Chapter Eight: Elm Street Superstar (or…“Sweet dreams are made of this...”)

Before it spawned a parade of sequels, the ORIGINAL Nightmare on Elm Street was actually a pretty scary movie. As usual...Hollywood would come in and ruin it...but for one shining moment...HORROR was back!

In 1984, during the glut of slasher films, Wes Craven made strides to bring back the monster.  Nightmare on Elm Street would unleash a monster-human hybrid.  In life, Freddy Krueger was a normal, albeit twisted, man.  The “bastard son of a thousand maniacs" was an accused pedophile and child-murderer.  The community took justice into its own hands and burned Fred Krueger to death.

A Nightmare on Elm Street introduced a razor-fingered fiend who killed his victims in their dreams.  The sons and daughters of those who murdered him would be his victims of choice.  This insomnia inducing villain became a monster icon almost overnight.

Freddy qualified as a bona fide monster to horror purists.  While it was true that he had once been human, he certainly could not fit that category any longer.  Still, Craven tapped the slasher bag-of-tricks with an ending that left Freddy’s demise in doubt.

The franchise would follow the slasher trend of annual sequels. 1987 would be the turning point.  A Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors would give Freddy “rock star” status. The character’s place in pop culture would solidify.  A new gimmick would strip Freddy of Monster status.  Freddy Krueger would spout punchy one-liners and witty remarks as he gleefully dispatched the seemingly endless descendants of the residents of Elm Street.

What had begun with such promise for the horror purist was now a farce. The possibility of a true monster enriching the pantheon was diminished to a figure more suited to open-mike night at the local comedy club.  Still, a generation of people had been infected by “subject zero” and were just now finding their voice.  A pale horse was approaching, and Death was riding on its back.

Chapter Seven: The Unlucky Number (or...“Anything you can do, I can do better.”)

Still time for those of you who have not yet voted over at Booked. I would love for "Faces on the Milk Carton" to win just BECAUSE it is not my normal zombie stuff. Also, "That Ghoul Ava" gets a shot as a nominee! (And they have me as "Todd Brown" in the author section, so don't be confused.)

https://www.facebook.com/BookedPodcast/app_127709503932081

How many of us remember when we saw Kevin Bacon take an arrow through the throat? Show of hands. Okay class, but how many of you knew that the person who pulled of that brilliant special effect is none other than Tom Savini, the Dawn of the Dead effects wizard (and evil motorcycle gang member)?

Friday the 13^th would launch its first salvo on May 9, 1980.  There could be no denying that it was pinning its hopes on the success of Halloween.  Like any decent imitator, it would not only honor its predecessor, but add its own mark.

While this franchise has an identifiable and recurrent antagonist, it began differently.  Friday the 13^th introduced the ultimate deranged soccer mom: Mrs. Voorhees.  This non-descript, middle-aged woman was out to avenge the death of her son Jason.  Her anguishes centered on the fact that her son drowned in Crystal Lake due to the negligence of the camp counselors.

Friday the 13^th”s “greatest” contribution to the genre would-be the double ending.  Until this franchise, a film’s particular “nasty” could not be considered dispatched until the sun had risen and mellow orchestral music played in the background of the soundtrack.  After Mrs. Voorhees” nasty decapitations, the vestal heroine pushes out onto the serene waters of Crystal Lake.  The dawn comes, police arrive...cue music.  Then, in a cinematic heart stopping milestone, a young Jason erupts from the water and grabs said heroine.  (Authors note: some may argue that Stephen King’s Carrie did the same, but it was a dream sequence, and therefore, not the same.)

Jason would make his return in the sequels.  He would be imbued with the same indestructibility as Michael Meyers.  However, Jason would not establish trademarked hockey mask identity until the fourth installment of the franchise.  But, his body count would be much greater.

Jason would quickly surpass Michael in sequels as well as “creative” violence.  It was no longer okay to just impale or slit a throat. The promiscuous teen population was now in dire jeopardy.

So called horror films were leaving behind the monsters.  Instead, it was now the creepy kid that everyone teased...Columbine High School..., the reclusive outcast at the end of the street...Wesley Allen Dodd; the quiet family man next door...the Green River Killer.  Monsters were being killed off by something far more lethal than silver, or sunlight, or wooden stakes.  They were being dethroned by one of nature’s most vile denizen’s:  man.

Behind it all, something lurked in the shadows.  Its infectious bite was incurable and spreading.  Much like its Caribbean namesake, it was being ignored by the general population...and it was growing stronger.

Chapter Six: Michael Meyers and the Moral Majority (or...“Good boys don’t, but I do.”)

Before I get to today's installment, a note in case you missed it...The guys at Booked Podcast are having a bit of an awards contest and since I have been a guest as well as have a story in the Booked Anthology (Faces on the Milk Carton), I am eligible to be voted for! So, all my friends and those of you who really dig my writing, here is a chance to get my name in the mix and even get my story to win out against some very talented competition. Just follow the link and get your vote in.

https://www.facebook.com/BookedPodcast/app_127709503932081

We now saw that man was far more terrifying when left to his own devices...and the movies would change to reflect that...but only with the right music.

Preface:  While all the blame for horror’s metamorphosis to the slasher film cannot be placed on one franchise, there are two films that shoulder a majority of the blame:  Halloween and Friday the 13^th.  Both must be examined individually to expose their culpability.

The seventies were a rough decade for the United States.  With a police action in Vietnam, Watergate, the campus shootings at Kent State, and the sanctity of the Olympics violated by masked killers dominating the evening news, turmoil was abundant.  In 1978, Halloween would launch not only its individual franchise, but it would propel the slasher-film to the forefront under the guise of horror.  A six-year-old boy named Michael Meyers would become so traumatized by catching his sister having sex that he would become a deranged killer.

Horror has never shied away from getting up on the soap box.  However, a monster of inhuman origin was always used as a symbol. Additionally, every monster had a weakness...something that would allow mankind to triumph. This was all about to change.

Halloween would establish a foundation for the slasher formula.  Naughty teens seeking to explore their sexuality would pay with their lives.  The “good” kid, usually a girl – giving birth to the term “scream queen” – would survive the wave of violence.  The film would end with the often questionable “death” of the antagonist, but only after multiple false deaths.

The featured boogeyman of these new films proved indestructible.  This was despite the premise that they were human. In the first film alone, Michael Meyers is stabbed in the throat with a knitting needle, slashed with a butcher’s knife, shot, and stumbles through a set of glass doors to plummet head first from a second-story balcony.  All of this happens within about twenty minutes.  Yet he simply vanishes in order to set up the sequel.

Halloween would take cues from the Exorcist and Jaws by commissioning a catchy theme to identify itself.  Still, having a man wear a non-descript white mask does not constitute creating a monster.  This film was merely about a killer...a one-man Manson family.  It was to be the shape of things to come.

Chapter Five: Texas-Sized Terror (or...“Boy...you in a mess a trouble.”)

Today is dedicated to one of my favorite Texans...Catie Rhodes. If you have not read her stuff, I suggest popping over to her Amazon Author's Page and grabbing her Peri Jean series. The second full length is coming soon, so get started now! (See, I even provided you with the inks...just click and check her out, I'll still be here when you get back.)

As Jaws raked it in at the box office, a separate movement was afoot in the genre. A character known as Leatherface had been introduced months earlier in The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. This behemoth was not some scientifically created construct or experiment gone awry. Instead, he was merely the mentally stunted offspring of a group of Texas inbreds with a very nasty hobby.

The definition of a monster, according to The American Heritage dictionary (2001, p. 549) is “1. A creature having a strange or frightening appearance... 4. One who inspires horror or disgust.” Technically, Leatherface can be categorized as such.  However, in the horror genre, I must interject a personal set of additional qualifiers:  it must be otherworldly or inhuman.  Having never been accused of political correctness, I found something very unsavory about the portrayal of Leatherface.

A human being can certainly act monstrous.  He or she can also act like a dog, a penguin, or an idiot.  Mankind’s ability to commit atrocities can never be called into question.  Still, in horror, a monster is not the person behind you in line for a latte.  Certainly it is not a mentally handicapped individual, nor is it somebody born with disfiguring birth defects.

The Texas Chainsaw Massacre must be acknowledged as one of the catalysts that began the transformation of the genre known as “horror” to that of “slasher”.  Whereas in horror, the evils of mankind were represented by terrible monsters and denizens of the grave, the slasher reduced the equation to its simplest form: man is the new monster.

It is not difficult to see Leatherface as a monstrosity.  Hanging a young woman from a meat-hook as she kicked, screamed, and pleaded is certainly disquieting.  However, “he” is not a monster.  Leatherface is a mentally disturbed man conditioned by a family of sociopaths.  Despite his actions, at his core he is indisputably human.  If you reside in the camp that considers the horror genre to be about monsters, then The Texas Chainsaw Massacre cannot truly be considered horror. 

If I were to apply the term “monster” to Leatherface, then that would not bode well for James Espy.  James was a junior high school classmate of mine with the misfortune of being mentally handicapped.  In addition, he was somewhat freakish in stature with a head that seemed twice as large as it should be even on his gigantic frame.  Based on appearance alone, James could be considered a “monster.”  It was well documented that James lacked the capacity to discern between “right” and “wrong”.  Horror is supposed to scare.  The viewer should fear the monster.  I was not afraid of James Espy.  Likewise, I was not afraid of Leatherface, and, I dare say, neither were audiences.  There is a difference between fear and disgust or revulsion.

Still, the genie could not be put back in the bottle and what constituted horror was about to undergo a shift.  While a few stalwart creatures lurked in the cinematic shadows, proper monsters were being brushed aside.  Horror was now becoming all about the body count...and nothing has proved more adept at killing than mankind.

Chapter Four: Television’s Rise and the Monster’s Demise (or...“We need a bigger boat!”)

Those of us who remember can look back on it with a bit of nostalgic fondness. We had no idea what was to come when the horrors of real life began leaving the television and landing in our laps.

(We now resume normal programming.)

In the tumultuous Seventies, Americans needed to watch something scary to take their minds off their woes. The decade was ushered in with terrible images of young American soldiers dying.  Combat footage became a staple of the evening news.  Families such as mine that had once gathered in the glow of the tiny box with our compartmentalized tee-vee dinners were now eating at the table in uncomfortable silence. And the news would not improve. The decade would be punctuated with a presidential resignation, record inflation and unemployment, gas lines, the Iranian Hostage Crisis, and the Jonestown Massacre.

The Big Three; ABC, CBS, and NBC would take advantage of the nation’s growing desensitization by delving in the horror genre.  Weekly series such as Circle of Fear hosted by Sebastian Cabot (Family Affair’s Mister French) would try and fail to gain a secure toehold in the Neilson Ratings. Even Frankenstein’s Monster and Count Dracula would receive network make-over’s.  Frankenstein: The True Story would be shown in a two-part, made for television event based much more closely on the Shelley novella than was the iconic Karloff piece. A swarthy Jack Palance would actually succeed in frightening me more than the pale, diminutive Lugosi as Dracula.

It was around this time that a monster was introduced that scared an entire nation.  And it wasn’t even a “real” monster.  Not since Psycho had there been widespread hydrophobia (the fear of water definition…not rabies).  Jaws made everybody afraid to go into the water.  For those of an age to remember its theatrical release, I imagine there are still fleeting moments—or perhaps a sense of lingering dread—when you are in water and your feet can no longer touch the bottom.  For many, the opening scene of the lone swimmer emerges from the depths of the subconscious complete with signature theme music.

“Duh—dunt..duh—dunt...dunt dunt dunt dunt...”.

Chapter Three: Unholy Influences (or...“The Devil made me do it!”)

Well, I have been living my own little horror story starring Centurylink as the monster, but that is a post for another time. Instead...I give you...umm...The Devil. Sure, why not.

William Peter Blatty’s, The Exorcist scared the hell out of Americans.  The images of young Regan portrayed by Linda Blair shocked and disturbed film goers.

 Lines at the box office often went for blocks. This movie would usher in a monster that most of society is familiar with: The Devil, Satan, Lucifer...the Fallen Angel.

For much of the Seventies, possession, cults, and the antichrist would make a claim on the soul of horror.  This would also signal a profound shift in the genre from the rubber and latex creations that had been frightening audiences for the past few decades. 

Many fans of horror were growing disenchanted.  At age eleven, I was amongst that number.  While Regan had indeed terrified me, I didn’t think of the Devil as a proper monster.  Besides, it was difficult to be frightened of an entity that not only did my church tell me every Sunday was powerless as long as I believed in God; but was portrayed by Flip Wilson as merely having the ability to make Geraldine wear unflattering dresses.

It wasn’t Satan who proved to be scary.  Instead, it was his assortment of servants and minions who would begin to affect a change in the horror genre and endanger “the monster” as a movie staple.

Race with the Devil would perpetuate the idea that you needn’t worry about Dracula, Frankenstein’s Monster, or Bigfoot.  The monster proved to be Middle America, where, apparently everybody worships Satan while performing nightly moonlight sacrifices of nubile young virgins.  To put an exclamation on their monster worthiness, the Satanists nail Loretta Switt’s little dog to the door of the RV.  The seal was officially broken.  The monster under the bed was no longer as scary as my next-door neighbor.

Chapter Two: In the Beginning (or...Wanna see something really scary?)

Thanks for coming back. Next week and the week after until finished, I will have one of these up every day to get the series done in time for my list extravaganza. My fave reads, games, and just general STUFF will be given a numerical position for you to debate. But for now...

Long before the moving picture, tales of the terrible and fantastic were shared worldwide. The imagination of the listener gave tangibility and substance to the beast introduced by the narrator. Oft times, these stories were tools used to warn the listener—most frequently children—about the consequences of improper behavior.

Using a tale of terror as a morality parable is an ages old practice. A horrifically inhuman monster was usually symbolic of man’s evils. Every monster, no matter how horrible, possesses a weakness exploitable by mankind. This assured that humanity would always triumph over its own flaws and shortcomings.

Certain stories in every genre are usually singled out as path-forgers or standard-bearers. Two stories in horror must be acknowledged as Matron and Master: Frankenstein and Dracula. Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin Shelly breathed life into her monster in the summer of 1816. The world should be thankful that Switzerland was hit with a dreary and rainy season that year. Bram Stoker would introduce the term “undead” and usher in the rise of Count Dracula in 1897. Both stories would see their film adaptation as well as countless knock-offs over the decades.

The genre of horror would unleash beasts of every shape and size. Many of the featured monsters were deformed manifestations of our fears...or evils. Oppenheimer’s atomic creation would inspire hordes of mutated fiends bent on mankind’s extinction. One of the most notable “stars” of celluloid from that era would be Godzilla. This monster was Japan’s physical embodiment of the two bombs dropped on their homeland.

A couple of decades after the Second World War, a man from Pittsburgh would serve up an unwitting icon of monsterdom. In 1968, George A. Romero would Americanize a Haitian legend. The flesh-eating ghouls of Night of the Living Dead would be the image makeover that gave modern horror the zombie.