The Couch Potato reviews (the original) 'A Nightmare on Elm Street'

Ah, the images. Freddy Krueger cutting off two of his own fingers and giggling like a schoolgirl. Amanda Wyss, belly sliced open, rebounding off the walls and ceiling of her parents' bedroom. A bed sheet slithering like a snake around the neck of a teenaged ass and hanging him from the bars of a jail cell. The iconic finger-blades poking out of the bubbles in a tub occupied by an unsuspecting teen girl. And my personal favorite, Johnny Depp being sucked into a mattress that erupts in a geyser of grue.

None of those images, however, are nearly as frightening as the sight of Heather Langenkamp's eyebrows. Almost as bushy as Andy Rooney's. Yikes. All that aside, on the occasion of the release of the remake of the classic, I thought it was a good idea to revisit the original “A Nightmare on Elm Street” and see what it has to offer today's audience. Perhaps surprisingly, it holds up rather well.

While the overall theme of dreams intruding into reality has become trite, thanks in no small part to the string of sequels of varying quality, the images that stay in my head set this film apart, to this day, from other knock-offs and wannabe attempts at cerebral horror.

Of course, the context of teenagers in peril has been, and will always be, the favorite fodder for fright-fest filmmakers (damn, I love alliteration). But until Craven came along and introduced us to Freddy, no one had captured teenage vulnerability in horror so imaginatively. I've read some people speculate that Freddy, in the original at least, was symbolic of the teenage fear of growing up, and that succumbing to that fear was equal to death.

Next time I talk to Wes, I'll have to remember to ask him about that. The best thing about the original, in my not-so-humble opinion, is that it was the only time Freddy was a real monster, and not the Henny Youngman of burned pedophile serial sleep killers. (Note: if you're too young to know who Henny Youngman was, feel free to insert your favorite one-liner wisecracking comedian in his place).

Freddy doesn't do much talking in the first film, but the dialogue he does have is pretty straightforward.  The only quips he makes are “This is God,” and “I'm your boyfriend now.” Not for comic relief, but to inspire discomfort. And audience discomfort is what film horror should be about.

Of course, most of the sequels featured Freddy more prominently, and it was probably the right moneymaking decision. He became a pop-culture icon in the process, so much so that they managed to get the brilliant Jackie Earle Haley to play the role in the remake. But by making him the king of comedy, they took away his title of monster in the process. The sequels became simply exercises in Freddy cracking wise while slicing and dicing his victims in crazy ways.

Of course, creative-kill horror movies are all the rage now. One could make the case that they serve their purpose better because Jigsaw isn't spouting one-liners while he picks off his victims. They might not be as creative as the Freddy flicks, but none of the “Nightmare” sequels is scary at all (the exception being the underrated meta-sequel “New Nightmare”). At least “Saw,” “Hostel,” and the like still deal in fear.

The remake appears to be just as Freddy-centric as the sequels. Lets at least hope the folks at Platinum  Dunes remembered to scare us.

Article written by Dave Fogerson