Jay Rohr
Jeepers Creepers is a unique kind of horror. It isn’t simply a monster movie amusing audiences with frightful twists and bloody terror. There’s an uncomfortable reality tangled up in the film that makes a person wonder if they should even watch. Those who choose to do so risk plunging into a thorny bramble, and for better or worse, this type of choice is becoming very common.
The franchise kicked off in 2001. Trish and Darry Jenner, played by Gina Philips (Twisted) and Justin Long (Barbarian), are siblings on a spring break road trip. Driving through the countryside, they have a harrowing encounter with the driver of a creepy looking truck who menaces them before speeding away. Farther along, they spot the same sinister vehicle suspiciously parked off-road, then witness the driver throwing what may be a wrapped-up corpse down a hole. Investigating the scene reveals something staggeringly horrific, and when the siblings race to inform the police, the truck driver pursues them.
As such, most of the film’s opening acts are reminiscent of Duel (1971). It isn’t until the siblings start fighting back the best they can that things take a twist. When they finally manage to defeat the malevolent driver, the relief of crushing him under their tires is erased as Jeepers Creepers shifts sharply into a monster movie. The driver discards any human semblance, and the rest of the flick becomes a popcorn creature feature.
Despite Jeepers Creepers containing what Kevin Thomas called “the scariest opening sequence of any horror picture in recent memory,” many critics seem to feel the film “surrenders its imagination to formulaic plot filler” after the switch to monster territory. The dread that writer-director Victor Salva manifested in the early acts came mostly from pacing, editing, and some smart cinematic stylization. Critics believed the movie is then diminished by pursuing predictable genre clichés.
Still, at the time, I personally found the film refreshing, and I feel safe saying most audiences would agree. Jeepers Creepers arrived in the middle of an era where irony reigned supreme and nothing was meant to be taken seriously. Horror particularly suffered after Scream (1996). What had been an intriguing deconstruction of a genre in a rut quickly became the new formula, one that instantly got overused. However, Jeepers Creepers played its whole premise straight.
The film’s nightmarish delight is the result of circumstances consistently worsening. What begins as an incredibly unpleasant road situation escalates into a serial killer encounter, who it then appears is involved in bizarre occult practices before finally revealing he’s a straight up inhuman monster. It was the kind of movie people encouraged one another to go see blind because it made the twists more shocking. And audiences clearly embraced this, since Jeepers Creepers made $59 million dollars on a budget of $10 million.
That kind of profit inevitably leaves Hollywood thirsting for a sequel. Two more films would follow, expanding the lore without improving the quality of the presentation. By the third flick the franchise quietly died off, yet even to this day maintains a presence at horror conventions. As such, it isn’t surprising that in 2022, Jeepers Creepers: Reborn was released, a reboot meant to revitalize the cash cow.
Critics panned it, with the consensus declaring the flick was “neither slicing under the genre’s surface, nor dicing the heritage well, this reboot is more an unseemly act of IP cannibalism.”
The internet is always simmering with rumors of potential reboots and remakes, especially among fans who want a franchise to flourish. The validity of such speculations is another matter entirely. However, one thing makes it unlikely that Jeepers Creepers will ever rise again. Its creator Victor Salva is a convicted child molester.
Trigger Warning: sexual abuse.
In 1988, while directing the horror movie Clownhouse, he sexually abused the film’s star, 12-year-old Nathan Forrest Winters, an act he also videotaped. This atrocious crime was made public when Disney produced Salva’s movie Powder in 1995. When the Associated Press asked Disney spokesman John Dreyer for comment, he stated, “What’s the point, other than you want to make headlines?” The magazine Newsweek similarly argued that Salva had served 15 months of a three-year sentence, meaning everyone should just let it go.
One wonders how Victor Salva managed to distract enough people in the know from his grotesque history to get the money for the first Jeepers Creepers. That success probably stems from legendary director Francis Ford Coppola stepping in on his behalf to get the money ball rolling.
Coppola said, “My attitude is, he has a talent, and that talent in itself is good. We don’t have to embrace the person in believing that their art is a contribution to society.”
I personally didn’t discover the facts about Victor Salva until Jeepers Creepers 3 was in production. By then the internet made it harder to hide such a history. Although, that said, his past seems to be very public. The point being, I’ve never seen the third movie because I refuse to knowingly give money to a convicted pedophile, and I don’t think that’s a dangerously out-on-a-limb stance. Most people would probably agree. Still, ethical consumption is a tricky thing to practice, especially when it comes to entertainment.
The basic definition of ethical consumerism holds that “consumption is a political act that sanctions the values embodied in a product’s manufacture.” It’s a term that is most often applied to purchases oriented around labor practices or environmental concerns. The magazine Ethical Consumer popularized the term in 1989 and continues to provide readers with information to make ethical choices. This can mean not buying GMOs, avoiding sweatshop labor, child exploitation, blood diamonds, etc. And I think it’s fair to say that notion has expanded in the 21st century to include products produced by morally problematic individuals.
The expansion is largely due to the internet making it harder for people to hide who they are, often because they blatantly tell us about their worst opinions once a certain amount of success makes them feel safe from criticism. Case in point, J. K. Rowling’s well established Twitter feed controversies. The once celebrated author has destroyed whatever goodwill her books earned by adamantly being an unapologetic TERF (trans-exclusionary feminist).
Those opposed to her point of view have demanded boycotts of the Harry Potter franchise. Recently, actor John Lithgow came under fire for remaining in the role of Dumbledore for the upcoming reboot, a seven-season television series Max is planning, despite vocal outcry against the project. This all partly stems from the fact Rowling doesn’t simply benefit financially from such a series and merchandise, but that money goes towards anti-trans initiatives. Consequently, spending money on anything Potter-related means financing such efforts.
Similarly, some don’t want a penny to go in Joss Whedon’s pocket following the accusations against him. For one, there’s unprofessional, perhaps racially motivated misconduct towards Ray Fisher while filming Justice League (2017). Within the context of this article, though, the allegations against him regarding his popular TV series Buffy the Vampire Slayer, inspired by his film of the same name, come more into focus. From “hostile and toxic” behavior toward Charisma Carpenter to the alleged “rule, saying [Whedon] is not allowed in a room alone with Michelle [Trachtenberg] again,” it makes sense some folks would be disinclined to buy a Buffy box set, given that Joss will profit from it. But is that fair to other performers who also benefit from sales?
It can seem like the blast radius eliminating the problem eradicates some innocent bystanders. The likely rebuttal may be what did they know, when did they know it, and did they do anything to stop Whedon’s alleged bad behavior? While that may apply to cast and crew in specific instances, it brings up the economic web.
In 2008, tax incentives in the state of Georgia encouraged Hollywood productions such as The Hunger Games franchise and various MCU features to film there bringing in billions. The result was a massive growth in entertainment infrastructure, developing workplaces such as Pinewood Studios and EUE/Screen Gems. Even before that, Tyler Perry established Tyler Perry Studios in Atlanta in 2006.
Then in 2018, Georgia’s anti-abortion bill, as well as stances on LGBTQ issues and voting rights, inspired film productions such as the Lionsgate comedy Barb and Star Go to Vista Del Mar (2021) to boycott the state in hopes of altering political attitudes. After all, boycotts are meant to induce economic hardships that compel others to reconsider their position. However, any suffering would primarily affect 92,000 people employed or economically linked to Georgia productions; working class individuals who may not be able to afford the luxury of turning down jobs for moral reasons.
It’s easy to see the primary target, such as a loathsome studio executive, when dropping the boycott bomb, but folks don’t tend to take into consideration the florists, carpenters, caterers, and general crew who will get caught in the blast. While it may seem easy to say they should only take jobs that fulfill ethical criteria as well, consider how many productions convicted rapist Harvey Weinstein was involved with. As a producer, he’s associated with almost 330 films, including Lord of the Rings (2001).
This brings everything around to the old question of separating art from the artist (or financial backer). The thing is that, especially nowadays, “consumers often see consumption as a means to solve societal problems… many people are motivated to act on these problems, turning to marketplace consumption as an effective means to achieving the beneficial outcomes they seek.” Unfortunately, in the internet era, it’s harder to separate artists from their art when social media creates not only parasocial relationships with creators but presents their worst opinions in conjunction with the content they create.
The consequence is a sense of complicity, since “consuming an artist’s work while knowing about their harmful actions makes us complicit in that harm, particularly when our consumption provides financial benefit.” Before the internet, it was easier to be unaware of creators’ worst behavior. That blissful ignorance is becoming more intentional than accidental. Consider how searching for fun facts about Captain Jack Sparrow can lead to the Depp-Heard trial—docuseries now available on Netflix.
Still, even if boycotts influence more morally acceptable movie making in the future, there remains the issue of dealing with already existing material. Absolute erasure from the historical record seems extreme, especially in respect to cultural preservation. Vile as J.K. Rowling’s anti-trans activism is, it isn’t wise to pretend that her books didn’t dominate sales for years, or that her films weren’t box office titans, and the influence that has had on society when it comes to creative efforts. Furthermore, there’s a plethora of culturally core musical, literary, and artistic output created by absolute gutter trash people. It’s hard to imagine cinema history without the myriad movies produced by Weinstein, yet it’s also nauseating to think that buying almost any past Tarantino picture will put money in the predator’s pocket.
What we’re left with is a spectrum that consumers are left to navigate according to their own principles. Ethical consumerism means making informed decisions. Unfortunately, there is no singular guide for making those decisions. After all, it’s easy to cast off entertainment media that one isn’t personally connected to, another thing entirely to shed something long beloved.
Jeepers Creepers is a rare example of a monster movie made by a real monster. It’s an ideal example of the ethical dilemma inherent in morally motivated consumption as well as the issue of separating the art from the artist. Keep in mind, “there is a difference between accepting human imperfection and ignoring significant ethical breaches. When we pretend we can separate the art from the artist, we are not preserving artistic freedom—we are engaging in willing self-deception.”
Just because great art can come from flawed people doesn’t mean audiences need to feed monsters. There’s a difference between being an imperfect person and a predator. Ultimately, audiences choose what they want to see.
