Texas Chainsaw Massacre
NETFLIXChances have been galore for this franchise that cemented itself in the cinematic zeitgeist with Tobe Hooper's 1974 horror masterpiece The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Three sequels later, one remake, two prequels, a reboot/sequel, and now a direct to netflix pseudo-sequel arrives in the form of a Fede Alvarez written and David Blue Garcia directed Texas Chainsaw Massacre. A feature-filled with so much promise of going back to the filthy underbelly of Hopper's original yet squanders all hope and integrity with destroying the legacy that built it and crumbling into rubble with wanting to appease a 21st-century crowd.
To start with the negatives would be utterly soul-destroying to both write and read this, so starting with the few positives there are here: the one major obstacle that would worry audiences of not only horror but this franchise itself is the intensity of gore and the horror itself. Let it be known off-the-bat that this film does not disappoint; the gore – mixed with practical and digital effects – are not only shocking but immersive. Granted, the use and context of such is grandiose and often a little too much for the scenes in which they are placed. However, those wanting to find immersion and shock value will duly note that much internal filmmaking interest has been undertaken to express itself in a guilty free fashion. The issue that arises with this tonal and expressive stance – of which the film ultimately and consciously defines itself as – is far from what made Hooper's feature a classic, to begin with.
What defined the classic masterpiece in 1974 wasn't spilt blood or grandiose gore but the atmospheric tension of blood, sweat and motor oil in the air. The sunburnt sky and the heat of Texas fills the air and mood that expresses and explores fear to a point in which it scorches the mind. Coined with a diabolical family and the stature of its villain in Leatherface, Hooper's film is built on a word first and foremost; what comes second in horror convention is building upon an already grounded foundation. Nothing since 1974 has understood what that foundation above is.
David Blue Garcia's film is yet another feature that misunderstands and misconstrues its own beast. This issue of tonal and contextual indifference is ever-apparent in a feature that intensifies the horror convention and neglects to build atmosphere and heightened tension. There are moments of this mood felt – namely the sunflower field sequence – but such an example is ever so fleeting and used in conjunction to provide conventions of a jump scare or even mind-numbing humour. The latter of which is ludicrously patronising and out of place.
Comments contextually on the issues of climate change, entitled teens, gentrification, and gun control manifest and provide not only a backdrop to proceedings but are actively participating arcs and themes that this feature develops. What is made worse about their respective inclusions are, more often than not, incredibly tender and hard-hitting subject matters thrown into a ghastly inappropriate b-movie picture with no interest in melding these themes together, aside from providing explosive gore. Each element is miles away from what the original provided.
It is here in which the screenplay – if that can even be coined here – becomes almost undecipherable in what it wants to provide. As mentioned above, each element of the tone wishes to explore contemporary issues or explosive bloodshed. The two aspects, even with top-tier filmmakers, would struggle to be incorporated in immersion and expression, and here sadly, writers Fede Álvarez and Chris Thomas Devlin do a terrible job at creating a story that wants to provide the 21st-century social-political commentary into a Texas Chainsaw Massacre feature? How things begin for one should be a mass warning as it ignores all sequels and stories after 1974 and reveals Leatherface has been missing uncaptured for almost forty years, with the original character of Sally – now played by Olwen Fouéré – returning as a third party Sherrif who somehow listens to a police radio and enters the picture. To put it simply: everything is just thrown together in a patronising degree of stitching and zero care of the source material. One such moment of a character threatening Leatherface he will be cancelled is just one of a plethora of missteps that have been included for comedic purposes but ultimately condemns this feature as a sour and condescending venture. How The Texas Chainsaw Massacre throws in the character of Sally or provides information on where and why Leatherface has been missing are just small but evidently clear motifs of flat and hollow reasoning in which the creatives behind this venture do not care about the house that built it.
Furthermore, at least the performances craft suspense and tension for what they are. Sarah Yarkin, for one, is the stand out with a genuinely chaotic and emotionally tender performance, with the actress throwing herself into proceedings. It is arguably the only element that immerses and transports the viewer into this ironic nightmare. The actress gravitates the viewer with great expression and vulnerability. While it seems she is the main character, this feature has a hard time having Yarkin front or centre or having Elsie Fisher in that position. On reflection, it is a bit of both in a positive but perplexing manner. Never at any point are the two actresses ever really in the same tonal picture, with the feature instead wanting to explore each arc in a separate manner on-screen throughout and only bringing in the duo in sparring moments. Granted, while this makes proceedings all the more frantic, specifically with how gut-wrenching Yarkin's emotional performance is, it can't be helped and stated that it all becomes a little jarring to jump back and forth with the momentum flatlining as a consequence. Especially when Fisher is not on Yarkin's level of performance, nor does she remotely incline herself to get close. If anything, Fisher is rather dismal in her performance here and made all the more damaging is that the feature gives a relatively large substance and background to her character that fails to pay off.
But if one phrase would sum this piece up, it would be the final statement above. Nothing here surprises, shocks, entertains or remotely feels worthy of an audiences time. Aside from one fleeting sequence in a field, that incorporates the sun-drenched feeling of Hooper's classic with style and substance, the cinematography from Ricardo Diaz throughout does so little to inspire or brood an energy worthy of providing an even subtle degree of expression. But the cardinal sin and the most heartbreaking and absolutely monumentous 'fuck you' to the audience is the features ending, which is one of the bluntest, condescending and utterly bastardised things within this genre all year. How it has the audacity to be included and signed off is a statement in its own right and one that, if known, would never be commenced to play on any television screen, to begin with. How it not only undermines itself but thinks it is doing something remotely interesting condemns this travesty to a point underneath the soil of hell itself, and one that places Fede Alvarez in deep troubling waters with this and the godforsaken Don't Breathe 2.
