“Despicable…ugly and obscene…a degrading, senseless misuse of film and time” - The Los Angeles Times

In the blazing hot Texan summer five teenagers are taking a drive through the countryside. They're cute, fresh faced and groovy; Pam is obsessed with horoscopes and is Kirk’s ‘old lady’, Sally and Gerry are another a hip, swinging young couple complete with bellbottoms and a perm and then there’s Sally’s brother Franklin. Franklin is whiney, wheelchair bound and overweight and the first time we meet him he’s rolling down a hill and landing flat on his face after attempting to urinate into a tin can on the side of the road. They’ve decided to visit the grave of Sally and Franklin’s granddaddy (there’s been a spate of grave robberies recently and it’s better to be safe than sorry) and then swing by the old family house. But by the time they get there they’ve run out of Gas and though there’s plenty of Barbecue at the local Gas Station there won’t be any Gas till the morning. On the way they’ve picked up (and thrown out) a psychotic hitchhiker who took and burnt a picture of Franklin and sliced through his own hand; but nothing seems to faze these kids. So when they reach Granddaddy’s house they’re in high spirits despite its state of disrepair and since they’re stuck there for a while Pam and Kirk decide to venture down to the old swimming hole. Except the old swimming hole’s all dried up and beyond it is a house in the distance. It’s an idyllic looking spot, white washed and shingled, surrounded by sunflowers, with a parking lot’s worth of cars hidden under camouflage netting round the back and a human tooth on the porch; but NOTHING fazes these kids. Kirk decides it’d be fine to knock and to let himself in when there’s no reply, he even decides it’s all right to wander down to that red room at the end of the corridor; I mean the locals are bound to be friendly round these parts, aren’t they?

A lot of the success of this latter part of the film can be attributed to the invention of one Robert A. Burns, as Production Designer and Art Director he really goes to town. The house in which Leatherface lives with three generations of male relatives is an absolute work of art. From the makeshift human abattoir to a three-piece suite made entirely out of bones this house is the most menacing character in the film. The plateau of desiccated grandparents and dead pets looks like it could be a Damien Hirst exhibit. It’s really astounding stuff and on such a low budget demands the kind of creativity that is often replaced with dollars and special effects in modern cinema; how many Production Designers make trips to Veterinary Surgeons to sort through monkey bones these days?

This is very much representative of Hooper’s overall direction of this film. It is full of ideas and ingenuity and his passion really shines through. The film opens with a voiceover telling us this film is a true story. Hooper based his story (very loosely) on the legendary real life killer (and nutter) Ed Gein (who also provided the inspiration for ‘Psycho’ and ‘Silence of the Lambs’) but it is far from true. As a stylistic choice though, billing this as some kind of a reconstruction does add a further level of tension. Hooper's direction throughout treats us to occasional moments of brilliance; from photographs flashed on screen in its opening scenes, to the genuine feeling of claustrophobia Hooper creates in the kid’s van, and the now notorious sight of Pam being casually placed on a meat hook; there are some great visual flourishes. Unfortunately the film doesn't consistently hit such highs, Hooper can be workmanlike and uninspired at times and there is little that inspires in the lazy way Franklin is dismembered. His inexperience can sometimes be obvious and you wonder if this film is the result of youthful fervour rather than true talent (particularly when his output since is considered).