#ripwes

I wrote this one year ago...the day after Wes Craven died.

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Last night I saw those words on Facebook as I absent-mindedly scrolled the feed while watching my beloved Chicago Cubs on ESPN. I innocently clicked on the pic to see where exactly Wes was going, one eye on the TV screen as I did.

Then I saw the entire article and my heart sank. The room slowly started spinning as I dropped my phone on the footrest in front of me and put my hands to my forehead. Breaths came in shallow gasps. "No," was all I was able to muster aloud.

My wife turned to me, obvious concern on her beautiful face: "What's wrong?"

I struggled to find words. They didn't come. All I could do was form tears as I blankly stumbled over to my work desk and sat down. My spouse followed, gently trying to coax something out of me. But I couldn't speak. I just kept shaking my head as the tears welled up in my eyes.

Within seconds, I was surfing every news website I could think of to see if I could somehow disprove the headline I'd just read. Surely, in this age of rampant Internet hoaxes, this was just another cruel prank. I hit one website after another, longing to find one that would dispel this awful, heartbreaking news. But they wouldn't.

CNN. Google. Variety. The Hollywood Reporter. They all compounded the pain.

It couldn't be. I still refused to believe the news. I navigated to the official Wes Craven Instagram and Twitter accounts and my worst fears were confirmed: Wesley Earl Craven, born August 2nd, 1939...died August 30th, 2015.

I shook quietly in my chair and began sobbing heavily as my wife took me in her arms and did what she could to give me what little solace she could provide. My mind was being bombarded with hundreds of images, moments, and memories. My soul was wracked by as intense an inner pain as I can ever remember.

This wasn't possible. It's not happening.

And yet...it is. It did.

What can possibly be said about the brilliant Wes Craven that hasn’t already been said? What can I add to the pantheon of written praise that would be of value?

I spent the later part of last night trying to figure out the best way to approach this task. This morning it dawned on me: so many others are offering extremely personal remembrances of Wes: now it’s your turn. Believe me, the last thing I want is to sound like it's all about me. But after thinking about it for some time, I realized there’s no way to offer something new without telling my story of Wes. Also, it's impossible to pay tribute to those you admire, respect, and love without talking about their overwhelming effect on your life. So forgive me if I sound a little narcissistic- it truly is the least of my intentions.

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To properly explain just how devastating this news was, let me provide a little background. I was introduced to the genius of Wes Craven at a very young age: I watched the original A Nightmare on Elm Street at age 11 and it changed my life forever. I immediately sought to introduce it to my two cousins, Nathan and Joe, who were like brothers to me.

That’s always been my M.O. If I see a film I fall in love with, I have to share it with those I love and adore, because I want them to experience the joy of viewing what I consider to be good or even great filmmaking. I want them to understand what I love and why I love it.

So I took the VHS of that groundbreaking nightmare to the home of Nathan and Joe. We must’ve watched that film at least twenty times in one summer, fascinated by the unique blend of horror, fantasy, and even humor. The film was never overtly funny, but it was most definitely imbued with Wes’ trademark style of humor in certain scenes. Freddy Krueger and the horrors of Elm Street became an integral part of who we were, what we loved, and how we spent our time. It wasn’t long before the three of us were sporting our own masks, gloves and t-shirts and our walls and bookshelves were adorned with posters, magazines, and collectibles related to the franchise. We became the "Elm Street Buddies”.

Yes, Wes and his creations became a huge part of the lives of my cousins…and me. In high school, I began crafting a now-abandoned tome titled “Freddy and Me” in which I wrote all about what the character of Fred Krueger, Wes Craven, and the franchise meant to me and fans like me. I dreamed of creating or helping to create the greatest-ever written accolade to the horror series and director I was so passionate about.

I never gave up on that dream because that love was so intense.

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And that love never waned. It only grew stronger over the years. On October 14th, 1994, I rushed out to the very first screening of Wes Craven’s New Nightmare. Sadly, I was one of only two people in the theater. But when the film ended, even though I couldn’t quite wrap my brain around some of the concepts at work in and intelligence within the film, I knew I had witnessed something very special. A few viewings later and I completely understood: this film was nothing short of a masterpiece: a reflection on a legend by a legend. A musing on an evolution of horror and its affect on our society that folded back upon itself to create a new and unexpected terror.

Two years later, Craven was at it again, returning to the slasher genre with a new and highly anticipated film. I still remember taking Nathan and Joe to see Scream on that opening day in December of 1996. The three of us sat alone in the massive theater, terrified out of our minds as we viewed one of the most brutally shocking movie openings ever filmed. Once that horrifying prologue was finished, all three of us turned our heads simultaneously to make sure we were still alone in the theater and that no one was waiting behind us to pick us off in the manner we’d just witnessed.

The power of Wes Craven: we couldn’t get enough because we enjoyed that feeling of being terrified together and because of the company we kept while seeing Wes’ films. His movies and identity became inextricably linked with my “brothers” and me.

Of course, like many others my age, I became semi-obsessed with Scream- certainly not to the level of fandom that my fanaticism about Krueger and Nightmare reached, but close. I think I saw Scream six times in theaters (it helped that I worked AT a movie theater). Again, I was captivated by this movie that was at once so horrific and yet so hilarious. How had Wes done it yet again? In anticipation of the first sequel, I bought the Ghostface mask, asked my mother to fabricate a Father Death costume for me, posed with my new born niece in the outfit during Halloween, and made a “Countdown to Scream 2” calendar for the wall of my apartment.

In November of 1997, I began using e-mail. One night while sitting in the computer lab, I decided to look up Wes Craven. Much to my surprise, his email address was available to the public. Thrilled with my discovery, I took a shot: I might as well try to contact the man, right? I feverishly composed an e-mail in which I informed him how excited I was that he and the primary cast and crew members of the original Scream were all returning for the sequel. I mentioned how all good sequels and film series always strive to maintain creative continuity and how some of the best sequels ever made were films that employed this approach: Aliens,The Godfather Part II, Terminator 2, and The Empire Strikes Back being prime examples.

 Within hours, I received a response from the Master of Terror himself. I couldn’t believe it: Wes Craven had written back to me! He generously thanked me for my support and went on to say, “I was amused by your mentioning of the successful sequels that were done by originators. There's an early scene in Scream2 that talks about that very thing, and many of the films you cited are mentioned.” He thanked me again before bidding adieu in his signature style: “Best regards...Wes”

I was absolutely blown away. Not only did he take the time to write back but also he was incredibly gracious and so absolutely kind. I rode an emotional high for days and even adopted his trademark sign-off in my own communications (and I still use to this very day).

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Years later, living in Los Angeles, Craven and his art obviously continued to be a great influence on me (and my journey as an aspiring artist); like I said, the love only grew stronger over the years. In February of 2009, my wife informed me that Wes would be doing an in-person, running commentary for his original Nightmare at the Aero Theater in Santa Monica: “Do you want to go?”

I hesitated for about one-eighth of a second. I’d never seen Wes in person before, never met him. This might be my only chance to do so, and perhaps thank him for everything he’d done, in the process.

“Hell yes,” I responded.

March 29th: we sat in the second row of the Aero Theater, my eyes fixated on one of my lifelong heroes as he provided insight to one of his masterpieces. I glanced at the actual movie probably only about a dozen times. The rest of the time I was staring through the darkness at Wes, a smile on my face that probably cast an annoying light on our area of the audience.

After the film, I turned into “one of those guys”: I grabbed my silver sharpie and Nightmare DVD case and ran over to Wes. I was the first one there and I gently pushed it towards him, “Mr. Craven…I just wanted to say thank you and ask if you’d please kindly sign my DVD.” He smiled affably as he glanced at the growing crowd, then took my marker and case and scrawled his signature in the center. As I watched, all I managed was another offering of appreciation. “Thank you. For everything.” He smiled kindly at me before moving on to the next person.

Finally, I’d met Wes Craven and thanked him for what he and his works meant to my life and me. Okay, so I hadn’t been nearly as eloquent as I’d hoped or imagined, but I still got the job done. And even though he had no idea who I was, he heard it from me. So he knew.

Little did I know…like a good sequel, I’d get to come back and do it again.

And again.

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Cut to 2010: through a series of fortunate events, I found myself being asked by Daniel Farrands to come aboard the crew of Never Sleep Again: The Elm Street Legacy. It was a minor role in the production but I didn’t care: as an enduring Nightmare fan, I was just thrilled to be a part of what I was certain would be the ultimate filmed love letter to the series. As the days, weeks, and months passed, my responsibilities on the film increased exponentially and before long, Dan and Thommy Hutson offered me the role of co-producer. I couldn’t have been more thrilled and flattered to accept the proposal.

And on January 19th, I found myself in the office of the master himself: Wes Craven. I did my part while listening, mesmerized, as Wes spoke for hours, entertaining us with countless amazing stories. When the interview was over, at my request, Thommy generously asked Wes if he could spare another moment to take a photo with me. Wes smiled, as I stood there literally quaking. He greeted me with a smile, handshake and “Pleasure to meet you, Lito”, then threw his arm around me, saying, “Let’s do this” as he did. The distinction of being a part of the crew of the documentary was an amazing gift, but to have this encounter and photograph on top of that? Forgive the pun but…it was a dream come true.

At Comic-Con 2010, months after the successful release of the documentary, Dan informed the production team that we’d be re-teaming to document another of Wes’ classics: Scream. I was nearly speechless: I would once again be a part of the team that would exalt Wes and one of his best works in our documentary, Scream: The Inside Story. In early November 2010, Wes came to the studio that we were working out of in Burbank to be interviewed by our team.This time, I was asked by Dan and Thommy to greet Wes, ask him to sign some items for the team, and then take him to meet them.

I told myself: during those precious few minutes alone with Wes, do your job, maintain respect and professional distance, but if it feels “right”…express your admiration and gratitude for the man and his works. I welcomed him meekly and reintroduced myself and, to my great delight, Wes greeted me as if I was a longtime friend: he smiled, shook my hand, asked me how I was doing. We chatted briefly before I requested that he sign our items. As he obliged and I assisted, I allowed myself to let a small part of my inner fanboy out and expressed my gratefulness for all Wes was and everything he created. He smiled humbly, hugged (!) me, and then asked if I had something personal I’d like him to sign. Of course, I had printed out and brought with me the picture I took with him during the first interview. Wes took one look at the picture, smiled sincerely and remarked, “Great picture," then signed it: “Lito – may all your screams be in the movies! Wes Craven." I did my best to compose myself before thanking him for signing all our items and escorting him to Dan and Thommy.

That was the kind of man Wes Craven was: congenial beyond expectation, generous with time, spirit, and warmth. He made you feel like the most special person in the room and was so truly grateful for the praise you showered on him. Needless to say, that meeting continues as my favorite memory of my encounters with Wes Craven. It was also my last.

But the opportunity to bestow another tribute to his amazing cinematic career would present itself at least twice more.

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In January of 2012, my good friend, Thommy Hutson, inquired: would I be interested in helping him craft the definitive written homage to Wes’ original Nightmare? I laughed, “Where and when?! I’m there.” I began that journey as research supervisor. All was going according to plan and I was once again living another dream: helping craft the book I fantasized about as a child- even being promoted to editor along the way.

But in March 2014, tragedy struck. One of my original “Elm Street Buddies”, my dear cousin, Nathan, died tragically on the 7th of that month. My world was turned completely upside-down. I still had months of work ahead of me on the book but I struggled to face those tasks let alone the days in front of me. How could I work on a project- especially one related to Elm Street –knowing that my cousin- a brother -was dead and gone for all time?

Naturally, time helped with my grief and I carried on until the finish line, using the idea of once again honoring Wes as motivation to complete my duties. The result of our tireless efforts was a volume that would last for all time as perhaps the utmost written work on Wes’ eternal masterwork. Even more meaningful to me was the fact that Thommy had agreed that my cousin’s name should appear in the back of the book in the special thanks section. Nathan would forever be recognized in a way that I knew he would approve of: in association with the director, film, and character that helped us bond as young boys.

Earlier this year, I discovered that Nathan Thomas Milliner was directing a short film prequel to Nightmare, titled The Confession of Fred Krueger. This would be his way of publicly affirming, on film, his love for the series, character, and Wes. Without hesitating, I contacted Nathan and informed him that I wanted to score the movie. Luckily, he agreed it was a perfect match. So I spent the next few months crafting an approach that I thought would be the best way to pay homage to Wes, Charles Bernstein, Robert Englund, Freddy himself, and the trailblazing first film in the series. I put a lot of my heart, soul, and love into the score and all the while I wasn’t just trying to revere Wes, I was also thinking of my cousin, Nathan. The end result is what I consider to be my finest score yet and one that displays all of the passion, love, and devotion I have always felt towards this series: something I think fans everywhere will and can identify with.

This past weekend was an especially rewarding (I processed the order for CD’s of my Confession score and had planned on mailing one to Wes himself once they arrived) but also extremely difficult one for me personally.

My cousin Nathan would’ve turned 34 on Saturday, so that day was a challenging one to face. But I did so with every ounce of pride, love, and dignity that I could summon. My wife and I were treating ourselves to watching the Cubs game as a bit of a celebration last night…

And, well…you know the story from there.

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And so here I sit, trying to cope with this idea that next year, on December 20th, I’ll be faced with the reality of celebrating the 20th anniversary of Scream in a world bereft of Nathan…and now Wes. We all will.

How do I cope? How do any of us who adored this man and his works manage our anguish?

Wes was the very definition of a legend. An icon. A daring filmmaker who pushed boundaries and tested our limits in ways that strengthened us. He was a man whose artistic works lifted humanity- most especially women -and showed us that we have always had the power inside of us to overcome even our worst nightmares.

Wes was a visionary prophet whose works were, in many ways, very much ahead of their time. Think of the reception his script for Nightmare got in the early eighties. No one “got it” or wanted to make it until Bob Shaye came around, and once the rest of Hollywood caught up, it was their loss and New Line’s gain. Or muse on the reception of Craven’s meta masterpiece, Wes Craven’s New Nightmare; two years before Scream, Wes crafted a script that brilliantly held a mirror up to itself and allowed us to wink at the horror of what was going on while also being completely aware of the fact that it was the proverbial snake eating its own tail.

Wes was a renaissance man who consistently found ways to reinvent his own career and image while helping forever change the very landscape of the genre with his films. Nightmare changed horror in the eighties in ways no one could’ve foreseen,and Scream did the same in the nineties. And let’s not forget that many of his other films also shook the boat and world upon release even though they didn’t have the same immediate impact: The Hills Have Eyes, New Nightmare, The Serpent and the Rainbow, just to name a few. All of these films showed us a director whose horror and art was constantly in motion, evolving, and holding a new mirror of sorts up to the world. And, again, Nightmare and Scream both changed the game completely. How many filmmakers can say they’ve done that once let alone twice?

So I ask again: how do any of us who adored this man and his works manage our anguish?

We do so by doing what Wes would’ve wanted us to do and the same way I dealt with the loss of Nathan. By doing what he was always telling us was the healthiest thing to do…

We face the monster inside of us known as grief. We confront it head on. We wrestle that bleak despair- that empty hollow void that eats at us -by staring it down, letting it have its moment while also understanding that it does not control us. We are stronger. We have the power.

Wes knew that society needed horror films and dark arts in order to evolve: in order to better deal with the atrocities of our life and world. He knew that horror helped humanity deal with the pain, sorrow, grief, and darkness inside each and every one of us. His distinctive combination of horror and humor showed us that we could laugh in the face of adversity while also dealing with the dread and fear this world creates.

It's time to take that lesson learned from The Master and apply it. We were given the gift of this man’s virtuosity and soul and now he is no longer with us. But he has left behind so many works with which to celebrate and honor his life and calling: let us not waste that opportunity. So I urge you…take whatever memory you have of Wes and how he fits into your world, embrace that remembrance, and commemorate his life and art. Put in your favorite film, let the tears flow, and meet that monster face to face. Wes would be proud to have been recollected in such a manner and to know that his very career will aid us through the dark nights (and days) ahead.

Watch. Admire. Laugh. Scream. I honestly feel Wes wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

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And so I end this by addressing Wes directly…

Wes, your death deeply stunned and saddened me. You were a lifelong hero and thankfully, an acquaintance. You were a humble, quiet, loving gentleman; you seemed to always have a kind word for those who spoke with you. You were a Master of Terror, an imaginative and sometimes prophetic filmmaker, and one of the greatest influences on the genre I love as well as my own life. You were so talented, in fact, that I could literally feel your gifts just by standing in your presence. You were honestly that good.

It was nothing short of a great privilege and joy to play even a small part in four works that celebrated your life and legacy. The fact that two of these endeavors lead to quiet moments alone with you was just icing on the cake and almost too much to fathom at the time of their occurrence. Now, more than ever, I treasure those memories and realize how absolutely lucky I was to be given those opportunities. For that I am eternally grateful.

You gave so much to my life, Wes...I can only hope that the projects I participated in to honor you and your work and the little time I spent with you effectively communicated just how damned much you and your creations meant not just to me but to fans and aspiring filmmakers everywhere. Your talent, genius, and creations have always inspired us and that will never change.

My deepest condolences go to your family, friends, and those who knew you best. Our thoughts are with those people as well as with your countless fans around the world. As you know, Wes, I am one of those fans; and at this time it's difficult to wrap my brain around the fact that you are gone. I look around my home and see so many testaments to your gift as a filmmaker and artist. You touched all our lives in so many ways...it's only fitting that during this time of pain and sorrow we can look to what you left behind for some measure of solace. We can turn to that mix of laughter and shock that you always offered to aid us in dealing with life during this poignant moment.

On a final note so befitting of your works and message, Wes: I find it so tragically appropriate that you left us on the same night that my team’s pitching ace threw a no-hitter, because in a span of mere hours, I experienced true apexes of tragedy and triumph. The most perfect summation of and metaphor for life. And perhaps no one knew that better than you.

Rest in peace, good sir: may angels guide you on your journey. I cherish the fact that I could tell you in person what I'm about to say again. What I'll say repeatedly for the rest of my life: thank you, Wes.

You spent a good portion of your life creating nightmares...may you spend the rest of eternity in the beautiful dream.

“Goodbye, Wes.” And in your words…