REVIEW: Dragon Wars (D-War)

Let's talk about schlock, shall we? That magical and elusive element that can take a work of sheer incompetence and turn it into something golden; movies like The Room and Samurai Cop, which, despite being functionally awful, are an utter joy to watch. In all my years studying schlock, I've found that the intent behind the film plays an important role in the way schlock is perceived. It's what separates a "bad" movie like Birdemic: Shock and Terror from a bad movie like Batman V Superman. As silly as it sounds, bad movies are typically more tolerable when there's the sense that someone really believes in it. It's one thing when a studio releases a bomb with nothing in the way of artistic intent besides "make a profit" and something entirely different when a filmmaker makes something totally devoid of irony or cynicism that simply happens to be a hilarious, steaming pile. Which brings me to this week's feature, Dragon Wars (otherwise known as D-War).

The creation of Korean filmmaker Shim Hyung-rae, D-War was the most expensive Korean film of all time when it was released. For whatever reason, Hyung-rae opted for a mostly American cast (not unlike his 1999 monster film, Yonggary) and the result is one of the most unintentionally joyful experiences I've ever had the pleasure of witnessing. The plot follows a young reporter named Ethan (Jason Behr); as a boy, Ethan learned that he was the reincarnation of an ancient Korean hero of legend (as told to him by a mysterious antique dealer played by Robert Forster in a scene that had me crying "stranger danger" from the second it began). It is his solemn duty to protect the Yeouiju, a young woman with the power to turn snakes into magical dragons. If she bestows her power upon a good snake, he will defend the universe from evil. But if she bestows her power on a bad snake, he will destroy the entire world. There's some talk about something important happening on the woman's twentieth birthday, but I honestly couldn't follow the legend since half of it is in Korean with no subtitles. It seems the Yeouiju has been reincarnated in the form of a girl named Sarah (Amanda Brooks); she has no friends and no family and is also definitely nineteen. An ancient evil senses this and, as one would expect, releases a giant cobra into LA so that it may gain Sarah's power and destroy the Earth. Things get very silly very quickly and the only time I stopped laughing was when the film actually tried to tell a joke.

The performances in this movie are really something special. I think one of the keys to good schlock is definitely effort on everyone's part; while I wouldn't say that the actors in this movie do a good job, they're definitely trying. There's not a hint of irony to be found in any of the performances or dialog, even as a giant cobra spits an elephant at a zookeeper and Craig Robinson cackles while brandishing a gun at an evil magical warlord. Really, it's this sense of sincerity that makes the movie work. It's not some cynical cash-in on an existing franchise; someone wanted to really make a giant monster movie inspired by Korean folklore, so they gathered up around a hundred million dollars and did exactly that. The result is something sloppy and nonsensical, but it's also undeniably endearing. I remember when this film came out, hearing legends of how badly it bombed (despite the massive advertising campaign). I was fully prepared for something awful (or God forbid, boring), but found only harmless cheese instead. It's a movie about a big Korean snake trying to turn into a big Korean dragon, chasing a bunch of comically bland twenty-somethings around LA for 90 minutes, what's not to love?

Now despite how much fun I had with this movie, I do think it's important to reiterate that D-War is a bad movie. Yes, it's a funny-bad movie, but it's a bad movie all the same. For all the effort of the cast, there's not a single good performance to be found. The dialog is laughable and the storyline is worthy of a SyFy original. As impressive as the special effects are for a foreign film from the mid-2000's, they're still nothing to write home about and the action is ironically the most boring thing about this entire affair. This is the kind of movie you put on as background noise during a party or at a sleepover after everyone's had a few. This is the kind of movie that is really only tolerable in a MST3K-style atmosphere; I can't imagine how painful this might have been in a situation where I wasn't allowed to mock everything I was seeing on screen. Don't get me wrong, it's earnest, but if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, chances are it's a big fat flop.

Dragon Wars (or D-War if you prefer) is a joy for all the wrong reasons. It's like eating a roll of raw cookie dough or wearing the same pair of sweatpants for an entire weekend; it's not good for you, but sometimes you just need to go that low once in a while. Sometimes it's fun to hide ourselves from the light of dignity and really revel in some good ol' fashioned trash. D-War is exactly that kind of movie; a box office bomb of narrative incompetence that will look splendid on a shelf next to Manos: The Hands of Fate and Shakma. If it feels like one of those days where you just wanna laze about, eat poorly, and revel in all sorts of bad decisions, D-War compliments that atmosphere like steak and cabernet. 

REVIEW: Kubo and the Two Strings

I have a horrible confession to make. I did not go see Kubo and the Two Strings when it was in theaters last summer. Worse yet, I instead went to go see a certain other movie, which shall remain nameless. You can imagine how bad I feel, especially since that movie went on to be a box office smash while Kubo just barely earned its budget back. The two came out within a week of each other; objectively, I am part of the reason Kubo failed, and let me tell you that nothing makes me feel worse. This is an incredible film that deserves every ounce of respect and acclaim it receives, and then some. Hopefully, this Review will suffice as an act of penance, inspiring you to check it out and guarantee it a good afterlife on home video.

Brought to us by the geniuses at Laika, the plot follows the story of a young, one-eyed boy named Kubo (Game of Thrones' Art Parkinson). He lives in a secluded mountain in ancient Japan with his ailing mother, telling stories to the locals with the assistance of his magical shamisen. After getting caught outside after dark, Kubo is forced to flee his home, constantly pursued by his wicked aunts (Rooney Mara) and his grandfather, The Moon King (Ralph Feinnes), who hope to rob him of his other eye. Displaced from his home and his family, Kubo is joined by the gruff, protective Monkey (Charlize Theron) and an amnesiac samurai who was cursed to take the form of a giant beetle (Matthew McConaughey); together, they set out to find his father's enchanted armor and defeat his evil grandfather once and for all.

As one would expect from a Laika film, Kubo is animated entirely through the use of stop-motion animation. Laika has a knack for setting the bar in terms of visual excellence with each release, and this is no exception; Kubo and the Two Strings is one of the most visually stunning pieces of art I've ever seen. There's bustling towns full of lively extras, pulse-pounding action sequences, and massive, intricate creatures, all animated frame by frame by frame by some of the most talented animators, artists, and puppeteers in the industry today. It almost feels like the animators are showing off at times, judging from how often we get a close-up of a character folding origami, handling a sword, or playing a stringed instrument, but frankly they deserve to boast as much as they please. The animation is so smooth, lively, and impressive that I almost forgot I was watching physical puppets interact with one another; its only detriment is that it sometimes looks too good, to the point that we're liable to forget the amount of physical work that went into bringing everything on screen to life. However, those moments when it dawns on you that every single thing on screen had to be sculpted, posed, and animated by hand (from the swooping paper figurines to each flowing strand of hair) are just as mind-blowing as they sound. The term "a feast for the eyes" is thrown around a lot these days, but it honestly doesn't do Kubo justice.

Laika has a talent for making films where the aesthetic is entirely vital to the tone and atmosphere of the film, and Kubo is no different. The story and plot conventions sound as though they're straight out of an actual Japanese legend, so the use of stop motion puppets gives everything an appropriately organic, folk-tale kind of feeling; combined with the narration at the beginning and end, it feels as though we're being told a story that was passed down through the generations. I get the same feeling watching this that I get when I watch a period piece or a Kurosawa samurai film, and that's mostly due to the incredible set design and visual style. A big part of what makes the film work is that it feels authentic (even though it's an original story, rather than an adaptation of any existing folklore) in terms of its visuals, music, and story.

For as much as I love the visuals here, the plot is just as deserving of praise. The story feels totally organic; there aren't any elements "for the kids" or "for the parents", it's simply concerned with being a good movie first and foremost, rather than appealing to any specific audience. I wouldn't really even call Kubo a children's movie; while it's colorful and animated and doesn't stray beyond PG territory, the tale it tells is very melancholy and refuses to talk down to its audience in any way. This is a true "all-ages" film, in that anyone, young or old, can find something to appreciate. I understand that major releases need to synergize with a studio's marketing departments, appealing to specific demographics and offering up ample opportunities for merchandise (on a totally unrelated note, check out this sweet clip of Justice League's new Batmobile design, now with MORE guns and missiles that really launch!). 

Really, this is a luxury that Laika, as a smaller studio, can readily afford, but I see no reason larger studios can't take the occasional risk and level with their audience. Kubo made lackluster returns at the box office because it was a low-key release surrounded by high-profile blockbusters; critically speaking, however, everyone loved it. If it had the exposure of other, more mainstream animated films, it would have been a huge financial success as well. Critics loved Kubo because it respected its audience. Themes of death, maturation, and loss are steeped deep within the movie's DNA, but not once does it feel like a dreary, unpleasant experience. It levels with its audience and accompanies them on a journey, rather than holding their hand, slapping on some blinders, and forcing them down a linear path. It's a film that, while not necessarily made for children, is definitely marketed to children; with that in mind, I think the film's approach to the story it sets out to tell is monumentally important. This is how you make a piece of art that has truly universal appeal.

I have not a single bad thing to say about Kubo and the Two Strings. I believe it to be Laika's finest film and one of the finest stop-motion pictures ever produced. Again, I deeply regret not seeing this last August when it was in theaters. Not only would I be happy to give the studio money for this, but I can safely say that this would have shown up at least twice on my End of the Year Retrospective. If you haven't seen Kubo, you need to atone for your mistake as I have. Track it down and check it out, I promise you won't be disappointed.

REVIEW: Kong- Skull Island

"Cinematic Universe" seems to be the defining phrase in this era of film history. Considering the runaway success of the MCU, it's not exactly difficult to understand why studios seem so smitten with the idea of tying their various franchises together in massive, theatrical crossover events. However, the idea of mashing profitable properties together is hardly a modern one; after all, Frankenstein's monster met the Wolfman long before the Avengers ever assembled (and that's counting the comics, too). Monster Mash films like Godzilla vs Mothra and House of Frankenstein were immensely popular all throughout the 40's, 50's, and 60's. Now that shared universes are making a comeback, studios are taking note by resurrecting the monsters who started it all. While Universal's upcoming reboot of The Mummy seems to be mimicking the superhero action of the Marvel films rather than sticking to the franchises' horror/suspense roots, Legendary's MonsterVerse (which began with 2014's Godzilla) skews much more towards presenting classic monster movie tropes and conventions with modern style and sensibilities. This remains true for the second film in this new series, Kong: Skull Island. It's a classic monster adventure with flair to spare, and I absolutely loved it.

The film acts as a reboot of the King Kong franchise, introducing Kong to this new continuity through an original story, rather than retelling the classic tale of beauty and beast. Set in 1973 right at the end of the Vietnam War, the film follows a team of scientists, government agents, and military personnel on a research expedition to the enigmatic Skull Island (recently discovered by Landsat satellites). As one might expect, our crew of explorers get more than they bargained for once they reach the island, running afoul of the local fauna (most notably, a 100-foot tall ape deity known as Kong). The plot is as straightforward as it gets and the characters are, for the most part, static and paper-thin. However, it's the sheer amount of care and competence that this movie was obviously made with that makes it work so well.

The film's visual style completely took me by surprise; the folly of so many modern blockbusters is an over-reliance of CGI to the point where everything looks flat and unimpressive (despite the immense amount of man-hours and artistry required to bring these effects to life). Imagine my shock when this offbeat, schlocky monster reboot ends up taking visual influence from everything from Apocalypse Now to Princess Mononoke. Skull Island is brimming with life, looking both organic and fantastical at the same time. Director Jordan Vogt-Roberts opted not to use dinosaurs, instead populating Skull Island with a number of bizarre but brilliantly-imaginative creatures and monsters. Early on, John Goodman's Bill Randa (an agent for the Monarch agency from Gareth Edwards' Godzilla) describes the titular island as "a place where God never finished creation", and everything from the vegetation to the inhabitants most certainly looks the part. Kong himself is more of a mythic beast than a big gorilla (no offense meant to Peter Jackson's loving 2006 tribute), covered in moss and algae as he lopes around his South Pacific home.

This is a movie that isn't afraid to get weird and inventive with its cinematography, and I feel the creativity at work here really pays off. During the initial helicopter battle with Kong, we are treated to a wonderful POV shot from inside a downed chopper. Our view of the outside world is restricted to an open side door, as we see the landscape slowly shift while Kong lifts the helicopter above his head. A hapless soldier falls into the ape's mouth and the film immediately hard-cuts to a research technician biting into a sandwich. Moments like these set the artistic tone for the entire movie; a larger-than-life adventure with dazzling contrasts of warm and cool colors shot from dynamic, engaging camera angles. There are several moments that I think would make for excellent posters (though I of course chose the bombastic Japanese variant for this Review); it's clear that the shots and visuals were composited with great care and attention to detail. Moreover, the film doesn't waste an ounce of its 1970's framework, enveloping its atmosphere in the iconography of the era.

Bucking the usual King Kong motif of "lovestruck beast martyred by the greed of man", Skull Island presents a positively Aliens-esque Vietnam parallel involving headstrong military types travelling to an unknown land to fight an enemy they don't understand. The film's antagonist, Lieutenant Colonel Preston Packard (Samuel L. Jackson), suffers from disillusionment and denial after US forces are recalled from Vietnam. Whereas all of his men are just thankful to go home to their families, Packard is left questioning the point of his sacrifice and service (as he explains to Brie Larson's wartime photographer, "we didn't lose the war, we abandoned it"). He's a soldier without a war to fight who happens to find an enemy in Kong. Despite Kong merely defending his territory from bomb-dropping intruders, his retaliation still wipes out a good amount of Packard's men. The best kind of villains are the ones with motives we can sympathize with; Packard is clearly consumed by a desire for vengeance, but we can completely rationalize his motives (to a point, of course). When a film's conflict boils down to "man vs nature", it's important for the human element to not be irrationally cruel. If the antagonist is a strawman who hates nature "just because", the audience will fail to see any reflection of themselves in the villain and the conflict loses all sense of interest and nuance.

That said, while I appreciate Skull Island's engaging stylistic choices and classically straightforward plot, I can't really defend the flat, uninteresting cast of characters. The film assembles an incredibly talented stable of actors (Tom Hiddleston, John Goodman, Brie Larson, Samuel L. Jackson, John C. Reilly, etc.) and then gives them nothing particularly interesting to do aside from escape from an island full of monsters. Samuel L. Jackson was an effective antagonist (though the role is very clearly in his comfort zone) and no one really gives a bad performance, but no one really stood out too much either. The script isn't anything to write home about (aside from a few good action movie monologues and one-liners here and there) and there are simply too many characters who are spread too thin in terms of motivation and emotional appeal. I didn't particularly care when anyone died and I was moreso engaged in Kong's conflict rather than if our team of protagonists could make it off the island. The only exception, unexpectedly enough, was the comedic relief played by John C. Reilly. He plays a US Air Force pilot who crash landed on Skull Island during World War 2 and has been living among the natives ever since (as you'd expect, there's culture shock jokes galore, a surprising amount of which hit). He actually gets a really nice amount of characterization and pathos, and I was really pulling for him to make it home; out of the entire cast, his was the only character that actually made me think "I hope he makes it out alive". Not to say that I actively wanted to see anyone die (like I said, the performances are all strong enough), but I wouldn't have necessarily cared if they did. This is a tremendously fun monster movie, but it could have really been something special if it had a stronger sense of focus when it came to the human element.

Kong: Skull Island is, shortcomings aside, an absolute blast. Is it a totally original movie? No. But is it a well-made movie? Most definitely. While the cast of characters is somewhat lacking (with John C. Reilly and Samuel L. Jackson carrying most of the weight), it's clear that this is a movie made with a loving artistic vision. It may not be as groundbreaking as the 1933 original or as epic as Peter Jackson's 2006 remake, but it's enjoyable in its own way, paying tribute to classic monster films both new and old. This is by no means a movie which attempts to reinvent the wheel; it knows exactly what it wants to be and exactly what it wants to do. It's made up of existing genre conventions, all executed with a great deal of finesse and style. The only question is, is that enough to make this worthwhile? I definitely think so; if you're looking for something to scratch that giant-monster movie itch, Kong: Skull Island is a worthy choice. While it's no eighth wonder of the world, it's still a ton of fun.

REVIEW: Logan

It's almost easy to forget just how old the X-Men film franchise is. The first movie came out back in 2000 and very few things since have stayed consistent (especially when it comes to both quality and continuity). After nearly two decades, we've had some excellent films (X2, Deadpool) and some not-so excellent films (X-Men Origins: Wolverine, X-Men: Apocalypse), as well as more in-universe reboots, retcons, and time-travel shenanigans than anyone could have predicted (X-Men: First Class, X-Men: Days of Future Past). Throughout all of these sequels and prequels and alternate timelines, there has been one constant in each and every X-film (with the exception of Deadpool); Hugh Jackman as Wolverine. For the past 17 years, Jackman has been the only actor to portray Logan on the big screen; he made the role his own and now, in Logan, he sets out to give the character the swan song he deserves in his final appearance as Wolverine.

The year is 2029 and mutants are all but extinct. The X-Men are a distant memory and Logan (Hugh Jackman) finds himself working as a chauffeur to support an ailing Professor Xavier (Patrick Stewart). The years haven't been kind to them; Logan's healing factor isn't what it used to be and Xavier is suffering from a degenerative brain disease (which, considering his telepathic abilities, makes things far more dangerous and complicated than one would hope). Their quest to escape persecution and live out their remaining days at sea is interrupted by the introduction of Laura (Dafne Keen), an 11-year old mutant who's on the run from the shadowy Transigen corporation. At Xavier's insistence, the three set off on a cross-country road trip to shepherd Laura to safety, all the while being pursued by Transigen's head of security, Pierce (Boyd Holbrook), and his team of Reavers.

This is the very definition of a multi-genre film. Naturally, it's a comic adaptation, and while it falls into the superhero genre, it's far more low-key than something like The Avengers. This is the story of a broken man learning how to be a hero once more, and the overall themes of sacrifice and redemption are core ideals of the superhero archetype. At the same time it's also a western, taking inspiration from classics like Shane and employing hefty doses of Johnny Cash music and iconography throughout. The dusty, southwestern landscapes give things a vaguely post-apocalyptic feeling, despite plenty of evidence to the contrary (Las Vegas is as popular as ever and limousine services are still in high demand); as far as Logan and the Professor are concerned, the world may as well have ended years ago. 

Director James Mangold also took inspiration from classic film noir and German expressionism, citing their similarity to comic book panels in terms of lighting and framing. As a result, we have an utterly gorgeous film that manages to leave a real visual imprint, and all without a single destroyed city or exploding setpiece. The action here is purely in service of the story and characters (rather than what will make for a good "wow" moment in the trailer), so every fight scene feels both necessary and incredibly visceral. Wolverine's most obvious superpower is built entirely around slashing and stabbing, and here we finally get to see that power at its goriest. Similarly, the stakes are far lower than your standard superhero fare. Like Deadpool, this is a film where the world isn't hanging in the balance; the conflict is far more personal, allowing us to form a more intimate connection to our protagonists. This is a film that isn't afraid to get close to its audience and sink its proverbial claws right into your heart.

It might sound like a laugh to call this a family road trip movie, but that's not an entirely inaccurate description. The X-Men series is very much about family; in Logan, we see Professor X and Wolverine coping with the loss of that dynamic. With the addition of Laura (who has never been able to experience life as a normal little girl), the three are able to come together and rediscover what it feels like to love and be loved. It's fitting how Logan, a film starring a character whose mutant power is regenerating from wounds, is thematically all about healing after past traumas. Logan, Xavier, and Laura all have their crosses to bear, and they gradually learn to make peace with themselves over the course of the film. It's a really excellent character study that doesn't miss a beat; I sometimes found myself surprised by just how invested I had become whenever the tension flared up. This is a movie that will make you feel things, especially if you're one for parent-child dynamics.

Of course, all of that emotion is thanks largely in-part to a stellar lineup of actors. The supporting cast members all do their jobs well (Holbrook is easy to root against and Stephen Merchant wields a surprising amount of dramatic energy as Caliban), but this movie is very clearly all about the main trio of Logan, Charles, and Laura. These three are so good that I really can't decide who I liked more. Hugh Jackman meant for this to be his swan-song as Wolverine, and I honestly can't think of a more fitting send-off for the role. As I mentioned, he's played the part for the past 17 years. In that time, he's completely captured every aspect of Logan's personality; both the tortured immortal and the feral beast. We've watched him portray this character for nearly two decades, and every ounce of emotion implied by that statement is visible in his performance. 

Meanwhile, Patrick Stewart takes the character of Charles Xavier in a very different direction. Normally the calm, collected voice of reason, we now see Xavier's age starting to get to him. His mind isn't what it once was and Logan is forced to assume the role of his primary caregiver, very much in the way that many adults are eventually forced to care for their elderly parents. Gone are the days when Charles Xavier owned and operated a school for gifted youngsters; now he needs physical assistance to use the bathroom and get into bed. It's a humbling portrayal of a character who acted as a mentor to generations; children who saw him command the X-Men in 2000 are now adults themselves. His is a situation that is all too real, and is sure to hit close to home for many (myself included). This is just as much of a send-off for Patrick Stewart as it is for Hugh Jackman, and I wholly believe this is something they can (and should) be proud of. That said, the standout of the main cast for me was newcomer Dafne Keen as Laura (better known to comic and fighting game aficionados as X-23). This is her film debut, yet she manages to match the intensity and emotion of Hugh Jackman and Patrick Stewart (who are both very much on their A-game here). That feat alone, I feel, is worthy of note; I hope to see her in more.

What else can I say about Logan? It's basically a perfect film. Plenty of condescending snobs will say things like "Logan is an excellent film, despite being a comic book movie" or "surprisingly, Logan manages to transcend its superhero trappings and deliver something of genuine quality". Not only are statements such as these unapologetically pretentious, they're also completely missing the point; Logan hits as hard as it does, not in spite of its comic book origins, but because of them. Had this film existed on its own with no X-Men franchise behind it, it would still be a well-made, well-acted movie. But the fact that this feels like a culmination of 17 years' worth of ups, downs, and blockbuster iconography (and manages to exceed all expectations to boot) adds a vital element that simply wouldn't exist, were this not part of a long-running superhero franchise. More to the point, Logan is proof that comic books can lead to films that amount to more than a series of expensive CGI laser beams being fired at a bland villain. This is proof that a superhero blockbuster need not rely on city-leveling climaxes and sneaky sequel teasers in order to make money and please an audience. Moreover, Logan is proof that, when a film is motivated by artistic vision rather than by revenue, movies about superhumans can end up being the most human stories of them all.

REVIEW: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974)

As time goes on, movies are going to end up looking better and better. It's an inevitable side-effect of technological progress and, while such progress may sound like an objectively positive thing, I can't help but feel that some things may be lost as our films become cleaner, brighter, and all-around better looking. Take for example one of the granddaddies of the slasher genre, Tobe Hooper's The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

Inspired loosely by the real-life story of serial killer Ed Gein, the story follows a van full of twenty-somethings as they drive across Texas to visit a family grave. There have been mysterious reports of vandalism and grave-robbing, so Sally Hardesty (Marilyn Burns), her crippled brother, Franklin (Paul A. Partain), and three of their friends (Allen Danzinger, William Vail, and Teri McMinn) decide to take the ride to investigate the scene and make sure their grandfather is still in the family plot. After a tense encounter with a disturbed hitchhiker, the group decides to visit the old Hardesty family homestead; they poke around and trespass like the meddling kids they are, attracting the attention of a disturbed family of cannibals. As one might expect from a classic slasher flick, the kids are picked off one by one until the lone survivor is left to make a tense and daring escape.

The first thing that struck me about this movie is the overall look of it. Visual style is a tremendous aspect of what makes this movie work so well; it was made on a budget of only $300,000 (just under $1.5 million by today's standards), utilizing relatively unknown actors who were local to the area in which it was shot. There's not a lot of spectacular special effects or gore, the music is mostly ambient, and everything from the props to the film itself has this grainy, gritty feel to it. It's a very low-key kind of horror movie (compared to more bombastic fare that would follow, your Nightmare on Elm Street or your Friday the 13th), and that really helps to establish a strong sense of tone and atmosphere. Much like Alien, this is a horror film that succeeds mostly because of how it is able to immerse the viewer in the events that are playing out on screen. However, unlike Alien, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre is so scary because it feels like a story you could very well see on the news tonight. This movie is for roadtrips what Jaws was to summertime trips to the beach.

This is also due (in no small part) to the wonderful performances of Gunnar Hansen, Jim Siedow, and Edwin Neal as Leatherface, Old Man, and Hitchhiker. These aren't your usual scenery-chewing loonies you often see in the psycho-hillbilly genre; they come off like actual disturbed individuals, taking sadistic glee in the atrocities they commit. They manage to display the requisite amount of crazed energy you might expect, but they stay just reserved enough to come off as starkly believable. It's this delicate bit of nuance and reservation that makes the whole thing that much more real; they remain a lot more coherent and "in control" than the usual on-screen psychopath, and that extra touch makes their actions all the more disquieting. 

By the same token, the film comes off very much like a cautionary tale about the dangers of unchecked industrial growth. As Hitchhiker explains, new advances in technology led to large-scale layoffs at the local slaughterhouse. As a result, the lower, working class is forced to (literally and figuratively) eat each other to survive; industry has abandoned them and now they are forced to survive by doing the only thing they know how to do. Once our gang of youthful yuppies trespass on the family's property, their fate is sealed. The oppressed become oppressors in their own right, reducing those whom they deem more fortunate to nothing more than meat in a similar (albeit more visceral) way that they themselves were taken advantage of by big business. Horror films have a wonderful way of discussing serious issues of manmade society and human nature by way of copious bloodshed and horrendous acts of violence, and that is specifically why I adore this genre the way I do.

Despite the grainy look of the film and the thoroughly 70's wardrobe of the cast, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre is very much a timeless classic of the horror genre. It's a shining example of how restrictions and reservations can help elevate a film to unseen heights. A slasher film in which the main killer uses a chainsaw doesn't exactly come off like the most low-key concept, but it's this subversion of audience expectations that helps sell the unsettling realism that makes this movie work. Even the brilliant, climactic chase doesn't play out as you'd expect; everyone's limping along, it's framed in a long shot, and yet you're able to cut the tension in the air with a steak knife. It's a horror film that isn't afraid to slow down and linger on itself, rather than attempting to create a synthetically scary situation. It simply lays its cards on the table and invites you to be terrified, and that works surprisingly well.