thecages

While on the topic of kerrrrrrazzy, here's Son of Sam.
I first picked up on the Son of Sam story from the Spike Lee movie Summer of Sam.


I had never really gotten into Spike Lee films and didn't buy the whole auteur-thing that was being sold about him.
But I found Summer of Sam instantly engaging and clever.

What makes it work so well is that Son of Sam (the serial killer) isn't really the focus of the film, it's mainly concerned with a group of friends(?) in disintegrating Italian neighbourhood in the sweltering summer of 1977 (just months after my birth, imagine that).

However, while Son of Sam himself only features as a bit character his presence (the fear in the neighbourhood of the bogeyman) is what drives the tension within the group.
He features more as a natural force (as does the weather) than as a person.

What is interesting about Son of Sam is the totally flipped out letters he wrote to the cops.
And in a sense these letters are an eloquent summation of the poisoned environment that produces(and consumes) the characters of the film:

[...]Hello from the sewers of N.Y.C. which swallow up the delicacies when they are washed away by the sweeper trucks. Hello from the cracks in the sidewalks of N.Y.C. and from the ants that dwell in these cracks and feed on the dried blood of the dead that has seeped into these cracks.[...]

Here's the poison pen himself:

Letter: Son of Sam to Joseph Borrelli
Left at scene of murder on April 17, 1977:

Dear Captain Joseph Borrelli,

I am deeply hurt by your calling me a wemon hater. I am not. But I am a monster. I am the 'Son of Sam.' I am a little brat.
When father Sam gets drunk he gets mean. He beats his family. Sometimes he ties me up to the back of the house. Other times he locks me in the garage. Sam loves to drink blood.

'Go out and kill,' commands father Sam.

'Behind our house some rest. Mostly young -- raped and slaughtered -- their blood drained -- just bones now.

Papa Sam keeps me locked in the attic too. I can't get out but I look out the attic window and watch the world go by.

I feel like an outsider. I am on a different wavelength then everybody else -- programmed too kill.
However, to stop me you must kill me. Attention all police: Shoot me first -- shoot to kill or else keep out of my way or you will die!

Papa Sam is old now. He needs some blood to preserve his youth. He has had too many heart attacks. 'Ugh, me hoot, it hurts, sonny boy.'
I miss my pretty princess most of all. She's resting in our ladies house. But I'll see her soon.

I am the 'Monster' -- 'Beelzebub' -- the chubby behemouth.

I love to hunt. Prowling the streets looking for fair game -- tasty meat. The wemon of Queens are prettyist of all. It must be the water they drink. I live for the hunt -- my life. Blood for papa.

Mr. Borrelli, sir, I don't want to kill anymore. No sur, no more but I must, 'honour thy father.'
I want to make love to the world. I love people. I don't belong on earth. Return me to yahoos.

To the people of Queens, I love you. And I want to wish all of you a happy Easter.

May God bless you in this life and in the next.

And for now I say goobye and goodnight. Police: Let me haunt you with these words: I'll be back! I'll be back! To be interrpreted as -

bang, bang, bang, bang, bang - ugh!!

Your in murder Mr. Monster

bang, bang, bang, bang, bang - ugh!!

Letter: Son of Sam to Jimmy Breslin
Mailed to Daily News, May 1977

Hello from the gutters of N.Y.C., which are filled with dog manure, vomit, stale wine, urine, and blood. Hello from the sewers of N.Y.C. which swallow up the delicacies when they are washed away by the sweeper trucks. Hello from the cracks in the sidewalks of N.Y.C. and from the ants that dwell in these cracks and feed on the dried blood of the dead that has seeped into these cracks.

J.B., I'm just dropping you a line to let you know that I appreciate your interest in those recent and horrendous .44 killings. I also want to tell you that I read your column daily and I find it quite informative.

Tell me Jim, what will you have for July twenty-ninth? You can forget about me if you like because I don't care for publicity. However you must not foget Donna Lauria and you cannot let the people forget her either. She was a very, very sweet girl but Sam's a thirsty lad and he won't let me stop killing until he gets his fill of blood.

Mr. Breslin, sir, don't think that because you haven't heard from me for a while that I went to sleep. No, rather, I am still here. Like a spirit roaming the night. Thirsty, hungry, seldom stopping to rest; anxious to please Sam. I love my work. Now, the void has been filled.

Perhaps we shall meet face to face someday or perhaps I will blown away by cops with smoking .38's. Whatever, if I shall be fortunate enough to meet you,I will tell you all about Sam if you like and I will introduce you to him. His name is "Sam the Terrible".

Not knowing what the future holds I shall say farewell and I will see you at the next job. Or should I say you will see my handiwork at the next job? Remember Ms. Lauria. Thank you. In their blood and from the gutter "Sam's Creation" .44

Here are some names to help you along. Forward them to the inspector for use by N.C.I.C: "The Duke of Death" "The Wicked King Wicker" "The Twenty Two Disciples of Hell" "John 'Wheaties'- Rapist and Suffocator of Young Girls"

PS: J.B. Please inform all the detectives working on the slaying to remain.
P.S: J.B., please inform all the detectives working the case that I wish them the best of luck. "Keep 'em digging, drive on, think positive, get off your butts, knock on coffins, etc."

Upon my capture I promise to buy all the guys working on the case a new pair of shoes if I can get up the money.