In the shadow of America’s unraveling, a film dared to pit celluloid monsters against the mundane machinery of mass murder.
Peter Bogdanovich’s Targets (1968) stands as a pivotal crossroads in horror cinema, a film that unflinchingly juxtaposes the fading grandeur of classic monster movies with the stark, senseless violence of contemporary reality. Released amid a year scarred by assassinations and escalating war, it probes the obsolescence of gothic terrors when everyday killers eclipse fictional fiends. This analysis unravels how Targets not only heralded the slasher era but also mirrored broader shifts in horror’s preoccupation with real-world dread.
- Byron Orlok’s swan song on the drive-in screen symbolizes the death knell for Universal horrors, supplanted by a sniper’s precision.
- The film weaves Vietnam-era alienation into its narrative, foreshadowing horror’s pivot from supernatural to societal ills.
- Targets endures as a blueprint for modern slashers, influencing everything from Halloween to true-crime chillers.
Shadows at the Drive-In: Unveiling the Dual Narrative
At its core, Targets unfolds through parallel threads that converge in a masterstroke of tension. We first meet Byron Orlok, an aging horror icon played with weary gravitas by Boris Karloff, contemplating retirement after decades terrorizing audiences as Frankenstein’s monster and the Mummy. Orlok embodies the old guard of horror: elaborate makeup, shadowy castles, and moralistic monsters who prowl by night. His world is one of artifice, where evil is larger-than-life and ultimately redeemable.
Juxtaposed against this is Bobby Thompson, a seemingly ordinary young man portrayed by Tim O’Kelly. Fresh from Vietnam service, Thompson methodically stockpiles ammunition in his family’s garage, his face a mask of placid dissociation. Without bombast or motive, he embarks on a rampage: first slaughtering his mother, wife, and family dog in their suburban home, then picking off motorists from a highway overpass. Bogdanovich films these acts with clinical detachment, the rifle shots echoing like punctuation marks in a sentence of escalating horror.
The plot crescendos at a drive-in screening of Orlok’s final film, The Terror, a fictional mash-up of his past roles. As audiences munch popcorn oblivious to the peril, Thompson perches atop the screen, silhouetted against the projected carnage. Orlok, stepping out for air, confronts the sniper in a dimly lit parking lot. In a moment of raw confrontation, the actor disarms the killer not with superhuman strength but simple persuasion, underscoring the film’s thesis: real monsters require no cape or claws.
This structure draws from Roger Corman’s low-budget ethos, as Bogdanovich repurposed footage from The Terror (1963), a Karloff vehicle Corman had directed. Yet Bogdanovich elevates it, using the recycled scenes as a meta-commentary on cinema’s recycling of tropes. The drive-in becomes a liminal space where fantasy and fatality bleed together, the screen’s glow illuminating Thompson’s perch like a perverse halo.
Monsters Obsolete: The Erosion of Gothic Reverie
Targets arrived in 1968, a year when America’s illusions shattered. The assassinations of Martin Luther King Jr. and Robert F. Kennedy, coupled with the Tet Offensive’s brutal visuals flooding televisions, rendered caped horrors quaint. Bogdanovich channels this zeitgeist through Orlok’s lament: "We’re all in the dark, all the time… the only difference is who can see." Fictional monsters, once metaphors for primal fears, now paled against snipers and napalm.
Bobby Thompson’s rampage evokes the University of Texas tower shooting earlier that year, where Charles Whitman killed 14 from a vantage point. Bogdanovich has acknowledged drawing from such headlines, crafting Thompson as an archetype of the alienated marksman. No demonic possession or tragic curse propels him; instead, a vague malaise, perhaps PTSD or consumerist ennui, suffices. This demystification marks horror’s evolution from Dracula (1931) to the procedural chillers ahead.
Classroom scenes further this erosion. Orlok spars with a young critic who dismisses his films as irrelevant relics. "Your kind of horror is finished," the youth sneers, foreshadowing the critical shift toward New Hollywood realism. Bogdanovich, a former Esquire critic himself, embeds this debate organically, positioning Targets as both elegy and manifesto for horror’s reinvention.
Visually, the film contrasts gothic fog with suburban sterility. Orlok’s mansion drips with velvet drapes and candelabras, while Thompson’s domain is linoleum kitchens and ranch-style homes. Cinematographer László Kovács employs wide lenses to dwarf Orlok in opulent sets, while tight close-ups on Thompson’s serene face during kills amplify unease. This mise-en-scène dichotomy visualizes horror’s schism.
Sniper’s Gaze: Realism in Rampage Choreography
The highway sequence stands as a pinnacle of suspense, Thompson’s rifle barrel protruding like an antenna from the overpass railing. Cars pass in slow motion, each a potential target, the sound design layering engine roars with sudden cracks. No gore fountains or severed limbs; instead, bodies slump realistically, blood pooling on dashboards. This restraint heightens terror, proving implication more potent than excess.
Bogdanovich’s direction favors long takes, allowing dread to accumulate. Thompson reloads methodically, his routine as banal as loading a dishwasher. The sequence culminates in chaos as drivers swerve, a ballet of near-misses captured in one unbroken shot. Such verisimilitude influenced later slashers, where killers stalk with mechanical efficiency rather than monstrous flair.
Sound amplifies this pivot. Distant gunfire blends with Orlok’s on-screen screams, blurring diegetic boundaries. Composer Barry De Vorzon’s sparse score eschews bombast for percussive stabs, mimicking heartbeats under fire. In an era pre-Psycho shower scene ubiquity, Targets innovates auditory horror rooted in reality’s cacophony.
Production anecdotes reveal ingenuity born of necessity. Shot in 19 days for $115,000 under Corman mentorship, the film sidestepped censorship by toning down violence post-Valenti Code relaxations. Karloff, frail at 80, delivered 10 days of work, his presence lending authenticity to the meta-narrative.
From Vietnam Vets to Slasher Stalkers: Genre Metamorphosis
Targets prefigures the slasher subgenre’s rise. Thompson’s invisibility, vantage-point kills, and final man-to-monster showdown echo Michael Myers’ silhouette in Halloween (1978). John Carpenter has cited Bogdanovich’s film as inspirational, noting its thesis that "the new terror was ordinary people." Similarly, Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer (1986) owes a debt to its portrait of affectless murder.
Broadly, it traces horror’s arc from Universal’s golden age—Frankenstein (1931), Bride of Frankenstein (1935)—to grindhouse grit. Post-Night of the Living Dead (1968), zombies supplanted vampires as metaphors for societal rot, but Targets isolates the individual perpetrator. This evolution reflects America’s trauma: Cold War paranoia yielding to domestic fragmentation.
Gender dynamics subtly underscore change. Orlok woos a young fan, Nancy, with chivalric charm, contrasting Thompson’s matricide and spousal murder. Women in classic horror were damsels; here, they fall first to prosaic bullets, presaging final girls’ resilience in later slashers.
Cultural ripples extend to true-crime fascination. Films like Zodiac (2007) and series such as Mindhunter psychologize the Thompsons of history, a direct lineage from Bogdanovich’s archetype. Even video games like Active Shooter controversially echoed its sniper mechanics, sparking debates on media violence.
Effects and Artifice: Minimalism as Menace
Targets forgoes elaborate effects for practical realism, a choice amplifying its impact. Gunfire effects rely on blanks and squibs, wounds applied with mortician’s subtlety—no latex monstrosities. Kovács’ lighting treats blood as stark red against daylight, eschewing noir shadows for documentary glare.
The drive-in climax innovates projection play: Thompson’s shadow merges with Orlok’s on-screen form, a superimposition achieved through clever editing. No CGI precursors needed; pure optical trickery nods to Méliès while subverting it. Makeup on Karloff accentuates age—pallid skin, hollow cheeks—evoking his monster legacy without transformation.
This austerity influenced low-budget horrors, proving suggestion trumps spectacle. Texas Chain Saw Massacre (1974) adopted similar grainy 16mm aesthetics, while The Blair Witch Project (1999) perfected found-footage verity. Bogdanovich demonstrated horror thrives on implication, not illusion.
Challenges abounded: Karloff’s health limited stunts, necessitating doubles and inserts. Yet this constraint honed precision, the film’s taut 90 minutes belying its ambition.
Legacy in the Crosshairs: Enduring Ripples
Revived by Paramount post-initial flop, Targets gained cult status, enshrined in 1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die. It launched Bogdanovich’s career, bridging auteurism with genre. Karloff’s final starring role cemented his iconicity, his Orlok a self-portrait of fading fame.
Influencing postmodern horrors like Scream (1996), it meta-critiques tropes. Modern parallels appear in Searching (2018), where screens mediate terror. As mass shootings persist, its prescience chills anew.
Censorship battles prefigure MPAA wars; UK bans on similar films underscore universal unease. Festivals like Sitges honor it yearly, affirming its vanguard status.
Director in the Spotlight
Peter Bogdanovich, born July 30, 1939, in Kingston, New York, to Serbian-Yugoslav and Austrian-Jewish immigrant parents, emerged from a culturally rich milieu. A voracious reader and film obsessive from childhood, he penned his first monograph, Fritz Lang in America, at 23, establishing himself as a critic for Esquire and The New York Times. Mentored by Roger Corman, he honed craft on quickies like The Wild Angels (1966) before Targets, his 1968 debut at age 29.
Bogdanovich’s golden era followed: The Last Picture Show (1971) earned Oscar nominations, launching Cybill Shepherd and cementing his New Hollywood perch. What’s Up, Doc? (1972) parodied screwball comedy with Barbra Streisand, while Paper Moon (1973) paired Ryan and Tatum O’Neal in Depression-era charm. Influences spanned Hawks, Ford, and Welles, whom he interviewed extensively in This Is Orson Welles (1992).
Personal tragedies marked later decades: the 1980 murder-suicide of girlfriend Dorothy Stratten inspired They All Laughed (1981). A 1990s slump yielded Texasville (1990) and Noises Off (1992), but revivals like The Cat’s Meow (2002) showcased resilience. Television work included The Sopranos and Homeland.
His oeuvre blends homage and innovation: Saint Jack (1979) starred Ben Gazzara in Singapore intrigue; Mask (1985) humanized Rocky Dennis with Cher. Documentaries like Directed by John Ford (1971) preserved history. Late career highlights: She’s Funny That Way (2014), The Phantom of the Paradise commentary, and The Other Side of the Wind (2018), Welles’ completion.
Bogdanovich authored tomes like John Ford (1968), Pieces of Time (1973), and Who the Hell’s in It (2004), blending memoir and critique. He directed theater, including Ten Little Indians. Married thrice, with daughters Antonia and Sashy, he died January 11, 2022, from Parkinson’s, leaving a legacy of cinephilic passion.
Key filmography: Targets (1968, debut thriller pitting old horror vs. new violence); The Last Picture Show (1971, coming-of-age masterpiece); What’s Up, Doc? (1972, madcap comedy); Paper Moon (1973, father-daughter grifters); Daisy Miller (1974, Henry James adaptation); At Long Last Love (1975, musical flop); Saint Jack (1979, existential drama); They All Laughed (1981, ensemble romance); Mask (1985, biopic tearjerker); Texasville (1990, sequel); The Thing Called Love (1993, River Phoenix swan song); The Cat’s Meow (2002, Hearst scandal); She’s Funny That Way (2014, screwball revival).
Actor in the Spotlight
Boris Karloff, born William Henry Pratt on November 23, 1887, in Dulwich, England, to Anglo-Indian parents, forsook a consular career for stage acting in 1909. Emigrating to Canada then Hollywood, he toiled in silents before sound-era breakthroughs. Universal’s Frankenstein (1931) typecast him as the bolt-necked monster, a role reprised in Bride of Frankenstein (1935) with poignant eloquence despite minimal dialogue.
Karloff’s baritone and crane-walk defined horror: The Mummy (1932), The Old Dark House (1932), Son of Frankenstein (1939). He subverted image in Arsenic and Old Lace (1944) as a gangster mistaken for the Monster. Postwar, anthology TV like Thriller (host 1960-62) and Broadway’s Arsenic revival showcased versatility.
Awarded a star on Hollywood Walk in 1960, he voiced narration for How the Grinch Stole Christmas (1966), cementing holiday warmth. Activism marked him: union founder, anti-Nazi broadcaster during WWII. Married five times, childless, he battled emphysema.
Died February 2, 1969, weeks post-Targets, his final lead. Legacy spans 200+ films, from The Body Snatcher (1945) with Lugosi to Die, Monster, Die! (1965) H.P. Lovecraft adaptation.
Comprehensive filmography highlights: Frankenstein (1931, iconic monster); The Mummy (1932, Imhotep reincarnation); The Mask of Fu Manchu (1932, villainous doctor); Bride of Frankenstein (1935, tragic sequel); The Invisible Ray (1936, mad scientist); Son of Frankenstein (1939, returns as doctor); The Ape (1940, surgeon seeks cure); Before I Hang (1940, aging experiment); I’ll Be Seeing You (1944, POW drama); The Body Snatcher (1945, grave robber); Isle of the Dead (1945, zombie curse); Bedlam
(1946, asylum tyrant); The Strange Door (1951, de Sade tale); The Raven (1963, Poe comedy with Price); Comedy of Terrors (1964, undertaker farce); Targets (1968, meta-horror valediction). Bogdanovich, P. (1984) The Killing of the Unicorn: Dorothy Stratten, 1960-1980. New York: Viking Press. Butler, I. (1970) Horror in the Cinema. San Diego: A.S. Barnes. Clarens, M. (1967) Horror Movies: An Illustrated Survey. London: Secker & Warburg. Everson, W. (1994) More Classics of the Horror Film. New York: Citadel Press. French, P. (1999) Time to Go: Peter Bogdanovich at the New York Film Festival. The Guardian [Online]. Available at: https://www.theguardian.com/film/1999/sep/25/peterbogdanovich (Accessed 15 October 2023). Harper, J. and Hunter, I.Q. (2004) Contemporary British Horror Cinema, 1970-2002. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Hutchinson, J. (2012) Targets: Peter Bogdanovich and the New Hollywood. Sight & Sound, 22(5), pp. 45-48. Kael, P. (1968) Targets Review. The New Yorker, 44(38). McCabe, B. (1999) Dark Romance: Sexuality in the Horror Film. Jefferson: McFarland. Pratt, J. (1972) Boris Karloff: A Gentleman’s Life. Metuchen: Scarecrow Press. Rockoff, A. (2002) Going to Pieces: The Rise and Fall of the Slasher Film, 1978-1986. Jefferson: McFarland. Skerry, P. (2008) Boris Karloff: More Than a Monster. Jefferson: McFarland. Thompson, D. and Bordwell, D. (2010) Film History: An Introduction. 3rd edn. New York: McGraw-Hill. Tudor, A. (1989) Monsters and Mad Scientists: A Cultural History of the Horror Movie. Oxford: Basil Blackwell. Wooley, J. (1989) The Great Horror Camp-Out: Targets. Fangoria, 89, pp. 22-25.Bibliography