The Hot Spot Rating
Funhouse, The (1981)
Starring: Elizabeth Berridge, Wayne Doba, Syliva Miles
Director: Tobe Hooper
Synopsis: Another small gem of a freakshow… recommended
“stylish homages… a truly anarchic blend of black humour” Time Out
“pulls out all the stops” Creature Features
“atmospheric and genuinely scary” Splatter Movies
“stylish visuals help create an eerie atmosphere” Maltin’s
“awfully familiar ” Blockbuster Video
“a hair raising opus is there ever was one” 80’s Horrors
“doesn’t pan out to much in the end” Video Nasties
The film has plenty going for it, right from the wonderfully, creepy, atmospheric title sequence one gets down to some heavy homage before settling down to business. The local carnival has rolled into town and our young heroine tricks her parents (shades of Last House on the Left) and end up at the seedy Carnival with some amorous friends.
All is not quite what it seems at the Carnival and our young bunch get caught up in a murderously deadly game of cat and mouse due to their recklessness and insensitivity. There’s a lot more layers to this horror flick than what at first seems the case, it’s not by accident that this movie touches numerous relevant issues along the way, amongst them voyeurism, trust, the disintegration of the family unit.
This is clearly yet another criminally overlooked minor horror masterwork. Not unscary either, with its occasional leap-out-of-your-seats shock or two along the way and a screen monster as hideous as any and a effectively creepy music score maintaining a sinister aura.
Oozes creepiness, the tackiness and danger that is sort of inherent of such traveling freak shows. The Carnival setting is perfection with The Laughing Lady looming over the area like some demented Statue of Liberty, watching approvingly, mockingly as the horrors unfold. Sylvia Miles’s turn as the shady fortune teller is spot on and the lumbering dolt dressed in the Frankenstein monster turns out to be so much more than he threatens.
Memories of the film are deeply etched into the memory bank as it came out in the days when Times Square had a life and a soul of its own. The film opened at The National Cinema on 44th and Broadway, bang in the middle of the hustle and bustle of the theatre district of Manhattan. The then notorious 42nd street just stone’s throw away dominated by Porn and Grindhouse cinemas that flickered dubious fare 24 hours a day and barely. The films of Bruce Lee and Russ Meyer still reigned supreme along with films featuring Marilyn Chambers and Linda Lovelace. Seedy businesses featuring coin operated porn clips, head shops, dealers and wheelers and of course those who worked the streets looking for punters who cruised the area reeking with vice.
Times Square in the early 80s was the seedy, grimy underbelly of Manhattan oozing character that shocked and delighted in equal measure. Horror movies were staple in the area and in the wake of the post Halloween slasher boom, there were frequently a dozen horror movies playing within half a square mile. The Funhouse opened at The National and I was there with my friend from Tobago for the early show as her Birthday treat! She never again watched a movie with me after this experience though.
I remember sitting right up front to be engulfed by the huge screen and receive maximum jolts from orchestrated scares that were prerequisite in horror movies of those days. The cinema was eerily empty despite being the first show of its theatrical run but admittedly a 10am screening was not ideal for most of the populace of Times Square who would be drowsily be heading home after a night shift or partying too hard till they were about to drop. As the late birds scurried home, some sanitation workers readied the area for another night of sleaze and debauchery.
I have subsequently watched The Funhouse several times and it has continued to grow on me. Currently I have the 4K version ready to watch. I look forward to watching the film for perhaps the 7th or 8th time over the years with enjoyment levels increasing with every re-watching. I was fortunate enough to shake the hand of its legendary director Tobe Hooper at a film festival at Sitges in the early 2000’s when he was about to screen his remake of The Toolbox Murders. He never again reached the heights of his all-time classic The Texas Chainsaw Massacre nor come close to the claustrophobic excellence of The Funhouse – two films that rank firmly among my favourite horror movies of all. The Funhouse is far less celebrated but, in my view, deserves a far greater audience and appreciation then it received. The Funhouse has an enormous amount going for it right from the outset. Beginning with one of the great creepy carnival title sequences of early 1980s horror cinema, the film immediately establishes an atmosphere of sleazy menace before settling into its grimy fairground nightmare.
There is already a strong sense of homage woven into the opening passages before the story properly begins. A travelling carnival rolls into town, and our young heroine tricks her parents — in scenes carrying more than a faint echo of The Last House on the Left — before sneaking away with a group of hormonally charged friends for an evening at the seedy local fairground.
Naturally, things go catastrophically wrong.
What initially appears to be a straightforward slasher setup gradually reveals considerably more depth than expected. Beneath the stalk-and-kill mechanics, the film quietly touches upon themes of voyeurism, fractured family structures, trust, exploitation, recklessness, and the darker undercurrents lurking beneath cheap entertainment culture.
This is clearly one of the truly overlooked minor masterpieces of horror cinema.
And importantly, it is not remotely unscary either.
The film delivers several genuinely effective jolts along the way, while its monstrous central figure ranks among the more grotesque screen horrors of the era. Coupled with a wonderfully sinister musical score, the result is a film absolutely drenched in atmosphere.
What The Funhouse captures so brilliantly is the underlying tackiness, danger, and faintly diseased aura that has always clung to travelling carnivals and freak shows. The setting itself becomes almost a living organism.
Most memorable of all is the enormous Laughing Lady figure looming over the carnival grounds like some demented version of the Statue of Liberty, silently observing the horrors unfolding beneath her with mocking approval.
Sylvia Miles is perfectly cast as the shady fortune teller, adding another layer of carnival grime to proceedings, while the seemingly lumbering idiot in the Frankenstein Monster costume gradually proves to be far more disturbing than expected.
My own memories of the film remain especially vivid because it arrived during the era when Times Square still possessed its own distinct soul and personality.
The film opened at the old National Cinema on 44th Street and Broadway, right in the middle of Manhattan’s chaotic theatre district. Nearby, the then-notorious 42nd Street was still dominated by porn theatres, grindhouses, Bruce Lee marathons, Russ Meyer films, and endless screenings starring Marilyn Chambers and Linda Lovelace.
The area was overflowing with coin-operated peep shows, head shops, hustlers, dealers, streetwalkers, drifters, and every imaginable form of vice.
Early-1980s Times Square was the grimy, sleazy underbelly of Manhattan — shocking, dangerous, disreputable, but also utterly alive and overflowing with character.
Horror movies were an essential part of that ecosystem. In the wake of the post-Halloween slasher boom, one could often find a dozen horror films playing within a few blocks of one another.
And so it was that The Funhouse opened at The National, where I attended an early morning screening with a friend from Tobago as her birthday treat.
She never watched another horror movie with me again afterwards.
I still vividly remember sitting right near the front so the enormous screen would completely engulf me and maximise the impact of every carefully orchestrated scare. Oddly enough, despite being the very first day of the film’s theatrical run, the cinema was eerily empty — though admittedly a 10 a.m. screening in Times Square was perhaps not ideal timing for the local nocturnal population, many of whom were only just staggering home from night shifts, bars, clubs, or various less respectable activities.
As the late-night crowd drifted away, sanitation workers were already preparing the streets for another evening of sleaze and excess.
Over the years I have revisited The Funhouse many times, and strangely enough it has only continued to improve with age. I currently have the 4K edition waiting to be watched yet again, and I genuinely look forward to revisiting it for perhaps the seventh or eighth time.
Each viewing seems to deepen my appreciation for the film.
I was also fortunate enough to shake hands with its legendary director Tobe Hooper at the Sitges Film Festival in the early 2000s when he was presenting his remake of The Toolbox Murders.
Hooper never quite again reached the monumental heights of The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, but The Funhouse comes remarkably close in terms of atmosphere and claustrophobic dread.
Both films remain firmly among my all-time favourite horror movies.
The Funhouse may never have received the same level of acclaim or recognition as The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, but in my opinion it richly deserves a far larger audience and far greater appreciation than it ultimately received.
