In hopes of preventing the inevitable onslaught of hate mail
from deluging my e-mail inbox, let’s clarify something right now: I
am a die-hard horror geek. Consequently, what must be said of
The Texas Chainsaw Massacre may be harder to stomach for
gore groupies than the macabre death scenes that are the hallmark
of the genre. Despite the positive buzz it has generated on campus,
2003’s Texas Chainsaw Massacre is a pale imitation of the original
cult classic it shamelessly exploits for name recognition. Forget
Leatherface, the scariest denizen in this film is the Hollywood
executive who green-lighted this abomination in the first
place.
Tobe Hooper’s 1974 Massacre is a genuine horror classic.
Shot on a shoestring budget, the film’s shoddy camera work and
awful special effects created an atmosphere of utter chaos. Even 30
years later, the tale of young hippies and their ultimate fate at
the hands of the murderous Sawyer clan is chilling to watch.
Hooper’s film invited viewers on a physical and psychological
journey to hell, perhaps only rivaled by the recent Blair Witch
Project.
Made for the MTV generation, the 2003 rendition simply doesn’t
measure up to this storied legacy. Instead, what we are given is a
paint-by-number horror film too afraid to stray from convention.
Rather than the usual tripe featuring sexy young faces decked out
in the latest designer threads, TCM dares to offer sexy young faces
sporting–get this–retro threads. Granted, the film is removed
from the usual teenage debauchery that dominates the genre, but
unlike the innovative brother-sister dynamic of 2001’s Jeepers
Creepers, the teens’ camaraderie is used to little effect as a
plot device. The visuals may be slick, but the substance just isn’t
there.
Credit is due to the filmmakers for restoring Leatherface to his
creepy origins. Subsequent Chainsaw sequels reduced the
once-imposing figure to a whiny, bleating shell of his former self,
but thankfully director Marcus Nispel offers a fitting homage to
Gunnar Hansen’s iconic performance in the original. Having John
Larroquette once again lend his narrative voice was also a nice
touch for longtime Chainsaw fans, but these pleasant
surprises are the exception, not the rule.
The Texas Chainsaw Massacre of 2003 is an average film at
best. If it carried any other title, than perhaps its mediocrity
could be excused to accommodate filmgoers’ seasonal desire to
witness blood fly on-screen during late October.
Unfortunately, TCM is a remake of an earlier film considered
sacred ground by horror buffs everywhere and fails to warrant the
return trip to backwoods Texas. In butcher’s terms, The Texas
Chainsaw Massacre is a castrated ruin of its pioneering
predecessor.
