Wednesday, July 8, 2026

THE THING: The Unrealized Adaptation of John W. Campbell, Jr. short story WHO GOES THERE? by 'Texas Chain Saw Massacre's Primary Madmen

In the late winter of 1977, Kim Henkel and Tobe Hooper, already contracted by Universal Pictures into a development deal, under the mentorship of William Friedkin, began an assignment of adapting John W. Campbell, Jr.'s renowned short story WHO GOES THERE?, already previously adapted by Charles Lederer, Ben Hecht, and Howard Hawks in 1950 as THE THING FROM ANOTHER WORLD. Reportedly written in a very short time, Henkel and Hooper were determined to make good on their task and whatever tidy sum it would bring them, as well as realize something - in a crunch - that played to their strengths: that of madmen's playfulness, of young creatives raised on the terrors of 50's rampaging monster films, already-dated perspectives on the lengths and limits of the scientifically-minded, and how best to process nostalgia of 50's optimism, by more or less dyed-in-the-wool fringe artists aware the world worked at wavelengths quite opposed to each other: the world as is, and the world of functioning professionalism and blind self-sufficiency - or bio-atomic selfishness - that we are expected to accept. Even Lovecraft makes an appearance, as what are young "weird" storytellers of the 70s like Hooper and Henkel supposed to do but react to every source of horrified parochialism and exceptionalist propaganda that infects the entertainment they imbibed, and then spit out... drumroll... an already-bought-and-paid-for piece of "non-tertainment" (not at all to say that their un-produceable THE THING was something I found not entertaining; it's the definition of entertaining, while dodging slyly the descriptors of "finished," "feasible," and furnished in much of any practical particulars). No, this is not the plausibly macabre The Thing of Campbell, Bill Lancaster, or Carpenter's imagining.



Full Plot Synopsis:

John Rettmann is a political functionary intimately enmeshed in sounding out an incident in the deep Antarctic at an American research facility, led by monomaniacal scientist Dr. Byrnes, where a catastrophic drill site collapse occurs that uncovers a deep underground cavern, and where an enigmatic, sarcophagus-like “find” is brought up from the wreckage. In an attempt to preempt international involvement, Rettmann is transported out to the Antarctic with a physicist, Scruten, meeting up en route with a New Zealand diplomat, St. Pudd. Meanwhile, at the site, the find is under monitoring by Byrnes' team, but internal divisions and a strangely growing madness amongst the members interrupts progress; Byrnes, in a scuffle seemingly inspired by the psychological effect of the find, is pierced by a mechanical piece ejected from the coffin. A stopover at an American base to wait out a storm - where they are introduced to two female doctors with the same destination, pathologists Katharine Oxbeau and Christin Wolfe - devolves into a soul-baring night of drinking between Rettmann and the base captain.

Rettmann is given grim news on the next morning's flight to their destination of Amundsen/Scott Station about the Captain who hosted them, pushing the already troubled Rettmann into a grim-faced stupor that is short-lived under current circumstances, as an Arctic white-out greets their plane at the unmanned landing airstrip, causing a spectacular crash into the Geodesic compound that houses operations, leaving a co-pilot dead (in spectacular fashion). The survivors soon realize the facility is eerily dead, and Rettmann and Scruten take charge of exploring the maze-like confines. Very shortly they find the vault in which the FIND was kept, and are confronted by a horrifying and gory vision of body parts and disembodied limbs, joined together by bioluminescent jelly. Immediately it begins to effect the mental state of Scruten, pushing Rettman to force them to flee. Running into the flight navigator and St. Pudd in the corridor, they are soon overtaken by THE THING, which absorbs the navigator and contaminates Scruten, who Rettmann temporarily subdues. The entire surviving group - Rettmann, surly Texan flight captain Forrester, St. Pudd, Oxbeau, and Wolfe - retreat from the main hangar and barricade themselves in an anterior office. The pressure of the situation has gotten to a number of the group; meanwhile, Scruten, conscious and possessed, taunts them before eventually battering down the door. Just as quickly, the Thing appears, absorbs Scruten, and makes a tight go at the rest before being attacked by a fierce group of huskies, while the survivors are forced to retreat the Geodesic altogether into the harsh Antarctic cold, their survival out there slim. Fortuitously, they are approached by Dr. Byrnes, astride a SnoCat, and while heartened at first, Byrnes appears mad, claiming he is no longer part of the living and revealing the metal piece that pierced him, referred to as the Cog, embedded in his torso. Having little to no other choice, the group, aside from St. Pudd, agrees to what seems like a plan to confront the beast using explosives. The group of five mount an offensive from a makeshift lab made in the rubble of the Geodesic. St. Pudd, left outside in trepidation, seems close to death but ventures back into the Geodesic after being attacked by a contaminated huskie. The group inside prepare explosives with new resolve under a new commander, Byrnes, but the pressure continues to effect them, particularly the young doctor Wolfe and a rejoined St. Pudd. Finally the Thing approaches and the group prepare Byrnes for his showdown, arming him with a detonating device. The two adversaries come face to face, only for the energy blasts of the Thing to knock the explosive rig off of Byrnes' person and into the lab, causing its inhabitants to scurry to all corners. The situation devolving, Forrester, overcome by gung-ho spirit, recklessly powers up the crashed, one-winged Skylifter, causing even more havoc to the rented Geodesic, forcing the others into the original room where the Thing was housed, but successfully sucking up the Thing into one of the turbines, St. Pudd contaminated by one of its hurtling pieces. Thinking the Thing has been subdued, the rest of the group, minus Byrnes, emerges only to find St. Pudd collecting pieces of the Thing to merge with. Forced back into the vault where they left Byrnes with the Find, Byrnes is struggling to remove the cog as chaos ensues around him. A mad Christin is determined to attack the Thing herself, restrained by Rettmann, Katharine, and Forrester, and in the scuffle, Katharine is thrown into the Thing's arms. Soon Forrester and Christin are caught up in the terrifying absorption process. Rettmann, despite his devastation, is instructed by Byrnes to force them back into the Find, while Byrnes dislodges the cog from himself and uses it as a lock to the coffin. The powerful force of the Thing still will not be contained, and the Cog is blown off once more, allowing the arms of the Thing to grab Byrnes, turn him into melting flesh, and suck him through the opening, but also effectively plugging the opening once and for all. The one survivor, Rettmann, ventures back outside, witnesses an aurora and a flare of lights and the sound of turboprops.



Hooper Films Contained in THE THING:


Eggshells


Eaten Alive


Poltergeist


The Mangler


Lifeforce


The Funhouse


Toolbox Murders


Mortuary


The Damned Thing


Midnight Movie
 (with Alan Goldsher)


Henkel and Hooper's The Thing most usefully comes off as a skeleton key of much of Hooper's later work - it astonishingly mirrors the structure of The Mangler while directly using the "madness contamination" trope used in Mortuary and The Damned Thing. The substance under the ground becomes Hooper and Henkel's take on the nebulous shapeshifter of the Campbell story and Lancaster adaptation, resembling more the blind consuming force of the Blob or Forbidden Planet's Monster from the Id than a survivalist-minded bio-organism, despite briefly, meaninglessly, being identified as of humanoid shape by a choleric X-ray technician.

Whether The Thing's sense of self-historicizing prophecy is nonsense or premonition is up for you to tell - like Dr. Byrnes in the story.

I have transcribed faithfully from the original manuscript in terms of general formatting, even though page breaks were unpredictable. I have tried to keep in as many of the original mistakes and typos as I could. This is in an attempt to possibly put us as close as we can be into their state of mind (indeed, typos increase as they reach the finish line, as if in a mad flurry, and calling the ending rushed is virtually an unassailable fact). In addition to 50's monster movies, recalled also by the piece are 70's disaster and survival epics (the Airport series, Towering Inferno) and genre puppets & miniatures excess (Exorcist IIGrizzly).

But what remains to be reckoned with is the philosophy, both its literary pastiche and its own work ethic - how they saw this evolving, what plumbing they were laying in order to enjoy the faint possibility this might be supported by producers into fruition. As a combination of The Mangler and The Damned Thing (with the psychotropic metaphysics of his book Midnight Movie), both coming off as low-budget condensements of this, while combining various elements from other films such as the afterlife-residing "Elderly supernal counselor" of Toolbox Murders or the many-as-one ghosts of Poltergeist, with these parameters of sensibility we can eke out a further study into the artistic corpus that is Hooper's left-behind work.

“That which is dead is just the beginning.”


Friday, June 26, 2026

NAKED SPACE VAMPIRES FROM OUTER SPACE from Stan Giesea and BearManor Media!

Buy it now!

Everything you could want to know about Lifeforce!

Promo and purchase link below!



Thursday, April 9, 2026

Release of Article "WHERE IS THE LIE? The Home Video History of 1979's 'The Dark'"

A version of this article was first published in Issue #19 of The Physical Media Advocate, a monthly/bi-monthly zine dedicated to movies and home media curated by Ryan Verrill, creator of the Disc-Connected channel and co-founder of boutique production and distribution companies, Someone's Favorite Productions and Antenna Releasing. Support him at his Patreon, or you can buy the published issue #19 if you want to compare the versions, which should show you what my crutches are free of inhibition.

But now, enjoy "WHERE IS THE LIE? The Home Video History of 1979's 'The Dark'," (supposedly) revised and refurbished, coming up to a year from its initial release.

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Available to view and download at the utilitarian haven Archive.org.


Monday, July 17, 2023

THAS: The Angel and the Badman (MORTUARY)

Bobby Fowler is not the only figure of projection in the film of MORTUARY (2006), Hooper's penultimate feature and something of a New Testament eschatology primer before DJINN's return to the Old Testament lands where newly raised are parables of Sodom and Gomorrah and the city and the tower of Babel. An angel statue takes a geographic centrality in the film, serving as a beacon point: as characters carelessly wander into the film's front yard cemetery, they each come to interact with the statue in their slightly varied way. The ones whose fates are most perilous regard it with varying degrees of alarm, while the film's emo protagonist plucks at its collected nest of twigs like the forgotten receptacle it is (much like he himself?). Not much further off from a Tim Burton pièce de résistance, the angel is more than slightly younger than the "eons" spoken of in the Lovecraft couplet, but it represents something of a symbol of mortality for the characters stuck in their own cycle of time dictated by relativeness to the death of a proclaimed messiah. If lifetimes are so relative, what is it that makes us act out so? More than being a "droplet," why do our ripples feel so magnified to us? If MORTUARY is Hooper's most zen movie, it is because he's evaluated religion and our notions of sinfulness and come out the other end "a lamb." The film's figure of innocence, a six-year-old girl, who hands the angel a piece of licorice along with the slabs of stone that represent ghosts or undead effigies, asks her brother and his friends, "Am I a lamb?" and the teenagers have no choice but to acquiesce. They have aged out of that notion, but Hooper has read the Bible and read his career and he's doing an exposé of both here with the eyes of a child if the end were nigh.








Saturday, December 31, 2022

Odds/Ends 3

Capsule reviews I've written in the meantime that span the entirety of 2022.  Presented achronologically. Upped my game from 2021, so for that, I take some pride.

TAKEN

All ten episodes of the Spielberg Sci-Fi Channel miniseries. Surprisingly grotty: drug addiction, murder, Oedipal stuff, sexual grooming, and aliens. Hooper’s pilot naturally is the stuffiest and most fearful of transgressing into televisual goofiness, but that is the reason the other episodes have “Best of TV” life whereas Hooper’s only has his stock-in-trade formalist tropes that awkwardly impose movie-artificiality onto TV-artificiality. His “romantic horse-riding date” scene he rips off blatantly from Night Terrors and it's a pale imitation of cinema here. He’s obedient and afraid, but that doesn’t result in him betraying his sense of style, but misapplying it. Wish y’all could see his unaired Prey pilot, the more deranged misapplication of stuffy formalism to TV.

THE FUNHOUSE/EATEN ALIVE/THE TEXAS CHAIN SAW MASSACRE

A response to viewing a triple feature of all three in 35mm:

The trilogy of films of a sensitive soul. Hooper seems terrified of other people, encounters, and being faced with others who are not immediately simpatico (and there is never that in a Hooper film). He is the one truly entropic filmmaker, which is why his films have such lasting power. The Funhouse is less immediately impressive than Eaten Alive and The Texas Chain Saw Massacre (it's strange going from the proud vibrant experimentalism of those two films to what, to a full crowd, might collectively be seen as timid convention), the Texas Chain Saw redux elements I can do without, and its look at social ostracizing and inbred groups half-hearted at best (look to The Elephant Man for that), but it is certainly a film about subplots along a mutual track and the clearest evocation of his philosophy of telling multiple stories at once, stacked on top of each other. 

It is really all about Amy, the survivor-by-chance, who connects with the recessive family (the monster and his family), her own, and her friends merely by chance. The details of the others' plots are incidental (Buzz, the oldest of the teens, works at a gas station; Richie considers college), though they are all connected by bad fathers. Hooper does not feel kindred to the two depraved boys - Joey and the "Anomaly" - though he attempts to give them an "out" through the fantasy of the film (in other words, he is saying these beings certainly cannot exist in real life; Carpenter's Halloween presents the "bad seed" as more of a given, while Zombie's revision corrects the original point). The Monster/Barker scenes are my least favorite, but it is all about how the scenes butt up against each other (after all, Amy's friend is killed as she and Buzz... walk around? Not one moment is given over to expositional dialogue like "Where do you think she is?" or "We have to find her!"). It is also about Amy's almost imperceptible arc, which is her ability to dissociate until all her friends are dead and her relation to the monster is no longer just theoretical (it has occurred to me this describes most generic slashers, though they are never as self-aware; The Funhouse's real revolution is that Amy, its ingenue, "princess" character, is just as ruthless as its cynics). 

Its gestures are small and old-cinematic, like Hooper finally attempting that 50's Lean picture he had always wanted to make (he had "a romance with cinema [around the time he made The Funhouse]," he said once in an interview), but the gestures - the film's incremental units of time - always have to do with the Moments missed, and the weight of things falling on you that is beyond your control. So, Funhouse’s plot describes the form of Lean's Brief Encounter - a narrative about lost moments, thus its form about it - which itself super-correlates to the narcotized form of Funhouse. In other words, this film does not attempt Cinema a la all its New or New-New Hollywood fetishists, but it carries the weight of a cinema (the British golden age, perhaps neorealism) and all the gaps of story that signify a world crumbling and accelerating around you (the shadows of Tourneur).  Texas Chain Saw Massacre and Eaten Alive feel apocalyptic in their very form, but The Funhouse is the most apocalyptic of all of them for marrying it to vision, to, in a sense, the "ESP" it affords its heroine that both opens up and blinds her: because every second - every lost opportunity to be more cinematic, or even more thematic - is a grappling with our ability to disassociate from a life ticking by, crumbling from time, barely concealed by the story of a few bad fathers and dead kids. 

THE NOVELIST'S FILM - #12 IN TOP FILMS OF 2022

Hong chases after a misshapen homunculus of equal parts novelist, filmmaker, and inhuman Superman without the flaws and short-sightedness of either the first two. Needless to say, neither the impossible homunculus or the Superman exist. Hong is not a novelist, he's a playwright at best, and it is never quite clear if he is trying to make this very point or the opposite - that his film's might as a well be plays (no. it would not alight, not spark). One watches this entire film that was built to chase its own tail and we come out the other end not knowing if Hong understands novelists at all, outside of the fact they suffer a different type of imposter syndrome than filmmakers do. At first it's about the novelist pursuing some sort of scopophilic liberty from the prison of words - which does suggest Hong knows the ease of film is, by that measurement, "preferable" to the cacophony of inner thought - this "evolves" to ending with a direct, almost resignatory Kiarostami cribbing that suggests one of the following: the novelist fails to find the synthesis of the art forms (at least what was in her head); the purity and immediacy of filmmaking; or the novelist achieving her escape from what is so stifling about the overweening empathy asked for by books, as she expresses earlier, and finding escape by becoming Hong himself... while bypassing all that is conventional, which is decidedly not how she expresses her ideas for the film earlier. She has in effect disavowed herself to become, metatextually, a male director (after previously telling off a Hong stand-in earlier in the film). Or, is it the things that escape us and are found in the process? Transfiguration? To suggest all of these things feels like cheating, and the undercutting of the others, while the path to apotheosis is redundant, and not in a fun way. That's not how Hong works, or it shouldn't be, as he writes things meticulously and is known for finding the harmony of things, even restlessness, and not for chasing aesthetic manifestos in 90 minutes. Best leave the chaos of emotions to Imamura and Kiyoshi Kurosawa. The Novelist's Film feels much too hardboiled for Schiller.

THE CATHEDRAL - #14 IN TOP FILMS OF 2022

Notes on an Appearance arthouse-indie wunderkind Ricky d'Ambrose skips making his crossover Jaws and skips straight to The Fabelmans. It feels a bit like a premature firing of a gun, and considering d'Ambrose attests to having a full-blown epic in script form before reducing it to its bare essentials, in keeping with his instincts shown in his first feature, adds to this feeling like a film made as a prediction of a career and shrinking back from the challenge sans headlong rush into Spielbergian or Daviesian reflexive mythology. Thankfully, this leap involves far less personal failings and ruing the day than Nate Parker's The Birth of a Nation.

PINOCCHIO

The indignities of puppets, even femme puppets/puppet people allies (Zemeckis' thing for female puppets is definitely his one alpha move over Spielberg). You know, sometimes films just do not work, and Zemeckis' deep level corporate CGI scientist (think John Amplas's military-commissioned scientist in Day of the Dead) output is surely disposable ephemera for dispassionate x-beta/y-omega/z-delta trials he is only interested in doing in a glazed-eye-on-the-prize way. Doesn't mean he is a bad filmmaker, though. He's still out there saving transhuman lives.

PLANET OF DINOSAURS

I loved this movie. It's on Amazon Prime. Please join me in the glow of experiencing such a discovery. Takes place on a deserted alien dinosaur planet but includes at least two refrains of my favorite standard "Auld Lang Syne," one where the crew sings it happily to a plaintive guitar instrumental (I reiterate, they're stranded on a desert planet without amenities) that turns into a minor key when they begin to further ponder their situation. Yes, it's badly made, but this is the Rio Bravo of badly made.

SCREAM

It’s the directors sink this. Sad thing, is I don’t know if Wes could’ve pulled off Gen-Z, gentrifying Woodsboro, without giving one of the teens eyeliner and some weird working-class shtick? 

BENEDICTION - #1 IN TOP FILMS OF 2022

Deeply Beckettian irony underlies an "[It's all too much.] I can't go on. I'll go on" ethos of continuous self-flagellation for the absence of something one is always searching for. Very Freudian. Even the eros-driven roundelay of the middle section is just a diversion. Life is a condition of constant substitutions for a purity that may never have existed. Here, it is a cruciform for a "lost generation" of boys, a lost cause made painful because ghosts are as incommensurable a state of being as one being in utero - actually more so. Davies goes past nostalgia and enters a late-life consideration of the image that is death in relation to a homosociality that, so he (or his protagonist) sees, seems to deny the nostalgic present. Sassoon is a figure in history he abuses freely, contrary to the female protagonists of his previous two features.

CORNEILLE-BRECHT

A Jean-Claude Rousseau Production of a Jean-Marie Straub Film.

DEADLY FRIEND

I don't know anything about Craven's original conception of the film and how pieces were forced upon him, but the oddball teen world and violent, gnarly content seen together, this is just another one of his incoherent horror worlds, to me indistinguishable from the harsh retributory vision that informs 'Nightmare on Elm Street' and 'Deadly Blessing' (and am I to believe the final scare of Nightmare was also forced on Craven? Insane). Anyway, it's foolish to doubt the certified horror masters, Craven - the most recondite and retrograde of them - included. The existence of their visual point-of-view culled from traditional storytelling bedrock, but fueled by a searching curiosity, especially that of Craven's, is always clear, and no amount of bad decisions can sour that. The first half of this was invigorating world-building of an impossibly Minnellian teendom, the second half a poorer reflection of the first but with excellent, polished horror scenes (almost as if made by assignment?).

BRUISER

A profoundly apolitical work, in the best sense of the word. Just… don’t be a jerk. Preeminent director of chivalry in cinema - honor as charisma, charisma as honor - Raoul Walsh could’ve directed this tale 70 years ago and I would not bat an eye (barring the few period updates, like electronic money, sleaze culture, and punk music).

CODA

Why do I do this to myself, you ask? Because while I may have given up on civilization, I have not yet abandoned it. The whole film is like a cotillion scene in a John Ford movie. A rite of backwards passage film for us all to remember we all had our prom night. No wonder it shot straight to the Best Picture prize.

CLEOPATRA

The communists of classical Hollywood are at it again with this premake of Revenge of the Nerds, the titular nerds tasked to quantify and enumerate the eternality of love through their cynical march to progress. Cleopatra is an intellectual who sees past or at least through the tyranny of finite time and numbers (aka optics).

THE POWER OF THE DOG

Suffers from There Will Be Blood syndrome. Anderson’s confidence is overbearing as he meets his Greenwood score blow by bombastic blow, while Campion treats her score like a foreign intrusion. Nolan and Anderson get praised for their immersive quality - Campion deserves at least as much praise for not caring a bit how immersed you are. She still has a better grasp of the mystery of human sensory recall and all that it adds to storytelling, and that compensates even for how overtly artificial, clunky dramatically, and compulsively watchable this is in a Secret Garden, “Don’t even try starting a water cooler conversation about it (it's too unspeakable)” sort of way. May pair nicely with Drive My Car as (inadvertently) pop-culture-accepted works that nevertheless commendably follow the beat of their own private drum, being about the things that never can be expressed out loud or even at all.

COMRADE X

Chaos alternative to easy-going liberalist Ninotchka, King Vidor's intellectual curiosity as an artist of sociological metaphysics films stiffly a comedy without metaphysics, about characters without philosophy... only ideals (a poor substitute). "Americans aren't soulless," says Clark Gable, and Vidor's camera - perhaps indistinguishable from the usual visually-filtered American liberality we see in his other work, objectifying the wider world and finding only stark one-dimensionality - just stands by and gawks.

HER SOCIALIST SMILE

3 1/2 stars out of 5

I’m afraid my reserved rating will push Mr. Gianvito into the arms of HBO.

DANCE OF THE DEAD

The clearest articulation of Hooper's automaton thesis, on things neither living nor dead, alive but not autonomous; this is both about our changing intake of art and our changing values in general. Jerry D. Metz in his essay on Dance in the Hooper essay collection American Twilight mentions how Richard Matheson's original story was about refined suit-and-tie crowds taking in the cavorting cadavers, but now, it is angry, politically ambivalent punks with cattle prods. The loss of meaning in art and the spectacle, and remarkably finding beauty in that loss of meaning, that devolvement from refinement, which necessitates his (and our) adaptation. The beauty that is front and center here is not Hooper's directorial choices but in his presenting something at all in the current times of 2005 or 2055.  Hooper assesses the state of the soul, as the diegetic titular act does with its ugly and meaningless "dance," given to an allegedly "devolved" audience. The beauty is in the "why," the searching of why things have gotten this way, no longer in art but in the absence of it. Nihilism as a necessity.

THE GIRL AND THE SPIDER - #6 IN TOP FILMS OF 2022 

All the same tricks as The Strange Little Cat, it can be confused as the same film. But is it the disappointment in scale and vision it promises from that description? Nope. It is most assuredly an expansion on the first film’s family unit into a larger world of quirky Amelie-like communal life and breaching self-parody in its applying structuralist film pedantry onto wider living in general. It is Haneke 90210, Sirk 2.0 for social atomization. It is bigger in scope but no less fixated on inner lives. But like actual fellow structuralist Eugene Green, the Zurchers have mustered a sense of life and a pure playfulness that transcends arthouse appliqués and approaches a vivid-redundant view of the world. Ramon Zurcher himself asserts his control and discernment over his dollhouse narrative in adding Euro pop to the mix, to what was previously strictly classical in conception, in order to not keep their vision “simple” (read: “fussy”) despite it being unchanging.