Editorials
Period Piecing Together the Puzzle of How Different Eras Affect Horror Films
“‘In Too Deep’ is the most moving pop song of the 1980s, about monogamy and commitment. The song is extremely uplifting. Their lyrics are as positive and affirmative as anything I’ve heard in rock. Christy, get down on your knees so Sabrina can see your asshole…”
-Patrick Bateman (American Psycho)
Setting the tone for a horror film is never an easy feat. It’s a constant battle that directors are negotiating with the audience. With the slew of horror remakes that are consuming audiences lately, with titles like The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, Halloween, The Hills Have Eyes, A Nightmare on Elm Street, and nearly a dozen more having gone under the remake treatment, it’s hard to not compare the respective decades in which the originals and these remakes saw production. As a growing rift begins to form between the so-called “golden age” of horror and where we’re at now, perhaps we should place more of an emphasis on the time period in which horror films are set. While the bulk of the aforementioned remakes merely focus on copious amounts of gore and nudity as opposed to changes or updates in response to time period, embracing a certain decade can sometimes be the missing ingredient in turning a flop into a phenomenal piece of horror.
For instance, it might be worth beginning this discussion by examining one of the more recent examples involving one of horror’s most beloved lifebloods, Friday the 13th. There was much of an outcry from the online horror community when it was revealed that Nick Antosca’s (Hannibal) script for Platinum Dunes’ upcoming Friday the 13th remake would not end up being used. Nick Antosca’s screenplay is a much needed shot of adrenaline to the franchise in a number of ways, but one of the most significant ones is that his script is set in the summer of 1988.
Antosca’s script wears its ‘80s-ness on its sleeve and never tries to hide the fact, whether it’s through flagrant sex and drug use, a rocking ‘80s soundtrack, or digressions on Patrick Swayze’s hotness factor. It’s impossible to know through script alone if this return to the ‘80s would have also meant aging the film stock accordingly to create a more authentic look for the time period, too. It’s exactly these sorts of extra touches though that can make setting your story in a specific era so powerful. While Antosca’s script is a very stylistic pairing of time period and genre, this juxtaposition between horror and decade has been going on for a while now, with this decision happening for various purposes to various degrees of efficiency.
Some of the most prevalent examples of horror films setting themselves in the past have done this not because of wanting to be stylistic, but merely due to the restrictions of reflecting history accurately. Films such as Bava’s Black Death, The Name of the Rose, the classic Vincent Price vehicle Witchfinder General, and even the recent A Field in England primarily see themselves set during the 1600s due to the prevalence of witchcraft at the time. It might be a little further along in history, but very much of the same approach is taken in the recent horror entries, The Burrowers and Bone Tomahawk. This pair of films finds themselves set in the late 1800s, worrying not about witches, but rather the looming threat of Native Americans at the time, drawing their horror from that. The same can be said for The Woman in Black, too, pushing the time period to an Edwardian era early 1900s, but still using the trappings of the era to do the heavy lifting of the horror. All of these films feature archaic, medieval setups that aid in the respective storytelling going on, but by and large this is just changing the time period of horror for the sake of history. The main perk here is the trading of modern serial killers and franchise-fueling monsters for the horrors of yesteryear.
This sort of mentality would continue, although see some sophistication, by the number of horror films that have been using times of war as an excuse to be set in a different time period. Admittedly, we’ve seen the creation of some deeply elegant pieces of horror as a result of this. Both of Guillermo Del Toro’s The Devil’s Backbone and Pan’s Labyrinth see themselves set in 1939 and 1944 respectively, drawing from the Spanish Civil War. The same thing is done in the brutal Ravenous, set in 1939 against the Mexican-American War. Even Alejandro Amenábar’s beautiful, The Others, takes place in the 1950s and sees itself working around the aftermath of World War II. Likewise, Puppet Master III: Toulon’s Revenge marks a departure for the series as it’s set in the middle of WWII during 1941, using the tumultuous time in its favor as well. It’s nice to see these pictures mixing things up, using atypical wells to draw their horror from, but this is still largely a fancy history lesson instead of these time periods leading to any experimentation in their use. Nothing groundbreaking is going on here, and while some different stories are being told, the genre is hardly seeing revitalization from horror going back in time.
Much to the film’s credit, Puppet Master III’s setting does relate to the chronology of its franchise and the lore in which it’s built, rather than purely pulling from the climate of its time period. In the film’s defense, this isn’t a decision to just do “killer puppets meet Nazis,” but rather the previous films establish that puppet maker, Andre Toulon, began his creations during Nazi times. With the first two Puppet Master films mostly concluding the story they were telling, it makes sense for the next film to tackle some new ground, such as the origin story of Toulon and his puppets. The fact that this happens to coincide with being a period piece that the horror gets to play with is just icing on the cadaver. The same approach is taken with the third film in the Ginger Snaps series, Ginger Snaps Back, as well as Tremors 4: The Legend Begins, both of which transport their series to the 1800s. All of these films manage to incorporate their foreign time periods to not only fit the larger chronology of their franchises, but also use them for the sake of setting their own story. These are still typical horror films for the most part, but what is beginning to happen here is the use of moving a struggling franchise into a different time period as a way of bringing its corpse back to life.
Clearly many horror films have been playing with different time periods to take horror series back to the past, but what’s almost been just as popular is the decision to propel a franchise into the future and see what the fresh era brings forth. This decision almost felt inevitable for most series, with titles like Leprechaun 4: In Space, Critters 4, and Jason X all going the futuristic route. This isn’t inherently a bad idea, just one that has to be handled with a lot of finesse (as opposed to camp, which is the major currency that these films choose to trade on). Another thing holding back these future films is that they are unable to try to replicate the film style and sensibilities of the time period, with the future obviously not having happened yet. Instead the pictures must turn to film clichés of the future (there’s an unsurprising amount of lightsaber appearances in these movies), which can sometimes end up conjuring an opposite, negative effect. Just like the earlier films here are steeped in historical accuracy, these ones are practically using historical fallacy to build their backdrops. All of these films indulge in wild, fantastical versions of tomorrow.
As horror was beginning to experiment around with this, there was also the completely parallel situation of remaking horror films due to the new opportunities that the current era would provide for the premise. While the damaging amount of remakes to classic films was touched on earlier, sometimes this sort of cultural re-appropriation can be advantageous to the property. Invasion of the Body Snatchers is a pivotal piece of science fiction/horror that will always hold a place on the mantel of the classics. But in spite of the works’ pedigree, the picture has nearly seen a remake every decade with four currently existing at this point in time (but will likely continue to grow). Rather than these updates on the story all pulling from the same decade, each one has appropriately seen itself moving on with the rest of the world, finding a new societal boogeyman to don the role of the villain each time.
It’s kind of remarkable to look at all of these remakes as pseudo time capsules for America, bouncing between the pictures’ true enemy being McCarthyism, the Cold War, the “Big Brother-esque” world we live in now, or even AIDS (as is the case in the 1993 version, Body Snatchers). The premise is so simple that it lends itself to these broad transformations every time. It should be telling then that while some of the earlier attempts at revitalizing Body Snatchers saw success, the later versions are floundering because we’re trying to force a societal pressure onto our aliens. We’re trying to force a Boogeyman into existence in a world controlled by franchises as opposed to these films just happening because they are saying what is needing to be said, albeit through a heavily veiled metaphor. Moving forward from this, using your current time period as a parable for the times became a particularly popular strategy for the following films, even if the results would turn out to be deeply hollow most of the time.
The early 2000s was a fascinating time for horror largely because of how tech crazy we had grown as a culture. Soon there were constant horror films that were taking delight in mining material from e-mail, webcams, instant messaging, and the connectedness of the Internet in general. This was a largely unsuccessful—albeit fun—time for horror, as premises saw more and more forced tech aspects in their construction. Horror films such as FeardotCom and Cry_Wolf were in constant demand during this time, with even legends like Michael Myers falling prey to the craze in 2002’s Halloween: Resurrection. The sequel, which was one of the worst offenders of the era, saw its plot focusing on a reality show set in the old Myers house, with webcams filming everything and broadcasting the chaos online. Granted, these films weren’t choosing to set themselves in this unusual, dated time period but rather resorting to it because it’s when they were being made. There was no hindsight to fall back on. To see a horror film now choose to set itself in the early 2000s and cleverly use its DNA to its own advantage would be a much more interesting—potentially great—project.
A lot of the horror films here have been mixing things up with different time periods as a result of the limitations of history. This has proven to have its own advantages over forcing yourself to tell a modern horror story, but there are some directors that are truly running with this concept and using time as a stylistic aid, too. American Psycho and House of the Devil are two films set during the 1980s. Both of these act as impeccable period pieces to the point that you might not even realize that American Psycho is set in the past. A much more stylistic incorporation of the time period is going on here, with Mary Harron’s film acting as a great hodgepodge of Brett Easton Ellis iconography in general, all of which is soaking in the ‘80s. Ti West’s House of the Devil is intentionally set in the ‘80s in order to pull from the Satanist trend that was prominent at the time, versus now. Even still, the score, art design, and his approach to filmmaking here reflect an ‘80s sensibility that adds to an already strong product.
These sorts of projects inevitably come together a lot better than films that are simply turning themselves into period pieces for historic purposes alone. This degree of synergy creates an all-encompassing feeling in the films that just scream the respective time period that they’re set in. Every frame of the picture is reflecting and using the era that it’s based in to say something (and it’s what Antosca’s Friday the 13th script was attempting). The same tactic is not only done, but taken even further, in the following pictures that also play with time periods.
Director J. A. Bayona’s foreign horror film, The Orphanage, finds itself set in 1975, but chooses to do so explicitly as a means of capturing the feel of ‘70s Spanish cinema. The history of the time period is secondary to Bayona, with instead the artifice of the decade (and the region) being the larger influence on him and his film. Beyond the Black Rainbow has a similar goal in mind by deciding to take place in the 1980s as a means of better illustrating the film’s intention of riffing on ‘80s sci-fi’s aesthetic. It might be a controversial opinion, but arguably even Sam Raimi’s Army of Darkness qualifies here. The film deals with Ash ending up in the Middle Ages, but then uses that time period as a means of justifying the Harryhausen-esque style that the film frequently indulges in. A stylistic through line carries through Army of Darkness and removing the time period or the accompanying style would leave either half feeling hollow. The recent The Final Girls would also technically qualify here too, with it taking place in the ‘80s (or more accurately, an ‘80s movie), even if it might straddle two time periods. In spite of this, the ‘80s material is crazy exact and all stemming from director Todd Strauss-Schulson’s deep love for ‘80s horror, making the different time period fundamental.
With all of these examples being taken into consideration, let’s return to the early example of Nick Antosca’s aborted Platinum Dunes Friday the 13th script, examining where it fits in with all of this. With the Friday the 13th series stagnating in recent years and it feeling like several remakes are being turned to in order to reset the property properly, perhaps what needs to be done lies not in changing the Jason Voorhes character, his backstory, or drastically altering the series’ DNA, but instead returning the franchise to its roots in time and embracing the era that gave birth to the genre in the first place.
Unmistakably Antosca brings a lot of love for this respective era into his script, but the film’s set in the ‘80s mostly so it’s able to become the new de facto sequel of the original Friday the 13th. This is a technique that’s very similar to what Bryan Singer did with Superman Returns and what Neill Blomkamp attempts to do with his new Alien film, which sees the new picture being set within the old franchise’s chronology. Here the new film is free to respect some of the earlier pictures’ canon and then retcon the rest of the series as it sees fit. In spite of its similarities, it’s worth mentioning that Superman Returns was not set in the ‘80s, even though it might have made more sense for the film and act as a better representation of the movie’s tone. Antosca goes all in though.
Of course, his draft still gains strength by its lack of cell phones, technology, and a heavily influenced ‘80s soundtrack that helps elevate the vibe that the film is pushing out. All of this might help his script better tap into that vintage slasher feeling of the ‘80s more effectively (going as far as 3-D also being the plan for the now-dead script), but mostly this time period shift is so the film is able to tap into the franchise’s chronology and course correct it. As a result, this largely looks like the synthesis of everything that all of these films have been going for, with this property using the reverence of the ‘80s, paired with the chronology of the Friday the 13th legacy, and the stylistic flourishes of the time period. It might not have been a perfect product, but it would have been one that’s infinitely more interesting than the last few Jason outings, and one that might have set things back on track. At the least, maybe it would have helped in the creation of a more accepting environment for period pieces in horror.
Being able to respect the past effectively is obviously important, especially when it comes to horror cinema, but it’s also significant to still look towards the future and where things are heading. Of course where things are heading might end up being an indulgence of the old fashioned, but to keep your mind open to all directions will only do you favors. Horror is an evolving genre that is growing and learning more every day like an unstoppable virus, but by at least understanding its relationship with time periods a little better we can help make it even more viral.
College kids, strippers and vampires—those were Donald P. Borchers’ only requirements when he approached Richard Wenk about writing and directing a movie for New World Pictures. As requested, Wenk cooked up Vamp (1986), a tailor-made blend of the decade’s teen movie craze as well as its horror boom.
Grim and earnest stories were still very much a part of the ’80s horror landscape, yet Vamp is something of a comedy. One difference between it and, say, Saturday the 14th, though, is the former avoids using schtick. Wenk’s movie proves that horror comedies also don’t have to subtract thrills from their recipes. Of course, it takes a minute before reaching that point; college antics and culture shocks preface this one macabre misadventure.
Vamp‘s initial setup is apt for a typical college-set, sex-driven comedy; to bribe their way into a fraternity house, two pledges (Chris Makepeace, Robert Rusler) go looking for some adult entertainment. Without wasting time on any further exposition, the characters embark on an all-in-one-night trip that quickly detours into terror.
To procure their elusive MacGuffin—a stripper willing to gyrate for some frat boys—Keith (Makepeace) and AJ (Rusler), plus a third wheel named Duncan (Gedee Watanabe), trade the safety of their remote college campus for the seediness of some unnamed city. The setting is recognizably L.A. by day, but as soon as night falls, downtown, along with the characters, slips into a kind of surreal universe. Director of photography Elliot Davis gave this early entry on his prolific résumé an unusual yet distinctive look; that Mario Bava-esque, magenta-green lighting is omnipresent, so much so that it’s almost its own character.
Chris Makepeace and Robert Rusler in Vamp
The faint comparisons to Martin Scorsese’s After Hours are merited, although not just because of Vamp’s distinguishing nighttime aesthetic. Save for the primary characters, the supporting roles in Wenk’s movie are also quite colorful and transactional in their behavior. The difference here, though, is the additional urge to ruin Keith and his friends at every turn. Some of that harm is humorous and tolerable enough, whereas the moment Vamp dishes out its first fatality, it’s abundantly clear how this movie qualifies as horror.
Vamp falls into that category of horror movie that reveals its genre with a scream rather than a series of whispers. The opening scene can function as a hint of what lies ahead—things are not at all what they appear to be—but otherwise, Wenk is more than happy to hold off on the horror. When that time does come, though, it catches the viewer off guard. In addition to the pure shock value is that sudden decision to upend the movie’s foremost feature. Or so it would seem.
If afraid of major spoilage, those new to Vamp would be wise to stop reading here. There’s just no skirting around the fact that the central fellowship in this buddy movie hits a serious snag when AJ is killed. That development causes the story to become more of a “long, bad night” journey for Keith and his romantic interest. So while Wenk scores points for subverting expectations, there is also a touch of sadness in his decision. Because if Vamp does anything well, it’s making the characters likable.
Something that comes easily to Vamp—and other teen horror movies from this same era—is its ability to invent young characters worth caring about, or at the very least, are interesting and not so immediately off-putting. More impressive is how Wenk did all this without actually fleshing out those characters. Still and all, Keith and his kind are a grade above cookie-cutter, and in some cases, aren’t completely devoid of growth.
Grace Jones in Vamp
Vamp appeals with an assorted cast of characters. No two are the same, nor are they operating on the same wavelength. The cinematically extroverted AJ, whose actor conveyed charm and vulnerability in near equal amounts, comes alive when he’s at his most undead. Makepeace then makes the chronically cautious Keith a sympathetic fellow, even as he’s more and more affected by the night’s bizarre events. Meanwhile, Duncan is indeed the designated loser of the whole bunch, but Watanabe still manages to humanize him. As a bonus, the role didn’t require him to pull a Long Duk Dong.
As for Dedee Pfeiffer, she is plain adorable as the mysterious After Dark server nicknamed “Amaretto”. She spends all night fixing her dress strap while at the same time trying to get Keith to remember how he knows her. As their offbeat romance grows, it becomes another highlight of this movie. Whether or not Pfeiffer’s character is really a vampire also creates some welcome tension in the story.
Like a lot of its contemporaries, Vamp went on to become a bit of a cult classic. That current status is determined by several factors, but without a doubt, the casting of Grace Jones is the most considerable. The image of her writhing on that unique-looking chair, a Keith Haring original, springs to mind whenever this movie is brought up.
Chris Makepeace, Billy Drago and Paunita Nichols in Vamp
Prior to that first display of unequivocal horror, local vampire queen Katrina (Jones) took to the stage and delivered a strip show like no other. One would expect nothing less from that renowned model and performance artist. By now reports of Jones’ tardiness on set are no secret, yet it’s also hard to deny her commitment to the part of Katrina. It was, in fact, Jones who took charge of her character’s appearance—on top of Haring painting her body and that now-iconic chair, she had Andy Warhol handle her costuming. And not too many actors could seize a room’s attention without saying a single line of dialogue.
In 2022, Vamp received a retrospective novelization from Encyclopocalypse. This literary union of preexisting source material—Wenk’s original screenplay—and new ideas from author Christian Francis amounts to a more comprehensive visit to the After Dark Club. The basic story there is no different than what’s shown on screen; however, Francis gets creative with the characters’ origins and designs, and he enhances a number of key scenes.
The novelization expands on the urban and social decay of the main setting, and supplies a background for the After Dark Club. Sandy Baron’s character, Katrina’s emcee and familiar, is given ample motivation for sticking around; up until the fiery end, he is loyal to his friend and former business partner “Squeak”, who looks like he was “fed through a combine harvester, and left as nothing more than a heap of mangled remains”. Then there is Billy Drago’s character Snow, the leader of a street gang called The Dragons. His reason for menacing Keith and AJ is more altruistic than in the movie; he and his peers act tough to scare off any potential food for the vampires.
Lisa Lyon in Vamp
If not for all the backstories, Francis’ Vamp would be a hell of a lot shorter. Instead, this tie-in read dives into how AJ met Keith—the orphaned Anthony Joseph hailed from a broken home back in Brooklyn—and how their friendship flourished over the years. Keith’s archership is no longer just an assumed part of his entire being; it’s a confidence-building extracurricular for a boy who got picked on before coming into the protection of the new kid in town. These supplemental, in-depth looks at the protagonists, plus their close connection, are maybe unnecessary. The movie already did a fair and concise job of addressing their platonic intimacy without the need for flashbacks and insights, specifically in that scene where AJ lays it all out as he sacrifices himself.
Where the novelization gets off course is its approach to the minor characters. Intermittently backstorying the likes of Katrina’s indentured servants, Seko (Leila Hee Olsen) and Vlad (Brad Logan), ends up disturbing the flow of the writing. Was it absolutely essential that readers know Vlad was the Grand Duke of the House of Romanov, or how Snow’s accomplice Maven (Paunita Nichols) became so dentally challenged? No, not really. However, one’s mileage with these random biographies may vary.
The novelization is a more substantial experience, but for a movie like Vamp, less is more. And as plentiful as they are, it never simply coasts on its campy charms, either. The character work sits comfortably in that realm between cursory and meticulous, the script is sharper than first realized, and Greg Cannom’s vampire makeup is straightforward yet effective. Most of all, the movie didn’t squander its out-of-the-box concept. Richard Wenk made his vision of a “comic nightmare in which just about anything that can go wrong does” come true, and it is very enjoyable.
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