The Fear Street Finale Lives Deliciously After All (A Review of Fear Street Part Three: 1666)
Before reading this piece, I recommend reading my write-ups for Fear Street Part One and Part Two. It probably makes sense without doing so, but this final review and analysis does build on what I’ve already said.
Review (Light Spoilers)
I’m not sure the final draft of my review of the second Fear Street film really captures my mixed viewing experience. I originally wrote a much more enthusiastically critical piece that I then changed because it turned out I’d missed some details (like how many short shorts were onscreen). The end-result was a positive impression but still a step down from how I felt about the first movie in the trilogy. I genuinely didn’t think 1978 was as inventive or fun to watch, and while it’s ultimately more about my subjective feelings than objective flaws, exactly, I still wasn’t looking forward to 1666 as much as I had been. I don’t normally do reviews and don’t like to plan ahead with this blog. I prefer to cover what strikes me rather than what I’m obligated to cover, so I went into the final part of the Fear Street trilogy a bit cold and calculating. I had originally planned to wait a full week like I did between 1994 and 1978 to make the viewing experience comparable, but I decided not to wait and to “just get it over with” so that I could move onto other things. As my title hopefully suggests already, I was happily surprised and 1666 is a significant improvement on 1978. While its ultimate greatness may depend on its status as the final film of a trilogy (and not so much individual merit), it serves that role incredibly well. In the end, it may be better than 1994 and leaves this trilogy of films feeling like the horror-adventure with an epic scope that It Chapter Two (2019) aspired towards but utterly failed to be.
To begin, then, 1666 immediately improves on what I considered to be 1978’s biggest flaw—its awkward narrative structure, where what was arguably the main plot set in the 70s was emotionally hamstrung by being positioned between snippets from the 90s, which were themselves rendered less impactful for how short they were and how they were sharing so much of the limelight with the other narrative. 1666 sidesteps this issue by starting right where the previous film left off, with Deena (Kiana Madeira) flashing back in time to 1666 and into the role of Sarah Fier. This narrative set in the past gets its own, uninterrupted section of the film—over half—and though we ultimately return to the 90s for the final 40-ish minutes of 1666, there is a clean break between the two, and the present timeline story now has room to build up steam properly and get the audience re-invested. Both segments are shorter than a feature-length film separately but are excellently paced so that they feel longer than they are, in a positive way. I feel like I watched two movies instead of one, and a particular stylistic choice suggests this feeling is intentional. The shift back to the 90s is actually accompanied by a new title—Fear Street… 1994… Part Two. Which makes this, what, Fear Street Part Three Point Five: 1994 Part Two or something? I laughed when I saw that energetic, screen-filling announcement. It’s good stuff and reminded me of horror films with a certain dynamic and bombastic energy, like (some of) the Evil Dead series and Netflix’s The Babysitter series of comedy slashers. I personally wish Fear Street had embraced a bit more of that wacky energy (see the unsettling, off-kilter camera rotation over Ziggy and Cindy’s photograph accompanied by booming clocks that accompanies 1978’s initial transition into the past, for example). Since the movies aren’t ultimately scary, it would have made sense for them to lean into comedy.
On another level, though, 1666 is largely its own beast and better for it since, like 1994, the comparisons with other horror films feel less direct and extensive, as opposed to 1978’s very obvious, not exactly commendable status as a sort of Friday the 13th Junior. Yes, the first bit of Part Three does look kind of like The VVitch (2015), but the comparison is extremely shallow. It’s not paced like that other film and overall bears little resemblance to it either when it moves beyond the set-dressing of a pious and witch-cursed settlement to the particular movements of its plot. Like 1994’s Scream connections, the link here is more superficial than anything else.
The section set in the past also takes some delightful (perhaps goofy) creative risks. One is that it casts the same actors from throughout the series in the roles of the Union citizens. It’s fun to watch and draw parallels between their characters here and in the other films, and it’s also just kind of nice to see characters like Kate (Julia Rehwald) and Simon (Fred Hechinger) and Cindy (Emily Rudd) alive again, if only in spirit. It’s a cute touch, though I did think some of the older male characters looked a bit too similar with their jaw-to-shoulder-length hair so that I wasn’t always able to make those connections I mentioned just above. That the filmmakers also had the cast do accents is a creative choice that feels riskier and a bit goofy. I’m no historian, but I’m willing to bet that these are not exactly spot-on. It probably would have been less noticeably awkward to have them just speak normally. Still, I can admire the audacity. They don’t actually strike me as much worse than those in other films and series that try to communicate the past with perhaps overly enthusiastic accents.
Visually, I’m not sure the film matches with its poster this time around. The poster for 1666 is very green, but the section set in the extreme past looks more like The VVitch, with its more natural-feeling, on the whole, lighting. In 1994 Part Two, however, the movie blends the signature color schemes of the first two films. Yes, “bisexual lighting” is back, but there are also bits that are more red or green like 1978. This feels like a good visual choice that fits with what’s happening narratively and thematically—the past and present finally coming together as the mystery is solved and everything stretching back over the years reaches its conclusion.
1994 Part Two feels like a real victory lap for the show overall as it gleefully calls back to its previous installments. Everything comes back, from Darrell Britt-Gibson’s unfairly persecuted mall janitor in Part One to Deena’s brother Josh’s (Benjamin Flores Jr.) obsession with the Konami Code, which ends up being featured very prominently in the film’s climax in a way that is very silly and very Stranger Things-like. The climactic showdown also makes good use of the series’ established rules about the killers’ fixation on a single target’s blood to construct an even more elaborate and inventive set piece than the first film’s segments at the school and grocery store. In that regard, 1666 / 1994 Part Two truly feels like it ups the ante from its prequels in a worthwhile way, whereas 1978 was kind of treading water apart from just having more people to kill off.
Musically, Part Three isn’t willing to be completely anachronistic in its portrayal of 1666, so the licensed music, thankfully, sits on the bench for most of the experience. The ominous strings featured heavily in this portion of the soundtrack certainly evoke the soundscapes of art-horror darlings like The VVitch, but they still work here to build tension in a way that dropping in modern lyricism probably couldn’t have. In the 90s section, the movie actually holds back on the licensed music a bit as well, only really cutting loose at the very end with about three pretty closely-situated licensed songs. So nothing has really changed in that regard, but it’s a bit easier to forgive when so much of the movie is this exercise in restraint comparatively and the orgy of sound doesn’t happen until the satisfying ending, when I guess I felt more inclined to indulge Part Three a bit.
In terms of gore, there’s not much new to say. 1666 is a horror-adventure much like the first two films, and its treatment of its violence is still the same—swift, clean, and usually obscured in ways that decrease its impact. The one exception, which I can describe briefly this time without really spoiling anything, is the scene where Sarah Fier becomes the one-handed witch from the legend/rhyme. This one bit actually did get a reaction from me and is pretty nasty, though still quite quick compared to something in, say, Friday the 13th. I’m pretty comfortable with that “horror-adventure” designation. Fear Street in its totality is really more of a romp than anything else, and while it’s still absolutely deserving of its R rating, for whatever reason—whether it’s a genuine weak spot for the filmmakers that only occasionally blossoms into grisly competence or a calculated choice made for the sake of audience or tone—this last entry is of a kind with the previous ones. There is plenty of violence here, but it’s only going to be truly stomach-churning or upsetting to those with the right disposition.
Like I said in my previous piece on Fear Street Part Two: 1978, it feels a little silly to do these reviews separately since the movies are all out and anybody who watches the first one is likely to just go on down the line. For what it’s worth, though, Fear Street Part Three: 1666 is a great ending to the trilogy and a good watch in its own right (I think). On the off chance that someone watched 1994 and found 1978 lacking, I can say that it is worth seeing things through for reasons totally unrelated to the sunk cost fallacy. 1666 is a very enjoyable viewing experience, and I recommend it.
Further Thoughts (Heavy Spoilers)
I only have one nitpick with Fear Street Part Three, apart, I guess, from some of the men from the 1666 portion being hard to tell apart, and that’s the way that Ruby Lane’s fight with Josh is presented. I really thought they were going to kill him off given the way she has her hands on his head/face at one point, which suggested to me that she was either going to snap his neck or gouge out his eyes or something, but then she twists and he rolls over and screams about his arm. At first, I thought this was an outright continuity disaster, but after going back and watching that bit again, I think Ruby might have her foot on his one arm below the frame. It’s still incredibly awkwardly-presented, though, to the point that it’s probably going to feel like an obvious error to a lot of people, and that’s not a great feeling to foster at the emotional peak of your movie.
I guess a half-nitpick could be the way that Deena literally uses the power of love to stop the possessed Sam (Olivia Scott Welch) from choking her down in the evil maze just long enough to knock her out. It’s incredibly silly, but I don’t think I can really count it against the movie since that’s just the kind of story it is. I’ve written before in the previous two pieces on Fear Street that I can understand why the trilogy does certain convenient if somewhat unbelievable things because they just fit with the sort of teen story it’s telling, and this feels like another one of those. Of course, the two teenagers love each other so much that even the actual, literal Devil can’t completely tear them apart. I guess that if you wanted to read it more symbolically, this is also kind of Sarah Fier’s doomed relationship with Hannah Miller finding its justice in the present. The actors are the same, but this time the machinations of the Goode family can’t tear them apart or make them turn on each other the way that Sarah had to turn on Hannah before to save her (Hannah’s) life when they were both facing death by hanging.
Credit where credit’s due, I think this movie’s handling of the ever-present drugs plot thread (if you can really call it that) is the best of the batch. The present timeline doesn’t involve them directly at all, and, in the past, they take the form of some berries the girls get from the widow/witch(?) for their party under the full moon. It’s not nearly as awkward as the substances stuff in the other installments, and I will say that I love this teen party in the past. Maybe it’s anachronistic, but it strikes me as exactly the sort of thing that a book telling this story for teens would include. Of course, the teens of the past inevitably did their share of partying (whatever that looked like), but the inclusion here reeks of “Ye Olde After Prom,” and I love it for that.
As with the previous movies in the trilogy, this film flirts with issues of classism, which find their embodiment in the white, wealthy cop Nick Goode (Ashley Zukerman). Nick is an enforcer of the status quo in a mundane fashion as a cop and in more fantastical ways via Satanic ritual, and his family has maintained their wealth through the generations through the literal sacrifice of poor people, people of color, queer people, and women. It’s a fitting enough metaphor for how white, cishet patriarchal power has never really waned from the days of old when these inequalities were effectively set in stone as the foundations for our current society were laid. It’s very fitting that the witch hunts of this film aren’t actually driven by religious fervor. You have some genuinely fearful, religious people spurred on by manipulators who actually have ulterior motives. Mad Thomas (poor Tommy can’t even catch a break in another life…) just seems to revel in the audience he begins to command as his usual ravings start to take on the look of truth. And then you have Solomon Goode and Caleb, who do what they do because their advances are rejected by Sarah and Hannah, respectively. Solomon, especially, is deflecting attention from himself and the Satanic ritual space in his house’s basement. Without the blind fervor an immediate hunt for Sarah and Hannah kicks up, you have to wonder if the townsfolk might not have started to suspect the fellow that lives alone on seemingly blighted land and whose wife and child are both tragically dead… Religious belief isn’t the driving force behind the tragedy in 1666; instead, it’s just a convenient excuse for these men to get what they want and feels true to life in that way.
I have to wonder how much of this stuff lands for a normal viewing audience, though, since the film stays away from loaded terms like “racism” or “patriarchy.” Only at the absolute end of Nick’s reign of terror, for example, as he prepares to murder Deena, does the movie allow him to use the word “dyke,” its most charged and explicitly discriminatory moment. It otherwise dances around the issues it discusses, like the previous films did, in ways that leave room for (mis)interpretation. We find out that Nick framed Martin for spray-painting the mall in Part One, and while this isn’t a revelation (since it was pretty clear in that first movie), the reveal happens here when Martin shows Josh the “goody bag” that Nick carries. Every cop has one, Martin says, for emergencies. For what sort of emergencies? It seems to be for framing people. I expected a lot of drugs or guns to plant on his victims, but Fear Street isn’t willing to be that open, as I already said, and Martin just finds Nick’s spray cans. What you do still have, though, is a Black man showing a Black teen how a corrupt system operates. There’s a lot of implication there—as there also is in Martin’s interactions with the police throughout. When the gang first pulls up in a cop car, for example, he’s immediately on his knees, with his hands behind his head. When they’re all caught by the cops in the mall as they’re setting up the trap for the killers, Martin is, again, quick to react and seems especially nervous that he’s been found alone in this secluded place with Ziggy, a white woman. It’s all unspoken, but the obsession with rapid, zealous compliance in advance says it all. None of the rest of the cast seems to notice, but Martin knows that the biggest threat to his life that night isn’t necessarily the supernatural. The gang needs his know-how regarding the mall and he acts as comic relief, but his character also ends up introducing a lot of meaningful detail to the series’ commentary on race and oppression.
After 1978 seemed to push these other elements of identity into the background in favor of only class, it’s good to see them come roaring back here. In the past, Sarah and Hannah grapple with the sinfulness of their attraction. There’s a shot of the Miller family Bible opened to a section on incest, sodomy, and bestiality as a distraught Hannah confronts Sarah about whether their feelings are responsible for what’s happening. Sarah’s whole sequence of coming to grips with her sexuality in different interactions with adults around her might be another anachronism, but it feels pretty real and current. First, she’s thrown out of her girlfriend’s house by Hannah’s mother and decried as essentially a monster, and then she goes home to her father, who is sympathetic but not empathetic. The rumors are all over town and he’s drunk, and he tells Sarah that he didn’t raise her right and that there might just be something inherently wrong with her. At first, Sarah seems to find a friend in Solomon, who not only believes her about the supernatural forces at work but who also seems, after a little doubt, to support her feelings for Hannah. Loving Hannah can’t summon the Devil, he says; you have to reach out to him deliberately. It’s framed through the supernatural and the lore as part of the story’s specific mystery about who exactly has brought the Devil down on Union, but there’s greater implication there as well—that being gay isn’t a sin.
But Solomon ultimately betrays Sarah. He still wants her for himself and then turns against her when she won’t be his, turning her over to the mob to accomplish two goals at once—to punish her for not being with him and to silence her so that she can’t tell anyone his secret. This whole process of looking for adults to trust and then having to deal with violations of that trust feels like a pretty good encapsulation of the rockiness of the LGBT teen experience. Maybe it’s not for nothing that Solomon and Sarah’s father look so much alike. They’re both father figures of a sort, but Solomon is the found father—a seemingly trustworthy adult that the teen without support at home can turn to but who then proves himself to be unsafe. The witch hunt scenario and the paranoia about trust feels appropriate given that we have states that want to turn the sort of adults teens might trust with struggles of identity like Sarah’s (teachers, for example) into spies for the establishment that are compelled to report any “unacceptable” behavior. Desperate for connection and acceptance, an isolated queer kid has to grapple with the question of whether the risk is worth it. Is the adult they’ve always had a good relationship with and who feels safe actually safe?
There are some weaknesses that turn up when plumbing 1666’s interpretive depths, though. One big one is the lack of commentary on the whole colonial setup of Union (that later dominates the land more extensively to become Sunnyvale and Shadyside). While Solomon and his family subjugate the settlers, they’re all complicit in the colonialist project that led to the murder and displacement of the country’s indigenous people over time. Aside from a mention of Native Americans when the girls are on their way to see the widow about the berries, that aspect of the historical situation doesn’t come up. It may be referenced briefly when Sarah discovers Solomon’s secret and he tells her that he’s only getting what they all came there for (power and success, basically). It suggests some culpability on the behalf of the colonists, if Solomon can be trusted when he’s so clearly a villain, by equating a deal with the Devil and the sacrifice of innocents for personal gain with what they’re also doing more mundanely. That’s looking pretty deeply, however. It’s a frustrating omission on the whole. There might be an argument to be made about scope, but I’m not sure about that. It feels like a missed opportunity.
Finally, the movie commits the same sin as a lot of these sorts of narratives in that it needs to have a specific villain that is defeated at the end, making things good, though this is at odds with its larger messaging. Nick Goode’s death instantly vaporizes the killers, forces back the Satanic heart beating (and growing?) in the caves, erases the occult symbol nearby, and renders pristine the rock faces that had been etched with the names of the sacrifices offered by the Goodes for possession. In the not-too-distant future, Nick is recognized as a serial murderer on the news, and Sunnyvale begins to degrade immediately. Deena and Sam witness a wealthy man die in a car crash in Sunnyvale as they emerge from Nick’s home at the end of the night. It’s all very neat and clean, but it kind of ignores the real world parallels with white supremacist and capitalist systems of oppression—that there isn’t a singular “bad guy” that can be defeated to make things better. There are, perhaps, gestures toward this fact in the film itself. The Goode family still exists, for one thing, and we see a pair of hands take the book of rituals from the crime scene at the cave at the very end, setting up the possibility of a Part Four (or something). The cycle of terror will continue, in the fantasy and in our reality.
Of course, I always end up coming back to the question of whether any of this “deeper” meaning is intentional and whether people watching Fear Street for fun—instead of to write about it like this—will see any of it. It feels so close to the surface, though (especially with the scenes involving Martin and the police in this film), that it seems intentional and almost subliminal to an extent. You’re supposed to have a good time and maybe also absorb some of these other messages, maybe. That’s not a terrible approach since it does what I think we ultimately want media to do as we push for a more equitable and more progressive world: to make discussions of inequality and depictions of marginalized identities casual and commonplace. We don’t need “very special episodes” anymore. We know that these issues and these people are a big part of our world, and Fear Street seems to embrace that mentality here. I do have some other criticisms of Fear Street—and how it acts as an encapsulation of the current cynical and artistically reductive consumer climate around referential media, for example—but this piece feels long enough as is.
I may return to it or not, just like I may return to Fear Street or not at some point. I’m unconvinced whether it’s compelling enough, as a series of films and as a subject, to drag me back in, though, either way, it did kind of end up being a hell of a ride and better than it had any right to be given its roots in the disposable medium of children’s/teen’s horror and its origin as a product designed to cash in on the era of “bingeable” media. It was always going to be a gimmicky special event even before Netflix became the distributor, but Fear Street happens to be an example, especially if you believe the stuff I’ve read into with my “further thoughts” analysis, of something like art succeeding despite its intended role as a product first and foremost—a big, money-making enterprise that nakedly cashes in on nostalgia but actually came out a lot better-executed and more meaningful than it could have.
