Alongside
Night of the Living Dead and Halloween, Tobe Hooper’s The Texas Chain Saw Massacre remains one of the most controversial horror classics of its time. Naturally, there were sequels. Hooper’s Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 played like a
demented Warner Bros. cartoon compared to its gritty predecessor, while parts 3
(Leatherface) and 4 (The Next Generation) both acted as
pseudo reboots with little regard for established chronology, and are best
remembered for early appearances from Viggo Mortensen, Renee Zellweger and
Matthew McConaughey (my spellchecker just exploded). Then came the 2003 remake
– the financial success of which not only led to a prequel (The Beginning), but also helped spark
off the great horror ‘remakessance’ of last decade... good for it.
In
other words, the complete disregard for continuity here rivals even the Highlander franchise (and I’m not just
talking about discrepancies over how many words Chainsaw should technically be spelt with). So when this latest
entry was announced as a direct continuation of the 1974 original – one that
would ignore all previous intervening instalments – ears perked up. Compared to
some desperate effort at wrangling any form of cohesiveness from this decades-old
mess, a fresh start seemed like the best option. Of course, letting it rest in
peace may have been preferable.
John
Luessenhop’s Texas Chainsaw begins
during the immediate aftermath of Leatherface’s first cinematic killing spree,
as a furious redneck lynch mob assaults the cannibalistic Sawyer family home
and burns it to the ground, along with everyone inside... OR SO IT WOULD SEEM. Years
later, young Heather Miller (Alexandra Daddario) mysteriously inherits her
newly discovered/deceased biological grandmother’s house in Texas. Taking her
collection of stock character friends (the unfaithful lover, the slutty BFF,
the goatee guy, the hitchhiker they almost ran over... oh yeah, that’ll work
out great), Heather sets off for her new home, unaware of the seven-foot-tall,
chainsaw-happy mongoloid living in its basement.
As
you may have deduced from that synopsis, Texas
Chainsaw initially doesn’t push many boundaries. Its characters can be
fully analysed with a single disinterested facial expression (try Harry
Hamlin’s one from Clash of the Titans),
and when it’s not grossing you out with graphic kills, most scares are of the
jumpy variety (“Eh, maybe if I keep
looking down this pitch black corridor, nothing will spring out at me...”)
which, though often startling, you’ll spot coming a whole film reel away. Needless
to say, there are few surprises on offer, so don’t expect to have your mind
completely shattered by the awesome sight of Dennis Hopper dual-wielding
chainsaws again.
Just
bear with it for 40 minutes, though, because once the usual slasher flick
conventions have been exhausted, Texas
Chainsaw takes a detour and tries something new for its second half.
Without getting into spoilers, Heather slowly discovers her ties to Leatherface
and his murdered family, and the picture morphs into a revenge flick for its
final bloody act. Welcome as this change-up is, there’s just one problem. In
firmly establishing all these connections to Tobe Hooper’s film, the
screenwriters open a big can of logistical worms.
This
film is clearly set in 2012, 38 years after the original (further confirmed
during its marketing campaign). Automatically, blatant and irrational errors in
the time-space continuum crop up. As damage control, extraordinary lengths are
gone to in covering up the 1974 date and stop us questioning obvious plot holes.
Newbies might not have a problem, but the rest of us will be scratching our
heads over a pretty heinous continuity implosion (what, is Leatherface pushing
70 now?). I hoped for an endgame twist or something (anything) to explain it all, but no such luck. To sum up: either The Texas Chain Saw Massacre is now
meant to take place in the late 80s... or they dun srsly goofed.
Okay,
you can overlook that kind of logical
whoopsie, but moments where Texas Chainsaw
drops the ball entirely can’t be avoided. The opening scene should have been a
love letter to fans (it’s basically cameo heaven), but sadly plays out like a
bad case of fan fiction. Elsewhere, when one character flees into a densely
crowded carnival with Leatherface in hot pursuit, you’re prepared for a real chainsaw massacre. What should have
been a wonderful explosion of Piranha 3D-aping
gore, fizzles out with nary a drop of blood spilt. Come on, even Alligator II had a better carnival
scene!
When
it isn’t merely disappointing, Texas
Chainsaw delves into the laughably awful. Apparently this particular patch of Texas is protected by a grand total
of three cops, so naturally only one of them is sent down into Leatherface’s
dank basement lair (place looks like Dr. Freudstein’s hideout) with orders from
his superior back at the station to bring up a “visual”. Then, in the single
most inspired bit of product placement I’ve EVER seen, he pulls out an iPhone...
and uses the camera as a live video feed. What follows is, well, there are no
words to describe this scene’s inane genius. The hell am I watching, anyway?
Sweded Aliens? “No, go on, it’s okay. Nothing to worry about. We’ve got Idris Elba
watching you on the holomap. Promise.”
Ah,
but what does it matter when such stupidity is rewarded with a gory payoff? I
heard this was trimmed to avoid an NC-17 rating in the states, but (carnival
misfire aside) they can’t have left much out. Fans of the red stuff needn’t
worry, as it’s a nasty one. The usual array of hammers, meat hooks and hatchets
all get put to good use, alongside the titular power tool. Most of the flesh
shredding is handled the old fashioned way with practical effects, though
you’ll find some CG sprinklings thrown in (for flavour). These ‘enhancements’
never really convince, but shouldn’t detract too much from the experience...
such as it is.
But
the same can’t be said for Texas Chainsaw’s
cinematography. In direct contrast with the first film’s infamous
documentary-styled filmmaking, this boasts a flawless, colourful and, unless
I’m mistaken, digitally shot look
that wouldn’t be out of place in a direct-to-video release... and that’s
perhaps what hurts Texas Chainsaw the
most. Vapid characters and brainless plots are par for the course, but it’s sad
to see that ultra-grainy film quality – once synonymous with this iconic
franchise – make a complete departure here.
And
I got to enjoy a whole extra dimension of blandness! Like the film in general,
there’s little here to get excited about. In its defence, this might be the least
murky 3D presentation I’ve seen (it’s certainly easy on the eyes), but there’s
rarely enough genuine depth to justify the higher ticket price. Still, it’s fun
for all those gimmicky moments you’d expect from this sub-genre (watch out for
those teeth), and the part where Leatherface practically hammer throws his
chainsaw at us deserves a gold medal.
Similar
to Jason Voorhees and Michael Myers, Leatherface has never been associated with
just one actor (although from a physical standpoint, Gunnar Hansen is hard to
beat). Now played with borderline melancholic conviction (between bouts of
chainsaw rage) by Dan Yeager, you can believe this is a lonely and weathered
Leatherface many years down the line. From an Obi-Wanish point of view, he may have
always been a tragic villain, but Texas
Chainsaw marks the first proper attempt at exploring that sombre side of
everyone’s favourite lumbering anthropophagus, until the savage killer crosses
into anti-hero territory. Whether or not this succeeds (it’s a risky move) will likely become a source of much
debate among veteran fans, but I think they pulled it off to darkly comic effect;
and it goes some way in making up for even the film’s most grievous
shortcomings.
In
fact, I’d say the entirety of Texas Chainsaw
is elegantly tinged with devilish humour, not unlike Tobe Hooper’s first entry
was all those years ago. I’ve ragged on about its problems, but the film
clearly knows what it is, who it’s aimed at and fully embraces its schlocky
trappings with great enthusiasm. Frankly, there are far worse ways to spend 90
minutes.
Just,
you know, remember to tailor those expectations.
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