American Nightmare (2002)

February 6, 2002

by Nathan Shumate

Written and directed by Jon Keeyes
Starring
- Debbie Rochon
- Brandy Little
- Johnny Sneed
- Chris Ryan
Produced by Richard T. Carey and Jon Keeyes

Slasher flicks are generally an unsatisfying lot. The plots are often generic, characters are unambitious stereotypes, and the completely foreseeable killings are usually only “interesting” in the most minimal sense in that they are creative to the point of being ridiculously unwieldy.

Debbie Rochon, Blue Light Special.

But a smart slasher flick — that’ll get my attention any day.

Here we open with four college kids around a campfire during the Halloween season (don’t worry, this is in Texas, so they’re not freezing their collegiate asses off). Which is I suppose an okay place to be, except that there just happens to have been a string of killings at the hospital by an insane nurse, and one of the girls here, Trisha (Kimberley Morgan), is the one who caught her — but “caught” is a transient thing, and the wild-eyed, wild-haired nurse shows up on the woods for some revenge with a big-ass knife.

A year later: A group of friends (or, more appropriately, Friends) is hanging out in the cool-cat coffee shop. Two of them, Jessie (Brandy Little) and Misty (Rebecca Stacey), are respectively the older and younger sister of Trisha, whose body was never recovered from the woods. As you may guess, they’re not too keen on the whole Halloween experience this year, though the younger one does plan on going to a party; Jessie instead opts to babysit later (for Brinke Stevens, of all people).

So no one told you death was gonna be this way (clapclapclapclap)…

Some things you notice right off: One, these kids are not the usual slasher-flick stereotypes (usually some variation on The Virgin, The Slut, The Brain, The Jock, the Creep, and The Token Ethnic Type — you know, a crowd that would never ever hang out together in real life). All of them seem at least vaguely compatible, though one is noticeably more computer-oriented and one is noticeably less sensitive and more penis-driven. Two, these folks can act. Somehow Jon Keeyes managed to avoid the bane of low-end productions and actually scraped together a cast that can hold their own in front of the camera, instead of being the weak link in a well-intentioned production.

It being Halloween, the pirate radio station being played loud is taking calls about people’s worst fears, and our group volunteers a few: Psycho-inspired shower creeps; sex with old women (did I mention the penis-driven fellow?); and the Big D itself, death.

Hubba.

And all of this is being observed by a cold-looking woman (Debbie Rochon) sitting at the bar. (The cold part may be the fact that she’s always shown bathed in a blue light. Yes, it’s intentional.)

The friends break up to their various destinations, and as you can imagine — this is a slasher film, after all — start dying at the hands of our mysterious Jane Doe. And I suppose you could say that they die in creative ways, though not in the “What lawn implement shall I use this time?” sense of the mid-part of the Friday the 13th series, or the almost Batman-ish rigmarole of Halloween 2. No, these are individualized attacks, meant to terrorize the victims either with the overtly-stated fear of the radio call-in show, or simply by exploiting the character flaws apparent in their conversations. Thus, Misty is first terrorized as she takes a shower before going to her party; Wayne (Johnny Sneed), the cyber-guy, gets mysterious chat messages from someone who knows him far too well; and Bruce (Kenyon Holmes), the penis-driven one, is… well, use your imagination there.

But through it all, Jessie — the older sister who feels responsible for Trisha’s death — seems to be the focus. Spooked already by the season and the anniversary, she starts seeing a dark shape lingering on the front lawn, prowling around the house…

Has there ever been a bondage-play scene in a movie that didn’t go horribly, horribly wrong?

Kudos galore to Debbie Rochon as the psycho nurse Jane, enacting her meticulous plans. Because she’s utterly, convincingly insane. Not in the risable, wise-cracking, Loony Toons sense that you usually see, with the Krazy Killer chortling his way through the body count. No, Jane is driven to kill these people, with no more reason why than that which drove her to her original spree. And you can tell that she doesn’t understand herself why she fixated on killing these people, and that the frustration of not understanding why she does what she does only fuels her murderous rage. Jane may easily be the best-realized female serial killer in movie history, and definitely ranks in the top handful of serial killers of any gender.

And as a whole, the movie’s a pleasure to watch. Technically, it looks like one of the recent crop of Full Moon videos — inexpensive, but clear and classy. And the attention to detail goes far beyond the Full Moon crank’em-outs. (The consistent lighting scheme is just one such detail.) But beyond the technicalities, it’s simply a well-done movie. Though it builds from a knowledge of slasher flicks, it doesn’t depend on being self-consciously referential to them; there are distinct nods to the classics (most notably Halloween and Psycho), but no “Gee, aren’t I just in a slasher movie?” sensibility. In other words, it’s like Scream but not so irritatingly smug. And it has the courage to place a child in (implied) jeopardy — a truly frightening prospect that too many filmmakers shy away from in some effort to keep the horror “safe.”

Being buried alive is bad enough, but that disco ball in the coffin is just uncommon cruelty.

I will admit, I found that the first half dragged for me, where subtle menace is the intent rather than frantic fear. And that may be simply because the Halloween homages were a little too thick — and there are very few movies that can make conscious references to that genre masterwork and not come off inferior. Our protagonists refer to the movie by name in their little “Identify that movie line” game in the coffee shop. Jessie is a babysitter, seeing strange shapes on the lawn. (And guess what movie we see a clip of in the background?) And Jane is as terrifyingly senseless in her violent crusade as Michael Myers originally was. (Please, let’s leave all that later falderall about long-lost sisters and Druids in the ash-heap where it belongs.)

But thanks to emotionally honest performances and the script’s willingness to make the viewer distinctly uncomfortable, American Nightmare rises above the recent slasher resurgence and makes itself a movie worth watching.