Catalog From The Beyond: 2001 MANIACS (2005)

Robert Englund and Freddy Krueger. Not since Bela Lugosi and Dracula have a character and an actor been so deeply linked. And I would venture to say that not even Lugosi’s Dracula achieved the level of mainstream popularity achieved by Englund’s Krueger. During the late ’80s, you couldn’t turn on the television, open a magazine, or even look at a damn lunchbox without seeing Freddy’s charred face plastered on it. But that scorched visage would be nothing without Englund’s personality at the core of the character. Englund’s ability to imbue Krueger with such malicious delight struck a note with the public that just can’t be replicated. Jackie Earle Haley is a fantastic actor and did some interesting things in the Nightmare on Elm Street remake, but I never really felt like I was watching Freddy Krueger.

This was in part due to the direction taken with the remake, but there’s also the fact that Englund has owned the role for so long, it’s impossible to imagine anyone else inhabiting it. But is the same true for Englund? Can he be anything more than everyone’s favorite bastard son of 100 maniacs? To a degree, we’re always going to picture Englund as Krueger, but that doesn’t mean that he can’t bring his sinister charm to another role. Enter Mayor Buckman, patriarch of the small town of Pleasant Valley in Tim Sullivan’s 2001 Maniacs, a remake of “Godfather of Gore” Herschell Gordon Lewis’ 1964 film Two Thousand Maniacs!

In the remake, a group of college students on their way through the South are detoured to Pleasant Valley, a small town inhabited by pretty much every Southern stereotype known to man. They’re invited by Mayor Buckman to stay for the weekend and take part in their annual barbecue, where they are deeply disturbed to find out just what’s on the menu (spoiler alert: it’s them).

In addition to the general plot points, 2001 Maniacs also borrows from its predecessor’s themes, particularly its examination of the rest of the country’s fear of the South as being primitive and violent. This movie wrings every last drop out of Southern caricatures to flavor its set pieces. Our lone black character finds himself deep behind enemy lines, with Confederate flags and threats of lynching permeating the landscape. One running gag features one of the yokels cutting into a scene as he chases a sheep with his pants down, and incestual relationships are pretty much the standard.

On one hand, these tropes paint the residents of Pleasant Valley as the villains, with the aforementioned tropes often taken to the extreme as our band of protagonists are killed in increasingly grisly ways. On the other hand, though, our supposed “heroes” may be the most unlikeable trio of frosted-tipped, ironic shirt wearing, dude-bro ding-dongs ever committed to celluloid. Sure, Nelson (Dylan Edrington) and Cory (Matthew Carey) are supposed to be obnoxious frat boys. But if lead character Anderson Lee (Jay Gillespie) is supposed to come off as anything in the ballpark of charming, then something went horribly awry. His “I was raised in the South, so I know how to be a gentleman” shtick got old five seconds before it started. I actually counted the number of times that I wanted these characters to die in the first act, but lost track after making it to 17.

Englund, meanwhile, is clearly having a grand old time hamming it up at Mayor Buckman. Virtually every one of his lines is given with a mischievous wink to the camera, which is quite a feat considering he’s sporting an eye patch. Sure, there are whiffs of Freddy as he shoots off one-liner after one-liner, but it doesn’t matter. He’s Robert Englund and he can do whatever the hell he wants. Plus, he’s joined by his New Line Cinema sibling Lin Shaye, who as Granny Boone is definitely one of the highlights of the movie. Honestly, if comfort food were a person, I think it would be Lin Shaye. Whether she’s laying on the genteel Southern charm or licking blood off the end of a pike, there’s just something soothingly pleasant about her presence on screen.

More than a commentary on the class and race relations in America, 2001 Maniacs is a loving homage to gore-fests à la Lewis. In place of nuanced character arcs, audiences will find blood splashing the screen, dismembered bodies, insides washed out with acid, and eyeballs popping out of heads.

Viewers are also treated to a parade of silly cameos and bit parts. For instance, if you’re going to cast an overly intense college professor who’s only in the movie for the first five minutes for what essentially amounts to an exposition dump, you could do worse than the great Peter Stormare. Eli Roth makes an appearance as a hitchhiker and even Kane Hodder makes a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it appearance, literally appearing for about three seconds in the background of one scene.

Tim Sullivan and company knew what they were making when they shot 2001 Maniacs, and it was never going to be high art. But they make a lot of savvy decisions, particularly in acknowledging that when you cast Robert Englund in a movie, in some way you’re also casting Freddy Krueger. When someone picks up this movie and looks at the cover art to see Englund’s devilish smile, they’ll automatically have certain expectations, even if only subconsciously. But by accepting that and leaning into the role of Mayor Buckman with enough gusto and backwoods flair to avoid simply creating a carbon copy of his most famous creation, Englund allows us to enjoy another solid entry in his filmography.