GAME OF THRONES HIATUS: WEEK ONE
* First Sunday without Game of Thrones. The walls are closing in like so many White Walkers. I can hear the wind howling from outside and though it is bright and warm as the sun beams down from the heavens above, I know the truth. Winter is coming. I can feel it in my bones. I only wish it were not so far away.
* I was certain that I would handle this better. I was certain it would not hurt this much. I know now that certainty means nothing when faced with the unique adversity of being without one of your favorite shows for almost a year. I know now that the pain will not subside until I can once again see the beauty of Westeros on my television screen. I must deal with this pain until then.
* Luckily, as an avid Game of Thrones viewer, I have grown accustomed to pain.
The people of the internet are very divided in their opinion of Zack Snyder’s Man of Steel. Half of the internet have called it the best Superman movie so far, while the other half refuse to call it a Superman movie at all.
Having seen it, I am in the latter half of the internet.
Once I stopped thinking of it as a Superman film and started looking at it as a summer blockbuster film involving aliens and big explosions, fight scenes and bloated visuals, I was able to enjoy it. But do not be fooled. Anyone going into this movie expecting a film about Superman will be sorely disappointed. The main character in this film is named Kal-El of Krypton, he goes by the Earth name of Clark Kent, he dons a red and blue costume with a large “S” on the front and flies around with a flowing red cape behind him. He is even referred to as Superman on more than one occasion, but none of that matters. This man is an impostor.
I will not spoil the events of the film that lead me to say these words. The only thing I will say to those of you who have not yet seen it and are confused by what I’m saying is this: The Superman in this film crosses lines the Superman we all know and love would never cross.
As I said, I was able to enjoy the film for what it was. The cast is amazing, Amy Adams as Lois Lane especially, and Henry Cavill need not shoulder the blame for the events in this film as he did the best job he could with the script he was given. That is the root of the issues with this movie, the true source of the many flaws that weigh down Man of Steel; The writing.
The fault, I feel, lay not with the director, Zack Snyder. Anyone who enters this movie with prior knowledge of his directorial style will not be surprised by how the movie looks. Snyder delivers an enjoyable summer blockbuster, but the little kid in me who used to run around his living room with a red
cape towel hanging from his back was very disappointed.
There you have it, the line has been drawn in the sand. I am on my side of this heated internet debate, and now you must see the film and decide on which side you find yourself. But do not allow anyone to determine for you whether or not you should see this movie. I urge you to see it for yourself, with an open mind, and to only then decide how much of this movie you’re able to take.
And of course, today is Father’s Day. So I would be remiss if I didn’t commemorate the event with a tasteless Batman image:
It is day two of my weekend away from work and my allergies are making it very difficult for me not to give into the urge to turn into an angry half bear, half man type creature, angrily swatting at passersby with my huge paws while growling and snarling. But I persevere. I press on. I take Zyrtec.
Still really bummed about Kim Deal leaving The Pixies. Overall, I understand it and I’m not protesting it or anything, but it’s still a weird thing. Kim Deal was one of those teenage crushes for me and it’s odd to think that she’s no longer a part of one of my favorite bands. I can feel my dream of one day seeing The Pixies, in their truest form, perform live slipping away. Oh well, at least we’ll always have The Breeders.
Troubling news comes from the nerd front, as two of the biggest Superman fans I have ever known in my life, both of whom were very excited to see Man of Steel, are now reporting to me that it’s a huge disappointment. “That is NOT Superman” said one of them. This concerns me, as I am also a nerd and Superman has been a part of my life since I was a child. I fear disappointment looms on the horizon for me, as well. We’ll see it tonight, after we fill our bellies full of delicious food at a nearby restaurant. Will report back with my findings. Stay tuned to this channel for further Man of Steel updates.
E3 has come and gone and I have decided, not that anyone reading this will ultimately care, to go with a PS4 as my next console purchase. The X-Box One places far too many silly restrictions on the very act of playing video games for me to even consider getting one anymore. I had toyed with the notion of buying one before and even during the Microsoft presentation at E3, but once the Sony presentation revealed that all of the issues I have with the X-Box One console are quite literally non-existent on the Playstation 4, I felt the choice was an obvious one.
I have been a loyal X-Box user for a number of years now, always prepared to defend the annual fee paid to enjoy the X-Box Live service (which I always found preferable to the free-to-access Playstation Network), always favoring the 360 releases over ones on the PS3. So it’s an odd feeling to switch sides like this. I feel as though I’m a traitor to my ilk, as though I’m turning my back on an old friend in favor of the new and exotic kid that just moved in down the street. But it also feels, at least a little bit, like my old friend betrayed me. Like my old friend and I have grown into two different people with two different views on the world and that maybe it’s best if we don’t talk much anymore. Maybe it’ll help preserve sanity on both sides.
But even that analogy makes little sense, as I was a Sony guy from the Playstation heyday through the reign of the PS2, only jumping ship when the PS3 came out in much the same fashion that I’m doing so now with the X-Box One. On the one hand, I feel as though I’m turning my back on Microsoft, but on the other, it feels like I’m returning home. So while I’ve grown in a different direction as my old friend the X-Box and feel we need to spend some time apart from one another while I go spend time with the exotic new kid down the street, I also feel like that exotic new kid has turned out to be the friend I once had long before I ever met the X-Box, only now he dresses better and got his braces off. The exotic new friend was the old friend all along. Which means there’s still hope for me returning to X-Box someday in the future, maybe when the next-next generation of X-Box comes out.
And so the dance continues.
But really, neither console presentations were as important to me as the one put on by Square Enix, who not only unveiled the fact that Final Fantasy Versus XIII is now known as Final Fantasy XV, but also showed footage from this:
Yes, Kingdom Hearts III is finally happening. Not another sub-par handheld release, not another mobile game, but an honest to goodness real big screen high definition console Kingdom Hearts game for the first time in almost a decade. Words can not express how happy I am. Between Final Fantasy XV, Kingdom Hearts III, and Dragon Age: Inquisition it’s clear that I definitely need to buy one of the new consoles at some point.
Right. Laundry before dinner before the movie. Off I go, then.
Current Physical Status (pictured above):
A broken man for whom sleep has not come easily these last few nights. Tonight will be different, though it is already well beyond one in the morning.
Current Musical Accompaniment:
David Lynch Featuring Lykke Li — I’m Waiting Here
The third season finale of Game of Thrones, the end of all things, giant spiders.
Current Calming Imagery:
Will make the dangerous trek to the local branch of the United States Post Office at some point in the afternoon. Will dine with family, will watch films with family. Most importantly: Will rest.
Current Mission: Sleep.
I have wonderful news for you, fair reader. It’s Towel Day, once again.
As well should you be.
I’ve just started watching Family Tree on HBO, and after only two episodes, I’ve already become a fan. Chris O’Dowd (IT Crowd, Bridesmaids) plays Tom Chadwick, who discovers a photo of a man he is told is his great grandfather, but upon further investigation, he learns the photo was actually taken by his great grandfather. A photographer who then became an actor, a profession Tom decides to try out for himself.
The cast is incredible. Besides O’Dowd himself, there’s Michael McKean (Laverne & Shirley, Spinal Tap), as well as Nina Conti (and yes, Monk is also there).
I’m enjoying it so far. A ringing endorsement, I know.
Full Moon tonight and we find ourselves more or less a month away from a Super Moon, to which I am very much looking forward.
A brief post this time, I’m afraid.
We are nearly done with the next to last week in this, the month of May, and we have traded snow for rain. We have seen the sun but once or twice in the last week or two, but for the first time since last year, I welcome the clouds, for they bring the sweet humid showers of spring rain and not the bitter frost of snow and ice. We struggled against the brute force of winter for far too long this year, and I am happy to say that we have won. We are free.
I stood in the rain this afternoon for no damn reason other than to let it dance atop my head and to feel it trickle down my face. I watched it collect into a puddle at the end of my driveway, each individual drop from the heavens causing little rings to circle outward in a pattern of pure visual poetry. I kicked off my sandals and felt the wet grass on my feet. I heard birds chirping from the trees above and the water gushing into a nearby sewer drain. The distinctive scent of wet sidewalk wafted through the air and caught my nose, instantly bringing a rush of memories from childhood to the forefront of my mind. Rainy afternoons spent running through the neighborhood, against my mother’s wishes, with friends, letting the rain drench us before rushing home for time spent on indoor activities. It was nice.
The rain mingled with the sweat on my brow and I was sure to re-enter my air conditioned home before my clothes became too heavy with water.
Later, I took the bus to the local market to buy lunch and along the way had a very interesting conversation with an elderly woman about the weather of the world today.
“I don’t know why so many people don’t understand global warming is a real thing.” she said, “The weather across the world is so weird lately. So many horrible things are happening, from nature, and they’re all too blind to see we’re the cause.”
We spoke of the horrible events that took place in Oklahoma, discussed whether or not people in our own state are prepared for a similar tornado, and she spoke more about how we have all of these wonderful technological advances in this day and age, yet no one can come up with a viable plan to stop climate change that any of the people in power will pay any mind to.
“The people in charge don’t care about the weather because they think they’re protected by their big expensive homes, but they’re tune will change when those homes are reduced to rubble by these weird weather patterns that have been happening.” she said, “It’ll all be too late by then, of course. I’ll be dead by the time anyone finally figures out how to fix what’s wrong.”
“I’m afraid it might already be too late to fix what’s wrong.” I said. She stared out the window at the rain for a moment before speaking.
“That’s a terrible thought.” she said. Then we spoke of nicer things, like how her granddaughter is starting school soon and what produce was on sale at the market that I should buy.
Her name was Eleanor and we got along very well.
Speaking of the Oklahoma tornado, here is a post with various ways you can help. Any and all help is desperately needed right now.
I should really look into purchasing a new digital camera. The one I have currently takes pictures like this:
And while I can’t figure out exactly what is wrong with it, I’m sure it’s probably not fixable. At least not fixable in any sort of affordable way.
Now that we’re getting hints of sun and the ground has gone from white to green, I’d like to go on photo walks again. I’ve missed it.
My apologies for making a post primarily about weather. I hope you’ll forgive me.
I’m off to bed soon. The tapping of rain upon my window will serve as my lullaby. I hope you, whoever is still reading this, are able to drift to sleep in a similarly peaceful fashion.
I am currently looking out on a field of green and can feel the warmth of the sun on my face as it beams in through the window. It has been a long and difficult winter, but that time is behind us now. Now is the time of warmth and of shorts and t-shirts, of backyard swimming pools and sprinklers on the lawn. Though it has been spring, in the technical sense, since March 20th, we have gone from wondering if the frozen grip of winter would ever loosen from around our throats, to feeling as though the summer sun will pummel us into the ground with its fiery fists. Indeed, spring has done a fine job of hiding this year.
I’ve spent almost all of the day so far writing. What time I did spend away from the computer was spent trekking to the post office and the local market. The television has laid silent and still in the other room since I woke up this morning, only music has been played, only a handful of YouTube clips have been viewed. All other time has been spent writing, jumping from project to project, and I’m quite happy.
I wrote yesterday, as well. A short piece entitled The Depth of Life. It’s here if you’re interested. Another short (if rambling) piece that I completed this afternoon, called UNTITLED #1, can be found here.
There are other things in the works as well, longer things made up of smaller bits that I’ve been working on. Some bits are finished, others have been started, others still remain untouched as yet. It will all come together someday very soon.
Every so often, Alan Moore awakens from his long slumber and grants us all with his wisdom. Such wisdom can be found below:
August 27th will be the next time I attend a concert. It will be the first time I’ve been to a concert in nearly a decade, the first concert I will be attending with the wife, and the first time I will be seeing Depeche Mode in concert.
I’m very excited.
Here is Dave Gahan talking about their current world tour, their latest album, entitled Delta Machine, and his bout with cancer a few years ago.
And here is the music video for Heaven, the first single off of Delta Machine.
As I finish this post, the sun is now gone and only clouds remain. I think I’ve written enough for today and I feel it’s time to go do a bit of reading. Enough pouring out, time to soak up something someone else has written.
I’ll update again soon, though probably not as soon as I intend to.
I am named after my father, thus making me a junior. I’ve met many other “juniors” over the years, it’s like a secret club, and we can always tell each other apart in a crowd. Something about the slumped shoulders of one bearing the weight of succession. But given the fact that I share a name (first, middle, and last) with my father, a problem arises. This problem is one that only plagues those in my particular predicament: How do you address individual people who share a name in a way that lets them know you’re speaking specifically to them?
And so, rather than refer to me as “Junior” like Sean Connery in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, my parents instead chose to call me Rob (and variations of it such as Robby, by which I was known for much of my childhood) and my father? He stuck with Bob. There’s something about the name Bob that makes me think of strength and character, but that may be a product of my upbringing.
As I’ve aged, I’ve gone from “Robby” to “Rob” or “Robert” in professional situations. Every so often, someone will call me Bob and I correct them.
“No.” I’ll say, “No, call me Rob. Bob is my father.”
This is in equal parts a declaration of respect for my father and an expression of the strange sense of fear that I could never live up to the name. For years, I’ve done this. I live in a small town now, much smaller than I ever did growing up, and while I have lived here only a few years short of a decade, it still seems like a foreign concept to me. This whole “everyone knows everyone else” business seems shady, at best, but I accept it.
The local supermarket employs high school students looking to make extra money and elderly men and women looking for a way out of the humdrum boredom of retirement. When I shop there, the students refer to me as sir, which I at first detested, but now feel a misplaced honor upon hearing it. The elderly women all call me Bob. I’ve corrected them many times.
“Please, call me Rob. Or Robert, a lot of people know me as Robert.” I’ve said to them. “It’s on my name tag at work.”
They smile and nod and when I next find myself checking out at this tiny corner market, the elderly women ask Bob how he’s doing and whether I’m walking and how about that cold bit of weather we’ve had lately, and I still take a moment to process that they’re speaking to me and not someone else named Bob standing behind me. Once that moment passes, I sigh and once again state that no, my name is not Bob, but I’m doing well and yes, I am walking and yes, that weather was mighty cold the other day. I do all of this, I swipe my debit card, and I take my leave.
The other day, as I was paying for my cereal and milk, my bread and butter, the silver haired and bespectacled woman behind the checkout counter once again addressed me as Bob.
“How are you today, Bob?” she asked.
“I’m good.” I said, “Let me ask you something.”
She stopped scanning groceries.
“Let me first say that I’m not angry or annoyed, just curious.” I said. She furrowed her brow. “That said, why is it, when I’ve said repeatedly to call me Rob or Robert, do you insist on calling me Bob? Again, I’m just curious.”
She thought for a moment, scanned the eggs, the bagels, the shampoo. Then she spoke.
“I guess it just suits you better than Rob or Robert.”
I was silent. She finished ringing up the remaining items, I swiped my debit card and completed the purchase, all while the teenager in the pimply face and baggy pants put my newly bought foodstuffs into their bags. It was one of those moments, a brief pause in time during which one reflects on life and their place in it, the way they are seen by others and, maybe more importantly, the way they see themselves. Was I that person? Did I deserve the name, the title, of Bob? Did I have the strength and character and strong will to pull off the task and yes even burden of such a title? These are all questions I silently asked myself while the acne-laced young man to my immediate right finished bagging my groceries.
“But if it means that much to you, I can call you Robert.” she said with a smile, which I gladly mirrored to her.
“No.” I said, “That’s fine.”
To my friends, family and co-workers, I will continue to be Rob or Robert. I ask this of them. But for the sake of the elderly employees at the local supermarket, I think I’ll cease my fight against the name Bob. I’ll try to embrace it, I’ll try to let it slide. For them.
But if you see me on the street or you call me on the phone, you’re better off calling me Rob. Or Robert.
If, for some reason, you’d like to listen to what I’ve spent the better part of the last hour listening to, here:
Well, it’s 2013 and we’re all still here. The planet, I mean. Nothing happened, no explosions, no asteroids, no John Cusack in a limo. Nothing. Fucking Mayans.
I realize, what with it being February, that it’s a bit late for me to be making 2012 Apocalypse jokes, but I really don’t care.
Not much has changed since the apocalypse. I am still an ex-Californian living in Minnesota, Justin Bieber remains Canada’s number one export of douchebaggery (sorry, Celine Dion), chimichangas are still great.
That’s not entirely true, some stuff has changed. Like, did you know J.J. Abrams is going to direct Star Wars: Episode VII? Did you even know there was going to be a Star Wars: Episode VII? Of course you did. That’s old news now. But since I haven’t updated this blog since well before both of those tasty tidbits of information floated down the intertubes, I felt a need to post about them.
There. I’ve posted about them. Now we can move on to bigger and better thi- Oh, who the hell am I kidding.
J.J. Abrams is responsible for two of my favorite TV shows in recent memory, LOST and Fringe, and when speaking of the imaginary “line in the sand” in regards to people who enjoyed his 2009 Star Trek reboot and people who felt insulted by it, I’m on the side of those who thought it was a fun movie. So, all things considered, I have faith in Abrams and I’m looking forward to what he does with the first Star Wars film in almost eight years.
Did I mention Lucasfilm has been sold to Disney? Yeah, Lucasfilm has been sold to Disney. You probably already heard all about that, too.
I’ve already read long winded posts and status updates about how J.J. Abrams is both the best and worst man for the job (but mostly just a lot of lens flare jokes. a lot of them.), but what it boils down to is this simple fact: Fans of the Star Wars franchise just want a good movie. For the most part, no one cares who is directing it, who is writing it, or who is in it. So long as it’s good. There will be a lot of people who will, upon reading that at face value, disagree with it. Loudly and in caps lock. But if they truly think about it, they’ll see what I mean.
The director of any Star Wars film need not be a famous name or someone with a specific style, but rather a person who loves the franchise as much as we do. The person writing it, the same. The people who appear in it, if not playing previously established characters, need only dive into the depths of those characters.
Now in the case of the two standalone films recently announced by Disney, one focusing on the adventures of a young Han Solo (how young, though?) and the other focusing on the rise of Boba Fett to his place as one of the most feared bounty hunters in the universe, things get tricky. Obviously Harrison Ford can no longer play the spry and dapper Solo he once could. So, who? Who, then, could step into the boots of everyone’s favorite intergalactic smuggler? The Huffington Post has some ideas.
Now, that list ranges from a bunch of actors I’ve never heard of, to a few who might be right (I can see Garrett Hedlund, or Taylor Kitsch, even one of the Hemsworth brothers or Zachary “Chuck” Levi), to a few who would be completely wrong (Zac Efron? Shia LaBeouf? Shudder…). But it’s all speculation at this point. There are no scripts, no directors, nothing but the notion of “Hey, let’s make a couple of movies about Han Solo and Boba Fett! People love Han Solo and Boba Fett, right? What could possibly go wrong?!”
I reserve my judgment on most of this until the movies actually come out.
Well, at least I’ll try to reserve my judgment.
Depeche Mode have a new album, Delta Machine, coming out March 26th. But the first single, entitled Heaven, is already available. Here’s the video:
I love it. It reminds me a lot of something you’d hear on Black Celebration, which is one of my favorite albums, and that’s probably why I dig it so much. If the rest of this new album is anywhere near this first single in tone and content, it’ll be fantastic.
Depeche Mode are currently on their World Tour, the North American dates for which I hope they will be announcing soon. If you can’t already tell, I’m pretty excited about this and would love to see them live.
As our friends and family to the East recover from Winter Storm Nemo, it seems we here in the MidWest have our own storm to deal with: Winter Storm Orko (Nemo? Orko? Whoever names these storms is a huge fan of Saturday morning cartoons).
See that line between the gray and the pink? That little white line that’s crossing the South Dakota border and entering the state of Minnesota? Yeah, we’re in there. So it seems we’ll get some snow in, well, about a day or two. Exactly how much, it’s hard to tell, but people are preparing around here. Rushing to the store to get their essentials in preparation of being snowed in for a couple of days.
Not unlike this:
We’re fine, for now. If I look outside my window on Monday morning and find over two feet of snow, I will be less fine. Well, no, I’ll still be fine. Just a bit more angry.
Taxes are done, chimichangas have been eaten, and it’s now time I go and clear some things off the ol’ DVR.
And here it is, the movie you all knew was coming. The one film that is most likely on everyone’s “Must Watch On Halloween” list. The movie named after the day itself.
I’m speaking, of course, of John Carpenter’s 1978 classic: Halloween!
Year Released: 1978
Written By: John Carpenter, Debra Hill
Directed By: John Carpenter
Starring: Jamie Lee Curtis, Donald Pleasence
There’s a black sheep in every family. One person who drinks too much, or talks too loudly, or maybe spent some time in prison for reasons no one is willing to talk about. The Meyers family is no exception, only their black sheep is named Michael and he may or may not be the boogeyman.
At the ripe old age of six years old, Michael took his first life, that of his teenage sister Judith, one All Hallows Eve in 1963. It was at this point that Michael was shipped off to a mental institution, presumably for the rest of his life. But these things don’t always work out the way we want them to, especially in horror films, and fifteen years later, Michael escapes. He returns to his family home, the scene of the crime, to see what other family members are still hanging around, waiting to be brutally murdered.
Enter Laurie Strode, typical American teenage babysitter living in the suburbs.
Michael Meyers stalks Laurie, practically living in her shadow, until Halloween night when Laurie is babysitting a young boy named Tommy Doyle. It’s then, on the fifteenth anniversary of Judith Meyers’ murder, that Michael strikes at poor Laurie Strode and her friends. Will Michael’s psychiatrist Dr. Loomis be able to stop him in time?
Halloween is the movie that launched the career of Jamie Lee Curtis, and for that, I will forever be thankful to everyone involved. But even putting that aside, even ignoring Curtis’ memorable performance, Halloween is just a fantastic horror film through and through.
The suspense builds very early on and keeps climbing until the climax of the film; The inevitable showdown between Michael and Laurie. Some of John Carpenter’s best work can be seen and felt and heard in this movie and it still holds up, nearly thirty five years later.
Whether it’s the jump scares, or the quick glimpses of Michael Meyers over Laurie’s shoulder, or the music, this movie keeps you feeling terrified from the first scene straight through to the closing credits.
As far as makeup/effects go, it’s mostly just blood work, but it’s good. The most memorable part of Halloween’s antagonist, Michael Meyers, is of course the stark white mask. Which was actually a Star Trek Captain Kirk Halloween mask coated with white spray paint, so really it’s been an albino William Shatner that has been scaring you since you were a kid. Go figure.
The writing, the memorable performances put forth by both Jamie Lee Curtis and noted James Bond villain Donald Pleasence, and even the original score (also composed by John Carpenter) all work together to make this film genuinely creepy and can also all be listed as reasons that we all keep coming back to this movie, year after year.
Should You See It:
For the love of all that is scary, yes. If you’ve ever celebrated Halloween, but have never seen the movie named after it, I suggest you do so. Dim the lights, pull the covers up to your chin, and make sure to have plenty of candy on hand.
Wes Craven is a disturbed individual. No, really. He read a string of LA Times articles printed in the 1970s about a number of men in South East Asia who died under mysterious terms while experiencing vivid nightmares. A normal person reads a few articles of that nature and thinks “Oh, how terrible.” or “Those poor men and their families.” or “That is very creepy and I wish I hadn’t read it.”
But not Wes Craven. A man like Wes Craven reads those articles and thinks “I can use this to scare the living hell out of children for decades to come!”
And so was born tonight’s feature: A Nightmare on Elm Street
Year Released: 1984
Written By: Wes Craven
Directed By: Wes Craven
Starring: Robert Englund, Heather Langenkamp, John Saxon, Amanda Wyss, Johnny Depp
When all-American teenager Tina has a nightmare in which a grizzled and burned figure slashes her with a bladed glove, and she awakens with four slash marks across the front of her nightgown, she becomes a bit distressed. Upon telling her friend Nancy of her experience, Nancy reveals that she had a similar dream, though their other friends refuse to believe them.
That changes over time, as one by one, gruesome deaths befall each one; In their sleep.
Nancy soon comes face-to-crispy-face with the shadowy figure haunting her dreams, who calls himself Freddy Kruger, and he almost ends her. But as her friends and family all die around her at the claw-gloved hands of Mr. Kruger, Nancy has no choice but to take a stand and face him in a fight to the death. Will she survive the night?
Ah, Freddy Kruger. The ugly bastard who stalked the dreams of teenagers through the 1980s and well into the 1990s. One of the most iconic movie monsters and arguably one of the scariest ever put on film, it’s not the outright terror that people tend to remember most about Freddy, but rather the over-the-top hilarity of his horrible actions. I mean, Johnny Depp gets killed by a bed in this movie. A bed. It eats him and throws up a fountain of blood. Just in case you fail to grasp what I just said, let me repeat it: Johnny Depp gets killed by a bed in this movie.
Granted, the truly goofy stuff (yes, goofier than a kid being killed by a piece of furniture) doesn’t happen until later sequels. Oh, yeah. There are sequels. Quite a few of them, too, and only a couple of ones I’d call good. Okay, not “good”, but “entertaining”. Still, a whole lot of silly in this movie, and that’s what I love most about it.
Don’t get me wrong, the movie does the scary stuff right. This is, after all, a Wes Craven film. Wes almost always does a good job of balancing the silly with the scary. The premise alone is terrifying and Craven does a lot with it in this first film.
The acting is pretty typical for a mid-80s horror film, and the standout of the crowd is Robert Englund as Freddy Kruger.
The effects are decent for the time the movie was made, a lot of the makeup work and prosthetics are actually pretty impressive.
Should You See It:
Listen, if the words “Johnny Depp gets killed by a bed in this film” are not enough to entice you, I just don’t know what is.