Wondering if there’s really a compelling reason to remake Wes Craven’s first film, 1972’s The Last House on the Left, I conclude that there is. Despite being a seminal entry in the new wave horror films of the ‘70s that also included Texas Chainsaw Massacre, the original is — let’s face it — abysmally staged and acted, with the most inappropriate and intrusive “comedy relief” in film history. I say that with all respect and affection, as I’m certainly not saying anything the filmmaker hasn’t thought himself, and he has undoubtedly crafted more stylish films, such as Nightmare on Elm Street and the Scream series.

Wandering sociopaths rape teenage girl in this remake of the 1972 horror film Last House on the Left.

Of course, the story itself — about a teenage girl who is raped by a band of wandering sociopaths who then find themselves seeking refuge in the home of their victim’s parents — isn’t “new wave” at all. Based on a Scandinavian folk tale and ballad, Craven borrowed the story from Ingmar Bergman’s 1960 The Virgin Spring and updated it to a contemporary America still reeling from the incomprehensible savagery of Charles Manson’s Tate-LaBianca murders. More than an exercise in sadomasochistic torture porn, the story considers just how much difference there really is between the sociopaths and the civilized homeowners.

It’s not a civilized question and shouldn’t be framed in a genteel way; if it is, it becomes disingenuous, even blatantly hypocritical. Ninety-nine percent of liberals who crusade against the death penalty would do an immediate about-face if locked in a room with a man who raped and murdered one of their children, and the conservative mantra about the “right to life” would go out the window even faster.

If anything, I consider director Dennis Iliadis’ slick remake to be timid. Yes, there’s rape, murder and revenge, yet the proceedings only achieve the outrageousness of Craven’s original in one sequence, which I’ll simply describe as “the garbage disposal scene” — well, maybe “microwave scene,” although I’ll reserve judgment on the latter’s technical feasibility. There’s no doubt that Iliadis’ film is more professional, even artistic, and vastly better acted, with Tony Goldwyn (still best-known as the villain of 1990’s Ghost) and Monica Potter (TV’s Trust Me) giving solid performances as the enraged parents, and Sara Paxton (Superhero Movie) as their daughter, refreshingly willing to fight for her life. It’s always the villains, though, who fascinate us, and Garret Dillahunt (TV’s The Sarah Connor Chronicles) perfectly embodies the object of the rhetorical question, “How can such a charismatic individual be such an unprincipled monster?”

It’s not an easy film to watch, and it probably wasn’t an easy film to act in. But, despite its distastefulness, I contend that it’s a valid film that poses an important social question: How thin is our veneer of civilization? To know, all you had to do was listen to the row of teenagers behind me — boys and girls alike — cheering the sociopaths on in their rape party.