Leatherface, U.S. Ambassador

Welcome to the U.N. Mr. Ambassador!

     It seems I may have spared myself  from stepping into a steaming pile of cinematic failure last weekend by being unable to attend a showing of Texas Chainsaw 3D.  By extension, I avoided writing yet another review of yet another apparently lackluster sequel to one of the most beleaguered and inconsistent franchises in horror.  Good.  If I feel differently after viewing the film myself, I'll gladly post a retraction.  I do have a history of championing movies everyone else loathes.  I simply can't believe that anyone intentionally makes a bad movie, even if the movie's genesis is commercially driven.

     I have, however, had the Chainsaw movies on the brain this week.  I've also been fascinated recently by the fact that Movies At Dog Farm has been getting hits from foreign countries, something that it just never occurred to me might happen when I launched this blog on Thanksgiving day, 2012.  The two seemingly disparate topics have been marinating in my brainpan together,  and I arrived at the following conclusion: director Tobe Hooper's The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974) is the most uniquely American franchise spawning horror movie around.

     The United States is a big country.  I believe the U.S. is still imagined by much of the world beyond our borders as a Wild West free-for-all that tolerates - and even encourages - an egocentric and often violently destructive self-sufficiency for the individual.  In particular, I suspect that to much of the world the great state of Texas epitomizes the U.S. as a whole.  It's perceived as a vast, lawless frontier populated by loud, arrogant, gun-toting, giant-belt-buckle-wearing blowhards with cowboy hats.  This is an erroneous stereotype, of course - so please, no hate mail - but one that our history, media, and (let's be honest) our interaction with other countries often reinforces.

TCM's Grandpa, conserving energy

     Consider for a moment the character of Grandpa (John Dugan) in The Texas Chainsaw Massacre as a symbolic representation of the United States.  Grandpa use to be the best killer in the slaughterhouse, and the entire Sawyer family delusionally believes he still is.  They're determined to keep alive the memories of past glories, and they still revere the last remaining symbolic vestige of their former preeminence - a symbol now old, frail, and almost comically unable to swing a hammer.  He perks up when he gets a taste of blood, though . . .

     Consider, also, how the character of The Cook (Jim Siedow) is more concerned with the inconvenience of replacing a chainsawed door than with the wholesale slaughter that's been occurring in his home all day.  The slaughterhouse is closed, and the gas station has no gas.  The Sawyers are doing what they feel they must to survive.  The entire family's actions are based upon a flawed morality that suggests that because they're doing what they must to get by that it's kinda sorta O.K. 

TCM's deceptively tranquil farmhouse

     What else should they be expected to do, though, when interloping outsiders keep encroaching on their territory?  It's interesting to note, however, that the territory the Sawyers perceive as their own appears to be theirs only by virtue of the fact that they're squatting on it, and the outside world is too indifferent or oblivious to force them out.  They've staked their claim, taken something that wasn't theirs, and then fiercely defended their "ownership" of what they've taken against all comers. 

Leatherface pauses for reflection

     Perhaps only Leatherface (Gunnar Hansen) himself might be absolved of his trespasses, because he seems to be the only member of the Sawyer clan who displays any anxiety or remorse about what he's doing, and he's too simple to know any better.  He's defending the family's home and doing his part to provide for their needs.  He's following orders.  He's but one microscopic cog in an infernal machine that leaves death and destruction in its wake, and all he's trying to do is get dinner ready.

     . . . and really, what's more uniquely American than the whole family joining together at the dinner table for some quality time?