Sean James Decker

With director David Gordon Green’s 2018 feature Halloween fast approaching, we thought it time to further celebrate John Carpenter’s 1978 classic of the same name via a series of essays on the subject.

Culled from the 2018 Amazon best-selling book My Favorite Horror Movie, which features 48 essays by horror creators on the films which shaped them (from Fangoria’s revered Michael Gingold to Contracted star Matt Mercer, and beyond), these essays will be published bi-weekly here at HalloweenMovies.com leading up to the October 19th release of the series’ latest chapter, in an effort to explore just why 40 years later, The Shape still terrifies.

First up, the essay which I contributed to the book, and an insight into why this once Star Wars-obsessed kid jumped out of light speed and put down stakes in Haddonfield.

HALLOWEEN
by
SEAN JAMES DECKER

In October of 1978, like most eight-year-old American boys of the time, and well before it would become a hip moniker to attach to one’s self, I was I suppose what people would consider a “film nerd.” I inherited this gene from my father, who had spent his own adolescence religiously attending matinees at the Bayview Theatre in San Francisco, ingesting a steady stream of serials, cartoons and 1950s sci-fi, horror and westerns, which he then imparted to me via network (at the time, we hadn’t yet purchased that very expensive new thing called a videocassette recorder) and local television, the latter portal consisting primarily of horror host Bob Wilkins’ KTVU show Creature Features. (A year later, I’d go on to innocently hold hands with my first girlfriend, the daughter of John Stanley, the latter who had taken over hosting duties of the show: she soon broke up with me for my obsession with her father and his extensive horror collection, but that is another story).

As much as my own father was excited to share with me the films he’d grown up on, from Universal’s classic The Creature from the Black Lagoon to that wonderful giant ant film Them!, he was also as equally concerned at guarding my innocence. When George Romero’s Night of the Living Dead made its television premiere on Wilkins’ show, I wasn’t allowed to watch it, although my parents were more than happy to take me to multiple screenings of Star Wars, and to support my interest in all things pop culture related via subscriptions to Marvel Comics titles (I remember fondly the brown paper mailing sleeves they’d arrive in), a million Legos bricks, Mego Dolls (I wonder whatever happened to my glow-in-the-dark Human Wolfman), Hardy Boys books, and much, much more.

R-rated horror films though? They were strictly off the table, no matter how I pleaded.

That was until my father’s dad (who I referred to as “Papa,” as we all did), who I spent every other weekend with, often flying the skies above Half Moon Bay in his Cessna when not attending Saturday Mass or the San Francisco Zoo, offered to take me to see a revival screening of 1974’s Godzilla Vs. Mechagodzilla, playing in a single screen movie house in the city. Gleefully, I took the street car with him to the theatre for some kaiju G-rated fare, and arriving early, he bought us both popcorn and Cokes and suggested we sit down to watch the end of whatever was playing in anticipation of the Big G’s onscreen arrival.

And it was then that my life was forever changed.

In that darkened theatre and through my boyhood fingers, raised in an effort to shield my eyes from the utter terror which was unfolding before them, I watched as a plucky young girl named Laurie crossed a tree-lined street before entering a structure similarly darkened. Up the stairs she went, and fearfully I went with her, into a dimly-lit bedroom where a woman lay splayed out dead on a mattress, a flickering jack-o-lantern next to her and a tombstone above with the inscription “Judith Myers” cut into it. And soon other things would also be cut into, by a methodical, shambling shape with a massive butcher knife, who stalked our unfortunate heroine from room to room and house to house, and who while seemingly in the finale was brought down by gunfire by an elderly man in a trench coat with a curious penchant for scaring trick or treaters, would ultimately disappear into the very night, and into my very psyche.

Silent. Unstoppable. Ghostly. For me, without context, and now existing behind every fence in my suburban neighborhood. As for the following screening of director Jun Fukada’s Godzilla film? I don’t recall it. What I do recall are the nightmares scored by that 10/8 piano composition that plagued me in the ensuing weeks, of which I’d wake from, drenched in sweat and screaming, comforted by my concerned parents who were none too happy that my grandfather had taken me to, “That Halloween movie” (they themselves made a trip to the theatre shortly thereafter, more than likely in an attempt to understand what emotional trauma their previously unsullied son had endured).

Marvel Comics didn’t interest me much after that, although EC Comics did. And while I was certainly excited to see the follow-up to that Star Wars movie, I was more thrilled to watch the slasher flicks on Laserdisc which one of my schoolyard chum’s father had amassed (a format now primarily residing in landfills alongside that Bakelite phone which Michael used to strangle Lynda Van Der Klok), when we were left to our own devices. Sean Cunningham’s gory take on Halloween, Friday the 13th, was one of them, but in my mind, nothing could compare to the sheer ferocity of Carpenter’s film.

I was hooked, and it was merely the beginning. Unbeknownst to my parents, Curtis Richards’ novelization was hidden beneath my mattress (I still have that paperback, dog-eared and rag-tag from countless readings), and while I was allowed to see the television cut of Halloween when it premiered on NBC in 1981, I had to sneak into a theatre to see Carpenter’s follow-up, Halloween II, that same month. Thrilling, yes, but for me even then, it failed to replicate the visceral, German Expressionism-influenced elegance of the original (not that I knew what German Expressionism was at the time, or a Panaglide for that matter).

That first iconic film, written in just ten days and shot for a mere $320,000, featuring a killer in a modified William Shatner mask purchased for a buck ninety-eight at Bert Wheeler’s now defunct magic shop on Hollywood Boulevard, coupled with my parents’ encouragement of my early interest in writing, would lead to just that, from my beginnings as an editor two decades later at Universal Studios’ Horror Online, to eight years as a writer at the beloved Fangoria, to a decade of journalism at Dread Central, with a few produced films and screenplays peppered throughout.

As for Halloween and my continued fascination with it, over the course of my career I’ve had the distinct honor of meeting Carpenter himself, as well as that young, plucky babysitter, and the knife-wielding madman who assailed her. In fact, in my possession at the time of this writing is a vintage Lamson butcher knife, signed by all three. (Curtis’ written-in-Sharpie signature and message of “Happy Halloween” is still to me is as surreal as the moment in which she signed it, although no more so than when John did the same in his living room, while allowing me to prattle on to him about his film’s resonance, as if he were unaware). And in 2015, and in an interesting turn of events, I nearly portrayed the iconic killer in a proposed San Diego Comic Con teaser for filmmaker Marcus Dunstan’s aborted Dimension feature, Halloween Returns.

Why me, you ask? Because as Dunstan was gleefully aware, for the past half a decade, each year on Halloween, I’ve donned a custom-made, screen quality jumpsuit and mask, and to the delight and often sheer terror of those evening’s trick or treaters, stalked Orange Grove Avenue in West Hollywood: the very street which Laurie traversed on the flickering screen in that San Francisco cinema so many years ago before my terrified, eight-year-old eyes.

After all, everyone’s still entitled to one good scare.

_ _ _

TAKEN FROM THE BOOK
MY FAVORITE HORROR MOVIE
© 2018 CHRISTIAN ACKERMAN/BLACK VORTEX CINEMA
MYFAVORITEHORRORMOVIE.COM

The views and opinions expressed in this blog are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of Trancas International Films or any other agency, organization, employer or company.