MEMORY LANE: REMEMBERING "FRIDAY THE 13TH - THE SERIES"

When one thinks of "Friday the 13th," there is a very definite visual image which comes to mind: a hulking psychopath in a hockey mask, chasing down terrified teens by the moonlit waters of Camp Crystal Lake. Very few film franchises in history have such powerful name recognition, such immediate associative power, as that seemingly endless slew of celluloid slashers which began in 1980 and 2009. But it is not of the "Friday the 13th" films that I now write: it is the immensely influential, cruelly underrated, and in fact largely forgotten television series, "Friday the 13th: The Series," which ran on syndicated television from 1987 - 1990, and which had nothing whatsoever to do with Mr. Jason Voorhees and his grim penchant for hacking horny teenagers into grisyly bits. So for the purposes of clarification, I will henceforth refer to the series by the title it was known by in Canada, "Friday's Curse."

"Friday's Curse" came about, interestingly enough, due to the success of the "F-13" flicks. Paramount Pictures, hot to exploit the success of their slasher series, went to its creator, Frank Mancuso Jr., and told him to cobble together a companion TV show, PDQ. Mancuso wasn't interested, but the studio was so desperate to kick the cash pinata one more time time they told him that he could make any kind of series he liked, anything it all, so long as it had "Friday the 13th" in the title. No doubt repressing a chuckle, or a groan, at this naked cynicism, Mancuso commissioned a series which, despite many flaws, spawned or inspired or at least influenced many much more famous shows which followed.

That premise was this. Years ago, an occultist named Lewis Vendredi (R.G. Armstrong) sold his soul to the devil in exchange for wealth and longevity. The owner of an antiques store, he was tasked by said Prince of Darkness to sell items which carried horribly ironic curses: they often provided great powers to the recipient, but only at horrible costs. When Vendredi tried to break his pact with Satan, he was sucked into hell, leaving his store unattended. Enter the beneficiaries of his will, his nephew Ryan Dallion (John LeMay) and his neice Micki Foster (Louise Robey). The cousins by marriage have never met, barely remember "Uncle Lewis," know nothing of the curse, and care little for each other or running an antique store. So they naturally get shot of the whole lot of items in a fire sale. ..only to be told by the mysterious Jack Marshak (Chris Wiggins), Vendredi's old business partner, the true nature of the store and its contents.

For the next three years, the trio tries to rectify their mistake by hunting down these cursed objects and placing them in The Vault, an impendetrable chamber beneath the shop they now call Curious Goods. (They must secure the items for safekeeping because, having been cursed by the devil, they are now indestructable.) Unfortunately, few of the item owners actually want to part with their terrible chatchkis, and are often more than willing to resort to murder to keep them. And therein lies the drama.

The ordinary episode of "Friday's Curse" moves on two axes at once. On the one hand you have Jack, Micki and Ryan trying to locate and secure a cursed object through trickery, bribery or just plain theft: on the other, you have the person or persons who have the object, and are using it for selfish gain at the expense of the blood price it inevitably demands from innocent victims. The normal curse works something like this: the item will grant the bearer a supernatural power or ability of some sort, but it must be "fed" regularly in order to operate, and generally turns upon its owner if this "feeding" does not take place. Most shows end with the item being recovered, but by no means does this guarantee a happy ending. Indeed, one of the more interesting tenents of the series is the terrible emotional and psychological toll this war against Satan takes on our heroes. Over the three seasons, all of them suffer terrible personal losses, and all of them lose, at times, their will to continue the fight: indeed, at the beginning of Season Three, the battle-weary Ryan leaves Curious Goods (in very unusual circumstances) and is replaced by Johnny Ventura (Steve Monarque), whose resolve to do good is similarly tested. At times, bitter arguments erupt about the inevitability of one or more of the "family" dying to fulfill the quest, and more selifsh motives, such as the desire to find a spouse and settle down into a normal life, also intrude. As many a superhero from Buffy to Batman has discovered, it is difficult to have a love life or start a family when one is on call 24/7 to fight the forces of darkness.

One immediately noticeable quality about "Friday's Curse" is the family dynamic. Jack, a veteran of WW2 with an affinity for the occult, is unquestionably the patriarch, and veteran actor Chris Wiggins plays him to near-perfection: a big, balding old teddy bear of a man, he leads with wisdom and compassion and the occasional flash of steely resolve, and is a convenient encyclopedia of magic-occultic lore. Fans of Hammer Horror films will recognize this archetype, and fans of "Buffy" will immediately see his resmemblance to Rupert Giles, right down to the tweed coat. Ryan, in contrast, is young, impulsive, and immature, the brash "son" of the stuffy, responsible father, but soon becomes invested in the quest and often spars with Micki over her selfishness in wanting to abandon it. John LeMay's performance could be uneven at times as he lacked great range, but he was otherwise perfect for the role, and once again, fans of "Buffy" will see a lot of Xander in his sense of humor, fashion sense and possession of more courage than ability. The final member, Micki, is the daughter/sister of the trio: deeply affectionate towards Jack, she is often infuriated or exasperated by Ryan's antics, though this is mixed with sisterly affection and at some times, a deeper romantic attraction for her "sibling." Micki hates the burden of responsibility owning Curious Goods brings, and is bitter over the fact her fiance deserted her for refusing to walk away from it. Yet when push comes to shove, she's just as committed and courageous as the others. With her flaming red hair, 1940s style elegance, and periodic penchant for put-downs, coupled with her chaste/tension-filled relationship with her partner, it's very hard not to see shades of "The X-Files" Dana Scully in Micki Foster.

One outstanding quality of "Curse" was its theme of "giving the devil his due." Not all of the owners/users of cursed objects are evil or unsympathetic. Some are good people faced with terrible choices: one episode features parents of a dying child who must commit seven murders to save the infant; in another, a quadriplegic teenager is promised use of her body again if she kills the boys who raped her and left her paralyzed; in yet another, a desperate father tortures innocent people (including Micki) to restore his young daughter's sanity. On the other hand, many of the bearers are entirely wicked, addicted to the beauty, youth, power, or wealth the object provides and completely uncaring as to how many they have to murder to keep the metaphorical or literal champagne flowing. Regardless of their morals or lack of same, however, the underlying themes of "Curse" are that making a pact with the devil comes with a heavy price, and so too does trying to interfere in the devil's designs. The object-holders usually die horrific deaths, quite often at the hands of their own objects, while our heroes suffer terribly recovering those objects. It's almost taken for granted by our gang that they will be destroyed sooner or later, and that this is the price of doing the right thing. It's not a particularly uplifting theme, but it is a realistic one, and realism in small things is crucial when the big things involve stuff like cursed wood chippers that spit money, not blood, when you throw a human being into them.

For 80s television, "Friday's Curse" was remarkbly violent. Using memory alone, I recall throat-slittings, impalements, beheadings, immolations, strangulations, eviscerations, electrocutions, beatings, shootings, stabbings, deaths by stinging insect, deaths by sudden disease, deaths by having brain fluid drained out, deaths in trash compactors or the afformentioned wood chipper, and death by drowning, including one man memorably drowned in a toilet. A lot of this was shown to a surprising and uncomfortable degree, including a very graphic episode directed by David Cronenberg which features a glove that can cure any disease...provided you transfer it to someone else in exaggerated form. The many cursed items included things like a violin, a statue of cupid, a pipe, a china doll, a brooch, a mask, a camera, a scalpel, a radio, a key, a compact, a handkerchief, a sherff's star, a pocket watch, a coin, a crystal pendant, a make-up kit, a television, a ring and a child's playhouse. The curses often operated on a law of diminishing returns, demanding more and more blood at more and more frequent intervals to bestow the same benefits or powers, and were always quick to turn on any bearer who couldn't keep them fed -- again, keeping in the theme of the devil being a lousy guy to do business with, though in at least one case, a cursed wheelchair, we see a former owner who walked away successfully from his paralysis.

"Curse" takes place in a nameless American city, presumably Chicago, but was actually shot in Toronto. Though there is plenty of daylight, many of the stories are set largely or entirely at night, and the cruel Canadian winters add to the bleak, brooding atmosphere, as does the use of rather gritty film -- it may not be 16mm, but it often looks like 16mm. Fred Mollin, who composed the music for the similarly brooding and dark "Forever Knight," was in good form here: while no Mark Snow or Christophe' Beck, he makes appropriately spooky soundscapes to accompany the carnage. The acting pool in Canada is narrow but extremely deep, and a great number of "familiar face" character actors and soon-to-be-star types appear in varying roles: among others, R.G. Armstrong, Colm Feore, David Orth, Michael Constantine, Billy Drago, the late great Denis Forest, Gwynnth Walsh, Nigel Bennett, Robert Ito, Tia Carrere, John Fujioka, Gary Farmer, the singer Vanity, and Jill Hennessey all make appearances (if many of these names don't ring a bill, the faces generally will).

"Curse" was hardly perfect even by the wobbly standards of 80s television. The shows vary widely, one might even say wildly, in the quality of scripts, acting, and cinematography, occasionally looking polished and professional, and at other times terribly cheesy and terribly low budget. (The actual budget for the show was quite large, so there is no excuse for episodes that look as if they were shot on a shoestring: this sort of thing falls on the producers.) What's more, Steve Monarque's Johnny, while he certainly has his moments, never entirely works -- in the book "Curious Goods," it's revealed that Wiggins and Robey didn't think much of him as an actor and didn't particularly like the character he was playing. Of course, it didn't help either that Elisabeth Robey was a fashion model and singer making her debut in television: while charismatic and charming, and in possession of good chemistry with both LeMay and Wiggins, she often emotes like a silent movie film star: you'd have to look at Emma Watson's performance as Hermionie in the first few "Harry Potter" films, in which she seems to think moving her eyebrows is a substitute for acting, to find this much eye-bulging and facial contortion. And while this is not an attack but an observation, it must be said that Robey's fashion sense belongs entirely to the period in question, and that most certainly includes her occasional and unfortunate hairscapades into the land of the bouffant. (In one comedic moment, Micki is sparked by electricity and her hair stands on end: I remember saying out loud, "What's the difference?")

Setting all of this aside, there is no doubt that "Curse" is an enormously enjoyable experience for afficianados of the horror genre, and that the show had a huge if unacknowledged influence on much which came after: THE X-FILES, BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER, SUPERNATURAL, FRINGE, and most especially WAREHOUSE 13, which lifts most of the premises and conceits almost intact. Though the series itself draws heavily on KOLCHAK: THE NIGHT STALKER and Hammer Horror movies, its basic ideas cast shadows which still fall on television today. The show's own demise came suddenly and ignominiously late in its third season: a boycott campaign, organized by religious fanatics opposed to the show's references to witchcraft and Satanism, frightened executives into pulling the plug despite strong ratings. I find this exceptionally tragic, because CURSE by its very premise had a virtually inexhaustable number of potential storylines: anyone who doubts this might want to take a look at SUPERNATURAL's fifteen seasons (a staggering 327 episodes). If nothing else, we were cheated of a planned series finale in which the gang would go to Crystal Lake -- yes, that Crystal Lake -- and try to get the ultimate cursed item: that quite literally God-damned hockey mask. I would have paid a pretty to see that show.

For myself, I find the spooky, old school atmosphere of the show to be curiously homey. All really enjoyable television creates a sense of family, however metaphorical, and CURSE managed this twice over -- with the characters themselves, and with the its design. There are certain film sets which the viewer comes to regard as second homes over the course of long viewership, and Curious Goods is one of them. I have the oddest feeling that if I were to drive to Toronto right now and stop at the address, I would find its lights burning into the night, and the bell over the door still ready to jingle. The oddities and antiques would still be nested behind their glass cases or hanging from the walls, and Jack, Micki and Ryan would be there, standing in dusty lamplight and untouched by time, ready to fight -- however reluctantly and grudgingly -- the forces of evil. I suppose the Mary Sue sort of hero, the suave and swaggering James Bond type, who annihilates his enemies, saves the world, and then slips on a dinner jacket and makes love to a supermodel, all without breaking a sweat, has its place in fiction...but I myself much prefer protagonists I can identify with. People who express fear. Who suffer pain. Who occasionally run away from responsibility. Or who, like Jack, feel doubt: "It used to be so simple. There was good, and there was evil. Now they're blending, mixing together. Can't tell where ends and the other begins. I'm not sure I know the difference anymore." In an age when writers are increasingly falling into the trap of writing born-perfect characters, where the hero's journey and the character arc are not so much marginlized as utterly elminated from storytelling, it's refreshing to see more or less ordinary people picking up a lance for what's right...even in the face of the devil himself.