Movie Marathon #25: Friday the 13th
Now, of the Big Three of Horror- Nightmare on Elm Street, Halloween, and this- Friday the Thirteenth is by far my favourite.
Why? Specifically, I could tell you. Sean S. Cunningham (or S.S. Cunningham as I like to call him-get it? Hur hur.) isn’t the most superbly gifted of directors, but there’s somethign innatley charming about his pretty neo-conservative fumble into the Dead Teenagers category.
And there it is: why FT13 is one of the most influential horror films ever. It really kicked off that idea of teenagers rolling around in debauchery, rubbing themselves up on one another with a bong dangling out their back pocket and, hell, I don’t know, a bikini in clashing colours. Basically, the wildest bastards you could imagine, the type of teenagers who really barely exist in the real world (and, when you meet them, what ragingly awful wanks they are), and THEY’RE GETTING MURDERED! Is there anything more life-afirmingly brilliant than that?
The scares are moderatley scary, the sex is moderatley sexy, the plot is moderatley….plot-ty. Essentially, it’s overall an average film-surprisingly good at ratcheting up the tension to truly unbearable levels- with a really good ending and lots of campy campfire fun in between. It’s delightfully cheap in the way it approaches horror-not as something to be revered and tiptoed around, but as something that should be cheap, shocking, gory and gross. Hence why I’ll always be setting sail on the S.S. Cunningham. No, not light that. Urgh.