Released in 1982 and directed by Tobe Hooper or Steven Spielberg (depending on who you ask), “Poltergeist” is that rarest of gems: A PG rated film with very little gore that manages to be genuinely scary.
I was a weird kid, you guys. Shocking, I’m sure. I was scared to death of David Banner’s transformation into The Hulk (and would always tell my mom I had to pee so I could leave the room while it was happening) and Roddy McDowall as the Devil in “Fantasy Island,” but delighted when I got to stay with my older cousins who I knew would let me watch “Creepshow.” The hokey horror and gore of the early 80’s never really instilled any kind of lasting fear in me, and even as an adult it’s rare for me to find a movie or book genuinely scary. Not unheard of, but rare.
One fateful day, a cousin issued an unspoken challenge by sitting in a dark room and trading ghost stories by flashlight. We were pretty wee, however, so most of our ghost stories were simply repetitions of the horror movies we’d somehow managed to dupe adults into letting us watch. Her stories recounted the plots of “The Thing” and “Poltergeist,” and when she got around to describing that dude’s face falling off, I immediately realized that my very existence depended on seeing this movie. Luckily, I was a devil child and managed to manipulate my parents into renting a VHS copy even though I knew they wouldn’t let me watch it (PG be damned), and stuck my head out my bedroom door to watch it when I was supposed to be in bed.
That was a mistake.
Scared. Me. To death. No more closed closet at night, no more nightlight-free bedroom, NO MOM I DON’T WANT THAT CLOWN DOLL ARE YOU HIGH? I don’t think Mom and Dad ever connected the reason for my new behaviors, because it never resulted in me climbing in to their bed at night or screaming for comfort in a midnight thunderstorm. I kind of enjoyed the feeling. I had learned to enjoy the false fear that a good ghost story could bring, and my life would never be the same.
It’s been 30 years since that fateful evening, and “Poltergeist” is still one of two movies that I watch every single October. It’s one of the few films that actually scares me, and in a grossly mistitled genre, one I would actually call “horror.” I often wonder if younger viewers find it hokey, as the effects are sometimes questionable (the aforementioned face-falling-off in all truth has not held up). But there are still moments that terrify – if you tell me you don’t jump, even a little bit, when the hand reaches out of the television, I will call you a dirty dirty liar. Normally when I write about movies I like to revel in the technical accomplishments and cinematic style, and while all of that is indeed present this film holds such a nostalgic and emotional place in my heart that it’s hard to focus on those details. There’s amazing shot composition and compact storytelling, good (though not all good, to be fair) technical effects, and one of my favorite maternal performances in cinematic history. But for me it boils down to turning off the lights and experiencing a damn good scary movie.
“Poltergeist” tells the story of the Freelings and their time in a manufactured housing community called Cuesta Verde. Unbeknownst to all the residents, the suburb was built on burial ground, and as we learn towards the end of the film, the development’s questionable financiers moved headstones, but left the bodies under the houses. FAUX PAS. The Freelings’ home becomes infested with noisy ghosts who abduct their youngest daughter and terrorize the family. The reason behind the Freelings’ home being the chosen haunt is explained in the sequel, and even though I haven’t seen it since I was a teenager I am still petrified of the Reverend Henry Kane.
“Now, hold on to yourselves. There’s one more thing: a terrible presence is in there with her. So much rage, so much betrayal – I’ve never sensed anything like it. I don’t know what hovers over this house, but it was strong enough to punch a hole into this world and take your daughter away from you. It keeps Carol Anne very close to it, and away from the spectral light. It lies to her – it says things only a child can understand. It has been using her to restrain the others. To her, it simply is another child. To us, it is the Beast – Tangina Barrons
“Poltergeist” is incredibly intelligent in that it relies on scares which we can all bond over. Clowns, thunderstorms, closed closets, coffins full of skeletons erupting from unfinished swimming pools… These are the common grounds of fear. The details of the characters immerse you even further into the story; Diane Freeling is openly excited when the occurrences start. She thinks having a haunted house is kind of cool. Steven is exasperated, confused, and pissed more often than he is afraid (the look on his face before opening the children’s bedroom is one of my favorite bits of acting ever). Older sister Dana is an incurable hot mess and older brother Robbie is too young to fully grasp the goings-on – he’s afraid but a little curious, too. And upon Carol Anne’s rescue, her “hi daddy” – again, 30 years later – brings me to tears. And Dr. Lesh’s speech to Robbie on life after death allows me to confidently declare “Poltergeist” as a My First Horror Movie title. That’s a thing I just made up, by the way.
If you’re curious, “The Exorcist” is the second of the two movies. I force myself to watch it every Hallowe’en and it truly is a challenge. But “Poltergeist” is a much more subtle scare. I watched the movie last night and smiled as the nostalgia arrived and I remembered what it was like to be a happily frightened child. I jumped a couple times during the viewing, and my heart still raced in all the right spots, but when it was over, there were no overtly lingering effects. I smiled, finished up my notes, and went to wash up for bed.
My house is about two hundred years old and can frankly have an air of creepy on a bright summer afternoon. But as mentioned above, I was a weird kid who grew in to a weird adult that pretty much enjoys the creepy, and it stopped bothering me very shortly after I moved in. I navigate room to room without turning on lights and generally enjoy the creaks and groans, so last night, when I had to hesitate at the hallway and then turn on the hall light before going to the bathroom, I gave my dog a sheepish smile and a shrug. But I also left the light on.
Thanks, “Poltergeist,” for being a campfire tale come to life, for keeping me young at heart, and for being a weird kid’s bread and butter.