Tagline: In every neighbourhood there is one house that adults whisper about and children cross the street to avoid.
Director: Wes Craven
Writer: Wes Craven
Starring: Brandon Quintin Adams, Everett McGill, Wendy Robie, A.J. Langer, Ving Rhames, Sean Whalen, Bill Cobbs, Kelly Jo Minter
18 | 1hr 42min | Comedy, Horror, Mystery
Budget: $6,000,000 (estimated)
You’ve gotta love Wes Craven. His creative output could be frustratingly cavalier at times but, warts and all, he brought so much to the horror genre, and his legacy continues to live on. Craven’s movies were terrifying, controversial, hugely successful, iconic, uneven and in some cases abject failures, but he was never scared to take risks and push the creative envelope, which means he was never less than entertaining. His misses invariably possess some kind of charm that keeps us coming back, and those movies that hit, really hit. Even his middling productions stand out for one reason or another. For me, he’ll never quite have the stature of someone like John Carpenter, but he breathes the same air.
1991‘s The People Under the Stairs is Craven in a nutshell, but before we get to that, let us just take a moment to recall the late director’s rich and storied career. Ultimately, Craven will always be most synonymous with one of horror’s most notable creations: Fred Krueger. Some would see that as a negative, a sign that his output was inferior on the whole, but so monumental was Robert Englund’s horrifically scarred child killer-come-pop culture juggernaut that a then fledgling New Line Cinema was dubbed ‘The House that Freddy Built’; this, a future commercial mammoth that would go on to produce the colossal Lord of the Rings series.
Craven would flounder in the shadow of Krueger’s success for a while — not because he was afraid to branch out as many critics at the time supposed, but because the big studios, who were suddenly knocking down his door, wanted to feed off A Nightmare on Elm Street‘s success. This was never more apparent than with Deadly Friend (1986), a book adaptation planned as a serious sci-fi drama that would succumb to the horrors of studio meddling. After a disappointing test screening, Craven was forced to add a series of incongruous nightmare sequences that transformed the movie into an incoherent mess (which is admittedly rather fun), leading the director and future Oscar-winning screenwriter Bruce Joel Rubin to flat-out disown the movie.
Craven was too much of a rebel filmmaker to work under such constraints. His early work was both prodigious and controversial, particularly 1972‘s The Last House on the Left, which would ultimately find its way onto the infamous ‘video nasties‘ list following the Obscene Publications Act of 1984, and grungy out-in-the-sticks horror The Hills Have Eyes (1977), which would lead to one of the crummiest horror sequels of its era in 1984‘s The Hills Have Eyes Part II, a pair of movies that display the good and bad sides of Craven in a microcosm. Low-key productions such as Shocker and The People Under the Stairs would keep the director mildly relevant into the ’90s, but Craven wasn’t done yet. Not only did he revive the moribund Fred Krueger with innovative meta experiment Wes Craven’s New Nightmare, he would tweak that formula and wrap it in a cute commercial bow just two years later with self-reflexive slasher parody Scream, reshaping the horror genre for the third time in as many decades.
The People Under the Stairs is an odd card. It is also one of Craven’s most interesting curiosities — a blend of Spielbergian adventure, macabre fairy tale and explicit horror. It is also a very personal film, recalling the director’s strict catholic upbringing in the most startlingly left-field of fashions. It is The Goonies with a sociopolitical voice and enough grue to send the kids to bed in tears. Like A Nightmare on Elm Street, The People Under the Stairs was inspired by real-life events, in this case a family who were prosecuted after alerting the police to an attempted burglary at their home. Instead of finding the perps in question, the cops discovered a series of locked doors containing children who had never been allowed to leave the house, a grim sub-narrative that typifies the movie’s unholy matrimony of genres. This is made even more unsettling by the fact that what we see essentially happened for real.
This is key to the movie’s premise, though as you would expect from a horror movie the volume is turned up just a tad, and the often jarring lost gold and booby traps formula brings a level of mainstream levity to an extremely sobering tale of child abuse. It also allows Craven to explore themes that are synonymous with his work: the superficial injustices of society, the existence of horror in everyday life and the ability to overcome such predicaments as a unit. All of this is represented by the movie’s crazed antagonists, wealthy siblings known simply as Man and Woman, who no doubt echo Craven’s fundamentalist upbringing. They are also two of the most memorable characters he ever produced.
The maniacs in question are an incestuous pair of wealthy landlords with a penchant for child kidnapping. Not only do they steal children, they keep them hidden in the basement where they are left to starve and develop into cannibalistic zombies. They even have a daughter named Alice (as in Wonderland), who is particularly fond of one basement dweller, a tongueless gawk who has escaped his prison and spends his days running around in the walls. Alice is your typical fairy tale princess burrowing in a rabbit hole of brutal reality, one who is in desperate need of a gallant prince. That prince comes in the form of a cutesy black kid named Fool (Adams), an anonymous victim of the ghetto with a heart of gold. Fool’s sister is sick and in urgent need of medical attention, and local tough Leroy (Ving Rhames) has convinced the boy to take part in a Robin Hood style robbery so the spoils can be used to prevent the family from being evicted by evil landlords who have established a tightfisted grip on the African-American community. Not only are the targets in question making a fortune off the miseries of the victimised, they have a secret stash of gold coins stored away in their mansion, riches that could be put to better use — or at least that is the pitch.
The movie was released the same year as the infamous Rodney King affair, an incident of police brutality that would ultimately lead to the LA Riots — a violent backlash against the kind of racial discrimination that keeps suspicion away from the door of picket fence suburbia, regardless of what may be going on inside. Here, the Rodney Kings of the world are the victims, not those irrational God-fearing folks searching for a convenient minority to blame for their emotional misgivings. The film is a commentary on the abuse of power, and the superficial facade that keeps it in place. As a tense and fantastical drama the movie packs quite the punch, and in spite of the transparent social commentary, Craven is clearly having fun with this one, delivering a manic hybrid of morbid adventure that is skilfully underpinned by the filmmaker’s trademark sense of wit.
That being said, The People Under the Stairs left me asking one question: who exactly was this movie marketed at? The adventure elements and the claustrophobic exploration of the seemingly boundless, labyrinthine mansion is executed with the kind of panache one would expect from such a master craftsman, the kind that is sure to leave audiences of a younger persuasion breathless from start to finish, but what lurks beneath is strictly in the realms of adult entertainment; and with a couple of peewee protagonists to boot. With scenes of physical and emotional abuse, graphic violence and genuine terror, it feels just a little strong for such a demographic, though its moral resolutions are borderline mawkish and pure, unrealistic wish-fulfilment. The People Under the Stairs includes ingredients that once had censorship boards reaching for their crucifixes, and it is the aforementioned Man and Woman who steal the show — the former a leather-clad gimp brandishing a shotgun, the latter a child-scolding psychopath whose knife-wielding exploits would leave Norma Bates cowering in terror.
Inevitably, it falls on Fool to free not only the girl Alice, but the entire hoard of albino zombies, who will presumably lurch into the open arms of society, perhaps even land a job, fall in love, apply for a mortgage and raise a family. Give us your tired, your poor, your huddled zombie masses, and your ever so improbable studio idealism.
Running deep into the blade of a kitchen knife, an unperturbed Woman slides the weapon from her kidney, beset on slicing her ever oppressed pseudo-child Alice, a maniacal effort that sees her devoured by a vengeful pack of cannibalistic basement dwellers.
Most Absurd Moment
After hiding behind a sofa and using Fool as bait for the family doberman, Leroy senselessly pops his head out and is brutally savaged by the dog. If that wasn’t ludicrous enough, Fool then drags Leroy towards a booby trapped door, dog in tow, and after he grabs the modified handle the three of them are electrocuted, performing the kind of slapstick line dance that belongs in a Warner Brothers cartoon.
Most Absurd Dialogue
Having stumbled upon the body of their Caucasian buddy, Fool informs Leroy of his gruesome discovery.
Leroy: You seen Spencer?
Fool: I seen Spencer, alright.
Leroy: You found anything?
Fool: Something found him. He’s dead, Leroy. I think scared to death.
Leroy: Y-you sure?
Fool: You thought he was white before, you should see that sucker now!