A Re-evaluation of John Carpenter's Halloween

The most recent instalment in the popular Halloween film franchise hits cinemas this Friday, and it’s sustained quite the buzz from festival and preview screenings. Simply titled Halloween, director David Gordon Green’s (Joe, Pineapple Express) entry into the series will disregard all previous sequels, and will be a direct continuation of John Carpenter’s original 1978 classic. Carpenter himself is credited as an executive producer on the project, and has also contributed to the updated score; much to the glee of die-hard fans of the genre legend. Many will likely be returning to the original before going to see Green’s sequel, and here, we will discuss how well the film holds up. The legacy of the original cannot be underestimated, as Michael Myers and the film’s famous score (originally performed by the Bowling Green Philharmonic Orchestra) are absolutely iconic. The film is nostalgic for many audiences, and this sometimes clouds the film’s true merits. Fans of Halloween often herald it as a perfect film, which is rather silly - it is not perfect, but rather, pure. A pure, prototypal horror film, and an important, reinventive work of the slasher sub-genre.

The film’s opening shot is of a pumpkin: classic horror iconography. Carpenter’s brilliant score is introduced straight away, perfectly luring the viewer into a tale of murder, just as the camera slowly zooms into the right eye-socket of the jack-o-lantern. There is - of course - no eye, but instead a fiery orange glow coming from within; just like Michael Myers, the film’s antagonist, there is nothing behind the eyes but hell, evil. As Dr. Sam Loomis (Donald Pleasence) later says, they are “...the blackest eyes… the Devil’s eyes”. We are then treated to the film’s famous exposition, the POV shot of a yet to be revealed Michael Myers murdering his older sister Judith. The sequence uses the masking technique, obscuring Michael’s vision, further enhancing the feeling that our eyes are no longer our own, but that of a killer. It’s a great scene, taking place on Halloween night in 1963. Fast forward to 1978…

Michael has been confined in a sanitarium for his crimes, not having spoken a word for fifteen years. Loomis - Michael’s psychiatrist - arrives to find that patients have escaped, and Michael reveals himself and steals his car, disappearing into the night. It’s a quick, economical set-up, but one that doesn’t really make sense: how does Michael know how to drive? Perhaps he may know how to escape his immediate surroundings, but to drive 150 miles to Haddonfield? It seems all too unlikely. This detail does, however, communicate something, and that is to suspend disbelief to a certain degree, because much of Myers’ existence is questionable. This once again relates back to the looming antagonist not being human, but something purely evil.

We then arrive at the suburban, tranquil Haddonfield. Upon rewatching Halloween its influence on David Robert Mitchell’s It Follows becomes even clearer. The camera keeps a distance from the protagonist, Laurie Strode (Jamie Lee Curtis), as she navigates the streets, emulating a predatory gaze. Carpenter shows us the Myers house, tying the events of the exposition to the present-day, enforcing dangerous implications. We then see Myers, and his interest in Laurie is established through an over-the-shoulder shot accompanied by heavy breathing, triggering a deathly pursuit. While Laurie is in class, she spies Myers behind a car outside the window; as she does so, the teacher discusses the concept of “fate”. The narrative explores fate, and the concept of the past repeating itself; this is an effective moment, introducing core concepts to the film and also offering a glimpse of Myers in the iconic mask for the first time.

By this point the importance of Carpenter’s score has already been proven. It truly is the veins which pump blood through the narrative, giving the story breath, life. Its recurring presence really anchors the film’s imagery, giving much of the shots meaning beyond a dangerous stranger walking the streets - the sound gives him power, and suggest him as a beyond-human threat. Throughout the film we see Myers in shot, often behind cars, sheets on a washing-line, hedges, or even shot from the waist to avoid showing his face. He is a constant presence, and a creepy one indeed. Many horror films of the time depict teenagers venturing out and disturbing evil, whereas here, the evil comes to the teenagers very doorsteps. During the New Hollywood period of 1967-1980, horror films tended to reflect the time. Tobe Hooper’s The Texas Chainsaw Massacre can be used as an example: a tale of tradition versus modernity, of family clashing with teenage freedoms. Here, Carpenter presents a threat to youth, an age-range of which adult characters point blame; “damned kids” says the cemetery man when discovering the absence of Judith’s gravestone, “probably kids”, says the sheriff after the local hardware store is broken into.

The dialogue between Laurie and her friends is certainly a weakness of the film, and the moment one of them spouts about books in hopes that we’re distracted by the visuals too much to care about quality of dialogue is particularly painful. Even after Laurie sees Michael in her garden, the telephone rings and she says the idea of an “obscene phone call” scared her to death, but not the presence of a masked man in her garden. Wouldn’t she investigate into that rather than laying on the bed urging herself to get it together? Nevertheless, the story continues into the night.

From a narrative like this, one would now expect it to take place at a house party. This would certainly be the case in later decades, but instead much of the film takes place in quiet houses while teenage women babysit. As we flit between houses, the characters are watching a Howard Hawks production of The Thing, once again shining light on the films “evil hiding in man” concept. Bizarrely, as they watch TV the street outside feels almost abandoned. There is a perplexing absence of trick or treaters, or anyone, really. It certainly seems odd, but it certainly aids an atmosphere of seclusion and helplessness. Annie’s house appears just like the original Myers house did thanks to a lit jack-o-lantern residing on the porch. It’s great foreshadowing, as the teens which later arrive appear similar to that of Judith and her boyfriend; again, exploring the idea of history repeating itself, cemented when the Judith tombstone finds a new corpse to shadow over.

As the night goes on and the body count begins to mount, Loomis loiters outside the Myers house in order to prevent kids from entering. He is waiting in fear for Michael, who is elsewhere killing teenagers in gruesome ways. Annie is murdered in her car, yet another classic moment as his soulless black eyes are enhanced through the glass window. Lynda’s boyfriend is suspended from the ground by a knife, entering through him and into the wall. This kill suggests that Michael is incredibly strong, and there is a strange moment in which he looks up at his victim, cocking his head like a curious animal. This scene strongly suggests that Michael is very unintelligent (making it harder to argue his driving-skills), which contradicts a later decision he makes to block access to the outside world by placing a rake under the home’s door handle. There are contradictions. Is he a confused child, trapped in time and doomed to relive a pivotal night of murder? Or is he the devil himself, methodical and cunning?

There are also continuity issues, for example the scene after Lynda is murdered in the bedroom while on the phone to Laurie across the street, Michael takes the phone and puts it to his ear. As the call ends, Laurie quickly looks out of the window to see the downstairs lights turn off. It works for dramatic effect, and it fuels cause and effect, urging Laurie to go over to the house and investigate, but it doesn’t really add up in terms of logic. There have been some “I’ll be right back” cliches, and some dumb decisions, notably of Lynda not being more taken aback by the sheet and glasses “ghost”. However, as is the genre, and the scenes they facilitate are entertaining and necessary for the film to work as a slasher. Laurie goes over to the house and discovers Michael, triggering a tense and suspenseful chase. The last act is definitely the strength of the film, as the last twenty minutes are arguably genre perfection.

The game of cat-and-mouse begins. Myers takes his time pursuing Laurie back to the house she was babysitting in. The mysterious antagonist’s calm and collected walk across the street towards Laurie is a terrifying and iconic moment, and the momentum is maintained until the film’s final shot. He enters the home and there are a series of struggles; he’s stabbed in the neck with a knitting pin, allowing her to hide in the closet. Of course he eventually finds her, which provides the film’s greatest moment, and for good reason. As he breaks through the door he turns on the light inside the wardrobe, illuminating him with clarity for the first time. There’s something about seeing him clearly, drenched in artificial light that makes the threat he poses feel so much more real. It’s the moment which truly highlights the sheer physical threat he represents - favouring realism over cinematic gloom - and the imagery it lends the narrative is enduring.

Halloween concludes with Michael being stabbed in the chest, and as he rises, Loomis enters and shoots him numerous times, causing him to topple over the balcony. His body is sprawled across the floor, and audiences in 1978 would likely have assumed that the night-stalker was dead. However, as Loomis walks over to glimpse the fallen villain, it is revealed that the illusive killer has disappeared. We are then presented with a montage, ordinary locations which are now tainted by the meaning that the narrative events have given them. They are no longer rooms, or streets, but locations haunted by terror, and by Myers shadow. Carpenter’s score during this procession of shots is spine-chilling, providing the genre with one of the greatest ever endings. It’s eerie, reserved, unforgettable.

As previously asserted, John Carpenter’s Halloween isn’t a perfect film, but it deserves its classic status. The filmmaker took influence from early slashers such as Michael Powell’s Peeping Tom, bestowing the tale of an excluded murderer with yet another modern twist, swapping the depth and analysis of the culprit and replacing them with lingering mystery. As argued, there is greatness in the film, and it’s definitely worth revisiting before heading out to see Green’s sequel, of which allegedly harkens back to the spirit of the original. Hopefully 2018’s Halloween follows Carpenter’s example, proving the importance of balancing effective score with frightening silence. Perhaps it may even make some improvements. We’ll all see on Friday night… the night he came home, again.