A Nightmare on Elm Street 5: The Dream Child (1989)

Until last night, I had never seen A Nightmare on Elm Street 5: The Dream Child.

I don't know how I could have gone this long without watching it. I'm a ravenous fan of franchise slashers. Friday the 13th is basically scripture to me, and I've watched each of the films dozens of times. Halloween marks another favorite, and I've viewed all the movies, including the extended editions and alternative cuts, on multiple occasions. I even screen the Rob Zombie versions with some frequency. I love Jason Voorhees and Michael Myers, and my feelings are much the same for Freddy Krueger. I've seen most of the Nightmare films several times. But for some reason, The Dream Child slipped through the cracks.

I can only hypothesize why things turned out the way they did. While I'm very fond of what Robert Englund brings to the Freddy experience, I found Krueger's increasingly quipster-ish behavior in the later films somewhat grating. In parts three through six, Freddy seems more like an insult comic than a horror icon. (By Freddy's Dead, he's an outright cartoon character.) And while I've generally enjoyed the imagery in the Nightmare films, I've often found the metaphysics perplexing. I know we're dealing in dreams here, but in almost every Elm Street movie, there's some point where Freddy crosses into reality, and I'm like, "wait, what?" (Part 2 is the most egregious in this regard.) The dream sequences make for the most creative and horrifying elements of the series, but by the time the plot of any given Elm Street movie resolves itself, it usually does so at the expense of coherence, I find.

But with that said, I've bracketed more serious issues in watching the later Friday the 13th and Halloween films. All told, the lacuna in my Elm Street viewing may simply be due to the fact that it's hard to find a good box set for the series. For years, the 8-film DVD box set has hovered around the same price as the 7-disc Blu-Ray collection. And while that Blu-Ray collection spent years on my Amazon wish list, it was sparse in nature (2 movies per disc and no Freddy vs. Jason) and generally overpriced. 

Finally, last week, Jeff Bezos dropped the price markedly, so I picked up the Blu-Ray box set. My first order of business was to watch The Dream Child.

This put me at a unique juncture. For all the other Friday the 13th, Halloween, and Elm Street films, my first viewing happened between the ages of 12 and 21, often on VHS. So now, at age 40, I had a chance to delve back into my youth, screening a franchise horror film for the first time. Perhaps the promise, wonder, and mystery of inserting a rental into the VCR would be recreated. Certainly, the anticipation was palpable as I pressed play on The Dream Child.

As it turns out, I was disappointed, but only mildly so. Regardless, a lot of my expectations were fulfilled. You see, a big part of renting horror movies in my youth was building up my preconceptions and then being moderately disappointed. Horror films, after all, rarely live up the cover art and screenshots on the back of their case. In this sense, The Dream Child helped me relive my youth.

What was the issue with A Nightmare on Elm Street 5? Well, once again, overly complex metaphysics bogged down a Freddy picture, and in the worst way. The Dream Child was a goulash of bizarre imagery and mythologies, overcooked in some places and undercooked in others. The writers gave every indication that they were making up the rules as they went along, pulling a means for defeating Freddy out of their asses at the very end. This is somewhat par for the course in Nightmare films, but in this case the end contrivance involved the combined efforts of the pregnant lead character Alice, the dream-manifestation of her future son at age five, and Freddy's deceased-nun mother, all in the dream world. There may have been other elements I've forgotten. There were simply too many variables for my simplistic, movie-reviewer mind to keep up with.

But the film has its strengths, too. Kudos go to the director and screenwriter for having Alice do what she wants with her baby in the latter third of the Reagan-Bush era. She spurns others' attempts to urge her toward abortion and adoption. Further to that, a lot of the nightmarish birth-canal imagery deserves some praise, as it takes viewers right into the Fallopian tubes, though the filmmakers go to the well a little too often. I also detected some effective Lynchian influence in the depictions of the cretinous infant Freddy, which is reminiscent of the baby in Eraserhead. The set-piece deaths generally deliver, as one expects from Elm Street films. The car-accident kill scene that takes out the father of Alice's baby is fantastic, as skeins of wires on a Knight Rider-esque talking motor bike piloted by a robotic Freddy entrap the victim in his dream, leading to a real-life car crash. Additionally, the kill scene where the comic-book fan gets eviscerated by "Super Freddy," a jacked super-villain Krueger in a cape, is particularly memorable. In these scenes, I felt some of that sense of wonder and awe I experienced as a teen (though I wouldn't have been able to designate filmic imagery as "Lynchian" at that age).

But the feeling that won out was disappointment. And this is okay. Because for me, I think disappointment provides its own brand of inspiration, and this is an important component of my creative process. For every horror movie I rented or bought or viewed on Tubi that didn't deliver on the promise of its box art and/or blurb, I felt the urge to sit down and write something that did meet my expectations. So maybe there's a nightmarish birth sequence in my literary future.