(Originally posted Feb. 22nd, 2009)

In this week’s Entertainment Weekly, Owen Gleiberman takes on slasher films, discussing the evolution of the sub-genre from Psycho to the recent “retelling” of Friday the 13th. Despite some annoying ignorance about the original Halloween, the short essay is a thought-provoking read, especially for anyone who grew up on these films. I think his central thesis can be summed up in this quote:

“Like comedy, terror depends on surprise. But there is, by design, an almost rigorous lack of surprise, a been-there-gouged-that sameness to virtually every one of these films. With no more mystery than a fast-food burger, slasher films have become so repetitive that they now do little more than create, and quench, a Big Mac Attack of ersatz terror… “

I think the major flaw of the essay is the argument that every slasher film after The Texas Chainsaw Massacre is a retread of Psycho and TCM that offers nothing new. In Gleiberman’s assessment, Halloween is “just Chainsaw reduced to a grimly mechanized formula” and all other movies that followed simply “put a new spin on that eternal knife-slashing moment.” That’s like saying When Harry Met Sally is a retread of Bringing up Baby just because both share some of the same conventions, themes, and payoffs. And it ignores that the initial installment of each of the major franchises explores different fears and themes. If TCM (alongside Deliverance) warped our perception of rural America and convinced us that “the country” could be even more dangerous and twisted than the crime-infested cities, then Halloween “taught” us that you’re not even safe in the ‘Burbs. While TCM’s Leatherface suggests that we’re all just products of our upbringing and we’d better be wary of those whose “family values” are different than ours, Michael in the original Halloween represents the possibility of “pure evil.” And if Gleiberman can recognize that TCM is truly “a poem of grind-house dread for the post-counterculture era”, then he should also be able to see that A Nightmare on Elm Street is a bloody rock ballad for Generation X. For the counterculture kids, TCM confirmed that there’s something rotten in the heart of America; for Gen X, Elm Street confirmed we’d be worse off than our baby boomer parents, thanks largely to the sins of their pasts and through no fault of our own.

What really struck a chord with me, though, is this quote, referring to the net result of TCM spawning Halloween, then Halloween leading to Friday the 13th and eventually Elm Street:

“The repetition of it all had a telling effect: The killers, in their very familiarity, had ceased to be ’the other.’ They were now, in essence, the heroes, with horror fans invited to root for the slaughter.”

Again, I think that Gleiberman’s brush is too broad – he ignores that the first installment of each of the major franchises is inspired and unique in many ways. But, there’s something here that resonates – the killers have become the heroes, but the root of the problem is that…

(And here it comes – the real reason for this whole rant)

Most slasher films, and especially the sequels, fail to give us interesting heroes to root for and identify with, and who change over the course of the story in any meaningful way. When left without a hero, we default to the only character who captures our interest – the killer.

In the original Halloween, it’s hard not to identify with awkward Laurie, who is teased for being a virgin and seems like the least popular of her friends. Or Sally in TCM, who selflessly takes care of her wheelchair-bound brother even though he’s an ungrateful jerk. Or Nancy in Elm Street, who wants to comfort her friend, even though she too is suffering nightmares. We’re rewarded for rooting for these characters when they transform: Laurie into a brave guardian who risks her life to protect the two kids she’s babysitting; Sally into someone who just won’t give up, no matter who horrible her situation; and Nancy into the Nancy Drew of horror films, smart enough to figure out who Freddy really is and devise a plot for fighting back. All three characters are underdogs, and while they suffer setbacks and may make some bad choices, they never do anything so stupid that we feel betrayed for making an emotional investment in them.

Unfortunately, most of the films in the sub-genre have betrayed us because they give us moronic and unlikable characters with no flaws or saving graces. When they do attempt to give us a hero, it’s the hero who is usually a pale imitation of a character from a previous film, most often a heroine who predictably transforms from shy, unpopular virgin to empowered woman. Without any unique, strong or likable heroes with whom we’d want to identify, the “monster” becomes the most interesting character. It’s actually “safer” emotionally for us to invest in the slashers because we know they won’t “let us down.” But, because the heroes – and therefore the stories – are so poorly crafted, even the monsters don’t serve the roles that they should either. The slashers are no different than the shark in Jaws: They should be the catalyst that begins the hero’s journey, a road block along the way, and/or a force that challenges the hero’s resolve at key moments.

It is sometimes fun to root for the bad guy, and the slashers can be viewed as horror’s equivalent of supervillains, but I think that they even fail in this role in most cases because they lack a strong nemesis. Lex Luthor is defined by his relationship with Superman, and he’s made more fearsome (and interesting) because of his willingness to go toe-to-toe with a Man of Steel. Aside from the few heroes mentioned above, the slashers don’t have any adversaries worth fighting or outsmarting, and they don’t face anyone who makes them seem more terrifying or unstoppable. How can Jason be scary if every one of his victims is an idiot who runs blindly into his machete?

Some other examples for discussion:

• Nightmare on Elm Street3: Dream Warriors. For me, this is by far the most memorable of the Elm Street sequels. This installment actually plays on what we already know about Freddy in order to help develop the heroes. All of them are teenagers stuck in a psych ward because of their terrifying dreams. Nobody believes that they are being stalked by a “dream killer,” but the audience knows they are telling the truth – we have two other movies that prove it. We don’t waste any time wondering if the kids are just delusional; instead, we understand their plight and identify with their frustration. They pay us back by banding together and risking their lives against Freddy, showing a willingness to sacrifice themselves so that Freddy’s reign will end. And Nancy, who we developed a connection with in the first film, comes back to serve as a wiser, tested hero-mentor for the other characters.
• The Scream Series. This might be a cheat (the identity of “Ghost Face” changes from film to film, so he’s not really the equivalent of Jason, Freddy, or the others), but I think that these films are much stronger than many of the movies they satirize because Sidney is a recurring hero who actually evolves from film to film and over the course of the trilogy as a whole (I’m ignoring Scream 4…). Even though the series is based on poking fun at the conventions of the sub-genre, Sidney is only occasionally the butt of the jokes, and by the end of each film, she has overcome her inner problems and kicked the villain’s ass. Scream 3 is a great example of a hero’s journey: at the beginning of the film, Sidney is unable to trust anyone or feel safe anywhere. She lives in complete seclusion, and is obsessive about locking herself up in her home. By the end of the film, we know she’s overcome these flaws: she is surrounded by friends, including a man she has only recently met and learned to trust, and doesn’t bother to close a door that is blown open by the wind. Leaving a door ajar would have been inconceivable for the Sidney we meet at the beginning of the film, but through facing down Ghost Face (and her mother’s past) one last time, she is able to transform.

Thoughts?