The Texas Chain Saw Massacre – often listed as The Texas Chainsaw Massacre – is a 1973 [released 1974] American horror feature film directed and produced by Tobe Hooper (Invaders from Mars; The Funhouse; Poltergeist; Lifeforce) from a screenplay co-written with Kim Henkel (Butcher Boys; Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Next Generation).
Although it was marketed as a true story to attract a wider audience and as a subtle commentary on the era’s political climate, its plot is entirely fictional; however the character of Leatherface and minor plot details were inspired by the crimes of real-life murderer Ed Gein, who was also the inspiration for Psycho (1960) and Deranged (1974).
In Texas, a group of young friends falls victim to a family of cannibals while on their way to visit an old homestead…
Hooper produced the film for less than $300,000 and used a cast of relatively unknown actors drawn mainly from central Texas, where the film was shot. The limited budget forced Hooper to film for long hours in sweltering temperatures seven days a week so that he could finish as quickly as possible and reduce equipment rental costs.
Due to the film’s violent content, Hooper struggled to find a distributor. Louis Perano of Bryanston Pictures eventually purchased the distribution rights. Hooper apparently limited the quantity of onscreen gore in hopes of securing a ‘PG’ rating (!), but the Motion Picture Association of America (MPAA) rated it ‘R’. The film faced similar difficulties internationally.
Upon its October 1974 release, The Texas Chain Saw Massacre was banned outright in several countries, and numerous cinemas later stopped showing the film in response to complaints about its violence. While it initially drew a mixed reception from critics, it was enormously profitable, grossing over $30 million at the domestic box office.
It has since gained a reputation as one of the most influential horror films in cinema history. It is credited with originating several elements common in the slasher genre, including the use of power tools as murder weapons and the characterisation of the killer as a large, hulking, faceless figure. The popularity of the film led to a franchise that continued the legacy of Leatherface and his family through sequels, remakes, comic books, video games, toys and action figures.
If, for any reason, you don’t own this film or haven’t seen it, you need to rectify that immediately. The Texas Chain Saw Massacre is the best horror film ever made. I could argue that it is the best film of any genre, if I felt so inclined. It’s a film that essentially reinvented the genre, putting into place elements that have long since become clichés (and yet still work with powerful effect here) and offering a structural style that the best of the genre have tried to copy but never quite matched.
The Texas Chain Saw Massacre takes the reinvented modern day realism that the genre moved towards in the 1970s and grafts it onto a new form of delirious gothic grandeur, and it is relentlessly, insanely horrifying – and absurdly funny. No other movie – not even Tobe Hooper’s own out-of-control sequel – comes close to matching the sheer levels of hysteria and madness shown here, and no film so perfectly manipulates the audience from the opening moments, bringing them to such a state of expectation that when the horror actually kicks in, it’s almost a relief.
The opening moments of the film are a textbook exercise in setting the audience on edge. The text scroll and voice over, calmly telling us that bad things are going to happen to everyone in the movie and implying that this is a true story (without ever saying so) give way to camera flashes of decayed body parts and that noise – a discordant, startling sound that is somewhere between an animal squeal and scraping metal.
Cut to wired up, rotting corpses that remain the most grotesque ever seen on film and a radio report about “grave robbing in Texas” before we then go to the opening titles or sun flares and Wayne Bell’s industrial score (the most vital, unsettling and entirely essential score in cinema history, Bell’s music is nearer sound effect than traditional score, and is a massively important part of what makes the film work – replacing it would be a crippling act of cultural vandalism). This is the most jaw-droppingly powerful opening in film history.
The film continues to set us up to expect the worst. Even as we meet the characters – Sally Hardesty (Marilyn Burns), her wheelchair bound and whiney annoying brother Franklin (Paul Partain), boyfriend Jerry (Allen Danziger) and friends Kirk (William Vail) and Pam (Terri McMinn) – we hear a radio news report that is nothing but a series of atrocities – death, murder, mutilation and assault. The film is letting us know that the events that are about to unfold are not even that unusual in 1974 America.
The kids are investigating whether Sally’s grandfather has been dug up in the grave robbing atrocities and checking out the old family farmhouse, now entirely dilapidated. En route, they pass the local slaughterhouses and pick up a hitchhiker (Edwin Neal). He’s an odd sort, to say the least – a grotesque birthmark on half his face and a personality that hovers between harmlessly sub-normal and dangerously psychotic. When he slices his own hand open with a knife, starts a fire in the van and cuts Franklin with a razor, the audience is already reeling. If this is the set up, what the hell is coming next?
It’s a smart move from director Hooper and co-writer Kim Henkel, because this is already unlike anything that horror movie audiences would have seen before. It’s also one of the goriest moments in the film (despite its reputation, this is a remarkably bloodless movie) and this sets the audience up to think they have seen far more than they actually have. It’s a sequence that further puts the viewer on edge, expecting the very worst. The film further sets us on edge by cutting scenes abruptly, sometimes almost mid-word, giving it a breathless quality that wallows in your subconscious.
But Hooper doesn’t need overt acts of violence to build up the tension and the feelings of growing disgust. A mass of daddy long legs in the corner of a room, or a few unidentified bones lying around will do the job just as well. Hooper can make a simple shot of Franklin trying to get his wheelchair over a door entrance seem almost unbearably stressful at this point, and so when Kirk and Pam head out to a long dried out swimming hole and then spot a farmhouse where they could hopefully buy some gas, the audience is already at breaking point.
Still, no one was ready for what came next. As Kirk enters the house and wanders towards a doorway – squealing noises on the soundtrack, animal skulls on the wall – Leatherface (Gunnar Hansen) appears, lifts a hammer, smacks Kirk in the head and then drags his twitching body through the doorway before slamming a steel door shut. Bang! The single most apocalyptic moment in horror film history, right there. It all happens so quickly that the viewer barely has time to recover from the shock before it’s over. Horror films just didn’t do that. They still don’t.
From this point onwards, it’s essentially full throttle madness. Pam enters the house and stumbles into the bone room – a room full of bones, teeth and feathers (and a caged chicken hanging from the ceiling), some of which are being made into furniture – before Leatherface grabs her and hangs her on a hook to wait her turn as he chainsaws Kirk into bite sized pieces. Then Jerry shows up looking for them and is also despatched. At this point, you feel for Leatherface, as he panics, wondering where the hell all these people are actually coming from all of a sudden (it’s easy to assume, as other Chainsaw films did, that Leatherface could be played by any big guy in a mask, but Hansen actually gives an intelligent, nuanced performance throughout the film).
Finally, the bickering Sally and Franklin go in search of their missing friends, and Franklin is made short work of by Leatherface, who then chases Sally through the woods as she screams… and screams… and screams. In fact, Sally rarely stops screaming for the rest of the movie, first hiding out in the death house before escaping (one of two jumps through a glass window for her) and then making her way to the service station that we’d seen earlier.
Back then, the proprietor (Jim Siedow) had explained that he was out of gas and offered what would soon be the advice given in every rural horror movie, namely not to hang around or go poking about in other people’s property (so the kids can hardly say they weren’t warned!). Unfortunately for Sally, her rescuer is part of the same crazy family that includes Leatherface, the Hitchhiker and ancient Grandpa (John Dugan), and soon she finds herself tied to a chair as guest of honour at the world’s worst dinner party, tormented, mocked and abused.
This is perhaps the most relentlessly insane scene in cinema history. Apparently as hellish and hysterical to shoot as it is to watch, it’s a non-stop series of screaming, howling and psychological torture, with Hooper and cinematographer Daniel Pearl filling the screen with close-us of Sally’s teary eyeball as the soundtrack becomes ever more intense. It feels like it will never stop. It’s the ultimate horror movie experience because it pulls you directly into the experience. You can almost smell it, the atmosphere is so potent. When Grandpa is handed a hammer that he can barely hold to kill Sally, the film reaches a new level of delirium.
It’s entirely understandable that audiences in 1974, for whom this was all very new, would react so physically to the film. Sally’s second escape leads to the film’s finale, and it’s a shock to realise that all this hasn’t been taking place in some isolated place – they are right next to a highway and it’s broad daylight. Her ordeal has lasted all night. The final shot, a frustrated Leatherface waving his chainsaw insanely before a sudden cut to black, is iconic and unforgettable. And it offers us no respite from what has gone before. We know he’s still out there.
It’s hard to find fault with The Texas Chain Saw Massacre. It really is the perfect horror film. And while the movie has a lot of dark humour, none of it seems forced or awkward, and all fits within the demented family dynamic of the story that it’s unsurprising that it went over the heads of most audiences at the time. Lots of the comedy is rather subtle, too, like the service station attendant who continually gets up to wash the van whenever Siedow’s character returns to offer more advice to the passengers (and they really should’ve listened to him).
Some people have scoffed at the acting in The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, but this is actually a film full of great performances. Siedow is astonishing as the ostensibly more stable of the family, torn between enjoying the killing and being more responsible, usually within the same moments. His ability to be both disapproving and excited almost at the same time is fantastic, and he provides much of the film’s humour with his continual outrage (“you damn fool, you’ve ruined the door!”) and genuine creepiness. Neal is as horrible and creepy a character as you could ever want to see on screen, and Partain does a great job of being absolutely annoying, yet still somehow sympathetic. He’s far from the ‘sentimentalised cripple’ we tend to see in movies, and while we might feel for him when the others mock or neglect him, it’s easy to understand why they might find him continually annoying.
As for Marilyn Burns, what can you say? When you talk about gutsy actors, she should surely come close to the top of the list. She spends much of the film running and screaming, covered in blood or being thrown around and beaten up. Her hysterics are worryingly convincing and she essentially sets a standard that no Final Girl has come close to matching. Every aspect of this film is like a master class in horror cinema. Yet there is something here – some indefinable moment – that can’t be copied, which is why no-one has come close to making anything like this since.
David Flint, MOVIES and MANIA
“It’s notable only for taking woman-in-jeopardy about as far as she can go. The three men are despatched unceremoniously, and the women (bra-less and hotpants respectively), their screams rising into orgasms of fear, are toyed with endlessly while the camera often assumes a pointedly aggressive stance. Pernicious stuff…” Chris Petit, Time Out London
“This is, without doubt, the most frightening and macabre shocker I have ever seen.” Evening News ” … what appals me about this film is its lack of purpose; if ever a film should be banned this is it.” Daily Mail “The fact that it is rather efficiently and effectively done only makes the film more unpalatable.” The Times
“Horror had never been this raw before, and it could be argued that it hasn’t since, the sheer grimy ugliness of the piece leading some to walk out, others to cry sadism and many more to acclaim the film as a modern masterpiece; horror in its purest, most unforgiving form. Sequels and remakes have come thick and fast, but nothing will ever match your first encounter with the original and its brutal, hammer-over-the-head power.” Tom Huddleston, Time Out London
Cast and characters:
- Marilyn Burns … Sally
- Allen Danziger … Jerry
- Paul A. Partain … Franklin
- William Vail … Kirk
- Teri McMinn … Pam
- Edwin Neal … Hitchhiker
- Jim Siedow … Old Man
- Gunnar Hansen … Leatherface
- John Dugan … Grandfather
- Robert Courtin … Window Washer
- William Creamer … Bearded Man
- John Henry Faulk … Storyteller
- Jerry Green … Cowboy
- Ed Guinn … Cattle Truck Driver
- Joe Bill Hogan … Drunk
- Perry Lorenz … Pick Up Driver
- John Larroquette … Narration (voice)
- Levie Isaacks … Radio Announcer (uncredited)
- 83 minutes | 88 minutes (unrated version)
- Aspect ratio: 1.85:1
- Audio: Mono
The Texas Chain Saw Massacre: The Film That Terrified a Rattled Nation is a 2019 book by Joseph Lanza from Skyhorse Publishing, available now in hardcover and e-book.
The 304-page book examines the cultural impact of Tobe Hooper and Kim Henkel‘s classic horror movie, The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, detailing how and why it connected with so many viewers upon its release in 1974.
“When Tobe Hooper’s low-budget slasher film, The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, opened in theaters in 1974, it was met in equal measure with disgust and reverence. The film—in which a group of teenagers meet a gruesome end when they stumble upon a ramshackle farmhouse of psychotic killers—was outright banned in several countries and was pulled from many American theaters after complaints of its violence.
Despite the mixed reception from critics, it was enormously profitable at the domestic box office and has since secured its place as one of the most influential horror movies ever made. In The Texas Chain Saw Massacre: The Film That Terrified a Rattled Nation, cultural critic Joseph Lanza turns his attentions to the production, reception, social climate, and impact of this controversial movie that rattled the American psyche.
Joseph Lanza transports the reader back to the tumultuous era of the 1970s defined by political upheaval, cultural disillusionment, and the perceived decay of the nuclear family in the wake of Watergate, the onslaught of serial killers in the US, as well as mounting racial and sexual tensions.
The Texas Chain Saw Massacre: The Film That Terrified a Rattled Nation sets the themes of the film against the backdrop of the political and social American climate to understand why the brutal slasher flick connected with so many viewers. As much a book about the movie as the moment, Joseph Lanza has created an engaging and nuanced work that grapples with the complications of the American experience.”