When Readers Listen – “Fresh Air” Remember ‘Nightmare’ Director Wes Craven

Anyone who spent more than five minutes with me from age 9 to about 14 knows that my three greatest fears were dogs, bees, and Freddy Krueger. In fact, the movie “Nightmare on Elm Street” left such a dent in me that I cannot think of any memory of my Longfellow days after fourth grade without thinking of him. Back then, we used to walk to a video store on Saturday nights to rent movies, and once Wes Craven’s movie came out in VHS (or Beta, for those of us who chose the cuter of the tapes), every movie store had a life size Freddy welcoming us inside. I would stand outside with my hands on either side of my face blocking my view lest I be tempted to look at him, while my parents and brother looked for “The Parent Trap,” “Karate Kid,” or “Unsinkable Molly Brown.” Just the other day I was in a store admiring these adorable thick striped sweaters and thinking about purchasing one until my eyes fell on the red and dark khaki one. I gasped when I saw it and walked away as quickly as I could.

I am afraid of this movie, afraid of Freddy Krueger, afraid of Wes Craven, and I am ashamed that I am admitting it here. I believe that my inability to not be scared of it is something that will define my intelligence, my capabilities as a writer, a mother, and a human being. I believe that I am missing something vital because I am unable to go down to this dark place and come out transcended, as Scott Derrickson said I ought to in a lecture in Santa Fe three years ago. I remember running out of his lecture, sobbing, assured that I didn’t have what it takes to get an MFA because I can’t understand horror movies and monsters. Everyone else seemed to get it and I didn’t, but I knew that if I heard one more word out of Scott Derrickson’s mouth I would pee my pants.

So listening to a series of interviews with Wes Craven on Terry Gross’ Fresh Air was not something I was chomping at the bit to do. When I found out Craven had died though, I remembered a story that I’ve held onto for so long that I don’t know if it’s real or if I made it up. After I’d watched “Nightmare,” there were months (years, if I’m being honest) when I had trouble sleeping.  My parents did the best they could to calm me down, but I was a pretty permanent resident in their bedroom for a chunk of years. I remember once though, my mom suggesting that every time I think about Freddy, I think about something good instead. Ice-cream, donuts, roller skating, all those ideas helped for a while but he kept popping up slashing (pun totally intended) my memories to bits. So instead, I wondered about him. What happened to him that made him the way he is? This is the part that I’m not sure is actually in Craven’s movies, or if I made it up: Freddy was neglected and abused as a child. His parents did the best they could but they were poor and also they died in a horrible accident. Nobody took care of Freddy after that, and he was beat up on the playground and didn’t have any friends. He only had one sweater.

I started to feel sorry for Freddy, and that’s around the time I could go back to sleep, assured that he didn’t set out to kill people, but too many people had hurt him and he wasn’t going to let that happen.  He was being proactive, is all, stepping into others’ dreams and mutilating them so they wouldn’t hurt him first.

This is the story that prompted me to listen to Wes Craven talk to Terry Gross.  Surely there was a reason he made these movies other than to scare the ka-ka out of people. Here’s what I learned:

*Terry Gross had a similar reaction when she saw his first movie, “Last House on the Left.” She said it was the most violent movie imaginable, and she ended up needing to leave the theatre. While she was watching it, she decided that if she was going to get through the movie, she would need to detach herself from how she was feeling, but then she thought, “Why should I go through all this work to detach myself from what seems like an appropriate emotional reaction to this film?” So she left, and decided she needed to talk to the guy who made the film. Certainly there was more to him, and she was right. She said Craven was a “thoughtful, articulate, reflective guy.”

*I learned that Craven decided that we’d become immune to violence. He made “Last House” during the Vietnam War and decided that people were paying money to be entertained to see people killed so he was going to show them what that business was really like. He “wanted to get to the essence of killing; depriving a human being of his/her very life force.” “Let’s not cut-away,” he told Gross. He didn’t want his audiences to be entertained.

I couldn’t help compare/contrast Craven with Derrickson while I listened. I liked listening to Craven better. Craven seemed to be ailed by the stories he told. He had a gentle way of explaining why he did what he did. I felt like I was listening to an apologetic, I guess, whereas with Derrickson I felt assaulted while I heard him talk. Craven didn’t speak defensively, actually, he spoke like every other graduate from Wheaton College speaks.

Here’s another story: My friend’s mother died within hours of Craven. Mrs. Bass was a lady I’ve known since I was 5 years old, and I can’t say that I knew her well, but here is what I remember: she was friendly. She had a great sense of humor. I couldn’t name it then, but she was sarcastic and witty like my mom, and because of that, I felt safe when I went over there for playdates with her daughter, Mollie.

Mollie and I became pretty good friends right around the time I was growing immune (or maybe I was getting used to) my fear of Freddy, and this could be another story I’m making up, but I think Mollie’s friendliness helped me stopped thinking so much about him ripping me to shreds. I can’t remember the exact date I started sleeping through the night again, but I know that Mollie and I spent a lot of time together in 8th grade and that was also the time Freddy didn’t seem so scary (who needs a horror story when you’re in Junior High, anyway)?

If I’m looking around for truth here, it would be this: Wes Craven created unredemptive monsters, and they’ll probably haunt me forever, but I don’t know if that’s a terrible thing. Mrs. Bass was a kind woman who raised an interesting, funny, and friendly daughter. I think that both of these facts are gifts that I can choose to turn over and think about as I search around for what shimmers while I’m afraid of the dark.  If what shimmers are blades, I hope I can stare at them long enough to create something redemptive from them. Even if that redemption is a lie.

You can read Abbigail’s thoughts on this same podcast here.