The Horrors of Conspiracy

Anyone who hasn't noticed the trend of inexcusably (and unapologetically) bad horror films over the past few years has either made one or is studying climate change in the Antarctic. That is a worthy cause, but I feel it is my duty to distract you from your studies to inform you of a growing conspiracy - one involving all levels of the horror film industry. Not that I actually believe this, but accept it for the moment.

I was very excited about the release of 28 Weeks Later, and, lo and behold, I wasn't disappointed. It was lyrical and beautiful; it strikes me as the sort of thing Pablo Picasso would have done if he was handed a camera and some fake blood. I was watching a horror picture, and I was enjoying myself. Such a feeling has been as distant and elusive as a desert horizon. Then I realized that I had sat through almost every horror movie that had slithered its way into a projector, where they would lay for a while, microscopic, parasitic and stagnant. Why was I so compelled to see them? It struck me: I was waiting for something like 28 Weeks Later. I had to be there when the cure for the common, torturous and misguided horror movie was discovered. I had to witness it in action before my eyes, eating away at a disease that has lingered in me since I stumbled into Cursed two years ago.

If everyone is like me (which, of course, they are), they would all be attentive and dedicated to the pursuit of a remedy; they would cough up their money in the name of charity and sit, watch, and wait. But that money went to no progressive charity - it supported the creation of snuff films with delusions of grandeur. Perhaps the horror movie market researchers misread the incoming revenues as signals of appreciation - dudes, WATCH the movies you fund (and keep your bloody eyes open). Then watch 28 Weeks Later, note the differences, and reformat your lives.