1987’s A Nightmare on
Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors, directed by Chuck Russell.
Starring Heather Langenkamp, John Saxon, Patricia Arquette, Ken
Sagoes, Jennifer Rubin, Ira Heidman, Rodney Eastman, Lawrence Fishburne, Bradley
Gregg, Penelope Sudrow, and Robert Englund.
What is it about?
6 years after the events of the original Nightmare, Nancy (Heather Langenkamp),
returns, working in a psychiatric hospital for teens. Overseen by Dr. Neil
Gordon (Craig Wasson), she tries to convince him that the teens in the ward
aren’t merely having bad dreams, but are actually being stalked by paranormal boogeyman
of the nightmare realm, Freddy Krueger (Robert Englund). The ward’s clients
include Kristen Parker (Patricia Arquette), who has the ability to pull people
into her dreams, Kincaid (Ken Sagoes), Joey (Rodney Eastman), Taryn (Jennifer
Rubin), and Will (Ira Heidman). Learning that the group has special powers to
fight back against Freddy in the dream world, they set up to have their final
encounter with the slasher icon.
Why is it worth seeing?
For fans of the original film, Dream Warriors is a return to form, paying homage to the first
film while developing the story further. After the second film’s abandonment of
the dream world mythology that was introduced in creator Wes Craven’s opening
chapter, a significant portion of this film takes place in the dream world, and
ups the ante in both its protagonists’ abilities and its antagonist’s personality.
Unfortunately, a return to the roots of the original also means the return of actress Heather Langenkamp. As stated before, the character of Nancy is a well suited “Final Girl”, quick with her wits, brave, and able to bring people together- but her prominence is a problem since she is the worst actor in the series (so far). Once contrasted with the second film’s performances of the perfunctory (but also weird) triangle of Mark Patton, Kim Myers, and Robert Rusler, it’s daunting how underwhelming Langenkamp can be with her line readings. The art department’s decision to “age” Nancy, in the form of a single grey stripe in her hair, does her no favours. As well, the return of John Saxon’s sheriff (now taking to the bottle after the first film’s baffling death of his wife), as well as the milquetoast introduction ofBill Maher
Craig Wasson, is also DOA. Stacking the deck against them, is the welcome screen
introduction of future Best Actress Oscar winner Patricia Arquette, not to
mention a kind orderly who used to go by the name of Larry Fishburne. They expertly
bring into focus the film’s shaky fulcrum with which to sink into the film’s more
fantastic concepts.
Somewhere in the script, penned by the quartet of Wes Craven, Bruce Wagner, Frank Darabont, and Chuck Russell, lies incredibly potent potential. It expands upon the mythology of the series’ dream world, in the introduction of the mental institution’s teen characters learning how to synch up in their dreams and even lucidly dream- granting them abilities they don’t have in reality. This development also pairs up with a refreshingly dynamic group of characters who have interesting and defined personalities, a welcome addition not typically seen in slasher films where typically economy is maximized, at least until it’s killing time. It’s inspiring stuff- until it isn’t. The fact that this exists first and foremost as a slasher film means that scenes of characters being empowered are quickly undercut by Freddy’s druthers. After his introduction in the original, Freddy has also developed, both more as a sadist, and as a stand up comedian. The former development is welcome, bringing forth some genuinely nauseating and fearful conclusions to some of the vulnerable characters’ arcs, but the latter add-on cheapens the experience, hammering all subtlety in favour of sound bites that play well on trailers and to the cheap seats. It’s the focus on these things that make a predecessor of ideas resembling a mash up of The Breakfast Club meets The Matrix not go as far as it could. It’s disappointing, because it really has the legs to do such and does so intermittently at best.
You can see it in the opening credits, a tantalizingly ripe with metaphor construction, of therapeutic potential for people who dream of only nightmares, as well as in further scenes of characters navigating the dream world of a maniac. But Russell is no gifted film maker, and scenes of great potential are squandered, frustratingly close to greatness. His production, filled with onset tension, lacked a vision that lesser films’ in the series’ directors possessed. The same goes for the script, in that it struggles to maintain a balance between letting its beloved characters heal and fight together, and allowing its resident maniac to free range on the Jungian inspired fear of teenagers.
All of the pomp and circumstance pairs with a set design and vibe that can’t replicate the grubby awkwardness of the original, and struggles to advance the originals’ story as any good sequel can do. Content more to turn the volume up on its villain (and the cruelty in which he dispatches his victims), while also lazily introducing an oddly religious wrinkle (don’t want to alienate the church going crowd), it feels perverse that such an outlier to the slasher film pantheon could at times also feel so rote, but especially considering its exciting potential, so soon in the series run.
Unfortunately, a return to the roots of the original also means the return of actress Heather Langenkamp. As stated before, the character of Nancy is a well suited “Final Girl”, quick with her wits, brave, and able to bring people together- but her prominence is a problem since she is the worst actor in the series (so far). Once contrasted with the second film’s performances of the perfunctory (but also weird) triangle of Mark Patton, Kim Myers, and Robert Rusler, it’s daunting how underwhelming Langenkamp can be with her line readings. The art department’s decision to “age” Nancy, in the form of a single grey stripe in her hair, does her no favours. As well, the return of John Saxon’s sheriff (now taking to the bottle after the first film’s baffling death of his wife), as well as the milquetoast introduction of
Somewhere in the script, penned by the quartet of Wes Craven, Bruce Wagner, Frank Darabont, and Chuck Russell, lies incredibly potent potential. It expands upon the mythology of the series’ dream world, in the introduction of the mental institution’s teen characters learning how to synch up in their dreams and even lucidly dream- granting them abilities they don’t have in reality. This development also pairs up with a refreshingly dynamic group of characters who have interesting and defined personalities, a welcome addition not typically seen in slasher films where typically economy is maximized, at least until it’s killing time. It’s inspiring stuff- until it isn’t. The fact that this exists first and foremost as a slasher film means that scenes of characters being empowered are quickly undercut by Freddy’s druthers. After his introduction in the original, Freddy has also developed, both more as a sadist, and as a stand up comedian. The former development is welcome, bringing forth some genuinely nauseating and fearful conclusions to some of the vulnerable characters’ arcs, but the latter add-on cheapens the experience, hammering all subtlety in favour of sound bites that play well on trailers and to the cheap seats. It’s the focus on these things that make a predecessor of ideas resembling a mash up of The Breakfast Club meets The Matrix not go as far as it could. It’s disappointing, because it really has the legs to do such and does so intermittently at best.
You can see it in the opening credits, a tantalizingly ripe with metaphor construction, of therapeutic potential for people who dream of only nightmares, as well as in further scenes of characters navigating the dream world of a maniac. But Russell is no gifted film maker, and scenes of great potential are squandered, frustratingly close to greatness. His production, filled with onset tension, lacked a vision that lesser films’ in the series’ directors possessed. The same goes for the script, in that it struggles to maintain a balance between letting its beloved characters heal and fight together, and allowing its resident maniac to free range on the Jungian inspired fear of teenagers.
All of the pomp and circumstance pairs with a set design and vibe that can’t replicate the grubby awkwardness of the original, and struggles to advance the originals’ story as any good sequel can do. Content more to turn the volume up on its villain (and the cruelty in which he dispatches his victims), while also lazily introducing an oddly religious wrinkle (don’t want to alienate the church going crowd), it feels perverse that such an outlier to the slasher film pantheon could at times also feel so rote, but especially considering its exciting potential, so soon in the series run.
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