Every Little Thing I Adore About 'The Texas Chainsaw Massacre'

My history with ‘TCM’ stretches back to the end of high school, when I was a pussycat in more ways that one. Scared stiff of a smooth breeze, I wanted to gut-up and face my horror demons. So one night after school I lined up Halloween, The Exorcist and, finally, The Texas Chain Saw Massacre.

All of which are some of the finest-directed films in history, and since I’ve kept it so low-brow on this inaugural day of these kind of posts- why don’t we sit down and tackle one of the straight-up greatest films ever made?

I LOVE the shutter-shock flashes that pull the film in and out of pitch darkness during its opening, with the sweaty shuffle of a spade through soil creeping under the gloom. Its such a potent, different way to announce a horror film. 1968’s Rosemary’s Baby and 1973’s The Exorcist might have elevated the genre to artistic peaks, but The Texas Chain Saw Massacre grabbed hold of that same stylistic confidence and dragged it through the mud in a way the world had never seen before- or since.

A partly stark, part morbidly comic image that sets the tone for the film perfectly. I also think the fact it takes us five minutes to even see a living person does a lot to start-up the film’s unique observational style. It’s another movie where the camera, and by extension us in the audience, have a character of its own.

And what the fuck is this? The pulsing, meaty abortion of image that wriggles and moans beneath the film’s opening credits is just out of this world vile.

The metallic shriek that cuts us into a yellow sun burning into the night sky- and the subsequent crossfade to this poor dead armadillo.

A huge part of what makes TCM feel so brutal, even after all these years, is its delicate balance between empathy and exposition. We spend a lot of time getting a feel for these people before shit hits the fan, but they’re not treated as characters in a movie. They don’t sit around and introduce their names and backstories in turn. There aren’t any romantic side-plots or extraneous scenes to screw with the pace, because who gives a shit during a horror film? You hit play- and you’re in- and there’s nothing you can do to save them.

Franklin’s head rolling back as he pisses into a can.

This is such a hard film to do one of these for, primarily because I hate stop-starting such a seamlessly brilliant piece of film-making. There are so many little details sewn into the spine of this thing that help its terror tower over anything else on film. I just love the way we go from hippie teens chatting about zodiac signs to this razor sharp cut to a graveyard, dwarfing their van in the background, with this tiny moment of silence as we transition. There’s an eeriness in every twitching fibre of this thing.

…And the similar silence in these cuts from the drunk old man to Sally being led off by a stranger. Plus how naturally TCM gets away with an otherwise cliché character. There’s something about the uncomfortable close up on his upside down face, the fact he doesn’t actually say anything that makes sense- as opposed to a cheap opportunity for dramatic irony later in the script. Ironically, his babbling is a lot more ominous- because how the hell would you make sense of the last third of this film?

Our first taste of the film’s grinding, DIY sound design that fits into the fabric of its grounded nightmare so much better than the usual flashy horror score. Plus, this little moment passing the slaughterhouse always reminds me of Georges Franju’s vital nightmare: ‘The Blood of the Beasts’.

This fucking cut, striking right out from the sweaty sardine can that is the back of their van to this huge, deathly quiet open space. They’re in their own little world- and it’s already so far beyond help.

The subtle way the slamming of this sliding door mirrors a later scene…

“I think we just picked up Dracula.”

The fact this hitch-hiker scene plugs away for a full seven and a half minutes, to the same bumbling, almost Zappa-esque country song, and how much it adds to the film. Any other movie might have got self-conscious about the audience’s attention- throwing in loads of little half-minute scenes with nothing to add this early in a movie. But this right here is the meat of the movie- why rush it?

The way the hitchhiker, whose name is Nubbins by the way (yes.), tries to sell the group his picture.

How silly the end of this scene is played. Sure it gets violent but it’s the kind of thing a group of friends might be able to look back and laugh at. Exactly. If they only knew…

One of my favourite moments in the film: Some random, seemingly deformed gas station attendant in broad daylight and seeing a smoke-laced moon. What a bizarre, surreally chilling moment.

The way the attendant only washes their car while his boss is watching, then tries to sneak back and watch his moon some more- and has to moap back to clean some more as his boss returns.

The way ‘Drayton’ here actually tries to ward them away from going to the abandoned house, which happens to sit right near where his son Leatherface lives. It comes across so earnest, like he really wants to help, but then he tries to convince them to stay with him- perhaps falling prey to the exact same horrors when night falls. It’s so genuinely acted, like his warped mind really can’t tell which way to go.

One thing I will say against TCM, in spite of its merits, is that there’s a few shots like this. While later slashes were so glaringly misogynistic this almost seems harmless by comparison- it might have been one of the first movies to make other directors feel like they had a free pass…

The camera lingering way back as the group drive further and further away. This kind of holding on shots is something Orson Welles complained about, particularly in reference to Antonioni’s ‘Blow-Up’. “We sit there watching him walk all the way down the street” (to paraphrase). But sitting here, stewing in the distance, is exactly what atmosphere is made of- which is something I feel Welles’ brilliant films, in their giddy rush for attention, were often missing.

And again here, I particularly love the wind buffing against the gorgeous green trees and golden, sun-bleached grass that makes the house just feel so fucking still. Bergman does this with a dead body in Winter Light, by the way.

The camera creeping up on the characters, framed way further away than conventional technique would ever allow. It’s this kind of thing that gives character to something far lager stalking its prey.

This hideous hive of squirming insects.

How often Director Tobe Hooper frames these people so far away from the camera. There’s always this focus on what’s around them and, in turn, what might be.

How many kettles do these people go through or, alternatively, how much coffee do cannibals drink?

How refreshingly Spartan the film is with its ‘banter’. There’s no comment on these cars, nor any exposition later about them being owned by past victims. Nor is there a comment on the generator that’s buzzing away as they approach the homestead, which sounds exactly like a chainsaw. Resist the urge to comment on everything.

How the outside of this monstrous house is the most beautiful thing in the film.

This almost security camera-esque high angle.

There’s something in the purest of cinema I can only call a ‘freeze’. When everything lines up, usually to the sound of silence, and you forget you’re sitting in front of a screen. This deafeningly quiet, innocuous moment- and the carnage that follows- fits that standard to a T.

This reverse shot. Hooper is breaking the 180 rule, by the way- and you may notice nobody gives a shit.

How straight the film’s first death is played. Lots of later slashers went for ‘stunt’ kills, perhaps because they felt this scene of Leatherface emerging with a mallet was iconic. It is, but only because of how raw it is. No music sting, no flurry of montage, no mercy.

I also LOVE the panting and grunting as Leatherface finishes him off and heaves his body aside. One of several moments that humanises him and gives his scenes such a complicated atmosphere.

How the tracking camera stops dead while she presses closer and closer to the door.

The feathers floating in the air throughout this little, horrible scene.

Such a genuine moment of pure terror, particularly the way we sit and watch him drag her all the way back through the house.

And again TCM isn’t afraid to linger on these scenes. We do cut away, with blunt potency, but it’s only after we watch the start of his process. And the camera’s always there, naturalistic and impassively watching. It all feels so hideously real.

Then Hooper cuts back to the rest of the group (in a stealth-oner, btw) as if nothing has happened.

I want to take a second to applaud the restoration for this film’s Blu-Ray. It’s clear, crisp and yet absolutely dredged in the grainy glory of the crew’s vision. Such a respectful piece of work.

Little figures in the devil’s dollhouse.

Leatherface stuffing her back into the freezer. Both hilarious and absolutely abhorrent.

THIS is what makes TCM special. After three deaths, Hooper pulls the same wide-shot trap tricks on Leatherface. This evil is bigger than all of them.

The fact we get a lengthy close up of our senseless killer, alone, gasping for air. There is no mistaking this is a person. What the fuck is he thinking?

The howling soundtrack on this cut to night, which still somehow sounds like the clashing croon of metal and flesh. This film’s sound design was and is a marvel.

So helpless.

Even the jumpscares don’t feel like jumpscares. It’s all the same unstoppable fear.

How pleasant and innocuous their house again seems.

Leatherface bursting in just as she starts down the stairs- and the fact he quickly looks around to find her as she comes in. In the next decade a lot of slasher starts knew exactly where our heroes were, no matter what. The scary this is that’s too inhuman for Leatherface.

In a world where so many characters trip while being chased, there’s something to be said for Sally literally hurling herself out of a second-storey window to try and escape.

How fucking close he is throughout this entire chase.

How slowly, awfully the relief of escape bleeds back into fear as we wonder why Leatherface stopped chasing- the way nothing goes wrong even as the door hangs agape- and that fucking shot of the BBQ!

Drayton cackling as he screws around with the broom. That same blurred line between comedy and unfathomable horror is creeping closer and closer.

This wide of their little family scuffle. Such an unnecessary but chilling bit of coverage.

Leatherface emerging, made up like a lady and wearing an apron. It all clicks into place like the hammer on a gun.

‘Nubbins’ (fuck me) prodding a captured Sally, giggling away. We’re in their world now.

Its this kind of photography that makes TCM so fucking scary, even today. The camera sits and stares- documentarian. There’s no empathy or malice, just the reality of the screen. What a masterful film.

This little camera track as they bring ‘Grandpa’ into the ‘dining room’.

Again with the perfect, observational camera placement. Plus Grandpa’s arms and legs kicking and squirming as he sucks the blood.

This huge crash-zoom out as Sally blacks out. So 70s- bring them back!

This right here is what makes The Texas Chain Saw Massacre. This POV, blackly comic, utterly unfathomable image. Horror films are so often a linear sequence of scares, where no matter how long the build-up is we rarely have to sit and endure terror for more than a few seconds. Even The Exorcist’s eponymous sequence traversed one nightmare to another. But this is us, tied to a chair, listening to our captors cackle at our pleas for mercy, all completely out of their minds. Savage genius.

This shrieking extreme close up of Sally’s eye as the family laugh at her.

Again with these unflinching angles, cutting out from the swirling handheld close ups as if to remind us this is really happening.

How horrifying the sheer concept of this moment is.

The fact that its morning- and how humdrum that house always looks.

Nubbins (over it now) slashing at her back with a razor. No fanfare or close ups of this, its just left alone and allowed to be vile.

And his body being absolutely mulched by the truck right after. There’s barely a few frames of each shot here, to hide the very, very obvious meat-mannequin- but the end result is brutal.

The truck driver turning on a dime and running back to the cockpit when Leatherface appears. Its funny, and its also exactly what a person would do.

How horror movies have a pretty diabolical relationship with people of colour, and yet here this nameless driver ends up saving the day.

Just how straight this whole film is played and how effectively that absolute confidence elevates its horror. From the dinner party to this right here. Imagine driving up on your early morning commute and passing this freakshow.

Actor Marylin Burns’ screaming, laughing, mortified moment of movie black magic on the back of this van.

And finally this. After all the carnage, it’s a cut to black as Leatherface wheels his chainsaw around without so much as half a mind to spare. From Andrei Tarkovsky to Jean Renoir- this still might be my favourite ending, ever.