The Texas Chain Saw Massacre

U.S.A. | 1974 Directed by Tobe Hooper Starring Marilyn Burns Paul A. Partain Gunnar Hansen Color | 83 Minutes | R Format: DVD (R1 - NTSC | 2-disc set) Dark Sky Films

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The Hooper-directed sequel — 2006 "Gruesome" edition

10     9   10 = Highest Rating   Guest Review by Troy Howarth

Five young people fall afoul of a family of cannibals during a sweltering summer day in Texas...     Loosely based on the real life exploits of Wisconsin serial killer Ed Gein — also the inspiration for Psycho and numerous other horror thrillers — The Texas Chain Saw Massacre overcame its poverty row origins to become one of the most important horror films of all time. Its surprise success at the box-office launched the career of Texas-based filmmaker Tobe Hooper, and created a modern horror icon in the image of hulking, chainsaw-wielding murderer Leatherface (definitively embodied here by imposing Gunnar Hansen). Over 30 years and many sequels and imitations (and one too-slick remake) later, the film retains its power to shock and disturb.     The setup is, by now, a familiar one — but what makes the film so tremendously effective isn't so much the story as the way it's told. Hooper establishes an air of queasy unease right off the bat, via an eerie voice over by a young John Larroquette, which sets the viewer up for what is to come. Following a string of progressively bizarre and discomforting set-pieces, the film settles into 'normalcy' for a while as the kids find their way to the old farm house. A lesser director would have used this as an opportunity to indulge in banality or soft-core groping, but Hooper refuses to lighten the tension in a very clever way by having the character of Franklin (the outsider of the group, confined to a wheelchair and resenting the others for having too much fun) continue to talk about what has happened. The threat remains present throughout, and this is key to the film's singular impact — by refusing to give the viewer and easy 'out', Hooper keeps us uneasy throughout, making even innocuous moments pregnant with the threat of horror.     Looking at the film after so many years, what becomes more apparent than ever is the sheer brilliance of its execution. Like George A. Romero's Night of the Living Dead (1968), Texas Chain Saw Massacre is often spoken of as an amateur production that lucked its way into commercial viability, but this is unfair towards both films. Hooper, like Romero, came to the film with a strong background in cinema technique, having cut his teeth on various projects in various capacities from an early age. True, both films are low budget and there are signs of this in evidence, but this works in favor of both pictures, giving them the immediacy of a documentary. Hooper goes for a gritty aesthetic throughout, but there are images of tremendous beauty and artistry. What also becomes very apparent is the extraordinary sense of pacing — the film hits the ground running and never really lets up, so much so that the film's relatively brief running time (84 minutes) can still prove quite exhausting. While many horror films of its time frame suffered from the limitations of time and money, there is nothing to indicate that Hooper was in any way constricted by the means at his disposal. With the invaluable contributions of cinematographer Daniel Pearl and art director Robert Burns, Hooper creates some of the most startling images in the history of the genre — far from coming off as amateur hour, the film manages to pack in more artistry and cinematic intelligence than many similar productions with considerably more production resources at their disposal.     Hooper also elicits convincing performances from his cast, many of whom abandoned the profession to pursue other careers. Marilyn Burns certainly earns her Scream Queen status here, a reputation she would solidify with Hooper's severely underrated Eaten Alive (1976), but she also makes for a likeably spunky and resourceful heroine. Paul Partain has a difficult assignment playing the wheelchair-bound Franklin — on the one hand, it's hard not to sympathize with him to some degree, but on the other he is written as a very petulant, whiny individual. The actor does a good job of finding the character's humor and humanity, but he also is disagreeable enough to understand why the other characters seem to regard him as such a colossal pain in the ass. The real meat — pun intended — is to be found in the trilogy of bad guys, however. The film really succeeds or fails, to a very large degree, based on the effectiveness of the cannibal clan, and fortunately Hooper found the ideal men for the job. Jim Siedow — the film's only 'veteran' actor, looking like a cartoon caricature of Martin Landau — is absolutely perfect as the seemingly 'normal' older brother, known as The Cook. Siedow effectively plays the schizoid aspects of the character and also mines a great deal of black humor in his dialogue. ("Look what your brother did to the door!") Edwin Neal takes the character of the hitchhiker to the point of over-the-top parody, but makes him into one of the most memorably psychotic characters in movie history. Viewers who haven't seen Neal in other pictures could be forgiven for thinking Hooper found a real loon and cast him in the film — a glowing testament to his performance, in fact. The most vivid impression, however, is left by Gunnar Hansen's Leatherface. While much of this is attributable to the iconic costuming of the character, it would be unfair to dismiss Hansen's acting as a part of the equation. The role doesn't allow Hansen any dialogue, but he conveys a great deal through his awkward body language. The character comes off as a bit of an innocent in comparison to Siedow and Neal, though this hardly diminishes his terrifying physical presence and psychotic outbursts.     As mentioned above, Hooper does a remarkable job of building tension, but another aspect that often goes underappreciated in the film is the relative lack of bloodshed. The story goes that Hooper was aiming for a PG rating, but the film was too intense to qualify — indeed, the British Board of Film Censors banned the film outright for many years simply because its cumulative effect, rather than any one image or set piece, was too potent. Strong as the film is, however, there is very little blood on display. Much of the horror is implied rather than graphically shown, with the gruesome production design (chairs and lamps made out of bones and rotting flesh) adding a subliminal effect. That so many viewers continue to see the film and walk away with the impression of a depraved bloodbath is a testament to Hooper's skill as a filmmaker — his sense of pacing and dramatic intensity creates a punch that is far more vivid than simply showing buckets of blood and gore for mere shock value. The fact that Hooper is the only director — both here and in his blackly comic 1986 sequel — to effectively explore this material is a solid indicator of his singular talents as a filmmaker; if his recent films have failed to impress, there is little question of his absolute mastery of this style of hysterical, carnival-like horror.

The Texas Chain Saw Massacre has had a long and checkered history on home video. Initially released to DVD by Pioneer (via a ported over transfer of the Elite laser disc), the film gets the red carpet, 2-disc treatment here, courtesy of newly formed genre label Dark Sky. Their efforts have paid off in an edition that comes perilously close to being definitive, though you can bet your barbecued spare ribs that further releases will come along every ten years or so. The 1.78/16x9/high definition transfer is vastly superior to the Pioneer disc, which itself looked inferior to the Elite LD. The image is sharp and clear throughout, colors are vividly rendered, and print damage is virtually nonexistent. Crucially the transfer retains the grainy texture so important to the documentary aesthetic, while also providing one with an opportunity to admire the artistry and craftsmanship that went into the production — in other words, it looks damn good, but not unnaturally so. The audio includes the original mono, as well as newly mixed 5.1 and 2.0 tracks, and it is here that the inevitable rub comes into play. There has been a bit of controversy online regarding the soundtrack, which is apparently missing some sound effects — this affects both the mono and the remix track, so it is hard to say just how the effects in question were filtered out. Speaking truthfully, I never would have picked up on these omissions had they not been pointed out to me — but they deserve to be pointed out, as those who know the film and its soundtrack inside out will likely be put off by them. It pretty much boils down to a case of something that will only bother those who can pick up on it, but it nevertheless sticks out as a flaw in an otherwise immaculate release. Beyond that the mono track is clean and clear, while the 5.1 and 2.0 remixes are well done for those who care to take advantage of it.     In terms of extras, this could well qualify as the genre release of the year. Disc 1 includes two full length audio commentaries. First up is the commentary by Hooper, Pearl and Hansen, originally recorded for the Elite LD and subsequently ported over to the Pioneer DVD. It's a good track, with the three laid back Texans (literally reunited for the first time since shooting wrapped; rumors of bad blood between Hooper, who pushed the cast to the brink of madness, and Hansen made the director a little wary to get into the same booth, according to rumors) commenting on the arduous production, their feelings on the cast and crew and the general impact the film has had on their lives. The second track, newly recorded for this DVD, includes stars Marilyn Burns, Paul Partain, Allen Danziger, and production designer Robert Burns. This track is especially noteworthy in that Robert Burns and Partain have passed away since it was recorded; as such it allows both an invaluable last chance to talk about their roles in this landmark production. Disc 2 includes two feature length documentaries — David Gregory's superb Texas Chain Saw Massacre: The Shocking Truth and the slightly lesser but still worthwhile Flesh Wounds — which covers pretty much everything anybody could ever want to know about the film and its participants. Between the two documentaries, virtually everybody connected with the film is interviewed, including Jim Siedow, who died shortly afterwards. It's a bit sad to see so many people who played such a huge role in the film memorialized like this in the extras, but one should be grateful that they were given one last chance to reflect on the film for our benefit. The second disc also includes a slew of trailers, outtakes, production stills, promotional materials and even a blooper reel (also ported over from the LD). A newly produced tour of the TCM farm house, hosted by Gunnar Hansen, makes for a fun finale to all the extras. Attractively packaged in a metal tin, this edition — barring the unfortunate errors in the sound mix — marks the best release of this film on home video to date, and stands out as one of the most commendable DVD releases of the year. 10/20/06

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