Back in horror’s halcyon decade of the 80’s, there were no hits and misses. There were simply good movies, and then the bad ones that you enjoyed anyway. We had moved on from the nuclear paranoia of the 50’s, the sex kitten romps of the 60’s, and the gritty torture epics of the 70’s, and were basking in pure, unadulterated camp. My friends and I (yes, I actually had a friend or two, at some point) would scour some local video store, bearing in mind this was before everything was a pusillanimous, unit-shifting national chain, and mine the treasures that the horror section held, if only you were willing to wade knee-deep in shit to get to them. Luckily we were just the anti-heroes for the job. We would return to whomever’s house was the appointed abattoir for that weekend, and gorge ourselves in an orgy of Sno-Caps, Pepsi, and subversive VHS goodness. We would do this over and over again, until we had exhausted the store, and then we’d move on to the next one. Set ‘em up and knock ‘em down, baby.

I put The Crimson Rivers in my Netflix queue as soon as I opened the account a few years ago, at the suggestion of some article or another, I can’t remember which, and it eventually made its way up to the top a few days ago. Now that I have watched it, I can honestly say that I understand the recommendation, even if I cannot exactly extend a similar one to you here. You see, the film is cinematically gorgeous, but nearly bankrupt narratively. I recall reading yet another article recently (Jesus, what a fucking geek I am) detailing what a cornholing director Matthieu Kassovitz took from the giant 20th Century Fox cock during the filming of Babylon AD, and I felt bad for him. But after seeing Gothika on his resume, and living through this hyperactively rewritten-on-the-fly film, I’m thinking maybe he asked for it.

Every once in a while a movie comes along that is more than just a great movie; that is more, even, than a work of art. A movie that represents a tectonic shift in the aesthetics of film. You know, those movies that come out and seem to change everything you thought you knew about movies: Metropolis was such a movie when it came out, Stagecoach, The Maltese Falcon, , Rome: Open City, Bonnie and Clyde, The Godfather, Star Wars, The Matrix: all those movies you know about from your film studies class. Horror, perhaps because it is more closely attuned to our subconscious than most genres, has had more than its fair share: Bela Lugosi's Dracula, The Day the Earth Stood Still and The Thing (from Another World), Psycho, Night of the Living Dead, The Exorcist, Halloween.

I don’t hate Bruce Campbell. I don’t even dislike Bruce Campbell. I just don’t get Bruce Campbell. To be more accurate, I don’t understand the hold he has over a certain segment of the movie-going population. I mean, Bruce Campbell has a following. Tomorrow, “on assignment”, I’m going to see him because he’s going on tour. People are coming out just to hear the Great Man speak. Bruce Campbell! Who knew? The other two people responsible for inflicting this website on an unsuspecting public are rabid fanatics. Seriously! Otherwise intelligent, hard working people love this man. Angela drove three hours – three hours mind you…in winter…in Michigan—to see him. Who would you do that for?