And trust me, I get it. Out of all the Spielberg movies to chose from — "E.T.," "Raiders of the Lost Ark," "Jaws," "Jurassic Park," "Schindler's List" — I go with a TV movie from 1971. Yes, this is my hipster pick. I might as well be wearing skinny jeans and an Iggy Pop t-shirt, sneering about how I "only like the early, raw stuff."
So let me stipulate: I love Spielberg movies. He was absolutely every bit as much a part of my childhood as anyone else. He's a master. Just check this out if you don't believe me.
I found "Duel" relatively late, when I was fifteen or sixteen. The reason I'm picking it is because, as raw as it is, it perfectly combines everything I love about the Spielberg-to-be with another great obsession of mine — "The Twilight Zone."
We all know "The Twilight Zone" — the intro, the classic theme song. For me, it was a watershed. Aside from Stephen King, "The Twilight Zone" might be the single most influential thing I encountered as a developing writer. It's what helped shape my voice more than anything else.
A great many episodes were either penned by or based on stories by some of my favorite pulp horror and sci-fi authors of the 30s-50s. The later 1980s revival (which, if I'm to be honest, is the first "Twilight Zone" I ever loved) pulled from the works of some of my more contemporary heroes. Robert Bloch, Charles Beaumont, Ray Bradbury, George R.R. Martin, Harlan Ellison — they all did time in the "Twilight Zone" trenches at one point or another.
Towering above them all was Richard Matheson. Known mostly for his novel "I Am Legend" (which we can indirectly thank for the current zombie boom), Matheson also wrote "Born of Man and Woman," which I believe is probably the most perfect horror short story ever written.
He's also famous for being the mind behind some of the most celebrated episodes of "The Twilight Zone," including the classic "Nightmare at 20,000 Feet."
"Duel" was also based on a Matheson short story (of the same name). The concept is deceptively simple — a guy (Dennis Weaver) is driving up a lonely California highway when he encounters a psychotic truck driver, who proceeds to spend the next 80 minutes or so trying to drive him off the road. There's not a whole lot of character development here. The film doesn't need it. We understand everything we need to know about Weaver's character and his dilemna. He's a regular guy just trying to get to a business meeting when he suddenly finds himself trying to escape the fabled Uncanny Valley.
That right there is the power of this story (as was the case with "The Twilight Zone" and most pulp horror from that era). The world is recognizably our own. But then... something happens. And suddenly everything's just a little bit off. And that subtle difference leads to a complete upending of our entire understanding of reality.
The best horror isn't about gore, or even scares as we tend to understand them. It's about encountering the inexplicable.
"Duel" works on a total reptile brain level. We may be dealing with a semi truck here, but really Spielberg and Matheson are tapping into some very basic fears here, stuff that goes back to our caveman days. This is about being alone and stalked by a hungry beast. A beast with no mercy and no remorse.
Like "Jaws" after it, "Duel" is structured like a classic monster movie (in many ways, we can see "Duel" as a trial run for Spielberg's first blockbuster, which would come just a few years later). We never see the driver, so the truck itself — with its rust-caked hide, its snarling teeth-like grill, its black windshield glaring like the cold eyes of an animal — becomes the thing we fear. When it (spoiler alert) "dies" at the end, the sound of crunching metal becomes the scream of a dinosaur.
This is not Spielberg's best film. Not by a long shot. But it's the one that speaks to me on the most fundamental level.
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