Remakes were all the rage in the 2000s. Halloween, Friday the 13th, Black Christmas, The Amityville Horror, House of Wax, The Crazies, My Bloody Valentine, The Hills Have Eyes – and the list goes on and on. And then there’s The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.
A Platinum Dunes creation, the 2003 remake did what most remakes fail to do: honor the original while doing something wildly unique and equally as cool. Director Marcus Nispel, also behind the Friday the 13th remake, carves out a special place in the pantheon of horror by trusting his instincts and letting the cast play (and scream along the way). 20 years later, the bright spot in the sea of mediocre remakes still operates on all cylinders, and in many respects, outpaces the 1974 original.
From the opening frames, the film presents itself as based on real-life events. Grainy police footage shows bodies behind transported, officers taping off the crime scene, and photographed pieces of evidence. “For 30 years, the files collected dust in the cold case division of the Travis County police department. Over 1,300 pieces of evidence were collected from the crime scene at the Hewitt residence,” says the narrator (John Larroquette) over the images. “Yet none of the evidence was more compelling than the classified police footage of the crime scene walkthrough…” The film goes on to show deep scratch marks down the walls to the furnace room and a clot of hair with an embedded fingernail. It’s gruesome stuff.
Due to cinematographer Daniel Pearl’s work, I used to think this was real footage. That something this dark and depraved really happened. (Technically, the film is somewhat based on such macabre stories as Ed Gein.) But I thought this story was real. In making the audience believe your story, you set up the narrative as something grounded and authentic. Perhaps it’s far more grounded than even the 1974 original, much less the many sequels. It lives within a heightened reality yet is still very much nailed to the ground, namely through emotionally charged and often agonized performances from the cast.
A particular standout, Jessica Biel does a helluva lot of screaming as our lead heroine, Erin, whose boyfriend Kemper (Eric Balfour) gets his face cut from his skull and worn as a mask. Much like Sally, she runs around the Hewitt residence, darting in and out of the wooded countryside. She eventually makes her way to the slaughterhouse where the epic third-act finale takes place. And unlike Sally, Erin actually fights back and wields a meat-clever, hacking off Leatherface’s arm. She’s an underrated Final Girl – her name is rarely mentioned when having this discussion. But I declare right here and now that she deserves far more recognition than any of us have given her.
Of course, the cast is nothing without R. Lee Ermey’s maniacal and mean-spirited turn as Sheriff Hoyt, who manipulates, traumatizes, and brutally assaults the group every chance he gets. His sly smile sends chills down the spine, but there’s a certain charm to Ermey’s performance that warms every dark heart; you just love to hate him. When we first meet the deranged policeman, he makes crude remarks about the poor young woman (Lauren German) who shot herself in the head (more on that later) and demands Andy (Mike Vogel) help him bind the corpse with Saran wrap. Hoyt emerges as a stand-in, a representative of corrupt police – whether intentionally or not, there’s a lacing of such socio-political undertones that can’t be ignored. “To protect and serve,” he salutes, after Morgan (Jonathan Tucker) and Andy dump the body into the trunk of Hoyt’s beat-up police car. A chilling performance gets even chillier in the second act when Hoyt torments Morgan into reenacting in great detail how the woman killed herself in Kemper’s van, down to sticking the pistol into his mouth. There’s nary a scene Ermey doesn’t knock out of the park – he gives such weight to his words that you just believe everything he says. His gaze is so piercing it’s like he’s talking through the camera and into your soul.
We’re also treated to a menacing performance from Andrew Bryniarski as Leatherface. He imbues his role with command and great attention to physicality. As a mostly silent killer, strength in presence is required to transmit raw emotion to the audience, and Bryniarski does not disappoint. In fact, he reaches the Hall of Fame for best portrayal of a horror villain, earning a place next to Gunnar Hansen from the original and Nick Castle as Michael Myers in John Carpenter’s Halloween. With Bryniarski, there’s more unwavering control in the chaos; even as he peek-a-boos between flapping sheets chasing after Andy, there’s a calculated quality to his movements. He colors outside the lines when he needs to, but every muscle twinge or soft grunt is with purpose. That’s the mark of a great actor – to make you feel everything down to your bones. The performance is so rattling that it lingers with you long after the film’s over.
Given the strong performances across the board – even Erica Leerhsen shines as Pepper – Marcus Nispel and Daniel Pearl are able to then build the camera work into a stylistic cathedral. As polished as it is, there remains a grainy aesthetic and a deep color palette that makes the world devilish and bizarre. Dark, mucky greens and browns tangle with the brightness of daylight, a counterbalance to demonstrate the contrast between our group and the Hewitts.
Now, we’ve gotta talk about that shot. You know the one. The money shot. On their way through rural Texas, Kemper and the crew come across a disheveled and shaken young woman on the side of the road. “I won’t go back there,” she repeats over and over again. At the urging of Erin, the group offers her a ride, but they’re about to get the surprise of their lives. When the van passes by the slaughterhouse, the woman lurches to the front of the van and tries to run them off the road. “You’re going the wrong way!” she screams. She cowers back on the seat, as the van barrels further down the dusty road. “He’s a very bad man…” she whimpers. She proceeds to pull a revolver out from between her legs, and her last words are haunting: “You’re all gonna die.” And bang! She sticks the gun in her mouth and pulls the trigger. The camera lands on Erin screaming and pulls back, making its way through the van and into the young woman’s head and out the back of the exit wound – and eventually stops near the bumper of the van. It’s a crazy, insane, and wonderfully bold shot. It’s enough to make you queasy, as the brain matter frames the lens as the camera moves outward. Genius!
Texas Chainsaw Massacre survives as a shining example that when filmmakers venture beyond the confines of the original they’ll surprise you. Credit should also be given to screenwriter Scott Kosar for his work on cultivating an interesting story from the ground up and managing to give the characters real lives in which to explore and exist. The actors then take those words and breathe life into them, making for a thrilling showpiece forever immortalized into the annals of horror history. Despite reviews (it stands at a paltry 37 percent on Rotten Tomatoes), the film just works on every single level. And it wouldn’t have had any of these puzzle pieces been lackluster or felt out of place. From the cinematography to the actors’ willingness to take risks, Texas Chainsaw Massacre defines the remake era, and it’s easily an all-time Top 5 contender.
There’s nothing else quite like it.
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