THE REAL THREAT IS OUR FLAWS, NOT THE MONSTERS WANTING TO TEAR AT OUR FLESH: 'DAY OF THE DEAD' (1985)

George A. Romero surrounded by undead extras on the set of Day of the Dead. Credit: Laurel Entertainment Inc

George A. Romero (1940 - 2017) was a radical filmmaker who was sharply observant and had profound insight and understanding. His biting socio-political commentaries in his allegorical zombie horror films were accurately representative of their respective decades. He had guts and vision.

Romero’s horde of once human creatures - the slow-walking and flesh-eating undead - in Night of the Living Dead (1968), were more than just cyphers used simply as scary devices. He articulated his knowledge and thoughts by filling their vessels with symbolic meanings to convey his messages. What is frightening is not the mysterious phenomenon of the zombie epidemic, but the bleak backdrop and its underlying issues: government and media failings, the fears caused by Cold War paranoia, the ongoing Vietnam War, and the turmoil that came from the domestic racism and race riots. 

Dawn of the Dead (1978) is George A. Romero’s cynical and damning satire on society’s superficial materialistic obsession with consumer culture, and its distinct lack of concern with cultural, intellectual, and spiritual values. This time the commentary and the flesh-munching zombie horror are meshed with offbeat tongue-in-cheek humour. This is unlike the gruelling pessimism of its predecessor, which Romero would return to for the next instalment in his Of the Dead saga.

Much has been made about how George A. Romero was forced to write an abbreviated version of Day of the Dead. The writer/director had a grand vision for an almost three-hour post-apocalyptic zombie epic. While the finished film is more small-scale than Romero initially envisioned, as it is structured like a tragic play, it turned out to be some of his most reflective work, and he considered it his personal favourite of the series.

George A. Romero and producer Richard P. Rubinstein’s production company, Laurel Entertainment, made a three-picture deal with United Film Distribution Company (UFDC), after their phenomenally successful unrated release of Dawn of the Dead. The head of UFDC, Salah M. Hassanein (1921 - 2019), made the condition that one of these pictures had to be a sequel to it. Romero and Rubinstein did not feel immediate pressure to develop the follow-up, so they decided to work on the other two projects first. Action drama Knightriders (1981) is a unique personal piece about a traveling troupe of motorcycle jousters, which does not have mass-commercial appeal, and only works for a niche audience, so it was a financial disappointment. While the horror comedy anthology, Creepshow (1982), written by Stephen King, is the polar opposite in terms of attracting a mainstream audience, and was a hit, it was sold to Hollywood studio Warner Bros., so they reaped most of the profits. Salah M. Hassanein had promised George A. Romero a $7 million budget for Day of the Dead, but due to the lack of financial success with the previous two productions, and with minimal funds left, Hassanein was unwilling to take the risk, unless Romero made an R-rated cut.

This is why George A. Romero did rewrites in order to make an affordable and more graphic independent horror feature. He did away with the extravagant locales and set the story in a single location, omitted the elaborate action set pieces, and wrote out some characters and amalgamated others. It did not negatively affect the essence of Day of the Dead: the message in its cautionary tale. The low budget of half as much - $3.5 million - allowed for a harder unrated version that Romero knew the fans would want to see, due to the unrated release of Dawn of the Dead. Maybe if he had shot Day of the Dead first, we would have got what he originally planned, but he considered the finished film to be better. He would use some of his scrapped ideas for his far bigger-budgeted Universal production, Land of the Dead (2005), which is not as good of a film. Therefore, was George A. Romero’s vision truly compromised?

The far lower budget allowed for a far more graphic version of Day of the Dead. Credit: Laurel Entertainment Inc

The bleak setting and situation serves as a microcosm of Romero’s dark themes: the breakdown of communication; the societal collapse; and the fear of an unregulated government and its abuse of power, and that it will form a fascist state, which will be enforced by its military thugs. This is more relevant than ever.

Day of the Dead is dialogue heavy, with memorable and quotable lines delivered by committed actors, who portray a mixed bag of sympathetic and unsympathetic characters.

The dead continue to feast on the flesh of the living, and have overtaken the entire world. Only fragments of the U.S. government remains. They are forced into hiding in fortified bases and colonies, while scientists desperately try to find a cure for the zombie pandemic. In the hellish claustrophobic isolation of a dark and dank underground mine installation in Fort Myers, Florida, a group of scientists are doing just this by experimenting on zombies, and are supervised by soldiers for protection. This is a quickly put together operation, and they were thrown together in the most extreme of circumstances. The tensions between these two factions reach boiling point due to their contrasting views on civilisation’s grim predicament.

When the military detachment’s major dies, the film’s antagonist - the narrow-minded, authoritarian, and increasingly mentally unhinged, Captain Rhodes (Joseph Pilato, 1949 - 2019) - takes over. Rhodes does not believe in what the scientists are doing, so he puts immense pressure on them, and is impossible to be reasoned with. He just wants to destroy the zombies and leave with his hostile troops. Worst of all, he threatens the scientists’ lives.

One of the scientists, the only female character, Sarah (Lori Cardille), is a voice of reason, and represents humanity’s last strands of moral fibre. Sarah is intelligent and strong, and is George A. Romero’s continued apology for his own criticism of the weak characterization of Barbara in Night of the Living Dead. This rectification began with Francine in Dawn of the Dead. But Sarah is made to feel incredibly vulnerable due to the added pressure of having to deal with her lover, Miguel (Anthony Dileo Jr., 1956 - 2025), who is one of the soldiers, as he is mentally deteriorating, and is becoming a threat to the safety of everyone.

When Rhodes and his men find out that chief scientist, Logan (Richard Liberty, 1932 - 2000), whom they have nicknamed ‘Frankenstein’, has been using dead soldiers for his experiments and for zombie food, matters become dire. Sarah, and John (Terry Alexander), the helicopter pilot, and McDermott (Jarlath Conroy), the radio operator, find themselves in a dangerous struggle for survival. This escalates when Miguel lets in the zombies.

"... the film’s antagonist - the narrow-minded, authoritarian, and increasingly mentally unhinged, Captain Rhodes ..." played by Joseph Pilato. Credit: Laurel Entertainment Inc

Instead of doing what they are supposed to do, by reaching a compromise and working together, to deal with not only what threatens their lives, but the lives of what is left of the human race, they ravage each other. Their breakdown in communication and their intense infighting conveys that we are our own worst enemies who will be hopelessly incapable of dealing with a crisis that will destroy our existence. Humankind’s flaws are exposed when facing extinction. This is a tale of flawed human behaviour in a small pocket of a huge apocalyptic landscape, but it can take just one group of people working together to solve the entire world’s problems, so this is why it is a tragedy of such magnitude.

The humans tear each other apart, figuratively, and the zombies tear them apart, literally. As the undead evolve, human civilization crumbles in their wake. This is a revolution, as a new society is coming in and devouring (again, literally) the fragile old, which no longer deserve their placing, and are incapable of handling it.

They pay the price, as it culminates in a potently explicit splatterfest. Romero’s more gore the better approach far exceeds the carnage seen in the first two zombie films he made in the 1960s and 1970s. The filmmaker’s eye on the times is as observant as ever and perfectly exemplifies 1980s excess, with a gorehound’s wet dream. The undead rip apart human bodies and chow down on the flesh with every morsel and bite captured in lucid detail, and there are viscera aplenty. This is intense imagery and shocking gore cinema.

This is the groundbreaking work of SFX maestro Tom Savini, who easily bests his work in Dawn of the Dead. His gift for creating vividly realistic special make-up effects peaked here with his magnum opus outside of the slasher sub-genre he is most associated with. Savini’s care in his craft is meticulous, in realizing the greatest-looking decaying flesh eaters of zombie horror, with an enormous amount of prosthetics used. Every single one of this legion of undead extras stands out with their unique appearances and characteristics, and are the most unforgettable zombies ever to shuffle across the silver screen.

Side note: Tom Savini’s best work in slasher horror is arguably in Joseph Zito’s The Prowler (Rosemary’s Killer, 1981).

The lovable Bub (Sherman Howard) is just one of "... the most unforgettable zombies ever to shuffle across the silver screen." Credit: Laurel Entertainment Inc 

With the exceptions of the opening sequence set on the streets of Florida and the finale set in the facility, the zombie hordes are pushed aside, as George A. Romero focuses on human and undead relations. The guinea pigs in Logan’s experiments are handled like cattle with collars on sticks, are chained to the walls, and are tested on to see if there is still some cognitive thinking; still some humanity left inside. Logan is more interested in trying to understand the zombies, and taming them, so they can be domesticated and trained for human use, rather than find a cure for the pandemic. His gentle pet that he has named Bub (Sherman Howard) represents the evolution of his kind as they are now starting to learn and think for themselves. They are becoming smarter and, therefore, more dangerous.

Logan’s desire to teach the lovable Bub in his theory that zombies can be controlled for coexistence shows us that we are capable of being human. But this is extinguished by the brutality of the loathsome Captain Rhodes. He embodies everything that is cruel about humankind with his fascist leanings, and we long for him to get his comeuppance, which is foreshadowed during his first meeting with Bub.

John and McDermott are quintessentially ’80s, as they do not give a fuck. They do not believe in what the scientists are doing either, and just want to get away to spend what time they have left soaking up some sun. However, they step up when they are forced to, and Sarah, John, and McDermott help each other. All three of them are likable, and have a camaraderie, which dispels the criticisms of the film that it only has unlikable characters and is devoid of humour, as opposed to Dawn of the Dead. Terry Alexander as John delivers a striking monologue with some of Romero’s most poetic writing. It perfectly encapsulates his message that it is in our nature to destroy each other and our time has come.

Composer John Harrison’s Carpenter-esque synth soundtrack is the most atmospheric of the Of the Dead series, and is yet another reason why Day of the Dead is an irresistible watch.

If the film has one issue, it is that it does not feel believable that there is a romance between Sarah and Miguel. Their relationship is unconvincing due to how aesthetically mismatched the couple are and the zero chemistry between the actors Lori Cardille and Anthony Dileo Jr.

John (Terry Alexander), Sarah (Lori Cardille), and McDermott (Jarlath Conroy) fight for survival against the military thugs and the horde of the undead. Credit: Laurel Entertainment Inc 

The theatrical release of Day of the Dead was a crushing disappointment: its promotional campaign was uninspired and lacklustre and it received limited distribution, and faced criticism from critics and fans alike for its angrier and more downbeat tone compared to the sense of adventure and comic relief in Dawn of the Dead. But Day of the Dead has become a cult classic. It became a financial success thanks to its home video releases on VHS, DVD, and Blu-ray, grossing $34 million worldwide. As more generations were born, the film’s reputation would significantly improve. Many critics and fans now consider it their personal favourite of George A. Romero’s Of the Dead saga, including myself.

Day of the Dead is Romero at his most philosophical. While it is a scathing misanthropic commentary on our inherent flaws, he was trying to teach us to do better, as he felt deeply sad for us all.

© 2026 Dave J. Wilson. All rights reserved.

Credit: Laurel Entertainment Inc

THE TERROR BEFORE THE MASK: 'FRIDAY THE 13TH' (1980) - THE LANDMARK SLASHER

Tom Savini's gore effects for the brutal murders are the main draw of Friday the 13th. Credit: Paramount Pictures/Warner Bros.

Spoilers and violent images are included. 

It is hard to view Sean S. Cunningham’s original Friday the 13th in a vacuum, away from the franchise he unintentionally created. This is due to its poster boy slasher villain, Jason Voorhees, and his infamous hockey mask that has become so recognizable in the mainstream. There was a Friday the 13th released in every year of the 1980s, bar 1983 and 1987, and Jason had become a ’80s pop culture icon. So much so that non-horror fans were aware of him, and did not even necessarily, know the character by name. When they thought of the genre, what would often come to mind was a hulking hockey-masked maniac massacring scantily clad beautiful young women. Jason had become emblematic of slasher horror, a cinematic movement Friday the 13th had opened its blood gates to; a deluge of rip-offs of a rip-off flowed out.

Cunningham has stated that he did not aspire to make high art, as he just wanted to make a scary good time, by exploiting the phenomenal success of John Carpenter’s slasher template, Halloween (1978). Carpenter’s film itself is possibly influenced by Bob Clark’s proto-slasher, Black Christmas (1974). Paramount Pictures wanted to milk the Halloween cash cow too, so they picked up the domestic rights to Friday the 13th for $1.5 million, and with a $1 million advertising campaign aimed at teenagers and young adults, they distributed wide this $550,000 exploitation picture. While the independently released Halloween became a hit, it did so by gradually opening in territories over the course of a year and a half, right up to the release of Friday the 13th, which was an instant cult smash. It made a ‘killing’ at the box office with a take of $39,754,601, and grossed another $20 million from international distribution by Warner Bros. Then other studios started picking up small low-budget slashers, and released these in cinemas everywhere. Friday the 13th had kick-started the first slasher cycle.

These types of trash flicks with no star actors were usually seen in the seedy grindhouse fleapits on 42nd Street, Manhattan, New York, and on the drive-in movie theatre circuit across America, released by shady distributors to make some easy money. This was the first time that a reputable major Hollywood studio had released such a film, so general audiences could go see it in the clean and luxurious surroundings of their local multiplexes. Honest workers and students were going with friends and partners, amongst the safer company of other regular folk, as opposed to the low lives of drug dealers, junkies, pimps, prostitutes, and street thugs.

Audiences lapped up the focal selling point of the shockingly realistic set-pieces, in which a likable bunch of teens are gruesomely dispatched one-by-one in loving graphic detail, realized by SFX wiz Tom Savini. Even though around half of the murders happen off-screen, we still see the horrid aftermaths. This made for an intense visceral experience, and added the gore factor to the slasher template. It is in stark contrast to John Carpenter’s minimalist approach in Halloween that focused on eerie atmosphere and taut suspense and tension, and has little bloodletting. Friday the 13th is almost as much Savini’s film as it is Cunningham’s, as the director mostly just points the camera at the execution of these practical special make-up effects creations. But he does pull off some effective highlights, with well-paced, suspenseful and tense, and genuinely creepy sequences that deserve more credit than they are given.

Screenwriter Victor Miller (1940 - 2026) creates an unsettling atmosphere with moments of quietness, both compressed and expanded, in a deliberately paced slasher piece that demands our patience. Aside from setting up the premise and the lore, and throwing in a red herring, the first act is almost plotless. It mostly plays out like a slice of teenage life in the woods, as we get to know and like this small group of characters. It generates our fears for them due to the horror we witnessed in the opening, and the horror returns when their bodies start piling up from the beginning of the second act. Even then, the killer commits their murders on the quiet, because they stalk the teens unbeknownst to them, so they do not get the chance to defend themselves.

Composer Harry Manfredini’s main theme greatly resembles the striking strings ensemble of Bernard Herrmann’s composition for Alfred Hitchcock’s granddaddy slasher forerunner, Psycho (1960). Manfredini’s motif cue sting alerts us to when the mystery killer is on screen, together with cinematographer Barry Abrams’ point-of-view shots.

The pre-title sequence features the first use of POV to tell us that the killer is on screen. Credit: Paramount Pictures/Warner Bros.

The cold open in the period setting of 1958 establishes the summer camp location in the fictional rural town Crystal Lake. It sets the grisly tone, as it features the obligatory first stalk and slash set-piece to whet our appetites, with the double murder of a young couple of camp counsellors that were getting it on. We see the first use of the first-person perspective of the psychotic killer, used to evoke a sense of voyeurism. The technique was innovated by Michael Powell (1905 - 1990) in his cult classic psychological horror, Peeping Tom (1960). This prologue tells us that sex = death, just as the opening of Halloween, when we see through the POV of the six-year-old Michael Myers, him repeatedly stabbing his older sister Judith to death, after she just had sex with her boyfriend. Both sequences serve as the backstories of the present day events.

After the title sequence, the narrative time jumps to Friday 13th June 1979 (the year the film was made). We meet hitchhiking cook, Annie (Robbi Morgan). She gets a ride from local truck driver Enos (Rex Everhart, 1929 - 2000) halfway to the reopening Camp Crystal Lake, which the locals have nicknamed “Camp Blood”. Walking to the truck, they cross paths with prophet of doom, Crazy Ralph (Walt Gorney, 1912 - 2004), who exclaims about the camp, “It’s got a death curse!” This town drunk is a red herring, and foreshadows the horror instore, codifying the slasher trope of the doomsayer from the older generation warning the younger generation of their impending tragic fates. He has memorable lines like, “I’m the messenger of God. You’re doomed if you stay here.” Keep this in mind.

Enos also warns Annie that Camp Crystal Lake is jinxed, and feeds us exposition. He tells her about a series of tragic incidents out of chronological order: a couple of camp counsellors were murdered in 1958; a boy drowned in 1957; a bunch of fires happened, but does not specify the date; and when they tried to reopen in 1962 the water was bad. Enos mentions the most important event between two of the events it triggered - the murders and the fires - so it is not on our minds over the course of the proceedings.

Screenwriter Miller has ticked a box for a whodunit. Taking place in a small countryside town, the history of these crimes has more of an effect on its residents, sending ripples through the community, which relates the backstory to the young outsiders. As the perpetrator was never caught, it has dire consequences for them, because they are staying in the same location where the crimes were committed.

 The lovable town drunk, Crazy Ralph (Walt Gorney), establishes the doomsayer slasher trope. Credit: Paramount Pictures/Warner Bros.

Then we are introduced to the rest of the camp counsellors. Driving to the camp are lovers Jack (a post-National Lampoon's Animal House Kevin Bacon) and Marcie (Jeannine Taylor), and their third wheel jokester friend, Ned (Mark Nelson), a character type that will become archetypical in the slasher sub-genre. When they arrive, they meet: owner Steve Christy (Peter Brouwer), who has been fixing up the place for its reopening; final girl Alice (Adrienne King), who is an art major; Bill (Harry Crosby, son of Bing), who is Alice’s love interest; and Brenda (Laurie Bartram, 1958 - 2007), who is an animal lover. Victor Miller created these characters for the youth of the day in mind to identify with. Despite the one-dimensional characterisations of these teenagers, they are portrayed as well-meaning, fun loving, and carefree, so we care about them. We value them as sympathetic victims purely of circumstance, when their lives are tragically cut short in the most brutal and callous of ways. A clear distinction between the annoyingly obnoxious kids that would populate slasher cinema.

Victor Miller has placed the teens in a remote location away from adult supervision to be systematically murdered like lambs to the slaughter. They are stuck in an outlying backcountry area, during a heavy thunderstorm at night, with electricity out, telephone lines cut, and all means of transportation off limits, while they are oblivious to someone stalking them, and we are the only ones let in on this. It is a simple yet terrifying concept. Camp Crystal Lake popularized the slasher’s exploited settings of summer camps and other isolated environments - the backwoods in general, amusement parks, college dorms, etc. Places we can easily find ourselves in, and so it provides a real sense of dread and potential doom. Mario Bava’s 1971 giallo/slasher prototype, Reazione a Catena/Chain Reaction (A Bay of Blood, Twitch of the Death Nerve), was the first to do this, taking place at a secluded bay side mansion.

Steve drives out of the camp in a green SUV to go to town for supplies. Straight after, a same colour SUV picks up Annie. The roof is down, whereas the roof of Steve’s was up, and the colour of the license plate on the back is blue, whereas on Steve’s it was yellow. Once Annie is in the passenger’s seat, we see her from the driver’s POV, as she tells them she will be the cook at the reopening Camp Crystal Lake. The driver then speeds up, goes right past the road to go to the camp, and Manfredini’s pounding score plays. There is then the first of two chase sequences - the only instances in which the victims know they are being stalked. The vehicles’ similarities will play a crucial part in the finale, because Alice saw Steve leave the camp in the SUV.

On another note, for future reference, when we see the killer’s legs as they are chasing Annie, they are clearly a man’s legs.

Poor Annie (Robbi Morgan) gets it in the woods. Credit: Paramount Pictures/Warner Bros.

Crazy Ralph sneaks in to the camp and warns the group, a sign of their imminent deaths. Soon later, Ned follows the killer into a cabin. Just as a thunderstorm is about to hit, Marcie tells Jack she has been scared of storms since she was a child, and describes her recurring nightmare, “… the rain turns to blood, and the blood washes away in little rivers.” As it starts to pour, so begins, A Long Night at Camp Blood, which was the tentative title of the script. The second act of the film is when it comes alive.

As Jack and Marcie are making love, on the bottom of a bunk bed in the same cabin Ned followed the killer into, the camera pans up to the top bunk and Ned’s throat slit corpse, and then there is a close-up of Marcie’s face as she climaxes. She then leaves to use the bathroom. As Jack lies on the bed smoking a cigarette, a drop of Ned’s blood falls on his face, and then, suddenly, from beneath the bed, a right hand (of a man) grabs his forehead, and their other hand rams an arrow through the mattress and into the back of his neck, piercing through, and blood spurts all over his chest. The slasher film’s intrinsically linked sex and death has never been so explicit. As Jack and Marcie are having sex, the dead body of their friend is laid out above them, and the killer is underneath them.

Despite our anticipatory anxiety for the inevitable, we are still shocked by the viciousness of Marcie’s murder, because, obviously, we did not know how it would play out. In an “Oh, shit!” moment, we see behind her on a wall in the bathroom, a silhouette of an axe being raised. She then turns around to see it held high, lets out a loud scream, then we see it come down, and a hanging light shade that swings wildly when the axe makes contact with it. We see the axe buried in the left side of her once pretty, destroyed face, as she falls back, and slides down a shower curtain and out of frame. The axe hitting the light shade makes for a nice touch in the execution, as it bridges the driving of it into Marcie’s skull, and when the camera returns to the swinging light shade for the last shot of the scene, it makes for haunting imagery.

 Once so Pretty. The destroyed face of Marcie (Jeannie Taylor). Credit: Paramount Pictures/Warner Bros. 

Off-screen kills are never popular with slasher/horror fandom, and this sequence is never talked about, but it is well staged and executed. When Brenda is in her cabin lying on a bed reading a book, she hears the ghostly sound of a young boy’s voice crying out for help from the darkness outside. This is the killer mimicking a child’s voice, but sounds authentically like a child. Brenda, concerned for their safety, goes out to search for him using a torch, and only wearing a nightgown. The boy can still be heard in the thick of the thunderstorm, until his voice suddenly stops when Brenda finds herself at an archery range where the killer has lured her to, and they put on the lights that blind her as she stands in front of a target. Soon after the lights have come on, the film cuts to the exterior of the cabin Alice and Bill are in, and we hear Brenda let out a deafening scream. Earlier, we saw Brenda putting up the archery range, and when she finished positioning one of the targets, Ned, messing around, used a bow to shoot an arrow into the target while she was standing right next to it. Due to this foreshadowing, we get an idea of how she is killed. A child’s voice calling for help to a young woman alone at a remote location, in the pitch-blackness of night, during a heavy thunderstorm, then those blinding lights, and her death scream, are chilling imagery and sounds. This moment stayed with me after my first viewing of the film.

Bill delivers the immortal line in slasher cinema - “I’ll be right back”, and so we know he will not be. When Alice discovers him dead, we get a close-up money shot of his bloodied carcass pinned to a cabin’s door with arrows, and his throat is slit.

This brings us to the finale. Alice is holed up in a cabin, and the killer terrorizes her by throwing Brenda’s body through a window she is standing by. Alice then sees the headlights of a vehicle pull up, and seeing a SUV, she mistakes it for Steve’s, unaware that he has been murdered, so she rushes out, and is met by a woman we are seeing for the first time. Set up in the first act, this is how Alice comes face to face with the killer, and is now more vulnerable without the protection of the cabin.

Chilling imagery and sounds can be seen and heard in this never talked about sequence. Credit: Paramount Pictures/Warner Bros.

We could clearly see that the killer’s hands and legs were a man’s, but now we are presented with a stocky middle-aged woman with a butch haircut. Whom are the filmmakers kidding with this cack-handed gender swap reveal?

The woman tells Alice that her name is Mrs. Voorhees (Betsy Palmer, 1926 - 2015). After she feigns innocence over Brenda, she tells Alice about the boy who drowned in 1957. The negligence of the camp counsellors because they were having sex, caused her unsupervised young son named Jason to drown, when trying to swim in the lake by the campgrounds where she worked as a cook. She tells Alice that after what happened that she could not let them open the camp again. She tells her that today is her son’s birthday, falling on the superstitiously unlucky 'Friday the 13th'. This started the trope of the slasher villain revealing themselves and their motive to their last intended victim. Mrs. Voorhees is delusional in her belief that she is saving other children from the tragedy that befell her son by murdering innocent people to make sure the camp stays closed. Half of her is a sympathetic grieving mother; the other is a deranged vengeful murderess. This is elevated by the brilliant manic energy of Betsy Palmer, who is the most experienced actor here, and easily the best.

Harry Manfredini’s sound effect of “ki ki ki, ma ma ma” represents Mrs. Voorhees’ psychosis of schizophrenia, as she has auditory hallucinations of her deceased son Jason telling her, “Kill her, mommy!” The “ki” comes from “kill”, and the “ma” comes from “mommy”. This is a role reversal of Psycho - the mother is alive, and the son is dead.

We did not get to meet Mrs. Voorhees from the outset, as a seemingly good person nobody suspects. It is a cop out in a mystery film when a character introduced for the last 20 minutes, reveals they are the killer and their motivation to the survivor, within their first two minutes of screen time. This is horribly lazy writing that insults our intelligence.

"[Friday the 13th] started the trope of the slasher villain revealing themselves and their motive to their last intended victim." Credit: Paramount Pictures/Warner Bros.

Friday the 13th solidifies the entwining of sex and death/the sin met with punishment implied in Halloween. Victor Miller makes it unequivocal by giving Mrs. Voorhees the urgency of sex = death that propels her vengeful murderous rampage on the horny young camp counsellors. The slasher film inhabits the puritanical, conservative, and Christian/Catholic world, as the killers represent their abhorrent views on pre-marital sex in a morbid moral lesson. In Friday the 13th, the warnings from Crazy Ralph - ‘the messenger of God’ - carry the underlying ominous threat that the teenagers’ so-called misdeeds will not go unpunished. The female victims in slashers are not usually promiscuous, as they are in normal, healthy, and monogamous relationships, but because the sex is pre-marital, they are nothing but sluts in the church’s narrow-mindedness. Alice is the quintessential final girl: she is not sexually active (possibly a virgin), sensible, resourceful, and survives when confronting the killer. While the final girl is morally upright, because of her intelligence she is able to think critically, and can decide what she wants to do, unlike the followers of blind faith. When the final girl dispatches the killer who embodies this poisonous worldview, she vanquishes it.

The other chase sequence leads to the final showdown that takes place by the lake. It results in Alice decapitating Mrs. Voorhees with the machete she used to attack Alice with, which is captured in all its gory glory in slow motion.

We then hear Manfredini’s tranquil closing theme, but this reassurance is false. An exhausted and traumatized Alice boards a canoe, takes it out on the lake, and falls asleep. In the morning, the police turn up, they shout to her, and she wakes up and looks up. As the calming music still plays, the camera slowly and suggestively zooms in to the right of Alice, in the seemingly safe surroundings of the stillness of the lake. Then suddenly, we see the horrifying imagery of the decomposed and hideously deformed boy, Jason, rise from the lake, and pull Alice under the water in revenge on her for killing his mother. Alice then wakes up screaming in a hospital bed. I first saw Friday the 13th growing up in the 1990s, when I got my parents to rent it for me on an old dirty worn out VHS tape from our local video store. Despite the suggestive camera movement in this scene, I was still horror-struck by what happened, because up to this point, the film was grounded in reality, with not one hint of a supernatural element. Then it turns out to be a Carrie-esque nightmare sequence. This is one of the most finely crafted final jump scares in cinematic horror history, and is one of my most vivid memories of my misspent youth watching movies.

In the hospital, Alice asks the present police officer about Jason, and he tells her they did not find a boy, to which Alice replies, “Then he’s still there.” She turns her head facing the camera, as we hear the return of the end theme, which now takes on a more poignant meaning, when the picture transitions to Crystal Lake, and the camera slowly zooms in on ripples in the water. If we can view the film as a singular work, there is heartbreaking melancholic beauty in this final shot. Half-way through the third act, it became the tragic story of a broken woman. She went insane when her world collapsed from losing her only child, a mentally challenged hydrocephalic boy, who she struggled to raise, but loved unconditionally. When he drowned, his body was never recovered from the lake, and so it did not give his mother closure. Jason is a dead child used as a plot device. He is the catalyst to the present day events, existing only in referential dialogue, flashbacks, and a dream scene. In this context, it is something more psychologically disturbing. The story was never supposed to be expanded.

One of the most finely crafted final jump scares in cinematic horror history. Credit: Paramount Pictures/Warner Bros.

The original Friday the 13th is a genre landmark for three reasons: it was an anomaly, because it was something the masses had never seen; it ignited the slasher boom; and it started a franchise that would give us one of the most iconic horror villains. The film is a collection of some of slasher cinema’s most memorable moments realized by: Sean S. Cunningham’s workmanlike direction, Tom Savini’s convincing gross out SFX, Victor Miller’s serviceable to their single mindedness but flawed screenplay, and Harry Manfredini’s terrorizer soundtrack. It is nowhere near the masterclass filmmaking of Halloween, nor as well made, or as entertaining, as other slashers released later, including some of its own sequels, but is better than other entries in or out of the series that scraped the barrel. It does exactly what it says on the tin, as a grimy exercise in a sustained night of terror, encapsulated in a perpetual atmosphere of dread and isolation. “They were warned… They are doomed… And on Friday the 13th, nothing will save them.

© 2026 Dave J. Wilson. All rights reserved.

Credit: Paramount Pictures/Warner Bros.