Once again, I lament about a time long gone: the age of “Freddy”. Today, the horror movie icon, Freddy Krueger celebrates his 30th anniversary. Spawning from the imagination and nightmares of director/writer, Wes Craven (Last House on the Left, Swamp Thing), no one could have foreseen that the legendary, supernatural “son of a hundred maniacs” who haunted — and occasionally murdered — his victims while they slept would become the box office juggernaut and pop-culture icon that permeates today.
Despite the feeble attempt to remake the original Nightmare on Elm Street in 2010, the 1984 horror flick continues to haunt and scare. Even for those who weren’t alive 30 years ago and have developed impervious shells to original film’s occasionally hokey horrors, it’s hard to argue its continuous imagination, originality, and craft. The first Nightmare was responsible for propelling the struggling New Line Cinemas into major studio territory and for introducing the world to baby-faced Johnny Depp (who’s acting prowess would be showcased at a later date — at least he’s acting like a normal human being here).
Freddy was my first modern horror icon. Before I saw a frame from his films, the name “Freddy” was uttered by my school peers with a whisper and sign of respect. Freddy arrived during a time when R-rated movies were cross-marketed to adults and — not so slyly — to children…without much controversy or chagrin by parents and religious advocates. There were comic-books, toy lineups (again, when they were for kids) and even an MTV television anthology show, Freddy’s Nightmares.
Despite the demo confusion, these movies were off limits to me during my pre-teen years. I had a more disciplined sleep cycle than some of my friends who tortured me with their constant recantations about the preceeding evening’s screening — usually after midnight. There were constant debates over who would win in a brawl: Freddy or Jason? (“Who’s Jason?!?” I eventually asked. More on him another time)
Freddy’s massive popularity left with a fervent level of intrigue soon developed into an obsession. Nightmare on Elm Street soon became my Holy Grail.
Thanks to some crafty friends and some contraband in the form of an EP-VHS, I got the chance to see the first Nightmare. Despite the hype, I wasn’t disappointed. The violence was shocking and the suspense was insurmountable. There were moments when our heroine would walk down night-filled streets and spooky boiler rooms while waiting for Freddy to pounce. When he finally did, my heart would leap out of my mouth.
I was lucky to view the whole series in order. With each installment, I remained fascinated by how the character of Freddy grew (or deteriorated depending on how you look back on history). Freddy started as a demonic, cryptic, force of evil into a smart-mouthed jokester who let the audience in on his pranks. If you jump right from Nightmare 1 to 6, the contrasts are even more daunting.
It was unusual for me to experience a film where I would cower in fear one moment only to explode in laughter the very next. Freddy quickly bounced from carnivorous threat to conniving jokester who winked at the camera — right at me. His kill via television in Nightmare 3 remains the single-favorite Nightmare moment. “Welcome to prime time, bitch!” Unlike Jason, audiences were never directly invited to cheer against the heroes. But we were treated with relief in the form of humor when the final terror unfolded.
Craven, who had little-to-no involvement with the Elm Street sequels, hated how his creation had drifted from a scary monster into something sillier and devoid of suspense. Unlike Chucky, Jason or Saw, Freddy changed. However, I believe this shift helped imbue the franchise with some life and originality. Freddy’s mystery was gone by the end of the first couple of films. As a consequence, the fears gradually faded naturally. Placing Freddy as insurmountable, no-nonsense force could have deteriorated the film’s intrigue more rather than allowing audiences to be in on the joke.
The sequels vary in quality, but each has its own coat of paint. They were written and directed by many talented film-makers and writers who would become bigshots, such as Frank Darabont (Shawshank Redemption, Walking Dead), Chuck Russel (The Mask), Renny Harlin (Die Hard 2, Cliffhanger), Stephen Hopkins (Blown Away, The Reaping) who attempted to bestow each installment with its own characterization and flavor. There was never a sense that each film was merely another bevy of baby-faced teenagers for Freddy to kill.
There’s no doubt that Freddy’s quality depreciated with each installment, but the creativity in which Freddy conjured nightmares and disposed of the teenagers never faltered. The films took leaps, even if most crashed. There were stories involving Freddy’s history; a human-possession element; a son; a daughter; a band of teenagers who retaliated against Freddy by mastering control over their dreams; and even a Freddy resurrection which involved a dog pissing fire streams. The Nightmare films each felt more self-contained and unique than more notable franchises like Harry Potter. And when the series started to falter after Part 4, the New Line did the unthinkable with their cash-cow: they killed off Freddy!
One could argue that Freddy never died and thrived in follow-up spinoffs like Jason versus Freddy (where our childhood debates were finally resolved). But I like to believe the Elm Street arch ended with six installments. Yes, the Freddy’s Dead was terrible and the Nightmare franchise should have died sooner. But it ended. It felt appropriate. The 90s were upon us and we had all grown up. Freddy preyed on our innocent natures — when we still believed our nightmares can kill us.
The Nightmare franchise never repeated the critical and audience success of the first. It was Freddy as a depraved monster, cloaked in shadows and mystery. The newer films showcased Freddy actor, Robert Englund in full light and a brighter grin. But Freddy’s popularity grew even as his films started to fail. He became a figure as recognizable as Santa, Superman, and Mickey Mouse. He became a staple of the 80s where everyone knew him. Englund somewhat invoked a charm behind the heinous makeup that made him approachable and, by God, even lovable.
The Nightmare on Elm Street films survive due, in part, to their creativity, but also to our nostalgia over a more innocent time where children snuck in VHS copies and late-night screenings while the parents slept. Yet, we all survived unscathed. I think it’s because these films mirrored its story: It was a dream — and the nightmare ended after 90 minutes. We were exposed to evils and disgusting horrors, but matured into normal adults rather than into gun-toting sociopaths. Essentially, Freddy Krueger represents how fiction can look and feel real and carry us away from our reality. But, in the end, we all wake up.
Freddy continues to haunt newer generations, but the novelty is all gone. For example, I recently found Nightmare on Elm Street 2 playing on television at 2pm — on a Sunday! The final veil was gone and now Freddy had been fully exposed. You can see Freddy mutilate and terrorize immediately after Church!
But Freddy will remain the horror movie staple from my youth. He was one of the first film icons to scare this shit out of me. Freddy Krueger is also one of the few modern horror icons that deserves place next to King Kong, Legosi’s Dracula, Karloff’s Frankenstein, Chaney’s Wolf Man. His influence remains as vivid as his nightmares.
Also, as a side note, the third installment marked another right of passage for me: It was my first exposure to a female bosom. In many ways, Freddy had exposed a young boy to many things in which I’ll forever be grateful. After 30 years, Freddy still haunts my dreams.
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| And thank you, Nurse! |
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