Through my “Revenge of the Remakes” odyssey — today’s marks lucky number 20 — there haven’t been many disparities in quality like that between Alfonso Gomez-Rejon‘s and Charles B. Pierce‘s The Town That Dreaded Sundown. Pierce’s 1976 original adapts 1946’s Texarkana Moonlight Murders as a 40’s crime thriller that’s hokey, tonally abysmal, and dull with its point. Gomez-Rejon’s 2014 hybrid sequel and loose remake dares to confront the fearmonger tactics of popularizing true crimes through media and the darkness it nurtures. Pierce seems more focused on muddying the waters of a pre-80s slasher with police procedural downbeats and unfortunate comedic relief (but did create local jobs and commerce). Gomez-Rejon goes right for the jugular, giving audiences a The Town That Dreaded Sundown worth scandalous southern terror. 

The conversations around whether 2014’s metasequel belongs in the remake conversation are not of my interest. It’s the same reason why Fede Alvarez’s Evil Dead is a past entry, and someday Danishka Esterhazy’s Slumber Party Massacre will enter column canon. Producers Jason Blum and Ryan Murphy use Blumhouse’s frugal budget freedoms as a means of experimentation within remake culture. Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa‘s screenplay is anarchistic as the opening presents itself as a continuation, yet the killer’s spree mirrors what Pierce’s crew once filmed. Platinum Dunes had the era’s market cornered on serving iconic do-overs — Blumhouse made a statement by challenging how “old” and “familiar” could still become “new” and “fresh.”

The Approach

The Town That Dreaded Sundown (1976)

Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa and Alfonso Gomez-Rejon revisit Texarkana (border towns in Texas and Arkansas) almost 40 years after Charles B. Pierce’s film made the pitstop a national tragedy landmark. Narrative beats align with commentaries against true crime podcasters who seek popularity by peddling others’ pain. It’s not like Pierce’s film is outside these worries — Gerald Gedrimas confessed to finding inspiration in 1976’s The Town That Dreaded Sundown before shooting high school classmate James Grunstra. Not to say I’ll ever give the argument of horror cinema breeding psychopaths time of day, but “glamorizing” actual earthly maniacs treads a murky area.

Addison Timlin stars as a pre-university journalist Jami Lerner in the requel, who leaves another annual screening of The Town That Dreaded Sundown with boyfriend Corey Holland (Spencer Treat Clark). Corey drives his cherry muscle car into a “Lover’s Lane” hideaway so they can smooch, where the iconic “Phantom Killer” attacks from treelines. Jami is left alive with a message to spread of the Phantom Killer’s return, along with the name “Mary.” Texarkana once again finds itself crawling with law enforcement officers trying to locate the serial killer who reportedly still walks the streets — should Pierce’s movie tagline be believed — but what’s harder to imagine? That a town kept a legend alive long enough for it to reanimate like Jason Voorhees, or a murderer to return to the hometown that still posterizes his masterpiece?

The films work in tandem as Gomez-Rejon takes all the iconic horror shots — trombone, Phantom Killer costume, brutalized victims — and inserts said depravity into a ruthless post-aughts slasher. Jami’s inner dialogue replaces Vern Stierman’s stuffy narration, while the Phantom Killer becomes a more ferocious, vocal iteration who’s ten times the meanie. Aguirre-Sacasa introduces Reverend Cartwright (Edward Herrmann) as a disgusted theological protestor who reviles Texarkana’s godless appreciation of Pierce’s sinful creation and hammers down the idea that without Pierce’s original, there’d be no sequel. Of course, in the movie’s universe, “sequel” means repeat killings — which becomes so meta that Bradley Whitford and Richard Jenkins in Cabin In The Woods would blush. Hell, even Charles B. Pierce’s son is a prominent character in the film (played by Denis O’Hare) as if associations weren’t subtle enough when Pierce Sr.’s intentions sway to heroic in one of many conscious narrative shifts the film pushes.

Does It Work?

The Town That Dreaded Sundown (2014)

The Town That Dreaded Sundown (2014) pulls off the Trojan Sequel surprise with curious but clever subversion, staying an outsider to Charles B. Pierce’s in-flick universe. The film doesn’t attempt to reenact the 1940s murders anew nor correct Pierce’s creative liberties — body count, forgotten names — as fantasy. Instead, Alfonso Gomez-Rejon addresses 1976’s entry on the levels of realistic backlash. Snotty teenagers wear The Town That Dreaded Sundown merchandise while strutting around Texarkana since the movie overwrites inhuman acts of violence that forever stained territory soil. Characters die as the result of decades-prior theater entertainment, not because they’re in a movie — except, well, they are because 2014’s requel isn’t based on any fact.

Both titles share a strange relationship since Pierce’s original seems less damning despite being rooted in truth, while the continuation — completely fabricated — harbors rageful reverence for the heinous acts. Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa’s screenplay balances the greed of pastors with full churches against slighted survivor’s families and the eye-catching celebrity status of Texarkana’s Phantom Killer. Pierce’s intentions are questioned to ponder memorialization versus sensational exploitation; Jami interacts with a killer who feeds off the population’s panic for no reason other than her ties to Texarkana. As a result, The Town That Dreaded Sundown (2014) becomes a heavy-meta embrace of any past generations’ traumas being something others can — or cannot — escape.

Although, Aguirre-Sacasa does fall back on slasher expectations despite the film’s ambitious structure. That seems to be the main complaint of most critics who scoffed away the “twist” ending for shock value or felt characters lack appropriate depth. Kills replicate Pierce’s death sequences — they’re copycats with purpose — but I’m not sure I can agree with shrugs in “predictability” here because practical and visual effects artists elevate deaths from off-screen stabs to barbaric displays of mutilations. Severed heads break windows, blood coats sedan windows, and bullets penetrate eye sockets that look like rotten raw meat. We know what’s coming because the Phantom Killer retraces steps rewatched year after year by Texarkana residents — that’s why there’s such a spiteful aesthetic upgrade.

The Result

The Town That Dreaded Sundown (2014)

You cannot watch The Town That Dreaded Sundown (2014) without first indulging The Town That Dreaded Sundown (1976), given the call-and-repeat act pulled into question. Alfonso Gomez-Rejon might ultimately champion Charles B. Pierce’s morbid addition to Texarkana’s history, but 2000s slasher finishes are a better look for The Town That Dreaded Sundown. Everything from the Phantom Killer’s inescapable glare to passionate hotel sex interruptions impact with a furiousness that Pierce never even scratches. I’ll admit there’s a certain buzzworthy nihilism in the film’s ending that does seem a tad for show – talking about Corey’s (Spencer Treat Clark) unmasking — but that also plays into the randomness of violence that could plague Texarkana, another Texas suburb, or anywhere else in America.

The requel benefits from a more stacked than you remember cast, whether that’s “Lone Wolf” Morales (Anthony Anderson) or Chief Deputy Tillman (Gary Cole) — two veteran presences who liven police exposition dumps. Addison Timlin holds her ground as a teenage detective with integrity, and Travis Tope sells himself well as the “obvious” too-sweet-for-comfort suspect until he’s dismembered — a reveal on par with My Bloody Valentine (2009) when Jensen Ackles becomes as The Miner 2.0. Then you clinch with Joshua Leonard playing sour and unhinged like a champ? The Town That Dreaded Sundown (2014) is a feast of “that guy” character actors who embolden the mystery afoot.

Worth spotlighting is Michael Goi, cinematographer extraordinaire on this often striking Texas-slash-Arkansas slasher. Lighting, production design, and camerawork join forces to erase the drabness of Pierce’s all-swelter previous effort by drenching knife stabbings in red tail light glows or illuminating moments of innocence in angelic brightness. Two hormonal musicians flee the Phantom Killer in an industrial sign graveyard — Reverend Cartwright’s billboard-sized face staring at the gay lovers while discussing mutual masturbation. The camera follows one target through a maze of excessive signage built for highway advertisement, passing words like “Atone” or capturing “Legacy” after the other boy is trom-boned to death. The environment in which the Phantom Killer lurks is rich, thoughtfully detailed, and quite impressive compared to the usual drench-in-shadows standards that have you brightening your television settings.

The Lesson

The Town That Dreaded Sundown (2014)

When I watch a title like The Town That Dreaded Sundown (2014), I become even more frustrated by copy-and-pasters like Cabin Fever (2016) or Quarantine (2008). Give Jason Blum and Ryan Murphy credit because these producers deliver on their promise to let a reduced budget allow for those big swings we all love from independent cinema. There’s nothing safe about questioning the ethics of exploitation cinema while never outright villainizing Charles B. Pierce’s appropriation of horrific events. Mythos build upon legends and allow both films of the same namesake to become forever tethered, never compared — quite genius. All that, and it’s still a remake that goes above, flies beyond and becomes a far more accomplished slasher experience by a county-wide margin.

So what did we learn?

• A remake can be a sequel, but you’ve already known that (you’ve got homework to do if not).
• Fearlessness should be rewarded when flying close enough, never too close to the sun.
• Originality can come from recreations.
• Remakes themselves are an art form when respectfully seen as such.

I’ve tried twice now, and The Town That Dreaded Sundown (1976) pales in comparison to 2014’s Frankensteined union of nostalgia and creativity. Callbacks like precinct buffoon “Sparkplug” getting his nickname mentioned twice are cute, but the original is blandly lackluster outside the Phantom Killer’s predatory climaxes. Those terrible “Duke boys” car chase ADR bits, the slapstick humor that doesn’t belong — 2014’s second coming recorrects in ways that beat its chest like an alpha. It’s not often, but I’ll always choose the newer Texarkana screamer model while the outdated one sits rusting in the garage.

In Revenge of the Remakes, columnist Matt Donato takes us on a journey through the world of horror remakes. We all complain about Hollywood’s lack of originality whenever studios announce new remakes, reboots, and reimaginings, but the reality? Far more positive examples of refurbished classics and updated legacies exist than you’re willing to remember (or admit). The good, the bad, the unnecessary – Matt’s recounting them all.

The Town That Dreaded Sundown (2014)