All language subtitles for 1x04 Eng Subt

As America
entered the 1980s and '90s,

popular culture was as inundated
with violence and death

as it had ever been.

But now, the advent
of 24-hour news on cable TV

delivered an endless cycle
of these disturbing stories.

They call it the work
of the Green River Killer,

probably one man who has
murdered 13 young women

near Seattle, case unsolved.

Coverage of violent
crime was sensationalized

and seemed to suggest peril
around every corner,

while new terrors emerged

as a mysterious disease
was introduced,

adding yet another layer
of worry and dread.

Manicured suburbs were filled
with anxious teenagers

and their stressed-out parents.

There seemed to be
no safe place to hide.

Motive-less, random killings,

sometimes thousands
of miles apart.

A Justice Department
investigator calls it

"terrifying, an epidemic."

They're known as serial killers,

and according to
law enforcement officials,

there are at least 35 of them

roaming the country now,
stalking victims.

Teenagers processed
the onslaught of news

as kids will do--

feeling vulnerable, alone,
and insecure about everything--

from their place in the world

to their awakening
sexual feelings.

Audiences were subjected
to a seemingly endless cycle

of exploitative news,

presenting threats
from every angle,

suggesting a dangerous world
for new modern terrors.

The horror genre became
dominated by slasher films

where sexualized teenagers
were killed

by merciless, inhuman monsters

punishing them
for their transgressions

and while neither they,
their helpless parents,

nor the police were able
to protect them

from these seemingly
unstoppable monsters.

I was a teen in a small town.

I had the typical
small-town upbringing,

and so the things that scared me
were the idea

that someone could break
into your house

and get you when you're asleep.

I was scared of the dark.
I was scared--

I always thought
someone was under the bed.

I thought there was
someone in the closet.

And I wasn't necessarily
scared of monsters

and ghosts and aliens
as a child.

I was more scared
of the serial killers.

I grew up in the '80s,
when not only

were serial killers
in our movies,

like in Halloween
and Friday the 13th,

but they were also in our world.

You know, with Bundy and Gacy
and Dahmer

and all of those, you know--

serial killers became
household names back then.

The assailant
entered a house in a quiet,

middle-class neighborhood
in the predawn hours on Sunday

through an unlocked window

and attacked the couple
while they slept.

It just terrifying to me
'cause I lived in a small town

where we didn't lock our doors.

And that scared me
'cause it was real.

Stand by. Ready?
Three, take three. My cue.

Ready, camera three.
One center up.

Good evening.
I'm David Walker.

And I'm Lois Hart.
Now here's the news.

CNN started broadcasting
in the 1980s,

and the '80s were packed
with sensational stories

about serial killers.

Like the trials of Ted Bundy,
John Wayne Gacy,

the Hillside Stranglers,

and the capture
of Henry Lee Lucas.

They started getting
great ratings

showing all of the murders

that were happening
in your neighborhood.

In New London, Connecticut,

police say a man apparently
upset over a family problem

went on a shooting spree
aboard an Amtrak train

en route from Washington
to Boston.

The brand-new network that was
suddenly in everyone's homes

telling you what was happening,
and what they were showing you

is that the world you live in
is unsafe

because killers are out there.

They're in your neighborhood.

The serial killer next door

had become all too real.

In one gruesome case alone,
26 victims' bodies

were carried out of
John Wayne Gacy's home in 1978.

In all,
Gacy had sexually assaulted

and murdered 33 young men
and boys

over a six-year period.

And as always, the horror genre
reflected real-life fears

as filmmakers incorporated
this national obsession

with psychotic killers

by perfecting
the modern slasher movie--

90 minutes of teenagers
being chased by a relentless,

enraged, usually masked killer.

The stalker classic Halloween

and films like Friday The 13th
and Nightmare on Elm Street

sent teens flocking
to the movies

and launched horror franchises

that dominated the multiplexes
throughout the '80s.

And that's kind of what '80s
horror movies were all about.

They personified evil
with this omniscient force

that could not be
fucking stopped.

You can throw bullets
at these fuckers, man,

throw them off roofs and shit.

Like, they can't be stopped.

Like death, they're relentless.

So, you know,
it was a wonderful metaphor

for a young Catholic kid

who was already fucking obsessed
with death

that like, you know, even--
I didn't need CliffsNotes

to understand, like,
oh, we all die eventually.

With the advent
of cable television

and the emergence
of video stores,

viewers could channel surf

between real monsters
and imaginary killers.

The first horror movie
I ever saw

was Friday the 13th.

And for whatever reason,
I was left alone

in front of the television
when I was too young.

I was eight or nine years old.

And it was definitely
one of the worst,

scariest nights of my life,
and I didn't see a horror movie

for about two or three years
after that.

But it had a great effect on me

and clearly informed me
in later years.

I had been working
on a couple children's shows,

and they got put on hold.

I came up with the title
Friday the 13th,

and I took out
a big ad in Variety saying,

"The most terrifying film
ever made.

Friday the 13th, coming soon."

And I didn't have anything.

I got a bunch of distributors
and countries

where they wanted
a piece of something

called Friday the 13th.

When we first came up
with this notion

of Friday the 13th,

it was like all these
strange little deaths.

Who was gonna go next,
and who's gonna survive?

So when we were trying
to figure out an ending,

and there were-- [chuckles]--
this took some doing.

I decided that the killer
was gonna be Jason's mother.

Betsy Palmer has a public image

of being the nicest person
in the world.

So I thought that
we could get

at least a few moments
of people relaxing.

"Oh, Betsy Palmer's here.
We know she's nice."

Did you know that
a young boy drowned

the year before
those two others were killed?

The counselors weren't
paying any attention.

They were making love
while that young boy drowned.

His name was Jason.

You wouldn't question
that a mother would,

you know, seek revenge
for the death of her kid.

So the first movie is
definitely horrific,

but, like, it also had
this fucking great twist

where it's like,
oh, this lady is the killer?

That's kind of crazy.

And then the very next movie,
suddenly a star is born.

But they found a way to make
Friday the 13th continue

by being like,
"Oh, never mind the killer mom.

The boy-- he lived.

He's the fucking bad guy
from now on.

And we're gonna put
a fucking bag on his head!"

Not real great marketing.

But then they got
to the third movie,

put a fucking hockey mask
on him,

and that changed everything.

Aaah!

Oh!

You see that on a little icon,
you're like, "That's a horror."

My first horror movie,
like, besides Gremlins,

was Friday the 13th Part III
in 3D.

And it was coming out
in the movie theaters,

and I wanted to see it
more than anything.

Friday the 13th
Part 3 in 3D.

- Aah!
- A new dimension in terror.

I begged my parents.
I begged and begged and begged.

And they were like, "No, no, no.

Under no circumstances
can you see that movie.

You're too young.
You'll have nightmares forever."

Because these are
Jason's woods.

And nobody leaves them alive.

So they were going away on a ski
weekend with their friends.

And they had
my babysitter, Jill,

who lived across the street,
stay with me.

And I remember very vividly
them, like, giving Jill

the rundown of, like,
"Here are the rules.

Here's the food and some extra
money" and yada, yada, yada.

And they were like,
"One last thing.

She's gonna try to get you
to take her

to see Friday the 13th."

In 3D.

"Under no circumstances--
and I mean no circumstances--

is she allowed
to see that movie."

And Jill's like,
"Okay, like, how hard is it

to not take a kid to a movie?"

Like, pretty easy.
We have a super-fun night,

watch TV, have popcorn,
listen to Madonna.

We go upstairs and go to bed,
and I hear talking downstairs.

And I snuck downstairs,
and I see Jill on the couch

wearing my mom's nightgown
with her boyfriend

underneath the quilt
that my grandmother made!

And I was like, "Oh, we're gonna
go see that movie."

And the next day I said to Jill,

"I'm gonna tell your parents
and my parents

if you don't take me to see
Friday the 13th in 3D

in the movie theater."

And she was like...

So, sure enough,
Saturday matinee.

It was the scariest--
Am I allowed to swear?

The scariest fucking thing
to this day

I have ever, ever seen
in my life.

I won't go see 3-D movies
at all now,

at all, because of it.

It was so fucking scary.

My parents were 110% right.

I should never have seen
that movie.

I mean, still to this day,
I have nightmares.

But I never told my parents
why I was having nightmares.

Fucking hockey mask, man.

I swear I felt like I was born
to play that character.

It felt so natural,
even from the beginning.

Villains are so scary
behind a mask.

It has to be the unknown.

I mean, that has to be
a factor to it,

that you're looking at someone,
you don't really know

what they really look like.

And not that you'd
necessarily want to,

but just that mystery of,

"Who could possibly be
behind that mask?"

and the expressionless-ness
of it,

whether it's Michael Myers
or Jason,

it never changes.

So it's just a scary,
unknown entity,

I think, is what makes it
so terrifying.

The truth is,
Friday the 13th started out

with a reality-based killer,
more or less.

You know, it has turned
into this sort of iconic story

about this abused kid, Jason.

And I think that inside
of that story is something

that's so irresistible
to a lot of people.

It's like Revenge of the Nerds
on steroids, you know,

and you get to kick ass

all these people
that are bugging you.

And I think
it is very dependable.

If you're gonna go see
a Friday the 13th movie,

you know at this point
what you're gonna get.

And we always try to deliver
on that, and then a little more.

Probably the biggest thing
about Jason

that the audience fears

is the unstoppable nature
of the character.

No matter what you do to stop
that guy from coming after you,

it doesn't work.

You light the guy on fire,

you blow him up,

you stab him,

you hack him with an ax...

...he still keeps coming.

After Friday the 13th,

it looked like
these little movies,

you know,
relatively low-budget movies

that featured a lot of blood
and special effects

were going to be successful.

The success
of this new wave of genre films

attracted exciting young filmmakers

and inspired them to make horror
films infused with fresh ideas,

creative storytelling,
innovative cinematography

and spit-and-glue
special effects

to get the biggest bang
for their buck.

The only reason we ever got
into horror in the first place

for my first film, Evil Dead--

we were terrified of losing
the investors' money.

And we knew that horror films
was a staple that was out there.

You could get them
into drive-ins.

You didn't have to
get in fancy theaters.

You could use no-name actors

wearing regular clothes,
driving regular cars.

Nothing had to be that fancy.

Why have you
disturbed our sleep,

awakened us
from our ancient slumber?

Sam I met in eighth grade.

I was walking down the hallway,
West Maple Junior High School.

He's sitting in the middle
of the hallway

dressed like Sherlock Holmes,
playing with dolls.

I was like, "Oh, man.

I'm going around that guy."

I mean, he really left
an indelible mark.

I'm like, "People don't do that.

They don't dress like
Sherlock Holmes."

And he claimed later
he was making a movie.

I'm like,
"I didn't see a camera.

I didn't see it anywhere.

I think you were just being
a little whack job."

Oh, God. Look at this.

Sam Raimi took a class
and read about the Necronomicon.

It was like
the Egyptian Book of the Dead.

And he thought,
"Hey, that's cool.

Like, that's just this weird
book that has conjurings,

and once you conjure them,
like, what happens?

I don't know."

So that was really
intriguing to him.

And so I think
he brought that up

when we decided
to make a horror movie.

This guy was a real turd,
you know.

Everybody hated him. Everybody.

Like you, kinda.

Released in 1981,

The Evil Dead is the story
of a group of friends

that unleash an ancient curse
conjured from a Sumerian text.

The film did what horror
does best--

created a meta world
with layers of subtext.

You never see the villain.

The evil spirit possesses
these kids one by one.

As one critic put it,

"The monster is
the camera itself

and whoever is behind it."

In other words, the viewer
is part of the scene,

whether they want to be or not.

You hear an incantation.
Something comes up.

It possesses you, you know,
and has malevolent intent.

So you open--
you opened the wrong book, man.

And so I think Sam kind of
ran with it from there.

And Evil Dead came along.

Evil Dead is the most
simplistic plot ever,

and it's one that we see
to come over and over--

group of kids go to a cabin,

they find
some fucked-up shit there,

and then the movie
just keeps going.

But what Evil Dead did
is at a time period

where if you were going
to a cabin,

you were going to encounter
a maniacal redneck killer.

Instead, the entire house
is demonic.

Everything is cursed around it.

And just by being there,
you're getting the curse, too.

Our special effects
were very crude.

Tom Sullivan's like,
"I know how to make these

special, cool molds.

We'll make a mold
of the actor's face,

and then you can sculpt it

and then put an appliance
on their face."

Right?
So we'll use plaster of Paris.

Well, anyone who's used
plaster of Paris knows

it heats up and as it dries.

Well, okay, so we put
a light coating of Vaseline

on Betsy Baker's face.

She was the first guinea pig.

This thing starts to heat up.
She's like, "How much longer?"

So finally like five minutes
later, we go,

"Okay, Betsy, no problem, we're
gonna get you out of that."

So all you have to do
is lean forward, right?

'Cause the weight of it,
of the plaster of Paris,

will pull it off your face.

So it did-- went right off
her face, right into her hand.

She looks into the mask,
and all of her eyelashes

were in the mold.

It pulled all of her eyelashes
off of her face.

And she said, in the most
kind of remarkable way--

she was like more fascinated--
she goes,

"Those are all my eyelashes."

We're like,
"Yeah, Betsy. Sorry."

And that was just the beginning.

And then when it finally
did come out,

we started to get some
pretty bad reviews.

A paper in Atlanta called it

Evil Dead:
The Sickest of the Sick.

Sam Raimi took every bad idea
he's ever had..."

Ever had.
He only made one movie.

"...and put it into
a low-budget blender."

I'm like, "What a dick.
What a dickish thing to say."

But this new kind
of filmmaking,

one that threw in everything

audiences come to love
about horror films--

the campy special effects,
ham-fisted dialogue,

and handsome action hero--

impressed the one guy
that mattered.

Enter Stephen King.

He sees it
at the Cannes Film Festival.

It's a horror movie.
Let's go see it.

And he writes an article
in Twilight Zone Magazine

and calls it
"the most ferociously original

horror film of the year."

We spit our coffee.
We're like, "Wait a second.

Stephen King said that?"

And I don't even know
how we tracked him down.

But, "Sir, could we please--
please, can we use that quote?"

He goes, "Yeah."

We were like, "Oh, my God."

So that's on the poster
to this day.

Stephen King--
I mean, what an endorsement.

Evil Dead was banned
in most countries

and slashed by censors.

It was also on
the video nasties list.

Sam Raimi made Evil Dead
as this homespun,

guttural exploitation film,

and it's really freaking scary.

We forget about how scary
the original Evil Dead is

in light of Evil Dead II
and Army of Darkness

and everything to come.

But that first film
was horrifying.

It's violent.

The decision to make
a completely carnage-filled

horror movie was also
a business decision of like,

"We don't want to get lost
in the shuffle.

We have to--
This has to be, like,

something people
remember when they watch it."

Aaah!

The Evil Dead was a hit.

Audiences ate it up,

and Sam Raimi had a franchise
on his hands.

My theory is that horror works.

It's one of the few genres
that can get

an audience to react viscerally.

You know, after we put
the first Evil Dead out,

we would sit in movie theaters
to watch it play with audiences.

And we didn't care about
the movie after a while.

It was, we just watched
the audience.

You'd see a couple, they got
a jacket over their head,

and they're screening the movie

through their sleeve
of the jacket,

'cause they only want to see
parts of the screen.

They love that feeling
that they got of like,

"I'm dead. I'm gonna be dead."

And then after the movie,
"I'm not dead."

It's probably very cathartic,
why horror works.

As if teenagers didn't
already have enough to fear

in their waking hours,

Wes Craven came up
with something

even more terrifying
to torture their subconscious.

We think of
Nightmare on Elm Street

as being mainstream now,

but it was a bit alternative
back in the day.

I think the original fans
were dorm rats

passing around
the same old video

and heavy-metal kids

and then their brothers
and sisters

or their younger brothers
and sisters,

and then, you know,
it just began

to permeate the entire culture.

The idea for
A Nightmare on Elm Street

came to Wes Craven
after he read stories

about healthy young adults
screaming incoherently

before dying in their sleep,
a mysterious disorder

that came to be known
as Nocturnal Death Syndrome.

Craven conjured up
the story of a villain

that terrorizes you
in your sleep.

And if you die in your dream,
you're done for.

While writing the script,

Craven named the nightmare
killer after a childhood bully,

Fred Krueger.

Nightmare on Elm Street
started on a Friday.

And I couldn't get anyone
to go see it with me,

'cause I wanted to see it,
like, at noon

and nobody would go
and see it with me.

So I had to go see it by myself.

And, of course,
who's in the theater at noon?

Nobody. Me. Just me.

So I'm sitting
in the theater by myself,

and I'm in Greenville,
North Carolina.

And I start watching
this movie,

and I get so scared...

Shit.

...and I get a cramp
in my leg.

I had to walk up and down
the aisle

'cause I wouldn't
leave the theater.

I had to see
what was gonna happen.

And I changed seats
and I moved closer to the exit.

And, I mean, I was terrified.
That movie really scared me.

It actually scared me
the first three times I saw it.

I had to go back
and see it again,

and it scared me almost more so
than the first time

because I knew
what was gonna happen,

so I was scared
before it happened.

That movie was awesome.

Nightmare on Elm Street
is about a serial killer,

Freddy Krueger, who haunts you
in your dreams, you know?

And he is-- he's taken revenge
on the children of Elm Street

for something
that their parents did.

And he comes to them
in their dreams,

and if you die in your dreams,
you die for real.

Dreams are a safe place.

Dreams are where
fun things happen.

Dreams are where you wake up
and it's over.

And the idea that
whatever taunts you

and stalks you in your dreams
can come to reality,

or if you die in your dreams,
you die for good--

I mean, that's beyond
your control. That's terrifying.

As a horror theme
and as a trap,

the nightmares-- the dream,
the bad dream, the gimmick--

it's universal.

To have also it inhabited

by this man
that lives in that world...

this boogieman
that inhabits the dream,

once you've heard of him,
you know,

he can get to
your subconscious...

Who are you?

...and take you down,
down the stairs

into the nightmare
boiler room.

That movie had
such a deep impact on me.

Took place in the suburbs.

I grew up in the suburbs,
newly integrated suburbs.

So there was sort of a feeling
of unease.

You didn't know how
your neighbors felt about you.

You didn't know
what would pop off.

We had people throwing tomatoes
against our house

and all kinds of stuff.

So the suburban horror feel
had me from hello.

Wes wanted that.

He wanted this sort of
damaged suburbia.

And he was making the adults
in these movies

vulnerable and flawed.

That meant the kids were sort of
without adults for advice.

It really dealt with the sins
of our fathers.

I mean, these children
were pretty innocent.

It was what their parents did

that they were
being punished for.

It was out of their control.

This man was coming for them

because of something
their parents did.

So that sort of
"sins of our father" theme

that ran through that movie,
I thought was really scary.

There's something about the way
Freddy moves

that's animal-like,
that's cat-like,

that's even reptilian at times.

And I think that
that's what I bring

to sort of Freddy's
scare factor.

The claw with the knife fingers

on the old gardening glove--

that not only manifests great
in silhouette and shadow,

but it's something about it
extending evil

or amplifying the evil
that is just Freddy.

That is the scariest thing--
those knives,

the taunting nature
of his attacks.

Freddy Krueger definitely
was my scariest villain.

The push is on
to find a cure for AIDS.

Since June of 1981, about 1,800
cases have been reported,

mostly in the gay community,

and more than 600 people
have died.

In the early '80s,
nothing was more terrifying

than an unidentified virus

that could incubate
in the body for years

and, when it struck,
was a death sentence.

There was panic in the air
as the AIDS epidemic

decimated a generation
of gay men.

During the process, many people
lost their sense of compassion

and replaced it with homophobia.

And AIDS generally caused

and believed to be caused
by homosexual promiscuity.

While doctors tried
desperately to save lives

and scientists pieced together
how to fight it,

the Reagan administration
ignored the crisis.

But horror filmmakers did not.

When I moved to
New York in the early '80s,

AIDS did not exist
in anybody's awareness.

And then there was this thing
called "gay cancer"

in the Village, which just
seems arbitrary and strange.

And then suddenly
it had a name-- AIDS.

And then suddenly
people were dying.

And it was
a slow-motion horror movie.

I'd been diagnosed
with AIDS-related complex

for two and a half years now,

and there's absolutely no drug
I can take,

and I'm slowly getting worse
and worse.

That's why we're here,
to make a point.

It took something
which was potent and magical

at that point-- sexuality--

and mixed it with
the possibility of death.

I was just coming into my own
as an adult

during the AIDS crisis,
and I moved to New York,

where The Village Voice was
writing all of these articles

on the lack of response
the government had

towards the AIDS crisis,
and all these people were dying.

You know, you were like,

"Is being my true self
gonna kill me?"

The political climate was such

that they didn't even
speak of it.

And so AIDS
was a very terrifying thing

because there was so much
that was unknown about it.

It is hard to explain to people

who didn't live through
the AIDS crisis how bad it was.

AIDS is surreptitiously spreading

throughout our population,

and yet we have no accurate
measure of its scope.

I've asked the Department
of Health and Human Services

to add the AIDS virus

to the list
of contagious diseases

for which immigrants and aliens
seeking permanent residence

in the United States
can be denied entry.

You had people in Congress

saying you could get AIDS
from mosquitoes,

water fountains,
someone spitting at you.

You had idiots like me
believing stories

that someone at the mall
was gonna scratch me

with a needle and give me AIDS.

We were out of our minds
with panic.

Movies like The Thing
and The Fly

acted as a release valve
for the feelings of helplessness

against a killer
no one could see.

And you find
that vampire fiction pops up

and gets super popular
when there's a disease around.

Fright Night is
a perfect example,

which really encapsulates
all those fears of the sexually,

you know, dick-slinging dude
who lives next door.

Like, what's
he's spreading around?

When I did Fright Night,
which would have been in '84,

uh, there was just
some kind of disease

that seemed to be affecting
a lot of gays,

but nobody knew why.

I was losing gay friends
that I loved.

And I lost somebody
that I really cared about.

But we-- it was a sickness.

We knew it, but we didn't know
what the hell it was.

People were starting to die.

But the word "AIDS"
was not around.

You don't have to be
afraid of me.

I know what it's like
being different.

Only they won't pick on you
anymore or beat you up.

I'll see to that.

All you have to do
is take my hand.

When I had Evil Ed,

and Jerry says,
"Take my hand"--

Jerry Dandridge, the vampire,
says, to Evil Ed, the boy,

"Take my hand and I'll make sure
they never bother you

or bully you in school again,"

and that was speaking
to every gay kid out there

that felt different and
that couldn't come out about it.

I put the gay overtones into it.

Billy Cole's relationship
with Jerry Dandridge--

he's the Guardian, the ghoul,

the one who protects him
during the day.

But they could be lovers.
Who knows?

What are you--

All that was in there
and it was meant

to promote tolerance, you know,

but in the day when
that was not fashionable at all.

So, yes, that was in there,
and that was because

I was touched and I was moved
because I was losing friends.

Horror movies
are where we talk about

what we don't want to talk about
in day-to-day life--

outcasts and marginalized people
who society feared.

And I think it's a very,
very short step sideways

to get to gay men and the fear
of them during the AIDS crisis

and how sex and death
and marginalized people

were all linked together.

When I came out
with Fright Night,

it was about vampires,

and I went around
with everybody,

all the studios were saying
to me, "Vampires?

Nobody wants to see vampires."

Because nobody wants to see
vampire killers anymore,

or vampires either.

Apparently all they want
are demented madmen

running around in ski masks,
hacking up young virgins.

The vampire genre
was dead and buried.

One of the things that's
also really interesting

about vampires is they're
the monster that looks like us.

They live amongst us undetected.

Hello, Charlie.

We don't know
if our neighbor is a vampire.

I mean, they don't
go outdoors at night.

There are no mirrors
in their house.

They don't cast a shadow.

There's something very funny
at the idea of that--

of a boy,
of a teenage horror fan

trying to convince the police,
his mother, his friends,

that there is a vampire
living next door.

That's a funny idea.

You hear that idea,
and you smile and giggle.

They did kill a girl
over there.

How late did you
stay up studying?

Mom, I'm not sick!

The guy did have fangs,

and a bat did
fly over my head,

and a second later,
he stepped out of the shadows.

Don't you see
what that means?

Wait, let me guess.

What?

He's a vampire.

A what?

If you look at Fright Night,

it's Charley Brewster,
the kid next door,

trying to stop
the bloodsucker next door.

And his girlfriend is in danger
of being seduced.

But the real hero's journey
is Peter Vincent.

Peter Vincent's
a great vampire killer

because he's a ham actor
and his whole life

is built on
what he considers a lie.

Vampire killers?
There are no vampires.

That's the most ridiculous thing
in the world, and then...

- Come on, let's get out of here.
- Just a minute.

That goes for you,
too, Ed.

I expect we have a lot
of the same interests,

you know, in horror movies
and the occult.

Something wrong,
Mr. Vincent?

Peter Vincent rises
to the occasion.

He goes in with Charley
into the Dandridge house

to do battle
with the most ferocious vampire

and his ghoulish assistant,
Billy Cole.

He finds his courage.
He's The Cowardly Lion.

He does that
because he likes the kids.

He likes Charley,
and he likes Amy.

And if he doesn't help them,

Jerry Dandridge is gonna
turn her into a vampire.

A horror movie is effective
in direct proportion

to how much you care
about the people

whose lives are in danger.

Ah! Ah!

Aaaah!

No!

In 1987, the criticism
of aggressive capitalism

in the Oliver Stone film
Wall Street

was somewhat lost on a public

that saw glamour and status
in the pursuit of more money

or drugs or cars or everything,

a culture
that celebrated excess.

But horror films like
Poltergeist and Society

made their own commentary

about America's
conspicuous consumerism

and economic inequality.

Just a year after Wall Street
was released,

They Live tackled
America's existential crisis

of averse and greed

and the conflict between
the haves and the have nots.

I have come here to chew
bubble gum and kick ass.

And I'm all out of bubble gum.

My favorite two films
are The Shining and They Live.

Like, the first time I ever
heard of They Live

was a friend of mine
in middle school,

and he couldn't remember
the name of the movie.

But he kept telling me about--
he's like,

"There's this film
where this guy,

he puts on a pair of sunglasses
and he sees aliens."

And I thought he was completely
making it up.

I've got one that can see.

They Live is sort of a movie

that's light-years
ahead of its time.

It's really a film about
the reality that we live in.

They Live is incredibly
about Reaganomics.

Like, that is the focus of it.

We see this guy.
He is working-class.

He's going from gig to gig,
trying to start-- find jobs.

The movie even opens with him
in kind of an encampment

in downtown L.A.,
trying to find another gig

and figure out what's next.

And through a course of events,

he happens upon
a pair of sunglasses

that literally reveal
the world to him

and show him that everything

that he has believed
about society is utter shit.

You're always looking
for a visual way in movies

to get your point across.

And in this case, in They Live,

I wanted to show the difference

between the reality
that we all live in

and the reality that exists
for the aliens,

which is very different.

So I came up with sunglasses.

What's your problem?

With the glasses on,
you see the truth.

You take the glasses off,
it's all deception.

I said,
what's your problem?

The first time I saw

you know, the reveal,
it's like,

"That shit's creepy."

I was like, you know,
"What was the inspiration

for that," you know?
And I asked John and he said,

"Well, it came to me
in a dream one night,"

and I said, "Whoa. I don't want
to be in your head."

Well, the role in They Live
of John Nada

was a working man.

He was a guy who works
with his hands.

He was working poor.

So a movie star-type guy
doesn't-- I don't believe.

But Roddy I believed
'cause he came from the streets.

He had some mileage on him.

He was perfect for the role.

Frank and Nada met
as two homeless guys.

There's a place
over on Fourth Street.

They got hot food
and showers.

I'm going that way
if you want me to show you.

And what we represented
was the working homeless.

Nobody ever talks about that.

But there are a lot of guys
who are homeless.

They just can't afford housing.

It reeks of how our government
does not take care of us.

In the richest country
in the world,

still you have all this,
you know,

devastating homelessness.

You have, you know,
a lot of haves.

And nobody wants to deal
with the have nots.

They Live doesn't feel like
a lot of '80s horror films,

because when we look at 1980s,
what we're seeing

is these really flashy
horror films,

and they're about
upper middle-class kids

who are ripped from their,
you know, fancy lives

and forced to deal
with a killer.

But They Live is talking about
poor society from the beginning.

It's a marginalized group who is
fighting this massive machine.

Look, you crazy mother--

- Put these on.
- Hey! Stay away from me.

I'm telling you,
you dumb son of a--

I think, like, the thing
that I found most impressive

about the film initially
was the big fight scene...

...that they just did this long
sequence without any music,

and it's just these characters
beating up each other.

I don't want to fight you.
Stop it!

No!

Roddy Piper,
the actor who plays John Nada,

is a professional wrestler.

And what better opportunity
than to do a very long,

involved, extended fight scene?

And Keith David was his costar,

and Keith was absolutely
ready to go.

So they rehearsed
for a month and a half,

and in the backyard
of our office.

Jeff Imada
was the stunt coordinator,

and he worked with them,
and they came up

with this big fight,

and we shot it in an alley,
downtown L.A.

God, we had a good time.

I loved working on that fight.
It was great.

The worst part was fighting
in that stinky-ass alleyway.

They had to put rubber
on the floor

and paint it like it
was the ground

so we wouldn't have to be
on a nasty, you know--

'cause downtown L.A. is no fun.

Fuck!

And it wasn't until years later
that I looked at that

and I realized
that the reason that works

is because it's not
a pointless fight scene,

is that that's a fight scene
that represents

sort of the reality we live in.

It represents the differences
in people's political beliefs

and the fact that you can't
change somebody's mind

in a very simple way.

That's the American way.

They want us to fight
with each other.

But our cause is common.

They pit the poor Black man
against the poor white man

and tell them that he's better
than him, he deserves--

when, you know, together,
you're far more powerful

than you are apart.

They Live is about what happens
in our American society

when greed is unchecked...

and the society loses
its core values.

The underground
terrorist network

has been destroyed
here on the west coast.

Well, I've tried to avoid
statements in my movies

since I think they don't work.

But in this case,
in the case of "They Live,"

I was so fed up
with Reaganomics.

What I mean by that
is unrestrained capitalism.

It was a cry in the darkness

because Reagan was
enormously popular

and no one else
saw things the way I did.

And I just had to.
I had to do it.

- ...like shit.
- What happened?

So that's what They Live
is about.

It's about [chuckles] the fact

that Reaganism
is controlled by aliens.

-
- You're moving on.

Hey, what's wrong, baby?

By the late '80s,
after a decade of hits,

the great slasher franchises

seemed to have
burned themselves out.

The genre seemingly stalled.

By the early 1990s,
Gen-Xers turned disinterest

into a cultural trend.

Disaffected and cynical,

the so-called
"slacker generation"

was bored of everything,
including genre films.

The horror movie tropes
were played out.

Audiences knew all the rules,

or at least
they thought they did.

Well, I'm getting ready
to watch a video.

Really? What?

Oh, just some scary movie.

- You like scary movies?
- Uh-huh.

In 1996,
I was working on my PhD

at Florida State University.

There was a knock on my door.

A guy I know from class,
he said,

"Hey, man,
I'm taking you to a movie."

And I said, "No, I'm halfway
through a story.

I gotta do this," and he said,
"No, I'm taking you to a movie."

And it was Scream.

Why do you want to know my name?

'Cause I want to know
who I'm looking at.

And I was there myself alone
for the next six nights.

I saw Scream seven nights
in the theater,

in its first run, I guess.

And ever since then, I watch it
probably every four weeks,

if not more.

I think it is fairly genius.

Is this some kind of joke?

More of a game, really.

The idea for Scream
was a little twofold.

I wrote a one-act play
in college about a young girl

on the phone
with a serial killer,

and it just sat in a box
and nothing ever happened to it.

And I forgot all about it,
and then years later,

I was housesitting for a friend,
and I walked into the den

and I saw
that the window was open.

And I went, "Has this window
been open the whole time?"

And I got so terrified
and called a friend of mine up.

And I said, "All right,
I think someone's in the house."

So I got a knife
and I walked through the house,

just like a final girl,

and I was looking through the--
in the shower.

I was looking under the bed.
I was looking in the closet.

And I got so scared,
and my friend was on the phone,

going...

Terrifying me, scared.

And then we got into this
big debate about horror films,

and then I went, "Oh!

I wrote a comedy about this
in college."

And so I dug it out
and I brushed it off.

That was the first scene.

Scream was another one of
those kind of like, you know,

touchstone kind of horror movies
for me growing up,

one of the best theatrical
experiences I ever had.

And I was so blown away
by especially the first

like six or seven minutes
or whatever it is

with Drew Barrymore.

Drew Barrymore opening up
a horror film

and then dying, you know,
in 10 minutes--

that was unprecedented.

That's the alternate ending
to the movie.

She lives.

It was a calculated risk,
and we didn't know whether

the audience would even
forgive us for that.

They did, thankfully.
But yeah.

It was a very risky film
in many, many ways.

That first opening scene
was like, I think--

I think still probably
one of the best sequences

in any movie,
not just horror movies.

It's one of my favorite
of all time.

I think that the film resonated
with a large audience

because it was this beautiful
blend of camp and culture.

It felt extremely relevant.

Okay, bye now.

If you hang up on me, you'll die
just like your mother!

I remember my parents--

like, when my dad
got a cellphone in the car,

like, that was, like,
mind-blowing, you know?

Like, the killer having
a cellphone in your yard?

It's like, what?

Like, that is brand-new
for the killer to be like

also really, like,
technologically savvy.

Horrifying.

Before Scream, slasher movies
had kind of existed

in a side world where there were
no slasher movies.

What Scream did was it allowed

that Halloween existed,
that Jason Voorhees existed,

that this whole history
of slashers existed.

And, to me,
that was revolutionary.

You know, Scream was sort of
the first movie

that I feel like actually talked
about horror movies so openly

and allowed them to be exposed.

There are certain rules
that one must abide by

in order to successfully
survive a horror movie.

The rules of horror--
I had the luxury of the '80s.

I had the luxury
of all the tropes.

When I went into Scream,
I was able to look

at all the movies
that had come before it

and sort of acknowledge them.

Scream revitalized the genre.

The meta, self-referential winks
and nods to the horror films

the audience
had grown up watching

thrilled fans
and sparked renewed interest

in scary movies.

Scream treated its audience
with respect

by acknowledging
all the clichés of the genre

and then using them anyway
to scare the hell out of them.

Once again, clever filmmakers
were elevating

and refreshing the form,

and the audience
was the true winner.

You know, what I love
about Scream

is that it's a love letter
to the genre,

but it's a love letter
that calls out the formula,

the conventions,
the excess of the genre.

But it's not the kind of parody

that undercuts
and seeks to destroy.

It's a kind of parody that hopes
to burn off the excess

and let the genre
move through better.

This is the moment
when the supposedly dead killer

comes back to life
for one last scare.

Ah!

Not in my movie.

I think Scream, because
it was able to summarize

all the great things
that we loved about these movies

and kind of also do a really
good version of that itself,

it's almost like the genre
really peaked there

because, you know, after Scream,

there wasn't a ton to say
'cause they kind of said it all.

They at least summarized it.

First test screening we had,

and the only test screening
we had,

the test scores
went through the roof.

I just had the feeling
filming certain scenes

that this was extraordinary
stuff, you know?

I had no idea
how big it would be.

I had no idea
its everlasting impression

or its everlasting effect
that it would have on horror.

I just wrote a movie
I wanted to see.

I was just trying
to get noticed.

I was just trying
to get a career.

I just wanted to tell a story.

I wanted to tell a horror story.

It's been always my goal
to do my Halloween.

I look back at it as just
a bunch of memories, you know?

It was all my memories
with Wes Craven.

He was always a mentor to me.

He was always selfless
and giving of his time,

and he always had answers
to my questions.

I remember asking him, like,

"What does it feel like
to be the master of horror?"

And he would look at me and go,
"I don't know.

You should ask John Carpenter."

I think horror is
a funhouse mirror

that reflects society's
anxieties and dreads back at us.

Horror is most vital
in times of stress,

be it political, economic,
environmental, whatever it is.

I think horror is always
a pulse on our society.

It never really goes away,
you know?

So horror stories allow us
to process through

from beginning to end

of whatever the bad experiences
in our life.

Horror lets us imagine

a light at the end
of the tunnel.