Stephen King’s short story “The Mangler” really shouldn’t work as well as it does. The fifth tale in his first collection, Night Shift, follows an industrial laundry press that somehow becomes possessed by a demon and begins flattening laundry workers like king-sized sheets. First published in a 1972 issue of Cavalier, the story contains the kind of grisly gore and fast scares that would keep readers turning the pages even when running alongside ads for edible panties and sex hotlines. With a gory premise and loose occult references, “The Mangler” may not be the most high-brow story King has ever published, but it is 19 pages of sheer horror perfection. Part urban legend, part splatterpunk lite, the story reads like a procedural cop drama from hell as Detective John Hunton (Ted Levine in the film) tries to stop a series of grisly deaths at the hands (er… gears) of a sinister machine. Tobe Hooper’s adaptation of this gnarly story is its own curious beast. Despite boasting an impressive roster of horror icons, the strange film has been almost completely forgotten by genre fans and Constant Readers alike. Now nearly three decades old, perhaps it’s time to rev up the engines and see if The Mangler’s bite has grown stronger over the years or evaporated in a cloud of colorfully lit steam.
The ‘90s were a tricky time for Stephen King. The prolific author was nearing the peak of his experimental phase with a string of personal novels centering female characters interspersed with fascinating installments of his decade-spanning magnum opus The Dark Tower series. Cinematic entries proved to be a similarly mixed bag. Along with Oscar nominated adaptations of character-driven pieces like Misery and The Shawshank Redemption, the decade also saw more schlocky oddities like The Lawnmower Man, the criminally undervalued Needful Things, and Graveyard Shift, which still holds a rare 0% score on Rotten Tomatoes. Horror itself was caught in an uneasy transition between the slasher boom of the 1980s and the teen horror craze that would dominate the century’s final years. The Mangler feels like the last of a dying breed. The narrative unfolds with kitschy B movie flare through a modern lens that catches every flaw. Despite this juxtaposition, the film itself is more fun than it should be, clinging to “so bad it’s good” status by the skin of its teeth.
Working in the film’s favor is an impressive pedigree of genre titans. In addition to King and Hooper, the film stars two iconic villains squaring off in the steamy laundry. Levine leads the cast as Detective Hunton, a jaded cop still mourning the death of his wife. Four years after his effective turn as Jame Gumb in the Oscar darling The Silence of the Lambs, Levine was no doubt hoping this role as the film’s protagonist would keep the villainous typecasting at bay. Though Hunton is the ostensible hero, The Mangler is fronted by horror icon Robert Englund, fresh off of a dual role in New Nightmare, appearing both as himself and the knife-fingered boogeyman that made him famous. Combine the onscreen talent with the Master of Horror and the director of The Texas Chain Saw Massacre and you’ve got the recipe for a nearly flawless film; on paper, that is.
Playing Monday morning quarterback with a horror movie rarely works out well for anyone. Still, it’s tempting to think about what might have been. Aside from a clunky script that feels too big for the mostly unknown supporting cast, the film’s most egregious sin lies in misuse of its two stars. Levine feels all wrong for the relatively sober role. He lumbers through the sets desperate to add personality to his bland character and the script practically bursts at the seams trying to contain his outsized persona. This frustration leads to frequent overacting and Levine chews through scenery like the Mangler chews up women. Joining him in this bizarre investigation is paranormal expert Mark Jackson (Daniel Matmor), an erudite academic convinced the machine is haunted by more than just faulty wiring. As Huntley’s brother-in-law, he joins the investigation out of sheer curiosity. Levine drags him through the scenes and the two men develop a slapstick chemistry that often undercuts the story’s grisly horror.
If Levine chews scenery, Englund bites it off in T-Rex sized chunks and swallows it whole. As the sinister Mr. Gartley, he’s once again buried under heavy makeup and wears gleaming metal braces on his legs for reasons that are never explained. Englund seems to be having a ball, twisting his metaphorical mustache as a cartoonishly evil villain. When victims fall into the Mangler, he shouts his approval while dancing with joy on a balcony in the dismal factory. This character, an addition to King’s text, is arguably the film’s biggest misfire and an unnecessary attempt to birth another horror icon. After eleven years, seven films, and a TV show, Englund had already created one of the most recognizable characters in cinematic history; a household name for horror fans and general audiences alike. Perhaps a better use of the charming actor’s talents would be in the lead role as a world-weary investigator. With Englund as the film’s hero, Levine would be a fascinating Mark Jackson and casting the brash actor as an occult specialist would allow Hooper to play up the sinister sparkle that constantly dances in Levine’s icy blue eyes.
But that’s not the film we have, and Hooper’s vision is far from a dud. The Mangler is packed with spooky imagery and the legendary director makes a meal out of every moment. Primary colors and looming shadows abound and every set piece is calibrated for maximum horror from the quaint cemetery Hunton passes on his drive to the laundry to Jackson’s magically lit backyard garden and Gartley’s baroque office filled with taxidermy and a bathroom so cavernous it contains a clawfoot tub. Never mind that this ornate suite of rooms exists on the top floor of an industrial laundry plant. The tub’s placement makes about as much sense as the shelf full of creepy dolls in Gartley’s house. The Blue Ribbon’s factory floor is filled with so much steam that it could moonlight as a bathhouse and Jackson’s own study is bursting with occult oddities and ancient tomes. The Mangler itself is gothic perfection, with giant gears, gnashing bars, and a puckered iron body that looks like scaly skin. Emblazoned on its face is the brand Hadley Watson 6, another fun bit of evil numerology.
The film feels like the bastard child of its two legendary creators. Though King’s involvement ended with the source material, the essence of his early fiction can be felt in every scene. Set in a quaint Maine town, goofy locals fill out the background fretting over lost children and fumbling with an ancient icebox that later turns out to be haunted. Other references include a sinister father sacrificing his daughter to a demonic machine (Christine), a climactic showdown in the sewers (It), and the ominous amputation of a finger indicating enrollment in a devious club (“Quitters, Inc.”). Hooper’s DNA also abounds with dimly lit primary colors, sets cluttered with obscure objects of death, and a tracking shot in which the Blue Ribbon Laundry looms over a protagonist as he walks into the lion’s den.
The Mangler may be most successful when viewed as a horrific fairy tale. Instead of a mystifying factory overlord, Gartley becomes a nefarious Rumplestiltskin. The Mangler becomes a fire-breathing dragon, and Lin Sue (Lisa Morris) an evil stepmother in the making. Jeremy Crutchley’s aptly named J.J.J. Pictureman (he takes pictures) serves as a harbinger or prophet, appearing whenever Hunton needs a reminder of his life’s true purpose. Jackson becomes a wizard pouring over deep stacks of occult reference books and Hunton a twisted version of the dashing prince trying in vain to save a damsel in distress. When viewed in these stark terms, the film becomes much more enjoyable. We stop trying to make sense of the chaos and let ourselves enjoy the looming shadows and overwrought archetypes.
The Mangler is not exactly a good film. Over-the-top performances and a clunky script make it nearly impossible to take anything in the 126 minute runtime seriously. But it is a fun film. Ted Levine’s overacting leads to unintentional moments of joy like when he takes a sledgehammer and beats the sinister icebox to smithereens. A later scene has him standing on the mouth of the Mangler and shooting into the machine’s jaws hoping to free his trenchcoat with bullet holes. Robert Englund’s character has not aged particularly well, but it is fun to watch him cut loose in what feels like a zero-stakes joy ride. The climactic sequence in which he’s folded into a tiny, screaming square by the Mangler’s steaming panels plays out like the cinematic equivalent of burning your action figures with a sunlit magnifying glass. Other effects are similarly goofy, but after a while the film’s commitment to itself begins to win out, folding us into the insanity like a maniacal machine smoothing out the kinks.
The Mangler is now streaming on SCREAMBOX!
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