In all my travels to horror events and goings-on, I get
asked one question more than any other: “What is the scariest movie you’ve ever
seen?” One would think that if this is such a common question, I should have
some brilliant answer ready…some perfect title I can whip out and have the
whole room agree, “Yes, this film is in fact scary as hell.”
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Last year I went to a sci-fi convention and bumped into
McKenzie Aston. Almost like a reflex I immediately belted out, “McKenzie! I
loved you in GARBAGE PAIL KIDS THE MOVIE.” McKenzie was visibly taken aback to
the point of almost being frightened by this psychotic woman (me) in front of
him. After a moment of awkward silence, where I’m sure he was looking for the
nearest emergency exit, he sheepishly asked, “Really? Are you sure? No one
liked that movie!”
I consider myself to be pretty horror-hardened. I can watch impalements, eye-gougings and eviscerations without batting an eyelash. I feel I have been adequately trained in the event of zombie uprisings, and I have learned the various tricks to take down werewolves, oversized killer sharks and endless Freddy Kruegers and Jasons. I’ve got 20 years of extreme horror viewing behind me. And yet, if I’m getting into my morning shower, for example, and a single centipede suddenly darts from the drain up the wall at lightning speed, I will scream like Marion Crane from PSYCHO.
February is Women in Horror Month, so I thought I would take a moment to reflect on my femaleness and horror. I was never one to really celebrate my astute ability to simultaneously possess boobs and watch CANNIBAL HOLOCAUST or any other random horror flick, but the more I’m in the industry, the more I realize how unusual this can be.
I finally did it. After years of talking about it and swearing I was going to, I finally got a tattoo. I’m not sure why it took me so long; I’m not scared of needles or minor pain. I think I was most scared of commitment. I always had flash-forwards to myself at age 85, sitting in a nursing home trying to explain to someone that the large black smudge on my spine used to be a sweet artistic portrayal of THE TINGLER. Then the cold feet would set in, and I would chicken out.
Last week, while trolling on Entertainment Weekly’s website, I happened upon an article about the most overrated films of all time. As I toggled through the list, I found myself agreeing with most of them. Yup, GONE WITH THE WIND was an OK movie, but had long been overbilled as the greatest epic known to man. And certainly, LOVE STORY may have caused some young 1970s ladies to shed tears and panties, but over time it has proven to be schmaltzy and trite, leaving the once guaranteed score material as an overhyped piece of cinematic foreplay. However, I was a pretty surprised to see a particular horror film on the list…THE EXORCIST.
I’m a child of the 1980s. I grew up on a steady diet of Count Chocula cereal, bad hair metal and VHS tapes, most of which were procured from a mom-and-pop video store in my hometown of Winchester, Virginia. It was among these dusty shelves that I (to quote The Damned) caught “the tide at the flood” and “fell in love with the video nasty.”