THE FUNHOUSE: Tobe Hooper reminds us that even trash can be beautiful

Rating: 🤡🤡🤡 1/2
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I am absolutely captivated by the career of horror auteur Tobe Hooper. His ad hoc style and fascination with those living on the periphery of society has led to the creation of a series of brutally gritty films in which he forces his viewers into the role of the reluctant voyeur. 

Dragging us by the hair, he makes us bear witness to some of the most despicably macabre scenes ever captured on celluloid and we love it the whole time. His best works seem to revel in their own vulgarity. Like watching a pimple popping video, you know that what you are seeing is gross, and yet, there you are … still watching. Making movies like that means taking risks. Sometimes taking risks pays off and sometimes it does not. Hooper’s career is a testament to that.

Hooper followed up on the release of his 1974 horror juggernaut The Texas Chainsaw Massacre with Eaten Alive in 1977 and the 1979 TV miniseries Salem’s Lot based on the novel by Stephen King. The former of these two works seems to have largely confused its viewers, who found its disturbing depictions of sadism and sexuality mostly unredeemable, while the latter received a relatively warm reception from critics and audiences alike. Hooper now felt pressured to create something that somehow recaptured the same audacity and sense of dread that he was able to distill down in The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. His follow up was The Funhouse, a movie much better than we remember and more nuanced than most give it credit for.

So what’s the deal with The Funhouse anyways? Well buckle up for one deep-fried, weed-fueled, mutant-filled thrill ride.

This was a film that my parents rented for me at waaaaaay too young of an age. I was forced to watch from behind the couch and between the gaps in my parted fingers after the first pair of breasts flashed across the screen and I was banished from the room. When the monster first shows his hideously disfigured face, I legitimately had to change my Underoos. Damn, dude. While this is obviously a flick that holds a warm place in my heart, most people are generally unfamiliar with this particular film and honestly, that is not too surprising. 

Upon its release in 1981, The Funhouse came across as your average B-movie. Lost beneath a tidal wave of early-’80’s slasher features and working with a budget of only $300K, the film went on to gross $7.8 million, but was met with a lukewarm-at-best reception from audiences.

The plot follows Amy (Elizabeth Berridge) on a night out as she lies to her parents (the first cardinal sin of ’80’s slasher flicks) so that she can go out with her boyfriend, Buzz (Cooper Huckabee), and another couple to the carnival. The crew immediately gets high (cardinal sin number two) and eventually concocts the brilliant idea to spend the night in the carnival’s funhouse so that things can get hot and heavy (cardinal sin number three and also just a dumb idea). After a quick bit of fooling around, the group accidentally witnesses the murder of the carnival’s fortune teller, Madame Zena (Sylvia Miles), and things go from “Meh” to “Oh, hell yeah!” as this coterie of stoned teenagers have to fight their way through a family of carnival workers and monsters to survive.

Quick Fun Fact: The movie was marketed in France as “Massacres Sans le Train Fantôme” (Massacre on the Ghost Train). This was clearly a marketing effort to glean a bit of Hooper’s Texas Chainsaw Massacre notoriety, but ultimately it just confused French audiences when they realized that neither ghosts nor trains were really involved in the film. C'est la vie.

While on the surface this film may appear to be just another run-of-the-mill slasher, beneath the veneer of VHS sleaze, we find a beautiful and poignant commentary on the evolution of the horror movie genre. We are almost overwhelmed with horror references in the opening scene of the film, which depicts Amy’s younger brother wandering through his Universal Monster poster covered room, peering through the eye holes of a mask (à la Halloween) as he slowly creeps with a fake knife into the bathroom where his sister is showering (hey-o Psycho). The Funhouse is lovably cognizant of what it is, and in many ways, it acts as a forefather of sorts to fourth wall-breaking horror films, like Scream and Cabin in the Woods, that would eventually be applauded for their tongue-in-cheek commentary on the genre. 

The film stays pretty lean, coming in at an hour and a half, and features beautiful shots from cinematographer Andrew Laszlo (The Warriors and First Blood). Some of the film’s most haunting scenes are saturated in a palette of giallo-reminiscent primary colors which amps up your anxiety and makes you feel like...well like you got stuck in a carnival ride and everyone forgot about you. What it may lack in story or character development, it more than makes up for in creature effects and kills, with the film’s special effects team helmed by dynamic duo Rick Baker and Craig Reardon. Like I mentioned earlier on, The Funhouse also features one of the best creature reveal scenes ever. Ya can’t beat a big, screaming bat/Benjamin Franklin hybrid beast slapping itself in the face...or at least that’s what mama used to always say.

The Funhouse really is an underappreciated gem and, in my humble opinion, stands on its own amongst Hooper’s films. Some will probably disagree with me on that and that’s totally understandable. Will this movie blow your mind? Probably not. Will you have a good time watching a mutant slowly tear apart a group of yuppies at a carnival? Hell yes. If you are a fan of low-budget horror flicks, especially those from this particular era, then this cotton candy-coated murder-gauntlet is a great way to spend an evening. Just be prepared to want to take a shower afterwards.