The Scariest Scene in Film: a Halloween Hillbilly Rape Whodunnit

For those who haven’t seen this, one of the most famous scenes in cinema history, it goes like this. A group of four civilized men go on a canoe trip in the South, before the river is dammed to make a power-generating lake for the air-conditioned nightmare of Atlanta and its bland suburbs.

There is the alpha male, played by Burt Reynolds. The soft man, played by Ned Beatty. The refined man played by Ronny Cox. And Jon Voight, who has all three characteristics swirling around in his soul.

While banked on the side of the river, Ned and Jon are accosted by a couple of real bumpkins. The toothless, violent, ignorant, barbaric savage of lore. Ned is raped in the most humiliating, dehumanizing, emasculating manner. Squeal like a pig, anyone?

A look of horror, but also of disgust at Ned for so easily buckling to his attackers, passes over Jon’s face. It’s a brilliant moment in the film.

We all know the trope of affable, civilized people going into the back country and encountering primitive savagery.

It’s a tale as old as time, when exile from the community was the worst possible punishment to confer. These days, we can’t begin to imagine how horrific this sentence was. But before the internet and before world travel, being thrown into the wilds of the other, of “savages,” was a punishment worse than death.

Today we know that most rural people are fine folks. Probably more affable and generous than our neighbors in the city. But the fear lives on. We see it reflected in movies like Straw Dogs, Wrong Turn, The Hills Have Eyes, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and probably hundreds more.

The thing is, if you’re someone who likes going into the backwoods, these fears are very real.

There are a lot of crazy folks out there, and when they meander out of the woods into your campsite, it can get a little weird.

I have friends who go back country skiing, way out in no man’s land. They drive down roads nobody ever goes down, the locals eyeing them suspiciously. With their expensive gear and nice FJ, these guys are a target.

Outdoorsmen and women go missing all the time. They’re murdered all the time. I know people personally who have been killed in the woods.

Not to overestimate the risk, of course. It’s not like you should be afraid to go for a hike.

But there are communities in this country, or any country, who don’t like outsiders rolling into town. Who are actually far beyond the pale of civilization. Communities who don’t like the police, settle their own differences, and know how to get away with murder. They don’t watch Netflix and they don’t know there’s a #MeToo movement. And they’re not too terribly excited that the “yuppies” are discovering the hitherto unexplored natural beauty to be found in their neck of the woods.

My father was a detective. And if there was a body found in the woods in rural New Mexico, you could forget about solving it. Nobody would talk to you. They took care of their own business. And if someone in the community killed a random outsider, nobody gave a shit. They might think it’s a bad idea, it might bring unwanted attention, but they weren’t going to turn a local into the authorities. That’s against code.

And if you don’t think these people exist, and these communities exist, you’re out of your mind.

I’ve had friends who have been camping with their wives or girlfriends way, way up in the hills, when a couple weird, and potentially violent creepers come onto their campsite. They sit and make themselves at home. They don’t leave, even after it gets real, real awkward. It gets scary. They start making crude sexual comments, tinged with violent and aggressive overtones, expecting you and your girl to laugh it up with them. Taking a little offense if you don’t seem to share their sense of humor. We’re all just having fun, right?

I’ve been deep in the woods with girlfriends, when very strange dudes come walking out of the shrubbery and just linger. Weird shit, weird comments, weird vibes. And many times I’ve reprimanded myself for not having a gun with me.

I’ve run into creepy hillbillies in the Yukon, where nobody can hear you scream, and you’re afraid to car-camp that night, staying awake listening for the snap of a twig. Friends who’ve road-tripped across the continent of Africa, who have had genuine moments of fear that the women in their party were going to be raped before they were all murdered, their bodies left to rot in the jungle.

So even though it’s silly to paint all backwoods people as violent nogoodniks, don’t kid yourself. There’s a kernel of truth to it.

If you’ve ever been far from civilization, especially with your best gal, and come across someone (or worse still, a group of someones) who seems kind of off and vaguely menacing, you know what I’m talking about.