People have called me weird all my life. I might have stumbled on further proof.
Like most couples at the end of the workday, yesterday my wife Jamie and I said our hellos and brought each other up to date on what happened to them earlier in the day. She told me about meetings, moving to a new cube, e-mail and memo exchanged re weekly reports. So what did I do that afternoon, she asked. I watched “Freddy vs. Jason” and offered my thoughts.
Boy, am I weird….
I blew off the movie for a long time. I’m into horror these days (in case you couldn’t tell), but I don’t have patience for most horror movie fare. Out of morbid curiosity, I’ve taken occasional glances at the “Nightmare on Elm Street” and “Friday the 13th” franchises. Rolled my eyes. And moved on. In the end, curiosity got the better of my judgement. As usual.
My rationalization for checking out drivel of any kind often involves some combination of the following:
A) It doesn’t cost me anything to try.
B) A snap judgement means very little, but an informed opinion counts for something.
C) I might learn something.
D) Well, how bad can it be?
All four came into play this time. And this time, all four turned out to have some merit. Go fig!
A lot of these observations probably won’t be new or unique to me, but this movie turned out a little better than I expected. Hardly a classic, though. Compared to the nourishing psychic feasts of classic horror movies, “Freddy vs. Jason” is junk food. It’s mostly empty calories. But it has its moments.
Okay, spoiler warnings…in case someone actually cares!!!!
SPOILERS
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Now I’m going to use this token effort at a spoiler buffer to rant a bit.
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<redguy>Â Aw, is widdle widdums not in the mood of some stampin’ on the soapbox? Tough cheese, little snuggums. My blog, my rules.
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Okay, so I watched too much “Cow and Chicken.” Not following the reference? Are we unable to keep up, hmmmm? WELL, THAT”S TOO BAD!!!! </redguy>
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All the spoiler nonsense is endemic of Western civilizations adoption of the Elizabethan ethic of dramaturgy, where the unveiling of plot takes on greater emphasis than interpretation. On the other hand, the ancient Greeks had it the other way around, that the interpretation of the artist and the audience took precedence. You’d think from all the gratuitous remakes Hollywood pumps out so much, you’d think they must’ve hung out with the same Greeks. But whether it’s SF, sports, or soaps, spoilers are all that matter. Concern over spoilers are such horse-hockey, I swear. I mean, seriously! If people were this conscientious about all media consumption, we wouldn’t have to worry about impartial juries! F***ing nuisance.
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Whew. That was fun. I’m almost too tired now to get on with the “Freddy vs. Jason” thing. Okay, okay! Lookie, I’m dropping the other shoe!
You can probably tell from the title, the film’s mainly a bone thrown at fanboys. “Who’d win in a fight, Freddy Krueger or Jason Voorhees?” That’s high concept for ya, folks.
But the writers threw in something else. A little psychological subtext. This is a carryover from the “Nightmare on Elm Street” movies, where character motivations fed plot as well as token attempts at surrealism. The writers of “Freddy vs. Jason” kept that aspect. And that was a smart move. It lent some intellect to an otherwise pointless gorefest.
As established in earlier films, the parents of Elm Street have gone to extreme lengths to stop Freddy Krueger. Their conspiracy of silence, to conceal and prevent the existence of Krueger, has taken downright Stalinist extremes. Kids who know too much about him have been carted off to a private asylum, drugged to keep them from dreaming. (How they’re expected to get any rest without going into a REM state…is totally beyond me.) The town has censored any reference to Krueger in official records and newspapers.
But like most ideas, Freddy Krueger resurfaces. Now forgotten and trapped in Hell, he hatches a plan to revive the town’s memory of him and free himself. He chooses a fellow lost soul. A fellow killing machine.
…with all the personality of a defective Cuisinart. Enter–or rather, exit– Jason Voorhees, the hockey-masked, machete-swinging 4F nutboy of the “Friday the 13th” movies.
No, I don’t have much regard for this character. I mean, he’s not really a character, is he? Even Michael Myers, the equally anonymous and unstoppable knife-wielder from the “Halloween” movies, had more personality.
That’s where the cleverness in the original “Elm Street” concept salvages something from even the “Friday the 13th” movies. In this flick we see the true motivations, however shallow, of Jason Voorhees. We get a glimpse of his childhood (or at least Jason’s view of it): a mistreated Down’s Syndrome child, hounded and tormented by others, powerless to resist the soul-twisting influence of an oppressive mother during the late 1950’s.
Oppressive mother. The 1950’s. Did anyone pay Robert Bloch for this?
But anyway, this explains a lot. There’s no justification for his puritanical killing spree, but it does provide context. He’s acting on the lopsided ethics of his upbringing. He doesn’t know better. He didn’t have the chance. At heart, Jason is a victim. Without hope or direction. And out of control.
Of course I’m reminded of one of the better lines from Thomas Harris’ “Red Dragon.” To paraphrase: I feel for him as a child. As an adult, he needs someone to blow the sick f*** out of his socks.
And I couldn’t help finding a certain aptness to the vulnerabilities that inevitably brought these two monsters down. Oppressed and submerged by wills greater than his, Jason is always left at the botton of Crystal Lake. Sexual deviant Freddy Krueger is powerless against fire, the force that deprived him of his bodily existence, the only thing that gave his lfe meaning.
I’m sure a lot of the symbolism and Jungian resonance I find in this horror schlock-fest wasn’t intentional. But hey, when you’re watching crap–even good crap–you start looking for psychological footholds.