50th Anniversary Brings “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre” Back To The Coolidge
Fifty years ago, audiences first heard the sound of Leatherface’s grating chainsaw and saw the now iconic image of a bloody, delirious Marilyn Burns crouched in the back of a pickup truck. At the time, “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre” was nothing more than a low-budget grindhouse film. No one could’ve predicted the film’s rise to infamy as it horrified, disgusted and delighted audiences, from 1974 and beyond.
As a horror movie fanatic myself, I am a firm believer that “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre” is one of, if not the greatest horror movies ever made. Its genius hides in the simplicity, creating tension with expert videography, sound design, and direction. You can imagine that I was thrilled when the Coolidge Corner Theater announced it would be presenting a special 50th-anniversary screening of “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre,” and, even better, it would be showing at midnight.
The Coolidge Corner Theater has given me several memorable experiences as a film lover. From seeing a special “Rewind!” screening of Wes Craven’s “Scream” (where the screening of an older movie is accompanied by a themed night of food and drinks after the screening), to “The Nightmare Before Christmas” on 35-millimeter film, to being able to watch “Halloween” in a theater, on actual Halloween. The Coolidge works to provide unique film-going experiences and programs that not only entertain but educate. With baby-friendly screenings for parents and caregivers, screenings focused on subjects like science and live theater, seminars and film class series, the space works tirelessly to preserve the independent spirit. This is important, especially in a culture where mainstream theaters, blockbuster hits and capitalization reign supreme.
Even with a recent, more modern, sleek addition to the theater, the Coolidge very much maintains a sense of nostalgia, through its small concessions counter, red velveteen seats and high vaulted ceilings. But above all else, every Coolidge screening provides two important things: exposure and community.
“The Texas Chainsaw Massacre” screening began with a question: How many people were seeing this film for the first time? Several hands shot up in the crowd, including my companion, who had expressed interest in coming with me from the get-go. I was thrilled to indulge in the depraved macabre of “Texas Chainsaw,” and even more thrilled that we could experience it together on the big screen. Although this wasn’t my first viewing of the film, my primary viewing experience on my laptop via a streaming service was less than ideal. Still, the film managed to twist my stomach into knots and unnerve me to my core. So naturally, like any horror fan, I could not wait to have that experience again. This viewing experience certainly did not disappoint.
From the opening camera flashes to the moment the end credits rolled, the energy in the theater was palpable. I listened as those around me slurped their soda and dug their fingers into their popcorn as we enjoyed the wild ride of a film together. There were audible reactions, and even some giggles here and there. The audience picked up on some humor that I hadn’t fully appreciated before. Those lighter moments simply add to the tension and sheer horror that fully come to light in the third act. For the last 20 minutes or so the joviality I sensed in the crowd dissipated, and it was pure, suffocating silence. It was clear the weight of the film had set in, and we were all just simply on the edge of our seats, waiting to see who would make it out alive. We, a bunch of strangers, were in this together, bonded at that moment over our dedication to the experience. This is how movies and moviegoing experiences build community, and having the opportunity to view a cult classic like “Texas Chainsaw” in a theater brings out exactly the kind of community I strive to be a part of.
Despite being digitally restored, I still felt this version of the film maintained its original grit and grime, which is part of what makes the viewing experience as a whole. The film’s exquisite, shocking sound design was meant for the theater. It surrounds, overtakes and overwhelms you to a point of no return. You’re right there with Sally, Franklin and their friends as Leatherface picks them off one by one, and you can’t help but think that it must be too late for you too. On the big screen, director Tobe Hooper’s masterful technique is on full display, and I loved every second of it.
I left the Coolidge early the next morning, around 1:30 a.m. to be exact. With a poster in my hand and an excited friend by my side, it was clear to me that this was what moviegoing was always meant to be. Experiencing art and cinema, talking about what scared you the most, what impressed you the most, what you loved, or hated — the debrief is almost as exciting as the showing itself. But really, the best part about it? It will forever be its own moment, its own memory. You’ll never have the same movie experience twice, and that is the special notion that the Coolidge thrives on. This is the exposure element, having an opportunity to meet fellow horror geeks, freaks, and everyone in between. Showing your friend a classic on the big screen for the first time, it’s an opportunity that the Coolidge can offer in a meaningful and memorable way.
When Tobe Hooper made “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre” 50 years ago, I doubt he thought they’d be screening it today. But I am happy to carry on his, and the film’s legacy for years to come. I laid my head on my pillow and drifted to sleep thinking about blood, guts and, most importantly, chainsaws. And for a horror movie lover like me, I think that’s all I could ever ask for.