Last House On The Left (1972)

This movie, in some weird way, changed my life. It overtook The Exorcist, Carrie and The Wicker Man as my favourite horror movie ever, and that's one tough call. They are all utter works of genius. But when I first watched Wes Craven's directorial debut Last House On The Left, I saw something like I'd never seen before. Because of my sheer admiration for this film and its merits, I will issue a **SPOILER ALERT** right here.

Where to start with a movie I know inside out and back to front, from conception to aftermath? I suppose 1300s Sweden, in which a folk tale emerged, of a young girl who is raped and murdered in the woods by a gang of men, who then seek shelter at her parents' house. The parents realise who they are and what they have done, and kill them in revenge. But they also build a church to repent. This was the basis for Ingmar Bergman's Oscar Winning The Virgin Spring. And this was the basis for Last House On The Left.

In Craven's movie, we have beautiful young Mari Collingwood (Sandra Cassell), the daughter of a doctor celebrating her 17th birthday by going to the big city for a Bloodlust concert with her 'funky' friend Phyllis Stone (Lucy Grantham). An amusing opening scene introduces us to Mari, telling her parents about her plans for the night, and their reactions to her 'wild' ways. When Mari's father notices she's wearing no bra under her shirt, she giggles, 'Course not, nobody wears those things anymore!' Ahh, the good old days...Outraged by her bra-less cavorting, and her use of the word 'tits', old Doc Collingwood says, 'Tits?! What's this "tits" business? Sounds like I'm back in the barracks!' 




Mari and Phyllis, who is an iron and steel heiress ('My mother irons and my father steals!'), hit the town, looking for someone to buy some reefer from, and come across shaggy young Junior (Marc Sheffler), who they rather stupidly follow up to his apartment for an ounce o' the good stuff. However, through the earlier use of a local radio report, we have already been introduced to the crooks who lurk in said apartment: escaped convicted 'murderers, rapists and dope-pushers' Krug Stillo (David Hess) and Weasel Podowski (Fred Lincoln), and their cattish girlfriend Sadie (Jeramie Rain), who has demanded 'a couple more chicks' for 'equal representation'.

So the gang kidnap the girls, and next morning on their way out of town, break down right outside Mari's house, which is in the middle of the woods. So the gang drag the girls out into the forest for 'a little fun', and what follows is surely the most intense and affecting scene in the whole production. In a wicked game of Simon Says, the gang inflicts awful humiliation on the girls at knifepoint. With a move Craven used to indicate the beginning of a real emotionless horrorshow, Krug forces Phyllis to wet herself. Yes - shit just got real. Even nowadays, this is not your typical torture material, but the utter humiliation of it is probably all the more painful. In a feeble attempt to put a stop to the ordeal, a cluckin' Junior (who his own father hooked on heroin to control him) suggests that they instead force the girls to 'make it with each other'.

Warning: imminently ensuing is the most painful and memorable shot of the movie. Phyllis, worriedly trying to reassure her friend, pulls down Mari's underwear, while Krug leers over them, and Mari sobs uncontrollably, begging 'I can't, I can't'. Sandra Cassell, in her only post-LH interview with David Szulkin, maintained that much of the shoot was upsetting for her, and that David Hess was very frightening. This seems somewhat believable, for there is an incredible realism to her performance during these scenes. Many have drawn allusions to the death of Flower Power and the innocence of an era from this movie, and those were some of Craven's many lingering motivations in its making. This single shot of poor Mari, having her innocence quite literally stripped from her, as she helplessly begs for mercy, is utterly symbolic of the early '70s social and political upheaval.

But I digress, the girls are forced to 'make it', before Phyllis makes a run for it, distracting Sadie and Weasel. Mari meanwhile begs Junior to let her go, insisting her father can give him methadone, and gives him the peace-symbol necklace her father gave her earlier. It almost looks like the girls will make it. But Krug frightfully reappears each time (that was still a new and terrifying trick back then!), and Phyllis is disembowelled, then Mari is raped. This is another pivotal scene. Although reviled in its time, it does not linger, and it is not particularly violent. But Cassell's wild screams, and Hess' ingenious addition of drooling on his victim's cheek, give the final act of degradation its raw and disturbing effect.

Mari gets up and staggers away, as a haunting blues number 'Now You're All Alone' swells on the soundtrack. She vomits and prays, and then we look at Krug, Weasel and Sadie. Together, then individually, then together. They are silent, dumbfounded...remorseful? They stare blankly, alert suddenly to their actions, and the meaninglessness of it all. But they must finish what they started, and so as Mari wanders, in a trance, into the river, they dismally follow, and Krug shoots her. The suggestion of remorse follows on, as the gang submerge themselves in the river to wash the blood away, and put on new clothes.


The now very worried Doc and Mrs Collingwood are suddenly subjected to guests, as the gang roll up in their new clothes, seeking help with their busted car. At first unsuspecting, the Collingwoods cook dinner for them. '70s hospitality, lost but never forgotten. Later, his old man having deprived him of his fix, Junior is wretching his guts up in the bathroom, and Mrs Collingwood finds him, with Mari's necklace on. With the additional discovery of bloody clothes in their suitcase, she puts the pieces together, and the parents race down to the lake where they find Mari, and realise what has happened.

Back at the house, the crooks are asleep, and Doc starts laying traps throughout the house which incorporate shaving foam, trip wires, water and electricity. Meanwhile, Weasel wakes up from a brilliantly horrifying nightmare, and finds Mrs Collingwood downstairs. Thinking on her feet, she encourages his advances, and leads him outside. The lothario foolishly promises he can 'make love to a looker like you with my hands tied behind my back.' Famous last words. Mrs Collingwood really takes one for the team, and mid-fellatio bites Weasel's cock clean off. Oh yeeeaaah.

Unsurprisingly awoken by the former sexual predator's screams, Krug falls into Doc's various traps, before meeting him downstairs, where he is equipped with a chainsaw. And this was the year before Tobe Hooper did it. The fellas get into one hell of a scuffle, destroying all sorts of wooden living room furniture, when Junior reappears, hell bent on shooting Krug dead. But, the loving father that he is, Krug rages at Junior to 'take the gun, put it to your head and BLOW YOUR BRAINS OUT!' and the despairing youth finally obeys. Meanwhile, Sadie has made a run for it, and gets into the ultimate catfight with Mrs Collingwood, before taking a running jump into a surprise swimming pool. A swift razor to the neck for Sadie, and a far more jagged chainsaw for Krug, and the gang is history.

Now, as incidental threads throughout the movie, I must mention two other elements: the soundtrack, and the cops. David Hess was not only an incredibly gifted actor, creating one of the most menacing and unforgettable villains in cinema history, but his main occupation was songwriting. He wrote the entire soundtrack to Last House, and sang its vocals. The movie's 'theme song', repeated several times throughout, is a simple but haunting verse: 'And the road leads to nowhere / And the castle stays the same / And the father tells the mother / Wait for the rain.' 

During cut scenes of the Collingwoods setting up Mari's birthday party and baking her cake, a funky, upbeat piano and percussion number plays. During the scenes of molestation in the woods, an acoustic reprise of 'Now You're All Alone' strums softly, like a lullaby. The chase of Phyllis through the woods is a tense yet adventurous twangy guitar piece. Then, perhaps most memorably, is the Bonnie and Clyde style 'Baddies Theme', a banjo and piano song with amusing narrative lyrics. Behold:

 'Weasel and Junior, Sadie and Krug / Out for the day with the Collingwood broo-ood / Out for the day for some fresh air and sun / Let's have some fun with those two lovely children and off 'em as soon as we're dooo-ooone.' It gets better... 'Weasel and Sadie, Junkie and Dad / A quartet in harmony, barbershop baaa-aad / Cuttin' and stylin' to size and to shape / Krugsie ya know that this foolin' around isn't gettin' us outta the staaa-aaaate!' One more... 'Collingwood Manor is just out of reach / Phyllis is suckin' up sun on the beach / Mari and Junior are stuck in the rain / The local police force is lookin' for someone to get their car started agaaaa-aaaaiin!'

I hope you could guess that each word like 'dooo-ooone' is sang by sliding down and then up in pitch. It's an amazing song. Hess' music, generally, serves as a counterpoint to what is onscreen. To soften the blow of the violence and molestation, the gentle lullaby and the funky piano tune. Hess was a very professional musician, and he understood exactly what a medium a soundtrack could be to a movie, and he used it to its fullest potential. 

But I suppose the final verse of 'Baddies Theme' is leaving you wondering about the cops. Well, in the same vein of 'softening the blow', Craven wrote in two dumb-ass cops, Sheriff (Marshall Anker) and Deputy (Martin Kove, of later Sensei Kreese in Karate Kid fame), who the Collingwoods call when Mari doesn't come home. They see Krug's broken down car,  but decide not to pursue it: 'That ain't gonna find us Mari Collingwood!' Then a police notice identifies the car they saw as that of escaped convicts, and so Sheriff and Deputy rush off to save the day. Unfortunately, the car runs outta gas a couple of miles down the road, and this is a small-town department in 1972. No radios, no phones, no back up. So they gotta walk, or try and hitch a ride. So who would be so kind? That car full of long-haired hippies? 'Naaaah! We hate cops!' they yell, cruisin' by. How about old Ada with her chicken truck? No such luck. 'I couldn't get another chicken on here without it stallin', and now you two's on here, and you ain't chickens!' Better luck next time, fellas. 


You may see why many thought the cops a questionable addition. This very definitely does not sound like material from one of the most controversial horrors of all time. Craven himself admits he would have omitted them had he made the movie again. But they serve their purpose, as comic relief in its most literal form. The audience needed, the crew decided, to have brief periods of relief between the scenes of horror, and so the cops and the soundtrack worked together - very successfully, in my opinion - to provide this.

Every element has been scrutinised and debated heavily over the years, and the individual components, as well as the movie as a whole, continue to divide opinions. I gave my sister, a fellow horror connoisseur, the DVD for Christmas, and we watched it with our brother and his wife, both Film graduates. They liked it, but thought it was weird. 'The weirdest soundtrack to a movie I've ever heard' my brother said. I happen to have the soundtrack on my playlists, and 'Baddies Theme' as my ring tone. Oh yeeeaaahh.

Anyone can agree, the makers being perfectly willing, that the movie is a very amateur production, made by a bunch of young hippies with no experience, a drip-fed investment and a 'fuck you, society' attitude. The crippling time and money restraints don't really show, or more don't need to, as the cheap, handheld technique with which the movie's made adds to its brimming realism, in a documentary style. 


Wes Craven wrote the original screenplay in a few days, as a semi-pornographic exploitation picture, with far more disturbing and macabre displays on the Baddies' part than those which survive in modern prints. The early script made a colleague exclaim, 'My God, a guy with a Masters' degree in Philosophy wrote this?!' The cast members who gradually signed on were promised that things would be changed, and subsequently, much of the dialogue was improvised. If you think about such things when watching a movie, this is probably noticeable, to a strongly realistic effect. I find the wit written into it very amusing. For instance, Sadie has a very funny speech about how Sigmund 'Frood' caused the sex crime of the century, because now everything is actually 'a giant puh-haylus'. The earlier mentioned 'tits business' and cop scenes are other examples. 

While the roles of the parents feel rather like they could have been played by anybody, every other character is played with brilliance. While some, like Method student David Hess, thought very seriously and extensively about their characters, others like Lucy Grantham and Jeramie Rain took a less guided approach. However, each one seems effortless and natural, and I love that you can never confuse characters. Too often in movies, we are bombarded with several similar looking and sounding characters who we struggle to distinguish. Last House has only the necessities present, and they are each very distinguished. 

David Hess is amazing, menacing and siiiinnnfully handsome, and this movie made him the go-to guy for Menacing Rapist/Murderer, just as Hugh Grant became the go-to guy for Bumbling Foul-Mouthed Posh Twat. Fred Lincoln is funny, scary and totally slimy as the chewin' cacklin' Weasel. Fred went on to a very successful career in porn directing and acting. Jeramie Rain has great attitude and charisma, and made two other movies before marrying Richard Dreyfuss. Marc Sheffler went on to directing and writing, quite prolifically, and was close friends with Hess until his death. Sandra Cassell caused much debate, with a few mysterious internet presences insisting LH was her only film, in the face of very obvious physical evidence in the form of...well, Sandra Cassell in other movies, and pretty kinky ones at that (see Voices of Desire and Teenage Hitchhikers). Some argue there was actual porn too, but that's believed to be a mix-up. However, she now teaches acting. Lucy Grantham made another film with Fred Lincoln and Harry Reems, as well as some boner-fide porn loops! But word has it she was heiress to Hersheys and that she eventually got a PhD.

Last House On The Left is really unlike anything else, despite the many later movies in a similar genre which tried to milk their predecessor's fame, such as Night Train Murders, Horrible House on the Hill and Last House on Dead End Street. It seems that they just struck lucky, right place, right time, with all the right people. With a complete cast and crew totalling a mere 26, it's a real case of quality over quantity. Its time relativity is perhaps what makes it roll off the backs of younger generations (though I'm only 22 as I write this). The aforementioned '70s hospitality is a long gone thing, and so some can't imagine a world where you wouldn't think it dangerous to go to a stranger's apartment, or allow them to stay in your home. 




The other thing is perhaps that it just isn't so violent as films inevitably have become. Last House was top of its game, disgusting-wise, with pretty much all but the mighty Ebert slating it as sickening trash. Ebert was one who recognised its aims and artistic merits, however simple. But take, for example, the obvious remake but totally not a remake by David DeFalco, Chaos (2005), which saw its first victim force fed her own nipple, before being repeatedly stabbed and her dying body being raped by two different men, and its second victim's two orifices being butchered into one. This comparison emphasises just how low-key Last House is by modern standards. 

However, its effortless realism is terrifying and heart-breaking, where later versions of the movie felt like a movie, or what a movie is expected to be now. Cardboard words that real people don't say, neatly-framed shots, endless protests of 'you sick motherfucker' towards the aggressors, rather than the far more likely hysterical begging and crying. Movies are seldom made with this degree of realism in mind. It is funny how an endless forest can seem like an inescapable fourth wall, and put us directly into the scene, but without the means of running. 

The List of Video Nasties was mostly bombarded with under-the-radar pictures with no real structure, talent, craft, or even plot, but plenty of too-bright-red blood and a lot of "tits business"!


The better-known gracers of the list were mostly never actually on the list, such as Texas Chainsaw Massacre and A Clockwork Orange, and having now seen approximately half of the listed pictures, I confidently declare that Last House On The Left is the best, most influential and important title on there.