Our special four-part series examining the past, present and future of the horror genre continues this week with Part II: The Lost Boys — How the most promising writer-directors in the field stopped making horror movies.

[This month, we bring you a special four-part series examining the past, present and future of the horror genre, with a new article to be posted each week. Part 1 asked the question, “What Ever Happened To Rosemary’s Baby?” In short, what has happened to quality and craft in horror movies, and why is there such a lack of both, presently?  There are two aspects to the decline of modern horror: the preponderance of terrible movies (which I’ll cover in Part 3) and the absence of great ones. Part II: The Lost Boys will focus on how the most promising writer-directors in the field stopped making horror movies.]

The early 90’s.  Sigh.

As far as I can tell, that’s the last time that we had fresh voices in horror, at the peak of their game, ready to unleash their twisted visions upon the world.  Although many were talented, all of them followed the same path.  This article will begin with a survey of the two most consistent: Sam Raimi and Peter Jackson.

It’s worth noting that the movies they made were a far cry from the horror classics of the past.  Jackson and Raimi’s had far more comedy, and tended to riff on horror archetypes as opposed to employing them in the way discussed in Part 1.  Nevertheless, the movies succeeded because they had it both ways, by simultaneously subverting and amplifying the touchstones of horror movies.  Bringing it to the realm of the postmodern, they skipped the well-worn clichés of the genre to instead combine horror with disparate genres (slapstick, procedural thrillers, classic lit) and then cranked the comic-book gore quotient to 11.

In short, the rules mentioned in Part 1 can be broken, and to good effect, but there has to be a payoff: Part 3 will look at the flip side of this and examine a movie that breaks all the rules and instead falls apart.

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Sam Raimi’s The Evil Dead (1981) was the first noteworthy entry from the group.  It was subversive, exceedingly gory, and produced for cheaper than dirt.  The execution and direction weren’t perfect, but that just gave Raimi the chance to basically reuse its brilliant concepts to create the much shtick-ier and superior Evil Dead 2 (1987).

The third entry in the Evil Dead series, Army of Darkness (1992), is what sealed Raimi’s status in the Cult Horror Hall Of Fame.  Compared to its predecessors, it amplified the slapstick comedy, quality of special effects, and viewer’s immersion in the world of the Dead-ites.  Unlike a lot of the mainstream horror fare from the time, it was not intended to be scary, nor approximate realism, and that was the point.  The entire thing was a joke, but a ridiculously excessive joke with so much replay value that you couldn’t help but love it.

What’s great about this cartoonishly violent, faux-medieval masterpiece is how clear its inspirations are, and how effectively it combines and riffs unrelated genre elements off of each other.  The flick blends Gulliver’s Travels, gratuitous violence, Romero-inspired zombies, old-school B movies, a John Carpenter-type over-the-top badass protagonist, and The Three Stooges in a way that sounds terrible on paper, and could only work with someone as imaginative and talented at working within so many genres at the helm.  With this oddball release, Sam Raimi became the center of the cult horror universe.

And that’s when his more mainstream work began to overshadow his horror tendencies.  Although Raimi always alternated between directing Evil Deads and dark crime noir [like the Coen Brothers’ co-written Crimewave (1985) or Darkman (1990)], at this point he began producing Hercules: The Legendary Journeys, the syndicated television juggernaut.  Although the cheesy special-effects and fantasy universe were reminiscent of his earlier work, there was no horror movie on-deck for Raimi fans.  The wait continued as he took on more non-horror projects [The Quick and The Dead (1995)], expanded his role as a syndicated television producer (Xena: Warrior Princess, Young Hercules), and even had his first mainstream success with his crime noir/”What would you do?” adaptation of A Simple Plan (1998).

To date, Raimi’s last entry in the horror genre was The Gift (2000).  The Gift isn’t a bad horror movie, but while it’s definitely the best cast Raimi’s directed within the genre, the execution, plot, and final result lack substance.  At the same time, Raimi began switching more and more of his energy towards producing projects, and gearing up for the series he’s now most associated with: Spider-Man.  In many ways, this was the fate of every talented horror director from that time frame, so we’ll analyze the series and the questions that it prompts in-depth.

After one of cinema’s most tangled pre-production histories, Spider-Man was released in 2002 to incredible success.  Written by the popular (and terrible, terrible) David Koepp, Raimi’s film brought Spider-Man’s origin story to life on the big screen.  Spider-Man launched Marvel’s film production subsidiary to the stratosphere, led to a flood of similar comic book adaptations at the cinema (many of which were also quite successful), and shattered box office records.  It was followed in 2004 and 2007 by sequels, with the third being the most financially successful film of 2007 and the strongest opening weekend ever, until The Dark Knight.

This is the pattern that both Raimi and Jackson fell into.  They initially created original and subversive films that thumbed their noses at traditional studio fare; once they established a rabid fan base, Hollywood brought them into the fold, indulged their personal, geeky, expensive pet projects, and gave them the opportunity to produce big-budget popcorn flicks.  The two, in turn, left the horror genre and shifted from being mainly writer-directors to instead focusing on time-intensive production roles.  Due to the scope of the projects they worked on, their products were released on a much larger scale, but they also became far less prolific; take, for example, Spider-Man 3, which required years of production and remains the most expensive film ever made, at $350 million.

But, the important part is this: Spider-Man doesn’t require a director as inventive or talented as Sam Raimi.  Spider-Man just takes goofy, antiquated comics, treats them as storyboards, and then uses special effects to faithfully recreate them on film.  If the producers made an inspired choice for the screenwriter (someone like Christopher Nolan, or Charlie Kaufman, or even Raimi himself) and were committed to making a creative product, it might have necessitated Raimi directing.  But instead, they hired David Koepp, whose main attribute as a screenwriter seems to be taking established properties and then writing the most generic imaginable screenplay, with a level of quality that anyone in the audience could probably match and possibly surpass.

So it doesn’t come down to whether the Spider-Man movies are good or bad (the second one was good, the third was terrible, FYI); the frustrating element is that such heavy directorial artillery was wasted on such a disposable commodity of a film.  Years of Raimi’s energy that could have been spent creating hilariously grotesque camp masterpieces have been applied towards such a polished product, it’s impossible to care about it one way or the other.  I’m not suggesting that just anyone could have produced/directed Spider-Man and achieved the same history-making box office financial results: what I am stating is that, no matter who directed that specific Spider-Man screenplay, I would care about it equally, which is to say, not at all.  Also, Raimi deserves a better collaborator than David Fucking Koepp.

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The other former leader within the genre is Peter Jackson, who wrote and directed some of the most innovative horror movies of the 1980’s and 90’s.  Beginning with his alien invasion flick Bad Taste (1987), which was filmed for only $25k over four years, Jackson quickly became iconic for two of his films’ characteristics: their unbelievable gore/violence, and their pitch-black senses of humor.  Jackson’s follow-up to Bad Taste showcased both; Meet The Feebles (1989) was a way-beyond-black-parody of the Muppets.  It’s not horror, but it is regarded as a cult classic, and the content is so extreme that you really should see it if you haven’t by this point.

The same year Army of Darkness was released, Jackson secured his own spot in the Cult Horror Hall of Fame with Dead Alive.  Sweet, sweet Dead Alive.  Dead Alive is considered by most aficionados to be the goriest horror movie ever made; it’s also one of the greatest.  A comedy within the horror genre, the film focuses on a zombie virus spread by the bite of the Sumatran Rat Monkey.  The main joke of the movie is the excessive levels of gore and violence; although that doesn’t sound particularly funny, the execution is astounding.  Dead Alive’s razor-sharp comedy combines with that disgust factor to indelibly burn so many scenes into your mind: the priest’s graveyard karate battle; the death-by-squashing of the Sumatran Rat Monkey; the pudding scene; hell, probably the entire last forty-five minutes of the film.

After Dead Alive, Jackson took a rather unpredictable step into the world of legitimate, arty filmmaking.  Heavenly Creatures was a dramatization of the story of Parker and Hulme, who were basically the New Zealand version of Leopold and Loeb (in that they were the same type of symbiotic murderers and had the same level of media notoriety).  The two teenagers were best friends who murdered Parker’s mother when she attempted to separate them from each other.  The most notable aspect of this film for the purposes of this article was that it proved that Jackson could apply his skill as a writer and director to create more sophisticated and potentially mainstream films.

In 1996, Jackson returned to supernatural horror with the cult comedy The Frighteners.  His first major Hollywood picture, the film was a box-office dud.   Re-examining The Frighteners and comparing it to its clearest horror-comedy predecessor, which is Tim Burton’s Beetlejuice, it’s easy to see what made one a smash with general audiences, and the other a failure.  Although Beetlejuice’s actual concept of the afterlife is infinitely darker than The Frighteners’, the overall tone and presentation are so cartoonish and light that the entire thing becomes palatable.  The Frighteners, while innovative and funny, is relentlessly dark in its tone and comedy.

Researching The Frighteners, I learned that Jackson was aiming to receive a PG-13 rating, but that the MPAA was so confused by the constant tonal shifts between violence and comedy that it instead gave it an R.  I personally despise the MPAA and feel that it frequently misses the mark with ratings, limits the quality of what audiences get to watch, and unfairly dooms genuinely artistic films to financial failure.  That said, I can envision no version of The Frighteners that would be as good as the current DVD release and also deserve a PG-13 rating.

The Frighteners succeeds for me because of that blend of Hard-R gruesome violence and quirky humor; the combination of the two contrasting forces breaks down your mental barriers of disbelief to quickly draw you into the movie.  And that’s probably The Frighteners’ main achievement.  Despite the many supernatural elements, the film maintains a consistent interior logic that allows you to simultaneously appreciate and absorb the creative elements that constitute the high concept, as well as the complexities of the mystery at the center of the plot.  In less than two hours, the movie combines the development of new myths with the recontextualization of existing ones in a particularly effective display of horror-movie-world-building shorthand.  Tossing aside the sentimentality associated with its status, to date, as Jackson’s final horror project, I feel The Frighteners succeeds on its own merits, and is definitely worth watching.

Following The Frighteners, Jackson spent the next eight years working on The Lord of the Rings trilogy.  Little needs to be said other than that it’s one of, if not the most, successful movie adaptations of all time, and the final result was well-worth his absence from the horror genre.  However, I would like to say that it differs from Spider-Man, in that it actually did require Jackson as its main creative force, unlike Spider-Man’s waste of the talents of Raimi.  Apart from the special-effects wizardry that Jackson’s Weta Digital provided, his dedication to bringing as much as possible from the book to the screen and his ridiculous quantity of post-production work (to the point of releasing the extended versions of the film on DVD, which added another two hours to the total length) crossed the line from mere fanaticism to the point of sheer, unbridled insanity.

After the billions grossed by Lord of the Rings, Jackson set his sights on remaking King Kong.  This is when he reached the stage that I refer to as “Living The Big Dumb Dream”.  Basically, this is the point where the studio tells you they’ll give you any amount of money to create anything you want, and you choose some goofy idea that you had when you were six and have wanted to do forever, even if it’s entirely unnecessary, or just a terrible idea.  You could also call this “The George Lucas Stage”.

To further explain via the example of Raimi, Spider-Man has existed in picture-heavy, easy-to-read comic format for over 50 years, with most randomly selected issues easily being superior to two of the three movies.  Taking up seven years of Sam Raimi’s life to turn pre-existing comics into movies was a really shitty use of his time.  Same with Jackson remaking King Kong.

In fact, aside from Jackson, I’m not sure what it is about King Kong that necessitates it being constantly remade, especially when the definitive version remains the 1933 original.  It’s basically the cinematic equivalent of going to the karaoke bar and hearing a group of girls singing “Don’t Stop Believing”.  It always happens and it always sounds shitty.  In fact, the only conceivable remake of King Kong I could possibly take at this point would be Gus Van Sant doing a shot for shot remake of the 1976 version.

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As I stated at the beginning of this article, so very long ago, although I’m focusing on Raimi and Jackson, a host of other talented directors sprung up and then switched to making lucrative mainstream movies that left the horror genre depleted of strong leadership.  For example, Guillermo Del Toro wrote and directed Cronos, Blade II, and The Devil’s Backbone, three strong cult horror entries.  But in the last four years, he’s also made two Hellboy movies and won’t have another film coming out until 2011.  While that movie is the film adaptation of The Hobbit, which, similar to Jackson’s situation above, is kind of above reproach, one definitely has to question why Del Toro is doing it, especially since he claims he doesn’t really even like Tolkien.  Of course, a better question would probably be, “Why the fuck did you make two Hellboy movies?”

Another great example would be Jeunet and Caro.    Creators of the brilliant sci-fi, gory, cannibalistic comedy Delicatessan and the nightmarish urban fantasy fairy-tale City of Lost Children, the two were amazing contributors to the horror world in the early 90’s.  Their work was clever, inventive, and amazing to behold visually: it was basically like if Tim Burton created non-cartoonish horror.  After writing and directing the fourth (and second-worst entry) in the Alien series, Jeunet switched it up and made Amelie.  Again, I’m not arguing about whether or not Amelie is an adorable little film that melted even the heart of critics who specifically go out of their way to analyze the most inhumane and gory horror flicks, I’m just observing that another one of our former best and brightest hasn’t made a horror movie in 11 years (and counting).

And that’s been the pattern.  The consistent, consistent pattern.  And the real insult-to-injury portion of this whole clusterfuck is that we probably had the best generation of horror writer-directors ever.  While I can’t begrudge wildly talented people their rightful paychecks, I can hate the sub-par material the studios paid them to make instead.  It’s why we have yet ANOTHER remake of King Kong instead of a mainstream grossout on the level of Dead Alive.  It’s why there’s no Melville-referencing Evil Dead 4, but there’s a waste of a Spider-Man 3 that features a ridiculous jazz club scene that gives you more douche-chills than a Wonder Years marathon.  Fuck it: it’s why there’s not two, but one Hellboy movie.

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Currently, horror cinema has two real problems.  The first is the ubiquity of schlocky garbage like Saw which is a) poorly made and b) not scary.  The other is the absence of brilliant writer-directors like the legends described above.  Lately, nobody has stepped in and made a horror movie on par with Sam Raimi or Peter Jackson…more unfortunately, that includes Sam Raimi and Peter Jackson.

At what point did horror cinema become the equivalent of baseball’s minor leagues?  In the sense that you get good within the field, make larger budget but generic mainstream fare, and then never return ever again?  In the past, directors superior to even these guys (i.e. Hitchcock, Kubrick, Polanski) made horror movies throughout their careers, revisiting horror when they had material worth exploring.

It’s critical to remember that horror is just a genre, not a stage that one grows out of, or better than.  I’m not sure why so many of these amazing talents have stopped making horror movies, but I really hope that they start up again.  Because any hack off the street can direct CGI-intensive mainstream fare that’s entirely devoid of artistic merit.  I mean, we live in a world where terrible directors like Michael Bay and Brett Ratner are celebrated instead of punished, as they should be.  But horror is harder.  It takes a Sam Raimi to make Army of Darkness.  Only Peter Jackson could have made Dead Alive.

So, on behalf of all horror fans: to everyone mentioned in this article, please come back.  You’re now a bunch of millionaires and you’ve played the studio systems like fiddles.  You’ve won.  Come home and take a victory lap.  Bring your gibberish incantations, slapstick humor, and arterial spray.  Keep in mind that horror films are now like the automobile industry, and you’re going to have to compete with all the fucked up Japanese shit we’ve been watching during your absence.

Additionally, there’s a bunch of homegrown whippersnappers that need to get schooled.  They make asinine movies that ignore the basic rules of horror and instead focus on maximizing the number of ways they can show a hammer hitting a tooth.  In many ways, watching their shameful oeuvres get destroyed by your new movies will be the best part, but as elder statesmen of horror, you’ll have to pretend like you’re totally above it.

But not us fans.  We’ll be able to smile, and gloat, and say, “Finally.”

“The Lost Boys finally came home.”

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P.S.  There’s a light at the end of the tunnel, as of late.  Sam Raimi is returning to writing and directing within the horror genre with his current project, Drag Me To Hell, which is filming as of the writing of this article.  Scheduled for release in 2009, the movie’s first draft was written around the same time as Army of Darkness.  Raimi has been described as making the film as a gift to a certain subset of his fans (read: snobby horror dorks like me, or perhaps ones like me that are more polite), to return to his horror roots, and for the joy of making a low-key, non-studio interfering movie after the complicated production of the Spider-Man series.   As far as I can tell, the development of this project is the most exciting news in the world of cult horror; hopefully, it will re-spark Raimi’s interest in writing and directing within the genre.

Read other articles in this series:
Part I: Whatever Happened to Rosemary’s Baby?
Part II: The Lost Boys
Part III: Darkness Falls
Part IV: The Shining