I’ve always thought of Wes Craven to be a criminally underrated director. Now, before y’all hit me with Scream (1996) and A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984), hear me out – There are so many overlooked gems in his filmography that it is really quite shocking upon examination. I’ve always felt that Wes had a knack for creating films that were always a couple of steps ahead of the curve, which is why I’ve decided to tackle this project. I intend to examine every single one of his ventures into our beloved horror genre, in both celebration of his legacy and elevation of the true innovator he was. Now, with this mission statement outta the way, lets go all the way back to 1972 – where the Craven Chronicles began.

The Last House on the Left (1972) has been largely veiled by a viscous mask of notoriety. It is known for being an incredibly difficult film to consume, given the extreme levels of brute violence and inhumanity. For those of you unfamiliar, this tale follows a quad of murderous thugs as they kidnap, rape, and murder two teenage girls.

Now, you may be wondering why someone would watch such a thing – I’ve mentioned the extraordinary levels of extreme violence, however failed to acknowledge the following payoff. At risk of spoiling this cinematic experience for first-time viewers, I’ll have you know that the murderers herein find themselves hosted by the family of one of their victims. As the story unravels, we witness the grieving parents take matters into their own hands – A delectable display of passionate vigilante justice.

Deeply exploitative in nature, I believe it not to be coincidental that several rape-revenge films would arise in the following years. Examples include I Spit on Your Grave (1978), Ms. 45 (1981), and the blatantly named The House at the Edge of the Park (1980) – The latter even utilizes David Hess as its primary villain as is the case with Last House, creating a typecast swarmed in infamy for his undoubtedly intense on-screen presence.

What makes this all the more impressive is how little Craven thought of what he had been making. He approached this with an exceedingly modest attitude, something with which I feel likely followed him throughout his career, yet served as a catalyst in igniting a string of very niche genre films to follow. Hell, even the tagline became iconic and was re-used time and time again… “To avoid fainting, keep repeating: ‘It’s only a movie, it’s only a movie, it’s only a movie…”

Now that you’ve gotten the overall gist of what we’re dealing with here, I’m going to go on a bit of a deep-dive with a handful of things I noticed and appreciated about this film. Firstly, the timing of it all. For those of you that know me, you’re probably dead tired of me relating everything to the Manson murders that occurred in 1969 – I’m going to do it again here, so bear with me.

Though I’m not sure Craven ever directly cited the events that occurred in the summer of ’69 as a direct influence, I believe it cannot be denied. Firstly, I’ll point out that the script was written in 1971, likely in the midst of the trial against Manson and his members. Secondly, The Last House on the Left served as a violent display of the clash of cultures during a time of heavy societal turmoil, not unlike the motive of the Manson murders themselves; Many, if not all, of the members of his cult were considered social outcasts, not a far stretch from the fictitious murderers here, either.

Perhaps coincidental, the sole female criminal here was penned with the name Sadie – Sadie just so happened to be the alias of real-life Manson family murderess, Susan Atkins. Adding to this (possibly) outlandish theory, the actress that played Sadie, Jeramie Rain, also happened to be simultaneously starring as Susan Atkins in a broadway play at the time. Summating my theory, I’ll leave y’all with a direct quote pulled from the film: “All that blood and violence – I thought you were supposed to be the love generation?”

I think the aforementioned quote also summates the powerful essence of this film. We’ve got a shocking juxtaposition of the grime and horror of criminal acts alongside the wholesome, unconditional love provided by the concept of traditional family values. The drastic shift in tone throughout as we jump from each respective contrasting angle is at times overwhelming, but really aid to the uncomfortable nature of the onscreen events.

The rape scene from this film has often been cited as one of the most difficult to watch. It goes without saying that rape is likely the most horrifying act that could be committed against anyone, and that every visual depiction of such a crime isn’t easily digestible in any case, however I believe this specific example is especially horrifying given how accurately it depicts the ramifications. You witness the victim, Mari (Sandra Peabody), become entirely stripped of every ounce of humanity she once encapsulated. It is heart-wrenching, so much so that even the perpetrators visibly struggle with the reality of the vile, dehumanizing act they had just committed.

This isn’t a fun film by any stretch of the imagination, but not all films are meant to be fun. I’m not sure Craven fully realized the creation he had concocted when he pieced this thing together, but the staying power is still felt decades later. Though it appears as just another exploitative venture into violence and perversion, when you scrape past the surface it is so much more. It is an examination of true, human violence, not the boisterous kinds that had become so common in cinema at the time – And as we all know by now, violence is about as American as apple pie.