After picking up a traumatized young hitchhiker, five friends find themselves stalked and hunted by a deformed chainsaw-wielding loon and his family of equally psychopathic killers.
Tobe Hooper’s 1974 classic, “The Texas Chain Saw Massacre,” occupies a unique spot in horror film history. It was among the earliest “video nasties” I stumbled upon around age 12, just as my interest in horror was blossoming. The movie’s infamous reputation for bloodshed preceded it, so I hedged my bets by also renting “Grease 2”—a lighthearted fallback in case things got too frightening. In the end, I never reached for the musical. Instead of graphic carnage, Hooper’s film relies on implication and atmosphere, leaving viewers’ minds to conjure up the worst. As I grew older, I realized that the terror suggested by what’s left unseen—intensified by the chainsaw’s screech—had a greater impact than any on-screen brutality.
The film quickly gained a devoted following, establishing Hooper’s name and leading to further projects in the genre, such as “Salem’s Lot,” “The Funhouse,” “Poltergeist,” “Lifeforce,” and “Invaders from Mars.” Although Hooper returned to the series with “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2” in 1986, he moved on afterward, but the franchise continued. The 1990s produced sequels like “Leatherface: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre III” and “The Return of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre” (later known as “Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Next Generation”), which notably featured early performances from Renée Zellweger and Matthew McConaughey. The franchise then lay dormant until 2003, when Michael Bay’s Platinum Dunes revived it with a new version of the original.
This 2003 adaptation stays relatively close to its source material, though it omits the Sawyer family’s cannibalism, putting more emphasis on Leatherface and his relatives. The story takes place in August of 1973, and follows five friends traveling to a concert after visiting Mexico. Their trip takes a horrifying detour after they pick up a troubled hitchhiker, who warns them of danger before abruptly taking her own life. Seeking assistance, the group is sent to find Sheriff Hoyt (played by R. Lee Ermey) at a local mill. When he doesn’t show, a couple of them venture off and discover an old, decaying mansion. What ensues is a relentless pursuit by Leatherface, picking off the group until only one survivor remains, desperately fighting to escape.
Hooper’s original was shot with a raw, almost documentary style—handheld cameras, natural lighting, and a shoestring budget—which gave it an unnerving realism. By contrast, Marcus Nispel’s 2003 film opts for a smoother, more typical approach, though it still channels some of that gritty, grindhouse spirit from the ’70s. The youthful cast impresses, with Jessica Biel (known for “7th Heaven”) taking on the resourceful final girl role. Andrew Bryniarski, a former bodybuilder, makes Leatherface physically imposing and ferocious. R. Lee Ermey’s Sheriff Hoyt stands out, with a sadistic edge that rivals his iconic turn in “Full Metal Jacket,” his threatening presence saturating every scene.
Of all the franchise’s remakes, this version arguably sticks closest to the original, mirroring its plot and characters but swapping suggestion for gore. While it’s more violent than Hooper’s take, it doesn’t reach the extremes of later installments, especially the 2006 prequel, “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning.”
Despite the franchise’s longevity, it has never ranked among my personal favorites. Unlike other horror icons—Freddy Krueger, who invades dreams; Jason Voorhees, who eventually leaves Crystal Lake; or Pinhead, who traverses dimensions—Leatherface seems perpetually anchored to his rural Texas backdrop. After nine films, the formula is in dire need of reinvention, though any significant departures seem unlikely for now.
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