According to historian Leslie Paris, author of Children’s Nature: The Rise of the American Summer Camp, the first sleepaway camps appeared in the late 19th century. Initially they were a male-only phenomenon, overlapping with the tenets of Muscular Christianity, which associated masculinity and fitness with spiritual purity. These early camps tackled a growing concern that elite boys were growing soft in cities like New York and Boston, and “an experience of rugged outdoor adventure” would whip them into shape. Over the next few decades, camps began catering to a wider range of demographics, introducing city kids to nature in a controlled environment.
“For many kids of this earlier period, just going away from home could be kind of scary,” explains Paris. So there’s a long history of summer camp being associated with childhood fear, whether that involved practical concerns about wild animals and dark forests, or the tradition of telling spooky stories around the fire.
Campfire tales inevitably fed into the summer camp horror genre, often drawing from dubious Native American folklore or rumors about fictitious murderers like the Hookman. “These stories had multiple purposes,” says Paris. “One was to build community and entertain the campers. But another may have been to make sure the kids didn’t wander off into the woods on their own at night.”
With all that cultural backstory in place, it’s no surprise that summer camp horror movies took off. The real question is why this happened in the 1980s, and not before. Even prior to the slasher era, summer camp should’ve been a shoo-in for other types of horror. Instead, earlier summer camp movies mostly focused on comedy and romance.
Paris suggests that this reflected a shift in public attitudes, as the perception of summer camp shifted from wholesome outdoor fun to something more “jaundiced.” John Kenneth Muir, meanwhile, sees summer camp horror as a product of the Reagan era, representing “a reassertion of conservative values” and “Old Testament draconian beliefs.”
“The paradigm of these films is really ‘vice precedes slice and dice,’” Muir notes, highlighting summer camp’s reputation as a place of sexual awakening. It makes sense for these teen characters to hook up and smoke weed, but as soon as they do, “they’re almost instantly punished by the boogieman.”
Adding to the Old Testament undertones, these films often link their villains with the perils of nature. Muir argues that Friday the 13th is more sophisticated than its legacy suggests, introducing a world of “Norman Rockwell Americana” that’s interrupted by a snake in the first act, establishing the idea of an unseen threat in this adolescent garden of Eden. When a thunderstorm takes out the lights, “it’s almost like God is abetting these killers to get these sinning teenagers.”