Studio: Netflix
Director: Leigh Janiak
Writer: Phil Graziadei, Leigh Janiak, Kyle Killen
Producer: Peter Chernin, Jenno Topping, David Ready
Stars: Kiana Madeira, Olivia Scott Welch, Benjamin Flores Jr., Julia Rehwald, Fred Hechinger, Ashley Zukerman, Darrell Britt-Gibson, Maya Hawke, Jordana Spiro, Jordyn DiNatale
Review Score:
Summary:
Teenagers discover their small town’s long history of spawning serial killers may be connected to a witch’s curse.
Review:
I wasn’t as bullish on Leigh Janiak’s debut feature “Honeymoon” (review here) as some others were. But there was a moment right before that movie’s SXSW premiere in 2014 that made me a fan of the filmmaker nonetheless.
While I was standing outside waiting with everyone else to be let into the late night screening, a woman came out to quickly take in the crowd. Her hands appeared affixed to each side of her unassuming skirt, perhaps clutching the cloth out of idle nervousness. A beaming smile grew brighter as she looked to see the line stretching around the corner. Then, seemingly speaking involuntarily to herself more than to anyone in particular, she said, “You guys are here to see MY movie!” before swiftly skipping back inside the theater.
Of course, it’s not unusual for a first-time writer/director to get swirled up in the spectacle of a festival when it’s their turn in the spotlight. But in that brief instance, Leigh Janiak’s awestruck enthusiasm was identifiable as an authentic part of a down-to-earth demeanor. She wasn’t dressed for step-and-repeat posturing. She wasn’t playing a persona like some freshmen do when they think Hollywood scouts are paying attention. Despite the clock turning over into the next day, Janiak spoke just as excitedly during her post-screening Q&A as she did on the sidewalk. This was a humble creative truly passionate about horror and her ability to make a mark in that space, not another wannabe slumming through an overnight stop in the genre merely because it’s an economical option.
That simple sense I got of Leigh Janiak’s character made her success easy to root for. In my mind, it also made Janiak a terrific choice to helm Netflix’s trilogy of ‘Fear Street’ features based on R. L. Stine’s books.
To kids who grew up on ‘Goosebumps,’ ‘Fear Street’ was a logical next step in gateway horror for tweens. That holds true for their cinematic counterparts too. The Jack Black movies provide family-friendly frights while the “Fear Street” films slash with an R-rated blade of slaughter, swearing, and sex, in amounts that aren’t excessive for a mature teen audience.
So who better to spearhead a series whose first entry, “Fear Street Part One: 1994,” prominently features a mall, high school rivalries, classmate crushes, and miscellaneous small town drama, than someone with the exuberant Gen X energy of Leigh Janiak? Janiak’s Ohio roots ground her in relatable Midwestern sensibilities. Her pop culture passions also reflect the grunge era she grew up in. From ‘90s rock to the slasher revival started by “Scream,” Janiak has the proper perspective to mix those influences together for a screen story that sunbathes in scorching nostalgia, yet throws back the thrills with a neon-soaked style that’s still attractive to millennial audiences.
It can be argued, and many already have, that Janiak brings too much fervor to “Fear Street: 1994.” To pick that bone with milder words, I might instead classify “1994” as an “over-produced” effort, which isn’t necessarily negative unless that taste doesn’t tickle your tongue.
Sometimes you’ll listen to a song, hear a bunch of trumpets, synthesized sounds, maybe a choir, and you’ll think, “No way did this band, which is normally only three guys with acoustic guitars, come up with all of this.” Some sound engineer suggested one thing, a label rep suggested something else, and eventually everyone ended up with a multi-layered track made for maximum radio friendliness that only partially resembles what the songwriters originally came up with. That’s “Fear Street: 1994.” It’s definitely the vision of Janiak and her co-writer Phil Graziadei. But there’s also the wall-to-wall Marco Beltrami and Anna Drubich score pumping loud orchestral arias underneath every single scene, candy-colored lighting schemes drenching sets overflowing with period props, and that distinctly slick sheen you only get from mainstream movies put together by a collective of creative collaborators. This is what horror looks like when it’s juiced on Netflix money, but I believe that’s mostly in this film’s favor.
Since I’m tackling topics that have dominated the “Fear Street: 1994” discourse, we may as well mention the needle drops. Yes, they are distractingly excessive. Where my mind went after the fifth track up through the twentieth was, “Jeebus, how much cash did they burn on this soundtrack?” I couldn’t help wondering if an entire indie feature might have been made with what was probably paid in licensing fees.
Here comes a counterpoint. If this compilation actually existed in 1994, everyone I knew in college would have owned the CD. I refuse to believe any Poindexter sat there and supposedly noticed, “Um, excuse me, this specific song didn’t come out until the following year” or whatever. That’s always a facacta finger wag people pretend to be incensed over so they can prove some trivial music knowledge. The bottom line is, the song selections are all great inclusions that paint a perfect audio landscape of the era and the attitudes depicted onscreen.
A complaint I’m slightly more inclined to agree with is that “Fear Street: 1994’s” cast of stereotypical characters, e.g. sassy cheerleader, dorky brother, and comical Logan Miller clone, is unlikable. I wouldn’t go that far, although I don’t see what they do to make themselves overly endearing either. Perhaps because they live in the cursed town of Shadyside, the frumpy bunch appears perpetually angry. I get their depression to a degree. A dead witch has been spawning gimmick-riddled serial killers for centuries while the neighboring township of Sunnyvale enjoys peaceful prosperity. But there are ways to establish their ennui without making two of them drug dealers, or concluding that the best way to temporarily kill someone prior to resuscitation would be a prescription pill overdose. Those are real problems with uncomfortable insinuations that aren’t indicative of heroic behavior.
So sure, some of “Fear Street Part 1: 1994” can be sketchy, predictable, or too loud of an echo of its homages. At the same time, that’s par for the course it delightedly plays on. Even if they’re vaguely familiar, the masked murderers have cool looks and hooks, their kills can get gnarly, and the film keeps flying forward at a pace fitting for its spirit of a laidback Friday night fright flick.
Even though it ends on a cliffhanger as the first chapter in a trilogy, “Fear Street: 1994” comes across as a complete movie unto itself. Several questions are left unanswered, like what’s up with those sudden nosebleeds or the housefly who whispers the witch’s words? Except those background bits seem like secondary seeds planted for future installments, not noticeable holes that make you feel like you’re only getting one-third of a story. Technically, this is only one-third of a full story. But that’s because each individual movie contributes to something bigger as opposed to being a piece that can’t work without the other parts. The “Fear Street” films are like Voltron lions. They function fine on their own, but can come together to form a bigger, more powerful robot.
Seven out of ten reflects that “Fear Street: 1994” isn’t a guaranteed winner for everyone, but it buzzes with a vibrant vibe that’s more entertaining than most teen-targeted terrors of this type. That score is ripe for reevaluation too. It could go up or down depending on how “Fear Street: 1978” and “Fear Street: 1666” change the context of this content with retroactive revelations. Since we don’t know what upcoming mysteries might play off of what happens here, it’s possible that “Fear Street: 1994” could be even cleverer than it’s currently credited for. Then again, if no additional meat packs pounds on these bones, it’s also possible that “Fear Street: 1994” might be more “meh” than anyone fully realizes at the moment. Are fans being too kind or are critics being too cruel? Time, and two more movies, will tell.
Review Score: 70
Terry Gionoffrio’s ordeal simply seems like a trial run for what Rosemary Woodhouse experiences in a scarier, sleeker, superior movie.