The Texas chainsaw misery

Noel Vera

Jonathan Liebesman's "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning" is
in a very real sense a pain in the butt. As the mumblety-
mumbleteenth sequel to Tobe Hooper's original classic (the
fashionable term nowadays is 'prequel') its best ideas are cribbed
from that first film, including the opening credit sequence where
it's suggested that the lighting comes from flashbulbs going off,
and the unforgettable dinner party (inexplicably not in the '03
remake).

This prequel is a bit of an improvement over the remake (directed by
music video director Marcus Nispel) but that's not saying much.
There's a touch more story--we get to learn where Leatherface
(Thomas Hewitt, played by stolidly handsome Andrew Bryniarski)
originated, how he came upon his trademark chainsaw, and how he
first created his leather mask (turns out it's not calf leather);
there's also a lot more cat-and-mouse pussyfooting, the better to
ratchet up the suspense. Unfortunately, there's a considerable
narrative obstacle in the way: you know how it will all turn out.
Not one victim can survive, otherwise they'd report the Hewitts
(called the Sawyers in the original) to the police; not one Hewitt
can be seriously harmed (more or less), otherwise, he can't make an
appearance in the 2003 picture. The filmmakers know you know this
coming in, and try their level best to make you care for these
walking sirloins anyway. It's a daunting (if not impossible)
challenge even for the most skilled storyteller, and the problem
effectively cuts the filmmakers off at the knees--we don't care, and
we don't feel much loss when the various pretty boys and girls (who
seem interchangeable) are turned into 'saw fodder.

It's tempting to declare this the true "'Saw," the definitive
metaphor for the new millennium's horrors--the '03 remake avoided
most political references, including the suggestion of cannibalism
(the conservative Southern middle-class consuming its hippie
children)); the biggest concession the '03 version makes is in
keeping the setting in Texas, the Bush family's stronghold (moving
elsewhere would lose the picture one of American cinema's most
easily recognizable titles, one of the (as "'Saw" authority Joe Bob
Briggs put it) "all-time greatest titles in the history of the
universe").

In the prequel cannibalism is back with a vengeance, and the
political connections are played up to the hilt--an issue is made
over whether or not one of two friends should go to war or burn his
draft card and go to Mexico (the United States Armed Forces nowadays
is all volunteer, but the implication is clear: fight or not
fight?). R. Lee Ermey as Sheriff Hoyt, the Hewitt patriarch is a
hardcore conservative--he hates draft dodgers, will not tolerate
profanity from guests at the dinner table, and is a Korean war
veteran (or so he claims; turns out his badge and gun and vehicle
aren't his--that's why he's Hoyt, not Hewitt).

But the attempt at evoking today's horrors (the oppression of Iraq;
the torture of political prisoners) sits on this handsomely produced
picture as well as the handsome, fresh-skinned faces sit on Thomas
Hewitt's massive head (it won't fall off, but it won't win him a
date for the weekend either). What gave Hooper's great original its
lasting power was that Hooper was aiming for an exploitation flick,
had the skill and subtlety to make the picture look better than it
should, and the cunning to make the picture's no-budget crudity
(as "'Saw" authority Joe Bob Briggs put it "it was made in Round
Rock, Texas, for about 40 cents.") work for him too; as the film's
countless sequels and imitators proved, you can't buy the landscapes
and settings and animal horns and skeletons (real human ones, from
India--far cheaper than plastic replicas), not for a million
dollars, not for nine (the budget of the '03 remake). Fans of the
original have noted how well Marilyn Burns, the actress playing the
heroine, screamed; Briggs describes how at the time of filming the
temperature on the set rose past 100 degrees (lending the original a
sense of unrelenting heat you can't find in either remake or
prequel), and at one point (thanks to budget and other constraints)
the filmmakers found themselves shooting for 36 straight hours
nonstop in a closed room with formaldehyde-soaked animal corpses and
fly-covered offal festering in the incredible heat. Burns was merely
giving vent to the rage and misery of everyone on that set; she
can't help but be authentic.

When at film's end Hooper has Leatherface--played by the inimitable
Gunnar Hansen, who has never reprised his role--dance about, wildly
swinging a real, live chainsaw (the immensely powerful Hansen
wielded that 'saw like Astaire wields a walking stick), he touches
on a level of macabre poetry no one has ever touched before or since
(Hansen, who readily admits that during shooting he wasn't the
sanest of actors, managed to frighten away the film crew with his
whirling motorized implement). Hooper set out to make an
exploitation film, but the end result so perfectly captured the
feelings of paranoia and imminent danger simmering in people's minds
that it became a pop legend--which may explain in part why Hooper
has never managed to touch the public nerve quite the same way again
(although films like his "The Toolbox Murder" remake and his much
underrated "'Salem's Lot" miniseries shows he's still a horror
filmmaker to be reckoned with). It may also explain why, no matter
how similar the times may be again (the United States in yet another
unpopular war, the recurring state of anxiety), the two attempts to
recapture "'Saw" are such dismal failures: the people involved in
the original are mostly sitting in the sidelines, collecting
royalties. One might be happy for Hooper--aside from the money, his
episodes for the "Masters of Horror" TV series have turned out to be
some of the strongest of the series--but one wonders when he'll get
off his padded cushion and try make something as strong as "'Saw"
again.

Then again, perhaps one shouldn't wonder; "'Saw" authority Joe Bob
Briggs put it best when asked if the newer, gorier horror films are
scarier than "'Saw:" "Nope. No way, Jose. You take somebody to
see "Saw" who hasn't ever seen it before, and you'll know what I
mean when I say: "'Saw' is still the king."

(First published in Businessworld, 10/13/06)

(Comments? Email me at noelbotevera@...)