First off, did you know that this movie’s wikipedia page has 160 cited references? If that doesn’t say “cult classic,” I don’t know what does.
While Psycho definitely brought the slasher genre to the forefront, Texas makes full use of its elements. Yes, we know there are going to be bloody deaths, but man, it does a great job of building tension. By the end of the film, you’re hoping for the last death, wanting the movie to be done and over already so you don’t have to suffer the tension any longer.
And then the finger scene happens. And you feel horrible about yourself for watching it.
But you still don’t get that last death. Instead, you get a happy(?) ending and the first of our “dancing chainsaw” fade outs.
Oh god, the tension is still there...
whimper
Corey says:
Oh boy, here we go.
One of the reasons that we started the House was to document the fact that, yes, we actually watched all of these films. Even if no one reads our blog, we have a testament to the fact that we took on this Sisyphean task. But the problem arises when we tackle one of the greats. What can we possibly add to the conversation? What can I say about Texas that hasn't already been beaten to death?
Then, I remember that the House is for my reactions to films. How do I feel, 15 or so years after the first time that I viewed Texas? For the most part, I'm just as horrified as I was the first time I saw the film.
The thing that gets me the most about Texas (and the thing that most people tend to forget, if you ask Salty) is that the horror of the movie is not Leatherface. The horror is that there's a whole family of psychopathic wackos. Ol’ Bubba is important, sure, but he’s more of a supporting role to a crazy hitchhiker, a domineering (but loving) older brother, and a grandpa that’s still one of the best slaughterers in the state. In fact, the film would still be great (though maybe not a legend) if Leatherface weren’t present at all. He works as less of a character and more of a catalyst, providing impetus to the horrors that are already being wrought. He’s the salt in a soup, the hops in a beer. The movie isn’t built around him, he is built around the movie.
One of the other things the film excels at is the plodding tension and horror, without much actual gore. All of the sights and sounds are ground in gritty realism, never glorifying but at the same time never pulling any punches. Much like the slaughterhouse background of the Sawyers, the film delivers atmosphere brutally and efficiently. When Sally Hardesty wakes up for dinner, it’s terrifying to her, not because of the freaky bones on the table or the dead (?) man sitting at the table with her, but because of how we got to this moment. We’ve been hung on hooks. We’ve had to run. We know we’re the only one left. And now, just a quiet meal, where we’re the guest of honor. It’s enough to break anyone.
On a final note, Franklin is an amazing character. For one, he’s in a wheelchair, and the film doesn’t make a huge deal out of it. Just another one of those touches that, hey, this is real. Also, he’s a dick. And I love him for it. Every time I see that scene where he’s giving the raspberry, I crack up. But then I remember what’s going to happen to him, and it makes me a little melancholy.
Salty says:
Horror movies steal from one another constantly. It’s a fact. The producer of Friday the 13th admits he told his screenwriter “Write me a movie like Halloween”. All movies do it, but with horror it’s like a riot: everyone is stealing everything they can and no one cares who took what except the overtly pretentious spectator. I am sort of fickle when it comes to the thievery. I had to get rid of my copy of High Tension after I saw Intensity - not that Intensity was that good (fuck you Dean Koontz), but it’s like finding out your favorite porn star has gotten AIDS. It ruins the magic, you know? This is also why I can’t love Night of the Demons, when I watch it, all I can think is I could be watching Evil Dead. But I like Slither and Night of the Creeps, and I love David Cronenberg and he just makes one movie over and over (it’s a good movie). The issue is complicated.
Although dozens, if not hundreds, of movies have shamelessly “borrowed” from The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (especially House of 1,000 Corpses), I have yet to see anything made prior to it that bears a remote resemblance. It’s the first movie made for mass audiences that feels like you shouldn’t be watching it, because not only is it violent, it’s chaotic, so you’re never really sure what you’re going to see or if you want to see it. The grainy quality of the film helps, so does the hydrocephalic gas station attendant and the self-mutilating hitchhiker. Also the chainsaw – let’s face it, no one would want to go see The Texas Massacre, that just sounds too religious and depressing.
The film is a Rubicon and rite of passage. Every horror fan has a “first time I saw The Texas Chainsaw Massacre” story, same as parrot-heads have a “first time I heard Margaritaville” story (and consequently a “first time I realized that I was an 50-year-old drunk with too much money” story). At fourteen my friend and I raided his miscellanea-riddled attic in the midst of a caffeine-fueled all-nighter. Our plunder was a pillowcase that we were certain was crusted with dried blood, a couple of Slayer tapes and coverless VHS copy of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. I crashed about a third of the way in, but I kept waking to screams and chainsaw sounds, watching grizzly pandemonium and then slipping back into unconsciousness. I remember waking up at dawn as the end of the film played and wondering how it had come to this blood-drenched girl literally raving mad as she fled from the dancing Leatherface into the too-orange dawn and not being sure if I had seen that fat man blow raspberries at his peers or just dreamed it. I was sure that I would be watching the film again.
The movie is just off-kilter enough to make sure that you, the viewer, are interested without ever reaching a disenchanting moment of absurdity. It is, after all, based on highly exaggerated fact, and the reality is driven home by details. The setting, the characters, the plot, the unique but believable look and feel of the movie all amalgamate into this wild awful thing, but the details are what make it just right. The jittery muscle spasms you see after blunt force trauma to the head are a real phenomenon. The jerk of being dropped onto a meat hook yips with reality. Those bones you are seeing are real human bones (ordered from India according to the commentary; one wonders how much director Tobe Hooper worked on Return of the Living Dead before leaving the project). The movie is a complex recipe but all the ingredients are on full display, there are just too many to get mix correct again. So, it’s forgivable that other filmmakers have been unsuccessfully trying to emulate it ever since; it’s too hard not to (but you can at least try not to Rob. Come on man, seriously).
| Maire | Corey | Salty |
|---|---|---|
| ☆☆ | ☆☆☆ | ☆☆ |
No comments:
Post a Comment