Am I “the horror guy”? I never thought so. But, one day while walking down the street of my hometown, I overheard a query made by one of two young guys as they passed me by: “Isn’t that the horror guy?” “Yep!” The young man was referring to the fact that I had written a book on the Nightmare on Elm Street franchise entitled, Welcome to Elm Street: Inside the Film and Television Nightmares.
This perception of me by a couple of local lads as “the horror guy” led me to ruminate. I had only authored one book in which horror movies feature. I had published books on subjects as varied as independent auteur Tom DiCillo (Johnny Suede, Living In Oblivion, Box of Moonlight); movie star Burt Reynolds (Smokey and the Bandit, White Lightning, Sharkey’s Machine); acclaimed cinematographers Nick McLean (Close Encounters of the Third Kind, The Goonies, Friends) and Roy H Wagner (Nick of Time, Beauty and the Beast, House M.D.); director Walter Hill (The Warriors, Southern Comfort, 48 Hrs.); and an anthology of biographies on 10 top touring female musicians entitled Hired Guns: Portraits of Women in Alternative Music.
Each of those books couldn’t have been further from the tone and topic of the Elm Street book, but to me it fits perfectly within my body of work; like those other subjects I chose it because it was close to my heart – I grew up a Freddy fan since I discovered the third entry of the franchise, A Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors, at the age of five in the Screen Test video shop in Naas. That is the only reason I choose the subjects that I do; it must come from a personal place to warrant sitting up at 3am editing that convoluted paragraph for the umpteenth time.
But I launched the Elm Street book to decent success; it did well on some book charts, got good reviews, and fans of the franchise enjoyed it (though if the star ratings on various review sites are anything to go by, some didn’t). But its success was perceived to be decent enough that I received offers to document other culturally relevant cult franchises. That was an exciting prospect, but it wasn’t on my agenda, as I was already planning projects on class and culture in cinema of the mid-late 20th century – I was thinking Paul Mazursky, Woody Allen, Joan Micklin Silver, John Sayles, Douglas Sirk…not Michael Myers, nor any other horror icon.
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But as a professional writer, I did consider the horror brands on offer. However, the Elm Street book was conceived so naturally, it came from emotional and not commercial instincts, so I was initially reluctant to follow that with anything less than absolute passion for the subject. And the thing about writing about any franchise or specific body of work is that while there will be great films and good films to cover, there will be bad ones, and very likely even some terrible ones, so the idea of spending a year in isolation with this limited set of films is something one must consider considerably.
One by one, I thought about the various franchises that I grew up loving, but when faced with the idea of living with them and interviewing their makers for a year, I found out just how much I really loved them…or didn’t. But one franchise came across my desk which piqued my curiosity: Halloween. I’ve loved these films for many years, having been watching them since I was in primary school.
Halloween III: Season of the Witch is one of the first films I taped off the television, back in 1989. This series inspired my adoration of John Carpenter and my deep admiration for many of the various filmmakers involved, so this book presented an opportunity to dig into their careers and celebrate their work. Thus, I accepted this most exciting assignment. But I was aware of the substantial legacy that I would be working with.
Indeed, the difficulty in doing a book on the Halloween franchise (or any beloved series of films) is that general fans know the basic backstory of its creation by virtue of its legend within the annals of pop culture, and the hardcore fans know every inch of every film as well as every draft of every screenplay that led to that final product, much more than I ever would.
Despite the doomsday predictions of some in the media heralding the imminent demise of physical media, the rise of boutique labels has meant a golden age of film collecting, and the Halloween franchise being re-released on every new generation of shiny disc (DVD, Blu Ray, 4K) with myriad extras which detail every movement that Carpenter et al made in bringing his masterpiece to the screen in 1978.
And it’s not just the original film that is given such lavish treatment; every sequel is afforded a deluxe edition loaded with audio commentaries, documentaries, interviews and additional information that should render a book like mine completely superfluous. But they don’t. Largely, those supplemental features tread familiar ground, repeating stories already told by the directors and cast in other documentaries, in previous books, and in many articles, printed and online.
But my approach was different. It had to be if the book was to stand out in a marketplace saturated with Halloween content. I knew it would be a fool’s errand to engage with Carpenter and Jamie Lee Curtis and ask them to recapitulate to me the origin story they’ve told countless times before. Likewise, director Tommy Lee Wallace discussing the horrified reaction of fans to his Michael Myers-less Halloween III: Season of the Witch, or screenwriter Daniel Farrands detailing his battles with Bob and Harvey Weinstein when making the sixth film The Curse of Michael Myers under the aegis of Miramax.
Every fair-weather fan and franchise devotee knows these stories inside out, and while I do go there with Wallace and Farrands because it is an essential part of their personal narrative, my approach to this book was that of every book I write: to find out about the artist behind the art; how the social and cultural aspects of their life influences their work. This is the only way I could make this book work for me, and hopefully for readers.
In taking this route, it gave me more context through which to analyse and document the films, an insight into their intent and a greater understanding of what went right, or wrong. I treated each interview as if I was writing a biography of the subject at hand, and that was to get to know them as people first, artists second, and Halloween makers third.
One of the most harshly criticised sequels is Swiss-French filmmaker Dominique Othenin-Girard’s Halloween 5: The Revenge of Michael Myers, from 1989. As Othenin-Girard would invoke often in our candid chat the words “mea culpa”, I too must admit my error that for many years I found that his film floundered. Stylish for sure, but unsure of its tone, for he dared to introduce comedy, pathos and personality to a franchise that functions on controlled minimalism within a theme of blank, motiveless evil run amok, not emotion.
Having Michael Myers take his mask off to shed a tear in a tender moment with his niece? Othenin-Girard, you’re a brave man…or a gangster! “I am a gangster, Wayne,” he admitted, in reference to his breaking the established rules of the Halloween franchise. Those words coming out of anybody else’s mouth would sound preposterous and pretentious, but he spoke to me with such sincerity and candour, shockingly so in some instances, that I could buy him comparing his maverick artistic sensibilities to that of a law-flouting career criminal.
He saw his disregard of the conventions of the Halloween franchise as an act of civil disobedience and personal achievement; I applaud him, and appreciate his film more, because of that. Having spoken to him about his complicated childhood, his early career making low-budget thrillers with such as John Hurt and Julian Sands, and his unorthodox appeal to Halloween head honcho Moustapha Akkad to let him take the reins of the fourth sequel, I found a most intriguing man and moviemaker before me. In detailing his motives, uncovering his personal journey, his unique personality and idiosyncratic aesthetic, I could approach my analysis of Halloween 5 through a different kind of documentarian context.
Now I know why the picture assumed an unusually textured and essentially European artistic sensibility, as I learned he worked exhaustively with cinematographer Rob Draper to achieve the notable tone and style of the film, drawing from German Expressionism and by extension film noir for its high-contrast lighting, deep shadows and immediate handheld camerawork. They bring a remarkably sophisticated formal style of filmmaking to the franchise. Okay, I still can’t come to terms with the film’s absurd sense of humour (complete with clown music), but after speaking with the director, I get it.
In revealing more about the directors, cinematographers, composers and actors, about their backgrounds, their hopes for their careers, ambitions for these films, and how being part of this iconic piece of pop culture affected them, I knew I could bring something different to this literary history of an already heavily documented property, something more than the average talking head of another DVD bonus feature.
Indeed, taking such human methods in tracing this horror series brings out the distinct personalities behind these movies. Aside from the lauded originators of these franchises (in this case, Carpenter), those behind the sequels remain largely anonymous to casual viewers. Some of these filmmakers have gone on to considerable careers in Hollywood, such as Dean Cundey, who went on to shoot blockbusters for the likes of Robert Zemeckis (Back to the Future), Steven Spielberg (Jurassic Park), and Ron Howard (Apollo 13), and Peter Lyons Collister, who has gone on to lens major releases for the likes of Michael Bay and John Singleton.
Others have remained in the margins of the mainstream, with some toiling in television despite the initial opportunities that came from association with the Halloween franchise. Dwight H. Little, a very underrated filmmaker who made the brilliant Halloween 4: The Return of Michael Myers, went on to direct studio vehicles for Steven Seagal (Marked for Death) and Brandon Lee (Rapid Fire) at 20th Century Fox, as well as Free Willy 2 and Murder at 1600 for Warner Bros. However, theatrical work has largely eluded him since the late nineties. Rather he has worked prolifically for the small screen (Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., Bones, 24, Castle).
Similarly, director Joe Chapelle, who suffered the production calamities of the sixth film, wouldn’t go on to have the kind of film career that others who played the Miramax game had, but enjoys a considerable career in television as an executive producer and episodic director on the likes of The Wire, CSI: Miami, Fringe, and Chicago Fire.
Regardless of where their careers have gone, my intention was to give some of these people a platform to detail the specific times in American society and cinema which allowed for the development of their talent, and how they navigated the industry well enough to end up in Akkad’s office pitching their unique take on the Halloween brand.
The essential story of how the Halloween films were produced and how the franchise became a pop cultural behemoth remains the essential narrative trajectory of this book, but in understanding how it got there I take some detours through the hearts of the many artists who brought their unique visions and distinctive personalities in creating this iconic piece of American film history, that which seems to get more popular with each successive reboot. Indeed, you can’t kill the boogeyman…or a profitable franchise.
You Can’t Kill the Boogeyman: The Ongoing Halloween Saga – 13 Films and Counting by Wayne Byrne and published by Bloomsbury is available from October 16th.
