Editorials
Horror Prequels and Origin Stories – Too Much of a Good Thing?
Recently we found out that the long awaited (by some) prequel to Tobe Hooper’s seminal classic, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, is finally being unleashed this coming October. In the film, titled Leatherface (not to be confused with the third film in the franchise of the same title), we are taken on a road trip with three young boys, one of whom is on a dangerous path to becoming the hulking, skin-mask wearing, behemoth. While continuity is certainly not this particular series’ strong suit, there has been several retcons throughout and let’s not forget there has already been one other TCM prequel, The Beginning.
So, with a new take on one of cinema’s most iconic horror villains coming soon, I ask myself, “How much do I really care?”
Several months ago in anticipation for the release of Adam Wingard’s The Blair Witch, screenwriter, Simon Barrett, was making the rounds to promote the film. He stopped by The Canon podcast to vouch for the original film’s inclusion into, well…”The Cannon”. During the conversation, Barrett explains the need he felt to avoid answering all the questions set up by The Blair Witch Project. Those who have seen the sequel know that while some new details are teased out, there is still plenty left up for debate. This is no “Blair Witch: Origins”. Ultimately, Barrett argues against that type of storytelling:
“There’s the Star Wars prequels thing where it’s like, you know, you are explaining something that is basically what everyone sort of assumed happened, but they kind of thought it was going to maybe be cooler. I never want to do that in a horror film, because if you hint at something, what’s in your audience’s imagination is automatically, probably going to be scarier to them than anything you can come up with…Eduardo and Dan [directors of The Blair Witch Project], it’s not like they were pulling a weird kind of – second half of Mulholland Drive where they were just like, ‘We don’t really know what this is.’ They knew what it was…They didn’t over explain it. That’s what I think makes the mythology get under people’s skin.”
It’s a valid point and perhaps, a bit cliche. What you don’t see can sometimes be far more horrifying: the shark in Jaws, the lack of any real bloodshed in the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre, or the “baby” in Rosemary’s Baby. I’ll never forget the horrific image of that demon spawn I had conjured up in my mind. It lingered in my memory only for me to realize upon revisiting Polanski’s classic film years later that no demonic infant is ever shown. Specifically speaking on prequels, a lot of fans were left cold by young Michael Myers’s troubled home life in the Rob Zombie prequel/remake. News swirling around the almost 13th installment of the Friday the 13th franchise was we were rewinding to show the father of Jason, Elias Voorhees. The general consensus was, “No thanks.” Yet filmmakers continue to go back to this well of origin stories. Perhaps it has something to do with the success of superhero films that weave humble beginnings into billion dollar franchise monsters?
All of this to say, is there a valid reason to explain what once was deemed terrifying “just because”? In doing so, do we dilute the magic of what has come before? One of the most recent examples we have is Alien: Covenant, the first in a proposed trilogy of prequels. I personally found the film thrilling and highly enjoyable, though the more I think about it, the more sleight the overall story seems. Yes, it might be building towards something epic, but the details provided so far amount to nothing more than (MINOR SPOILERS) a fucked up mad scientist riff on Frankenstein. The revelations revealed herein line up quite expectantly with the trail of breadcrumbs from Prometheus.
Sure, the lack of any big surprises in Covenant might have robbed the film of a sense of purpose, but it remains a rousing action/horror hybrid. It was damn entertaining. Is that purpose enough? The film left me with several questions I now hope to have answered in future films. But if this were it, would I be okay with where things left off? Yeah. This isn’t a backstory that I NEED. Furthermore, whether you love or hate Ridley Scott’s obsession with creationism, it doesn’t take away enjoyment of the original film in any way whatsoever. The “Space Jockey” is still an awe-inspiring image in 79’s Alien despite it being nothing more than a spacesuit for an oversized albino creature with a God complex. Ripley still kicks ass, and the xenomorph is still terrifying.
In the case of Leatherface, we know very little at this point. What I can say is that while I might not have been clamoring for ANOTHER Chainsaw prequel, at least this one is taking a rather unexpected approach by setting itself up as a quasi mystery. Which one of the demented youths will claim the title of “Leatherface”? Taking a look at The Beginning, the prequel to the 03′ remake, the plot was precisely the type of unimaginative dreck we might have expected. A deformed baby left to rot in a dumpster is taken in by a group of backwoods cannibals. Natch. I may not have asked for another TCM origin story, but I’ll accept one that flexes its creative muscles. At this point we can simply hope that Leatherface is respectful to the original and manages to offer a few surprises that we, the humble fan, couldn’t have whipped up ourselves during an epic nerd debate.
Now more than ever our culture has become obsessed with revisiting our fondest pop culture memories. By revising our favorite stories with a modern slant we transport ourselves to the “simpler times”. Reboots of everything from Twin Peaks, Puppet Master, and the X-Files have already been rebirthed. While horror already went through a mass of remakes in the mid-aughts, it’s only a matter of time before our genre catches a case of “reboot-itis”. I’m personally more interested in the “alternate timelines” we’ve been teased with the upcoming Halloween or Neill Blomkamp’s proposed Alien 5 than with a string of “before they were legends” genesis tales. On the one hand, it seems disrespectful to just pick and choose what films “matter” and disregard a legion of fan interest that withstood years of diminishing returns, but it’s also that precise vision that excites me.
At the end of the day, I’m not afraid of filmmakers “ruining” my treasured franchises. Someone wants to reboot Hellraiser by detailing the creation of the Lament Configuration (ala Bloodlines)? Go for it! Someone wants to create a courtroom drama centered around Freddy Krueger? Sure. Why not? Want to settle the age old mystery of just what the hell is a Mogwai? The point is, none of this can take away your enjoyment of the classics you love. Retcons and reimaginings throw the concept of “cannon” into upheaval all the time. People have already begun to hypothesize that Ridley Scott might be dumping the idea of an alien Queen from his mythology. But if you sit down to watch Aliens and choose to ignore everything presented in the prequels, you’ve just created your own canon!
There are those who have no interest in these prequels and re-imaginings, and that’s completely understandable. For me, though, I say, “Bring em’ on.” You never know, we could be thoroughly surprised by Leatherface (despite the numerous setbacks with its release). For every Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning, we could find ourselves with another Amityville 2: The Possession! Don’t judge me. That’s one wacky, awesome movie.
So of all the prequels and origin focused reboots, what’re some of your favorites?
“Elevated Horror.” Of all the combinations in the English language, that one is the most insufferable.
It represents almost a decade of scary movies that, for the most part, took themselves too seriously. Horror responds to the moment, so its “why so serious” lean makes sense as we scuttle through the “worst of times” equation of Charles Dickens’ famous opening lines. But there’s still an opening and a need for a lighter approach; one that not only has fun with its audience but takes the piss out of a genre that is seemingly letting its newfound “respectability” go to its head.
Wes Craven believed devotees see horror films to let out their fears one primal scream at a time. At their core, these movies are roller coasters; they bring us as close to the edge as possible before pulling us back into a safety net of reality. The need for a bigger and badder coaster increases during times when the size of that net decreases.
There’s a thrill that comes from imagining being in a foot race with a madman, or outthinking the hordes of zombies on the other side of the door, plus the scavenger humans coming behind them. There’s even a rush that comes from imagining how one might deal with possession to see good triumph over evil in the end. It’s all about building tension and releasing it through catharsis. That cathartic release usually sounds like screams followed by laughter, which signals relief. Genre heavy hitters over the past 10 years offered very little of that respite when the credits rolled. Films like Hereditary, The Witch, Talk to Me, and even Smile (pick one) keep that tension going after the screen fades to black.
Hereditary
As the genre became obsessed with creating trauma metaphors, that lack of release made sense. Anyone with even a small sample size of traumatic experiences knows those emotions don’t magically resolve themselves in an allotted run time. But how much trauma can one take? Especially when there’s a mess going on outside that few of us can escape from. Movies offer that off-ramp, no matter how short.
Everything can’t be, nor should it be, “elevated.” Audiences need thoughtful explorations of life’s ills via monsters as much as they need murdering masked maniacs with kitchen knives. And no, it doesn’t have to go any deeper than that. Sometimes, a knife is just a knife, and it’s still worth our time and respect. As weird as it sounds, that simplicity is comforting not in spite of the trauma but because of it.
The worst of times should manifest more than just anguish. People need to laugh just as much as they need to think seriously about this moment in time. Even the Scream franchise forgot the meta rock upon which it built its church when the latest foray sacrificed the subtle comedy for serious drama. Scary Movie returned at the perfect moment. It provides the necessary laughs, but it’s not a cure-all.
This isn’t a call for Scary Movie imitators but a return to a mainstream landscape where Killer Klowns from Outer Space sat with The Serpent and the Rainbow, nestled neatly with the latest Nightmare on Elm Street, which took nothing away from The Vanishing.
They Live
Even They Live, John Carpenter’s horror sci-fi satire sandwich, kept its tongue firmly in cheek while discussing serious ideas still relevant in 2026. Yes, a film about aliens taking over the world through subliminal messaging only visible through coded sunglasses is, in fact, a tad silly. Carpenter understood that mainstream horror can’t become so self-important that it never looks itself in the mirror and laughs at that inherent silliness.
The thing is, horror historically excels at poking fun at itself. Most of the Scream franchise, The Cabin in the Woods, or The Blackening show adoration without kowtowing. They recognize tropes and trappings but invert them for an audience already in on the joke, but one that also finds solace in said conventions. This keeps the genre on its toes; once something gets parodied, it’s usually time to evolve. That breeds new ideas and fresh filmmakers, which not only strengthen the genre’s collective voice but also amplify it.
Get Out, as “elevated” as some critics want us to believe it is, is a cathartic, populist scary movie that spoke to an untapped audience rather than speaking down to them. Backrooms is one of the biggest horror hits in years, partially because it’s fine-tuned for modern-day teenagers instead of their parents. Movies like these tell everyone the genre is open for business; open for innovation and, yeah, open for new ways in which people can lovingly poke fun at with a wink and a nudge.
Horror needs dread as much as it needs laughter.
Catharsis is just as important as tension, and pulpy populism has the same merit as more high-brow material. Respectability shouldn’t come at the expense of an experience akin to walking through a haunted house. At a time when joy seems in short supply, horror should look to its past to map out its future, and make things just a tad brighter for audiences.
Backrooms
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