John Carpenter stands as a fascinating figure in cinematic history, a director whose work, viewed collectively, resonates far beyond the impact of individual films. While many of his movies are undeniably great, their true brilliance emerges when considered within the larger context of his career. Carpenter’s films are brimming with innovative ideas, even if the execution occasionally lags. To understand Carpenter is to understand his journey as a filmmaker. Experiencing his films on demand is one thing, but following his career’s trajectory – from initial discovery to eagerly anticipating each new release – offers a richer appreciation.
His debut, Dark Star (1974), co-written with Dan O’Bannon of Alien fame, quickly gained cult status. This satirical take on space travelers tasked with destroying planets, while losing some steam towards the end, remains genuinely funny, depicting the crew’s escalatingCabin fever during their extended mission. While I enjoyed the film, the creators didn’t initially register with me. It wasn’t until late 1977 or early ’78 that a friend introduced me to Assault on Precinct 13 (1976) on cable, knowing my fondness for exploitation cinema. I liked it initially, but it was on repeat viewings that I truly fell in love with it. A masterful reimagining of Howard Hawks’ Rio Bravo trilogy, Assault became an instant favorite. The premise – Asian, Hispanic, African-American, and white street gangs besieging a near-abandoned police precinct in Los Angeles – sets the stage for a thrilling siege. Thanks to cable TV, I watched Assault numerous times before Halloween‘s release in late ’78. The buzz around Halloween was immense, and anticipation was high. It’s almost impossible now, decades later, to recapture the sheer impact of seeing Halloween for the first time. Every shot, every concept has been endlessly imitated. Back then, it was revolutionary. Carpenter weaponized the then-new Steadicam, turning the very act of moving through space into a source of dread. Suddenly, horror wasn’t just lurking in basements; it was in every step, every breath. It was an unparalleled adrenaline rush, amplified by Carpenter’s haunting score (he composed the music for 15 of his 18 films).
The following film, The Fog (1980), marked the first stumble. Despite being packed with more intriguing ideas than many studio slates have bad movies, it never quite coalesces. Reflecting on this period, I realize I was often initially underwhelmed by many of his films. Yet, in retrospect, his filmography from this era is astonishing: Escape From New York (1981), The Thing (1982), and Christine (1983). Following Starman (1984) came Big Trouble in Little China (1986), which I initially dismissed as a mess but now, after countless viewings, hold dear. Starman, Prince of Darkness (1987), and They Live (1988), while containing brilliant moments, felt somewhat disjointed. His subsequent work has also been inconsistent. But my overarching point is that I’ve often misjudged Carpenter on first viewing, forming misleading initial impressions (and perhaps a The Fog rewatch is in order). Re-examining Carpenter’s films, I’ve realized the issue often lies with my own expectations – expecting too much and too little simultaneously. I wasn’t appreciating the films he made but the idealized versions I had in my head. Subsequent viewings have led me to embrace many of the films I was initially lukewarm about.
John Carpenter’s Vampires arrives with all the right ingredients: sharp direction, a compelling script, a stellar cast. And yet, it somehow doesn’t fully ignite. A familiar Carpenter paradox. James Woods plays vampire slayer Jack Crow, leading a Vatican-funded team of mercenaries across the country, eradicating vampire nests. The film opens with a successful nest purge, but the master vampire is absent. Later, at nightfall, the team is ambushed by Valek (Thomas Ian Griffith). Valek is not only the missing master but the original vampire, spawned from a botched Vatican exorcism 600 years prior. Seeking the hidden Berziers Cross to complete the ancient ritual, Valek aims to gain the power to walk in daylight. Crow, alongside his surviving teammate (Daniel Baldwin), a prostitute in transition to vampirism (Sheryl Lee), and a priest (Tim Guinee), pursues Valek. The special effects are impressive. The scenes of slayers hunting vampires in darkened houses, using wired arrows to drag them into sunlight, are particularly effective. This is a more traditional vampire narrative than a revisionist take (like George Romero’s Martin), a classic vampire story reimagined in the American Southwest setting. Woods, as always, delivers a captivating performance, blending eccentric machismo with a subtle, deeply buried compassion.
Carpenter’s overall body of work is remarkable. Future film historians will likely recognize him as one of the most significant directors of our time. In the vein of Howard Hawks, he uses genre to explore profound themes. Ultimately, Vampires might feel slightly too polished and undercooked, but as I’ve learned with John Carpenter, the fault might lie with the viewer’s initial expectations.
