So I've never been much of a Bob Dylan fan (always more of a Misfits and Motorhead kind of guy), but truer cannot be spoken for the state of horror films. Times are tough but far from hopeless. In the next couple of weeks, I'll be writing a lot about how we can still make our scary celluloid dreams come true. But for now, I'd like to say a few words about love.
Jace, if Adam tells you he needs his own space, do you promise not to stalk him relentlessly and boil Goblin in a big pot to gain his attention? Do you pledge that, if you and Adam stumble upon the secret headquarters of a French group devoted to discovering the secrets of the afterlife, you will not insist on spending the night there, thus allowing the turban-wearing elderly Frenchwoman leader of said group to arrive and strip all of Adam’s skin off of his body? Do you promise that you will always get a bigger boat? Do you promise that, even if a group of women tell you that the underpass is always safer than the street, that you will not use the underpass?
Adam, should Jace break her promise and use the underpass and something vile and unwatchable happens to her for eight and a half minutes, do you promise not to go to the nearest gay leather bar and bash in a random stranger’s head with a fire extinguisher? Do you promise not to chain Jace to the bed and break her ankles with a hammer if she stops working on a script? Finally, no matter how sweet and convincing the old couple next door is, do you promise not to let them conjure the devil and impregnate Jace to further your directing career?