Ok...I realize the film featured here is not on VHS...but I’m writing to you from Day #5 of a quarantine that could last up to 18 months...and it could be a small eternity before I get to shop for tapes again. I went ahead and threw my copy of A Nightmare on Elm Street Part 3: Dream Warriors in the pic just to keep things copacetic...so maybe don’t break balls! I also realized that VHS of the Week is really about tearing movies apart. Busting chops. Cracking wise. And I don’t really feel like I have any of that in me right now, today. I always try to include some sort of personal story in these reviews because...as terrible as most of these movies are...they mean everything in the world to me. They are the fabric I use to stitch together my formative years. My happiest years. I want to talk about the night two friends (we’ll call them Slash and Duff) and I went to see Freddy’s Dead: The Final Nightmare in September of 1991.
First, let’s talk about this Nightmare on Elm Street Collection...which was released in 1999 and retailed for about $150...which is about $150 in 1999 money. It features all Part’s 1 through 6, the uber meta Wes Craven’s New Nightmare, a booklet, a documentary, AND a pair of 3D glasses which can only be utilized for about 8 minutes toward the end of Freddy’s Dead. It’s one handsome package! And also--completely wallet destroying for a marginally employed chump like myself. I couldn’t look in her eyes...she was out of my league, you dig? I can’t tell you how many times I walked into Tower Records or, later, Virgin Megastore and cradled this box in my arms and thought “what if I just RUN OFF INTO THE NIGHT WITH IT!?” But I can’t run for shit...and stealing ain’t baller...so I had to settle for a lot of Wayne Campbell: “She will be mine. Oh yes...she will be mine!” I always kept my eye on the prize, though. “One day...when I get some real money...” That day finally came in 2007, when I was working at this hotshot oyster bar in the North End of Boston. I was bringing in some decent coin on the regular...but that spring we had this severe staff shortage and I ended up working like 38 days in a row or something ridiculous. When all was said and done I had enough cash in my pocket to buy an ’85 Chevy Chevette (seriously, I was so busy I stopped counting at a certain point). When Day Off ’07 finally rolled around people were like “what are you gonna do with all that scratch, Tebo??” You KNOW what! I’m gonna drive straight to the motherfucking mall and buy myself the Nightmare boxed set...so that’s what I did (do you accept CASH!?? Ka-ching!). I also went to the driving range and hit a bucket of balls...which is weird because I had never done that before and have not done so since. I guess maybe it was a nice day?
So this boxed set and I have been thick as thieves ever since. I have lugged it around with me from apartment to apartment over the last 13 years. In fact, if the joint went up in smoke I would probably rescue Freddy Krueger first (note: this is probably not true. I mean...I could just stream the movies. Plus, we have cats). When I moved in with my pal Sean in 2012 he invited his mom and stepdad over to watch football one Sunday afternoon. While they watched the game I busied myself setting up my DVD collection. When I pulled out the Freddy box Sean’s stepdad, Boston accent thicker than 10 SNL Dunkin’ Donuts sketches, grabbed it out of my hands, gazed it lovingly and shouted “holy shit, guy--fuckin’ Freddy Kroo-gah!? I raised my kids on this shit!” In that moment this man became my hero for life. That’s some seriously ace parenting there. It made me think about how I raised MYSELF on these flicks...over the extreme objections of both of my parents. But hey...they didn’t exactly stop me from watching them either. It became a rite of passage...finally being old enough to catch a Nightmare flick in the theater. And by “old enough” I mean nine years old...which is exactly how old I was when I conned my extremely unsuspecting great-grandparents into taking me to see Part 4 in the theater. I reasoned that the central character of the film’s name was Fred...same as my great-grandfather...so he was guaranteed to enjoy it. Nine year olds--they know all! I haven’t missed a Freddy on the big screen since (except for the reboot...which I refuse to acknowledge the existence of). Part 5? Caught that at a drive-in double feature with the Hulk Hogan flick No Holds Barred. Not a bad way to close out the summer of ’89.
Freddy’s Dead marked the first time that I was allowed to see one of these flicks without an adult present...mostly because all of the adults I know flatly refused to watch it. They used to have an unofficial system in place where your moms could buy you and your pals a ticket to see an R-rated movie unaccompanied as long as she wrote her home phone number on the back of the ticket stub. You want to send little Danny into Angel Heart? As long as the usher has your digits! I was never quite sure what they were gonna even do with these phone numbers. Calls the house: “Yeah Gail...this is Bill down at Lincoln Plaza. Mickey Rourke and Lisa Bonet are going at it...and your kid...he’s INTO IT!!!” Anyway, September 20th 1991 my mom dropped Slash, Duff, and I off to catch the 7:30 showing of Freddy’s Dead at Showcase Cinemas in downtown Worcester. We watched it. We loved it. But then again...we loved anything and everything we saw on the big screen at this point. I have a journal from this era where I declare Joe Pesci’s The Super and Necessary Roughness to be two of the greatest comedies of all time. This is typically the part where I would re-watch the flick and give y’all the play by play...but I don’t want to...because Freddy’s Dead is ass terrible. It’s the worst film in the series (and yes...I have seen Part 2). I did try to watch it again about a decade ago and couldn’t even get through it. It’s just...the tone is way different from the earlier films...kind of like how the Friday the 13th films were never the same after Paramount sold the franchise. I don’t know...it stars Billy Zane’sssssss sister Lisa and has cameos from a coked up as shit Tom and Roseanne Arnold and a probably drunk as shit Johnny Depp (wino forever, bro). I think there’s a scene where a dude falls out of an airplane and lands on a bed of nails...which has got to hurt like a son of a bitch. I liked it so much at the time that I dragged my dad...who HATED horror movies...to see it the following weekend. I reasoned that he might actually enjoy this one as it featured the Iron Butterfly song “In-a-Gadda-Da-Vida”...and he was tight with that tune. I also noted the score was by Brian May and we were both massive Queen fans. In his angry diatribe following the movie my dad mentioned a suspicious dearth of layered guitarmonies. Turns out there are/were two Brian May’s. Hey, it’s not like I could’ve googled this shit at the time!
Anyway...after the movie was over the three of us went outside and were mugged. I mean...that’s the story we told our entire 8th grade class when we got back to school the following Monday. What actually happened was this: usually my mom would be dutifully waiting for us out front as soon as the flicks ended. For some reason, on this night, we decided to delay calling her and take a stroll into the center of downtown Worcester, which was pretty well de-crap-itated at the time. The Galleria mall was abandoned as were most of the storefronts. I think there was a Strawberries Records and a porno theater. In other words...the days of charcuterie boards full of house made kimchi and ultra rare Vermont IPA’s were far off at this point. Like...26 years off. I’m not sure what we were looking for by walking further into the city. Maybe we were 12 years-old and feeling ourselves and wanted to sample some of that Woo nightlife. As soon as we got past City Hall a group of young ruffians surrounded us and started to ask, not unreasonably, what we were doing out on the streets. Were we actually in danger? Probably not. We were in a well lighted area with dozens of people around. As I frantically scanned around for a payphone, Slash started digging into the breast pocket of his jean jacket. “What are you looking for?” asked one of the older kids. “I’m getting 36 cents to give to you, homeboy!” Slash replied. Well, homeboy didn’t like this and threw a shoulder into Slash. That was enough action for us. I grabbed Slash and Duff and we darted out into traffic and sprinted into the lobby of that huge glass Shawmut Bank tower. The kids gave chase but thankfully there was a security guard in the lobby who came out and told the kids to piss off. He gave us a thorough dressing down for being out on the streets and agreed to call my mom...who was apoplectic and grounded me for life (I’m still inside).
When we got back to school the story we told went something like this: we were on our way to to porno theater when we were surrounded by kids with switchblades. Slash roundhouse kicked the knives out of all of their hands. Duff put one of the kids in a sleeper hold while I worked his midsection...but then another dude got me in a full nelson. Luckily Slash had his nunchucks and was able to get the kid off of me. We ran across the street as fast as we could...jumping over cars and causing 10 fender benders. We had to really book it too ‘cuz the bad guys started flinging Chinese throwing stars at us! When we banged on the doors to the Shawmut tower the security guard came out brandishing an Uzi and said “not today, PUNKS!” The bad guys retreated.
What really happened after the “mugging” was this: Slash and Duff spent the night at my place...despite the lifetime grounding. We sat on my waterbed (shut up...a lot of people had them) and waited for Headbanger’s Ball to come on. When Slash flipped on the channel there was this weird, Sepia-toned video playing that sounded like nothing I had ever heard before in my life. I instantly got butterflies in my stomach. Something about those hooks! Slash immediately switched the station. “Dude!” I said...”go back! What WAS that?!” “Stupid Nirvana,” he said. “They’ve been playing it all the time and it isn’t even METAL!” So there...I saw Freddy’s Dead...got “mugged”...and heard Nirvana for the first time...all in one Friday night. Three big life boxes...checked off. The end.