As I stated in my Top 10 Films list, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre is essentially a perfect horror film. I've discussed my lifelong relationship with the film here before, so instead of delving further into my fanatic obsession with it, I'd like to explore my feelings toward the other films in the franchise. I've been inspired to compose this post not only by my ongoing desire to defend the remake and its prequel, but because the poster for the upcoming Texas Chainsaw Massacre 3D dropped today and it looks phenomenal. Not a lot can be gleaned from a poster, but I'd say from the looks of this one, they've got the tone and aesthetics covered nicely. Stunning. I love it!
I own Hooper's 1974 masterwork on bluray and DVD, both being the Dark Sky edition. I actually prefer the DVD for its steel case and lower resolution. I'm not saying the bluray doesn't look intermittently gorgeous, it's just that the Hitchhiker's birthmark looks like hastily applied lipstick thanks to the increased clarity of hi-def and it's always irked me. In any case, I think the artwork is atrocious on both. I can't understand for the life of me why they couldn't commission the classic poster, which possesses enough potent promotional imagery for 10 films. If it's some sort of convoluted rights issue, I wish they would have gone with a more appealing image than the one they chose. Regardless, it's a well appointed set with excellent features and a lovely AV reproduction of the seminal film.
Reviled upon its release, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 (1986) has grown in estimation amongst some sectors of genre fandom, yet remains shrouded in shame in others. I am of the opinion that it is one of the most brilliantly conceived and realized sequels in the annals of horror. Hooper cleverly subverts expectations by dolloping on a thick molasses of black humor (overtly this time as opposed to the originals subtle handling of it) while relinquishing none of the visceral intensity. In keeping with the over the top tone and barbed satire of Reagan-era predatory capitalism, Hooper wisely amps up the onscreen gore to grand guignol levels, making a sadistic mockery of the rubber reality slasher films so predominant in the 80's. This is a film that pats you on the back with disingenuous backwoods charm while rubbing your nose in the filth, excess and violence of the time period it so ably apes.
The power of suggestion and deft manipulation were the tools Hooper employed to make TCM so effective and memorable. It would have been folly to attempt to bottle that lightning twice. Instead, along with key collaborator L.M. Kit Carson, Hooper conjured forth the rancid demon of the American South. Drunk on Manifest Destiny and crazed by the heat, TCM2 is a patriarchal meltdown of aggressive, tasteless consumerism. This isn't some liberal manifesto raging against the machinations of corporate America. TCM2 understands the greed impulse so prevalent in American commerce to be derived from something ancient unearthed by prosperous white businessmen. As Burroughs wrote, "America is not a young land, it is old and dirty and evil. Before the settlers, before the Indians, the evil is there, waiting." These musings might seem like ponderous twaddle, but consider the hilarious, hypnotic performance of Jim Seidow, essaying the greasy huckster Drayton Sawyer along the lines of an inbred, cannibalistic Elmer Gantry. He's all cliches and false sentimentality, espousing the "American way" and a perverse reverence for his forbears, yet is really nothing more than a dead eyed shark. A bottomless pit that can never be sated, no matter the amount of success, money or meat tossed into it.
It's unfortunate the film was so misunderstood in its own time. New Line took over the property, dropped the auteur approach and hired predictable hack Jeff Burr as the nominal director. Hoping to mine some of the same slasher gold that Jason, Freddy, Michael and Pinhead had been swimming in the previous decade, they turned out a misguided, decidedly sub-par product. Never mind the fact them thar hills were barren of all spoils by that late stage in the game, the rushed, pedestrian nonsense that was Leatherface: Texas Chainsaw Massacre 3 (1990) wasn't going to ignite any fan fervor anyway. The film has some supporters who point to the appearances of genre stalwart Ken Foree and a young Viggo Mortenson. They endlessly lament the troubled production and injury inflicted by the censors scissors.
These excuses don't wash for me. Everything about this film is wrong. It's not even filmed in Texas for chrissakes! It's filmed in the Hollywood hills and looks like it. The terrifying cannibal family home appears to be a swept out, well maintained frontier domicile from a B-level, 1950's oater. The film has no grime, no intensity and most tellingly, no insanity. The key component to a Texas Chainsaw Massacre film is manic dementia and explosive mental illness. The tone should be as a large pot on the stove, bubbling up and foaming over. Sizzling, unpredictable and messy as hell. TCM3 is a rote, generic walk down slasher lane. No subtext+no volatility+no heart=no love from this 'Saw aficionado.
Texas Chainsaw Massacre 4: The Next Generation gets the intensity and the insanity, but nothing else. It's a meandering collection of aggravating vignettes almost saved by Matthew McConaughey's boisterous lead work, but ultimately collapses into a heap of missed opportunities and shrill screaming. The worst offender in this amusing travesty is the quizzical portrayal of Leatherface as a screeching, effeminate drag queen. This could have been an interesting avenue to explore the submissive matriarch role Leatherface's abusive siblings often put him in throughout the series, but is instead employed here solely for shock value. Grating, excruciatingly irritating shock value, which essentially sums up the film as well.
Which brings us to the remake of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (2003), an impossibly beautiful film with wonderful performances across the board and some of the most impressive locations and production design you're likely to see in a horror movie. When I first saw it, I was outraged at the lack of cannibalism, the confusing family structure and the seeming lack of subtext. The more I've watched it over the years, I've come to forgive it for what it isn't and adore it for what it is. Namely, an impeccably crafted, dead serious genre picture and faithful entry into the Texas Chainsaw Massacre canon.
R. Lee Ermey is an invaluable presence here and the scene with him forcing Jonathan Tucker to reenact a suicide in the back of a van is one of the more suspenseful and better lit in the last decade of horror films. The intensity and artistry of the original is definitely at play in this respectful remake. The film is an ever escalating and exponentially deepening nightmare, perfectly pieced together and expertly paced. Despite some misguided attempts at formulating an origin story, Leatherface is presented beautifully here. Massive, threatening, sickening and unknowable. The mask is simply marvelous in this film, as is Bryniarski's immense physicality in the role, but more on that next.
Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning (2006) is generally regarded as terrible by most genre fans, but for me, it was love at first sight. The aesthetic of this film is simply remarkable, from the dilapidated, fetid slaughterhouse to the cavernous Hewitt mansion, this film looks exactly how a modern Chainsaw movie should. It's oppressive and grotesque and gorgeous all at once. The prequel conceit lends credence and believability to the remake as well, crafting an actual mythos for this generations take on the material, giving it heft and substance in a manner a lazy reboot could not. This picture establishes the world solidly, retroactively making the 2003 remake a better film as a result.
Ermey is a hoot again as Hoyt, but this is Bryniarski's show all the way. He is given front and center stage, which the hulking, Journeyman actor utilizes to imbue the character with enormous pathos and considerable dread. The film witnesses a terrible becoming with Leatherface. It's not about the kids he stalks, mutilates and dispatches, it's about his descent into ultimate madness and the creature he metamorphoses into upon deciding to don the faces of his victims. It's a pivotal moment and Liebesman understands that: shooting, editing and scoring it (with Jablonsky's terrific work) for maximum iconic impact.
It seems a cliche to remark how much Bryniarski does with only his eyes and body language, but it couldn't be more true in this case. He inhabits the role fully, making the pitiable human painfully evident. A depressed mess sullenly lurking behind the gargantuan facade of the monster. There's a moment where he comes back into the living room after putting his first human face on that I find incredibly powerful. His family is somewhat taken aback (sans Ermey, of course) and he's shy about it, but his decision has been made, and with that, he has become Leatherface. Bryniarski conveys so much subtle nuance in this small scene. I know this is blasphemy, but Bryniarski is far and away my favorite Leatherface and this film contains my most beloved incarnation of the character.
The Texas Chainsaw Massacre franchise is my favorite in the horror genre. It has a simplicity and purity that allows for endless iterations and potential permutations. It's nothing more than Hansel and Gretel, the bloody chamber archetype. It's the fear of being consumed, of being helpless and tortured. It's the fear of humanity being devoured by inescapable darkness. It's the horror of falling prey to a monstrous, animalistic regression. Leatherface is the greatest of all the masked killers for the same reason Batman is the greatest of the cinematic superhero's. Because he's human. We can relate to him. He has weaknesses and insecurities, but also horrifying strength. I will always be fascinated by this character and series, eagerly awaiting future entries.
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