texas chainsaw massacre

Celebrating 50 Years of Chainsaw Jerry

/ swampflix / 5 Comments

Practically every cinema in town has offered a screening of the original Texas Chain Saw Massacre this month, since the movie is currently enjoying its 50th anniversary and those Halloween-season marquees have to be filled by something.  No other venue rolled out as much novelty & ceremony for the occasion as The Broad, though, as they played host to Screamfest NOLA‘s Texas Chain Saw celebration.  The event was commemorated with appearances by an animatronic Leatherface outside, a cosplaying Leatherface indoors, free barbeque catering (to enhance the movie’s cannibalistic themes), and an operational replica of the van driven by Leatherface’s teenage victims.  Most importantly, though, the driver of that van was the guest of honor for the evening: actor Allen Danzinger, who plays Jerry, the discofied navigator who leads his fellow teens to bloody peril at the Louisiana/Texas border.  Danziger has apparently developed a horror-circuit side hustle signing autographs as a minor player from the original Chain Saw Massacre, branding himself as “Chainsaw Jerry” and selling official Chainsaw Jerry merch, like Chainsaw Jerry bobbleheads and t-shirts boasting Chainsaw Jerry’s famous catchphrase that we all know and love, “Quit goofing on me!”  It’s a little like how Paul Marco found a side career working horror convention booths thanks to his recurring Dumb Cop character “Kelton” in Ed Wood’s most famous films . . . except that Danzinger’s total screentime in Texas Chain Saw Massacre amounts to maybe ten minutes total, give or take his friends calling his name not realizing that he’s already been hacked to death.

To be honest, I’ve never been a huge fan of The Texas Chain Saw Massacre.  I’m just more of an 80s splatstick guy than a 70s grindhouse guy, even if I can appreciate that Texas Chain Saw is the 70s grindhouse movie – the one that everything in its wake sweatily scrambled to emulate.  Funnily enough, Allen Danzinger doesn’t care much for The Texas Chain Saw Massacre either.  He joked during the post-screening “Q&A” (a rehearsed stand-up routine mostly comprised of preloaded quips) that when Tobe Hooper asked him if there were any ways the movie could be improved, he replied, “Yeah, turn the seats away from the screen.”  His role as Jerry is mostly acting as comic relief in that same way, including a lengthy scene where he teases the scaredy-cat victim Franklin that he gave the unhinged hitchhiker they picked up (one of Leatherface’s loving relatives) his home address and his zip code (in an exchange that Danzinger recalls having mostly improvised).  He described Jerry as a kind of “smart aleck” version of Disco Stu.  When I asked if that disco costuming was true to how he dressed at the time, he reported that, yes, he wore his own personal wardrobe for the shoot.  Allen Danzinger is Chainsaw Jerry.  He’s a fun-loving goofball who doesn’t want to be involved in grisly gore-hound goings on of the Texas Chain Saw Massacre; he just wants attention and for you to buy a commemorative bobblehead.  The horror nerd audience at the Screamfest NOLA screening kept pleading for him to say something positive about any horror movie that he enjoys, since he wouldn’t cosign the all-timer quality of the film that made him subculturally “famous,” and he would only concede to two: Abbott & Costello Meet Frankenstein and his own upcoming stoner-comedy slasher The Weed Hacker Massacre.  That’s because there are only two things that Chainsaw Jerry loves to do: schtick & the hustle.

I highly recommend seeking out a Texas Chain Saw screening with Chainsaw Jerry in attendance, especially if you want to revisit the film even though it’s not entirely Your Thing.  Personally, Texas Chain Saw might not even rank among my Top 5 Tobe Hooper films, much less my top 5 horrors of all time, since he later went on to direct 80s classics that speak much more directly to my own over-the-top sensibilities: Lifeforce, Poltergeist, Invaders from Mars, The Funhouse, etc.  Seeing it on the big screen only confirmed that its proto-Terrifier style of shrill slaughterhouse violence isn’t entirely for me, even if I can appreciate the feel-bad brutality of its violence and the mise-en-scene of its taxidermy art installations.  My only new observation on this rewatch was that it just missed being titled The Texas Sledgehammer Massacre, given how much more often that instrument is used to take out Jerry’s doomed friends before the titular chainsaw hacks them to bits.  It helped tremendously to have Danziger at the screening signing autographs & doing schtick, then, since he brought a lot of cheeseball levity to the event that’s missing from the film itself.  Yes, he shared the same anecdotes about the grueling 6-week shoot and the stink of the animal-parts set decor that you’ll hear at every other Texas Chain Saw event, but he also told us that New Orleans local John Larroquette was paid in weed for his narration over the opening scroll.  I have no idea if that anecdote is insightful or even true, but it got a laugh out of me, which is exactly why you want to venture into the Texas Chain Saw Massacre with Chainsaw Jerry at the wheel of the van.

-Brandon Ledet

Texas Chainsaw Massacre (2022)

/ swampflix / 5 Comments

Between the 2018 version of Halloween, last year’s revision of Candyman, and this year’s update to Scream, the legacy sequel appears to be the hottest trend in mainstream horror filmmaking.  Rebooting iconic horror IP without disregarding the continuity of the original source material is the exact kind of “safe bet” investment Hollywood Money Men love. It simultaneously drags old customers back to the theater with a nostalgia magnet while luring in fresh-faced Zoomers with allowance money to burn.  Tobe Hooper’s grimy cannibal classic The Texas Chainsaw Massacre is an absurdly ill-fitting candidate for the legacy sequel treatment, though, no matter how tempting it must be to cash in on its decades of name-recognition.  Nine films into the franchise, there’s still no clear continuity in either story or tone across the various Texas Chainsaw sequels & reboots.  Each individual entry is a chaotic outlier with no solid tether to the rest of the series beyond the chainsaw-wielding maniac Leatherface.  It’s also been almost a half-century since the Tobe Hooper original, which means that Leatherface and his first-one-that-got-away “final” girl would easily be pushing 70 years old in a modern-day sequel.  And that’s to say nothing of the tastelessness of dragging Sally back into Leatherface’s chow zone after the original actor who played her, Marilyn Burns, died in 2014.  The 2022 Texas Chainsaw Massacre recasts Olwen Fouéré (of Mandy notoriety) in the Sally role, feigning to give her the same long-awaited revenge mission Laurie Strode’s pursuing in the new Halloween cycle, only for that subplot to be treated as a callous joke with an abrupt, dismissive punchline.  That gag is poorly conceived, needlessly cruel, and ultimately just an excuse to participate in extratextual Online Discourse that has nothing to do with the movie’s central narrative – the exact three qualities that make the new Texas Chainsaw Massacre such a sickening hoot.

Besides the all-growed-up-final-girl revenge plot, another goofy hallmark of the legacy horror sequel is giving its youngsters in peril jobs that did not exist when the series originated.  Both the new Halloween and the new Slumber Party Massacre go the obvious route, unleashing The Shape & The Driller Killer to attack true crime podcasters who treat their heyday slayings as entertainment #content.  The new Texas Chainsaw Massacre goes the long way, staging a showdown between Leatherface and wealthy social media Influencers who want to transform his small Texas town into a big-city Liberal utopia – a rural cult for terminally online Zoomers.  It’s a ludicrous premise, one the film only uses an excuse to directly comment on hot topics like cancel culture, gentrification, “late-stage Capitalism”, school shootings, and the Confederate flag.  Leatherface’s new crop of victims aren’t characters so much as they’re pre-loaded Twitter talking points (even with Eighth Grade‘s Elsie Fisher doing her damnedest to perform her Culture War discourse with a genuine pathos as the new final girl).  Worse yet, the film decidedly falls on the Right-Wing side of that cultural divide, taking the positions that the Confederate flag is more a symbol of heritage than of racism, that automatic assault rifles are necessary to survival, and that today’s socially progressive youth are inherently weaker & more superficial than the rural townies they condescend to as small-minded bigots.  Texas Chainsaw Massacre only floods its small Texas town with big-city Influencers as targets for Leatherface’s chainsaw, but every single time it’s obliged to give their presence a narrative purpose, it defaults to complaining that kids today are whiny Liberal wimps – a sentiment that only gets queasier the longer it fixates on their ritualistic disemboweling once the slaughter begins.

So, to recap: the teens are annoying, the dialogue is clumsy, the themes are reactionary, and it’s all a flimsy excuse to stage 80 minutes of for-its-own-sake hyperviolence.  By those metrics, the new Texas Chainsaw Massacre is pretty faithful to slasher tradition, which has never had a functional moral compass, nor a reliable system of quality control.  I’d even go as far as to call it a great slasher, despite its atrocious politics.  Texas Chainsaw Massacre ’22 is careless when it comes to its characters, its debt to its source material’s legacy, and its broader cultural commentary, but it pours a lot of careful consideration into the craft of its kill scenes.  And since the movie is mostly kill scenes, it mostly gets away with it.  Leatherface’s chainsaw rips into a party bus packed with panicked social media addicts, tears townie challengers to chunks, and chases our new final girl through crawl space floorboards like an upside-down shark’s fin.  The violence is constant and constantly surprising, drowning the screen in so much goopy stage blood that you can hardly squint past it to see the rotten Conservative politics blurring up the background.  For better or worse, that gore-hound payoff will seal this movie’s legacy.  There will be vocal backlash against its reactionary Culture War politics for about a decade, then it’s going to be gradually reclaimed as one of the better entries in the Texas Chainsaw franchise as those talking points become 2020s kitsch.  Certainly, there are first-wave slashers from the 1980s with a more overtly bigoted, misanthropic worldview that have been reclaimed as cult classics with retrograde politics that are “of their time.”  The new Texas Chainsaw Massacre is of our time in the ugliest, most gruesome way possible.  It will similarly age gracefully as an adorable time capsule of our worst present-day filmmaking & cultural impulses.  All you can really do in the meantime is enjoy the novelty of the individual chainsaw kills, of which there are plenty to indulge.

-Brandon Ledet