Only when the credits for Charlie's Family mercifully begin to scroll down the screen are viewers who have just experienced director Jim Van Bebber's unhinged, all-out assault on the senses finally allowed the opportunity to become aware that they were merely viewing a film and that they, hopefully, after a quick check of the pulse -- are still alive and breathing somewhat regularly (the latter of which is highly unlikely). As hard as previous efforts may have tried to pull viewers into the drug-induced inner workings of the family's mindset -- and as horrific as the actions being portrayed onscreen were -- such commercialized factors as recognizable casts and conventional structures (not to mention network television constraints with regards to both versions of Helter Skelter) kept the violence -- and thus the true horror of the events -- at a safe and relatively comfortable distance for the viewer. This is precisely where Van Bebber's vision differs from any other cinematic recreation of Charles Manson and company's notorious crimes. Not only is the unflinchingly graphic violence near limitless in its gleefully sadistic brutality, but by the time "family" members bring a baby to a drug-addled gang-rape -- it simply becomes more than most viewers may be willing to bear. In casting virtual unknowns in all roles including that of Manson and renouncing all taboos and restraints in favor of pure, unfiltered terror, Van Bebber successfully forces viewers to become flies on the wall as the seemingly idyllic paradise of the Spahn Ranch slides into an inescapable hell of paranoia and blood-soaked horror. Budgetary constraints and faux-age film processing give the distinct impression that someone simply handed a nameless, faceless member of the "family" a camera, with a disjointed, psychedelic atmosphere perfectly capturing the hallucinogenic aesthetic of the time.
If some of the factual and character details are omitted or somewhat misrepresented, the fact still remains that Van Bebber has managed to capture the essence of the Manson "family" and their unthinkable deeds as no filmmaker has succeeded to date. It could be argued that the only misstep Van Bebber seems to make in terms of truly immersing viewers in the surreal world of Manson and his followers is in framing the actions of the "family" with footage of a contemporary tabloid news journalist compiling a story to be told from the viewpoint of Manson's followers -- and detailing his climactic encounter with an equally disturbed gang of youths who rigidly adhere to the prophet-turned-madman's sinister philosophy. Though this angle is arguably unnecessary, it could be said that Van Bebber was simply attempting to prove that even though authorities may have imprisoned the mouthpiece long ago, the fact remains that there are those who continue to adhere to Manson's frightening mindset still roaming free today. It's difficult to imagine a film more viscerally terrifying than Van Bebber's cinematic act of transgression. It's as if the director has loaded his audience onto a roller coaster and disabled the restraints just as the car begins to drop into a bottomless abyss. By the time the unspeakable horrors at the Tate house bring the film to a harrowing fever pitch, the viewer has been so repeatedly violated that the only option is to hold on tight and hope the next hill doesn't throw them from the safety of their seats.