The People Under the Stairs | Blu-ray Review

Throughout a very prolific and sometimes uneven career as an incredibly notable genre filmmaker, Wes Craven’s aesthetic often grapples with issues of revenge and adolescence, having given birth to the iconic The Nightmare on Elm Street and Scream franchises, both series exploring notions of metatextual reinvention. Cutting his teeth with grindhouse horror titles that have since been re-made, many of his more obscure offerings have languished in the critical realm of inconsequential desolation. But it’s his 1991 offering The People Under the Stairs which is worthy of reappraisal, arguably the filmmaker’s best and most bizarre work. Campy, hysterical, creepy, and replete with a socially conscious message, it’s an early 90s cult classic that retains its power to delight and weird out.

Poindexter, aka Fool (Brandon Quintin Adams) as his older tarot card toting sister Ruby (Kelly Jo Minter) calls him, has just learned they’re behind on rent three days. According to their draconian landlords, this means they owe triple rent or face eviction by midnight the next night. Fool’s mom is sickly and in bed, and neither he or Ruby can afford to take her to the hospital. As Ruby’s latest beau Leroy (Ving Rhames) informs them, the landlords own all the apartment complexes in the area, and Fool’s is the last family in that building. They plan on tearing them down to build nice, new condominiums over the ghetto. Leroy has heard the local rumors about the landlords owning a bunch of rare gold coins, so he offers to break into their home and steal the money to avoid eviction for Ruby and Fool. Except, the landlords are a very, very strange couple (Wendy Robie; Everett McGill), and Fool soon discovers some terrifyingly strange secrets inside their fortress of a home.

The People Under the Stairs resembles a couple other strange titles of the period dealing with disturbed families holed up in fantastical fortifications, like Joe Dante’s The ‘Burbs (1989) and Dan Aykroyd’s Nothing But Trouble (1991). Except, Craven’s film, though sometimes a black comedy, is clearly a horror film, intent on unnerving and disturbing. Ludicrous and hysterical, it’s one of Craven’s few examples where he nestles into a deliberate tone with aggressive fervor—and stays there. Child actor Brandon Quintin Adams, who notably appears in the Michael Jackson video ‘Moonwalker” (1988), is a likeable and unconventional lead in Craven’s genre picture which potentially serves as a metaphor for the classist horrors of gentrification.

Its white villains are comparable to the monarchial figures of classic European dynasties, incestuous tyrants casting the neglected plebeians into squalor as they needlessly horde riches in the stagnant bowels of their kingdom. And oh, what villains these are! The People Under the Stairs owes nearly all of its grotesque, kooky energy to the maddeningly entertaining performances of Wendy Robie and Everett McGill (Silver Bullitt), who played an equally bizarre married couple in David Lynch’s “Twin Peaks” that same year. Robie is an exceptionally strange presence here, donning a Joan Crawford Mommie Dearest persona by way of Amanda Plummer.

Like those mutants in arrested development from the literal fallout of 1950s American culture in The Hills Have Eyes, their warped sense of white, conservative American values lends the film a lethal subtext not always evident in Craven’s more popular works. Their delectable reaction to all foes and/or obstacles is the epithet, “may they burn in hell,” uttered with vehemence both laughable and utterly uncomfortable.

Ving Rhames also makes a notable appearance early on in the film, and Craven seems to craft the film around a series of inverses. The ‘thugs’ and monsters in the walls are actually the good guys. As A.J. Langer’s Alice (Escape From L.A.) informs us, “sometimes the only way out is in,” which nicely dovetails with the film’s theme of facing fears and standing up to injustice rather than running away (further reinforced by the track “Do the Right Thing” from Redhead Kingpin and The F.B.I. over the closing credits).

Disc Review:

This high definition widescreen transfer, presented in 1.85:1 is an attractive presentation of the cult classic. Scream Factory seems to have put considerable effort in the re-mastering, including with the DTS audio and optional English subtitles that are mostly correct. Best of all, Scream Factory includes a handful of excellent extra features, including optional audio commentary from several cast members.

House Mother:
This twenty minute segment features actress Wendy Robie interviewed for this Blu-ray release. Robie talks of her experience in classical theater and how she became involved with the Wes Craven project and being inspired by Anthony Hopkins in The Silence of the Lambs during her audition.

What Lies Beneath:
This fifteen minute features examines the special effects process on the film. Actual behind-the-scene footage from Craven at the time of filming, as well new interviews with the make-up effects creators Robert Kurtzman, Greg Nictotero, and Howard Berger.

House of Horrors:
DoP Sandi Sissel is featured in this sixteen minute feature speaking about her collaboration with Craven in a fascinating exploration of how they filmed certain sequences.

Setting the Score:
Composer Don Peake speaks in this ten minute interviews about his score foe The People Under the Stairs.

Behind-the-Scenes Footage:
A brief six minute segment features some behind-the-scenes footage showing how they filmed Rhames’ corpse in the basement.

Vintage Making Of Featuerette:
A three minute feature is a video compilation of segments from the film.

Original Storyboards/Still Gallery:
A montage of storyboards and original stills set to ambient music is also included for your enjoyment.

Final Thoughts:

If you haven’t had the opportunity or it’s been a while since you’ve last seen it, check out this lovingly re-mastered transfer of The People Under the Stairs, Wes Craven’s most engaging, peculiar, and memorable film, as well as for a performance from Wendy Robie as one of the great cinematic maniacal mothers.

Film Review: ★★★★/☆☆☆☆☆
Disc Review: ★★★★/☆☆☆☆☆