn't really played up in the original. Where the remake truly starts, is after that scene, where Leatherface opens the door and cranks his chainsaw, using some of the best sound mixing I have ever heard. Brilliant. But, not what we're talking about.
Above is a compilation of some of the most shattering moments in the film. The door scene is first, and the dance is last, appropriately.
The beauty of it all speaks for itself. The film stands as proof that violence need not be stylized to be poetic, and that there is order even in the most chaotic happenings. I can't say it enough, it's a damn masterpiece. And it has quality and heart that will never be duplicated.
