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Wes Craven

Scream masked killer with bloody knife
Posted on October 26, 2021

How Scream (1996) Takes a Stab at White American Masculinity

Guest Post

Released in December 1996, Scream announced a redirection in horror filmmaking. A Hollywood staple ever since Dracula (1931) announced the stateside viability of a genre developed by German expressionists, horror had already gone through a succession of variations that nonetheless maintained an array of recognizable tropes and sub-genres. Much in the same way that Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975) examined the medieval film genre, Scream introduced the concept of meta-horror to the mainstream, bolstered by director Wes Craven’s bona fides[1] in the genre. While the film’s meta-criticism focuses on horror, a related critique intrinsically linked with the genre emerges as the film progresses: white American masculinity.

Scream was not alone in this regard. The 1980s, particularly when it came to blockbuster action films at the front of popular culture, “remasculinized” male characters as “symbolic configuration[s] of hegemonic masculinity that restabilize[d] the centrality of men’s bodies” in response to the perceived de-masculinization of the nation’s loss in Vietnam. However, by the time we reached the 1990s, those extreme examples of hegemonic masculinity, the Arnold Schwarzeneggers and Sylvester Stallones of Hollywood were reevaluated, reaching a point where they were “frequently caricatured in popular culture” (Messner, 465).  While Scream sidesteps direct caricature, Kevin Williamson’s script and Craven’s direction present a dyad of white American masculinities that simultaneously assail the dangers of violent and toxic masculinity while presenting a healthier alternative, all within the framework of deconstructing horror. To demonstrate this, I will focus on two male characters from Scream: Billy Loomis (Skeet Ulrich) and Dwight “Dewey” Riley (David Arquette). Read more

Posted on June 29, 2020

Scream, Queen! Review

Sara McCartney

Around this time last year, the Met Costume Institute was displaying its exhibit on camp, sparking explainers and podcast episodes and angry rants (the last one from me) about just what camp is exactly. I thought about it some more while watching Roman Chimienti and Tyler Jensen’s Scream, Queen! My Nightmare on Elm Street (2019), and here’s what I’ve got. Camp is the reclamation of something embarrassing or perceived by others as embarrassing. It is the amazing knack queer people have to transform shame into joy and survival. Scream, Queen! is the story of how Nightmare on Elm Street 2, once an embarrassment to its franchise and the career of its then-closeted gay star, Mark Patton, became beloved by fans and a launching pad for Patton’s activism.

The 1985 sequel to Wes Craven’s slasher smash hit, Nightmare on Elm Street 2 is the rare slasher film with a Final Boy. The hapless Jesse, played by Mark Patton, is not merely Freddy’s intended victim but his entry point into the real world as he strives to take over Jesse’s body. More a possession film than a typical slasher, Nightmare on Elm Street 2‘s Freddy functions as an unlikely metaphor for repressed homosexuality. Read more

Posted on September 4, 2015

Gwen’s Favorite Wes Craven Moments

Gwen

My list is slightly different than Dawn’s and Elizabeth’s. Instead of favorite moments I wanted to point out my favorite things from Wes Craven. If you are familiar with our site you might have come across my top ten horror films at some point. You will notice that People Under the Stairs (1991) is listed as one of my favorite horror films. That being said, I want to pay my respect to Wes Craven not only for making one of my favorite horror films, but also for making my favorite movie monster in Freddy Krueger.

I was a young teen when People Under the Stairs was released and for some reason it resonated with me. This film expressed ideas about suburbia, family, and the upper class that I didn’t know how to articulate at the time. I just knew that I felt like those people (suburban, upper class) weren’t all that better than me, they just hid their crazy a little bit better.  People Under the Stairs depicted an exaggerated display of this world on the big screen. This world emulated the world in my mind. It was one where the throw away kids mattered, one where good people looked different and were not always from the top of society.  The Robesons’ barbarism and callousness is deeply contrasted by the altruism of Fool (Adams), Alice (Langer), and Roach (Whalen).[i] These three kids learned how to survive their surroundings, help those around them, and make meaningful change.

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Posted on August 31, 2015

Elizabeth’s Favorite Wes Craven Moments

Elizabeth Erwin

Like many, the news of Wes Craven’s death last night left me stunned. As someone who writes about the cultural impact of horror, it is difficult to overstate Craven’s contribution to the genre. Leaving behind a catalog of work that provokes and challenges, Craven was a visionary who understood that the only way to truly understand what it is that scares us, is to look into the darkness unblinkingly. By continually manipulating horror tropes to keep pace with audience expectation, Wes Craven’s body of work stands alone for both its diversity and its longevity.

Here are my choices for the top three not-to-be missed Wes Craven moments.

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Posted on August 31, 2015

Dawn’s Favorite Wes Craven Moments

Dawn Keetley

The Last House on the Left (1972)

I was scared to watch this film for literally decades, and when I watched it for the first time only last year, I was blown away. I was not in the least bit prepared for the complexity of the film, the richness of the mise-en-scène, or the humanity of the “monsters”—Krug Stillo (David Hess) and his allies, who kidnap and rape two girls. In fact, my favorite moment comes in the aftermath of their stabbing and rape of Mari (Sandra Cassel), when the camera pans around the faces of those who participated in the act and we see their shame—realize they’re not as monstrous as we might want them to be. Craven’s camera shows us first that the rapists won’t look at each other, and then it turns to their hands—where we look, where they look. In that move, the camera functions to detach their hands, conveying how Krug and Weasel (Fred Lincoln) Sadi seem to feel, momentarily, that their hands acted alone: how could those hands have just done such a horrible thing to an innocent girl? The moment forces a kind of empathy for Krug and Weasel: haven’t we all done things we couldn’t believe we’d just done, as if our body acted without us . . . ?

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