Jeff Burr doesn't get enough credit. As the director of Leatherface: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre III, The Stepfather 2, Puppet Master 4 & 5, Pumpkinhead II: Blood Wings, The Offspring, and Night of the Scarecrow, Burr has carved a niche as a solid genre filmmaker. None of his work was ever going to approach the masterful levels of Carpenter or Cronenberg, but he displays an enthusiasm and professionalism that is lacking in many horror films, especially the direct-to-Redbox fodder we get today. He's a workman filmmaker, treating each "job" as though it were the most important film in the world. Burr doesn't get points for simply trying to pump life into projects that are solely profit motivated; he earns those points and kudos for creating exemplary pulp. He's a B-movie director who knows the value of a dollar and doesn't want to waste anyone's time or money.
It wasn't to be, though. Horror wasn't in vogue in the early 90s, and Scarecrow went straight to video, never proving popular enough to become the next big franchise. I hadn't seen it since 1996. The film disappeared into a vortex and was only recently released on Blu-ray, meaning this was probably the first time many people had heard of it. It's not a lost classic by any stretch. It dutifully fits into the slasher mold almost to T. It's the same outline as hundreds of other movies, but what makes it fun is how Burr and his cast liven up the story. There's a fun spirit here, a willingness to not only embrace the routine plot, but to also add a layer of Ray Bradbury Midwestern spookiness to the whole thing. The Midwest has a certain dread and loneliness that arrives every fall. The cold dries out the trees and ground. Houses on the outskirts of town feel a little more disconsolate. Each sundown comes earlier and earlier, enwrapping everyone in gloom sooner than they would like.
It all reads as fairly run of the mill. Burr elevates by turning it into an orange hued tale perfect for Halloween. Root, Glover, Lockwood, and (to a lesser extent) Blocker all provide rich, lively characters, creating more of a ensemble cast than most horror pictures have. Each of them chew the scenery just enough to sell their worry and doubt about the family curse. The performances make up Barondes, who's rather stiff and plain. It's not entirely her fault. Heroes were typically boring in genre fare around this time. She does her best, though, to keep up with her odd family, in particular Glover's (maybe) pedophilic holy man. Burr and his cinematographer, Thomas Callaway, capture a windblown Midwestern look that makes everything a bit creepier. That this was filmed is Southern California makes Burr and Callaway's work all the more impressive.
Don't go into this expecting brilliance. It's a simple slasher movie, after all. However, in a time where pig slop like Hatchet seems to be challenging the audience to a big dick contest ("How much can you take?!?!? Blehhhh!"), there's something comfortable and likable about a humble horror film that doesn't preen and posture. It has nothing to prove. Burr doesn't need to pull his pecker out. That's called 'confidence' and it goes a long way in making an enjoyable movie.