Halloween

Thinly conceived but brilliantly executed, John Carpenter’s slasher prototype is unquestionably one of the most influential films of all time (although it owes a debt to Bob Clark’s Black Christmas, especially for its extensive use of subjective camera). It is an uneasy marriage of sophisticated filmmaking technique and undernourished subject matter. Carpenter’s expertise at creating tension through stealthy camera movements (not to mention his uncanny use of foreground and background) is best evidenced in the superbly orchestrated opening shot, a virtuoso single-take that travels through a darkened house and up a staircase before witnessing a murder by stabbing. The suspense mechanisms are so intoxicating that you don’t even question the motivation of the killer—what is his game, and why is he stalking these victims in particular? The idea of evil incarnate, relatively unexplored by Carpenter’s and Debra Hill’s screenplay, may have boosted this into metaphysical territory (the true province of the horror film), but the filmmakers are simply content to serve up a continuous succession of jack-in-the-box thrills and perfectly timed “boo!” moments.