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"Oh my... Oh my, my, my, my, my..."

The Texas Chainsaw Massacre may seem like an ordinary slasher flick, but what slasher flicks play at, it does for real. A spectacularly successful remake of the 1974 classic, Marcus Nispel's debut feature induces a feeling of overwhelming, inescapable terror. Nispel begins by letting us know what is in store and then throws us right in with these kids as they try to elude an increasingly shocking evil and grasp the solution to the unraveling mystery. No wisecracks to lighten the mood, no trick editing to obscure the violence, no calm scenes to provide a respite. We are plunged right into the horror. This isn't kid stuff.

What is even more extraordinary is that despite this no-nonsense approach, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre has characters who are well-etched and sympathetic. The screenplay never betrays them; this isn't just a film about a terrible situation, but one about people in a terrible situation, and we are never permitted to forget that. So many horror flicks have us sneering at the protagonists and cheerfully awaiting their dismemberment; here, we fear for them and wish them well, and the eventual gruesomeness is genuinely painful.

The opening scenes, following the chilling John Laroquette narration (Laroquette reprises the role from the original), recall Jeepers Creepers in their deceptive, naturalistic placidity. It is 1973, and five kids -- we assume they're in their late teens or early twenties, though that information is never offered -- are returning from a trip to Mexico in a van. Unbeknownst to Erin (Jessica Biel), the others are transporting a pinata containing two pounds of marijuana. Erin's boyfriend Kemper (Eric Balfour) is apologetic and accomodating, and he is the one to hurl the pinata into a field when things start getting touchy.

Andy (Mike Vogel) seems to be a meathead until he surprises us by volunteering to stay when Kemper mysteriously disappears. Morgan (Jonathan Tucker), the nerdy pothead, isn't nearly so courageous, nagging the group to save themselves by leaving behind those in trouble. Pepper (Erica Leehrsen), a hitchhiker they picked up earlier, switches alliegances in midstream, begging her companions to get in the van and take off after first encouraging them to stay.

Their first sign of trouble is the young girl walking in the middle of the road in a nightgown. Haggard, bloodied, incoherent, and obviously in need of help, she gets in the van whimpering "I want to go home," but soon attacks the driver with screams of "You're going the wrong way!" When her presumed rescuers are confused and unresponsive, she produces a gun and shoots herself in the head, breaking the rear window and splattering blood and brain matter all over the vehicle and its backseat passengers. There is a chillingly authentic moment when Pepper starts screaming, not because of something horrible approaching, but because she belatedly realizes that some of the girl's blood got on her shoulder.

The residents of the cockamamie little town where they stop are emphatically of no help. The creepy storekeeper sends them to an abandoned mill to meet the sheriff, where a little boy with dental problems sends two of them to the house of a legless man who lets them use the phone. The sheriff eventually arrives, but he's played by R. Lee Ermey, which is never a good omen. And then there that guy with the mask and the chainsaw...

The Texas Chainsaw Massacre is the first film since Signs to actually frighten me, make me cower in my seat, fill me with real, no-kidding dread, not simply afraid that Leatherface will jump out from behind that door, but that harm will come to one of the people I've gotten to know. A real effort is made to have these characters transcend mere types -- it is hinted that Erin may be pregnant, and there is talk about Kemper stalling on giving her an engagement ring, all mere chitchat until we see Leatherface pull the ring out of Kemper's pocket.

The film looks spectacular, leagues beyond its $13 million budget. The gore factor is high, but not extreme, all in an effort to keep matters deadly serious rather than have them devolve into the comic chaos of flicks like Freddy vs. Jason. A number of scenes have branded themselves upon my memory -- a chase through hanging bedsheets is a tour de force, as is an extended sequence set in a gargantuan meat freezer. The moment late in the film when I realized that a crucial early scene was repeating itself with a different character is, frankly, the high point of my recent moviegoing experiences.

To borrow a phrase from Ebert, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre calls the bluff of almost every horror movie ever made. This isn't some lark crafted to make you jump out of your seat and then start laughing. You don't dare laugh. This is the real thing.