Commentary: How the merry gore of ‘Terrifier 3’ won over horror fans — and the weekend box office

Why do we go to horror movies expecting art? I’ve sometimes wondered as much while watching Dario Argento’s “Suspiria,” suffused with shades of color that have never been matched, or when I soak in the ice-water-crisp compositions of John Carpenter. As a survival strategy, I’ve trained myself to look for the artist in the abattoir: the half-buried strain of racial anxiety, the social commentary of the zombie mall, the chill of a Tobin Bell line reading. Finding the artist helps the blood go down easier. Horror, to bend a phrase by Hans Rookmaaker, needs no justification. Still, it helps when those practicing it aspire to something greater.

“Terrifier 3” is not a film made by artists — not in the way that so much of this year’s crop is, from “Longlegs” and “Strange Darling” to “The Substance.” In fact, it turns the idea of art into a sick joke: The hook-nosed killer clown of all three “Terrifier” films goes by the name of Art. He has no voice, just the toothy grin of a mime long past his mild mischief days. (Transformed by face paint and prosthetics, David Howard Thornton does what he can in the role.) Art the Clown has a private agenda of massacring suburban families and stalking young women. He carries around a bulging sack of power tools; something clicks into place as the series settles, for the first time, into a Christmas movie.

It’s that very artlessness, however, that has made “Terrifier” a phenomenon. I saw “Terrifier 3” under the best conditions, which is to say a robust audience on opening weekend (during which the low-budget movie would outgross “Joker: Folie à Deux”). Electricity isn’t what’s running through the crowd, more like pre-nauseated nervousness. Fear, suspense, terror — those aren’t really on the menu at one of these installments. Fans know what to expect: hatchets crunching into limbs and scalps peeled like oranges. Why stop at mere decapitation when a whole body can be halved from bottom to top? “Terrifier 3” is being released without a rating and that’s a (deserved) badge of honor.

That unspoken contract between gore-hungry viewers and the film is mostly forged by Christien Tinsley, the makeup effects artist whose gushy prosthetics are shown off at every turn. Tinsley’s most prominent credit to date has been Mel Gibson’s skin-shredding “The Passion of the Christ,” and you can rely on a crown of thorns appearing in this new one too (as well as some choice nailings). Many times you’ll wish “Terrifier 3” would cut away to a new scene, its point excruciatingly made. No such luck. Wounds are dwelled upon. Chainsaws find new points of attack. Sometimes it plays like Tinsley’s show-off reel. He’ll be getting a lot of work soon.

Do you know the name Sean S. Cunningham? It’s fine if you don’t. He never enjoyed the boldface fame of his peers. But in the wake of Carpenter’s hugely successful “Halloween,” Cunningham put together a bargain-basement team of mostly unknowns and directed 1980’s workmanlike “Friday the 13th,” as much in the firmament as any slasher.

Damien Leone, the 42-year-old Staten Islander who directed the “Terrifier” movies, will likely become another Cunningham. He’s a meat-and-potatoes assembler of pieces. Boringly, “Terrifier 3” has a generic haunted final girl (Lauren LaVera), a psychologically broken assistant (Samantha Scaffidi) and an innocent who needs protecting (Antonella Rose). It all functions to supply Art the Clown with memeable moments, the floors slick with viscera.

Give Leone credit in one respect, though. He seems to understand that audiences are tired of tasteful restraint. They want a break from artists. And sometimes clowning around is enough.

Why do we go to horror movies expecting art? I’ve sometimes wondered as much while watching Dario Argento’s “Suspiria,” suffused with shades of color that have never been matched, or when I soak in the ice-water-crisp compositions of John Carpenter. As a survival strategy, I’ve trained myself to look for the artist in the abattoir: the half-buried strain of racial anxiety, the social commentary of the zombie mall, the chill of a Tobin Bell line reading. Finding the artist helps the blood go down easier. Horror, to bend a phrase by Hans Rookmaaker, needs no justification. Still, it helps when those practicing it aspire to something greater.

“Terrifier 3” is not a film made by artists — not in the way that so much of this year’s crop is, from “Longlegs” and “Strange Darling” to “The Substance.” In fact, it turns the idea of art into a sick joke: The hook-nosed killer clown of all three “Terrifier” films goes by the name of Art. He has no voice, just the toothy grin of a mime long past his mild mischief days. (Transformed by face paint and prosthetics, David Howard Thornton does what he can in the role.) Art the Clown has a private agenda of massacring suburban families and stalking young women. He carries around a bulging sack of power tools; something clicks into place as the series settles, for the first time, into a Christmas movie.

It’s that very artlessness, however, that has made “Terrifier” a phenomenon. I saw “Terrifier 3” under the best conditions, which is to say a robust audience on opening weekend (during which the low-budget movie would outgross “Joker: Folie à Deux”). Electricity isn’t what’s running through the crowd, more like pre-nauseated nervousness. Fear, suspense, terror — those aren’t really on the menu at one of these installments. Fans know what to expect: hatchets crunching into limbs and scalps peeled like oranges. Why stop at mere decapitation when a whole body can be halved from bottom to top? “Terrifier 3” is being released without a rating and that’s a (deserved) badge of honor.

That unspoken contract between gore-hungry viewers and the film is mostly forged by Christien Tinsley, the makeup effects artist whose gushy prosthetics are shown off at every turn. Tinsley’s most prominent credit to date has been Mel Gibson’s skin-shredding “The Passion of the Christ,” and you can rely on a crown of thorns appearing in this new one too (as well as some choice nailings). Many times you’ll wish “Terrifier 3” would cut away to a new scene, its point excruciatingly made. No such luck. Wounds are dwelled upon. Chainsaws find new points of attack. Sometimes it plays like Tinsley’s show-off reel. He’ll be getting a lot of work soon.

Do you know the name Sean S. Cunningham? It’s fine if you don’t. He never enjoyed the boldface fame of his peers. But in the wake of Carpenter’s hugely successful “Halloween,” Cunningham put together a bargain-basement team of mostly unknowns and directed 1980’s workmanlike “Friday the 13th,” as much in the firmament as any slasher.

Damien Leone, the 42-year-old Staten Islander who directed the “Terrifier” movies, will likely become another Cunningham. He’s a meat-and-potatoes assembler of pieces. Boringly, “Terrifier 3” has a generic haunted final girl (Lauren LaVera), a psychologically broken assistant (Samantha Scaffidi) and an innocent who needs protecting (Antonella Rose). It all functions to supply Art the Clown with memeable moments, the floors slick with viscera.

Give Leone credit in one respect, though. He seems to understand that audiences are tired of tasteful restraint. They want a break from artists. And sometimes clowning around is enough.

Why do we go to horror movies expecting art? I’ve sometimes wondered as much while watching Dario Argento’s “Suspiria,” suffused with shades of color that have never been matched, or when I soak in the ice-water-crisp compositions of John Carpenter. As a survival strategy, I’ve trained myself to look for the artist in the abattoir: the half-buried strain of racial anxiety, the social commentary of the zombie mall, the chill of a Tobin Bell line reading. Finding the artist helps the blood go down easier. Horror, to bend a phrase by Hans Rookmaaker, needs no justification. Still, it helps when those practicing it aspire to something greater.

“Terrifier 3” is not a film made by artists — not in the way that so much of this year’s crop is, from “Longlegs” and “Strange Darling” to “The Substance.” In fact, it turns the idea of art into a sick joke: The hook-nosed killer clown of all three “Terrifier” films goes by the name of Art. He has no voice, just the toothy grin of a mime long past his mild mischief days. (Transformed by face paint and prosthetics, David Howard Thornton does what he can in the role.) Art the Clown has a private agenda of massacring suburban families and stalking young women. He carries around a bulging sack of power tools; something clicks into place as the series settles, for the first time, into a Christmas movie.

It’s that very artlessness, however, that has made “Terrifier” a phenomenon. I saw “Terrifier 3” under the best conditions, which is to say a robust audience on opening weekend (during which the low-budget movie would outgross “Joker: Folie à Deux”). Electricity isn’t what’s running through the crowd, more like pre-nauseated nervousness. Fear, suspense, terror — those aren’t really on the menu at one of these installments. Fans know what to expect: hatchets crunching into limbs and scalps peeled like oranges. Why stop at mere decapitation when a whole body can be halved from bottom to top? “Terrifier 3” is being released without a rating and that’s a (deserved) badge of honor.

That unspoken contract between gore-hungry viewers and the film is mostly forged by Christien Tinsley, the makeup effects artist whose gushy prosthetics are shown off at every turn. Tinsley’s most prominent credit to date has been Mel Gibson’s skin-shredding “The Passion of the Christ,” and you can rely on a crown of thorns appearing in this new one too (as well as some choice nailings). Many times you’ll wish “Terrifier 3” would cut away to a new scene, its point excruciatingly made. No such luck. Wounds are dwelled upon. Chainsaws find new points of attack. Sometimes it plays like Tinsley’s show-off reel. He’ll be getting a lot of work soon.

Do you know the name Sean S. Cunningham? It’s fine if you don’t. He never enjoyed the boldface fame of his peers. But in the wake of Carpenter’s hugely successful “Halloween,” Cunningham put together a bargain-basement team of mostly unknowns and directed 1980’s workmanlike “Friday the 13th,” as much in the firmament as any slasher.

Damien Leone, the 42-year-old Staten Islander who directed the “Terrifier” movies, will likely become another Cunningham. He’s a meat-and-potatoes assembler of pieces. Boringly, “Terrifier 3” has a generic haunted final girl (Lauren LaVera), a psychologically broken assistant (Samantha Scaffidi) and an innocent who needs protecting (Antonella Rose). It all functions to supply Art the Clown with memeable moments, the floors slick with viscera.

Give Leone credit in one respect, though. He seems to understand that audiences are tired of tasteful restraint. They want a break from artists. And sometimes clowning around is enough.

Why do we go to horror movies expecting art? I’ve sometimes wondered as much while watching Dario Argento’s “Suspiria,” suffused with shades of color that have never been matched, or when I soak in the ice-water-crisp compositions of John Carpenter. As a survival strategy, I’ve trained myself to look for the artist in the abattoir: the half-buried strain of racial anxiety, the social commentary of the zombie mall, the chill of a Tobin Bell line reading. Finding the artist helps the blood go down easier. Horror, to bend a phrase by Hans Rookmaaker, needs no justification. Still, it helps when those practicing it aspire to something greater.

“Terrifier 3” is not a film made by artists — not in the way that so much of this year’s crop is, from “Longlegs” and “Strange Darling” to “The Substance.” In fact, it turns the idea of art into a sick joke: The hook-nosed killer clown of all three “Terrifier” films goes by the name of Art. He has no voice, just the toothy grin of a mime long past his mild mischief days. (Transformed by face paint and prosthetics, David Howard Thornton does what he can in the role.) Art the Clown has a private agenda of massacring suburban families and stalking young women. He carries around a bulging sack of power tools; something clicks into place as the series settles, for the first time, into a Christmas movie.

It’s that very artlessness, however, that has made “Terrifier” a phenomenon. I saw “Terrifier 3” under the best conditions, which is to say a robust audience on opening weekend (during which the low-budget movie would outgross “Joker: Folie à Deux”). Electricity isn’t what’s running through the crowd, more like pre-nauseated nervousness. Fear, suspense, terror — those aren’t really on the menu at one of these installments. Fans know what to expect: hatchets crunching into limbs and scalps peeled like oranges. Why stop at mere decapitation when a whole body can be halved from bottom to top? “Terrifier 3” is being released without a rating and that’s a (deserved) badge of honor.

That unspoken contract between gore-hungry viewers and the film is mostly forged by Christien Tinsley, the makeup effects artist whose gushy prosthetics are shown off at every turn. Tinsley’s most prominent credit to date has been Mel Gibson’s skin-shredding “The Passion of the Christ,” and you can rely on a crown of thorns appearing in this new one too (as well as some choice nailings). Many times you’ll wish “Terrifier 3” would cut away to a new scene, its point excruciatingly made. No such luck. Wounds are dwelled upon. Chainsaws find new points of attack. Sometimes it plays like Tinsley’s show-off reel. He’ll be getting a lot of work soon.

Do you know the name Sean S. Cunningham? It’s fine if you don’t. He never enjoyed the boldface fame of his peers. But in the wake of Carpenter’s hugely successful “Halloween,” Cunningham put together a bargain-basement team of mostly unknowns and directed 1980’s workmanlike “Friday the 13th,” as much in the firmament as any slasher.

Damien Leone, the 42-year-old Staten Islander who directed the “Terrifier” movies, will likely become another Cunningham. He’s a meat-and-potatoes assembler of pieces. Boringly, “Terrifier 3” has a generic haunted final girl (Lauren LaVera), a psychologically broken assistant (Samantha Scaffidi) and an innocent who needs protecting (Antonella Rose). It all functions to supply Art the Clown with memeable moments, the floors slick with viscera.

Give Leone credit in one respect, though. He seems to understand that audiences are tired of tasteful restraint. They want a break from artists. And sometimes clowning around is enough.