Camp Crystal Lake

Summer camp has always been near and dear to me. For those of us who sought out refuge in the haven of sleep-away camp during long summers, we know the fine art of telling a campfire tale, much different from those of the Midnight Society, or that of “Light as a feather, stiff as a board.” I’m referring to that eerie silence in the still of the night, long after stories of the Sandman, or summoning Bloody Mary in your bathroom mirror, a row of sleeping bags in the middle of a clearing in the woods, mountain terrain that stretches for miles, and the sudden crackling of fallen branches that seem to warn you that something, or someone is lurking in the dark.

In 1980, a little movie called Friday The 13th was made. The film plays on the idea of camp as terrifying. Where camp is a refuge and a place for kids to act out without their parents there to tell them what they can do and feel, something evil takes its place. The counselors are simply there for a good summer, not to be anyone’s parent, or even babysitter. Perhaps its a parents’ worst nightmare, a pack of teens who should have your kid’s best interest but only care about hitching a ride into town to pick up a 6-pack of brewskies for the late hours after the campers go to bed.

And once the cabin lights go out, the fun begins in the reck hall, counselors draped over sofas, playing card-games, running off to vacant cabins to make-out. Their carelessness and their lack of authority is what drives the thing lurking in the dark. And in the mountains, at camp, surrounding that placid lake that seems to resist the reflection of the moon, it’s darker than you could ever imagine. At Camp Crystal Lake, years have passed since young camper Jason Voorhees drowned in the lake while camp counselors weren’t paying attention to him.

Inspired by the renowned score in Jaws, the main theme in Friday The 13th was composed of two significant notes — signaling the presence of the killer, just like in Jaws, when we can’t see the shark, but from the intensifying sounds growing closer, know he is perhaps but right there behind the camera lens, and we are seeing everything from his own two eyes. In 13th, you may think the cue for those nightly forest sounds are a simple: Ch-ch-ch-ch. Ah-Ah-Ah-Ah.

But! If you pay closer attention, or, like me, you’ve seen the film a hundred times, then you know it’s truly: Ki-Ki-Ki-Ki. Ma-ma-ma-ma. Referring to “Kill her, Mommy,” the haunting pleas from Jason to his mother to seek revenge on he counselors who failed to save him from death. It’s easy to forget that Jason, the longstanding killer in the Friday the 13th franchise, was not the original killer in the first film. And look at what happened to Drew Barrymore when she didn’t know who the original killer was. (Referencing Scream, of course.)

Unlike my eternal love for Halloween movies, the first Friday The 13th is where I draw my line. Nothing compares to Jason’s mother, Mrs. Voorhees, as the menopausal, bewildered, and crazy-mom-haired killer terrorizing the camp from out in the woods straight to the curtained windows. She’s just an angry, repulsed soccer mom in a beige knitted sweater. And is there anything more terrifying? She’s bitter. She’s pissed. And guess what? The 13th was her only son’s birthday. And I don’t think she’s in the spirit of blowing out his candles, though she will set some fires of her own.

When she’s decapitated in the end by Alice, all hell breaks loose at the bottom of Crystal Lake. Upon sunrise, Alice is seen peacefully sleeping on a raft in the middle of the lake. Police cars are trailing in. A sugary sweet ’70s tune is letting all the birds and the trees know that it’s a new day and we have all survived the night. Suddenly, the corpse of Jason (!!!) emerges from the murky water, thrashing through the surface. And thus, a sequel was born.

In the past 28 years, there have been 11 films within the Friday the 13th franchise. Jason threatened us with his “final chapter” in 1984, but by ’89 he was taking on the city of Manhattan. Then, in 2003 he battled with Freddy Krueger from A Nightmare on Elm Street. But I’ll give this immortal camper and his franchise some credit, it has raked in the most dough of any horror film franchise to-date.

For those interested in tracking down the real Camp Crystal Lake, you can find it in Blairstown, New Jersey at the Boy Scout camp, No-Be-Bo-Sco. I can’t imagine why they didn’t use that name in the movie. It still operates as a camp today.