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| Courtesy of Anchor Bay |
I thought I’d try to be timely this week, as we approach the peak of “spooky season,” and take a look at John Carpenter’s 1978 masterpiece Halloween. He, along with his integral co-writer and producing partner Debra Hill, helped establish several of the slasher tropes we’ve long since internalized (although 1960’s Psycho, 1968’s Night of the Living Dead and 1974’s The Texas Chain Saw Massacre are also foundational horror texts).
Still, the duo elevated old ideas and executed new ones so well that they spawned dozens of copycats. Without the masked, homicidal Michael Myers – or The Shape, as he’s also called (played by Nick Castle) – we don’t have Jason Vorhees, Freddy Kreuger, Chucky or Ghostface. Carpenter had an innate talent for manipulating audiences’ fear without being condescending or treating them like idiots.
He also understood that Myers is far scarier because he doesn’t have an origin story or a logical explanation for his behavior. He’s just unknowable, unstoppable evil. Juxtapose that against Laurie Strode (Jamie Lee Curtis), the film’s compelling-yet-average protagonist, and it makes him even more terrifying.
If you haven’t seen Halloween, you won’t hear any judgmental comments from me. I’m not a big horror guy, so there are plenty of “classic” films in the genre that I still haven’t gotten around to. It’s certainly worth watching, even if you’re squeamish. It’s far less gory than you probably expect (or remember, if it’s been a while since your last viewing).
The murder sequences are almost bloodless, and the body count is astonishingly low compared to modern fare. That’s because the plot revolves around a handful of characters and, a quick trip to a mental institution notwithstanding, takes place on a few small-town streets.
Halloween begins with one of the most iconic opening sequences of the modern era: a staggering, four-and-a-half-minute long take that transforms the camera into Michael’s eyes, making the audience complicit in his first murder.
He stabs his 17-year-old sister to death shortly after she has sex with her boyfriend, reiterating a trope that 1996’s Scream would literally explain to viewers a couple of decades later – if a teenage girl wants to make it to the end of a horror movie, she must remain a virgin. (This puritanical rule comes into play again later.)
Fast-forward 15 years, when the quiet neighborhood where the murder took place is getting ready to celebrate another Halloween. Laurie and her friends, Annie (Nancy Loomis) and Lynda (P.J. Soles), are looking forward to a relatively low-key evening involving boyfriends and babysitting, but Michael has other plans. During a routine prisoner transfer, he escapes custody and heads for home, looking for new victims. He’s pursued by Dr. Loomis (Donald Pleasence), an equally creepy psychiatrist, who is determined to stop him before he kills again.
Although Halloween has plenty of dark rooms and jump scares, they don’t come across as cheap cop outs – like they often do in modern horror flicks – because of Carpenter’s skills behind the camera. He shoots these scenes effectively instead of relying on them for the only scares. I mean, half the movie takes place in daylight, with Michael standing on sidewalks in plain view, and it’s still enough to cause nightmares.
To have such a brutal reputation, the film plays much more like a thriller than you probably remember. There are long stretches without kills, when the tension escalates to almost unbearable levels. That’s a credit to Carpenter and Hill, who understood that viewers are more likely to be scared if they invest in characters who behave like real people and have at least some semblance of likability.
When Michael finally begins his rampage, it hurts more because viewers have spent a considerable amount of time with the girls and understand that they’re normal teenagers. Plus, they don’t behave like the stupid stock characters often found in the genre’s lamest examples. Laurie, Annie and Lynda are naïve, not stupid. That might sound like a nitpicky distinction, but there’s a big difference.
These girls grew up in the suburbs, where nothing bad is supposed to happen, and they live in a culture that isn’t immersed in true crime lore and horror movies. Heck, in the real world, the term “serial killer” wouldn’t even enter the mainstream lexicon for another three years.
A masked murderer stalking teenage babysitters would be as plausible to these characters as aliens landing in front of their high school. These brilliant elements make Halloween a chilling experience, one that still holds up today. They’re also sorely lacking in the franchise’s lackluster sequels, including the one that breathed new life into the series last year.
While it was nice to see Curtis return to the role that helped make her a superstar and remind viewers how phenomenal she is in it, the creative team incorrectly assumed her outstanding performance wasn’t enough to keep viewers’ attention. Instead, they substituted quantity for quality, and over-the-top gore instead of earned suspense.
At least they ignored the franchise’s increasingly convoluted mythology and pretended the installments after original didn’t exist. Unfortunately, what should’ve been an interesting, albeit flawed, bookend film ended up making an insane amount of money. Now we have two more sequels to endure in 2020 and 2021.
It’s enough to wear you out, but not if you go back and watch the original 1978 classic. That version of Halloween remains exhilarating, despite all the ridiculousness it spawned. Do yourself a favor and check it out sometime in the next few days. If that doesn’t put you in the macabre holiday spirit, I don’t know what will.
Halloween is rated R. (There are no stated reasons from the MPAA, but it contains strong violence, nudity and language.)
Grade: A
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