THE TEXAS CHAIN SAW MASSACRE (1974)

There are a lot of "classic" horror movies I haven't seen. In most cases, that's not for any special reason. For whatever reason, seeing them has just never been enough of a priority for me to actually bother. The Texas Chain Saw Massacre is not one of those cases. I've never been able to regard it with indifference. As long as I've been aware of it, it's loomed ominously, even oppressively for me, on the horror landscape.

The title alone is masterfully intimidating, as unforgettably elegant in its trochaic meter as it is savagely blunt in its promise of, well, a Texas chainsaw massacre (no other words quite say it like those three or four).

Then there's the cannibalism angle.

Then, one of the things that draws me to my favorite subgenres of horror is the sheer visual appeal they tend to exhibit. Gothic horror strives for the painterly and picturesque. The giallo aims for a slick European stylishness. I've recently mentioned how much I dig the big-budget glossiness of futuristic zombie flicks like Resident Evil: Apocalypse and Land of the Dead. Nothing I've ever seen in connection with TCSM promises anything of the sort. Quite the opposite, in fact. In its pseudo-documentary approach, it leans heavily on the notion that visual appeal = artifice and lack thereof = authenticity. The trailers, posters, etc. accordingly promise a surface that crosses the line into outright ugliness.

Then, there's TCSM's reputation as the crowning, founding classic of a whole approach to horror that's always seemed so diametrically opposed to what I want from horror that I've pretty much shunned anything that smacks of it--a thoroughly naturalistic approach aimed at evoking a kind of fear that's entirely aversive (though my thinking on these matters has evolved in the meantime, here's a pretty straightforward statement of my views on naturalistic/aversive horror; what I want, by contrast, is supernatural horror where the fear is more evocative of fascination and allure).

Finally, the aptly-named and emblematic figure of Leatherface just sums up all of the above. The mere sight of his image has always been enough to make me recoil in distaste.

For all these reasons, no matter how stubbornly and obtrusively TCSM has remained in my peripheral vision, I've done my best to look away from it. Imagine my trepidation when I opened a package from my pal David Zuzelo (of Tomb It May Concern) to see the dvd staring up at me. Nevertheless, I recently went on a personal-boundary-busting tour through the "torture porn" franchises of Hostel and Saw, and figured while I was at it, I might as well finally confront the one and only original TCSM too.

(by David Hartman)

And so . . . ?

A lot of people assured me it wouldn't be as revoltingly gruesome as I probably imagined, and indeed it turned out not to be. My poor weak stomach aside, I'm not 100% sure that's necessarily for the better. Not to say it doesn't work as is--it does. But if more blood and gore had been ladled in with the same deft touch evident in every other aspect of the movie, I think it could have been equally effective, if not more so. More blood certainly couldn't have hurt in the attack on Franklin, for example, as long as it didn't veer overboard into campy excess. If I understand correctly, Hooper didn't soft-pedal the gore out of some precious Val Lewtony philosophy of aesthetic restraint, but for the understandably commercial reason of trying to avoid an R rating or worse (in vain, it turned out).

My expectation about the surface ugliness was pretty well dead-on, but it served a larger purpose than I thought it would. It wasn't just a conceit to rack up points for "authenticity." The daytime color palette of sun-bleached dust carries over into an unsettlingly unfamiliar experience of night, especially as the new dawn promises no safety whatsoever for anyone. What's more, when the remoteness of the ersatz documentary style gives way to a hotter, deeper immersion in Sally's point of view, the subjective ugliness of her full-on, all-night victim experience packs the punch of a truth that's been objectively established.

The first appearance of Leatherface is worth the price of admission alone. It has to be one of the most effective subversions of a horror trope I've ever seen, but it isn't so just for the sake of film-school cutesiness--it really serves a purpose. When he steps into the doorway, it so obviously would be a jump-scare in any other horror flick that when the camera keeps its distance, doesn't cut immediately to closeup, and refuses to manipulate the audience that way, it just rings extraordinarily true. I don't think anybody fails to feel on a gut-level what a jump-scare it has to be for Kirk, especially since he's literally off-balance, having tripped on the ramp; it's just that we feel it the way we would if we were on-the-spot witnesses, standing right where the camera is planted. The brutality with which Leatherface reduces Kirk to a carcass of meat fit for the kitchen (only a few steps away!) is swift but unhurried, and inhumanly matter-of-fact. If Kirk were truly livestock, it would almost be humane.

Then there's this, from Sean:

And yes, 4 out of the 5 kids are attractive, the girls in particular--but even what appear to be T&A shots end up being little more than set-ups for later horrors. Take, for example, the memorable low-angle tracking shot that follows Pam as she walks toward Leatherface’s house: At first we think this is just an excuse to gaze longingly at the seeming miles of skin on display outside the almost nonexistent confines of her skimpy clothing, but we learn within minutes that this was really intended to impress upon us the fact that her shirt has no back. (How we learn this I’ll just leave to the movie, but it may be the most shocking scene in a film that’s full of them.)

Then there's this, from Stacie:

[I]t's precisely the smallness of the first film that makes it so terrifying. The clan doesn't live in fucking Stately Leatherface Manor, they live in a simple, small, ordinary white farmhouse. The fact that such an innocuous little house can hold such horrors within chills me to the core, because isn't that always the way it is?

Reading that, I'm reminded of the little house in the beginning of Josh Simmons's horror graphic novel House, about which I wondered, "what could go so horribly wrong in there"?

As much as I appreciated and enjoyed and was even horrified by TCSM, there's a certain tragic sense in which I can't experience the full seismic effect it has on so many people who watch it at a more formative point of their journey into horror. And that does seem to be when most people watch it, and I've simply missed that boat. I can only imagine what it would be like to have seen this at a time (say, twentysome years ago at an AMC Midnight Movie Express) when it could have made a more profound impression on me, and really influenced the trajectory of my taste; I honestly can't imagine what it would take for a movie to affect me like that now--to upend my deepest thoughts and feelings about horror. Even so, I can recognize this as a genuine rite-of-passage movie, both as a harrowing experience in itself and as the kind of vision induced by such experiences. And I have Dave to thank for pushing me out of my comfort zone to experience it, better late than never!

PAPERBACK FANATIC 11

Back when I cited Justin Marriott's negative reviews of a number of New English Library paperbacks, by way of explaining my own disappointment and disenchantment with "groovy horror" paperbacks in general, he responded in an e-mail, "I feel a bit like someone named in divorce papers as the 'third party.'" Well, this latest issue of Paperback Fanatic goes a long way toward effecting a reconciliation between me and my to-read stacks. When cover images and writeups send me drooling to abebooks and ebay to see whether certain items are available and at what prices, maybe it's time to give these paperbacks a chance again. I'll have more to say about that later, but for now suffice it to say, Justin has once again delivered another top-notch issue jam-packed with entertaining and informative articles and interviews. If you love vintage genre fiction and cover art, this magazine is an absolute must-read. The first nine issues are sold out, so don't wait any longer to jump on this bandwagon!

CHANNEL EVIL #1 by Alan Grant and Shane Oakley

In the course of interviewing a supposed spiritualist/medium, a sleazy, cynical television talk-show host mockingly follows her instructions for channeling a spirit, and becomes possessed by something really nasty. Such a simple story puts the burden of delivering a worthwhile experience on the artist--but also gives him lots of room to swing for the fences with spreads and splashes and jazzy compositions.

I'd say Shane Oakley certainly rises to the occasion. He brings a distinctive style to his art, which means it will be more a matter of taste than something more strictly realistic, but you should be able to tell from the sample scans here whether it's your cup of tea. It's definitely mine!

I first became acquainted with Oakley's work via sketches on his blog, and having read a few of his comics, I'm inclined to say his sketches are where his strengths shine brightest. With crisp economy, he evokes a world at the intersection of classic horror, film noir, and (in the apt words of fellow artist Paul Harrison-Davies) "stylish fashion type illustration." He really should be drawing stories that nail this sweet spot. I'd be very interested to see what he'd come up with as the sole creator of an original graphic novel, or if he at least worked closely with a writer to weave the narrative strands suggested by some of his sketches together into a solid, engaging story. Channel Evil actually comes pretty close. At least it lets him go to his strengths, if it doesn't quite play to them directly. Of the comics I've read by him, it does appear to be the best fit so far, and he certainly seems to warm to the material. Here's looking forward to the second issue, and whatever else comes next! Recommended!

BLACKEST NIGHT: The Great Darkness Saga, Pt. 7

• Part 1
• Part 2
• Part 3
• Part 4
• Part 5
• Part 6
  
• related

As an update to Part 6, Sean Collins makes an insightful observation in response to my remarks there.

Legion of Super-Heroes and Green Lantern both have space-operatics and an intergalactic sensibility built right into their premises, which means they offer the kind of vast canvas that's especially fitting for grand superhero sagas and crossovers. If an event is going to be universe-wide, why not make it UNIVERSE-WIDE? I've never been a regular reader of either title, but one of the things I enjoyed most about the Great Darkness Saga was its sense of cosmic sweep, and that's one of the things I'm most enjoying and most looking forward to in Blackest Night. It's interesting to look back at how GDS achieves this effect, and compare that with how BN aims to achieve it.

The simplest, most direct way GDS establishes this whole sensibility is by showing superheroes in action in outer-space, complete with all the accouterments of spaceships, twinkling stars, and planetary vistas, as we see in the splash-pages above and immediately below:

We also get more modest scenes, of Legionnaires traveling through space:

What amazes me, though, when I stop to examine it, is how much heavy-lifting is done by mere slivers of establishing-shot panels scrunched up at the very top or left of a page, to signal the transition to this or that non-Earth planet:






What's funny about these is that they aren't "establishing shots" in the ordinary sense of showing a recognizable feature of a location, like Big Ben for London or the New York skyline. They show nothing distinctive about these planets. These are really just suggestive glimpses of generic planets in space--but that's the point. Somehow, they add up in the mind to a sense of stuff happening on lots of different planets spread all throughout the universe. When laid bare like this, it seems like an awfully crude device, and yet it does the trick for me.

Okay, so what about Blackest Night? So far, not much in the way of straight-up outer-space action--just a few instances of Green Lanterns encountering swarms of Black Lantern rings:


The first panel on the page above notwithstanding, BN has made relatively little use up to now of the simple device of those planet-in-space establishing-shots that prove so effective in GDS. Here it uses a more traditional establishing-shot, signaling a transition to the planet Mars by showing a landscape that looks tolerably recognizable as such, complete with the landmark of Martian Manhunter's tomb:

Green Lantern #45 is an interesting case, since it's basically the first issue in the event devoted entirely to the War of Light, and jumps all over the place depicting that conflict as it plays out on various planets. It offers almost no establishing-shots of any kind, simply cutting from an action shot on one planet straight to an action shot on another, and relying on the color-coding of the different Lantern corps and their homeworlds to evoke a sense that these are in fact different planets:

How well does this work? Those teeny panels of planets in space may be cliche, but they very efficiently suggest a lot that's hard to get across as effectively any other way--not only or even mainly information, but the feel of a transition through outer-space. I miss them here. Would they slow the action that much? I kinda doubt it. Anyway, the one time in this issue we do get such a panel, it's used to very nice effect to show Black Lantern rings hovering over a planet as an indication of the state of the conflict below:

Note the composition here, of a planetary shot immediately juxtaposed with a detail of action on the planet. In GL 44, three of these combine in a two-page spread, to suggest events unfolding simultaneously on three different planets:

And we get a similar montage-spread back in BN #1:

It's a great idea, but for some reason the horizontal progression of these layouts isn't working for me. I'd speculate that Mahnke's triptych above would probably have more impact vertically, with one planetary-shot/action-detail combo stacked atop another, atop another, even on one page rather than such an ambitious spread.

Blackest Night does introduce one recurring visual trope that I think does a fantastic job of conveying the intergalactic scale of events--the scrying vision (I'm not sure what else to call it) in which Scar and the other Guardians observe the war of light throughout the universe:



So far, this is what gives me the strongest sense of the cosmic sweep of this event.

What we see, ultimately, is that Great Darkness Saga used very simple devices to get the job done of evoking a sense of interplanetary and intergalactic scale; as we might expect, Blackest Night tries to be fancier and flashier toward the same end, sometimes to better effect--but not always. Blackest Night is still just warming up, though, and I look forward to seeing what it shows us when it really hits its stride.