How those childhood dreams beckon!
The little girl sings, the mother calls. Perhaps she's seen Jason, beckoning then the girl to come in, for the scavenger roams the darkness, and here he is not the perverted prankster of the next film, but a mis-grown juvenile, an orphan of sorts, an Oliver Twist filtered through the end of the dreaming 1960's and Free 1970's. Jason. Mobile.
Adrienne King making her farewell to the series, she who had the weight of the sequel on her head at the conclusion of the last film, how she could pitch a new film to the producers and the audience at the same time, with just a wondering glance. In the last film she was simultaneously worldly, quiet, but virginal and good, being also broken somehow with a troubled past.
Like C.M. Punk, I too like the crazy women.
She talks to her mother and a vacuum of time envelops her after she hangs up the phone. The camera seamlessly follows her around the house while confining itself largely to a hallway in her apartment. She changes clothes fast. Camera doesn't follow. She crosses in front of us to another room. The shower. We come in close until we are right outside the shower curtain. She scares us by pulling the shower curtain open. It's a cheap gimmick, I know, and I silently hiss a little every time I see it, but the expression on her face tells another story, that some kind of fear or doubt has overtaken her, and likely not that which left her behind, but the latest malaise from the horror of Camp Crystal Lake.
This is the science of compression of time, director Steve Miner catapulting his actress and the DP across the realms of time. Such is the subtext. Malformed children. The mother talking to her ailing daughter, offering help, but being pushed away because of the old inner-tension. This subtext dies before the opening credits and the onslaught of the score by Harry Manfredini(this is an older one, so its got ominous sounding horns in it. BONUS!!)
Like Tonino Delli Colli, with his camera guided by Sergio Leone, loving Claudia Cardinale, and I loving her, too, the camera of DP Peter Stein casts its interested eye squarely in the face of the young redhead, even as the strings of suspense enter after an anonymous caller jumps upon her nerves. And she drew pictures. Of Mrs. Voorhees victims. But economy is the true mother of invention, be it an influx of cash or having to do something spectacular on a shoestring budget.
I wonder so much why Steve Miner did not use these techniques later in the film, but the aftermath follows an abrupt loss of time, as the leading lady probably goes unconscious and awakens in safety. How convenient. So they use this to entirely gip the entire audience and cover a gap in the script.
Nevertheless. A mal-formed manchild in a world of hypersexual young people. I went to high school just like a lot of folks. Just saying.