Hey folks, Harry here... don't forget i told ya so...
THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE – Test Screening (d. Marcus Nispel, w. Scott Kosar, based on the script by Kim Henkel and Tobe Hooper)
In Tobe Hooper’s 1974 original, it was the gradual build from the moment when the crazed hitchhiker, played memorably by Ed Neal, snatches away Franklin’s knife and proceeds to carve open his own hand, to his sudden, graphic assault on the whiney invalid (according to Joe Bob Briggs, “one of the most despicable handicapped people in film history) with a straight razor. It was a jarring harbinger of the many horrors still to come, but what made it all the more disconcerting was the casual manner in which they all brushed it off within a few minutes of screen time. They seemed to be shuffling toward their slaughter with all the doomed resignation of some hapless draftees heading off to Vietnam.
Marcus Nispel, on the other hand, doesn’t believe in such pussy half-measures, and he sure as shit couldn’t care less about subtext. After a moody black-and-white prologue (replete with narration from John Larroquette, and, yes, there are more easter eggs like this for rabid fans), the first-time feature filmmaker, and veteran of countless music videos and commercials, shoves us into the sweaty confines of a vaguely familiar (though not the same) van with another batch of dim twentysomethings, cutting rapidly from one extreme close-up to another, and ratcheting up the discomfort level until the gang nearly runs over a young woman dazedly roaming the roadside. Though these kids would rather be merrily on their way, especially since they’re hauling several pounds of marijuana smuggled up from Mexico, they decide to be good Samaritans and take the girl to the nearest hospital. What happens next is…. well….
Let’s just say that Franklin got off really fucking easy.
As the maiden filmic voyage launched from Michael Bay’s Platinum Dunes production company, THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE 2003 is a, surprise, visually stunning remake of a picture many believe to be perfect in its first incarnation. This (correct) belief has, in turn, ignited a rather vocal, if misguided, resistance to the very idea of a second go-round, but what Nispel and writer Scott Kosar have done is to suggest that what we saw initially was the movie version of the true story. In other words, as the former NIGHT COURT star informs us at the outset, the actual investigation has been sealed for thirty years, so we’re only now getting the factual account of what really occurred on August 18, 1973.
Whatever. All that matters is that Nispel’s THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE is a relentlessly transgressive horror film – an endurance test of often unbearably shocking imagery that hasn’t the patience to merely give the audience nightmares. It wants the instant gratification of scarring the audience’s consciousness right there in the theater. There are depraved minds at work here, but they’re firing with an enjoyable Grand Guignol relish that ultimately proves irresistible once the fright show kicks into gear around the half-hour mark with the appearance of Leatherface (which, interestingly enough, is about the same time he turns up in the original).
Let’s talk about Leatherface. Played by the hulking Andrew Bryniarski (best known the world over as Zangief in Steven E. de Souza’s powerful STREET FIGHTER), he doesn’t quite capture the sporadically endearing pathos of Gunnar Hansen’s skin flaying psychopath, but he’s plenty fearsome in his own right. As in the first film, Leatherface’s best moments come when he’s charging in full-speed pursuit of his prey. There’s an intangible and tireless rage at work within the shattered mind of this maniac (based more closely on Ed Gein this time out), but rather than look for answers as to what contributed to his madness, the filmmakers just put the sick bastard to work sawing the hell out of any youngster fool enough to wander into his dilapidated house.
Surprisingly, though, it’s not Leatherface who leaves the most indelible impact, but R. Lee Ermey as the corrupt-and-then-some Sheriff Hoyt. A symbol of vulgar, hard case authority ever since he threatened to skull fuck Vincent D’Onofrio in FULL METAL JACKET, Ermey’s a sleazy delight here. And he astoundingly equals the Kubrick film’s randiness with some brutally inappropriate (and, I’m assuming, improvised) dialogue that further cements his status as one of the great sick fucks in cinema history. Whether cracking wise with some necrophilia gags in the presence of a female corpse, or simply lingering over Daniel Pearl’s low-angle compositions, showing off a pair of hideously bushy eyebrows, Ermey manages to convey a more palpable sense of true menace than a chainsaw-wielding nutcase clothed in someone else’s skin. He’s triumphantly offensive.
Charged with the rough task of courting audience sympathy despite their aggressive, danger seeking stupidity, the kids are *just* alright, with Jessica Biel turning in the best performance of the bunch as Erin (though the picture’s costumers courteously saw to it that she’s frequently upstaged by her breasts). This time, however, their vacuous personalities aren’t really playing into any grander social commentary, which may or may not be refreshing depending on your expectations for this film.
Happily, the film is pretty up-front about its brazen, crowd-pleasing (or is that “queasy-ing”) intentions early on. Indeed, what Nispel’s THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE doesn’t have in nuanced subtext, it more than makes up for in sheer, unrelenting terror. If it feels like I’ve barely scratched the surface in terms of plot detail, it’s because I firmly believe this is a film that simply needs to be experienced. Spoilers are death for something as viscerally unsettling as this. Best to just (literally) strap yourself into a theater seat come October 17th, pin your eyes open, and let the film work you over as it takes a Stihl to the outer limits of basic human decency.
Faithfully submitted,
