People love real stories about death, murder, and all varieties of human atrocities. This predilection for tragedy extends all the way back into the era of the Ancient Greek poets, right up to present day. It’s likely more the case today than it was even in the 1970s and 1980s, when serial murder was a modern phenomenon and the media were sensationalizing cases for entertainment value. Nowadays there are countless documentaries about murders and other horrible crimes, especially given the popularity of Netflix shows like Making a Murderer (2015), The Keepers (2017), and most recently Evil Genius (2018). In the 1980s, biopics about killers and other terrifying true characters were still relatively new, the market had yet to be flooded. The most compelling stories about serial killers told on the big screen are often those based indirectly on true stories, rather than directly. One such story is that of John List, who murdered his entire family before picking up and moving to a new city and starting a new life, which was used as inspiration for the screenplay that went on to become 1987’s The Stepfather.
What sets The Stepfather apart, though? Why is it any different from other movies based on real killers? The answer is psychology. Donald E. Westlake’s screenplay is only loosely based on the real List, but it excels as being an excellent adaptation from true crime because of how the story navigates the possible psychology of List. Technically, List was a mass murderer, not a serial killer. The movie reimagines him as a slasher-type, whose blood lust can’t be contained once it’s initially been unleashed. Westlake’s writing digs into the psychological headspace of List – called Jerry Blake in the movie and played to chilling perfection by Terry O’Quinn – by focusing on two large parts of his personality: old school conservative values and identity.
A significant aspect of Jerry’s psychology rests on the real upbringing of List. His family was deeply traditional. Perhaps too much so, as it’s a known fact his parents were from the same family line of German immigrants. He grew up in an old Victorian house, but he didn’t have a room of his own— he slept in the parlour, with no door, and every morning he had to put away his bed clothes, along with all his personal things. In Death Sentence: The Inside Story of the John List Murders, Joe Sharkey speculates this practise, enforced by his father John, cemented in young List’s mind that he was not to leave a trace of “his tenancy” behind in the home. In a sense, the boy didn’t really have a home because he had no place of his own within it. His routine of erasing his presence from the home each morning would have an upsetting significance later in life when he decided to kill his whole family then disappear into a whole other existence.
List was primarily shaped by his father’s discipline, as well as the Lutheran faith of his household and later his service in the military. The relationship with his mother Alma likely played a part in his adult relationships with women. She was overprotective of him to the point she wouldn’t let him have any friends. This kept him sheltered from social life, and, along with religion, prolonged his experience with the opposite sex. In the military, other soldiers found him too pious, as he often looked down on them for cursing or exhibiting what he considered crude behaviour. Years later, when List had a family of his own, his daughter ended up at a police station one night. When he picked her up he flew into a rage, only getting worse once they got home. He was embarrassed by his daughter, taking it as a personal insult to both him and his value system. It was no question List’s childhood was coming to bear in a deeply negative sense on his present life as an adult.
Westlake perfectly weaves the real List into Jerry. There’s one brief hint at how Jerry grew up when he meets with Stephanie’s psychiatrist, Dr. Bondurant (played by Charles Lanyer). The doctor asks questions about Jerry’s past and determines he’s a “real cheerleader for the old traditional values” after Jerry responds like a typical conservative Republican about the societal expectations of family. The most direct parallel between List and Jerry’s conservative nature is a scene when Stephanie comes home one night with potential boyfriend Paul (played by Jeff Schultz). As the two young people kiss on the porch, Jerry bursts out accusing Paul of trying to rape his stepdaughter, only causing further family tensions. This incident mirrors the real List’s behaviour when he brought his daughter home from the police station, after which he lashed out calling both her and his wife “sluts.” This conservatism and deeply traditional, patriarchal attitude is a result of how John grew up, and it went on to affect not only his value system, it also left him constantly concerned about a sense of identity— the movie’s major theme.
In his book, Sharkey also writes how, after List killed his family, many people who knew him from the neighbourhood and around town said they always recognized John because he was “the guy in the suit and tie.” He almost ritualistically wore a suit and tie— even when he got home from work to mow the lawn – because John was overly concerned with appearance and identity, at least outwardly. While he would keep secrets from his wife and family, often major financial ones, he made sure appearances were kept up so nobody noticed. The very first scene introduces us to the fictional John – O’Quinn’s Jerry – directly after he’s butchered his first family. He cleans up in the bathroom, going from having a beard to a smooth face, and, in direct parallel to the real List, Jerry puts on a suit and tie before leaving the house like his family aren’t in bloody pieces scattered across the living room. Immediately, identity is the prominent theme, and a driving force behind Jerry’s character.
Identity is written casually into the screenplay, rather than piled on through clumsy, expository dialogue. Early on, Jerry’s wife Susan (played by Shelley Hack) makes a comment that serves as The Stepfather’s thesis: “Names don’t seem to matter much.” Although it’s a line delivered in reference to the new family dog, it’s a perfect fit thematically for the story. The concept of identity comes up throughout the plot. Jerry presents himself similarly to everyone, though he’s seen differently by certain characters. Particularly, his stepdaughter Stephanie (played by Jill Schoelen) sees him as phony, not unlike how many stepchildren view a new stepparent at first. Before she begins to suspect him as sinister, Stephanie tells a friend that having Jerry for a stepdad is like “having Ward Cleaver for a dad.” However, later on a pivotal scene sees Jerry lose himself in the various identities he inhabits. He’s told so many lies that they’ve crossed like faulty wiring in his brain. When Jerry makes a mistake while talking to Susan, he mutters to himself: “Wait a minute, who am I here?” It isn’t long before he remembers, but the damage is then done, and his identity as Jerry Blake has officially unravelled past the point of no return. After this point, he is revealed as himself: a serial killer.
Many of the concrete details about John List are ignored in The Stepfather. This doesn’t matter whatsoever, and that’s because Westlake’s screenplay concerns itself with the psychology of List rather than all the facts of his case. The themes we see play out in the life of the fictional Jerry Blake are symbolic of all the struggles of List throughout the period of his crimes. Most of the real case is creatively disrupted in order to come up with a suitable slasher movie plot. All this adds up to being the reason why this movie is somewhat more unsettling compared to other slasher-styled horror, due to how real Jerry is as a character. Supernatural killers, demons, and ghosts all have their own appeal. The Stepfather manages to not be exploitative with the true story of List and his murders, while also being a clever, psychological character study of the actual killer through a fictional lens. At the very least this one will make you even more sceptical of the next man your mother brings home.
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