Madman (1981)

Madman was conceived in the wake of, and very much in awe of, Friday the 13th, a film whose phenomenal success had given independent filmmaking a much-needed shot in the arm. Paramount’s decision to pick up and distribute Sean Cunningham’s little slasher transformed the dream of every low-budget filmmaker overnight. Suddenly, the possibility existed that some major Hollywood studio executive might stumble across your cheap horror movie and turn it into a nationwide hit.

Those were different times.

Had Madman been made today, it would almost certainly have gone straight to video or vanished onto a streaming platform without anybody noticing. In the early 1980s, however, the home video market was still in its infancy and virtually every shoestring horror production managed to secure some form of theatrical release somewhere in the world. The drive-in circuit was still alive, audiences still turned up for slashers in droves and there was always room for one more masked maniac with a sharp object.

The story centres around a group of camp counsellors and children preparing to wrap up another season at summer camp. As darkness falls, everyone gathers around a campfire where tales of local horror legends are exchanged. A peculiar fellow calling himself T.P. entertains the assembled campers with a lilting medieval-style ballad about mysterious dangers lurking in the wilderness. It is the first of four songs that will make their presence felt during the film and, unfortunately, things do not improve from there.

Once the musical interlude is mercifully over, the elderly camp supervisor begins recounting the legend of Madman Marz, a local boogeyman who supposedly butchered his entire family with an axe for no apparent reason. According to the story, Marz still lurks somewhere in the surrounding woods and can be summoned simply by shouting his name aloud.

Naturally, one of the idiots around the campfire immediately does exactly that.

One gets the distinct impression that Madman Marz will not appreciate having his privacy disturbed.

Sure enough, somewhere deep within the forest, a shadowy figure begins stirring. Before long an axe-wielding giant who resembles a dishevelled old blimp desperately in need of a manicure starts wandering through the woods in search of victims. Madman Marz may possess the communication skills of a malfunctioning lawnmower, judging by the strange guttural noises he emits, but he compensates by having the strength of ten men and the agility of Tarzan. Despite his considerable bulk, he scales trees with surprising ease and prowls the forest with relentless determination.

The body count gradually begins to rise, although not before the audience is subjected to the second of the film’s four songs.

If the medieval campfire ditty merely tested one’s patience, this particular musical number is genuinely alarming. It is a maudlin, syrupy monstrosity performed with such enthusiasm and such limited vocal ability that it almost becomes a form of psychological warfare. Gary Sales, the film’s co-producer, was responsible for these musical contributions and one suspects he may eventually be required to answer for them before a higher authority.

The film itself consists largely of characters wandering around the forest making questionable decisions while Madman Marz stalks them from a distance. These scenes are accompanied by a score that often sounds as though it was composed on one of those battery-operated Casiotone keyboards that used to appear in department stores around Christmas.

The attempts at suspense are so heavy-handed and contrived that they frequently drift into self-parody. The shocks arrive precisely when expected, the scares are telegraphed long in advance and there is very little here that feels fresh or original. Madman follows the slasher formula with such devotion that it rarely seems interested in doing anything beyond reproducing what audiences had already seen countless times before.

That said, the film is not entirely without entertainment value.

There is a certain charm to the gloriously amateurish performances and some of the gore effects are so awkwardly executed that they become amusing in their own right. One occasionally finds oneself laughing at the film rather than with it, but laughter is laughter nonetheless.

Ironically, the most frightening aspect of Madman has very little to do with decapitations, mutilations or axe murders. The true horror lies in those four songs, each one somehow more alarming than the last. Compared with them, Madman Marz himself seems almost comforting.

Despite all of its shortcomings, Madman has accumulated a loyal following over the years and remains something of a cult favourite among slasher enthusiasts. That devotion is perhaps less a reflection of the film’s quality than of its drive-in spirit and unmistakable early-80s atmosphere. It is exactly the sort of movie that would have played on a sticky-screen double bill in some long-forgotten theatre, accompanied by the smell of popcorn and stale cigarettes.

Seriously tacky, frequently ridiculous and often unintentionally funny, Madman is hardly a lost masterpiece.

Still, cult cinema was never built on masterpieces alone.