When something like Valentine’s Day rolls around, it just feels like it sets the agenda. Sometimes I have trouble deciding what to write about on a given week, but in this case, it’s simple – just do something for the holiday (as with, for example, Christmas). But then what to do? Of course, there is the most obvious route, but maybe I should instead focus on some other romantic horror movie – like Return of the Living Dead Part III. I mean, if I discuss that most obvious choice, what new do I have to add? It’s a classic for a reason, and it’s not like no one’s ever written about it before. But sometimes, I can go easy on myself and do the obvious thing, right? And I sure do love My Bloody Valentine, so even if it’s already been much written about, in honor of this holiday all about love, let’s get into how much there is to love in this gory early-80s slasher classic.
I’ll avoid spoiling the big reveal at the end, but if you’ve never seen it before and have a soft spot for slashers, maybe just go check it out. It seems readily available on many streamers (though I’m not sure which version you’ll find).
My Bloody Valentine (1981)
First off, it should be said (because I expect much of this text may seem to contradict this) that George Mihalka really made a solid horror film. I don’t remember if I found it scary per se on first viewing (and now I’ve seen it enough that scares are hard to come by), but it maintains a great spooky atmosphere both in and out of the mines, it features a lot of creatively conceived and brilliantly executed kill scenes as a killer in a miner outfit hunts down and murders loads of horny young people (among others), and it successfully taps into a great scary campfire tale/old murder ballad vibe that is just such a cool horror mood in which to dwell. It had the misfortune of being released amidst a backlash against violent movies and many of its grisliest moments were left on the cutting room floor, but over the years, much of that footage has been restored and it really is so well done – shocking and gross and just brutal. But really, even the most edited version I’ve seen still feels rough and mean when it comes to the killing. All in all, it is a really well-made, by-the-numbers slasher.
But that isn’t why I like it as much as I do. What raises it above so much of its competition is how much heart it has (in addition to how many hearts it rips out). I believe in the life of this small town of Valentine Bluffs. And I believe in and kinda love its residents. The work of the mine is hard and dark and dirty, and the world surrounding it is grey, dingy, smoggy, and run down. There is a natural impulse to rebel against this, to try to escape; and that is what one of the main characters, T.J., has tried to do. A Bruce Springsteen song made flesh, he’d had big dreams in some mythical ‘out west,’ and had escaped from his provincial hometown where he knew he was doomed to follow his father into the mining business and live a life of quiet desperation. But having escaped, he just failed hard and has come crawling back – to the town, to the mine, to Sarah, the girl he’d left behind. Of course, callously dropped by him when he ran away, chasing after something better, she’s moved on with T.J.’s buddy, Axel. You can’t go home again.
I will say that I have trouble caring much about this central love triangle, but I appreciate it in counterpoint to the relationships we see among so many of the other denizens of Valentine Bluffs. Sure, there are a few others who hope to one day blow town (such as the kid who gets drowned in boiling hotdog water before getting decapitated and having his heart boiled with the wieners – it is still a slasher flick), but so many of the other people we meet here have found something to hold onto in this small town life. And for a movie that features a head shoved onto a shower spigot till the water runs bloody out of the mouth, a pickaxe slammed up through someone’s chin till it knocks out an eyeball, and a nail gun being repeatedly discharged into someone’s cranium, the feeling I overwhelmingly take away from it all is just sweetness.
We meet a number of other couples, or potential couples, and they seem genuinely happy. Early on, after finishing a hard day in the mines and goofing around in the showers, all of the guys race out to the parking lot like giddy schoolboys, not even fully dressed, their jeans around their ankles, tearing into town, so desperate to see their girlfriends and plan what they’re going to do for the upcoming Valentine’s Day dance at the union hall. When they burst in, six-packs in hand, there is a spark of joy. I believe how happy Hollis and Patty are to see each other, how excited Silvia and John are to be close, to touch, to get some private time together. Somehow, in this mean little slasher, I believe, and I actually like the romances of these secondary characters more than in most films that would actually be labeled ‘romantic.’
Relatedly, I really appreciate the film’s tactile sensuality. Though there is no nudity (a woman is in her bra at one point and the guys are all in the shower together, but they’re filmed from the waist up), there is often a sense of intimacy between characters that rings true as physical, as chemical. The film even opens with a surprisingly kinky moment as the killer has snuck a woman into the mine shafts. I don’t read this as premeditated murder – they seem like two young people who have spirited away here for some hard to find privacy (or just because it would be sexy to do it in the mine).
After taking off her coveralls, and eventually her gas mask, she goes to remove his, but he doesn’t want her to. So she strokes the mask and breathing tube, softly, tenderly, more sexually than what might be seen in another 80s slasher where girls are always taking off their tops. They’re just both really into the mask. Sadly, he then becomes aware of the heart tattoo on her breast and, hands trembling, impales her on a pick axe. But for all that it ends in murder, first there is a real feeling of (fairly fetishistic) sexuality and desire between them.
And it’s not just the young. Probably the sweetest relationship in the film is the tentative, shy, middle-aged flirtation between Police Chief Newby and Mabel, the proprietor of the local laundromat, thanks to whose decorating efforts, the town will hold its first Valentine’s Dance since the bloody unpleasantness twenty years earlier, and the whole otherwise depressed locale is covered head to toe in pink crepe paper and hearts. The state of their relationship is never quite defined, but I feel there’s more than affection and it’s not yet been acted on. I really feel for the poor guy when he finds her, heart ripped out, tumbling in one of her dryers.
And that is something else that the film takes time for, which I always appreciate in my horror. There is actual grief – sometimes totally debilitating grief, which feels more realistic than many slashers where death comes cheap and the main feeling is the thrill of suspense. Chief Newby is so clearly hurt, but he has to do his job, and isn’t allowed to break down. However, some of the young lovers aren’t so steady. I just love how when John finds his girlfriend Silvia murdered in the mine’s showers, he just seems to totally snap. He doesn’t scream at first; nor does he cry. He just stops, and something inside him dies.
Later, he is useless – a blubbering mess of snot and sobs who has to be held up. It feels like this poor young man will never recover. And isn’t that what horror is supposed to be? Shouldn’t it be that devastating? Similarly, when the lovable Patty finds her even more endearing big teddy bear of a boyfriend, Hollis with nails sticking out of his face, she doesn’t have it in her to ‘be strong,’ to ‘be a survivor.’ She doesn’t want to leave his body behind, and she becomes a huge liability for the others – and I love it. Shouldn’t this be what death is like? It matters. Hollis mattered.
The murder scenes are all bravura sequences of filmic terror and really excellent practical effects, but the reactions to all of the murders are really heartbreaking, especially in light of the warm feelings that had preceded them. And somehow these two extremes support and reinforce each other in counterpoint rather than cancelling each other out.
Early on, the mayor is given a surprise box of Valentine’s chocolates, and he is so tickled. He wants to know who left the box for him and everyone is so coy in denying involvement. Soon after, in Chief Newby’s car, he giddily unwraps the box, saying, “if there’s one thing I like better than Christmas candy, it’s Valentine’s candy!” and it could be so silly, so cheesy, but he is really, really ecstatic about these sweets, and it just makes my heart grow. Of course then he gets it open and finds a bloody human heart inside along with a rhymed couplet warning him not to allow the dance to go on, and after his childlike excitement, his shock, revulsion, and sinking dread are all the more profound – it’s happening again.
Which brings us to the campfire tale. Like the story actually told by firelight at the start of The Fog, or Crazy Ralph’s ravings in Friday the 13th, here we have a local legend, based on historical fact, but which has grown in stature and weight over the years. As recounted by Happy, the grumpy old bartender who has to be one of the best ‘harbinger’ characters of horror cinema, the town of Valentine Bluffs used to have an annual Valentine’s dance and it was the biggest event of the year – something that the local residents could really look forward to and take pride in.
But twenty years ago, that all ended when the mine supervisors left some miners to go enjoy the party and the inevitable collapse doomed the only survivor, Harry Warden to madness and cannibalism, before he returned the next year to take his bloody revenge. But years go by, history becomes legend, and finally there are plans to bring the tradition back. Harry Warden’s been in an insane asylum for years – what could go wrong?
When people start having their hearts ripped out, it kicks off a thread of investigation and whodunit. Is Warden still locked up? Is he even still alive? Does anyone keep any kinds of records? Is he actually behind these slayings or has someone else taken up his mantle? The film plays with maintaining the possibility that any number of characters could be the killer and there is a solid red herring pretty close to the end. However, sadly, I will say that when the truth is finally revealed, I find it pretty underwhelming and the reason for it all feels more than a bit arbitrary. Whenever I have enough time between viewings, I always forget who the killer is because it just seems unjustified and inconsequential – but I suppose that means the suspense of wondering who it is will always be there… But more significantly, I feel the film just isn’t that interested in the killer’s story. It loves the folk tale, the murder ballad that looms over this small community. And it loves its characters, these people who have found life and love in this dismal setting, and who are murdered for it.
And that is one more way that this works as a Valentine’s Day movie. On one side, it is peopled with young (and old) lovers – and their attraction and the enjoyment they take in one another is palpable. But then there is a killer, whoever he is – whether a product of folklore or just some bitter guy – who, like many a lonely soul this time of year, just hates Valentine’s Day. When you don’t feel wanted, it is pretty harsh to be surrounded with such public displays of love and affection. How many single people counter program this occasion with horror marathons? And in the miner/killer, we have an embodiment of this sentiment – a person who is so triggered by a heart tattoo that he has to kill the girl he was about to have sex with, a person who is driven to madness by all the genuinely loving behavior around him, a person who even has to kill poor sweet Mabel, who just wanted to put on a nice dance, and maybe have a moment alone with the chief. The bitterness has metastasized and created a monster. It doesn’t matter who it is, or why, or how facile his reasons are. And in this I appreciate how the film doesn’t trade in the typical Reagan-era morality of sex = death. People aren’t punished for wanting sex – they are killed because some bitter person can’t abide to see their happiness.
And then the credits roll over an original folk song written for the film, the haunting “The Ballad of Harry Warden.” And as it plays, I already start forgetting who the killer was and I just linger a few minutes longer in the dark folk tale of it all. I look back on poor Mabel and Hollis and Patty and Silvia and John. I remember that this sad little town has a store called “OK Ladies Wear” – not ‘good,’ mind you, but ‘ok.’ I am struck by how lovely it was that a Valentine’s dance could be so important to these people and that for a brief, beautiful moment, before they were killed for it, there was love in this darkness.