After a rousing narrative by John Larroquette (of TV's "Night Court") trying to sound like Orson Welles and a flat out crazy opening scene (better described further on in the review), we're introduced to our doomed gang of 20-somethings: Sally, her wheel-chair bound brother Franklin, her beau Jerry, and their two friends Pam and Kirk. Despite the usual confusion of Franklin being of the mildly retarded persuasion, those ides are wrong... he's just from Texas. Anyway, the quintet is paying a little visit to a cemetery just outside of Newt, Texas, where a recent late night grave-digging party has left many bodies exhumed with some missing pieces and others thrown together in a fucked up art display that a select few the likes of Jeffrey Dahmer could truly admire for the raw display of humanity they represent... what, you don't see it? So, Sally and Franklin and friends are paying a visit to make sure their grandparents' bodies weren't among those violated in the necro-burglaries. When assured by the local doofy Texas sheriff that everything's okay (a phone call couldn't have solved this quandary?), the group set out to pay a visit to the old farm house where Sally and Franklin grew up, though Franklin's still got a lot of figurative growing up to do himself. I know I shouldn't make fun of a fat, retarded gimp in a chair and a bad haircut, but hey, what are you gonna do, right? Along the way the crew pick up a wandering hitchhiker, for pity that the scrawny weirdo might die out in the hot Texas sun. Had they witnessed the opening scenario like we had, they might have taken a look at the little nutbag and noticed his camera, taking the smart route and leaving the guy alone. But, since they're IN the movie and have no idea what I'm talking about, I guess I can't really blame them now, can I?

The Hitchhiker is, well, "interesting" to say the least, but, such as in the case with Franklin, he's not retarded, just a little "Texan". After regaling his picker-uppers with tales of his life and love with the slaughterhouse and the days of cracking bovine skulls with sledgehammers, the guy goes Mr. Peanut and slashes Franklin's arm with a straight razor before jumping out of the van and smearing his own blood all over the side as the youngin's drive away, fleeing in terror... see what happens when you decline dinner invites in the Lone Star State? Afterwards, the group stops at a service station nearby to get directions to grandma and grandpa's abandoned farm house. The kindly old guy who runs the gas station/BBQ pit provides the sought after directions, though only after much protest that "kids like you don't wanna go messin' around some old place like that". When they get to the house, while the others are exploring and NOT having pointless intercourse after splitting up to "look around" (remember, this is before the days of slasher cliches), Franklin finds a few arts & crafts projects lying around that don't look very welcoming, including a doorway decoration of hanging bones tied together. Pam and Kirk decide they'd like to break off from the safety of numbers and head down to the old swimmin' hole Franklin had been referring to, so they head off to their dooms... errr, I mean, to their enjoyable frolic and fun in the water. When they find the water dried and the hole barren, the two spot another old farmhouse nearby and head over to investigate with the hopes of picking up some gasoline for their thirsty steel monstrosity, since the gas station was mysteriously dry...

At the house, amidst other things like what appears to be the shredded and devastated remnants of some poor shlub's campsite, the duo come across a small fleet of cars hidden underneath a big mesh tarp... are they being hidden or do the owners of the house just happen to own a lot of cars and like to keep them from, uh, over exposure to summer sun? Riiiiiiiiiiiiight. When no one answers the door at the house, Kirk lets himself in for a peak, only to be met by a large lunatic in a mask of human flesh, brandishing a big hammer! Paralyzed like a deer in headlights, the nosy young man doesn't get a chance to regret his trespassing as the lumbering brute doesn't waste a moment's time in striking the bastard down and leaving him a twitching mass of flesh and blood! People don't need to lock their doors in Texas. Why? Because they kill whoever might come in unannounced! Could be why you don't see a lot of Witnesses knocking on doors along the Rio Grande... This has to be one of my favorite moments in the movie, as the sick *thud* and *splat* sound the hammer makes as it crashes over Kirk's skull makes my stomach twitch, much like Kirk's body as he collapses to the floor and begins spasmodically thrashing about. One thing's for sure, though this cast may not be professional and may not be all that talented even for amateurs, they sure have the physical aspects of their work as victims down to a science! As for Pam, when she comes in to investigate (beautiful tracking shot here I might add), she finds herself stumbling around in a room full with a precisely Geinian decor to it, with furniture made of various bones and little centerpieces of feather and bone tied together with fishing line, much like those uncovered by Franklin... coincidence? Yeah, and I'm a circus midget in a 10 gallon hat singing "Home On The Range" with a back-up chorus of tap dancing squids from New England... okay, so maybe I am, but I'm not the one under scrutiny here, damn it!

Attempting to compose herself and keep from repainting the walls in a thick coating of half digested roadside BBQ, Pam makes for the front door in a stumbling dash, only to be tackled and dragged back into Hell by the looming demon in the apron. Instead of simply ending Pam's life in a haze of blinding white pain and skull fragments much like he did with Kirk, the squealing man-beast takes her into his kitchen and... DROPS HER ONTO A BIG MEATHOOK! Yes, much like myself, the 'Face enjoys torturing his food, making his victim squirm and scream as the life trickles out of her and down her back, a large steel hook planted in her chest and leaving her to dangle like a human sea bass. The craziest part? There's absolutely no graphic gore, only the contorted and horrified expression on Pam's face, making this entire scene 98% viewer imagination. And with my imagination, that makes this one of history's most agonizing scenes, heh heh. Then again, when you've had a meathook planted between your shoulder blades like I have, it'll just make your viewing experience all the more painful to your mind's eye. As if that weren't bad enough, if she can see past the agony, Pam gets to watch 'Face carve up her love man like a Thanksgiving squab... with a chainsaw... do you really need to ask why I love this movie?!

Worried that their friends have yet to make their return, Jerry decides to play hero and go out to investigate this Scooby-Doo mystery without the aid of the rest of the gang or the Mystery Machine. Of course he too finds the house and of course he too decides to just let himself inside. What kind of time is this when young adults just let themselves in to whatever house they come across?! I'm not complaining about respecting other peoples' privacy, as I'm not one to practice such things, but for fuck's sake! If I were to just wander around and let myself into other peoples' houses, I guess I couldn't really blame the owner of said home to rail me over the coconut with a hammer and cut me into riblets. Remember, if you trespass on someone's property, they have the legal right to do to you as they please, so so far I've seen no "violent murders", just "home security". As for Jerry? He's the next victim of Leatherface's "home security" plan... as if you needed me to point that out to you. After finding Pam's still fading corpse in the 'Face's meat freezer, he's severely spooked when she thrashes out at him and gives her final death rattle. Terrified, Jerry doesn't have a lot of time to absorb the situation, as he turns around to the sight of our man eating Texan, who turns him into a pile of quivering meat the same way he did with Kirk: hammer + head = twitching body. It's Newton's lost law kids, ask your Physics professor about it. With his third kill of the day, Leatherface then retreats to his happy window to try and figure out where all these unwanted guests are coming from. He hasn't seen this much action since that bus of misguided tourists or all those door-to-door salesmen who were trying to make their end-of-the-month quotas...

Back at the van, night has fallen and fallen hard, and Sally babysits Franklin as the two get stressed over the disappearance of their cohorts. When it's realized that honking the horn and shouting into the darkness are about as effective as smoke signals, Sally finally decides it's time to go off and look herself, dragging Franklin and his clunky mobile seat along with her... well, she needs somebody to hold the flashlight. After the two stumble through the surrounding underbrush and trees for a while, the hit a wall... a wall screaming like an animal and brandishing his chainsaw! Franklin's not long for this planet as the 'saw is buried in his torso and he rides that rotating chain to a bloody demise in the Texas night. Nice to see this fat machine of mean and meat grizzle doesn't discriminate against the handicapped like most rednecks might. As for Sally, she gets a second to catch a breather and take in some of this nightmare before she's off like a jack rabbit (note: a jack rabbit with a broken leg and a lead weight tied to her ass... Marilyn Burns is not one of the best runners in horror history... though she looks damn edible while doing it, heh heh). Running through the woods and to the house, then through the house and back outside through the woods, Sally finally outruns her pursuer and finds herself all the way back to the roadside gas stop/BBQ pit, where Leatherface mysteriously ends his pursuit and our heroine finds her way into the arms of the kooky old man, offering her safety and solace from whatever it is she's trying to escape. But, when he goes to get his truck, he comes back with intentions of stuffing the lady into a potato sack! Is EVERYONE in Texas a fucking psychopath?! They're obviously not as courteous and accommodating as their commercials would have you believe!

After a short struggle and a sound brooming, Sally gets her clock cleaned and is restrained in the sac, her hands tied and her mouth gagged as the old man drags her into the truck, makes a funny insight into our crappy government and heads home with his dinner guest. Where exactly is his home? Well, it sure looks a lot like the SAME one that's been getting a lot of college aged guests today. And the last piece of the puzzle? The old guy also picks up a familiar hitchhiker along the driveway with a big red birthmark on his ugly mug. Yep, all three of these lunatics are brothers, which makes you wonder about the blood smeared on the van by the babbling madman earlier in the day. A warning perhaps that the old man was to steer these kids into their trap as the next batch of roadside BBQ? It's never really covered, but I definitely wouldn't write it off as coincidence... After 'Face dresses up in his "doting housewife" motif and grills up some dinner, he and his brothers bring their old Grandpa to the dinner table so he can show 'em what really head hammerin' is about! The calf set for slaughter? It's Sally of course, tied to a chair with her head held down so the near comatose, 100+ year old senior citizen can whack her with all the strength his spaghetti limbs can muster. Seriously, if you've never seen the character of Grandpa, his face looks like a wrinkled ass with eyes and all he can physically do is suck and drool and twitch. This whole situation deteriorates into psychosis for a while, with everyone shouting and screaming while the camera swirls and close-up shots of Sally's terrified eyes litter the screen... see, Hooper used to know what he was doing.

Sally manages to writhe free of the Hitchhiker's grasp, long enough to jump out a window and into, uhm, an early morning? Okaaaaaaaaaaay... So, 'Face and Hitch give chase, with Hitch slashing up our heroine's back with his trusty straight-razor as her path leads her to the nearby highway. Not a smart boy, Hitch obviously forgot that he was never to play in the road without looking both ways first (unless he was encouraged to play in the street, which, knowing Texas families, wouldn't be of any surprise), as he's slurped under the 18 wheels of an oncoming tractor-trailer! His sibling now roadkill, Leatherface is just urged on stronger, as he thrashes and twirls and runs around screaming with his pet chainsaw. The big fat black dude driving the truck in question clocks the villain in the head with a wrench, which is funnier than you'd ever think something so pedestrian could be... well, unless the person getting his hair parted was someone you hated, like Tom Green or Jim Carrey or the cast of "Friends". The trucker then just kinda disappears from the screen as Sally jumps in the bed of a passing pick-up truck and cackles her way to safety and lunacy. As for 'Face, the enraged man lady ends the film like a true artist: with more screaming and squealing and spinning around in circles with his pissed-off chainsaw butchering the air around him, highlighted by the setting Texas sun... wow, that day lasted all of 5 minutes... must be, uhm, winter in Texas... or "sun spots"... yeah, always blame the sun spots... hey, that would explain why Hooper used them in his opening credits sequence...

I'd just like to take this space that Marilyn Burns is fuckin' super hot. Oh, she Burns alright, as in "my crotch"! This babe makes my balls boil, even with a mask of crimson and screaming like a Banshee. Okay, just wanted to make sure that was put out in the open, in case 1974 Marilyn Burns was looking at this through a time warp and was interested in joining my latest branch of the Anubis Home For Wayward Sex Kittens In Need Of Attention. Resume with the review.

TCM is a great movie, though the story is really nothing spectacular that couldn't have been thrown together over a weekend of Fosters and fried chicken at any secluded living space. Even the use of Ed Gein as an archetype for the family's basic foundation isn't a completely new concept, as Hitchcock's evil offspring Norman Bates was patterned after Wisconsin's red-headed stepchild in regards to the whole, "likes to dress like a woman and thinks his mother's ghost is haunting him" scenario. But, the cinematography and direction of this movie's visual feel is what really sets this flick apart from future copycats, with the very moderate, yet spine wrenchingly effective soundtrack just heightening the mood. Many people claim that the film's gore is what makes it such a nightmarish stain on the gray matter, but when taken into consideration, the gore factor is really low. Shit, Hooper was even aiming for a 'PG' rating it was so scarce in the juice! What's that say about everything? Well, it's well documented on this site and in the state's records that I'm a certified, card carrying gore whore, and it takes the rarest breed of movie to give me that level of blood soaked satisfaction without actually covering the screen with red... TCM is in exclusive company in that respect. It's the only movie that gives me the "ewwwww, that was a slippery flick!" feeling without actually making it so, and THAT is the sign of genius direction. After nearly 30 years, the only thing out-dated here are the clothes.

All "gory without gore" aside, there are shots in this movie that just make me sit back and drop my jaw to the sick looking shag carpeting on my living room floor. The opening sequence is a guilty pleasure in itself. The screen is stark black, until someone (likely the Hitchhiker) and their camera illuminate the scene partially, giving us brief and horrid glimpses of decaying bodies and rotting flesh, twisted in agony and festering badly. These short but startling shots are made even more morbid and bizarre by the only sound available: the whine of the camera's flashbulb. Without a doubt the best opening sequence I've ever seen or will likely ever see again. Other great examples of talented cinematography include the wide angle shot of the youngsters pulling alongside the road to pick up the Hitchhiker (great shot of the Texan "Big Sky") and the shot behind Pam as the wide tracking shot of the camera follows her from the house's railroad tie bench swing to the front door on a length of track, stopping as she enters the porch, giving off this sense of "say goodbye to the nice lady kids". Goodbye Pam. And of course there's the classic shot of Pam being "dropped onto the hook" and some other very slick death sequences. Staying on the death sequences, I applaud both of our male victims for doing such believable falls. Kudos also to Gunnar Hansen, Ed Neal and Jim Siedow for making "the family" one of cinema's most memorable households or madmen in this or any era!

All in all, the best analogy I can make to describe TCM, would have to be to one of those tiny firecrackers in the "Tom & Jerry" cartoons. Though it was a tiny little eardrum popper, Tom figures Jerry's just psyching him out and trying to make him look like an ass. But, when that little fuse sparks it's journey, the little bastard's off like a quarter stick, leaving the baffled feline with singed whiskers and darker than Ted Danson in black face. Yes, with it's miniature budget, amateur cast and crew and so-basic-it's-almost-insulting plot line, you'd expect this little firecracker to fizzle out and pull a dud on you. What do you get instead? A landmark in independent cinema and an undeniable mar on American culture. Land of the cannibals, home of the chainsaw!

... Okay, I know half of you reading this are likely to think to yourself, "Shit Anubis, get off of Hooper's dick for two seconds and take a rest wouldja?!". Well, there is no good without evil, no light without dark, no Curly without Shemp, so here comes the sad, truthful side: Hooper's direction is amazing throughout, but somehow, TCM serves as evidence of the infamous "freshman jinx". In more direct context, it means Tobe made such a stellar first film that, well, his following flicks were to never reach that same pinnacle of directorial integrity. Need proof? What's the man done since making his mark in '74? Well, yes, he did make Poltergeist with some Jew named Steven Spielberg, but other than that, the man's resume is condemned with critical cancer the likes of Eaten Alive, Spontaneous Combustion, Lifeforce, Night Terrors, The Mangler and his ill-fated TCM sequel, aptly named The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2, bane of Dennis Hopper's career, though one of my personal favs. What's the man doing now? Well, in recent years Mr. Hooper has been downgraded to horrors of the small screen, working on televised projects like "Dark Skies", "Perversions Of Science" and the Henry Rollins hosted "Night Visions", as well as his last direct-to-video feature, the abominable Crocodile... and no, the "abominable" part isn't in the beginning of the title.

I guess no director of the "old skool" best embodies the need for new blood in today's world of horrors than Tobe Hooper, sad as it may be for me to admit. Part of the "Big 4" of the pre-'90s wave, along with Wes Craven, George Romero and John Carpenter, Hooper's proven to us that he's flat out of ideas and whacked out of his gourd when it comes to trying to deliver an impact the likes of which he once could. Not one of these three men has been able to impress me since 1987's Prince Of Darkness! Guess that's what happens when you used up all your "social commentary" A-list material on your first project.

Am I an elitist? Do I make unfair judgments on other peoples' works when I myself don't know what it's like to be forced to either live up to the standards of others or simply kick the proverbial movie bucket? Hey, like it says on the Hall's front page: "Those who can, do. Those who cannot, judge!". Basically, thanx for the ride guys, but now it's time to bow gracefully and ride off into the sunset to retire. There are some guys out now with real potential so don't worry, I think the horror world is in capable hands... now that the "teen slasher reborn" genre's properly buried itself in concrete once again that is. Let's just hope Wes Craven dies and takes the unholy Medallion Of Sorlock with him, so he can't unleash the demons of stupidity from their tomb once more!