Black Christmas / *** (1974)

Well before the homicidal tendencies of horror movie villains fell on ominous men wearing masks at Halloween or during summer camps at the lake, they were tucked away in the attic of a sorority house. Any aficionado of the slasher subgenre knows exactly what that phrase implies, but those less inclined to study the history have probably never even heard of Roy Moore’s notorious “Black Christmas.” Those are unfortunate sorts, many of whom have no doubt had their tastes molded by the trivial antics of lesser showmen in the crowded onslaught of scary movies. The irony of that proclamation is that the fanbase, usually quick to source benchmark origins for many of the ideas they hold dear, has been nowhere near as vocal in their respect of Moore’s film as many of the other key genre pictures from the past. Does that have to do with the continued obscurity of the endeavor, or the questionable reputation that slashers endure when held up against their more celebrated cousins? Whichever way you slice it, the resurgence of interest that came so long after its theatrical debut has been a muted affair, causing only ripples amongst those seeking knowledge of their favored field while others create more resounding echoes.

The Texas Chainsaw Massacre / **1/2 (1974)

Though it was invented for distinctly opposing purposes, the chainsaw has been the central breakpoint in the eras of horror filmmaking. Before it came to pass as an instrument of chaos in Tobe Hooper’s violent and disturbing “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre,” movies about frightening situations were usually filled with supernatural jolts or ominous forces in the shadows, usually as a means for inspiring nervous fun; on rare instances, some of them rose above the confines of lurid fantasy in order to regard their situations with certain realism. But the introduction of this single tool into the mix, a weapon of brutal force and ridiculous overkill, indirectly gave birth to the modern customs of the genre’s more masochistic voices, and within a decade it created what we now refer to as the “slasher” picture, in which all of the outlying terror is marginalized to situations in which ambivalent victims – usually teenagers – are lined up and knocked off in very bloody ways. Over time the popularity of those values gave added rise to an underlying beast in more creative overachievers, and today it’s virtually impossible to see any movie about murderous rampages without squirming somewhere in the process. So much has been visualized in the sadistic torture of the human body that the imagination has no room for interpretation, and our nerves have been deadened from the impact of repetitively harsh sensations.

The Enigma of Kaspar Hauser / ***1/2 (1974)

Minds do not always harvest congenial reactions when they are exposed to foreign realities, especially when they are so grossly detached from them for lengthy tenures. That is one of many significant functions of “The Enigma of Kaspar Hauser,” Werner Herzog’s stirring fable about a young German who mysteriously wandered into Nuremberg square on a warm day in 1828, and right into the clutches of a culture that would leave him in the throes of permanent alienation. His origins are of inexplicable depth, and yet help to emphasize the challenge of exploring such strange surroundings. For the first two decades of his life he was chained to the wall of a dungeon in an undisclosed area, and was never permitted to learn or experience anything beyond the comfort of a bed made of hay. He could barely walk, speak nothing coherent and had no knowledge of simple human interaction. Where did he come from? How did he escape? As perplexing as his arrival – and subsequent integration – came to be, perhaps they were just minor exercises compared to the nature of his ambiguous upbringing, which seemed to cast its own dubious shadow on his brief time in civilization before it ended just as mysteriously as it began.

Lessons from Criterion:"Ali: Fear Eats the Soul" by Rainer Werner Fassbinder

If German history books must paraphrase the sum of its important contributions to world cinema, all statements begin and end by referencing the country’s two most essential eras – that of “Germanic Expressionism” in the 20s, and the more recent “Neuer Deutscher Film,” which began in the 60s as a way to usher in a generation of thinkers who thought beyond the proverbial boundaries of their culture. In both instances, young aspiring artists were conditioned by the fallout of Germany’s involvement in two World Wars, and under the weighted influence of a social structure seeped in uncertainty, they were eager to embrace the fires of chaos in order to obliterate the illusion of harmony that was used as an oxygen mask.

Lessons from Criterion:"The Night Porter" by Liliana Cavani

If movies have the capacity to assemble images that exist outside a continuum related to human awareness, then those on display in “The Night Porter” emphasize that possibility with scathing nihilism. You can recognize the dread long before it is even there. An upscale Vienna hotel in 1957 is the setting, with a solitary night porter named Max, played by the great Dirk Bogarde, occupying the celluloid with no intentions other than obscurity (“hidden away like a church mouse,” he says). The plot requires it really, because his past exists in dangerous shadows capable of unraveling him if they come to light. And with good reason: Max was a Nazi doctor assigned to one of many concentration camps during the War, and subjected his victims to varying forms of cruelty, experimentation, and perhaps outright torture. His identity is known only to a select few peers, who too are fascists attempting to reform in an overhauled European society, and they perform routine check-ups on each other to ensure that their secrets remain safe. The first ripple is felt very early in the movie, when Max checks in a group of travelling musicians and instantly recognizes the wife of the conductor (played by the ravishing Charlotte Rampling).