HEY, MA! WATCH THIS

(ARIEL POWERS-SCHAUB; 182 pages; ENCYCLOPOCALYPSE PUBLICATIONS; 2024)

There are many books out there about horror films; it’s an immensely popular genre. So it’s a perfectly reasonable proposition to put together a new volume that focuses on horror cinema of the new millennium. But this new MILLENNIAL NASTIES tome startles by zeroing in on the most violent and nihilistic films, comprising the so-called “torture porn” genre and the films that followed in its wake. It’s doubly startling by being written by a female author, that being Ariel Powers-Schaub. Maybe it’s narrow-minded of me to even SAY that; after all, women ARE a big part of the horror-loving audience. But girls don’t do so well in horror films (excepting the whole “final girl” trope that we are all familiar with); killing off “helpless” or naive females is a staple of the genre, so I simply wouldn’t have predicted a woman serving up a comprehensive look at this popular phenomenon. What is most startling of ALL, however, is that this book ends up being insightful, comprehensive, thorough and absolutely a blast to read… I would call it “required reading” for fans of “brutal horror films,” which the title makes clear it sets out to examine. We’re talking the SAW franchise, many of the works of director Eli Roth (HOSTEL, CABIN FEVER, et cetera), and chapters dealing with specific thematic areas like “Fucked Up Families” (ex: Rob Zombie’s THE DEVIL’S REJECTS), “You Can’t Cheat Death” (the FINAL DESTINATION franchise) and the comically titled “The Locals Run This Town” (THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE and THE HILLS HAVE EYES, two films discussed in a rather large section of the book titled “The Era of Remakes: Nasti-fication For a New Generation”). Powers-Schaub clearly has an abiding interest in modern bloody horror films, but she does those of us who are fascinated by this genre (but not obsessive) a real favor by comparing original films to remakes, first films in a series to subsequent sequels, and most importantly, WHAT exactly stands out, plot-wise, acting-wise and “memorable kill”-wise in each film. That takes real ambition, and an ability to contextualize the appeal of films that, for a large number of people out there, are just too SICK and stomach-churning to ever go near.

In the Foreword, editor Zoe Rose Smith praises Powers-Schaub thusly:

“I could intrinsically sense just how passionate and dedicated she (Ariel) was to not only the horror genre, but to certain niches and even certain films like SAW. It didn’t take long before Ariel began to show just how committed to horror she was; with such a wonderful way of delivering her thoughts on different topics and really expanding her voice across all things from slashers with THE SLUMBER PARTY MASSACRE to found footage with THE BLAIR WITCH PROJECT to torture porn with HOSTEL… ”

Some people may view films where people are tortured or carved up creatively as nothing but abominable trash (and I KNOW some of those people), but after all, it’s a violent world, and films have always reflected that. Any genre of cinema that is enduringly popular deserves to be taken seriously, and I can’t imagine ANY writer doing a more balanced and entertaining analysis of the SAW franchise, THE STRANGERS, HOSTEL, WOLF CREEK, WRONG TURN (that film and its sequel are part of a very entertaining section titled “Original Slashers”), THE LAST HOUSE ON THE LEFT (remake), et al, than what Ms Powers-Schaub gives us here. I smiled repeatedly as I read her prose, and sometimes felt my jaw drop as I read her pithy and memorable assessments. Some examples:

“Most of the academic writing about torture porn and similar films has been analyzing the impact of 9/11. America’s sense of security from the 1990s was shattered. Suddenly, Americans were fearful of The Other, The Outsider. Bigotry made a huge comeback, though it never really left. And American attitudes became both very sad and angry, stuck in an ‘us versus them’ mentality. This book is not focused on 9/11, but it is mentioned when relevant to the analysis. Horror films always reflect the world around them, and these films were born from global trauma.”

“Throughout the SAW franchise, each film tackles multiple themes, and offers just as much plot and character development as it does blood and guts. The films in the SAW franchise all have similar setups, and a formula that gets more strongly entrenched as the decade progresses. The main villain (or anti-hero, depending on who you ask), is a man named John Kramer, a successful engineer and entrepreneur. After he suffers some personal tragedies, he begins trapping and testing victims of his choice, and makes them confront their own will to live. The press calls him Jigsaw because he always takes a piece of skin, shaped like a puzzle piece, as a trophy when his victims die. It was possible to keep strong plot threads in each film because of creative consistency. Members of the cast and crew worked on multiple movies, most notably Tobin Bell, the actor who played John Kramer/Jigsaw. The themes explored in the franchise that are the most consistent throughout all have to do with family and loyalty. Jigsaw is particularly interested in fatherhood, and what it means to be a good father. The films in the franchise also offer an exploration of systems meant to help people, specifically the police and medical care… ”

“Much like the phenomenon that occurred with THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE (Director: Hooper, 1974), people remember SAW being more violent and gruesome than it is. Most of the torture and violence is implied, or kept partially hidden, most likely due to budget constraints of the debut film makers. Part of SAW’s signature look is the frantic editing, sometimes giving the film a feeling similar to a music video. The editing style trend happened accidentally, because the film makers didn’t have the time or the budget to shoot enough takes of all the scenes they needed and decided to make up for it in the editing. That style of editing became a hallmark of the decade and torture porn genre, seen in many other MILLENNIAL NASTIES in this book.”

“During the Millennial Nasty decade, American characters were often portrayed as afraid of the world. In America’s reality, it was becoming clear that people in other countries didn’t necessarily trust us, as global citizens watched America’s involvement in war. That feeling of mistrust led to a trend in filmmaking where some vacationers – usually young and beautiful tourists – went off to an unfamiliar area and didn’t make it home. Tourists, especially white tourists, in these movies are hunted and killed for their physical and national characteristics. This wasn’t strictly an American fear, however. An excellent example from Australia, WOLF CREEK, explored similar themes. CABIN FEVER fits in this chapter, as well, although the fear is domestic and biological, as campers and a small town are picked off by a disease. However, the fear of the disease leads to person-on-person violence and represents the nastiness that can happen when Americans fear for their safety and try to protect themselves. In each of these films, vacationers are hoping to rely on the kindness of strangers for help, and they are let down in the worst ways…”

“HOSTEL is supposed to be making fun of Americans, highlighting the ways we can move about the world in boorish ways, anticipating everyone to meet our needs. And HOSTEL could have made this point, but it just misses. By focusing on the male characters who are victimized, and keeping the story tightly centered on their experience, HOSTEL does not take time to comment on human trafficking and exploitation or American exceptionalism. In fact, the film has the opposite effect, making people angrier at Americans. Slovakian officials decried the film and said it was offensive to depict their culture in such a way.”

“The focus on men’s experiences in HOSTEL is a unique one. Men are crying and begging for their lives in this film. That did not fit the macho portrayal of masculinity that was so prevalent in this era. It also subverts a trope that relies on purity being a saving grace in horror films. Drawing on our knowledge of the Final Girl, the audience may think Josh will be the lone survivor, because he resists the temptations of Amsterdam the most, though he is not perfect. But in fact, Pax is the Final Boy, who has been trying to influence Josh the whole time. Josh ending his night early is what gets him caught before Pax. HOSTEL succeeds in flipping a horror trope on its head to surprise audiences with a Final Boy who loves sex and partying. That was surprising and refreshing at the time… ”

“HOUSE OF 1000 CORPSES is a staple of the Millennial Nasty era, and also somehow apart from it, because Zombie started the film in an earlier era. Production wrapped in 2000, but the film had to go through many cuts to be considered suitable for audiences. And then 9/11 happened, and many horror films were significantly cut and/or delayed as the world reacted to the tragedy. This combination of events adds up to a film that was released into an era that was ready and waiting for violence and nihilism on screen, but created in an era where that was a fresh take on horror. That makes HOUSE OF 1000 CORPSES feel timeless, in a way some other films discussed in this book will not.”

“In my 2021 review for GHOULS MAGAZINE, I describe what puts this film snugly in its era:

“Rob Zombie used this movie as a conduit to talk to the audience, and to challenge us. Though this movie would later be called torture porn, there is no sexual violence. However, there are many close-up shots of faces and bodies of dead women, which, even if not explicitly sexualized, are very clearly on display more than men. And there is a lot of overlap in sexiness with horror imagery. For example, images of women stripping while also playing with toy skeletons. There are several shots where characters are talking directly to the camera, in a way that can make the audience feel exposed. In the opening, when Captain Spaulding is being robbed and not backing down, the last thing he says to the robbers is ‘and most of all, fuck you,’ and shoots a gun at the camera. This tells the audience that Zombie does not care about our boundaries, and we are in his world now. Later, when the danger is obvious and we are worried for our main characters, the local cops find one of the cheerleaders, dead and in the trunk of a car. She is naked, and has the words ‘trick or treat’ carved into her skin. As the camera lingers on her body, we hear Otis in a voiceover, saying over and over again, louder and louder ‘hope you like what you see!’ The audience is forced to sit with the horrifying image, and question why we may, in fact, like what we see. Near the end of the film, as Denise and Jerry are dressed and bound for sacrifice, Otis speaks to Jerry, but looks directly into the camera and tells the viewer, ‘It’s all true, the boogeyman is real and you found him.’ I hear this as Zombie claiming to be Hollywood’s new boogeyman, a hopeful statement when this was filmed. This film means to push your boundaries and have you question your own comfort with what’s on screen… ”

“What makes this film (WRONG TURN) a sign of things to come throughout the decade is how brutal and violent it is. The cannibals’ house is covered in filth, and the lighting in the interior scenes makes it appear even grimier than it is… The house is by far the nastiest part of the film – very different from the clean homes and good schools of the ‘90s slashers. The kills are nasty for a slasher – that is to say, compared to some other films discussed in this book, these kills are nothing special. But compared to the history of slashers, in which teenagers were often stabbed, sometimes off screen, WRONG TURN offers more gore. For example, Francine is garroted by barbed wire and Carly’s head is chopped in half. And, of course, the family of cannibals. As WRONG TURN became a franchise, the lore around the cannibals and where they came from expanded. But the first movie doesn’t explain much, and in it the cannibals don’t speak, so both the characters and the audience are left with no understanding. The cannibals communicate by making clicking sounds and cackling, and they move through the woods quickly and stealthily. They are three men, all dressed in dirty clothes and missing fingers, teeth, and hair. The cannibals do not care how they are perceived by other people, possibly because they see others as food, and we don’t normally care what our food thinks of us. There is no attempt to hide their crimes. They are not shy about the graveyard of tourists’ cars they have on their property, or the personal items collected from their victims. Because we cannot understand the cannibal family’s motives or communication, they are ‘othered’ by default. WRONG TURN is a franchise about fear of The Other; fear of what we don’t understand. That has always been a topic ripe for exploration through the horror genre, and especially in the early 2000s when America was so distrustful of anyone we considered The Other.”

I could continue to quote many other passages at length from this fascinating book, but ultimately your level of interest in it will depend on how much you watch or care about the horror movies the author discusses. I personally found it fascinating how she divides up roughly a decade’s worth of dark horror films into meaningful categories, such as “home invasion” stories (y’all remember that very disturbing entry THE STRANGERS, where the bound victims ask WHY the merciless killers are doing what they’re doing, and the quick answer is “because you were HOME”?), Americans on vacation overseas, “fucked-up families,” et cetera. It reveals how recurring themes and tropes in horror films are used both to give the audience what they want, and to find refreshing variations for the often eager young filmmakers to explore. Powers-Schaub does a terrific job in the remakes section of comparing disturbing and legendary ‘70s horror classics like THE LAST HOUSE ON THE LEFT, to its edgy millennial update, discussing both villains and victims (and the revenge part of each story) with gusto. She provides a personal and intellectual throughline that gives this whole volume far more creative and contemplative HEFT than you might think in such a project. Do you have to be familiar with the genre written about to appreciate this book? Well, the author doesn’t necessarily think so, although she points to the original Tobe Hooper classic THE TEXAS CHAIN SAW MASSACRE as being somewhat of a granddaddy to what followed. She writes:

“If I can suggest watching one film before reading, let it be Tobe Hooper’s 1974 classic THE TEXAS CHAIN SAW MASSACRE. That may come as a surprising recommendation, since it’s not a Millennial Nasty. It is, in fact, one of the original Video Nasties, and it has influenced horror ever since it hit drive-in theater screens. It is referenced throughout this book, as its influences impact the analysis of Millennial Nasties. Three characters are mentioned by name throughout this book, and I will credit them here:

Sally Hardesty: the final girl, played by Marilyn Burns

Pam: Sally’s best friend, played by Teri McMinn

Leatherface: the chainsaw-wielding killer, played by Gunnar Hansen.”

What’s fascinating about the influence of TTCM is that for all its shocking depravity at the time in the mid-’70s, there was very little blood or guts shown on the screen. The suspense came from the buildup and the careful editing. But the films the author talks about in detail here are generally explicit, depicting depraved human cruelty and sadism that show us all the things we have nightmares about or read in violent crime stories here and there. She does a superb job of providing context, giving us a clear idea of WHERE the themes of these films come from and even whether there is some sort of moral foundation in evidence. And far from being films made by hacks looking to earn a quick buck from a known formula, many of these films were produced by thoughtful directors such as James Wan, Eli Roth, Bryan Bertino and Roland Joffe, who have all done significant work in different genres. Powers-Schaub was attentive to the evolution and influence of horror films from a younger age, and she’s consistently interesting in what she has to say here. In her intro, she writes that she “couldn’t remember a time in her life before horror stories,” and wrote about the SAW franchise as a way to “process my feelings about the Covid-19 pandemic,” which led to the opportunity to write for GHOULS MAGAZINE. Of MILLENNIAL NASTIES, a culmination of sorts of her interest in the topic, she tells us:

“This book is a series of essays analyzing specific horror films in a specific time period… It includes some personal opinions and some of my own observations of the world around me. There aren’t many books written yet that analyze this decade and subgenre, which is exciting, and a bit daunting. On a very personal note, this book has been inside of me for years, and I needed to get it out. I am so thankful that I got to. This is not an academic text. I wanted to write my own analyses of these films, make my own points, not gather points made by others or slow down the reader with lots of citations. It’s not a behind-the-scenes or a making-of text, either. Sometimes, production details are included when they were relevant to my analysis, but analysis remained my primary goal. It is not an exhaustive list of every film that could be explored, but rather the most important films to analyze for trends and themes in this time period… ”

Mission accomplished, Ariel! I just don’t think many other books will appear that have as much to say about certain trends in horror for a decade-plus, than MILLENNIAL NASTIES. From discussing what “torture porn” does or does not mean, to the recurring themes and franchises that draw ongoing interest from horror audiences, to how changing times and social events affect both filmmakers and their genre fans, this book has plenty to say from an enormously gifted, thoughtful writer. Yes, there’s some disgusting things portrayed in these films, and Powers-Schaub is not at all above taking some directors and writers to task when they sink into misogyny, racism, et cetera. But I am truly impressed with her ability to keep the reader entertained and stimulated, with a focus here that makes sense and stirs the emotions. I would argue that this book is actually culturally significant, a survey of one grouping of modern horror films that you might think would only appeal to fans of the gross-out and hardcore bloodletting of a HOSTEL, WRONG TURN, WOLF CREEK, et cetera. But the author is taking a much bigger view of all this in her book, telling us something about humanity (or lack of it), fear and the changing nature of vulnerability and ANGST in the modern world. As such, MILLENNIAL NASTIES has something interesting to say about the importance of therapy and making creative choices. She’s made a good one here, in a truly unique book that I think I will be reading multiple times.