So, I'm roughly five years old, there is a movie playing. I'm with my cousin, three years older than me, who has already put me through Jason on a boat, reminded me that the Boogeyman is real, introduced me to the slasher genre it would be a decade before I would understand the ramifications thereof. Halloween 4. That's it you all. The movie that would be on the back burner of my sub-conscious, to be reawakened only when necessary, a movie filled with as much guilt as pleasure.
It was when Jamie killed her mother, had the knife, bigger than her, in hand, that I sat startled, bewildered, scared yet not repulsed. After about eight years I relived that moment (which is really quite hard to explain in words) and again, sat, in awe, yet now understanding tone, understanding lighting and cinematography, all before I knew what those words really meant. Jamie Lloyd murdered my naivete, one stab at a time, scissors the size of belligerence, and I dug every moment, and still do. Oh, damn, rant number 63. Thanks guys. You understand right?
