Editorials
How “Stranger Things” Shows What’s So Special About ’80s Horror
Netflix’s ‘Stranger Things’ feels like it’s pulled right from the ‘80s and reminds us why that decade is so important to horror
“What are you kids doing with all of this?”
“Monster hunting.”
The Duffer Brothers’ gripping science fiction/horror hybrid on Netflix, Stranger Things, is quickly proving itself to be one of the most compelling television series of 2016, even if it feels like something that’s been seamlessly ripped from the 1980s. Stranger Things chronicles the increasingly bizarre circumstances surrounding a small town in Indiana, but it’s the series willingness to turn into a love letter to ‘80s filmmaking that truly elevates this material to a higher level. While Stranger Things is mandatory viewing for those that are a fan of the ‘80s or otherwise, it also helps bring focus to the larger discussion of why this decade is so special in the first place by examining how the series chooses to implement its specific influences.
The phenomenon of when the ordinary meets the extraordinary is something that the Duffer Brothers show deep fascination with. This effect from watching the mundane mix with the inexplicable results in a glorious feeling of wonder that not only largely defines ‘80s horror, but also Stranger Things itself. The show’s major influences, Stephen King, John Carpenter, and Steven Spielberg also help prove how this series is emblematic of the ‘80s.
Obviously these elements of wonder and the normal meeting the paranormal are present in horror from other decades too, but it’s definitely a characterizing trait of the ‘80s and merely a supporting player elsewhere. ‘90s horror is a deeply cynical beast for instance, with a direction that becomes increasingly meta (Scream, I Know What You Did Last Summer, The Craft). ‘80s horror is simpler and purer than that. ’70s horror fare is also a violent breed that’s full of serial killers (Halloween, The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, Black Christmas), whereas ‘80s horror is dealing more with monsters or terror-next-door threats rather than unknown men in masks. When digging into the parameters of these other decades, you begin to realize just how rare it is that a horror series has an authentic ‘80s influence. It’s something I can barely remember happening before and it causes Stranger Things to come as a breath of fresh thirty-year old air.
Something smart that Stranger Things does right up from the start is that it actually takes place in 1983, so it’s very much steeped in Dungeons & Dragons and comics references from the very world that it’s paying homage (The AV Club saying that the ESP-friendly Eleven is “basically a wizard” is one of many wonderful moments). On top of that, the predominant inspirations that the series pulls from are some of the ‘80s most iconic voices. Stephen King is still a powerhouse of a force even now, but the ‘80s saw the exciting beginning of his career with works like Christine, Firestarter, and Pet Cemetery getting people’s attention. It is a formative book in King’s career from the time period and it’s hard to watch the plucky AV club in their search for Will without thinking of the children in Derry and their camaraderie.
The real connection point feels like King’s Christine, which beautifully melds the ordinary with the extraordinary in the form of a car taking on homicidal tendencies (in this respect, Cujo also qualifies to some degree, too). The “car” for Stranger Things is its Christmas lights, which turn into a vital communication tool for the McBoyd’s missing child. The same reverent awe is placed in both of these everyday objects and the fact that Carpenter also made a film out of it in the ‘80s doubly speaks to its odd importance.
The sensibilities of It and Christine might be the most pertinent of King’s present in Stranger Things, but works from the time period like The Mist, which is present in Skeleton Crew (which also contains Word Processor of the Gods and Uncle Otto’s Truck, both prime examples of imbuing the normal with special properties), are also felt. Stranger Things opens the big can of worms that is alternate dimensions, something that’s crucial to The Mist. The reasons for the rift existing in this show are also largely the same as in King’s short story. The name that the kids colloquially give this alternate dimension, “The Upside Down,” also feels like it’s a term pulled right out of the works of Stephen King or Steven Spielberg. The series even chooses to present itself like a pulpy, yellowed paperback, complete with chapter titles instead of episode names, further capturing the atmosphere of King’s work and novels in general.
King’s works are given proper tribute, but the influence of John Carpenter in the show is another strong indicator of how much this vehicle is a creature of the ‘80s. A huge characterizing trait of this series is its heavy use of a synth score that’s deeply reminiscent of Carpenter’s aesthetic. It establishes the tone almost immediately. Of course another overbearing presence from Carpenter’s oeuvre is The Thing, which sees representation here in the form of the monsters out of “The Upside Down.” The series goes the practical route as much as possible with these otherworldly elements and it makes all the difference in terms of placing you within an era. There’s even a gratuitous shot that lingers on a poster for The Thing in Michael’s bedroom, and then later someone is full-out watching it and explaining how the practical effects for it are done. You know, just in case you missed the clear love letter going on here.
The Fog is another seminal work from Carpenter’s career in the ’80s, with it also being a reflection of the normal meeting the paranormal. Fog is just as innocuous as Christmas lights until it isn’t. Stranger Things also uses its teenage characters to fulfill many of the Carpenter archetypes, wisely using this demographic as a reflection of the victims in his films. Even Carpenter’s Prince of Darkness explores alternate dimensions and monsters from another world, so again all these ‘80s staples are seeing service here.
Lastly, the greatest ‘80s influence of all in the show might be its flawless job at replicating Spielberg’s work from the decade. One of Spielberg’s strongest skills is his ability to pull tremendous performances out of young, budding actors. That same feeling of awe of stumbling upon raw talent is present here as the performances and bond between Michael, Lucas, and Desmond are sublime. The secret, forbidden friendship that these children adopt with Eleven is not unlike Elliot’s connection with E.T., too. There’s also a moment in the series’ seventh episode where a car gets telepathically thrown while the kids are riding their bikes that straight up feels like our modern equivalent of the E.T. “moon bike” sequence. It’s beautiful, powerful, evocative stuff.
And while only a Spielberg-produced vehicle, there’s an overwhelming feeling of The Goonies present as these children embark on a larger than life quest that puts them in very real danger. Just like how the teenage characters tap into the Carpenter aesthetic of the ‘80s, and the adults more closely represent Stephen King’s attitude, the children act as the Spielberg proxy, which ends up becoming the predominant voice in this ménage a trois of muses. To continue to beat upon a reliable drum here, the ordinary meeting the extraordinary is also something that characterizes Spielberg’s work in the ‘80s. Poltergeist’s iconic visual, and one of its most effective scares, is achieved simply through television static. It’s hard to watch Christmas lights with knotted dread and not be reminded of Poltergeist’s eerie set piece.
Even beyond the works of these integral directors, Stranger Things pays respect to other fixtures of the ’80s like Hellraiser, From Beyond, and Re-Animator as the parallel dimension territory is dug into further. As all of this coalesces you’re left with an overwhelming product that screams, cries, and bleeds the ’80s.
As further steam for Stranger Things continues to pick up and you hear more conversations going on about it, remember that the special it factor here is that the series is doing its best impression of a different decade. So many series swing for the supernatural, but so few take such a strong lesson from the masters that came before them. We can only hope that there will be more seasons so we we’ll be able to live in the ‘80s forever.
The penultimate season of Tales from the Crypt (1989–1996) aired its first three episodes on October 31, so it’s understandable that at least one of those three stories is set on Halloween.
Sandwiched between “Let the Punishment Fit the Crime” (Russell Mulcahy, Ron Finley) and “Whirlpool” (Mick Garris, A. L. Katz & Gilbert Adler) is the most severe episode of the bunch. Maybe the entire series? William Malone and Dick Beebe’s “Only Skin Deep” traded the show’s typical sense of fun for startling amounts of bleakness and kink.
“Only Skin Deep” is, apart from the Crypt Keeper’s intro and outro, noticeably unfunny. There are no considerable attempts at making the viewer laugh. Come to think of it, if those bookends had been replaced, and there was more of a sci-fi element in the story, HBO could have easily squeezed this tale into that successor anthology, Perversions of Science (1997). In Crypt, though, “Only Skin Deep” is much too grim for an audience that had become accustomed to campiness and levity.
What makes “Only Skin Deep” feel dark, among other things, is its protagonist. Showing up to a Halloween party where he’s not welcome, and where his former girlfriend (Diane DiLasco) is attending, Carl Schlag (Peter Onorati) first comes across as your standard bitter ex. You soon realize it’s much worse than that, once Carl threatens Linda (“You know, silly me, thinking I gave you what you deserved. If I’d have done that, I’d have killed you”). Now, I haven’t forgotten that Tales from the Crypt was teeming with vile men who did women harm. Yet Carl’s brand of misogynistic menace hits differently—it borders on being too realistic for this kind of series.
Mike Vosburg’s EC-style comic cover for “Only Skin Deep”, as seen in the Tales from the Crypt episode.
Despite donning a party mask for much of the episode, Carl can’t ever mask his true nature. The invitation did say “come as you are”, after all. That inability to change and be better, however, is why Carl ends up in such a karmic predicament. His outburst of anger at the party attracts the attention of one loner partygoer named Molly (Sherrie Rose, who was also in Season Four’s “On a Deadman’s Chest”). Her bone-white, featureless “mask” and body-bag costume don’t initially register as too strange, especially on a night like this. But at a party chock-full of colorful, cartoonish, and lighthearted ensembles, it does look out of place.
Darkness attracts darkness as Carl ditches the party and accompanies the mysterious Molly to her place. Which, by the way, should have been an immediate red flag. But perhaps she’s so hot, he doesn’t seem to mind the serial killer aesthetic. Resembling a warehouse that has been converted into living spaces, but never then decorated to remove the cold, industrial look, Molly’s home (or lair) is as gloomy as this whole episode feels. It’s like the set of a grungy music video, albeit a tad cleaner. The environments in a typical Crypt episode tend to be small, overfilled, and broken-in. Warm, regardless of any weird goings-on. All that empty space in Molly’s hovel, on the other hand, elicits a creepy feeling that Carl was unwise to ignore.
Tales from the Crypt featured more sex than it didn’t, but hands down, “Only Skin Deep” boasts the steamiest scene in the show’s history. Pushing it over the line, in addition to Onorati showing bare buns and the camera never turning down one of his pelvic thrusts, is the twisted dirty talk. Carl stays in the moment, whereas Molly unleashes charged lines like “the hurt, the anger, give it to me” and “take it out on my flesh like you want to”. It’s all quite kinky, as well as tied into the story’s theme of pain.
How else “Only Skin Deep” differs from other episodes is its twists. Or rather, its lack thereof. Nothing comes as a great surprise here, particularly because the deuteragonist’s ulterior motives are so obvious. By no means is Molly a wolf in sheep’s clothing; her face is a fright mask, she practically reeks of death, and she lives in what can best be described as a serial killer’s hideout. That last-act revelation of Molly’s mask really being her face is also nothing shocking. Cleverness is certainly not this episode’s strength.
A page from “…Only Skin Deep!”, as seen in EC Comics’ Tales from the Crypt.
While “Only Skin Deep” isn’t the most universally loved episode of Tales from the Crypt, it’s an interesting preview of William Malone’s future as a director. Most notably, he went on to helm House on Haunted Hill (1999) and FeardotCom (2002), the former of which was co-written by Dick Beebe, this episode’s writer. Dark Castle Entertainment, that genre house founded by Crypt producers Joel Silver, Robert Zemeckis, and Gilbert Adler, was instrumental in bringing out Malone’s gruesome, over-the-top vision in House on Haunted Hill. However, FeardotCom and Malone’s Masters of Horror episode, “Fair-Haired Child”, are the most stylistically compatible with “Only Skin Deep”.
As one might guess, this episode is nothing like its source material. The “…Only Skin Deep!” found in the pages of EC Comics is set during Mardi Gras in New Orleans, and save for its last couple of pages, is pretty sweet in nature. There, a man named Herbert is enamored with a woman he met five years prior to the present-day story. Every year, he has come down to Mardi Gras to see Suzanne, who’s always dressed as a hag-faced witch. Well, this time, Herbert plans on popping the question and marrying someone who is, for the most part, a total stranger. Suzanne accepts his proposal, but with one condition: they stay in costume until they’re officially hitched. You can probably see where this is going…
Once they are married, Suzanne remains incognito, even when she and Herbert have consummated their vows. A semi-predictive nightmare then rattles Herbert; he dreamt that Suzanne’s real face was as wizened as her mask. Finally, in his haste to find out the truth, Herbert winds up killing his new wife. Faceless and well on her way to bleeding out, the dying Suzanne manages to say she never wore a mask.
For more traditional EC-style ghastliness, your best bet is reading the comic. It’s wickedly sad. For something less conventional, as far as Tales from the Crypt goes, the role-reversing adaptation is worth watching. It’s not the best this show had to offer, although Malone’s visual style, plus the sexual abandon, does set the episode apart. If nothing else, “Only Skin Deep” leaves an impression that, even years later, shows no signs of fading.
Season Six of Tales from the Crypt can be streamed on Shudder, starting on June 5.
Tales from Tales from the Crypt celebrates the show’s Shudder premiere by singling out one episode from each season. So don’t even think about changing that dial, boys and ghouls. More spot-“frights” are to come.
Carl discovers Molly’s collection of human ‘masks’ in the Tales from the Crypt episode, “Only Skin Deep”.
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