Ten Years Later And I’m Still Not Over Jigsaw

I can feel the judgmental heat coming through the monitor already. Let me just preface this tale by saying I was never supposed to see Saw. I remember my friend’s mother dropping us off at the local mall and making it a point to tell us not to go see that “disgusting movie.”

She knew us too well. Everyone was talking about the latest horror craze sweeping the nation. I remember literally stopping in my tracks when I saw the promos come across my Zenith box set television. I’ve always been a fan of horror movies, The Amityville Horror being the first I watched. I turned to my mother, who was sitting on the couch reading her copy of (the still tiny) TV Guide, and declared, “Mom, I need to see that movie.” She peered up at me, unfazed and replied, “Olivia, every time you see a scary movie, you sleep with the light on for the next two weeks. No freakin’ way.”

I took matters into my own hands. I read everything I could about this mysterious writer-director, James Wan. Who was this dude? What’s his story? I read random interviews with Cary Elwes, who I adored from playing my VHS copy of The Princess Bride until it was merely a melted rectangle of plastic. It wasn’t enough. And there was no way in hell I was waiting for it to come out on DVD. Do you remember how long that used to take? What a dark time.

I called up my friend I knew I could coax into seeing it with me. “Listen, we have to see this,” I bullied her. “Think we can sneak in?” Neither of us were seventeen — heck, we were barely thirteen — and thus couldn’t see an R-rated movie without being accompanied by an adult. “Liv, both our mothers know damn well we would never go see Raise Your Voice.” Our local theater had limited choices at the time and what can I say, we were over our Lizzie McGuire phase.

We decided we’ll trick our parents into thinking we want to spend a couple of hours at the mall. Just two gal pals out for a day of shopping with measly allowances from baby-sitting our younger siblings. Nothing out of the ordinary. The movie theater was right next door. As soon as her mom’s van pulled away, we’d run over, buy tickets to Raise Your Voice and sneak into Saw. Done and done.

All went according to plan. We strutted in like we owned the place, popcorn in hand, ready for some Jigsaw action. What happened next, I couldn’t have possibly imagined.

The fuck was I thinking was my first thought. I looked over at my friend, whose hands weren’t covering her face, no, but whose head was between her thighs, similar to how passengers on airplanes react when they’re about to go down. You’re on your own she might as well have said. I would be receiving no emotional support for the next hour and a half. But why didn’t I just grab my friend and bolt out of there, you ask? It was obviously too scary for you. That’s why the MPAA has ratings, you child. Sure, this crossed my mind. But those who know me know that I’m stubbornly committed. I waited weeks and weeks to see that movie, and dammit, I was seeing it through.

After the reverse bear trap scene, something changed inside my soul.

I was feeling a million feelings all at once. Stop stabbing him! He’s alive! Now he’ll bleed out thinking you were his killer. It’s not fair! Nothing about this is fair! I hate you, Jigsaw, I hate you so much. I couldn’t stop thinking about that poor sap lying on the floor, watching this girl cut open his stomach and fish around his insides for a key so she could set herself free before her face was ripped in half.

From that moment on I was paralyzed, but not just with fear. I was also struck by complete curiosity. I don’t think I blinked once. Through the gory torture, I started to appreciate the creativity of Jigsaw’s demented ways. Though the film is incredibly stylized, with sequences similar to violent video games, Jigsaw’s victims’ impending doom felt all too real. The acting wasn’t stellar, but fear and panic transcended from themes to a characters all their own.

Only later, in college, did I learn about the iconic effect the film had on the horror genre, specifically torture porn and splatter films — films that glorify and sexualize sadistic gore, sometimes even in a comedic way. James Wan went on to direct Insidious and the terrifying The Conjuring, two films starkly different from his first franchise, but widely acclaimed.

Wan created Jigsaw, who became the first feared masked killer since Ghostface in Wes Craven’s Scream franchise. Jigsaw’s murderous ways, however, made you want to invite Ghostface over for tea. Though Wan has gone on record numerous times stating how Seven was a major inspiration to his story, everything about Saw felt fresh and warped in the best way.

By the end, when John Kramer turned off those lights and left Adam to die, I wanted more. I had never seen anything like it. Luckily six sequels were made and another, Saw VIII, has just been announced (even though Saw: The Final Chapter was, indeed, supposed to be the final chapter).

My friend and I walked out of the theater in a daze. Neither of us had touched the popcorn, which was now cold, the bag more grease than paper. We circled around the mall so her mom could pick us up in front of Filene’s so our fib would be believable. When she turned to me I could tell she kind of hated my guts. As her mom pulled up to the curb, she surprised me by saying, “That wasn’t a regular scary movie, that was something else. I’m glad we went.” I felt the need to point out I walked that road all alone. “You didn’t watch half of it,” I protested. A pause. “Shut the fuck up.”

We hopped in, slid the side door shut, and pepped up to put on a giddy mall-high face. In the middle of chatting her mom up a storm, however, she turned to us at a red light and said, “You girls saw that movie, didn’t you?” Busted. We stumbled over trying to act shocked and offended at such an accusation. “Whatever you say,” she laughed as she continued to drive. “You girls just look like you saw… I don’t know, something.” That we did.

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Photos: Everett Collection