Category: Retrospectives

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Retrospectives

Retrospective: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974)

To say that The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974) helped shape the horror genre as we know and love it today would be an understatement. The film essentially tore through the screen and cascaded its way into the veins of genre cinema and aided in its stellar, magnetising and polarising reputation. Although its 50th anniversary is on the horizon, its reputation as a solid classic has never been more significant. 

The man behind the camera, Tobe Hooper, first conceived the idea for the film in the early seventies whilst he was working as an assistant director at the University of Texas at Austin. Enchanted by the mystery of rural isolation, darkened woods and the macabre nature of the human condition, Hooper took to sketching out film plots. His narrative would mould into shape over the years, but one focus that he kept true throughout was the aspect of real horror. One essence of storied evil came from the crimes by serial killer Ed Gein, whose reign of mutilation and murder gripped the nation since his attacks began in 1950s Wisconsin. 

With a rough idea in mind, Hooper enlisted his friend and fellow film creator Kim Henkel to flesh out what would soon be a titular force in the world of horror. Upon the trials and tribulations of funding, eventually, the pair eventually produced the film for around $140,000. Due to the scope of the project and the somewhat limited budget, the film developed an all-hands-on-deck mentality where the cast and crew gave themselves to a gruelling filming schedule and journey. With a dream of developing a contentious project for the time, the relatively unknown cast was deployed to Texas where they took over a farmhouse and its land where the southern humidity reached temperatures of 43°C; keep in mind that the shooting schedule consisted of 16 hour days, 7 days a week! 

In keeping with the authenticity of it all, the various horror paraphernalia seen throughout the film such as the copious amounts of blood, bones and gore were more often than not real. The blood seen splashed up against the walls in the dreaded farmhouse was real animal blood obtained from slaughterhouses. To further aid in the genuity of it all, the crew would often traverse the local gravel ways of the area to scour and collect the decomposing remains of roadkill and dumped cattle carcases to decorate the set. As if that wasn’t enough, a few scenes refrained from practical effects and opted for unstimulated violence, for example, during one scene a tube was supposed to secrete blood, however, due to technical malfunctions the tube failed, therefore, the lead actress, Marilyn Burns, and Hooper decided it would be best to instead slice her finger open with a razor blade to achieve the desired finish.

 Despite all the antics and devilment that ensued onscreen, the film managed to pull in a successful run at theatres, becoming the twelfth highest-grossing film of 1974. It has been reported that a large part of the film’s success and consequential issues with censorship regimes were owed to its misconception of factuality. The opening title crawl recounts that the film is a real account, based on a ‘true story’, leading to plenty of lore regarding its origins amongst cinemagoers. Eventually, the UK’s classification board, the BBFC, banned the film, citing that it advocated for “abnormal psychology”. It was not until the early 1980s that the film was released on video, however, due to the 1984 video nasties panic, the film was once again removed from public access. 

As the years rolled on and the censorship on horror loosened, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre became one of the most iconic pieces of cinema to exist. Featuring on nearly every ‘best film of all time’ list and garnering a protected and beloved status amongst all, Hooper’s once sordid feature has become a renowned classic. Many readings have circulated about the film, particularly surrounding the final girl philosophy, ‘urbanoia’ hysteria, and how the film spoke to the socio-political landscape at the time. Traversing back to the film’s title crawl – “the film you are about to see is true”, serves great significance in its diegesis. Hooper cites that the falsified warning was reminiscent of the misinformation of truth being spread to civilisation during the 1960s/1970s.

Hooper commented on how the news surrounding the Watergate scandal and the Vietnam War led to many believing whatever agenda the press wanted one to believe, with society often overlooking the hidden atrocities at the time. In a similar vein, he also took to explaining how the horror in the film was of man’s creations, not a make-believe creature, again, taking aim at humanity’s own deadliness. As it stands today, fifty years on, this undertone of commentary still remains potent, with the film’s explorations of the transgressive speaking to many of the world’s events as of now. 

Moving onto a more creative framing, the film has served as a baseboard for the slasher genre. Many filmmakers have explicitly stated their inspirational admiration of Texas Chainsaw’, such as Rob Zombie’s Firefly trilogy. One rather obvious locus of devotion to Hooper’s classic is the film’s franchise expansion. The franchise boasts a whopping nine films, along with a successful video game spin-off, comics and books, leading to the series joining the likes of cinematic universes such as Halloween and Friday the 13th. Although some entries remain more successful than others, such as the brilliant Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 (1986), the original remains the undefeated champion. 

The Texas Chainsaw Massacre’s contemporary reception is living proof of its indefinitely popular reception, with the film even being admitted into the Horror Hall of Fame (1990), serving as a recognised exemplary piece of filmmaking. Even aspects that seem elemental in the film still hold great traction after all this time. Think of the iconic character of Leatherface, the great force of antagonism. His character has been under the spotlight for years, with his psyche being analysed and relayed multiple times. Many see his villainy as being a product of his environment, where his actions do not necessarily come from a place of banality, but from a place of misunderstanding. Regardless of his ethos, what stands for many is how he is at the root of much of the film’s stunning aesthetic.

The film’s concluding scene shows Burn’s character, Sally, fleeing from the farmhouse, escaping on the back of a truck whilst Leatherface breaks chase with his chainsaw flinging in the air. There is something so intriguing about the sunset tones and his gruesome mask made out of flesh, along with the understanding that although Sally has escaped, Leatherface and everything he stands for still goes on thriving.

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Retrospectives Reviews

Twenty Years On – Shaun of the Dead (2004)

Believe it or not, it was a whole twenty moons ago that one of the best horror comedies graced the screen—(yes, 2004 really was that long ago). Edgar Wright’s Shaun of the Dead is a bonafide classic whose edgy humour, offensive charm, and bloodied zombie mayhem have cemented its zealous reputation all these years later. 

Wright’s prized status began in the early 2000s thanks to his directorial efforts in Spaced, a British comedy series starring Simon Pegg, Nick Frost and Jessica Hynes, all of whom feature in Shaun of the Dead. It was from Spaced where Wright and Pegg conceived the idea of their soon-to-be horror hit. It is based on an episode titled ‘Art’, which features Pegg’s character hallucinating a zombie invasion after a prolonged session playing Resident Evil 2. With the pair both being major appreciators of the genre, the duo took their idea of hilarious zombie antics to Film4 before the studio eventually overly condensed the budget and, therefore, broke down certain crucial plot points. With a dream in mind, Wright refused to quit his zombie feature and pursued various studios over a two-year period before Working Title Films finally invested.

The project soon gained traction, casting major names in comedy from television series such as Black Books and The Office. Actors included Peter Serafinowicz, Dylan Moran, Tamsin Greig, Martin Freeman and Lucy Davis, alongside major names in feature films such as Penelope Wilton and Bill Nighy. The star-studded lineup also included a mass of extras playing the ghouls, nearly all of whom were part of fan communities for Spaced that were contacted on their online threads to be a part of a production from the makers of their favourite TV show. With a solid cast and crew, the nine-week filming process began before wrapping up and premiering at a whopping 367 cinemas and staying in the box office top ten for a total of five whole weeks. 

It’s safe to say that audiences went wild for this raucous zombie flick, with its reputation only growing stronger yearly. As it nears its twentieth anniversary, Shaun of the Dead is still making waves, dominating the discourse of satirical horror and creating conversations in the landscape of cinema. In the world of scholarly research and film readings, Shaun of the Dead has dipped its toes into many analytical waters. A popular take is how the film joins the barrage of apocalypse-themed releases from the mid-2000s in response to world events that were becoming frequent in the home with the increasing access to media and news. 

Others suggest that the film is a poetic example of transnational cinema which is commonly found within the UK. The leading players of zombie cinema primarily originated from across the pond, with the likes of George A. Romero’s Night of the Living Dead (1968) dictating the direction that zombie media followed for years. On the flip side, in Britain, there has been a constant ode to men in comedy who can’t help but make a fool of themselves as they go about gallivanting and making a ruddy nuance of situations – think the likes of Monty Python, Dad’s Army, Only Fools and Horses etc. The combination of Americanised scares and dramatic monstrous ghouls with two-bit but still chucklesome characters makes Shaun of the Dead attract an admiration that many budding filmmakers admire to achieve one day. 

Stepping away from the formalities, Shaun of the Dead thrives in its thematics and ideologies. Shaun of the Dead has a monotonous, gritty quality that takes a slice-of-life approach to an apocalyptic situation, reminiscent of the ‘Keep Calm and Carry on’ motto burned through the British mindset. It was through this niche characteristic that the film’s lampoon-like comedy was able to shine through. As a case in point, whilst writing the script, Wright took inspiration from his own sardonic attitude at times; after having his own late-night gaming session being immersed in the world of horror video games, he took to going for an early morning walk where it could be imagined that half of the public was either coming home dazed from a late night out, or exhaustively treading along, gearing up for the morning shift at work. It’s a scene of mundanity at its finest. With Wright’s brilliant, dry humour at hand, he couldn’t help but think how on Earth Britain would, with all of its chaos and caustic disposition, react if their early morning shenanigans were interrupted by a plague of flesh-hungry undead creatures. 

Discussing Shaun of the Dead without mentioning a certain dessert-named cinematic series would be criminal. This zom-com is the first entry into the acclaimed and fantastically named ‘The Three Flavours Cornetto Trilogy’, followed by the ‘great er good’ Hot Fuzz (2007) and the sci-fi-esque The World’s End (2013). Ironically, the coining of the Cornetto only came to fruition long after Shaun of the Dead’s release; It was during the promotional stages of Hot Fuzz, where Cornetto’s were given as an aperitif, that led to Pegg and Wright wanting to include the beloved ice cream treat into further films. It may seem akin to a superficial, silly joke, yet the rambunctious nature of developing inside jokes led to the trilogy, particularly Shaun of the Dead, retrospectively developing an intriguing interpretation. The films are all comprised of out of their depth individuals tackling a massive issue at hand and growing as people, but not necessarily (and comedically deliberate) maturing in their adolescent-like ways.  

The development of Shaun of the Dead includes a comic strip titled ‘There’s Something About Mary’ for 2000 AD, the applauded comic magazine. Following this was IDW Publishing’s several-issue adaptation of the horror, with drawings from Zack Howard and writings by Chris Ryall. That’s not to mention the various special edition physical media releases and collectable action figures. Alongside this was Clark Collis’ book ‘You’ve Got Red on You: How Shaun of the Dead Was Brought to Life’ (2021), which details interviews with cast and crew, storyboards and behind-the-scenes insights.

Even just a few years back, the humble humour of Shaun of the Dead shone once again during the lockdown periods in the UK, with Shaun’s iconic ‘plan’ becoming somewhat of a motto for folks at home. For reminder’s sake, Shaun comes up with a simple action plan to tackle the ole zombie issue: “Take car. Go to Mum’s. Kill Phil-“Sorry”-grab Liz, go to the Winchester, have a nice cold pint, and wait for all of this to blow over”. The short, snappy and quintessentially British dialogue resurfaced via Pegg and Frost themselves as they put a modern spin on the plan by putting emphasis on staying home (avoiding the Winchester this time).

Shaun of the Dead’s legacy speaks for itself, with nearly every ‘best of horror’ list devoting a spot to this must-see film. This immeasurably hilarious take on a monster movie still garners a laugh-a-minute reaction from viewers, no matter how many times they’ve pressed play on this unmissable, culturally significant, and pivotal piece of cinema.

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Retrospectives Reviews

40 years on – Friday the 13th: The Final Chapter

Friday the 13th – genre-defining, monumental, and dare it be said, ‘totally iconic’. These are just some of the descriptors denoted to this mammoth of a horror franchise. With 12 entries to the series name, it can be challenging to define all of the films; however, amongst all of the slasherific and certainly unique films, there does seem to be an entry that repeatedly stands out. Joseph Zito’s Friday the 13th: The Final Chapter (1984). 

A group of teens travel to Camp Crystal Lake for a weekend of debaucheries, but things soon go array when Jason Voorhees shows up to his stomping grounds to cause chaos. With this traditional storyline comes a shed of archetypal bloodshed where graphic kills and splatter-filled jumpscares dominate the screen. The Final Chapter is a bonafide classic, but it very nearly ceased to exist as Friday the 13th Part III (1982) was due to complete the Jason trilogy. That was until producer Frank Mancuso, Jr. became hellbent on killing off Jason once and for all. Mancuso worked on both Friday the 13th Part 2 (1981) and Part III, where it was widely reported that he felt his complex and crucial inputs as a production assistant and then producer were not taken seriously enough. In response to this, he recruited Zito, director of the 1981 slasher The Prowler to end the series under his terms. With this, Zito along with Manuso’s backing ended up conjuring one of Friday the 13th’s best films. 

Complicit in this reputation is the film’s exceptional imagery that was made at the hands of legendary effects artist, Tom Savini. In The Final Chapter, Savini (known within the Friday the 13th universe for his visceral creation of Jason in the first film), tackled the likes of macheted necks, head twisting, pitchfork stabbings, crucifixion, meat-cleaver hackings and smashed faces. All of these were done with such vivid brutality that elevates the chaotic wildness of it all into genuinely intense, skin-crawling displays of pure depravity that show the brutish capabilities of Jason. Interestingly enough, the film’s evidential flare for the creativity of these depictions goes far beyond the surface, with the film’s primary protagonist having a spiritual tie to Savini. 

Although The Final Chapter chronicles the aforementioned quintessential motley crew of youngsters dying at the hands of slasher’s favourite boogeyman, the film has an interwoven secondary line of narrative following the Jarvis family. Residing next door to the teens is Tommy Jarvis (Corey Feldman), his sister Trish (Kimberly Beck), and their mother (Joan Freeman), all of whom must face the wrath of Jason. Tommy’s ability to think on the spot and get inside the mind of Jason has allowed him to become somewhat of a staple member of the franchise, with his character starring in a total of three Friday the 13th films. Throughout his first appearance, Tommy makes quite the impression thanks to his eclectic personality. Tommy has an affinity for all things practical effects, making masks and prosthetics out of anything he could get his hands on, just as it is documented Savini did during his younger years. 

Tommy’s blossoming artistry and innovation is what beckons the film’s applauded conclusion. After copious events unfold, a hammer wielding Jason breaks into the Jarvis’, but just as he’s about to land a fatal blow on the terrified Trish, Tommy saves the day. It transpires that Tommy has found old newspaper clippings detailing Jason’s disfigured face and the horrid past that led to his vengeance. In a quick attempt to stir the psyche of the beast, Tommy hastily shaves his head, resembling a young Jason. Despite the grave risk, his plan roars triumphantly as Jason is captured and almost immediately gravitates with a childlike innocence towards Tommy, seeing his younger self alive and well. However, Jason’s fever dream is quickly interrupted as Trish brings down the machete to his head, knocking off his infamous hockey mask to reveal a horribly warped face before he stumbles to the ground as Tommy seemingly reaches madness and further pummels him into oblivion.

Tommy undergoes a terribly traumatic transformation to save the day. Essentially, he becomes one with the monster, which is only exaggerated by his rampant attack, overkill even, on Jason after the villain’s lifeless body flops to the floor. Prior to this scene Tommy discovers the tragic backstory that catalysed Jason’s descent; seeing this paired with his transformation of embodying the monster and then relishing in the demise all unleashes a beast hidden deep within Tommy that may have otherwise remained locked up. 

The film’s finale sees Tommy stare blankly into the camera with a chilling coldness that mirrors Jason’s exact dispassion for human existence. The figurative expression towards Jason and Tommy’s symbiosis opens the film up to a world of possibilities that rings familiar to the first Friday the 13th’s retrospective analysis with all of its discussion about the horrors of maternal devotion. The Final Chapter is steeped in a seriousness that is not easy to craft as efficiently and naturally Zito has. The film still has that primitive nastiness to it that has horror hounds howling at the screen, yet the film is not one long novelty act that aims to solely appease the senses. It does not over extend its analytical gravity to the point of pretentiousness, but it is not afraid of baring its teeth and taking a bite into the critical details.

Even from a retrospective point of view, the film exercises a balance that is notoriously difficult to achieve; it creates a world of lore and backstory without over complicating and propelling the film away from its slasher roots that everyone has come to know and love. As of this year, The Final Chapter completes its 40th year around the sun, and yet, the film seems to have only gotten better. It has been a solid 15 years since the last Friday the 13th film was released. Considering that the next entry would be the ‘13th’ number, a possibly brilliant jumping step would be taking inspiration from the absolute fan favourite classic that is Friday the 13th: The Final Chapter…

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Retrospectives Reviews Top Horror

Top Ten Video Nasties

Dead Northern picks its ‘Top Ten Video Nasties’, in celebration of our new monthly event ‘Nasty Video Club’!

10 – Tenebrae (Directed by Dario Argento, 1982) 

Throughout Dario Argento’s lengthy career, he has become synonymous with the Giallo subgenre of horror cinema, known for its hyper-stylised, theatrical films that focused on the fantasticality of the narrative. Whilst the video nasties have become heavily linked to slashers, an era of cinema that many forget is heavily twinned with the nasties is Giallo. One of the must-see films within this confine is Tenebrae, a stunning yet dramatically horrific tale of deceit and betrayal. Surprisingly, Tenebrae remained on the list until 1999; however, unlike many of the list’s entries, Tenebrae still managed to gain quite a reputation despite its censorship in the UK.

What propels Tenebrae into the video nasties hall of fame is the film’s most bloody and glorious scene, featuring a sudden axe attack which shows the victim flail her bloody, axe-wounded arm across an entire sterile white-coloured kitchen, painting the walls with bright red. As with many Giallo films, Tenebrae is a pure feat for the eyes, basking in the glory of beautifully morbid visuals and creating scenes that stand the test of time. 

9- Blood Feast (Directed by Herschell Gordon, 1963) 

Blood Feast is the oldest film on the video nasties list and one of the most underrated entries. The Herschell Gordon directed film is a junior feat from the early days of the splatter era. It is known for its pure bloodshed and frenzied chaos that focuses on heavy gore and violence, with the film’s storyline coming second to the visuals. Blood Feast fleshes out a myriad of themes, from cannibalism and ceremonial feasts to a whodunit mystery showcasing authorities trying their darndest to work out who is the culprit causing all of the murderous madness.

Whilst many video nasties have gone on to become outstanding classics, with burgeoning reputations following in its wake, Blood Feast has yet to reach this acclaimed status. Many horror icons, including none other than Stephen King, have gone on to declare their disdain for this film, yet, there is something so moreish about this 1960s classic. Indeed, the performances are not entirely polished, nor is the dialogue anything outstanding. However, Blood Feast belongs to that homegrown, grassroots string of horror that gives credence to independent filmmaking.

8- The Driller Killer (Directed by Abel Ferrara, 1979) 

The Driller Killer screams ‘video nasties’. Everything about the film is entwined with what the nasty list epitomises; it has a catchy name, countless instances of violence, and is an all-around whale of a time. The film had one of the more severe punishments during the nasty reign, with the slasher not being reinstated until 2002 and belonging to the prosecuted section of the list.

However, the gore is so overtly over the top that any form of realism is entirely stripped, yet it is within this fantasticality that The Driller Killer shines. The flagrant score overpowers the dialogue at times, and the animated acting that thrives alongside the ludicrous character decisions propels the film into typical ‘nasty’ terrain where excessiveness trumps quality. 

7- The Burning (Directed by Tony Maylam, 1981) 

During the early 1980s, there was a massive boom in the horror market, with slashers, splatters, and gorefests rallying in the crowds and making financial waves in the process. Studios were desperate to capitalise on the success, with The Burning’s campsite premise eventually gaining interest. Upon its release, reviews were mixed, with horror still being a critically contentious subject. Despite The Burning not capturing critics’ attention, the film drew interest from the censorship board, which made excessive cuts for the cinema release. As the nasty epidemic grew, The Burning caused further outrage despite the public being openly allowed to watch it in theatres years prior. It was not until 2002 that audiences could watch The Burning in its full glory, with all of its murderous mayhem.


6- The Funhouse (Directed by Tobe Hooper, 1981) 

Tobe Hooper is known for the one and only Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974), the quintessential piece of horror history. However, The Funhouse still remains a criminally underrated diamond from his extensive filmography. The film is a terrifying circus of what happens when a carnival turns deadly, with the fairground antics collaborating with the multiple slayings, impalements, and electrocutions. Compared to its fellow comrades on the list, The Funhouse had an easy ride, obtaining a cinema release years prior and then being released uncut in 1987.


5- Dead & Buried (Directed by Gary Sherman, 1981)

For a gruesome video nasty with an abundance of visceral gore and ghastly frights, Dead & Buried has an incredibly gripping story that keeps audiences on their toes with immense amounts of suspense and tension. The writing duo Dan O’Bannon and Ronald Shusett are at the hands of the grasping script. Amongst their credits are Return of the Living Dead (1985), Total Recall (1990), and the original story for Alien (1979). The film oozes relentless excitement, with each twist and turn complimenting the gnaly practical effects.


4- The Last House on the Left (Directed by Wes Craven, 1972) 

Prior to A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984) and Scream (1996), there was the utterly savage, brutal, and unforgettable The Last House on the Left. This 1970s classic based on Ingmar Bergman’s The Virgin Spring (1960) is a film that was deemed so barbaric that the BBFC did not release the full uncut version until 2008, not to mention the several post-nasties campaigns fighting against the release appeals made against the film for decades.

In decoding the film, there are a plethora of reasons raised as to why it remains just as disturbing now as it did decades ago, namely the realism that Craven applies to depict the horror. Despite the offbeat, out-of-place soundtrack and questionable acting, the events are beyond harrowing thanks to the unflinching camera that aims to show as much terror as humanly possible. 

3- The Beyond (Directed by Lucio Fulci, 1981)

Another giallo classic to round off the list is The Beyond, a certified Lucio Fulci must-see. With The Beyond being the second entry in his ‘Gates of Hell’ trilogy (also including City of The Living Dead [1980] and The House by the Cemetary [1981]), its of no surprise that the film induces a blood-curdling, white-knuckled ride into delightful frights.

The Beyond’s contemporary cult reception is a warm welcome considering its contentious release, with the film not receiving an uncut release in the UK until 2001, as well as it not being available for public viewing until 1996 in the U.S.

2- Possession (Directed by Andrzej Żuławski, 1981)

Known as one of the most unhinged horror film’s from the eighties’ due to the infamous ‘tunnel scene’ is Possession, a European, graphic horror with an art-house flare that can only be described as eccentrically bizarre. Unlike many films that have a beginning, middle, end, rounded up with a solid conclusion, Possession ends with even more questions raised. To add to the narrative connundrem is the aforementioned tunnel escapade, which is a stunning exercise into how crucial performances can be in attaining affect. The film is definitely not for the faint of heart, eyes, or mind!

1- The Evil Dead (Directed by Sam Raimi, 1981)

Considering The Evil Dead’s contemporary reception, it can be easily forgotten how controversial the film was at the time of its release. Raimi’s deadite adventures has not faltered at the hands of time whatsoever, with every inch of the film being just as entertaining now, if not more, than when it first hit the screens.

Everything, from the chilling dialogue sung and screamed by the evil creatures, the unforgettable tree sequence, the first word read from the Necronomicon, and Ash’s (Bruce Campbell) iconic catchphrases is an essential part of horror film history. If there was the ultimate entry from the video nasty list, The Evil Dead will always be crowned winner.

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Retrospectives Reviews

Retrospective – Fifty years on – The Wicker Man (1973)

One of genre cinema’s biggest classics meets its 50th anniversary this year. Within these past five decades, the already beloved hit has managed to soar further than ever and gain a reputation that many films can only dream of. The grand slam in question is none other than Robin Hardy’s The Wicker Man (1973). 

The Wicker Man follows Sergeant Howie (Edward Woodward) as he lands on the grounds of Summerisle, a small Scottish island, to investigate the disappearance of a child. Howie’s puritan ways are tested after being shocked at the Islander’s worship of pagan Celtic gods and behaving in an open frivolous manner, leading Howie to suspect that something suspicious lurks around the corner. 

This eerie, dark, and bewitching descent into the greatest monster of them all, humanity, is a momentous feat in the world of folk horror, the genre responsible for creating the most haunting of films. In an ode to classic folk horror, The Wicker Man battles with evil grounds, sordid land and its lust for sacrifice. The 1970s hit thrives in these quintessential folkloric themes that have been utilised and weaponised for decades, yet rather than the film weaken overtime with multiple watches; it manages only to get better, which is equally thanks to the stellar performances and the film‘s unique method of building fear. 

Production began in the early ‘70’s after the film’s screenwriter Anthony Shaffer and acclaimed actor/ Hammer Horror legend Christopher Lee began discussing the potential to collaborate on a film that went against the grain of the popular trend of ‘monster movies’. Soon joining Lee and Shaffer was the eventual director Robin Hardy, who was more than on board with creating a horror film surrounding cult and mythology. Looking for inspiration, Shaffer brought David Pinner’s 1967 novel Ritual to the table, which chronicled a religious police officer who travels to a small village looking to solve a sacrificial murder. After negotiations, Pinner sold the rights and production ensued. 

For any ‘Ritual’ fans, it may be noted that The Wicker Man is not a direct adaption of the book, but more of a starting point, with the film, eventually forming into a tale about the woes and intrigue of paganism. The Wicker Man poses that the screen did not need to be filled with blood, guts, and gore to obtain a genuinely horrifying response from its audience. Instead, the terror alludes to the animalistic and horrific nature of the Summerisle residents. The film raises its atmosphere solely through methods of intent and interpretation, letting the viewer’s imagination conjure it. Despite how unnerving The Wicker Man’s conclusion may be, the lasting atmosphere is not one of disgust but deep-seated fear and trepidation that the most peaceful environments hold the darkest secrets. 

With Lee already on board, they needed to cast the role of Sergeant Howie, the hard-mannered officer. When actors Michael York and David Hemmings declined the role, the reputable television actor Edward Woodward was welcomed onboard. With a solid story and an even sturdier cast under its belt, The Wicker Man began filming mainly along the Scottish coast before wrapping up and editing, which is a whole story within its own right…

From a contemporary perspective, many can confirm that The Wicker Man is a ‘perfect’ movie with no noticeable flaws. However, the post-production indeed travelled across rocky terrain. The studio, British Lion Films, had bought the film, and after seeing the ‘burning man’ conclusion, they demanded heavy cuts to the ending as Howie’s death was too horrid to put on screen. They suggested that the scene should continue, but instead, halfway through, a sudden downpour should occur in which the rainstorm puts out the fire. Luckily enough, the crew outright refused to make this edit and instead negotiated to cut out roughly twenty minutes of build-up scenes. 

Adding to the turbulent release journey was the film’s lost footage. After the film had been released, Hardy was determined to restore his vision to its original edit, seeking the complete, original footage to restore it fully. However, he was informed that the negatives were lost, that is, until director Roger Corman (and one of the previous potential distributors) still had a copy, saving the day and leading to a ninety-six-minute version being released in 1979. As time has gone on, multiple versions have been released – an extended cut released by Canal+ in 2001, a limited edition signed version from Anchor Bay in 2005, and most recently, The Final Cut from StudioCanal, which Hardy described as one of the most accurate representations of what he wished The Wicker Man was when it was first released. Unfortunately, the exact carbon copy and precise original cut still have not been found, but that does not hinder what we already have.

With all of the commotion and re-edits, where does The Wicker Man stand 50 years later? 

The Wicker Man boomed onto the scene with reviews from prestigious outlets, including Variety, The New York Times, and Los Angeles Times, all praising the film’s slow-burning dread and evocative atmosphere. Decades later, distinguished sources such as Empire and The Guardian ranked the film as one of the best horror movies ever, and for a good reason. The film is not only a genre-defining piece of cinema, a folk horror classic, and a definitive part of British film and media; it is also an intense, burdensome, and wholly unhinged example of how aura and a menacingly slow buildup can leave a lingering mark of fear that does not rely on jumpscares, but our own worst enemy – the imagination. 

There are multiple ways to read The Wicker Man, which are all equally frightening. There’s the aspect of nurturing nature, feeding the land souls to prevent disruption. Then there is the religious perspective, where one could comment on how the film elicits fear based on the infatuation of high powers and cults, leading to the abandonment of moralities to serve a spectral being. And then there is the more sinister realisation – forget about individualising fear within the sins of the land, forgo the collective power of cult thinking. What truly makes The Wicker Man claw at the viewer’s skin and then nestle its horror within their being is how mundane the film portrays monstrosity to be. Recalling back to early production stages, Lee, Shaffer, and Hardy wanted the uncanny to thrive amidst a background of sincerity where there were no ghosts, zombies, or knife-wielding maniacs. The horror needed to come from within the Summerisle residents’ souls, not via a weapon or some dressed-up ghoul. The film’s manifesto speaks to the horror within the everyday, an apparent typical atmosphere that holds unearthly secrets. The Wicker Man makes you uncomfortable and on edge from the very first moment. However, it is not until the very last scene that our suspicions are confirmed, and an epiphany reveals itself.

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Curiosity Corner Retrospectives Reviews

Deep dive – The history of folk horror in cinema

Robin HardyÕs THE WICKER MAN (1973). Courtesy: Rialto Pictures/ Studiocanal
Robin Hardy’s THE WICKER MAN (1973). Courtesy: Rialto Pictures/ Studiocanal

The lens of folk cinema captures the evil beneath the soil that haunts the land and infects those who rebel against it. Those unfortunate souls who dare taint the grounds suffer greatly, leaving devastation in its wake and causing hysteria and havoc amongst worried souls, simultaneously cultivating rich growth for the horror in lore, myth, and legends. It is an alarming yet alluring ethos that propagates the success of folk horror. 

Over the years, folk horror has seen a significant boom in popular horror cinema, with the likes of The VVitch (2015) and Midsommar (2019) and the equally successful but far more underrated Kill List (2011) and The Ritual (2017). With these films holding supreme status in modern horror, a deep dive into the origins of the folk horror subgenre has never been more pertinent. 

Where to begin… 

Folk horror holds its roots in nearly every country. It isn’t easy to pinpoint a specific religion that holds the key to folk cinema, with the genre belonging to many cultures. Folk derives from folklore, translating to individualised mythology from various societies. What has become known in mainstream media as ‘folk horror’ with all of its iconography and archetypal symbolism is, at the crux, derivative from British lore. For example, the bones of folk horror that audiences have come to know and love today are birthed from Pagan rituals; it’s the profound meaning of life and death, the cycles of nature, and the importance of worshipping a higher power that amalgamates with the genres eerie rhetoric that provides such influential works. 

The Unholy Trinity

Every reign of horror has its champions. Folk horror’s genre-defining entries can be found in The Unholy Trinity, consisting of Witchfinder General (1968), The Blood on Satan’s Claw (1971) and The Wicker Man (1973). Mark Gattis first coined the term in the BBC docu-series A History of Horror in 2010, which was soon adopted as the official definition of folk horror’s primary instigators. Each entry into the Trinity is entirely unique and somewhat different from one other despite their blanketing together (which can be quite the metaphor for how broad the scope is on folk cinema). 

Michael Reeves’s Witchfinder General chronicles the self-appointed witch-hunter Matthew Hopkins (Vincent Price), following his misdeeds throughout small rural villages across East Anglia. The cruel barbarism that follows in the wake of Hopkin’s actions creates a structure that can only be described as a mob-like ruling where sovereignty is not earned and equally placed but instead stolen by whoever holds the most power. Witchfinder General depicts Hopkins as he storms in and does not simply command authority but instead takes it from his victims. 

British folk horror storylines thrive in the social divide seen in the likes of Witchfinder General; the films allude to how the most significant threat does not strictly adhere to paranormal entities and ghoulish ghosts; instead, it’s the same civilisation that one belongs to. This essence of fearing your fellow neighbour and evil lying within the home is further explored in Piers Haggard’s The Blood on Satan’s Claw. 

The motivations behind much of the folk horror seen in the mid-1970s surrounded the hippie counterculture that dominated the landscape during that time. The decade saw a rise in young people declaring a belief system that went against the common consensus. They protested the war, dabbled in the increasingly popular substances arriving in the common market, and openly expressed the desire to change the system. The Blood on Satan’s Claw follows a group of young people in a small village being overcome and possessed by the devil himself after a skull is found underneath the town’s ground. 

The cult of demon-worshipping children is shown infiltrating and recruiting other members to the group until eventually banding together to cause ultimate destruction. The film can be easily read as an on-screen recreation of the disharmony that was arising at the time, with the notion of sudden societal uproar being one of the critical themes of the film. 

Out of the trinity and the entire catalogue of British folk horror, one of the most crucial, successful, and effective films has to be The Wicker Man. Robin Hardy’s classic follows the residents of Summerisle as they complete a ritualistic sacrifice for the land to ensure a fruitful harvest. The Wicker Man remains the most influential folk film and one of the most important horror films in general across British cinema. Throughout the film, the main character is Summerisle. It’s a symbolic living and breathing organism that devotes itself to the people, and in return, the residents nourish it with sacrificial flesh, blood and bones.

Beyond The Unholy Trinity

Amidst the horticulture of the well-renowned Trinity was a string of TV specials that have become ingrained in the thesis of British folk horror. Television, possibly more so than cinema, is entirely reflective of its audience. Britain is known for its blunt and bleak outlooks and humour, meaning that much of the fictitious media to come from the country relies on the nation’s unique nihilistic framings. 

Whistle and I’ll Come to You (1968), Penda’s Fen (1974) and Red Shift (1978) are just some of the many television specials that captured Britain’s gloomy atmosphere with the traditional folkloric spirit. With these television specials also came a form of notoriety that allowed folk horror to be available to a broader audience than film allowed. When speaking of the times, not everyone had the time or ability to go to the cinema and view these fantastical folk films. However, many had access to a television set where these spooky entries would interrupt the standard Saturday night entertainment specials to display the most tempered and sinister of frights. 

It was a time of paranoia, with the events in the news being scarier than any film or book anyone could have ever witnessed. With this, a level of immunity was stripped back, children would walk past paper stalls with the sinister headlines in full sight, and the daily news report would blare on the radio over breakfast. The presence of these shows was momentous. It was a chance for ghastly stories to enter the home and invade the keep calm and carry on attitude. Folk horror uses the presence of rural locations, familiar faces, and supposedly ‘quaint’ bonds as a vessel for actual, brutal disharmony to break through. The prettiest village harboured the most terrible secrets; ancient curses lay underneath the silent fields, and the longheld family unit could be disrupted anytime. 

Today’s context

Folk horror has never been more alive. The messages and symbolism seen in the likes of the Trinity still resonate from a contemporary perspective. For example, The Wicker Man is celebrating its 50-year anniversary this year, yet its connotations are more significant now than ever. With every harvest, the Summerisle residents must offer a human sacrifice to appease the ground’s thirst. In its rawest form, the film’s discourse surrounds how society’s actions profoundly affect earthly structures; the soil beneath us is not forgiving and requires care. Similarly, if we take a look at the whole Trinity, the entire pathology of every film can be sourced back to how the ecological landscape holds great power, and with great power comes a right to respect. 

This aspect of the Anthropocene is and will always be a landmark in understanding folk horror. The relationship between land and human intervention is at the heart of many folk entries. As The Wicker Man implies, the people no longer live on Summerisle as simple occupants. They are intrinsically connected to the land. They must offer a sacrifice; otherwise, their well-being will wither with the ground beneath them. 

Legacy 

Folk horror has birthed an entire subset of movies. Even films that do not necessarily fall into the lines of folk horror weaponise the standard folk format to convey its harrowing message. Take, for example, In the Tall Grass, the 2019 horror based on Joe Hill and Stephen King’s 2012 novella. The film implies that crops hold some form of supernatural power over those who dare to step foot on the land. Even The Blair WItch Project (1999) has a folkloric undertone, with the group of explorers being purposefully misled in a forest due to a presence that controls the woodland. Akin to nature itself, folk horror is everywhere, it’s inescapable and has never been more potent.

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Forty five years on – I Spit on Your Grave

“This woman has just cut, chopped, broken, and burned five men beyond recognition – but no jury in America would ever convict her!”

I Spit on Your Grave was considered so heinous, so ludicrously cruel, that it earned its spot as one of the most notorious video nasties that caused a tidal wave of commotion in Britain circa the 1980s. However, whilst it is now a celebrated classic and an iconic exploitation-revenge horror, Meir Zarchi’s career-defining film is still radically controversial. 

This quintessential genre film follows Jennifer Hills (Camille Keaton), a writer from the bustling borough of Manhattan, looking for some solitude to write her first book. Jennifer’s rented cabin in the rural countryside proves quaint and peaceful until a local group of barbaric misfits line her up for the most disturbing fate. In what can only be described as the unholiest actions, the gang repeatedly assault her and leave her for dead. This simple revenge story is one that is now rather commonplace for many movies, particularly those on the darker side, and whilst this arc has been through its fair share of cinematic cycles, I Spit on Your Grave remains one of the chief instigators of this gruelling subgenre. 

Despite the harrowing brutality of it all, I Spit on Your Grave has quite a bold backstory. It all started when filmmaker Zarchi came across a young woman who had been raped in a public New York park. Bloodied and stripped of her dignity, Zarchi helped the woman to the police station in hopes of justice. However, the officers nitpicked her statement by criticising her slurred speech, despite the fact that the attack had left her with a broken jaw and unable to speak. From this moment on Zarchi was compelled to tell a story of such great injustice with a horrific twist that many argue offers a warped sense of vengeance and a bold take on catharsis. 

The film’s venom-filled storyline helped infuse Jennifer’s character arc with a level of brutality that oozed throughout the whole film, with I Spit on Your Grave’s cinematic detailing offering covert signalling and interesting gazes that positioned the horror in a rather confrontational perspective. This aspect of antagonising the viewer and making them see the true horror of the crimes completely banished the video nasties’ campaign claims, which included warnings that films such as I Spit on Your Grave were a sadistic “poison”. 

Even all of these years later, it’s clear to see that I Spit on Your Grave is a far cry from tempting. For example, during Jennifer’s mistreatment, the camera continuously shifts the lens to focus on the perpetrator’s face at a low, flat angle as if the camera were taking on the victims position – the spectator becomes physically aligned with Jennifer with the assailant symbolically lying atop of the viewer. It is an assaultive and unforgiving lens that does not lend any prowess to Jennifer’s situation. The audience is exploited, they are made to feel victimised. It’s a horrifying fate that forces a reaction of gut-wrenching terror, it is undoubtedly dreadful. Zarchi’s cinematic detailing abandons any suggestion that the film is titillating and encourages similar crimes. Alternatively, I Spit on Your Grave is so utterly cruel that it makes the viewer recoil in shock at the mere thought of such a reality. 

And it’s this exact reason as to why I Spit on Your Grave is considered a definitive example of classic horror cinema 45 years later. The harrowing scenes are far from influential, they are in fact so antagonistic that the very thought of it becoming a reality is sickening. Everything from the aforementioned cinematography to the commendable performance from Camille Keaton is what allows this 1970s triumph to be unforgettable. It’s a brutal film that manages to stand the test of time and still inflict filmic wounds upon its audience. 

I Spit on Your Grave was eventually given a DVD release with a sign-off from the BBFC in 2001, with the censorship officials enforcing necessary cuts to tone down the now-debunked eroticisation. In 2010, the organisation took another look and admitted that the cuts were overboard, yet they still concluded that nearly three minutes of edits were needed. Just three years ago in 2020, the board were brought back to the table to discuss the infamous film, and yet they still refused to officially release the entire uncut version in the UK. 


Despite the rather rocky reputation that I Spit on Your Grave has obtained over time, the film has blossomed into a franchise, with the well-received remake hitting screens in 2010. Over the years, another three movies were made, all detailing the archetypal revenge storyline that Zarchi’s original helped established. With the influx of vengeance horror’s dominating a large part of the genre, it’s essential that we must not forget its ancestry, including films such as The Last House on the Left (1972), Death Wish (1974), and I Spit on Your Grave (1978).

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Retrospective: Sleepaway Camp (1983)

(WARNING SPOILERS AHEAD!!)

The finale, the third act, the big reveal. These are all desperately important points in a film that opens the door for renowned reputations and unforgettable experiences to be had. Psycho (1960) revealed that Norman Bates (Anthony Perkins) was acting as his dead mother all along, and The Sixth Sense (1999) unveiled that Bruce Willis was in fact a ghost for the whole film – both memorable and commendable. However, amidst all the ghostly apparitions, slasherific slayings, and zombified herds, no other horror makes the viewer as bewildered and utterly bemused as Sleepaway Camp (1983). 

Robert Hiltzik’s Sleepaway Camp chronicles one treacherous summer at Camp Arawak. People go missing only to show up dead, bullies thrive amidst the teenage hierarchies, and one young girl reveals a troublesome, horrifying secret. 

In the fall of 1982, Hiltzik along with a relatively small crew and an even smaller budget took to a quiet lake on the rural side of New York to film a movie far from tranquil. The production was met with its fair share of setbacks, including the storyboard being completely thrown off via scheduling difficulties, and the surrounding forgery turning into an autumn landscape rather than that summer green they had hoped for. However, just as most 1980s horror movies show, Hiltzik was not put off as himself and the crew slugged through the unpredictable path of independent filmmaking. But the reward was certainly worth it, as 40 years down the line its cult following is continuously growing and fans remain awed at the marvellous gnarly slasher that still instils shock value all these years later. 

The film works due to its exceptional practical effects, solid yet ‘unique’ performances, and THAT ending!

As with many films from its time, the post production team were rarely afforded with the luxury of CGI- although as visual evidence supplies, practical effects supremely reigned as champion between the two. Out of all the fantastic effects, two that stand out above the rest are the ‘arrow-neck’ and the ‘boiling pot kill’. Ed French and Ed Fountain, the special effects team, have spoken about the infamous arrow-to-the-throat death, which refuses to rely on cutaways and clever editing to show a sharp arrow piercing through an unlucky victim’s jugular. Due to the duo’s cryptic trickery, it has been heavily debated as to how an effect this realistic and hard to pull off was ever completed in the low budget climate. 

As the decades have gone on, the pair have finally revealed their secret. A Mechanical rig was latched underneath a prosthetic neck, hiding a foldable arrow that would unravel like a springboard when hit with a prop arrow, providing the illusion of a clean cut stabbing. 

The boiling pot kill showcases a drum of ferociously hot oil being dropped all over an Arawak kitchen worker’s body, creating the most disgustingly graphic burns. French and Fountain pulled off this visceral effect with plaster moulding, heavily piled on stage makeup and sticky gelatine on top to give it that freshly peeled skin look. 

Sleepaway Camp is home to two of horror’s most oddest, but fascinating characters – Judy (Karen Fields) and Angela (Felissa Rose). Judy plays Arawak’s resident mean girl, a brutally cruel, beyond bitchy, and impossible not to laugh at character that helps make the film the classic that it is today. Judy is filled with one-liners, with some of the best including “She’s a real carpenter’s dream: flat as a board and needs a screw!”. Field’s cold demeanour and awfully annoying (although deliberate) smirk as she hurls abuse is somewhat equally irritating and entertaining. 

Then there’s Angela. Over the years Rose has become a horror icon, with ques lining her stand at every mass horror movie event. She plays her role with such conviction, and not at any one moment does the viewer understand her actions, Angela’s personality is a true enigma. But of course, there’s a reason why Angela is written as a rather empty, sketchy person… She is the Camp Arawak killer. 

After the film hits its climax and plenty of blood has been shed, Hiltzik ends the film with a silent revelation showing a nude Angela standing tall with the most menacing of expressions, revealing an unexpected penis that stands out amongst her feminine energy throughout the rest of the film. Before analysis resumes, it is crucial to highlight the film’s criticisms. Upon its release 40 years prior, many have noted that Sleepaway Camp can ensue a message of trans people being violent simply because of their make-up. However, the contemporary perspective has allotted Sleepaway Camp as being a welcomed, queer-coded film that instigates an important conversation. 

Sleepaway Camp’s opening illustrates a fatal incident, with two men, John and Lenny, taking John’s children (Angela and Peter) on a boating trip, which results in a boat crash leaving only one of the offspring alive. After the event, the tragically orphaned ‘Angela’ is taken in by their odd Aunt Martha, who seems suspicious but fairly caring. The third act reveals that the surviving child was not Angela, but instead Peter. Martha did not wish to care for a boy, she wanted a little girl, leading to Martha raising Peter as his dead sister Angela. 

Sleepaway Camp is rooted within the tragedy of forced gender dynamics, placing Angela (actually Peter) in a body that they do not wish to conform to. The film speaks of the horrors that come from misgendering, and the trauma inflicted on youth who are forced to live in a gender that is socially placed on them. Whether Hiltzik initially interpreted the film to compose such a message, what matters is that from a retrospective view, the queer community has taken the horror film as an important piece of cinema that touches on canonical and wrongly tabooed subjects. Sleepaway Camp was ahead of its time, and it has finally reached a place of acceptance where its recaliment stands for something that rightfully means an awful lot to many people. 

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Retrospective: The Thing (1982)

“Somebody in this camp ain’t what he appears to be” says MacReady (Kurt Russell) as he and his fellow researchers stuck out in the desolate Antarctica squabble over a shape-shifting parasite that takes no prisoners in the quest for power. Rose-tinted glasses are a great shield, but deep down the seedy underbelly will eventually swell, and before you know it, complete hell on earth will be released. The Thing revitalizes that sense of fear over unknown territory that lies beneath every individual to devise one of cinema’s greatest hits. 

When it comes to such a classic, it’s assumed that the road to success was an easy sail, yet, whilst John Carpenter’s terrifying alien feature is a flawless rendition of sci-fi extremes, the production was filled with bumps and jolts. A string of everybody’s favourite filmmakers including Tobe Hooper (joined by writing partner Kim Henkel) and John Landis were all invited to recreate the novella Who Goes There? (1938), which had already been adapted in Christian Nyby’s The Thing from Another World (1951). The arrangements for production were made, but something was missing, that special touch, however, when Carpenter and scriptwriter Bill Lancaster put pen to paper and opted for a touchingly dark and menacingly brutal narrative arc, the cameras began rolling and the rest is history.

It’s no surprise to anyone that the 1980s were a whirlwind of a time for horror, flocks of people were either greedy for the startling nature that horror had to offer, whereas others were actively campaigning for the ‘nasties’ to be axed, done, and dusted. Needless to say, the appetite for The Thing was more than turbulent. And since the mainstream media (which at the time controlled the marketing and awareness of new releases) were not eager to sing Carpenter’s praises, The Thing stayed in the dark for many years. 

The production was no walk in the park either. The twelve weeks of filming in the harsh Alaskan grounds with plenty of mishaps, including camera lenses freezing due to the cold, and actor Keith David breaking his hand the day before filming.

 

To follow on from the turbulent events that came across during production was the unfortunate reputation that clung onto the film thanks to the rocky reputation expressed by unfair reviews and a damning case of word-by-mouth. As soon as The Thing hit theatres the feedback from major outlets including Roger Ebert, Variety, The New York Times, and The Washington Post all obliterated the fine craftsmanship that had gone into making this genre defining classic. The bleak tableau of cynical mindsets and the void of formulaic arcs left a stain on those who were lucky enough to see it in cinemas upon its initial release. Ironically, for a time that would publicly blast horror for not being original and more like a gory slapstick, The Thing’s devotion to marrying intense character dynamics with an analogy-ridden path was simply ‘too much’. From a retrospective point of view, the only thing that was excessive about the film is how much it has to offer; whether it’s the masterful practical effects or the haunting atmosphere, The Thing aims to be *thee* ultimate spectacle. 

The basis for The Thing surrounds an American research station in the faraway and foreign land of Antarctica where snow takes up every ounce of space, and where permanent habitation ceases to exist. The immediate vastness is a daunting facet alone, furthering the velocity of events the team eventually endures. With the aid of an anamorphic lens, the idea of an airy vacant setting is forced upon the viewer, with the stretched, wide frame providing ample space for action to be seen, also subtly showing ‘too much’ bare room around the characters, almost insinuating that there is bound to be someone or something imminently creeping into the frame all of a sudden. 

This premise of suggestion is a theme that runs throughout The Thing’s veins, with uncertainty, precariousness, and ample amounts of delusion infecting the entire course of reason amongst the characters. Tiptoeing alongside the effectiveness of the atmosphere is the deliberately conspicuous and savage research team including the unpolished helicopter pilot MacReady (Russell), Childs (David) the in-house skeptic mechanic, Blair (A. Wilford Brimely) the paranoid biologist, and Nauls (T. K. Carter) the quick-thinking cook. In what can best be described as a motley crew of personalities is a variety of identities that outwardly play out as clashing souls whose inner dynamics pave the way for disaster to strike, however, internally a much more complex picture is being painted than what meets the eye. 

Each character is assigned a general emotion that protrudes further than any other feeling, the characters are simply puppets in Carpenter and Lancaster’s plot to manipulate the viewer into a state of complete shock and fear over the unfolding narrative. The Thing invites the viewer to go on an emotional rollercoaster, with MacReady’s brash feistiness embodying our fight or flight response, Child’s uncertainty and mistrust representing the hastiness that we feel over every new spectacle, Blair’s irrationality epitomizing the panic experienced as we also learn of the parasite’s ferocity, and Naul’s curiosity sparking our need to unravel the origins and motives of the assimilation.

The Thing plays out with an air of fluidity that seems so natural, and whilst that was the goal, behind the scenes Carpenter meticulously plotted out every little detail to enhance the horror and ultimately conjure a trance-like spell over anyone brave enough to watch it. 

Above everything, one aspect that will forever remain synonymous with The Thing’s cult classic reputation is the outstanding effects. Considering the entire premise surrounds a creature feature show, the design of the monster itself was of utmost importance to Rob Bottin, the lead effects creator. Originally, Carpenter wanted “the thing” to be of one design, a whole being, not a shapeshifting leech. In fact, when Bottin initially expressed his ideas of the various forms the monster would take, Carpenter was more than unsure about going down that valiant route. However, the surreal design soon won him over and the thirty five person team went to work in creating one of cinema’s most infamous creatures of all time. 

The 1980s didn’t have mountains of technology to aid in the graphics, instead handy work and dedicated creative geniuses would spend hours moulding full body casts of actors and glueing together faux flesh to fashion severed bloody limbs. One of the most impressive scenes shows the crew’s dog assimilating into a gigantic extraterrestrial being complete with multiple snarling dog heads crowning the top of a bubbling pile of viscera filled with mutating blobs and more than enough blood and slime. To form such a grotesque but fascinating effect, Bottin enlisted the help of fellow effects artist Stan Winston to construct a large hand puppet from makeup artist Lance Anderson’s body. The puppet would then be layered with latex foam and hooked up to wired legs and radio controlled eyes to force the alien-like movements expressed by the thing. Even the mass pile sat below the creature was given its texture from mayonnaise, melted bubble gum and plenty of K-Y Jelly. 

In true old-school fashion, no CGI blood spurts were to be had, instead, Anderson would have to wear a blood-squib suit which would eject plenty of fake blood on cue. 

Blood, sweat, and tears went into concocting the visual feast that The Thing has to offer, with Bottin being hospitalised from exhaustion over literally working for nearly 24 hours everyday just to achieve the perfect aesthetic for the film. 

Upon a modern perspective, the bumpy road The Thing traveled down for its first couple of the years wasn’t down to poor filmmaking or lack of inspiration, the sole reason was that viewers were just not ready for something so monumentally confrontational, a product that dares to end on a gloomy note and not succumb to the Hollywood flow of moviemaking. The legacy of The Thing is still felt to this day, forty years on. Comic books, video games, miniseries, and prequels have all come and gone within the last twenty years, with Blumhouse Studios even releasing a statement in 2020 confirming that The Thing is getting the now-standard remake treatment. 

In a landscape where seemingly everyone’s true colours can be exposed and evil is more free than ever, John Carpenter’s 1982 showstopper is more important now than ever. 

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