I Respectully Disagree: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre

Reading film critic Mike McGranaghan’s book I came across a chapter where Mike wrote, “we seem to have lost the ability to respectfully ponder other people’s opinions.” Instead of making thoughtful, insightful comments about reviews we tend result to name-calling or insults. So here is a joint effort were Mike and I pick a movie we disagree upon and discuss our ideas thoughtfully and respectfully. The project begins here on 2dreviews, with my praise for The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (2003) and continues on Mike’s site The Aisle Seat with his counter.

Growing up I never sought out horror movies. Like the victims in scary movies I wanted to escape those scenes and monsters. As a young teen I watched Jason Goes to Hell at a friend’s house right up until the part where a young woman gets chopped in half while having sex in a tent. I still don’t know how that movie ends.

Whenever friends wanted to see horror movies in theatres I would tag along begrudgingly. I viewed them as “low brow” entertainment. Simplistic premises, bad acting, poor characters, and unpleasant experiences.

One night, many years later, I knew I would have a big house to myself for a weekend so I rented Matchstick Men (which I’d always wanted to see), Stealth (because I hate myself), and as a challenge, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Maybe watching it alone at night in a big empty house was a part of it, but The Texas Chainsaw Massacre became the first horror movie I enjoyed. I’m thankful I had Matchstick Men to watch immediately after, but seeing Texas Chainsaw Massacre made me realize I no longer dismissed the genre; and encouraged me to seek out other (better) films to figure out what I liked about Texas Chainsaw and why.

The film isn’t free of poor characters. Nor does the film quite escape simple premises (though that’s to better match the 1974 original) and has five young adults who get detoured to a house where a leather-faced killer chases them with a chainsaw. When the movie begins we see Kemper (Eric Balfour) driving. He checks the rear view mirror and sees Pepper and Andy making out in the back seat. He nods approvingly as if to say, “lusty young people, check.” His girlfriend Erin (Jessica Biel) establishes her relationship with Eric through dialogue rather than example. Not a great start, but the “horror” that follows was unpleasant in a way that made me reconsider my prejudices.

The scariest part of horror movies or psychological thrillers (for me) is the moment before they establish the level of violence or intensity of the film’s assault; like a boxer anticipating that first jab. Once that initial violent scene hits, my expectations plateau and I stop worrying. Texas Chainsaw‘s first intense scene (tiny spoiler ahead) has a woman pulling a gun from her nether-regions. She is wearing a dress. It’s surprising, illogical, and disgusting. It makes me uncomfortable in a way that gore or violence doesn’t, and the film maintains this level of discomfort.

And not just with Leatherface chasing people with his chainsaw. The film spends much more time trying to convey that feeling of a a band-aid in your soup. There are pigs walking around in a house, a policemen that wrap dead bodies in saran wrap, and jars filled with yellow water and Polaroid photos. All of which is enhanced by cinematographer Daniel Pearl.

More than the main villain, the Sheriff (R. Lee Ermey) tempers our uneasiness. He initially seems like an unusual authority figure that’s a bit crude but practical. He tells one of the youths to help him with a stiff and barks, “I’ll bet she’s real sorry you’re getting her blood all over yer arm.” Later he becomes manic and menacing. There’s a lot of breadth Ermey must portray between those two extremes. That ain’t easy.

I also believe Jessica Biel’s balance between “terrified” and “capable.” I invest in her and asked questions as if I were in her place. She’s the leader who tries to shepherd the others to safety because it’s the right thing to do, but morality is a tricky thing when a man with a chainsaw is five seconds behind you. At what point does it become practical to risk two lives when one person can escape? Is someone’s life always worth saving? There aren’t profound answers here, just a point about how the film engaged me.

Sure, there are a number of scenes that feel awkward. And I can’t really stand behind Jessica Biel’s white t-shirt tied to look like a crop top, or the excuses the film finds to get her top wet (no matter what director Marcus Nispel says about exposed skin conveying vulnerability). Problems like this reinforce what I disliked about these kinds of movies. But it was wrong to think I should avoid the genre all together. It’s more important to look at what I don’t like about a move and why. Otherwise I’d miss films I truly enjoyed, like The Fly (1958), The Thing (1982), Let Me In (2010), The Birds (1963), and The Descent (2006).

I still get a little queasy going into or watching horror movies, but Texas Chainsaw Massacre made me think that might be OK. Penny (one of the characters in the film) looks at some of the films violence and says, “It’s too much I’m going to be sick.” When she said that I felt oddly reassured. It wasn’t too much. I wasn’t going to be sick. I was definitely bothered, but (for the first time) in a good way.