Blondes, Beef, and Brutality: The Sounds of ‘The Texas Chain Saw Massacre’ [Spins and Needles]
R.C. Jara
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The aural landscape of Tobe Hooper and Kim Henkel’s The Texas Chain Saw Massacre comprises sounds of death. Even before the teeth on that gas-powered murder machine begin to rattle, it is constructed to drive the viewer into a frenzy. By today’s standards, it’s a relatively bloodless affair. But to the bone, the film does not hold back on savagery. This tale of survival is littered with triggers to primal responses from back when humans had to learn to be evasive or be dinner. Much of the dread that permeates throughout is due in large part to the work of composer and sound designer Wayne Bell. Though often absent from the conversation, Bell’s use of avant-garde musical notation overwhelms the senses, capturing an uncanny space between obfuscation and the horrifically vivid.
The Texas Chain Saw Massacre has met every need in a horror filmmaker’s diet for the better part of 50 years and its reputation insists that no part be discarded. High on the list of the most nutritious bits is the opening flash photography sequence. Though vital to modern horror cinema, the secrets of the iconic sting will likely die with its creator, according to an article by film writer Charlie Bridgen. But it is a prime example of the “grey area” Bell and Hooper accessed when distinguishing between music cues and effects. In order to push the boundaries of what horror could achieve in its day, fluidity was maintained during the recording.
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A library of compiled sounds made with unconventional instrumentation provided the duo with a multitude of textures to work with. In the 2000 documentary Texas Chain Saw Massacre: The Shocking Truth, both men ruminate on the simplicity of using words like “seething,” “rumble,” or “ice” to tailor scenes. Part of this philosophy involved dragging abstract sensations from a dormant place. Yet there was also an embrace of the abstract in the form of musique concrète.
As explained by Bell, a core tenet of musique concrète is “the use of editing as a composing tool.” Pioneered in the 1940s by Egyptian composer Halim El-Dabh and French composer Pierre Schaeffer, this style of music transformed the editing process into a performance in and of itself. Creating “symphonies of noise” for experimentation with tape recordings made it possible to articulate different tonal inflections. And harnessing these techniques was a means to an end for a ragtag group of Austin filmmakers whose sole motivation was to scare the living shit out of unsuspecting audiences. Gunnar Hansen’s Leatherface may be in charge of tenderizing each young hunk of meat that crosses his path. But the oppressive environment he serves is given proper heft beyond the camera. As a result, sonic terror in The Texas Chain Saw Massacre is intensely rendered.
Instead of using proper string arrangements, Bell and Hooper attacked their instruments and wrangled emotion out of the ensuing noise. This, coupled with razor-sharp editing and set design, is what makes the discovery of the bone room and a gnarly meat cleaver death not only palpable but inescapable. Hopelessness was the prevailing sentiment of the milieu in which this film was released. Juxtaposed images of people cooking in a van with cows lined up for slaughter are bolstered by the sounds of impending doom.
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Though vividly produced, none of these experiments would have worked without the lull of diegetic ambiance. The soundtrack brilliantly incorporates insects, wind chimes, speaking voices, and screams. This tells us that evil doesn’t just lurk in the crevices of dilapidated farmhouses. Every step past one’s comfort zone is actually one closer to death. The evil at hand is not readily apparent to victims and first-time viewers, however. Nor can it be argued with morally. Rather, it is the kind of abject evil that moves with the stars.
Early on in the film, Pam (Terry McMinn) recites these lines from her astrology book: “There are moments when we cannot believe that what is happening is really true. Pinch yourself and you may find out that it is.” Bell’s sound design is so effortlessly dreamlike that there is no reality to check back into. Instead of disappearing within the film’s atmosphere, dialogue like this acts as a cosmic taunt.
Much of the film’s horror operates this way. As does its warped sense of humor, even if watching people suffer at the hands of maniacs shouldn’t be all that funny. But The Texas Chain Saw Massacre is malleable in its chaotic nature. As an audience we not only sympathize with Sally Hardesty (Marilyn Burns) and her friends, but we are trapped in their world. The filmmakers go to great lengths to remove any guard rails that might distract from that fact. Any laughter is mainly provoked out of nervousness while we are taken to progressively nastier places.
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The film’s capacity to fully realize psychological torment on-screen is unparalleled. Its soundtrack is both suggestive and nauseating. Not a cause for celebration regarding artistic expression, the BBFC’s outright refusal to release any iteration of this thing to the public speaks volumes on how forward-thinking Bell and Hooper were in their approach. Cultivating and maintaining dread alongside its more absurd elements, the film’s blurring of the fourth wall would not be complete without its sly needle drops.
Though not as bombastic as viewers are used to today, The Texas Chain Saw Massacre innovates the horror trend of weaponizing diegetic music. From the cantina stylings of Arkey Blue, and Tejano band Los Cyclones, the rhythms of the film give it a localized charm. In the first half-hour, the group’s drive through the countryside is nearly disarming in its pleasantness. Self-mutilating hitchhikers notwithstanding. Here is where the film’s musical centerpiece, Roger Bartlett’s “Fool for a Blonde,” resides.
The song perfectly accentuates the road trip. Its swinging jazz rhythm and lyrics about a passing infatuation while sitting at a coffee shop make the song a fine example of Texas blues. It also plays during the group’s first encounter with the hitchhiker, played by Edwin Neal. This scene is the group’s first test of endurance as tensions escalate inside the van. The hitchhiker cuts himself with a razor blade, then lights up a rejected photograph with gunpowder in short succession. Caught off guard, the group is forced to contend with elements beyond their control for the remainder of the film. These esoteric horrors are anticipated by the score. But “Fool for a Blonde” specifically gestures towards the fates of Sally, Pam, and even Kirk as objects of fascination to a family of cannibals.
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The inclusion of Bartlett’s single is emblematic of Hooper’s loving irreverence towards the horror genre. Taking the piss out of Psycho by using a radio single to delineate a fixation with the titular blonde is indelicate but effective. Much like Pam’s ominous reading about the malefic energies of Saturn in retrograde, the song can be interpreted as an instance of foreshadowing. Though Bartlett wrote an affectionate earworm, it is engulfed by the film’s pessimistic view of the era’s various culture clashes, especially pertaining to gender and sexuality. Pam and Kirk are both eliminated early on, leaving Sally to bear the brunt of all the leering and torture. Leading up to and including the dinner scene at the Sawyer family table, whatever innocence “Fool for a Blonde” carried with it initially is violently erased.
It’s worth mentioning that gender roles in The Texas Chain Saw Massacre have been read outside the binary of male/female identification. Horrifying as it is, much of the dinner scene fits neatly within an early John Waters film, if a bit toned down. Henkel himself would lean on Leatherface as a drag icon in the unfairly maligned camp classic Return of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Still, Hooper is not demure in showing the extent of his protagonist’s torment by a group of men. In their strive towards realism, Hooper and Bell capture the Sawyers’ relentless mocking of Sally until it crescendoes into a demented white noise.
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In a final blow to the old horror vanguard, the victimized blonde gets one over on her tormentors following a wild chase sequence that signals the emergence of the “final girl” in a new subgenre of horror. A cathartic moment for both character and actor (Burns had to reshoot the chase despite being visibly injured), this victory provides a fitting end. With blood covering up her sandy blonde hair, Sally escapes in a pick-up truck while her feverish laughter briefly takes over the soundtrack. The same cannot be said for the audience, who is held at the mercy of Leatherface’s running chainsaw before the picture cuts to black.
We know that The Texas Chain Saw Massacre was made because there is plenty of documentation. On-set testimonials describe how badly the sweltering Texas heat affected the psyche of several actors and crew members involved. So I say, with the utmost respect for the craft on screen, that every time I watch the film it plays as though it were burned onto celluloid and only ended up in theaters out of pure malice. Famously credited as being “made by psychopaths,” the film more than earns its place as a loose-cannon horror masterpiece. Taking note of Bell and Hooper’s efforts to deliberately agitate the viewer by pulling nightmarish sounds out of the depths of insanity only makes their vision more terrifying.
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