A Nightmare on Elm Street 2010

So I finally got a chance to see the new A Nightmare on Elm Street last night and I was very impressed. Of course I had no expectations due to some lousy reviews I read online, but I don’t think my preconceived notions had much to do with the enjoyment I got out of this film. I was a little bored during the first twenty minutes or so, and a few of the script’s one-liners along with some of the effects had my eyes rolling, but by the time the end credits rolled I found myself loving the film. First of all, one could easily feel a sense of desperation throughout the movie. The young actors had me convinced they hadn’t slept for days but were too afraid to close their eyes. I was especially impressed with the heaviness the two leads conveyed. Secondly, Freddy looked great! I heard that some silly critics were disappointed because the new make-up rendered Freddy expressionless, but that’s nonsense. This new Freddy is evil, and this evil wasn’t just evident in his actions, but in his facial expressions as well. The Freddy Krueger played by Robert Englund became such a cultural icon that he stopped being scary. He became funny, and audiences began to root for him. In the theater I was in, by the time the movie’s heroes defeated Freddy at the end, people were cheering. The new Freddy was definitely not liked by the crowd, mainly because this new version of the story really emphasized that Freddy was a pedophile. Jackie Earle Haley’s performance and suggestive dialogue about molesting his victims when they were children made the viewer feel uncomfortable. This new Freddy isn’t a joke. He’s not a cartoon character and he won’t be the antihero he was in the 80s. It’s easy to tell that I obviously enjoyed this remake. The film offered new twists, good performances, mostly impressive eye candy, and a Freddy that will actually give the audience nightmares.

A Nightmare on Elm Street

As of this writing, I still haven’t seen the new A Nightmare on Elm Street, but I plan to take my wife to the theater tonight if we can find someone to watch Ransom. I don’t really have any expectations for the film, so I probably won’t be disappointed, though a lot of the people I’ve talked to about it don’t seem thrilled over the reworking of their childhood hero. Even though I’d rather see new ideas, I don’t mind all the remakes, and it doesn’t bother me that Hollywood has made it its mission to upgrade all the horror icons of the last three decades. So far, I’ve enjoyed most of them with few exceptions. In fact, some have proven to be better than the originals. Besides, studios have been doing it since the beginning of cinema. Freddy, Jason, Michael, and Leatherface are all horror icons. They’re the Dracula, Frankenstein, Wolf Man, and Mummy of the 80s. I wonder if fans protested so much when Hammer Studios did their take on those Universal monsters in the late 50s through the early 70s. Any horror icon’s story that has been made into a successful franchise is eventually going to be retold as technology evolves and new generations become interested. It’s not a big deal, and I’m tired of hearing horror nerds cry about it. Get over it already.

Anyway, I’ve just finished watching the original A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984) along with all its sequels in order to freshen up on what used to be the primary topic of conversation during school lunch and recess. I own the Freddy box set that was released several years back and have watched these films many times, but this was a special viewing. Over the last week while watching these movies I’ve been taking a stroll down memory lane and reminiscing about my initial childhood viewings of these influential celluloid nightmares. Watching Freddy movies always brings me back to my years as a dorky little nerd with glasses and a buzz cut, and I still remember how frightening it was to see those knives for the first time.

I was about seven years old when I was first subjected to the terror that is Fred Krueger. I don’t think my mother realized the content of the film when she let my grandmother record it on a VHS tape for us kids. My memory is a little hazy, but I remember that I was in the house on a sunny day waiting for my mother to return from wherever she was. My father was at work, and I have no clue where my brother and sister could’ve been. I’m also not sure if she had let me watch it as to keep me busy until she returned, or if I had decided on my own accord without her knowing. Whichever the case, the movie had only been playing for about twenty minutes when I grabbed our English bulldog and ran for the back door. After witnessing him build his infamous glove, get his face ripped off, and slice up his first victim, I knew Freddy was in my house and I wasn’t about to let him get me and my dog. So I waited outside where the sun was shining. When my mother arrived and found me sitting in the driveway with my arms around my dog, scared shitless, she made the decision to permanently ban Freddy from our household. One would think I would have acceded to her ruling, but still I found ways of letting the master of nightmares into my mind.

Though Freddy scared me shitless as a kid, it never deterred my interest in the movies and merchandise. My mother made sure I wasn’t able to watch Freddy films at the house, but I always kept up with the story line via my school buddies whose parents allowed them to make Freddy a father figure. I also found ways to see a couple of the sequels by going to sleepovers with friends. I remember getting to watch A Nightmare on Elm Street 4: the Dream Master (1988) at my cousin’s home. I had spent the weekend with him, and he was allowed to watch things that I could only read about. When A Nightmare on Elm Street 5: the Dream Child (1989) was released in theaters my mother allowed me to buy the book adaptation. I also recall having her approval to stay up on Friday nights to watch the Freddy’s Nightmares (1988-1990) TV show, subsequently making the couch my bed. So I guess my mom loosened up a bit as I got older and Freddy became a national hero of sort. Today, watching Freddy on the screen elicits laughter rather than scares (a lot of it intentional), but I’m hoping this new remake will bring me back to a time when I was too frightened to finish a movie.

Wretched. Filthy. Ugly.

I used to be in a punk band called Calibretto 13. At that time I was a Christian, and as a result, most of my lyrics were based on my religious convictions. As the band toured and I got older, I began to outgrow Christianity and regain interest in my first love: horror films. I began to write more lyrics based on horrific situations, death, and murderers, which ultimately caused Calibretto 13 to get kicked off our record label. The band dropped the 13 and joined a new label only to break up shortly afterward. While Calibretto was still playing shows, I was brainstorming about a horror based project I wanted to pursue called Harley Poe. After Calibretto disbanded, it’s members helped me record the first Harley Poe album. After that, we went our separate ways and Harley Poe found new members. The roster for Harley Poe hasn’t changed for some time and our new album and fourth release Wretched. Filthy. Ugly. will be available in a couple days from Chain Smoking Records. I’ve decided to give some explanations for my lyrics from the new album. Feel free to comment or ask questions.


1. “Gordon” was initially a poem I had written and illustrated for a book that never got published, so I thought it would make a fun song. I used a familiar melody that has been used numerous times for hymns, but it might be hard to tell since we speeded it up and added a bunch of stops to make it punk rock.
2. I discovered the Tiger Lillies through Rue Morgue magazine a few years ago and have since acquired several of their albums. I love their song “Terrible.” It’s so offensive and fucked up; Harley Poe just had to cover it. I decided to put it on the album because it felt so natural for us to play. Of course, we don’t do it as well as the Tiger Lillies, but I think we’ve made it our own.
3. “Kokomo” is simply a song about the giant landfill I call home. There really is nothing to do around this factory town except get high and bitch about all the religious trash, low-lives, and bigots who make up the majority, unless you’re into cruisin’ around the mall with your stereo blasted like an asshole. This is the place where those with potential flee at the moment an opportunity presents itself. I’ve never known anyone to come back to this shit-hole after they’ve escaped, and most of my scumbag friends have moved away. So why am I still here? I guess it’s because it really doesn’t matter where I live; people are everywhere. No matter what city I live in, I’m surrounded by them, and as much as people need people, I’d sure like to burn up most of them.
4. To people who don’t really know me, I might come off as pessimistic or bitter, but in my mind I’m a very positive, happy person. I love my wife and kids, and I’m grateful for the life I’ve been given. I’m such a happy person that the possibility of this world ending sounds likes a beautiful idea. I think the problem with me is that since I view life with such a positive outlook and innocence, I have no tolerance for abusers, religious bigots, chauvinists, irresponsible parents, and stupid, rude, inconsiderate, greedy, and mean people in general. Maybe I’m a prig, or maybe I just expect too much from the human race. Either way, come the Zombie Apocalypse, I’ll take it as a sign that God also has lost tolerance for those people and is ready to start over again. I welcome that day with open arms. After all, it’s only the end of the world.
5. “Suckers” is about a schmuck who has no respect for women and gets what he deserves when he runs into a girl a little too eager to get her mouth around the blue vein. Listen to the lyrics.
6. “That Time of the Month” is about my wife. Every time she’s on her period she turns into a werewolf.
7. If you couldn’t tell, “Everybody Knows My Name” is a declaration from Death. After the chorus, it’s no longer Death speaking but one of Death’s victims crying out to God.
8. I like surf music. I arranged a surf song with the boys. The sound clips come from old horror films.
9. “Maria” is my remake of The Exorcist in lyrical form. One day I’ll direct it.
10. “Stick It in the Man” is an autobiographical song about reaching my dreams and telling the skeptics and those who would get in my way to fuck off. It’s about feeling good about what you’re doing and taking what you want, and in my case, being in God’s will. Many people think because I’m not a Christian anymore that I’m no longer in touch with God, but I think those people are silly.

Rosemary's Baby

Awful feelings came with the viewing of Rosemary’s Baby (1968) about seven years ago when I witnessed it for the first time along with some other unsuspecting innocents. I’ve watched it two or three times since that evening and I’ve felt those same awful feelings every time. Suffice it to say, I love this film. I’m not sure if it’s because of my Christian background that this movie so disturbs me, or if it’s because the bad guys win in such a conniving way, but whatever the reasons, the film evokes feelings of dread and anxiety that grab hold of my soul and don’t let go for days.

It probably wasn’t a good idea, but I watched it again about three weeks ago, shortly after finding out that my wife is having another baby. I couldn’t get that creepy music out of my head for the rest of that night. But it’s not just the music that causes me unease; knowing that the protagonist’s husband betrays her for his career is also a disturbing thought. What husband, if he truly loves her, would let the Devil impregnate his wife with the Antichrist just so he can further his career? It’s absurd. Even the very surreal and effective ending, when the witches are all singing praises to Satan while the mother looks upon her beastly baby deciding whether or not to care for him, seems over-the-top and plain silly. So why does the ending especially freak me out every time I watch it? Maybe it’s the sincerity of the actors, or Roman Polanski’s thoughtful direction of the film that convinces me to feel uneasy; or maybe it’s the reality of knowing that there really are evil people out there with an agenda to bring about chaos and disorder for personal gain. More than that, maybe it’s the notion that I too could be capable of selling out to Satan to appease my selfishness...if he existed.

Open Water

I remember going to see Chris Kentis’ Open Water (2004) in the theater with some friends a week or two after it had been released. Except for our little group, the theater was pretty much empty. By the time the film was over, I was in awe of its ability to put my mind in such a state of uneasiness, but I don’t think my party shared my view. Most of them thought the movie was drawn out and boring. One of my friends suggested the outcome was inevitable. In his opinion, it was quite obvious that the couple was never going to be rescued, rendering the ending less affective. I disagree. Throughout the whole film I held on to the notion that there was still hope for the husband and wife. In the end, when they finally succumbed to their fates, my hopes were crushed. I remember being disturbed by the way the wife finally gave in—just when the authorities had sent out a rescue party.

Something like that could easily happen to anybody. The thought of my wife and I getting left in the middle of the ocean while on vacation utterly terrifies me. A few years ago I took a cruise to Jamaica with my family, and I remember looking out into the ocean on one of the late nights when no one else was around. I had thought to myself, if I fall overboard nobody will be able to save me. The thought was mesmerizing. I know this may seem crazy, but I was so hypnotized by that awesome view, I almost felt compelled to jump. It was as if I were being called to some unknown world that would cost me my life to enter; a world full of creatures that my imagination couldn’t create. I wouldn’t say I have a phobia, but when I think about the greatness of the oceans and the mysteries that lie beneath, I tend to feel a little uneasy. So yeah, the idea of being left in the middle of an abyss scares me.

Eden Lake

I can recall the exact date I first experienced James Watkins' Eden Lake (2008). It was the 22nd of March last year that I was so troubled by what I witnessed on the screen that I decided to write a letter to the editor of Rue Morgue magazine. I’ve copied the letter here, because I feel it gives a clear illustration of how I felt, and continue to feel, about this picture:


Dear Jovanka,
I’m trying to think of a way to begin this letter, but I guess I already have, so I’ll just get straight to the point. First off, I am a horror film junkie, and in most cases, the sicker the better in my opinion. I watch horror films to be disturbed, or turned on, or even just for a laugh, but I’ve never been moved the way I was tonight while viewing the film Eden Lake.

Personally, this film is by far one of the most important works of art I’ve experienced in years. Its message was so poignant and disturbing, yet so encouraging at the same time. I’m sure you’ve seen it and I wonder if you share my appreciation for such a responsible film. As I was watching I was hoping for some kind of a happy revenge-type ending, but instead I got one that will be stuck in my mind for days. It amazes me how such a visceral and suspenseful film can convey such a profound yet simple message while forcing its audience to question their own morals and responsibilities as parents, teachers, and role models to the generations after us. I was able to relate to the protagonist, myself majoring in elementary education. I consider myself one of the good guys—someone who’d rather influence the world around me positively—even though many would say I’m responsible for corrupting young minds through explicit and subversive music and art. I also have a ten month old to whom it is my duty to raise with a kind and compassionate heart. I have an understanding that if I love my child he will love others, and if I hurt my child he will most likely hurt others. This film, in my opinion, focuses on the consequences of a world where irresponsible adults fail to accept their roles in shaping a younger generation to do what is right and adhere to some kind of moral code. The future of our race really is in our children’s hands. It’s our job to make sure we’re teaching them compassion, character, and integrity. The true horror is that we ourselves don’t know compassion, character, or integrity. What I’m trying to say is that this film encouraged me to continue my studies and become a teacher to help mold young minds. Who knows? Their parents might be failing to do so.

Bravo to the director and writer for conveying an important message through art, and best of all horrific art. This is an intelligent film for social-minded people. Anyone with an awareness of horror that goes beyond boobs, blood, and beasts—though all three elements are definite perks—should check out Eden Lake and hopefully be encouraged to accept responsibility for those who are younger and more impressionable. Either that or just stop reproducing.
Yours truly,
Joseph Whiteford

Somebody, shut off my brain.

My mind has been fucking with me lately. I’ve been bothered with all this shit floating around in this small brain of mine. I notice that my tics have been more severe than usual and that scares me, because I twitch and fidget all day just to tense up in bed when I finally collapse, hours after I get my ass off this couch; and worse than that, my little boy emulates my every move. It scares me to witness his little idiosyncrasies when he gets excited: the curling of his fingers, the tensing of his neck muscles, and his unintentional refusal to breathe when he gets overwhelmed with happiness. Am I abusing my child?

There are many things eating at me lately. Not only do I feel that I have no time to finish projects and goals I’ve set for myself, but I’ve been eating way too much ice cream (and nothing else). Also, as excited as I am about my wife being pregnant with another bundle of fulfillment, I’m worried about the expense and fatigue that come along with adding another being to our little family. And though I love art and music, my band has been working on the new Harley Poe album for about two years now and I’m just to the point where I don’t care how it turns out, I just want it finished; but even if we do finish it, then what? Though I have a great desire to tour, it’s just too hard to leave my babies behind; and since I’m not touring, I’d better find a career in a secure vocation that can support my family.

So here I am two years into becoming an elementary school teacher, knowing without a doubt that I’d much rather make a living as a writer or an artist or a musician of some kind. I realized yesterday through my IUK education class that my motives are all wrong for becoming a teacher. I think I’m supposed to be doing something else, but do I take a chance and go to art school? Do I drop out, get a retail job, and hope that I begin to sell more paintings or that some big wig randomly discovers my band and wants to give me lots of money for playing at the same bar every month? Is it more realistic to let my wife bring in the money while I change diapers and attempt to write a bestselling novel or picture book, or should I ignore these feelings, suck it up, jump into a career that might not bring fulfillment, and regret my decisions until I die?

Honestly, my intention for writing this post was not to vent about mundane issues (I'm just good at doing that), but to give praise to three films that never fail to fuck with my head. These movies are Rosemary’s Baby (1968), Open Water (2004), and Eden Lake (2008). For all different reasons, after viewing any of these three poignant works of art, I’m left with emotions that keep me from sleep and stress me out, just like the shit that’s been floating around in my small brain. Within my next three posts, I will discuss the reasons why I’m so affected by these three masterpieces.