Dream Warriors
by Jack Diaz
M&MF
est. 03-10-24
est. 03-10-24
Bright lights, empty soda cans, and the radio blasting.
The third film in the Nightmare on Elm Street series doesn’t bother with any more setup than that; a new teenager is attempting to ward off the demonic Freddy Krueger by staying awake. Even her arts and crafts project is familiar—a miniature replica of the house where Krueger lived. When the door bursts open, the girl says that she was simply trying to stay up to see her mother before going to bed. This couldn’t be the truth, obviously, but Patricia Arquette’s eyes make it difficult not to believe her, filled with fear but also something more complicated, a twisted bit of love and a desire for care. Moments later, she does fall asleep, and Freddy appears to cut open her arms, dispelling any doubts that this is what she was afraid of. Until her mother finds her in the bathroom, covered in blood, with a razor in her hands.
The rest of the story takes place in an adolescent inpatient psychiatric facility with a colorful cast of characters. On one side are the medical professionals, who use phrases like “he let us down” or “she was weak” after a child takes their own life (courtesy of Freddy’s nightmares). On the other side are the patients, who insist that they understand the horrors plaguing their minds better than anyone else. In the middle of this is a familiar face who’s seen this monster before, trying her best to mediate the push and pull between “fixing a patient” and empathy. For most of the film, the doctors provide strict regimens and dole out harsh punishments for disobedience, utilizing methods aimed at correcting symptoms and restoring the patient’s function in society rather than holistically helping these children, who desperately need someone to listen to them. It’s probably not a perfect representation of mental health institutions, not even for 1987, but it strikes a chord.
Metaphors are obviously integral to any art form, but horror films have always excelled with this device, channeling our deepest fears and turning the metaphysical darkness into something we can grab, or at least something that grabs us. Freddy Krueger is one of the most unique movie villains because of how mercurial he is, taking different forms depending on the victim. In the third film alone, he uses finger syringes, a television, and a demonic wheelchair to destroy his victims. But the camp elements hold water beneath the absurdity, calling forth the children’s insecurities and testing their mental fortitude. In this way, Freddy and his demonic forms become a portrait of mental illness. Not a vague feeling of malaise, a sudden weight on your chest, or a dull ring bouncing through your skull, but a creature with knives for hands that wants to tear you apart.
Externalizing suicidal tendencies has a deeper effect than amplifying an infamous villain. By placing the children squarely opposed to the undeniable evil that is Freddy, they become the good, the heroes of the story. They earn the title of warriors. A title that is rarely used for those embattled in the trenches of depression, but one that is certainly deserved, even more so than “victim” or any of those other buzzwords that populate think pieces about the mental health crisis we’re having right now. Warriors are fighters: strong, beautiful, and willing to do anything they can to stay alive, even when the sky is falling and the world has gone dark.
It has become increasingly common in my generation to hear about friends who aren’t here anymore. When I watched some of those kids fall to Freddy, I felt it. I cried for them. They were warriors, and they died fighting as hard as they could until they just couldn’t anymore. I know plenty of warriors, people who carry the weight of a million worlds on their backs every day, people much stronger than I could ever imagine. And it makes me happy to see a group of people, people who are all hurting, find their superpowers in their dreams and fight together against the darkness. A strength in numbers, in damage, and in pure belief that these wondrous dreams will someday become reality. A warrior’s strength.
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