Review: The Stepfather (1987)

And you thought wicked stepmothers were bad news? They've got nothing on Jerry Blake (Terry O'Quinn), who wants nothing more than the "perfect American family" with his new wife, Susan (Shelley Hack), and her daughter, Stephanie (Jill Schoelen). But Jerry has a way of becoming disillusioned and disappointed with those he's entrusted with his faith in the existence of that "perfect family."

And how does Jerry express his disappointment? Well, with his previous family, back when he called himself Henry Morrison, he took a sharp implement or two and chopped them to bits.

Sounds like a yet another serial killer flick, doesn't it? Well, you're right. That's just what The Stepfather is. But this one is a bit brighter than usual for most of its length, with characters who aren't entirely stupid, like Stephanie, who senses almost immediately that Jerry isn't exactly the all-American, upstanding guy he presents himself as. Then there's Stephanie's counselor (Charles Layner), who trusts her instincts and decides to check the stepdad out--only to get his head bashed in with a 2x4. And then there's the brother of Jerry's previous wife (Stephen Shellen), who just won't accept that the man he knows as Henry seems to have vanished off the face of the planet.

I'm not saying this is a great movie. It isn't. It starts with some rather nasty gore, showing us what's left of Henry's family before he goes off to become Jerry. Ordinarily, that would piss me off to the max. But knowing from the get-go that Henry/Jerry is a homicidal maniac adds substantial creepiness to everything he says or does throughout the movie, so that even a relatively innocent statement, like when Jerry suggests to Stephanie that they "bury the hatchet," makes your skin crawl up the wall.

Unfortunately, Jerry starts saying more and more stuff like that until, by the time we get to the straight-off-the-horror-film-assembly-line ending, in which characters who'd been smart for the whole movie start doing really, really stupid things (like walking into a house where you KNOW a serial killer lives without your gun drawn, or running up to the attic when running down and out of the freakin' house might be a better plan), Jerry's throwing off one-liners like a domestic Freddy Krueger.

And that's not just a shame, but a damn shame. Until that autopilot ending, director Joseph Rubin and screenwriter Donald Westlake give us sharp characters, well played by all involved--especially Schoelen (who comes off like a proto-Winona Ryder) and yes, even Shelley Hack. But it's Terry O'Quinn who steals the whole bloody show here, giving one of the most whacked-out performances in one long fucking time. He manages to bring menace even to the most benign scenes-like hosting a backyard party or building a birdhouse--where you can see that Jerry is perpetually concerned about having his past dug up. And when Jerry rushes down to his basement workshop, where his rage bubbles up to the surface and he starts trembling, throwing things around and mumbling uncontrollably, he presents one of the most genuinely freaky and frightening psychos ever put on screen--all the more creepy because he seems so "normal" most of the time.

If you catch The Stepfather blinking past you while you work the remote on a late Saturday night, stop and watch for Terry O'Quinn--just dial your expectations down a bit so that you're not too badly disappointed by the last ten minutes of what is otherwise a standout little slasher flick.

(NOTE: Like damn near every other hit movie in this surely cursed genre, "The Stepfather" generated a couple of sequels, both reportedly decidedly inferior to the original. But isn't that usually the way?)