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It took one writer/director with one
vision to create the original and great A Nightmare on Elm Street.
Five sequels later and it is inevitable that that focus has been redirected
with eyes of a different aim.
Wes Craven's Nightmare was one
of Oedipality and Krueger's presumption to take the place of Nancy's unit-absent
father. Craven studied his heroine's shattering of her own Mirror Phase
("this is just a dream. He isn't real..."), her physical, parental fights
to gain her place in the Symbolic Order, the gaining of her separate sexual
identity (discard of the rose trellis) and the interaction upon regression
to her own Primal Scene (Nancy attempts to distract Krueger's attentions
away from attacking her mother on the bed).
But the reason that A Nightmare on
Elm Street became the most important genre movie in terms of generic
representation and analysis was that Craven recognized that femininity
- so-called passivity - provided a more positive force than the aggression
of masculinity. For after all Nancy's use of 'booby traps and improvised
anti-personnel devices', she finally understands that to escape the ensnarement
of Freudian nightmares, one has to turn one's back and deny existence.
It is somewhat curious that it took a male director to make this most feminist
of movies whilst all over Hollywood, Final Girl's were grasping
their knives with misunderstood fervour.
The studio-forced ending to Craven's
movie turned Fred to Freddie to the eminently more infantile Freddy and
the sequel became likewise. The chasm between these two films may now be
seen as the largest between any of the sequels and Krueger never disappeared
into the darkness again. One had to be re- introduced to this new Freddy
and now in the light and hence a lot less dangerous, he had to do something.
So he started telling jokes.
Along with this new-found status as
gagster came the one particular joke that encapsulated his image: Freddy's
Revenge (1985). Jack Sholder, given directorial reigns after the sub-Craven
Alone In The Dark, brought a similar amount of style- starved tepidity
to this sequel. And amidst the plethora of party-going teens who screamed
satisfactorily but sadly did not die and the soon-to-become-a-trait effects
with no raison d'etre (Freddy jumping through a French window and disappearing
in flight, dogs with babies' faces) lay the subversive allegory of adolescent
angst. This time it was a 'Jesse' who struggled against Freddy's penetration
of his soul and thereby was depicted the protagonist's confrontation of
his inherent homosexuality. The conflict between Lisa and Freddy's possession
of Jesse became a bitchy love triangle with our supposed hero fleeing from
tongue-lolling embraces with his girlfriend upon the arousal of the Burned
One inside him.
This text, of course, jarred with the
farce around it and whilst fetishism and leather bars provided a certain
interest, elsewhere exploding parakeets, disarming Meryl Streep lookalikes
and vindictive tennis balls became, unfortunately, far more memorable.
The final arrival of Chuck Russell's
Dream Warriors (1987) from across the Atlantic, brought with it
curses from the Samaritans condemning it as an advertisement and promotion
for teenage suicide. Requests that the movie be removed from distribution
were considered briefly by the BBFC but gently brushed aside illuminating
the fact that there were no suicides in the film. The plot that involved
Freddy's use of each victim's motif of fear to portray their apparent self-
annihilation had been misinterpreted itself: instead of being recognized
as cynical perception of the huge scale of teenage suicide in America,
Nightmare 3 had become a scapegoat for it.
Such a disappointment must have been
experienced by those Samaritans who sneaked into cinemas to see what had
given them overtime in recent weeks, for they saw a movie as far removed
from it's two predecessors as it was from the real world. Wes Craven's
script outline had been used very much as a foundation in creating a new
scale for Krueger, but now there was a new star: Death. After the controlled
killings in the original and the distinctly minimal and lame unimaginations
of the first sequel, the 'set-piece' was accessorised. Here, elaborate
effects dominate dreams in which the character sleeps, awakens and explores
their new environment before Freddy appears (with suitable flamboyance),
torments and/or gives chase, wisecracks and kills. The difference from
Tina, Rod and Glen s deaths in Craven's original was fundamentally that
a lesser intensity, less caring but more calculated and higher budgeted
punctuation had been created. This self-consciousness suitably played precursor
to the bigger-is-better mentality that came to masculinise and commercialise
the series.
The perspective that these five minute
set-pieces threw upon the rest of Dream Warriors gave an altogether
new outlook to the progress of the series. The viewer began to look to
these deaths with anticipation and Freddy's appearance became desired and
not dreaded which thereby exalted the original villain to hero status.
Contributing to this in Renny Harlin's The Dream Master (1988) was
the fact that not only were the set pieces of huge ingenuity and production
cost but, and because of this, the victims had no time or lines to emote
anything remotely near empathy in between. And this was apparently what
audiences wanted for Nightmare 4 became the most successful independent
movie of all time (before PG-rated Turtles high- kicked themselves
onto the screen). Ironically, the more the audiences wanted, the less they
got, for now his very persona was as a red and green unfaltering special
effect.
Unfortunately, Freddy died so well (and
so temporarily) in surreal and slightly tedious Dream Master it
was quite clear that his regular expiration wouldn't be getting better.
This was on it's way to confirmation in Stephen H. Jopkins' The Dream
Child (1989) upon the anatomical emptying of some rather clumsy rubber
heads that climactically dragged the youth from Freddy's soul. It was such
obscurity of imagery that clouded Craven's original vision from each sequel.
Whereas he had offered psychologically sound images pared primal, the writers
and directors in their squabbling skulks had become so cunning, so eager
and so blindingly overwhelmed by production that they lost themselves.
Of the two victims of such confusion (parts 4 and 5), The Dream Child
managed to win over artistically due to Hopkins' intriguingly tricksy direction
and a script that endeavoured to deal with the paternity - and now maternity
- so integral to Freddy's existence.
However, it becomes clear that even
if one incorporates the themes of the original Nightmare and even
if one has intense knowledge of Elm Street production, if one has
no notion of storytelling or direction then one cannot a decent movie make.
Rachel Talalay obviously felt that her role as unit production manager
on Part 2 and producer of 3 and 4 had earned her a stab at directing. Sadly
it seems not to have mattered to New Line that the sequel that did matter
became so subjective, so incestuous, so head-up-arses and Freddy's Dead:
The Final Nightmare (1991) is a preposterous misjudgement. Talalay
may be saluted for even attempting to break from the all too comfortable
formula -let alone killing off the source of her two yearly income. What
she lacks other than directorial skills, however, is the strength of her
convictions and the consequences of having less teens to kill, less set-pieces
and less logic is - er - more boredom.
The mistakes flow cheerfully from the
start with the juxtaposition of Nietzsche and Krueger quotes. Bizarrely,
'Welcome to prime time, bitch" appears now to be aimed squarely not at
the nostalgia of the audience but at Talalay herself, making a meal of
cutting her teeth on this tripe. Not only the quote, but bounteous amounts
of the movie is lifted from Dream Warriors (obviously a keen favourite
of Talalay's), for instead of character-linking from any of the series
as all the other sequels have, Talalay has chosen to try her hand at salutatory
homage. Johnny Depp (Glen in the original, ho ho) is now the Just Say No
guy and replaces Part 3's Zsa Zsa Gabor in the slice-the-TV-celebrity spot.
Watching the box this time is Spencer who, like Dream Warrior Taryn, is
lured through drug addiction. Outrageously, the biggest pilfering is Craven's
method to kill Krueger. Previously having been used in Dream Warriors,
Freddy is once again pulled into reality where he, naturally, can be physically
abused himself. Why it actually works this time, one may surmise, sadly
indicates the antithesis of Craven's original idea: the conquest of machismo
over spirituality.
Elsewhere, one may chortle knowingly
at the other nods and winks: A brief phrase from the original Charles Bernstein
score and Freddy slices his own fingers off (Part 1); Freddy as a bus driver
and the computer game that features a towel-flicking athlete (Part 2);
the appearance of an uncompromising brick wall (Part 3); the re-occurring
nightmare (Part 4); the circling camera (Part 5)...
But overriding it all is the complete
non-sense that Talalay drums up. Freddy never seems to be known or feared
or have the slightest relationship to any character despite the half-hearted
tete-a-tete with his daughter. Schoolrooms of solitary gibbering teachers,
carnivals of freaky cameos and living rooms of moonshine mothers are intended
to signify a town bereft of children but Talalay, knowing this herself,
assumes too much and fails to let us in and the meaning is lost. Similarly,
as Maggie ventures into the final 3-D dreamworld and visits Freddy's past,
there is simply no emphasis enlightening an audience that this is a journey
through Krueger's mind itself. And if the director doesnt care then we
certainly don't.
The 3-D is a nightmare all of it's own:
neither working particularly well beyond blurr-o-vision or as a fitting
climax to this wildly extravagant (both inventively and financially) series.
If such a scheme with such connotations to B-movie tackiness is employed,
then one might at least expect Freddy's inimitable glove in one's face
- but no. Indeed, his claws are made Democratically safe serving only to
slash himself for his / own misdoings and save for a small spell out of
redundancy to lamely separate a plummeting teen from his parachute. Talalay
throws in some bullshit theory about Dream Snakes at the last moment (which
one can only treat with more scepticism than the previous dubiosities of
the Dream Master) and a few damp squib sparks as Freddy's brain
copes with the same headache that the 3-D is giving us.
Robert Englund had always claimed to
be interested in undertaking a movie contemplating the past of Fred Krueger
and here he is given the compromise of a few flashback scenes. A few deliberate
gashes of masochism and Craven's concept of a man who cared nothing for
himself is all present and correct, although camped up to lack the Big
Scares of the concept in it's original context. But Wes Craven's ideas
had already succumbed to compromise in The Dream Child's flashbacks.
Here, Krueger's mother was visualised to have been accidentally locked
in the asylum instead of his far less tasteful idea that she was sold for
the pleasure of the inmates by the corrupt orderlies.
Beyond Freddy's past - and the suspicious
omitting of "bastard" from the schoolkids' chant of "son of a hundred maniacs"
- lies his death. To quash hollers of false advertising ("Freddy dies in
3-D Freddy Vision") 3-D is dragged illogically from dream to reality. But
this is a bastard of a movie to die in and a further insult to be killed
by a daughter who certainly didn't inherit any of her father's wit and
invention.' Obviously Rachel Talalay injected her own directorial limits
into her 'heroine'. And whilst one is trying to rid the mind of haunting
memories of the finale of Jaws 3-D, the one lingering and bitter
aftertaste of Freddy's Dead is just what a walkover he finally was. Hideously
appropriate in a world terrorized by AIDS, Krueger faded as no more than
a fragile and tragic clown in his festering and sexual persona and fed
lines that simply weren't funny any more. And as his cinematic life is
devoted to the credits with deserved respect, Fred Krueger's final image
is vague, hazy, back in the dark. Where he belongs.
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