Editorials
Unpopular Opinion: ‘Freddy’s Dead: The Final Nightmare’ is a Good Movie
It’s no secret. The sixth installment of Nightmare on Elm Street, Freddy’s Dead: The Final Nightmare, is widely regarded as one of the worst NOES films in the franchise. It has a whopping 23% on Rotten Tomatoes, and it isn’t appearing in many horror fans’ favorite movies of all time.
I, a longtime Freddy fan, must inform you that everyone’s wrong for disregarding this film. From start to finish, it gave us the perfect send-off for Freddy.
The Unofficial Theme Song for A Nightmare on Elm Street
As the history of my pitches in the Horror Press Discord will attest, I am a sucker for music used well in horror movies and shows. (If I ever get my way, I’ll do an entire piece on the great songs featured in American Horror Story, but I digress.)
In the first 30 seconds of the movie, before the opening shot, we are played a clip from Goo Goo Dolls’ “I’m Awake Now,” which sings: “Don’t fall asleep to dream. I’m awake now. You can’t touch me. I won’t sleep no more.”
“I’m Awake Now” is one of my favorite songs because it delivered an anti-Freddy anthem that no one realizes is an anti-Freddy anthem unless they’re a Freddy fan. When you ask anyone, “What’s the Nightmare on Elm Street song?” Everyone will always sing the iconic “1, 2, Freddy’s coming for you…” But only a few know this one.
Listen and enjoy the gratuitous Freddy shots in the official music video here.
Freddy’s Dead: The Final Nightmare is as Campy as It Has to Be
As the song clip plays, viewers are introduced to what kind of experience to expect. The film opens with the following quote by Friedrich Nietzsche:
“Do you know the terror of he who falls asleep? To the very toes, he is terrified, Because the ground gives way under him, And the dream begins….” Friedrich Nietzsche
Then immediately follows it with a quote from the man of the hour himself, Freddy Krueger:
“Welcome to Prime Time, bitch.”
This juxtaposition between straight-face horror and silly, campy comedy perfectly captures the film’s essence. Freddy’s Dead has all the elements of a horror movie. As a character suffers from nightmares, aided by a woman trying to help him remember his true identity, we are treated to deaths that make you wince (can you seriously forget about the kid who got a Q-Tip jammed straight through his ear?) a creepy little girl, a mystery, flashbacks… but at the of the day, this is still a Freddy movie. It would be sinful to deliver a Freddy movie that doesn’t make us laugh.
His comedic horror style is one of his redeeming qualities, so the filmmakers cranked that up to 11 for what was supposed to be Freddy’s final film.
Pulling Out All the Stops for the “Final” Freddy Movie
This film instituted the use of Freddy Vision, which was its attempt at providing viewers with a 3D experience. The filmmakers used it sparingly, so no one was left with the awkward cardboard frames on their faces for long (which is more than I can say for other horror movies.) At the very least, doing this created a fun little piece of memorabilia to go along with what was supposed to be Freddy’s final film.
Of course, this movie could be better. It’s not without flaws, and if you can’t enjoy the campiness, you’ll probably find this film unbearable.
There’s a scene where Freddy Krueger uses a video game controller to bounce someone around like a cartoon character for a solid five minutes, and I can understand why this movie got some of the hate it got. However, I love it because it gave us something different and much more.
Johnny Depp make’s a Return
Just before this scene, Johnny Depp is on screen on the TV, explaining, “This is your brain on drugs.” The fact that he made a re-appearance, this time as himself, in the franchise after he played a character who died in the first movie, all while our character was drifting into this drug-induced dream state, dipped the moment into enough surrealism, where I can appreciate the campy, cartoonish bouncing that shortly follows.
Freddy already had so many creative fatalities under his belt that the filmmakers had to use their imagination to give us something crazier than we’d ever seen. So, we get a gleeful Freddy Krueger driving a bus into one victim and him dragging his fingernails onto a chalkboard to explode someone’s head after their hearing was amplified by some weird living hearing aid to kill another. Freddy manipulates the traumas of everyone we are introduced to, all with the intent of finding someone from his past who will help let him out of Springwood.
Freddy Krueger’s Origin Story
The amount of information packed into this movie is astounding. We get to see Freddy Krueger teased as a child (mocked for being the “son of a hundred maniacs,” which, of course, was a callback to information from previous NOES movies where Freddy Krueger was the product of his mother being assaulted by a hundred maniacs in a mental institution). Then, we see the night Freddy was killed and why he has the power to invade dreams in the first place.
Like it or not, this film is canon, and any Freddy fan would be remiss not to recognize it for the background information it gave us. Maybe more people are satisfied not knowing the story behind the monster, but to me, it only made him more terrifying.
Freddy Krueger is a Monster
This film differed from many other NOES movies by showing us Freddy in his human form when he was just a sensible-slacks-wearing neighborhood monster behind closed doors. This, to me, is the scariest version of Freddy we’ve ever been introduced to; the Freddy who doesn’t look dangerous.
By humanizing Freddy, this movie helped re-solidify how much of a monster he is.
During this flashback, we see Fred Krueger’s interaction with his daughter. He callously murders her mother in front of her after she discovers his secret. As he told his daughter not to tell anyone, revealing the woman we have been following has been Freddy’s child all along, he looked much more terrifying in his ‘every-man green sweater’ than the iconic red and green one.
Freddy Krueger’s Daughter
After she learns of her connection to Fred Krueger as he kills the people close to her, Kathryn Krueger’s destiny is clear: she has to kill him. If anyone was going to be worthy enough to be the one to kill Freddy Krueger “for good,” I couldn’t think of a better person than his daughter. Even if you disagree with the rest of the film, they did Freddy justice with his send-off.
How Freddy Krueger died
“First, they tried burning me. Then they tried burying me. They even tried holy water, but I just keep on ticking.”
With access to a literal arsenal of weapons to attack Freddy, filmmakers ensured that Freddy’s coroner report would come back with the word “Yes” under Cause of Death. Freddy Krueger was hit with throwing stars, a hammer with nails, a crossbow, and more, all leading up to one of my favorite moments in the franchise.
After donning her father’s glove herself, his daughter flicks her hand back in a way that only Fred Krueger’s offspring could and shishkabobs him. To seal the deal, she jams a stick of dynamite in his chest, and Freddy quite literally goes out with a bang.
Credits roll with a montage of kills and other memorable Freddy moments from the franchise. With a RIP, Freddy Krueger was finally no more.
…Until three years later, at least.
Final Thoughts on Freddy’s Dead: The Final Nightmare
All in all, the film delivered an iconic send-off to Freddy. It put the inevitable destruction of the dream demon into the hands of someone who deserved to destroy him. They went over the top in every way they could, gave a memorable anthem for the real ones, and neatly answered many questions the franchise would otherwise have left unanswered. The campiness fit Freddy’s M.O.; at its worst, it can serve as a reminder of why it was time for the franchise to die in the first place. Once you’ve hit the ceiling as this movie did, there’d have been nowhere else to go but the floor (or through the fourth wall). Overall, and most importantly, Freddy’s Dead: The Final Nightmare is fun to watch, and what more can we ask of any movie?
If you have yet to see this movie, or if it’s been too long since you have, I recommend you give it a rewatch with all of this in mind.
And remember: “Every town has an Elm street!” (This is the movie he said that in, by the way.)
If you vehemently disagree, vent your frustrations at Horror Press on Twitter, Instagram, and TikTok! XD.
The United States spent most of this year celebrating its 250th anniversary. There have been parades, fireworks, and endless reminders of what the nation wants us to think are its founding ideals. Yet anniversaries are as much about what we choose to remember as they are about what we choose to forget. There is another anniversary this year. Five years ago this month, Candyman was released. The fact that both that film and America are sharing an anniversary this year may have been an accident, but that makes it no less significant.
Released amid another national reckoning over race, Nia DaCosta’s film asks a question that every celebration of America ought to confront: Is it possible to commemorate this nation without fully reckoning with the violence woven into its history? More than a sequel to a horror classic, Candyman is a meditation on the ghosts that haunt America because it has never fully reckoned with the past that created them.
How the Original Candyman Confronted America’s Racial History
The original Candyman understood this. Released in 1992 and set in the almost post-apocalyptic urban decay that was Chicago’s Cabrini-Green housing projects, Bernard Rose’s film arrived only months after the L.A. Race Riots, a moment when this country was coming to terms with the way the country’s relationship with Black folks was shaped by decades of segregation and racism.
Most audiences saw a supernatural slasher about a hook-handed killer summoned by saying his name five times into a mirror. But beneath the horror was a far more unsettling story. Candyman was about the lingering consequences of America’s racial history and the way white America has sometimes turned Black suffering into myth instead of confronting the systems that produced it.
The film’s true horror was never simply Candyman. It was the realization that monsters can be born from histories a nation refuses to face. That is exactly where the 2021 film expands the original’s vision.
Nia DaCosta’s Candyman Turns One Ghost Into Many
Bernard Rose’s Candyman explored the legacy of a single act of racist terror. Nia DaCosta’s film argues that the tragedy wasn’t confined to Daniel Robitaille, the man who became the monster. The 2021 film posits that Candyman is not one man but many.
Daniel Robitaille was lynched for loving a white woman. Sherman Fields takes on the mantle of the supernatural slasher because he was beaten to death by police after being falsely accused of harming a child. Anthony McCoy ultimately becomes part of the same legend. Their stories span generations, but they are connected by a nation that repeatedly produces the same injustice under different names at different points in history. The genius of the sequel is that it transforms Candyman from an individual ghost into a symbol of America’s recurring racial violence.
Candyman Shows How History Repeats Itself
History, the film suggests, is not something that happened once. It is something that keeps happening. That is why Candyman is one of my favorite films to teach in my Film and Philosophy course.
Students walk into class expecting a horror movie. They leave wrestling with questions about history, memory, and justice. We spend little time talking about jump scares or gore. (Because, let’s be honest, there is not much of that in the film.) Instead, we ask why some histories become legends while others are forgotten, what societies owe their victims, and whether a nation can ever move forward without honestly confronting the violence that shaped it.
The Horror of Remembering What America Wants to Forget
A good horror film reveals what we fear. What makes Candyman great is how it reveals what we would rather not remember. That is what haunted me the first time I saw it, long after the credits had rolled.
Five years after its release, Candyman remains one of the most unsettling movies in recent years because the history it confronts is not safely behind us. The original film understood that America’s racial violence could not simply be buried, while the 2021 film showed how easily that violence can be reproduced across generations.
Its Unquestionable Legacy in Horror
As America celebrates 250 years, Candyman reminds us that commemorating the nation’s founding requires remembering all this country’s history, including the parts that make the celebration uncomfortable.
We cannot exorcise a ghost by refusing to acknowledge why it exists. Perhaps that is the film’s most important lesson. The past does not haunt us because we remember it. It haunts us because we don’t.
Sometimes it feels borderline ridiculous to gush about John Carpenter’s The Thing as much as I do. It’s gotten to the point where when I’m asked about my favorite horror film by both friends and strangers, a little bit of embarrassment tinges my expression as I answer; it feels so obvious and rarely surprises anyone. Saying I love The Thing when people expect me to bust out an obscure foreign horror film or a cerebral thriller makes me feel like a rosy cheeked child with a propeller hat and a giant lollipop. “Wow, you love one of the most popular horror films of all time, congrats!”
But it’s just the truth. The first film of John Carpenter’s “Apocalypse Trilogy”, all three of its films are among my favorites. But The Thing has a special place in my heart. It shaped my taste in horror, my taste in most media in general, to be honest. It’s become the gold standard, 10/10 baseline test for the vast majority of my reviews; it is a perfect film, so I judge other films against it. And it’s one of the few movies I have to run back to and watch yearly like clockwork (usually when I’m spending a part of winter tied to the couch). It is, in all regards, the perfect film. If it isn’t the perfect film, then it is at the very least the perfect sci-fi horror film.
So, what exactly qualifies The Thing for literal perfection? It’s a high bar to clear. This article, as informal as it is compared to most of my editorials, is an attempt to explain it.
Even if Carpenter Isn’t the Goat, His Team for The Thing Was
As far as crews go, John Carpenter’s The Thing had the cinematic equivalent of the ’96 Chicago Bulls behind it. We’re talking about an amalgam of some of the most talented people to ever grace the silver screens with their work, boasting alongside John Carpenter two of the heaviest hitters in all of cinematic history: Dean Cundey, and Rob Bottin. Now, we can debate all day about whether John Carpenter is the greatest of all time when it comes to horror directors. Personally, I’m just as liable to say Cronenberg, Del Toro, or Hooper as I am to say Carpenter.
But the key factor to remember here is that Carpenter is the coach, not the star player; the Phil Jackson, if you will. Yes, he is the visionary who directed a near perfect cast of players and composed a tale of pure, apocalyptic paranoia. More importantly, he put together and coordinated the team that would make his vision manifest as reality. And if Carpenter is Phil Jackson, Rob Bottin is the team’s Michael Jordan here, the greatest of all time.
(And to all my Lebron fans, I love you, but you have to sit down for this analogy.)
The Legend of Rob Bottin
Bottin’s story is borderline unbelievable, but it’s the best way to explain how abnormally skilled he is and what he brought to the table for Carpenter. At age 14, Bottin became an apprentice to the at-the-time GOAT Rick Baker after sending him a letter seeking an autograph while sharing his creature designs. He was a quick study under Baker, joining him on the ’76 King Kong and Star Wars, before bouncing to Carpenter’s The Fog and then iconic werewolf picture The Howling.
When he reunited with Carpenter in 1982, he now had 6 classic films under his belt and was moving like an FX bullet train. From ages 22 to 23, he worked on The Thing for 57 weeks in both pre-production and on set. Nearly 24/7 for 400 days, Bottin’s all-gas no-brakes work ethic made The Thing at the cost of his own health, and it resulted in him being hospitalized with pneumonia. He survived and went on to make Robocop. And at least one of your favorite films.
Because no conventional disease or weaponry can kill Rob Bottin.
The Thing Still Features Horror’s Best Practical Effects
Okay, that last bit might be hyperbolic, but the man sincerely put his life on the line to make special effects that haven’t been topped since. Not the best effects in just horror history, or science fiction history, but effects that haven’t been topped in any genre for over 44 years. Not by his mentor Rick Baker, not by Screaming Mad George, not by Alec Gillis (though shoutout to him for his criminally scrapped work on The Thing (2011), and even more criminally ignored work on Harbinger Down). I love Dawn of the Dead, believe me, I do, but he certainly isn’t being beaten out by Tom Savini’s body of work. And that isn’t to disrespect and say that all of the artists that I just mentioned are bad, they’re the best in the game! But Rob Bottin was just that much better.
This inevitably invites the counterpoint: “But it wasn’t just Bottin! Stan Winston and his people were the ones who worked on the Dog Thing to give Bottin’s crew a break, and that’s the best monster in the movie!”. To which I say: look me in the eye and tell me the Dog Thing sequence is better than the Palmer Thing sequence. That’s not even counting the Norwegian Thing, both Norris Things, and the absolutely masterful final creature work that was the Blair Thing. The only reason Bottin and his people didn’t win Academy Awards for their work was because they got jumped by E.T., The Dark Crystal, Conan the Barbarian, and Blade Runner all at the same time at the Oscars. It’s just a consequence of being released during the best year for movies ever.
Okay, Now We Can Talk About Dean Cundey
But of course, these effects are then supported by another true legend: Dean Cundey. Selling people on Rob Bottin being the greatest effects artist of all time, isn’t nearly as difficult as advocating for Cundey, who despite an impressive catalog of filmography, slowed down in the back half of his career. He’s often overshadowed in conversations when it comes to The Thing; it’s always talk of Carpenter’s directing, Bottin’s effects, and Ennio Morricone’s incredible soundtrack up front, and rarely any of Cundey’s work. He isn’t spoken about in the same breath as John Alcott or Michael Ballhaus, cinematographers whose work is associated with prestigious cinema because of their proximity to great directors.
Cundey might not be the director of photography your Martin Scorsese’s or Paul Thomas Anderson’s went running to, but I would be lying if I said I didn’t think he was the most important cinematographer in horror history, just for his work with Carpenter and Spielberg. He helmed three of the most influential films in all of horror with his lighting and camera operating: The Thing, Halloween, and Jurassic Park. The man’s fingerprints are automatically on the cultural DNA of all slashers, most practical effects-driven horror films, and the biggest gateway horror franchise in film history.
The Dream Team That Made The Thing Perfection
Cundey has gone on record saying that despite Carpenter’s input, he was effectively given free rein to light and frame The Thing. The man didn’t just know how to shoot effects to make them evoke true disgust from the audience, he was able to manipulate every aspect of the shot to terrify. His sixth sense cinematography wasn’t just for lighting and playing with shadows, but for the speed of camera movement, the power of his blocking, and for having a complete grasp of communicating texture and temperature.
And temperature is the soul of The Thing. John J. Lloyd’s production design of the research station and the great white expanse around it feels just as bone chilling as the film’s antagonist, thanks to Cundey. There isn’t a single flat shot in the thing, not a moment that doesn’t feel dynamic, and it’s because of Dean Cundey.
Now, all this being said about Bottin and Cundey, they are far from the only ones who synthesized this structurally perfect organism of a movie. Every bit of Todd C. Ramsay’s editing splices the film’s scenes together to move perfectly in-time. David Lewis Yewdall’s sound design and how it gave a voice to the horrors on screen will be etched into people’s brains forever. The point is that everyone, every single person who had a hand in making the film, helped make the movie flawless.
Like the cells of the thing from another world, each crew member on John Carpenter’s The Thing moved in concert with the next, in unison, to create the greatest sci-fi horror of all time. So, is it any wonder why 40 some years later, the film still has us all captured?
