Sunday evening, after learning of Wes Craven’s passing, the first thing I knew I needed to do was check in with my dear friend, Matt Cunningham, someone who had a special bond with Mr. Craven. As I checked in with him, I learned that he had started writing an email to Wes, even though he knew he’d never see it. I thought it was only appropriate to give Matt an outlet to say goodbye to his friend and to give Craven fans a peek at the man that he knew. Thank you for giving us this glimpse into the master of horror, Matt.
I was thirteen years old when I first saw A Nightmare on Elm Street. I was terrified. The only other film at the time that twisted me into knots was Texas Chainsaw Massacre. It wasn’t long after seeing Elm Street that I came down with a 103 fever and started hearing the screeching of metal claws outside my window. I woke up, ran to the patio door and carefully peeked out. I knew if I saw Freddy I was going to lose my mind. I told my mom that I heard something outside. I may have said “Someone is moving the furniture.” I didn’t want to say I thought it was Freddy because she would tell me I need to stop watching scary movies. Just like Tina’s mother did in the film. Irony.
But my fear became obsession and I couldn’t get enough of Freddy. My walls were plastered with posters. My shelves had dolls and bubblegum containers with Krueger’s image (which I still have today). He was my monster and I had to know everything about him. Who was the mad genius behind this film? How did they make it? And that was my introduction to Wes Craven.
From that point I was hooked. Anything Wes was doing, I was in. There are a few films that changed my life and made me want to be a filmmaker. Elm Street was one of them. That’s exactly what I told Mr. Craven the first time I met him. He could have said he heard that all the time – which I’m sure he did – but he didn’t, he just listened and said he was thankful. I’ve met several of my filmmaking heroes and inspirations on my journey, but none of them, not a one, were as amazing as Wes.
That first conversation started as an interview for my column in Famous Monsters of Filmland magazine. From there we continued to talk over email. Eventually it led to a friendly breakfast, and then another breakfast and another and so on. We talked about movies and life and it wasn’t just about a fanboy sitting in front of his hero grilling him about Freddy (believe me, I wanted to at times) but it was about two people sitting and sharing a meal. That was the amazing thing about him, he was kind, generous with his time, and had a great sense of humor.
I’ll never forget the day he wanted to go to Norm’s for breakfast because he loved to people watch there. It was good people watching, he was right about that. I ordered a pancake platter and he got the steak and eggs. Then he told me he was sick. He was battling cancer. I was speechless. I wanted to scream, cry, and be angry at everything in that moment. But I know he didn’t want me to feel sorry for him and I wasn’t going to. Instead I said, “You got this.” He did his treatments and he was doing better. We didn’t talk about it much. Breakfast time was for conversations about other things. He quietly shared with me so many projects he had in the works and the projects that never came to fruition. Even he had rejections. But he was excited about People Under the Stairs going to series and so many other things coming up. He talked about not directing anymore and I said he couldn’t do that, for selfish reasons of course. I think we all would agree with that.
One of my favorite memories was sitting with him at a screening of Children of Men, a movie he loved, and it was the first time I had ever seen it. I think he loved that he was able to share this movie with my virgin eyes. As the lights dimmed we shared a tub of popcorn and laughed and gasped at the astounding moments in the movie. I was in awe. Sitting with a master filmmaker giving me commentary while watching another master filmmaker is… well, there are no words. There are times in your life when you have to step back and ask your thirteen year old self “Can you really believe what you are doing right now?!” Not in a million years would I ever think it was possible.
It’s amazing where life takes you. Because of Wes I wanted to make monster movies and I’ve been lucky enough to make a couple and now I’m more determined to reach higher and do better – because I know he would. He was a master of his craft, he reinvented horror and himself on several occasions. He was a great human and a great filmmaker – highly underrated if you ask me.
On Sunday I lost a friend and a hero. Iya lost a husband and his children and grandkids lost their patriarch. We all lost an inspiration and a giant in this business. My first reaction was to email him and tell him how I felt. I know he would never get to read it but it’s all I wanted to do, hoping it wasn’t true. I wanted him to know what he meant to me. Since I won’t get that chance, I hope you’ll allow me to share some of it here.
Wes,
I will forever cherish the time you spent with me. The breakfasts and the films. I’ll never forget the time you wanted to scare me while we watched The Conjuring in the theater and then later laughed about it. I will never be able to thank you enough for the support you gave me when my first book was coming out. You were a great cheerleader and so generous when you didn’t have to be. It was an extremely great honor to be in your company. I will miss picking out a place to have breakfast and I will miss your stories. Most of all I will miss you being there, as a person, just talking.
For all of your fans out there, I want them to know you were the real deal.
I’m raising this cup of coffee and sitting in this booth alone in your honor. What you gave me is priceless.
Goodbye, my inspiration, my friend,
Matt
