When Sean Cunningham sold the domestic distribution rights for Friday the 13th to Paramount Pictures, the studio was at a crucial juncture in its history. Looking to augment their product pipeline of in-house productions, the studio turned to its then-Vice President of Distribution & Marketing, Frank Mancuso, Sr., to find independently produced motion pictures that they could acquire quickly and cheaply, then widely distribute and market for maximum profit. When Mancuso took a chance on Cunningham's seemingly unremarkable horror film, he immediately sensed its commercial potential. Then Mancuso and Paramount thought big. They gifted Friday the 13th with a launch on more than a thousand screens across the United States—an unheard-of number for a "negative pick-up" at that time—and the kind of saturated multimedia marketing campaign previously afforded only to high-gloss, first-class studio pictures. The result was historic for an exploitation movie: Friday the 13th was not only a smash success; it helped to create a whole new paradigm in the way motion pictures are made, marketed and exhibited.
In the thirty years since the release of Friday the 13th, the execution of its pattern for success has become a template copied by the entire motion picture industry. By the beginning of the 1990s, negative pickups would become de riguer, and by the new millennium most of the major studios had created their own in-house specialty divisions to produce and distribute the kind of niche genre entertainment previously disregarded as strict exploitation fare. Companies like Dimension Films, then a subsidiary of the Walt Disney Company, and, most notably, New Line Cinema, owned by Time-Warner, saw profits from such popular horror franchises as Halloween, A Nightmare on Elm Street and Scream serve as a major source of annual revenue on their parent companies' financial ledgers. And concurrent with major studio production of genre films in the 1980s came a sea-change in how they exhibited them. Today, no-holds-barred horror films like the Saw, Hostel and Texas Chainsaw Massacre franchises—movies so unashamedly hardcore that they once might have played only in drive-ins and seedy grindhouses—are now being shown in multiplexes across America, while their grisly advertising campaigns, previously considered taboo, are now accepted across all forms of mainstream media, from network television to major magazines, the internet, and even the sides of buses and subway cars. Thanks in part to the success of Friday the 13th, the distinction between the "A" and "B" film has been irrevocably blurred if not entirely erased.
The evolution of Friday the 13th has not, however, been without its aches and pains. The scorn that was heaped upon the franchise, particularly in its early years, was of the type usually reserved only for the most reviled of exploitation films or pornography. The creative murder sequences for which the Friday the 13th films have become infamous were considered by many not just offensive but downright obscene. Almost immediately upon the release of the original Friday the 13th the barrage of criticism began, with the film and its makers engulfed in a firestorm of attacks: high-brow commentators, irate op-ed pieces in local newspapers, complaints from concerned parents on syndicated talk shows, and even the official condemnation of the Catholic League of Decency. Friday the 13th became not just a lightning rod for controversy, but the most visible representation of a so-called "cynical new wave of horror filmmaking" that reveled in sadistic violence, misogyny and nihilism. Further inciting the attacks was the immediate and overwhelming wave of imitators that followed in the wake of the success of Friday the 13th. Knock-offs that were arguably even more crass, derivative and prurient than the film that had already been derided as the most base form of cinematic exploitation imaginable. Friday the 13th, along with Halloween and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, were among the first in the cycle of American "slasher films," a whole new subgenre of motion pictures united by their most basic elements: sex-crazed teens, a virtuous heroine, a masked killer with a knife, and graphic bloodletting. That Friday the 13th and its seemingly endless parade of sequels would remain the most financially successful of the slasher craze—released unapologetically by a major studio, no less—only emboldened the Moral Majority in their cause.
But perhaps the greatest nemesis of the Friday the 13th series was, ironically, the least publicly vocal. The Motion Picture Association of America's ratings board had always maintained a tight grip on the series' graphic content, but as the sequels wore on, the constraints began to feel like a strait-jacket being placed on the creative backs of the filmmakers. The battle eventually took on political dimensions, with the producers and directors often loudly complaining that the board—or the "censors," as some foes labeled them—held an unfair bias towards the franchise. While such theories could never be proven, it was an assumption that had all but become accepted as true by the genre press and the series' most ardent fans. Nevertheless, it remains an undisputed fact that most of the films in the series required extensive trimming of their violent imagery in order to earn an R classification from the board. Whether or not the imposed cuts harmed or diminished the intended impact of the films, the issue continues to be hotly contested by fans and the filmmakers today.
By the mid-1990s, however, the MPAA's stance against the kind of graphic imagery seen in films like Friday the 13th clearly began to soften. Whether American culture had, in the intervening years, grown more accepting of—or simply become desensitized to—graphic depictions of violence in motion pictures, video games and the broadcast media, the stigma that had marginalized the Friday the 13th franchise seemed to dissipate to a large degree. Ironically, by the end of the 1980s, the key elements of the "slasher film" that had once sparked such public outrage were suddenly (if not subversively) being adopted by more mainstream movies. From the high-gloss thrills of Fatal Attraction to the Oscar-winning Silence of the Lambs, many of the most derided elements of the Friday the 13th films—over-the-top violent deaths, the seemingly unstoppable killer and that now-expected "one last final scare"—seemed to have migrated over to the more "socially acceptable" Hollywood blockbuster. Today, even the most repudiated aspect of the Friday the 13th series, its gore quotient, can now be seen in greater clinical detail (and for free, no less) on such network television shows as CSI, NCIS and Law & Order.
Occasionally, those opposed to Friday the 13th won some of their battles. By the end of 1990, Friday the 13th: The Series, a weekly syndicated television drama that ranked second only to Star Trek: The Next Generation in weekly ratings, would be cancelled after its third season amid protests from the Religious Right. So synonymous had the title Friday the 13th become with sex, nudity and gratuitous violence that the television series, which otherwise had no connection to the motion picture franchise, suffered its untimely demise as the result of sheer guilt by association. Although neither Paramount Pictures nor New Line Cinema has ever publicly commented on the critical and moral backlash against the franchise, the repercussions have been felt most keenly by the actors and the filmmakers, some of whom have come under harsh personal attack from both outside and within the industry just for having their name associated with something as prurient and offensive as Friday the 13th.
Now, as Friday the 13th enters its fourth decade, the horror series that refuses to die has, despite the consternation of its fiercest critics, earned a permanent place in the cinematic history books. With the smash success of 2003's Freddy vs. Jason, and newly revitalized by the 2009 remake, Friday the 13th has gone from a surprise mainstream success to a cult phenomenon, survived a nearly decade-long hibernation, and re-emerged as an enormously viable commercial franchise whose appeal now spans multiple generations. The series has achieved the simultaneous feat of being both a source of nostalgia for older audiences who grew up on the original films, as well as remaining relevant to a new generation of moviegoers. While perhaps not quite as all-American as "Mom and Apple Pie," Friday the 13th has nonetheless hacked, slashed and stabbed its way into the pop culture lexicon, with Jason Voorhees' iconic hockey-masked visage recognized around the world as a symbol of movie mayhem. For many, Friday the 13th is one of the signposts of the adolescent experience—to
initiate a younger sibling or friend into the mythology of Friday the 13th is like telling your favorite scary story around a campfire. And for those who have never before experienced a "Jason film," the event is akin to a rite of passage. Friday the 13th has become a phenomenon far larger than the sum of its bloody parts. It is currently one of the longest-running film series in cinema today, with Jason Voorhees standing tall amongst such box office heavyweights as James Bond and Indiana Jones. Its profits have exceeded those of any other horror franchise around the world. And its durability has defied even the most vocal of its detractors. Friday the 13th may truly be eternal.
This book tells the story of the original Friday the 13th series, for the first time and in the words of the people who created it. Whether the success of the franchise left them elated or disgruntled, amused or bewildered, they talk about their experiences with passion and candor, in a wide array of views about the series, its making, its controversies and its legacy. Their recollections are also proof positive that even in the world of Friday the 13th, there may never be one pure, objective reality, only several subjective perspectives of the same event. With the compiling of this book, I have aspired to do justice to the people and their stories, to celebrate their accomplishments and respect the cultural impact of what they have created.
What you are holding in your hands (or, rather, now reading on your computer screen) is also the culmination of my own thirty year journey, one that began when I sat in a darkened movie theater back in 1980 and watched, with rapt fascination, as Friday the 13th unspooled in front of my ten-year-old eyes. But unlike the science fiction and fantasy-adventure films that proved so popular and resonant to the youth of my generation, I was not so much transported to a different universe by Friday the 13th as I was inspired to reckon with the sometimes harsh realities of my own very real world—to confront my adolescent fears and mortality, stimulate my sexual curiosities, find a sense of belonging within my peer group through a shared love of the genre and, ultimately, to realize my own ambition to work in the entertainment industry. If, inevitably, the question of why I would write such a book as this must be asked, specifically by those unfamiliar or outright offended by the series, I can only answer with another question: where would I be without Friday the 13th?
Never could I have anticipated that it would have taken me three years to complete the original hardcover edition of Crystal Lake Memories, which was initially published in 2005. Nor, with this electronic edition, that I would get the chance to revisit this classic franchise yet again as the series enters its fourth decade. In that time, I have had the great fortune to meet more than two hundred people who lent their considerable talents to the Friday the 13th franchise over its enduring lifespan. Never, in my opinion, has there been such an unfair schism between the reputation of a film series and the caliber of talent, passion, integrity and intelligence of the people who created it. And I certainly cannot forget the legion of enthusiastic and devoted fans that I have met over the course of this journey—not only the new generation of teenagers who have discovered their passion for the Friday the 13th films in today's world of special edition DVDs and Blu-rays, but also their parents who, not so long ago, made up the young audience for whom these films were so unabashedly intended. It has been good to hear others talk so passionately about the impact these films have had on their lives. I also cannot forget the many new friends I have made among the series' alumni, especially the team at Crystal Lake Entertainment and, of course, Sean Cunningham, who has not only graciously contributed the Foreword for Crystal Lake Memories, but whose support and belief made this project possible. To all of you, I do not know what my life would have become had I not had this experience and this privilege.
With this new electronic edition of Crystal Lake Memories, it is now my pleasure to be able to revise and expand the original hardcover version of the book, free of any constraints of the traditional print medium. I have exhumed all of the original source interviews and, with the benefit of hindsight and perspective, selectively reinstated material that was originally lost due to the strait-jacket of page counts, as well as the need to balance words with images, specifically the hundreds of photographs that, while they so elevated the hardcover edition into a true coffee table collectible, nevertheless took precious white space away from text content. Also frustrating, as deadlines loomed, it was often a simple toss-of-the-coin decision to slash a specific anecdote—an editor must sometimes wield their machete with more ferocity than even Jason himself—so it has been particularly satisfying to unearth the many fascinating gems of material I thought would remain forever buried. But perhaps best of all, there is the addition of nearly a dozen fresh new interviews, conducted in the six years since Crystal Lake Memories was first published, with Friday the 13th alumni that were previously unavailable—or, in some cases, unwilling—to participate in the hardcover edition. Indeed, this new electronic redux of Crystal Lake Memories is more full-blooded than ever before.
Though there is so much new within the "reimagined" pages that follow, it must be addressed as to why this version of Crystal Lake Memories does not include a dedicated new chapter detailing the recent Michael Bay-produced remake of Friday the 13th. It has always been and remains my intention that Crystal Lake Memories, in every form and iteration, is as comprehensive and fully-realized as is possible. Yet, it must also be built upon a wholly satisfying narrative arc—one with a clear beginning, middle and end. As its stands today, the films from the original Friday the 13th through Freddy vs. Jason form what can arguably be called the "classic canon" of the franchise. The 2009 remake, though highly successful in its own right and as important and integral a piece of Friday the 13th history as any film in the original saga, nevertheless is the intended launching pad for its own series of brand-new films. It is the formulation for the next evolution of Jason Voorhees and, as of this writing, a tale that is still very much unfolding. But today and forever, the eleven films chronicled in Crystal Lake Memories—now appropriately re-subtitled The History of Friday the 13th—occupy their own immutable place in the franchise's history, and it is the story of these eleven films that this book celebrates.
So huddle around the campfire, whisper "Ki-ki-ki, Ma-ma-ma," and turn the page to discover the secrets of the mythical place called Crystal Lake. Inside you'll find stories of fear and fortitude, told with much humor and reverence, as well as tales of courage, of conquering seemingly insurmountable obstacles, and ultimately of good defeating evil. Because Crystal Lake Memories is a book about survivors—both real-life and fictional—who have come to learn that, while there is darkness in the world, we can, with great resourcefulness and a little luck, survive the night. I hope that once you have finished reading this book you will realize that the world would be a much darker place indeed without Friday the 13th.
Peter M. Bracke
Los Angeles, January 2012
1. Long Night at Camp Blood
Near the end of 1969, Sean S. Cunningham, then twenty-nine years old, sat down with his wife, Susan, at their home in Westport, Connecticut. Almost four years married, and with a second child on the way, Cunningham declared to his wife his plans for making it in the film business. It would prove to be a fateful day. Despite having already achieved a prodigal level of success as a Broadway theatre director and stage manager, Cunningham was eager to make the transition to the cinematic arts. "I didn't know enough to be intimidated," he would admit 35 years later. "Since then, I've been stupid enough and lucky enough to have achieved great success in my career."
Stupid and lucky—Cunningham gives the words equal weight. Throughout his career he has defied the odds and achieved commercial success on his own terms. Brash but pragmatic, and resolutely independent, Cunningham retains to this day the tireless work ethic instilled in him as the son of first generation Irish immigrants. He is also a devout family man and fiercely loyal to the people he chooses to work with—a dichotomy that, in the early days of his career, left him tor
n between maintaining financial security and realizing his own artistic ambitions. Cunningham's beginnings were inauspicious at best. He struggled to make a name for himself in New York's "anti-establishment" film scene of the early 1970s, scraping by on a diet of industrial shorts and commercials—and the occasional soft-core porn. Yet Cunningham's drive and determination remained unflappable. He was once heard to boast, even before he produced his first motion picture, "All you need in order to be a film producer is a telephone and some stationery!"
Although Cunningham would toil in the trenches of low-budget, largely unremarkable exploitation pictures for the 10 years before the unprecedented success of Friday the 13th, his youthful bravado proved magnetic. And many of those drawn into what would become his own rag-tag filmmaking family would come to play a crucial part in the birth of the Friday franchise—a group whose backgrounds were as disparate as their talents were unique, and who were often united by little more than raw ambition. There was Wes Craven, an ex-Humanities professor-turned-aspiring filmmaker; Steve Miner, a former ski-bum looking to break into Hollywood; Harry Manfredini, a New York-based composer and part-time session musician; Bill Freda, editor-for-hire; and Victor Miller, the Yale-educated screenwriter torn between prestige and schlock. But perhaps those most integral to Cunningham's destiny would be three men of great mystery—Phil Scuderi, Steve Minasian, and Robert Barsamian—owners of the Boston-based regional chain Esquire Theatres who, along with a sharp and eager young booking agent named George Mansour, were about to make an unexpected transition from shady back-door dealmakers to major studio-supported financiers.
Crystal Lake Memories: The Complete History of Friday the 13th (Enhanced Edition) Page 2
