The Devil’s Screaming Freak: Longlegs, the Glam-Rock Killer

In the horror landscape of 2024, Longlegs emerged from the darkness—a nightmarish figure that doesn’t just frighten; it grabs you and pulls you down into its depths. At the center of this chaos is Nicolas Cage’s Longlegs, a killer so deranged he’s more like a wailing demon released from hell itself.

Forget the ordinary psycho; this is a glam rock idol gone wild, with a face smeared in white makeup and bright lipstick, hair a messy tumble of bleached chaos, strutting about in white leather boots as if ready to crash down on you at any moment. He’s the former rockstar who traded in fans for victims, diving headfirst into the inferno with a smile that could chill your blood.

Get ready, because we’re going deep into the bloody tale of Longlegs, the killer wrapped in glitter whose every action radiates pure, unfiltered fear.

A Rockstar’s Fall Into the Inferno

Imagine a once-mighty glam rock star, once belting notes for an audience packed with eager fans, now just a ghost wandering America’s forgotten roads. Longlegs doesn’t make his past easy to see—it splatters it across the screen in bold, jagged strokes.

Cage’s Longlegs is a cartoonish embodiment of outrageous 1980s excess: shiny white cowboy boots, a jacket that looks like it came from a thrift store overflowing with sequins, and makeup so thick it screams for attention—like Marc Bolan drenched in hairspray or Bret Michaels striking a deal that went horribly wrong. Makeup artist Felix Fox shared a blunt reality: “Longlegs’ towering hair is the heart of his former glam rock persona, driving his exaggerated look and his wild obsession with cheating death.” He’s not just faded fame; he’s a predator who has traded his fans for graves, turning the stage into a slaughterhouse.

Cage tapped into his own darker side for this role, channeling memories of his mother’s broken mind to bring to life a Longlegs driven mad by the voices in his head—an artist losing his grip on sanity like a guitar string snapping mid-solo.

Critics can’t handle his energy, dubbing him a “waterlogged glam ghost,” a twisted echo of Twisted Sister’s Dee Snider with a taste for murder instead of mascara. The film’s silence about his downfall heightens the tension—even as gigs fade, does he scream into the emptiness, or has the devil himself rewritten the rules of his game? Either way, Longlegs rises from the grave with a fury that reeks of hairspray and smoke.

Dolls That Shred Souls

These are not your ordinary dolls—Longlegs crafts them as instruments of evil, each one a sharp note in a sinister symphony. Made by his trembling, blood-stained hands, they showcase his twisted artistry, delivered by Ruth Harker in a style that feels like cursed merchandise, striking families with daughters born on the 14th.

These dolls are nothing to play with; they are loaded with dark energy, capable of turning fathers into violent predators who harm their families in a frenzied climax.

Perkins drew inspiration from the tragic JonBenét Ramsey case, particularly a life-size doll found near her body, and cranked it all the way up. “They are his tools, his sick artistry,” he growled to Variety, and Longlegs wields them like a performer hurling the microphone into a raucous crowd, his shrill laughter echoing through the chaos.

The glam connection runs deeper than just the surface. These dolls represent his last grasp at preserving a legacy—created to keep his name in the spotlight even as he rots away. He’s the aging rocker willing to bring down everything rather than fade away; each porcelain face reflects his own deterioration. It’s a defiant shout against time, a declaration of “I’m still the star,” as he orchestrates chaos from the shadows.

A Freak Show That Bleeds

Cage’s Longlegs is more than just a predator—he performs, turning each murder into a concert event. His letters to the FBI resemble concert posters written in a madman’s handwriting, his screams sharp enough to shatter both your eardrums and your spirit.

He’s a glam rock fantasy made flesh—Variety describes him as a “slithering freak whose presence gnaws at your sanity”—but it’s his hair metal attitude that makes him a knife in the dark. He’s androgynous, chaotic, teetering on the edge of madness, a version of Alice Cooper with a trail of bodies. Some have accused him of flaunting “queerphobia” because of his flamboyant style, but Perkins brushes it aside, allowing Longlegs’ raw strangeness to penetrate even deeper. This is a killer who fuels himself on outrage, rebelling against the ordinary.

Set in the 1990s when glam struggled against grunge’s rise, Longlegs is a ticking time bomb of despair—a star who would rather scorch everything than step back. Cage revealed to AP News that portraying him was “healing,” a way to confront his own ghosts, a fact you can feel in every twitch and cry. He’s not just acting; he’s unleashing chaos, a live wire of destruction.

The Soundtrack of a Slaughterhouse

Turn it up: Mötley Crüe’s “Shout at the Devil” blasting from blown-out speakers, followed by W.A.S.P.’s “The Headless Children.” Longlegs’ murders are a heavy metal symphony—intense, unyielding, choreographed like a crowd dive into a pit of fallen bodies.

The film’s climax sees Lee Harker grappling with her mother’s betrayal and Longlegs’ lingering curse, culminating in a blood-soaked finale that leaves you breathless. “Evil doesn’t have an off button,” Maika Monroe stated to Time, and Longlegs is living proof, a glam phantom clawing at the edges of your nightmares.

The Star That Scorches

Longlegs is a chainsaw draped in sequins, and Cage’s portrayal is the dark heart that drives this monster. He’s not merely evil—he’s a rock god who swapped fame for bloodshed, his dolls echoing the riffs that keep his legend alive. The glam rock aspect isn’t just a performance; it’s the lifeblood fueling his menace, a supernova of extravagance exploding into horror.

With over $126 million earned worldwide, breaking records for Neon, Longlegs is not only the standout star of 2024; he’s become a true icon.

He’s the devil’s frontman, belting out death from a stage of skeletons, and the crowd is still screaming. Crank it up, and let the blood pour.

Further Reading