Cape Fear x2

Cape Fear (1962)

Cape Fear (1991)

Greetings and salutations, my dear readers. Somehow, someway, for some cruel reason, it is still Summer, and it will remain that way for far too long for this October baby. I promise I try to make the best of this sweltering time, of the sunburned backs and sweaty thighs, but my heart longs for chilly weather, long sunsets, and evenings filled with scary movies—the tenets of a perfect Autumn. It’ll be a slow and steady crawl to my favorite season, but just knowing it’s on the horizon brings me some comfort. Until then, I’m still watching horror movies and thrillers, of course, and though I didn’t do a round of straight-up Summer Scaries this time around, I wanted to explore some classically creepy cinema in some way. Recently, I watched the AppleTV+ original series Cape Fear—starring Amy Adams, Patrick Wilson, and Javier Bardem—and it was sooooo appallingly, exhaustingly bad, that I was inspired to watch the films that came before it. Plus, it had been awhile since I covered an iconic film and it’s remake. In 1957, John B. McDonald’s novel The Executioners hit the shelves and captivated readers with its story of a lawyer and his family who are stalked by a narcissistic psychopath that he helped put in prison. This was pre-In Cold Blood, pre-Twilight Zone, and even in the rigidly refined mid-century, audiences were craving something a little sinister in their fiction. Actor and producer Cornel Wilde very quickly snatched up the rights to the novel, and Gregory Peck’s production company, Melville Pictures, was slated to create the film adaptation. When he was searching for Atlantic coast filming locations, Gregory Peck happened to find the Cape Fear region in North Carolina, and made the decision to change the title from “The Executioners” to “Cape Fear”, thus giving a new life to this story, and shaping it into a fantastically freaky fable that would prove to be endlessly disturbing and timelessly compelling.

Both Peck and director J. Lee Thompson (who also directed What a Way to Go!) wanted to evoke a Hitchcockian kind of suspense by shooting in black and white and utilizing unusual angles and lighting, but one of the most effectively terrifying stylistic elements to Cape Fear is its chilling score by composer Bernard Herrmann. This intimidating sound immediately sets the tone of this 1962 film, as a dark chorus of booming horns introduces the dreaded antagonist of this story: Max Cady (portrayed here by Robert Mitchum.) Cady, cigar in his mouth, eyes gawking at every woman he sees, enters the scene in a brand new shiny vehicle, as he arrives at a quaint city courthouse in search of Sam Bowden (Gregory Peck.) Max gazes at Sam, a trial lawyer who is in command of the room because he’s just that good at his job. When court lets out, Max follows Sam to his car, reaches through his driver side window, and takes the keys right out of the ignition as he says, “Hello, counselor, remember me?” The two men have a tense interaction as Sam pieces together who this mysterious stranger is, and he is reminded of the brutal assault he witnessed almost ten years prior. Sam testified as a witness to Max’s crime against a young woman, and that put Max away for eight years, where he spent every day plotting and planning to find Mr. Bowden again. Sam isn’t too shaken at first, but he is increasingly worried when he begins to spot Max in different locations he frequents with his wife and daughter. Things reach a boiling point when the Bowden’s dog suddenly dies of strychnine poisoning, and Max says one too many creepy things about Sam’s daughter. While he was locked up, Max made it his mission to study the law and arm himself with knowledge that would help him be a better criminal, so there’s really no evidence that proves he’s done anything wrong. And just as Max planned, it’s Sam that ends up looking crazy, when he punches Max in the face for checking out his tweenage daughter, and when his paranoia sends him to the police time and time again. The eternally unhelpful police state that they cannot arrest a man for a crime he might commit, so it’s up to Sam to protect his family. Cape Fear is shockingly tense, thoroughly suspenseful, and Robert Mitchum is genuinely very freaky as Max Cady. One of Max’s greatest superpowers is his charisma, and it’s easy for him to win over the man he hires as his attorney, as well as the various women he doesn’t immediately scare away. One unfortunate soul who encounters Max says, rather succinctly, “You know what I like about you, Max? You’re rock bottom… It’s a great comfort for a girl to know she can’t sink any lower.” Their flirtatious-turned-violent dynamic also subtly proves the tragic and scary fact that friendly men can turn on you, and even men you’ve consented to can take advantage of you. This nuance is part of what makes this film so progressive, and while it has its fair share of outdated sentiments, the 1962 Cape Fear was actually very ahead of its time. Several changes were made from the original novel, that, as far as I can tell, improved upon the material. But, surprise surprise, the most infuriating alterations came from studio censorship that forbade the word “rape” from being uttered at all. In the The Executioners, Cady was a soldier, court-martialed and convicted on then-Lieutenant Bowden’s testimony for the brutal rape of a 14-year-old girl. The censors stepped in, banned this language, and stated that depicting Cady as a soldier reflected adversely on the U.S. military. And even though all of their cuts were implemented, the censors still fought against every subtle detail of this film. Arguably the most horrific element of this story is the fact that Max Cady is a rapist, whose revenge plot hinges upon assaulting Sam Bowden’s daughter—and as unpleasant and unnerving as this premise is, that is the premise. To change this would make it an entirely different movie, and I have a feeling that if the studio had had it their way, the Bowdens and Max Cady would’ve all been good friends by the end. The same year Cape Fear was released, Gregory Peck portrayed another fearless Southern lawyer—Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird—and it is a bit perplexing to me how that story remained relatively unchanged in comparison to this film adaptation. Perhaps America was more prepared to have a conversation surrounding racism than a conversation surrounding violence against women, but I digress. The film also stars Polly Bergen, Lori Martin, Martin Balsam, Telly Savalas, and Barrie Chase, and, in my opinion, is the best adaptation of this story we’ve gotten so far.

But some may argue that Martin Scorsese’s 1991 adaptation, which turns up the intensity, the grotesqueness, and the star power, is the most memorable version, and I wouldn’t necessarily debate that. Scorsese’s Cape Fear was originally going to be Steven Spielberg’s Cape Fear, as Spielberg worked with Wesley Strick to adapt the novel into a script. But sweetie pie Spielberg decided this story was too violent for him to tell and passed it along to his buddy Martin Scorsese, who felt like he still owed a favor to Universal—the studio that reluctantly funded his controversial passion project The Last Temptation of Christ. We once again open on the loud, foreboding music that has become synonymous with this evil, evil man, Max Cady, who is even more twisted, even more determined, and even more jacked this time around. Scorsese’s main muse, Robert De Niro, stars as the infamous Mr. Cady, and we meet him just as he’s being released from prison. This time, he stalks the Bowden family for bit longer before making himself known—obnoxiously laughing and smoking a cigar in the same movie theater as the Bowdens, picking up their tab at a diner—all before he pulls the same jarring move as Robert Mitchum’s Max Cady, wherein he removes Sam’s keys from the ignition just as he’s about to drive. This Sam Bowden (Nick Nolte) is a bit more morally-grey than Gregory Peck’s, as he is having an emotional affair with his coworker, Lori (Ileana Douglas), and had a bit more to do with Max being put away. In this version, Sam wasn’t a mere witness to Max’s crime, he was his defense attorney, and though he was provided some evidence that may have aided in Max’s defense, Sam decided to bury it and let this dangerous man go to prison. Sam has a well-paying job, a nice house, a lovely wife (Jessica Lange, with a bad 90s haircut) and a smart daughter, Danny (Juliette Lewis), and Max, having lost contact with his own family, envies Sam’s perfect life. But in the 14 years Max has been behind bars, he’s done nothing but psychotic preparation for his release. Once illiterate, Max is now incredibly well-read and well-versed in the law, and he has a sneaking suspicion that Sam did him dirty. On top of this, he’s in peak physical condition and is covered in tattoos of bible verses—making this convicted rapist seem even more threatening than he was before. Just as before, Max stalks his prey consistently, incessantly, showing up at Sam’s house and saying creepy things about his daughter, and just as before, the police tell Sam that there’s not much they can do until this man commits a concrete crime. Once again, the dog is poisoned, vague threats are made, and the woman he eventually attacks is too afraid—of both Max and of damaging her reputation—to press charges. It’s an absolutely fucked (and realistic) premise, and it makes agonizing sense that men like this often get away with their cruelty. Sam is even more paranoid here, but his relationship with his family is even more strained, which makes it all the easier for Max to swoop in and seduce his daughter—in what is one of the most unsettling scenes in the whole film. Dare I say the 1962 version, while more sanitized, had more evolved ideas about rape culture and what perpetuates it, because the 1991 film features some rather bizarre comments from these parents to their teenage daughter, about what she should be wearing and how she should compose herself. The climax of this story is intensified to the highest degree possible here, as was the predatory behavior from Max. De Niro is truly so disgusting and scary here, he was nominated for an Academy Award for his performance, and allegedly used to call up Scorsese in his creepy Southern accent just to torment him. The 1991 Cape Fear is a shocking, soapy, pulpy, unequivocally 90s thriller, where the violent subject matter is far from understated, but effectively horrific just the same. It’s not a perfect film, and the script went through 24 different drafts apparently, but I was still impressed by its ability to conjure up a visceral, palpable fear and anxiety. I also loved the fact that Robert Mitchum, Martin Balsam, and Gregory Peck all made significant cameos in this movie. So you can imagine my confusion towards and frustration with the very recent television series, that seemingly tried to turn all of this up to eleven, only to create a dull, convoluted, and overwrought version of this now age-old story. If you’re like me, and you love to see Amy Adams in a Southern gothic true crime story set in the cruel Summertime, just watch Sharp Objects, and avoid the new Cape Fear at all costs. It was cute to give Juliette Lewis a cameo, and have Javier Bardem once again occupy the space of a terrifying villain, but virtually none of this show worked—even CCH Pounder couldn’t save it. Also, and this is the least of it, really, but if you’re gonna do the sometimes-cool thing of gender-bending the cast, as they did here by making Amy Adams the attorney who sent Max Cady away, you can keep her name as Sam! Sam can be short for Samantha! Why did they change her name to Anna? Genuinely, why????? Well, that’s enough hyperspecific pop culture ranting for now, but I highly recommend you watch either Cape Fear film. And if you choose to watch the show, don’t say I didn’t warn you. Until next time, maybe don’t travel to a destination with the word “fear” in its title. Ta ta!