All language subtitles for 1x03 Eng Subt

America in the '60s and '70s

was defined by chaos.

Senator John F. Kennedy

is the 34th president
of the United States.

The flare-ups between
whites and Negroes.

The escalating war
in Vietnam.

Struggle with the communists.

An oil crisis

that resulted
in the rationing of gasoline.

The lines
are lengthening,

supplies are dropping,
and reports--

Demands for
women's liberation.

Equal education and
job opportunities, equal pay.

A growing civil rights movement

and a general distrust
of institutions

like organized religion and
government with a capital "G,"

these defined the times.

Rioting in
a Negro section of Los Angeles.

Profound changes
to cultural norms

created intense anxieties,

leading many
to fear that society,

as we knew it,
was falling apart.

The largest generation
in history,

the Baby Boomers,
were coming of age.

And that youth quake
shook the world

as millions of teens
and young adults

took to the streets
protesting the war,

demanding equal rights
for women...

- Women!
- ...and joining the fight

for civil rights.

Struggle together
to go to jail together,

to stand up for freedom...

This episode

of Blumhouse's Compendium
of Horror

looks at how films of the era

reflected the real
and tangible change

the Baby Boomers demanded

and how a new generation

of auteur directors
and their films...

President Kennedy
has been shot in Dallas.

...pushed the envelope
of what was acceptable.

It has been established that
persons who have recently died

have been returning to life.

I think if I had to come up
with my Mount Rushmore

of horror directors,

you'd be like
John Carpenter,

Wes Craven.

Tobe Hoover definitely belongs.

Definitely got to be Romero.

Night of the Living Dead

is in my DNA and in the genetics
of my work, as well,

because, you know, you've got
George Romero going like,

"You know, we got two bucks,
and we got a field.

Let's make a zombie movie."

Boy, you used to really
be scared here.

Johnny!

You're still afraid.

Stop it now. I mean it.

They're coming to get you, Barbara.

I was scared
in my mom's basement,

this one back part
of her basement.

It was a damp and dark place,
and that's where I used to go

to fire up an old projector
and watch old reels of film.

One day, I found this old print
of this movie

that I'd never
obviously heard of.

I guess I was about seven.

And it was
Night of the Living Dead.

My mom found me like,
I don't know,

end minutes
before the end of the movie

and tried to, you know,
turn it off.

But by that point,
I was fucked.

Good Lord.

It took me a long time
before I was cool

to go back in the basement.

And then I realized
what my dad did.

I realized
the creativity of it all.

To me, it was like it was
the first time

I ever really kind of
had an understanding

of what he did as an artist.

And I think most good directors
that really have a grasp

of the medium can do horror.

And now that
they're becoming venerable

in the eyes of the studio
and so forth,

a lot of those people
are going into it.

The idea that corpses
could come back to life

as bodies without souls

originated in 19th century
Haitian folklore.

Stories of the dead
being reanimated

usually involves some form
of religious ceremony,

such as voodoo.

These stories of the undead
walking the earth,

along with a book
called I Am Legend,

inspired director
George A. Romero

to turn those concepts

into the flesh eating,
slow-moving zombie

that shocked audiences
in Night of the Living Dead.

I had met George Romero.

We were on a family vacation,
and we were in Italy.

My Love for
Night of the Living Dead

had sort of reached
its pinnacle.

I'm happily typecast in a genre
that I've always loved.

And I have an opportunity
to work on Day of the Dead.

Day of the Dead was one
of the greatest experiences

that I had ever had.

I mean, talk about just being
plucked from a little kid

in his basement, watching horror
movies, to standing next

to one of the greatest horror
directors of our generation.

And watching him film
a zombie movie and being in it.

I was actually in it, too.

I got decapitated.
My head came back to life.

I mean, I could have retired
at 19, for fuck's sake.

Aah!

I remember George Romero
talking about movies

and the roller coaster ride,
the adrenaline.

You know, you have people that
may not want to ride

a roller coaster for real,
but they'll go see a movie

and they'll go on
the same journey.

Night of the Living Dead

is probably one of the few films

that actually gave me nightmares.

Saw it at a horror festival.

It was a couple of years
after it came out.

So it already had a reputation.

It was heavy.

It was that really crude
black-and-white photography

which gave it an almost
semi documentary feel

and made it feel more realistic.

That's what really got to me.

The Night of the Living Dead
made money

and lots of it.

Shot for just $114,000,

the movie grossed
more than 12 million

during its initial
release alone.

To hype the movie,
a $50,000 insurance policy

was offered to anyone
who died of a heart attack

watching the film.

A marketing stunt
that made seeing the movie

an irresistible test of courage
for true horror fans.

Night of the Living Dead was
groundbreaking for everything.

They made a movie in a town
where movies weren't made.

They bucked the system,
and they showed people images

that made every
single person in 1968

who saw those images uncomfortable

at a molecular level.

Horror films to that point
were cause and effect.

Actions have consequences.

Then here, these guys
come with this film

that you could just be in the
wrong place at the wrong time,

get bit, and the next thing you
know, whoever you trusted

with your life and your heart
and your spirit was now

turning on you and was
a creature that was going to

not only kill you
and eat you...

...but turn you
into another one.

The notion of
the dead not dying,

coming back and turning you
into a dead person,

infecting you with more death.

This zombie looks like
your fucking girlfriend

or your husband who just died.

And then they're going
to wake up,

and they're going to
try to eat you,

and then you're going
to fucking die,

and then you're going
to become one.

Relatively new notion.

There are a lot of choices
that people have to make

in the zombie
apocalypse mythology.

I'm sorry, Mum.

Do it!

And when you realize
that surviving

means having to do things

that you couldn't imagine
that you would have to do,

and what this kind of thing
does to a person,

it just shows you
the drastic change

that people can undergo
when dealing

with these tremendous
outside circumstances.

And the distrust,
man's distrust for other men.

Obviously,
Night of the Living Dead

is a very, you know, low budget,

but it's about the beginning
of the breakdown of society.

We have to look at
the different iterations

that have been put on screen
of the, you know,

post-apocalyptic living,
whether it's, you know,

Mad Max, or 28 Days Later.

George Romero had
a great handle on,

you know, the decay of society.

Ideas for the the zombie films
that I've done anyway,

the idea always comes first.

I have to know
what the movie's about

because they're not
really movies about zombies.

I mean, the zombies are almost
just minor annoyances, you know?

It was an extremely
turbulent time,

and the civil rights movement
was huge, and Vietnam was huge.

And the film itself
is just chock full of messaging

about all of that.

But the messaging about it
that I personally took away

was that times were changing.

Night of the Living Dead
was released in the fall of '68

when America was experiencing
profound tragedy and change

in the area of civil rights.

Just six months earlier,
Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

had been assassinated
in Memphis.

The reaction in the streets
was swift and furious

because equality seemed
more unattainable than ever.

Horror films had always
put social tensions

front and center,
and George Romero's choice

to put a Black male lead
in his movie

sent a loud and clear message.

To actually have
a Black protagonist

in Night of the Living Dead
was pretty cool.

It was pretty revolutionary.
We had never seen it before.

And a heroic Black character.
I mean, he was the hero.

He was the only one
that knew what was going on.

The cellar is
the strongest place.

You box yourself
in the cellar

and those things get
in the house, you've had it.

At least up here,
you have a fighting chance.

You know,
usually in a horror film,

the Black folks
are the first to go.

There were a lot of instances
where George had said,

"Look, I cast Duane Jones

because he was
the most talented actor

that he had met at the time.

You know, was George
subliminally telling a story

by putting a Black man
in the lead?

Subsequently, all of George's
movies from that point on

had an African-American lead
and a female lead, you know.

So whether it was by accident
or subliminal,

George definitely
was making a statement.

Night of the Living Dead
definitely changed

the horror genre

because it kind of stretched
what's permissible.

You didn't see so much
viscera in movies.

You know,
it definitely unleashed

what was possible visually.

You know, you could now
see intestines being pulled out

and being eaten up by a zombie.

Now you could see
the possession of a child.

The idea of the evil child,
the demon child,

you know, that little girl,
she comes back

after she'd been killed,
and she comes back

and tries to eat her mother
in the basement.

Oh, baby.

So that made a lot
of things permissible.

In the '60s, there was
a huge trend in the occult.

You had people
leaving the church.

Church membership was down.

People were saying
they were atheists.

You had a godless Catholic
in the White House.

I mean, people hated
that JFK had been Catholic.

That was like viewed
with such alarm across America

that this invidious
pope worshiper

was in the White House.

Suddenly it seemed
like all religious faith

was up for grabs in America.

It wasn't the country we told
ourselves we thought it was.

Hail Satan!

Hail Satan!

We weren't just a country
of white Protestant men.

There were women
who wanted rights.

There were Black people
who wanted rights.

There were Catholics, there were
Jews, there were Hindus.

There were all these
other people out there.

It was terrifying
to white people.

And so Rosemary's Baby really
jumps in with all four feet

right on that pressure point.

Oh, that's nice. What is that?
That's the TV room?

Well, only temporarily.
It's going to be a nursery.

- Oh, you're pregnant?
- No, not yet.

I hope to be
as soon as we're settled.

Wonderful!
Well, you're young and healthy.

You'll have lots of children.

At their most basic,

horror movies
have been allegories

for the fight
between good and evil.

Rosemary's Baby
was no exception,

opening in theaters
in the summer of what turned out

to be a pivotal year in history
and in the movies, 1968.

Women were on the march,
rejecting marginalization

and demanding
that their voices be heard.

They were moving into
corporate offices, boardrooms,

and into the political
center of power.

Against that backdrop
of societal change,

Rosemary's Baby was
a sophisticated horror film

that reflected the paranoia
of the era

and asked complex questions
about female autonomy,

marital abuse,
and the role of women

in a rapidly changing world.

I've spoken pretty openly
about the fact

that I am somebody
who can speak back to the screen

when Rosemary's Baby
is playing.

It's a cornerstone film for me
for so many reasons,

but I just find it
that deeply entertaining.

This is for you
from Roman and me.

For me?

It's just a little present
is all, for moving in.

There's no reason--

Real old.
It's over 300 years.

And scary for a lot
of different reasons.

It's lovely.

You know, not just about sort of
the literal story,

but for all of the subtext
I think underneath it.

In Rosemary's Baby,
director Roman Polanski

used themes of religion
and the occult as a backdrop

for questioning
the role of women in society.

Rosemary's Baby kind of came
out of nowhere in '67.

Before, movies were gothic stuff
from Hammer,

vampires in Ancient Europe,
Victorian Times,

old timey places.

Universal Monsters.

On TV was The Addams Family,
The Munsters,

laugh track horror.

We don't want any child
of ours going to school

and being stared at.

With Rosemary's Baby,

you suddenly had
this contemporary horror story

set in modern-day New York.

He's an actor.
She's a homemaker.

They're young kids in love,

living in an identifiable, recognizable,

modern-day setting.

With Satan.

This is no dream.
This is really happening!

I have a memory of just feeling
like this movie is unreal.

You know, I mean, Ruth Gordon.

Are you kidding me?
This performance.

Listen, I won't let you go
to no Dr. Hill,

nobody ever heard of.

The best is what you're going
to have, young lady.

Where's your
telephone, huh?

Just the vividness
of the filmmaking.

The assuredness
of every passage, every shot.

I still watch it with a sense
of awe. I really do.

Dr. Hill prescribed
vitamin pills.

No pills. Minnie Castevet
has a herbarium.

I'm gonna have her make
a daily drink for you

that will be fresher,
safer, and more vitamin-rich

than any pills on the market.

Rosemary's Baby is about
the complete lack of autonomy

and control that a woman
and or women societally

have over their bodies.

I think just the general feeling
of powerlessness

in Rosemary's Baby,
how no one would listen to her,

how she was constantly
being gaslit,

how she was listening
to these men,

and as a result, literally
gave birth to the devil.

I just remember that pervasive
feeling of like,

"No one will listen to me,"

being something that
really shook me emotionally.

Has an under taste.

A chalky under taste.

I don't get it.

That's silly, honey.
There is no under taste.

I think Rosemary's Baby
is haunting

because, one,
this is her husband,

the person
she's supposed to trust

more than anyone in the world,
who's supposed to love her.

The dismissive pat on the head

and extreme gaslighting
behavior on stark display

in Rosemary's Baby were
all too familiar to women

ignored by their bosses,
and even by their own husbands.

Like all the best horror films,
Rosemary's Baby was

a resonant, riveting echo
of its time and its portrayal

of a vulnerable woman exploited
and betrayed by the men

she trusted made
an indelible impression.

A scene that I love in which
late in the game,

Rosemary realizes,
"Oh, my God, something terrible

is happening to me."

And she goes to her
original gynecologist,

played by Charles Grodin,
and begs for help.

And maybe all of this
is coincidence.

But one thing is for sure.

They have a coven,
and they want my baby.

Certainly seems that way.

And he listens to her,
and he's really patient,

and he says,
"Why don't you lie down?

You must be exhausted.
I'm going to get you some help."

And he leaves,
and you see her say,

"Okay, little Andy or Jenny,
we're going to be okay.

This nice man is
going to help us."

God bless Dr. Hill.

And then she wakes up
from her nap.

And similar to
The Texas Chainsaw Massacre

scene I love so much,
she is returned to her captors.

And you realize that

whether Charles Grodin
was in on a scheme

or just simply thinks any woman
with this story

must be utterly insane, he has
done the absolute wrong thing.

And that moment is like
the fulcrum of the whole movie.

Somebody help me!

I think it's a great allegory
for sort of

the "my body, my choice" fight
that has been happening forever.

I think the most brilliant thing
about Rosemary's Baby

and why it stood
the test of time

is because we're still fighting
for control over our own bodies.

That is a fight that is sadly
still going on to this day.

The early '60s were
when back-alley abortions

were sort of the unmentioned
elephant in the room.

Reproduction was huge in
the '60s and in the '70s,

and, in fact, you had a ton
of childbirth horror coming out,

and a lot of that finds its
roots with Rosemary's Baby.

I won't have
an abortion.

Nobody's telling you
to have an abortion.

Just go to see another
doctor, that's all.

Films like Carrie
or Rosemary's Baby

are films often made by men
that are struggling with

the notion of femininity
and femaleness,

as both societally and then,

for some of the filmmakers,
personally monstrous.

Rosemary's Baby
was not only a reflection of

America's reaction
to the women's movement,

but a reflection on director
Roman Polanski himself.

Polanski's subsequent
statutory rape charge

and flight from America
sent many women back

for a second look at the film

about the takeover
of women's bodies.

So there's something
really interesting to me

about seeing those filmmakers
forcing themselves

to be empathetic
with female characters

and a female point of view
and female experience.

With women demanding
power in society

and in their homes, horror films
continue to grapple with that

shift by taking it
into the spiritual realm.

The graphic depiction
of demonic possession

unnerved a country
steeped in religious belief.

The Exorcist was ahead
of the cultural curve

with its depiction of
God versus the devil

in a spiritual fistfight
for the soul of a child.

And audiences, already
questioning the role of religion

in modern society,
well, they were ready.

For me, 'cause I was
an old Catholic kid,

the devil will still always
be the absolute worst

because the devil
could be anybody,

and the devil
is a supernatural force.

Well, then let's
introduce ourselves.

- I'm Damien Karras.
- And I'm the devil!

Now kindly
undo these straps.

If you're the devil,
why not make

the straps disappear?

That's a much too vulgar
display of power, Karras.

I think I saw the original
Exorcist in a theater,

which is still, to this day,
one of my favorite horror movies

ever because of the approach
that they took.

They were like, "This is real.
I'm Friedkin,

very intense filmmaker,
and I'm going to hire

like Ellen Burstyn as the
mother, who is a completely

believable actress,

like Academy Award-winning
type actress.

I'm gonna put her
in this horror film."

As a Catholic, I wasn't allowed
to watch The Exorcist

because it would possess me.

So by the time I recovered
from Catholicism, I watched it,

and I go, "Oh, yeah. I can see
how this messed up some people."

The first time I saw it,

I actually
went to see it in the theater.

It's a super scary movie
to see in a theater.

And one of the most
shocking moments in my life

in a horror movie
is when she does the spider walk

down the stairs.

And I remember starting
to see it.

And then the next thing I know,
I'm standing on my seat

in the theater, like, crouched.

Like, I don't know how I got
there or how fast it happened.

But I remember my friend,
he's like, "Get down."

And I was like, "Where--
Where am I? What happened?

How long have I been out?"

Which is like, I don't know if
that's flight--

it's flight, I think.

It's freeze.
I would have--

The tiger would have eaten me.

I was 10, eleven years old
when The Exorcist came out.

Everything about The Exorcist
felt like it was happening

in the house next door to me,
and that was terrifying.

And that was what was terrifying
for most people.

I mean, there were lines
around the block.

Despite being banned
by most organized religions,

including the Catholic Church,

The Exorcist was a commercial
and critical success,

partly because it was
so subversive at a time

when Americans were questioning
their own spiritual beliefs.

The Exorcist won two Oscars
and placed horror films

and horror fans
into the mainstream.

You know, walking backwards
down the stairs,

making a kid's head turn around
and stuff like that.

Vomiting pea soup.

Ah!

All of that shit
is pretty horrifying.

But, you know,
I don't even think

you have to be Catholic
to truly be unnerved.

The taboos that were explored
in the early '70s,

no one ever would have
imagined a movie like

The Exorcist,
that explored the violation

of a 12-year-old girl
by this demon

and everything that it did
for the Catholic Church.

Well, we as Catholics,
we were told every week,

"You're not allowed
to go see that movie."

And I don't know
a single Catholic

that didn't fucking eventually
go see that movie.

The Exorcist is
considered the scariest

horror film ever made because it
strikes into the heart

of a very religious country.

You know, that's the last thing
we want to do is mess with

the devil and have it show up
in our homes.

That's why we put, you know,
the crucifix on the wall.

That's why we go to church.

And then when it just shows up
because a demon wants to have

a good time, it's super scary.

I feel The Exorcist
hit the nerve that it did

because at that time, nobody had
seen anything like it.

At that point, people found
a lot of comfort in religion.

And now all of a sudden,
this movie comes out

that's like-- people's beliefs
were being stirred in terms of,

oh, why would a God let
something like that happen?

And in such a dramatic
and horrific fashion.

The 1960s
introduced America to

the counterculture movement
and the hippies.

America's youth wanted change,
and the hippie movement,

well, they wanted it yesterday.

Young people protested against
the Vietnam War.

They rebelled
against commercialism.

And they fought sexism
and racism.

They pushed the needle
of progress so far

that it made their
parents' generation squirm.

And what the hell's
the matter with you kids?

But if the hippies saw
love and peace

as the goals of their movement,

older, more traditional
Americans saw chaos.

And after Charles Manson
and his murderous family,

even evil in the movement.

The 1960s were
incredibly idealistic.

There was the idea that
the world really could change

because this new generation
of young people

who thought so differently,
they were going to be in charge.

And by the time
we get into the '70s,

the system is fritzing wildly.

They were rebelling
against the government.

They were rebelling against war.

They were rebelling
against racism.

They were rebelling
against everything

that we continue
to rebel against.

There was an insanity
in the air.

There were always serial killers
throughout time,

from Jack the Ripper
and centuries before, I'm sure.

But it was somehow,
I don't know,

it was in the air in the '70s,

whether it was Son of Sam
or a chainsaw massacre

or the Hillside Strangler.

Like, it was out there.

There were people out there.

And The Hills Have Eyes
and I Spit on Your Grave

perfectly bring the horror of
war and the chaos of war

to your front door.

And they show you
that there is no escaping

from the unseen evil
in your neighbor.

You know,
in the mid to late '70s,

horror movies
were very punk rock.

There was an edge to them.

Most of them are made with
no money in that era whatsoever.

You know,
Texas Chainsaw Massacre

is like, it puts Clerks
to shame in terms of,

like, use of minimal budget.

Like Psycho before it,

The Texas Chainsaw Massacre
is believed to be based

on the true crimes
of a serial killer.

And the origin of Leatherface
could also be traced back

to the violence inflicted by the
Butcher of Plainfield, Ed Gein.

The Texas Chainsaw Massacre
was cheap to make

and grossed millions
in its first run.

Low-budget indie films
took note.

I love Texas Chainsaw Massacre

because it is like,
we've got no money,

but we'll scare
the hell out of you.

It is very proto Clerks for me.

If they don't make that movie,

I don't get inspired
to make mine, even though

they're two completely
different subject matters.

Oh, my God. The scariest movie
I've ever seen, hands down,

is Tobe Hooper's
Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

I remember being shaken
to my core by that film.

And it's definitely
one of those movies

you don't feel the artifice or
the seams of filmmaking,

though it's an extremely
sophisticated movie.

You feel sort of just like
plopped in real life

in some horrible way.

That movie really stuck with me
and stays with me,

and I consider it one of the
greatest horror films ever made.

Generated by sensational coverage

of anonymous serial killers
that seem to be lurking

in every suburban neighborhood,
a polarized America was becoming

increasingly frightened.

That sense of dread
had movie fans primed for films

that brought the faceless,
senseless, evil killer to life.

Tobe Hooper elevates the art
form in this incredible way

and makes a movie so terrifying

that any time I try
to make a horror movie,

that's the movie
I was trying to make.

When I tried to do Red State,

that's me trying to do
Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

When I tried to make Tusk,

I was trying to do
Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

That movie still lives
in my heart and soul.

It's a movie I still
watch once a year.

It still fucking works.

The mastery of what Tobe did
was that he made it completely

on what you thought
was happening.

It was considered
the most violent film ever made.

But there's no blood in it.

woman screams ]

And then just the title alone,
Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

You know, you're expecting
to see massacre by chainsaw,

but you don't see it.

You know, so it's
a pretty subtle film.

When I think of
Texas Chainsaw Massacre,

I definitely identify
with the kids in the van.

And I look at the world
out there

that you're just driving
cross-country,

minding your business, and there
is fear of everyone else.

A genuine xenophobia
that I have experienced

when I'm driving in any town
where I don't know people,

but I don't know
what evil lurks there.

The film was so successful
because it went to dark places

that other films just
weren't gritty in capturing.

There was a conspiracy of evil

so that you could walk
into a spider's web

where everyone agreed
that this was okay.

You know,
not just Leatherface,

but ma and pa and everybody
and the sheriff

and whoever you run into
were part of it.

What could be more terrifying
than that?

I think Leatherface is scary
because he's made of flesh.

That's dried skin that he's sewn
a face together to wear.

It's really terrifying.

It sort of predates
Hannibal Lecter in that regard,

and we'd just never
seen that before.

Leatherface is scary because
he's dumb and he just--

he's told what to do
and he does it.

So it's really-- he's a tool
for this family that

makes him do terrible things.

Clearly Leatherface
is kind of a tragic character.

I mean, he's obviously
mentally disabled

in some sort of capacity.

You know, he's not having fun
either, you know.

Like, he's being abused
just as much.

You know, like his family are
the real evil ones

because they're abusing Leatherface.

And, you know, I don't think
Leatherface on his own

would have necessarily
been a murderer.

He's also pretty funny.

I mean, like, there's that
sequence where they're

getting ready for dinner,
and he changes his skin mask

to be like the mother figure.

You know, when he's
putting out dinner,

he's got lipstick on
and everything.

It's like there's a real sick,

hilarious sense of humor
to that movie.

Internationally,
the film was a success

despite being banned
in more than a dozen countries,

including France,
Brazil, and Australia.

Its success was a combination
of fear of the killer next door

and the humor of an inside joke.

Horror films were like
a relief valve

for the tensions Americans
were feeling in 1974,

when the film was released
as the U.S.

was winding down
yet another war.

I think that wave
of horror movies

with Texas Chainsaw Massacre,
I Spit On Your Grave,

and The Hills Have Eyes
all did follow the Vietnam War.

I don't think you could
separate one from the other.

Vietnam was such an ugly,
bloody, nonsensical, chaotic war

that I think all of those films

sort of lived
in the undertow of it.

I mean, I think
Texas Chainsaw Massacre

depicts a world
where we are witnessing

what it means
to lose our humanity

and to no longer see
other people's humanity.

And to know that Tobe Hooper
was making that movie

and probably metabolizing
a lot of feelings about Vietnam,

about what it means
to be an American,

a patriot, an artist, a weirdo,

all of those things
end up in that movie.

The first time
I watched Carrie,

my worst fears ever
were displayed on screen.

You know, I think growing up
as a teenage girl,

the absolute horror
of trying to fit in,

of trying to belong amongst your
peers is already hard enough.

But to then be sort of
like an outcast or a loser

who's then horrifically
tricked into feeling

like she finally belongs,

only to be cruelly pranked
with pig's blood,

that was not only horrifying,
like on a, you know,

horror-genre level, but also
horrifying as a human being.

Carrie is just a perfect
manifestation of how high school

is a horror movie
in and of itself.

It taps into this
very, very primal thing

of being in high school
and how horrifying

that can be,
how terrifying kids can be

to other kids in high school.

I was a child when
I saw Carrie,

probably not when it came out,

but when I was old enough
to be allowed to see it,

and I was afraid
to go to high school,

and it definitely didn't
calm my fears at all.

Carrie is cool 'cause
that was the first book

that Stephen King ever wrote.

And I think, like, he threw it
in the garbage, and his wife

took it out of the garbage.

Did you know that?

Maybe not the whole book,
but like a chunk of it,

and thought it was so bad,
he threw it in the garbage,

and his wife, like,
took it out of the garbage

and was like,
"No, no, no, dude."

Carrie was rejected
by 30 publishers

before it was released in 1974,
becoming a runaway bestseller

and catching the attention
of director Brian De Palma.

This story has resonated
with generations of women

looking for ways
to harness their power

when they felt they were
at their most powerless.

Carrie was quintessential
to my generation,

and I loved it because,
as opposed to Rosemary's Baby,

where it's about a woman
who has no agency over her body,

Carrie is all about this
girl who is

coming into her own power
while she's getting

supernatural powers
and how she's going to

take agency off her identity
and take control over her body.

But in the most
precarious time there is,

which is when you're
going through puberty

as a teenage girl.

My favorite scene of that
that I feel like encapsulates

the movie is when-- you know,
she's 16, she's 17,

she's in the shower, she gets
her period for the first time.

Isn't she a bit
old for her, uh...

Her first period.

And then she's mocked mercilessly.

But I don't know why
that should surprise us.

I mean, knowing
that mother of hers.

And I thought the sort of
thematic structure

of showcasing this is the moment
she becomes a woman,

only to be completely
rejected by her peers

and then have them
pretend to love her.

And then dump blood on her.

I was like,
"Wow, this is every

teenage nightmare
brought to life."

And the fact that she has powers
and then can take control

and give those motherfuckers
what they had coming to them,

I was like, "This is a villain
I'm rooting for now.

I want her to murder
all of them."

Carrie was sort of
the first time you had a movie

where your protagonist was also
your antagonist, so to speak,

and you sympathized with Carrie
as a young teenage girl

trying to find her way
through the world.

We're all sorry
about this incident, Cassie.

It's Carrie!

But then you are also terrified
of her ability.

Please sit and talk to me!

And that movie is so special
because it's like a female

lead character
who has super powers.

Ah!

I guess someone who maybe got
bullied in high school

like plays into our fantasies
of like,

what if I could do that?

Carrie came along
at a time when

internalized misogyny
was ingrained in our culture.

The scene where Carrie's
protector blames her

for not fitting in reflects

a brutal reality
for too many women,

a world in which they're not
just preyed upon by men,

but are pitted
against each other.

The coach wants to help Carrie,
and you see her say, you know,

"If you put on a little mascara

and we get you
a beautiful dress,

you know, you're just going
to be so beautiful."

And that's a pretty girl.
Look at your eyes.

Little mascara to
bring it out. Little.

Your lips.
Try some lipstick.

You have nice, pretty lips.

And in some respects,
a lot of what she's saying

is uncomfortably
mirroring the world

that Carrie's in
in the first place,

where it's kind of all about,

well, if you were just pretty,
it would all get simpler.

And that is then met
by the fact that she, too,

is, consciously or not,
brutally killed in that gym.

Carrie!

Oddly enough, the film says
that being a teenage girl

is really fucking hard

and that anyone who has
the sort of callousness

to reject people or bully people
who otherwise don't deserve it

should probably be killed.

Carrie, for instance,
is a story

about a young girl
with a secret,

and it's a great source of shame
and guilt for her.

And she can't let anybody know.

And she lives in terror of her
classmates finding out about it.

And, I mean, Stephen King
even gave us a religious mother

who's trying
to pray it out of her.

I mean, what better allegory
for being gay?

You know, and also,
I think for me as a gay man,

I always bonded
with the final girl

because she's such a survivor.

But she's also the one
who has to fight for her life.

And what gay man
doesn't understand

the daily struggle of survival?

Certainly for me,
growing up a small town,

it was all about survival.

So I truly bonded
with the final girl

of all these horror movies.

That's why I think I fell
in love with Jamie Lee Curtis.

I did a TV series for
a year called

Operation Petticoat,
and then I was fired.

I thought my life was over.
It was a disaster.

I was devastated.

My manager said,

"There's this low-budget
horror film being made.

I've put you up for it."

They wanted to
meet me for Laurie,

the quiet, intellectual,
virgin, brainiac babysitter.

I auditioned three times.

The auditions took place
in John's office.

The third audition,
I did the scene

where Laurie's on the phone
with her friends.

Annie, was that you?

Of course.

Why didn't you say anything?
You scared me to death.

And then she hangs up,

and then she looks out
the window and sees Michael.

And then she talks
to herself and says,

you know, "Don't be ridiculous,
this is ridiculous" whatever.

And then somehow I got it.

Jamie Lee Curtis,
she was perfect for the role.

She was absolutely ready to go.

She's really a fine actress.
And I'm really proud of her.

All I knew was that it was
a part that my name was on

every page and that I got
to actually not be me.

So I got to actually create
a character.

So I was thrilled about that.

What about the boogeyman?

There's no such thing.

Halloween is an iconic film,

hugely successful,
both at the box office

and as an influence
on horror films to follow.

The slasher movie often depicted
sexualized teenagers

on the run from a faceless,

deranged killer brandishing
a knife, chainsaw, or ax.

But Halloween
deepened the mythology

and planted its psychosexual
horrors directly in suburbia,

exactly where much of America
was living.

And as with all things Hollywood,

a wave of slasher movies
hoping to be

the next Halloween
soon followed.

But Halloween represented
something new at that point.

Think about your average
horror movie, right?

Not the high concept ones
were the devil's involved

or special effects
and stuff like that.

Something as simple as like,

hey, this lady's babysitting
and her friends are

babysitting, and a psycho
has come to town.

And he's gonna peer
in their windows

and then maybe go in and kill
them in interesting ways.

That don't fucking
cost anything.

We didn't have any money
for Halloween.

We didn't have anything.

So we had to decide
what to do about this mask.

It was written
as a Halloween mask,

but it was written
as a blank face.

So Tommy Lee Wallace,
the art director,

went up to
Bert Wheeler's Magic Shop

on Hollywood Boulevard
and bought a mask.

It was a Captain Kirk mask.

Looked nothing
like Captain Kirk, okay?

But spray painted it white
and fooled around with the hair,

and that's the mask.

Let's put him
in a white mask,

which is human,
but it has zero human features

so that it becomes the thing
you project your own fear on to.

You've been told about him.

He is the essence of evil.
He's pure evil.

And now we know that,
and let's collide

Laurie Strode and Michael Myers.

And I think that's why
it was so good.

It's an absence of
humanity in a human.

That's the whole
essence of evil.

You strip the humanity away
in the human being,

and that's what you get,
is evil.

John and Debra sat there
together and went,

Okay, what's the most
ubiquitous image of Americana

of a smalltown life
but a high school girl

who's a virgin, who's smart,
who's a babysitter,

and let's collide her with
the most evil creature

we can come up with.

Michael!

A child who
murdered his sister.

Michael?

It's even more terrifying
if the movie you're shooting

looks like the real world.

You know, when you looked
at the movies of the '50s,

they were shot
on back lots and stuff.

So there's a separation from
the material for the audience.

When you're looking
at Halloween, you're like,

"That looks like
my neighborhood.

That looks like a house
that's down the street from me."

So the more you can reflect
the real world,

the more terrifying I think
you can make it for people.

And I think
that's what Carpenter

did best with Halloween.

- Bye.
- Bye.

There's a very simple
effect on Halloween

where the camera will linger in
the distance and watch somebody.

Fucking scary.

And it's also like, well,
what's going to happen?

Like, well, who is that?
What are they doing?

Are they going to
move in there soon?

You know?

All of it is unnerving.

Silence is very important
in horror.

Be quiet before
the horror strikes you,

and it will
be frightening.

The music-- well, the theme
came from something my father

taught me when I was younger,
when I was 13,

this 5/4 time
on a pair of bongos.

And I just picked up the time
and played around the piano.

When you hear
"a low-budget film,"

you don't have any money
for an orchestra or a composer.

I had three days, so I did
the score for Halloween.

John was very clear
what he wanted.

He kept saying, "I want her
to be really vulnerable."

Now, I was 19 and uneducated,

so I actually thought the word
"vulnerable" meant "weak."

I just like associated the word
"vulnerable" with "weak."

And I was kind of like, "I don't
really want to be weak, John."

When I saw the movie
for the first time in a theater

after the movie had come out...

Hello?

...when Laurie gets the call
from her friend,

she's being strangled,
she thinks she's playing a joke,

she goes up
and checks on the kids,

and then she leaves the house.

And it's that wonderful
Steadicam shot going

back and forth, either
the P.O.V. of Laurie

or the shot on her as she's
walking across the windy street

with the prop guy throwing
the only dry leaves

we had kind of
next to the camera,

you know,
that beautiful sequence.

It really builds
the tension because you,

the audience knows
what's happened in the house.

Laurie doesn't.

And in the middle of that walk,

a woman in a crowded theater
in Hollywood

stood up and screamed,
"Girl, don't go in there!

There's a killer in there!"

And the audience was screaming.

And I realized in that moment
that's what John meant,

that you cared about her and you
didn't want her to go in there.

And that's all that
he wanted to create.

Jamie Lee Curtis is
the ultimate final girl

'cause she was the final girl
in a handful of

Halloween movies
and Prom Night

and fucking Terror Train.

You know, that was her genre.

She was our first horror
movie star of our generation.

You know, I guess if
you consider

the black-and-white era,
Fay Wray in King Kong

to be the genre's star.

And then later on,
Jamie Lee Curtis' mother,

Janet Leigh, in Psycho,
as the lady in the shower.

I think final girls
are unwitting heroines.

They started out that day
being something else,

and they end up a final girl.

All I know is that Laurie Strode
woke up that morning

worrying about her chem final,

worrying about the fact that
a boy didn't ask her to prom,

worrying about, like,
teenage girl stuff.

And by the end of that night,
she became a warrior.

She didn't intend
to be a warrior.

She didn't want to be a warrior.

She ended up a warrior.

They personified evil
with this omniscient force

that could not be
fucking stopped.

You can throw bullets
at these fuckers,

man, throw off roofs and shit,
like, they can't be stopped.

Like death.
They're relentless.

Once you get into shit
like that,

you can start doing
slasher movies.

Was that the boogeyman?

As a matter of fact, it was.