Original Vs. Remake: The Last House on the Left

The original Last House wastes little time in getting to the depravity of the bad guys. In the opening scene, young Mari already leaves her parents’ vacation house and heads out for some fun with Phyllis. Then, Krug and his fiendish family strike quickly. The twist of the baddies ending up at the home of one of their victims happens kind of close to the end, which feels a little bit rushed, though satisfying nonetheless.

For 1972 and for the amount of violence Krug and his family inflict upon poor Mari and Phyllis, the gore effects are chillingly effective. In fact, it is downright gruesome. When Sadie puts her hands inside Phyllis’s gutted stomach and pulls out part of her insides, it works as one hell of a jolt.

Okay, yes there are some goofy officers of the law in the original as well as one whacky chicken truck driver. Perhaps these were included to balance out the other hardcore subject matter. Beyond that, the actors do a very solid just selling these dire circumstances. David Hess makes for a loathsome lead bad guy while Sandra Peabody and Lucy Grantham really shine in their victim status. Richard Towers and Cynthia Carr do an adequate job conveying grief and rage as Mari’s parents.

As soon as Mari and Phyllis enter the room of Krug and his family, an uneasy feeling instantly grips you. By the time they are all in the woods, your heart starts to sink. Just when you think those evil shits can’t push their level of depravity toward the two girls any further, Krug lays on top of Mari. The intensity level gets amped up even further when Krug and his clan take up residence with Mari’s parents. By the time the parents discover their daughter’s body, the “oh shit!” factor is off the charts.

Okay, admittedly, Sandra Peabody and Lucy Grantham are definitely a pair of extreme 70’s hotties, but considering what they are subjected to, I kind of feel a little weird about gushing over their hotness. But, for the sake of the column, I will say that they both look incredibly sexy in their birthday suits. I honestly don’t consider any other females in the flick good looking.

This was Wes Craven’s first directorial credit and the man certainly busted onto the scene with a bang. To be able to convey such harsh subject matter yet still dish out a satisfying film is no easy feat. Especially during the darker scenes, the subtle silent shots of the baddies’ hands dirtied with blood and grass speak volumes. I only wish he hadn’t incorporated the odd bits of comic relief that come off more as cheesy than relieving.