The texas chain saw massacre jim siedow
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And the film isn’t afraid to reduce its repetitiveness to absurdity either, as when Sally twice jumps through a window in an effort to elude Leatherface (Gunnar Hansen). Later, she runs circles around their rural farmhouse. At the level of the plotline, Sally (Marilyn Burns) circles back to the Last Chance gas station where she beseeches the Old Man (Jim Siedow) for help, only to have him turn out to be one of the cannibal clan. The fierce red sun that dominates the opening credits is visually matched late in the film by repeated close-ups of red-veined eyeballs. Likewise, we can discern an almost totemistic attitude in the “artworks” and furniture that the cannibal family constructs out of their victims’ remains.Ĭircularity and repetition are important structural components throughout The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Nevertheless, it continues to crop up in the primitivism exhibited by the hitchhiker (Edwin Neal) who’d rather ritualistically incinerate an unwanted Polaroid than leave it behind as “evidence,” and who proceeds to mark the kids’ van with some sort of inscrutably bloody sigil. Such a pseudoscientific worldview ultimately may prove a red herring. Certainly the fixed date we’re supplied (August 13, 1973) suggests something portentous, even as the pre-credits crawl ponderously narrated by John Larroquette lends a false sense of veracity to events that are really nothing more than a brutal and blackly humorous riff on Hansel and Gretel. However, as the opening credits and early dialogue intimate, the fault may be in our stars as well as in ourselves: Images of massive solar flares and selections read from an astrological almanac indicate that time itself is out of joint. The film has achieved the perfect storm necessary for enduring notoriety: It’s a masterwork that flawlessly mirrors the time and place of its origin, while, at the same time, remaining one for the ages, thanks to its uncanny power of nearly subliminal suggestion, avant-garde editing and sound design, and its uncompromising vision of an American consumerist society run amok.
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Not even the onslaught of sequels (the first of which, also under Hooper’s direction, is actually kind of brilliant), rip-offs (Juan Piquer Simón’s batshit Pieces being one of the looniest), and a couple of pitiful stabs at a remake could manage such a seemingly impossible task. Four decades haven’t blunted the cutting edge of Tobe Hooper’s The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.