Heavy metal and horror cinema, which have now enjoyed a mutually beneficial partnership for half a century, seem to be cut from the same unholy, blackened cloth. Metal as it is today wouldn’t exist had the likes of Hammer Films and 1960s European horror not been there to provide vital thematic and aesthetic inspiration at the beginning – the dimly lit castles, satanic allusions and ludicrous camp all fed into the look and feel of the genre’s early champions. In fact, without the guiding hand of Mario Bava’s Black Sabbath – the 1963 anthology film starring Boris Karloff – the Birmingham quartet who named themselves after it may have stuck with the original and infinitely more terrifying Polka Tulk Blues Band. The horror.
The rise of Sabbath and their peers raised minor alarm among certain Christian groups throughout metal’s formative years, and Led Zeppelin poked around the occult via Aleister Crowley, but during the mid-80s the genre evolved from minor background nuisance into full-on societal menace. Satanic panic had spread throughout the United States and Tipper Gore’s Parents Music Resource Center committee and their “Filthy 15” list (best known for introduction of the Parental Advisory logo) brought the often lewd and violent nature of metal’s lyrics to media attention. Drawing on horror aesthetics, genre stalwarts W.A.S.P, Venom and Mercyful Fate earned forbidden fruit status among American teenagers seeking a dangerous, edgy escape from the mundanity of suburban life.
This watershed moment tipped the balance: it was now film-makers who became influenced by heavy metal. They realised they could capitalise on the zeitgeist, and a slew of heavy metal-themed horror films soon followed that both satirised and leaned into the knee-jerk hysteria and moral outrage of the day. Black Roses, Rock’n’Roll Nightmare, Trick or Treat (Death at 33RPM) and Hard Rock Zombies all revolved around censorship, conservatism and the notion of musicians as a corrupting force on youth. Summoned demons, exploding speakers and weaponised guitars are rife throughout all four – Trick or Treat being a standout from the period. Remembered largely for a pitch-perfect cameo from Ozzy Osbourne as a talkshow guest bemoaning the rise of perverts and sadists (“heavy metallers” to you and me), it perfectly combined sleaze and shlock with an anti-authoritarian take on metal’s controversies.
Metal was soon usurped, though, by grunge in the 1990s, both on screen and on record. Considering that the commercial face of metal had become misogynistic, bloated coke-rockers, it’s easy to see why both listeners and film-makers rebelled. Abrasive enough to imply edge, yet commercial enough to draw in passersby, grunge was the perfect antidote to the lamely non-self-aware excess of Poison and Warrant; its grittiness, gothic moodiness and sepia-tinged aesthetic then informed one of horror cinema’s most profitable decades, in films such as The Crow and The Craft.
In recent years, the relationship between the horrific and the heavy has been rekindled. Jennifer’s Body, Green Room and The Devil’s Candy all found a sizeable cult fanbase, alongside blockbusters with a metallic taste such as Mad Max: Fury Road and Suicide Squad. Something like the latest Saw movie Jigsaw is so suffused with gnarly metal-style imagery, particularly the horror-circus aesthetic of Slipknot, that it’s now hard to see who is influencing who.
So film-makers are now turning to metal’s past for inspiration, instead of its present: the studded belts, pentagrams and screaming guitars that are now merely nostalgic rather than parent-bothering. One contemporary director whose love of all things heavy naturally seeps into their work is New Zealand-born Jason Lei Howden, the man behind 2015’s FrightFest smash Deathgasm. It’s a gonzo throwback to that brief 80s boom, in which a pair of headbanging teens accidentally invoke a demon through the playing of an ancient heavy metal hymn.
“It was made as a love letter to my teenage years, loosely based on my own experiences moving to a small town where people who stood out or looked different were ostracised and teased,” he explains. “I was tired of metalheads always being depicted as the bullies or villains in films and TV. It’s a lazy convention that still persists. Even the bullies from the new It movie were wearing metal Ts and pounding Anthrax. It doesn’t reflect the reality that metal appeals to an intelligent and diverse range of people. I know accountants, police officers, firefighters, doctors and truck drivers who enjoy banging their heads to heavy music in their spare time. I wanted a movie where the metalheads were the heroes.”
With metal in a period of mild stasis thanks to both the endless splintering of sub-genres and the dearth of new talent rising to transcend the giddy heights of their elders, where it’s headed next is uncertain. Perhaps the genre needs to reinvent its aesthetic before it can truly terrify us again; it’s unlikely that mere lyrical content could spark moral panic in this increasingly contentious era. Maybe, for now, a comforting on-screen reminder of more innocent times is all that’s needed – one, admittedly, soaked in blood.
