Honoring Hooper – The Horror Community Pays Tribute to the Great Tobe Hooper
Steve Barton
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Time is ironic, and you think that you will have an infinite amount of it, and that’s when things get harder. I was fortunate enough to get to meet Tobe Hooper several times. And because of that, I thought obviously we’d meet again. You get so caught up in the bullshit of your life that you forget that time is finite.
But it is.
You might not have told that person how much they actually meant to you. Sure, they probably would have played it cool and did the whole “aw shucks” routine, and the “I’m just a guy, like anyone else.” But deep down, you know that they aren’t.
They have done something, at least cinematically, that few have. They created something that made such an impact that the ripple is still spreading to this day.
A close friend asked me recently who I thought made the bigger impact on cinema, particularly horror cinema – George A. Romero or Tobe Hooper?
I didn’t answer right away. I sat and thought. Because for me, and I suspect a good number of you, that one definitive, clear cut, fucking end all to be all answer is… impossible.
Both these men changed cinema in totally different, but unique ways. On the surface: One created a new threat (ourselves) that would devour any living without prejudice. The other gave birth to the stylized masked killer.
There is so much more that these two filmmakers had in common with their debuts, and yet inevitable cinematic albatrosses, that one would be surprised that they weren’t related.
George A. Romero may have drawn the line in the sand, but Tobe Hooper blasted that line away.
But Texas Chain Saw Massacre didn’t seem as far removed as the black and white terrors of Night. Perhaps one generation removed. Its gritty and grainy color 16mm film stock brought the terror much closer to home. It felt immediate. It felt real. It felt dangerous.
With that film, Tobe Hooper earned not just his horror cred, but also the enduring admiration of countless fans and filmmakers. Hell, many of us try to capture that same kind of intensity in our own work, but I’ve yet to see anyone come close to the mad and macabre that he did with that film.
Tobe was an outlaw, maneuvering his way through the studio system, sliding in his subversive views behind their backs, until, as would plague many a director, box office and returns started to dwindle.
I don’t think that it’s Tobe Hooper who changed, I think it was the system that did. Creating more and more pressure for that opening weekend, as opposed to thinking about something that would last. That would resonate.
I know that when I met Tobe Hooper, and it was only a few times, that he was filled with as much enthusiasm as any person getting to make their first movie. He loved movies. He knew movies. And he believed in their power. I could tell that, with just the few interactions I was lucky enough to have with him. I wasn’t his friend, I cannot claim to be, but what I felt each time meeting him was pure and genuine.
While it seems that, like with Romero’s Night, Tobe will always be connected to The Texas Chain Saw Massacre like a Siamese twin, it does warm my heart to see that like with Romero, people finally caught up and praised his other fine works: Salem’s Lot, The Funhouse, Lifeforce, Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2, hell there are even fans of The Mangler – you gotta give props to a director to have the balls to do a movie about an evil laundry machine!
Tobe Hooper took chances, and gave chances, devil be damned. He also created opportunities for people whether he realized it or not. The Texas Chain Saw Massacre spawned everything from rip offs, to sequels, to remakes, and sequels to remakes. It’s spawned action figures, video games and comic books.
Ripples.
In some ways those ripples affected me directly. In the years since I’ve been at this movie game I’ve met, worked and became friends with many people who have been directly and indirectly involved in the ripples of what Tobe started.
So thank you Tobe Hooper. Thank you for your vision, your risks, your sharp wit, your encouragement, and your kindness to me, and the multitude of people that your work has inspired in one way or another.
The Saw truly is family. It always will be.
– Dave Parker
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