You won’t find a lot of folks who’ll argue that the 1980s were a Golden Age of cinema. The dramas were as cheesy as the comedies, and barely anything — even some of the great films in the decade — holds up very well today. Sure, there were a couple of Star Wars movies (holdovers from the 70s), Kubrick was still going strong, Hughes was delivering, and both theDie Hard and Indiana Jones franchises were born. But all in all, the 80s and its big hair and synth-pop soundtracks kind of blew.
Except the horror genre. In the 60s, it was all psychological horror and the 70s were about atmospherics, but if you actually wanted to have a good time at a horror movie, there was no better decade to watch than the 1980s. Limited by their budgets, horror filmmakers had to trade heavily in creativity, and it wasn’t the directors or the actors who were the big stars of the decade, it was the make-up artists. Rick Baker, Tom Savini, and Stan Winston, to name a few. You didn’t go see a horror movie back then to be psychologically tormented, you didn’t go to be completely grossed out, and you certainly didn’t go to watch some gal get the shit beat out of her over and over again. You went because the boogeyman would come out of nowhere, you’d jump out of your seat, and then you’d laugh your goddamn ass off watching some poor teenager’s dismembered head roll down a flight of stairs permanently affixed with fellatio mouth. 80’s slasher films weren’t good, but they sure as hell were entertaining. And they beat the semen-encrusted pants off today’s sterile remakes, which rely heavily on the nihilism and are short on the splattacular laughs. Most of them are dull, and the ones that aren’t just make you sick. They’re uninspiring. I don’t imagine there are a lot of teenagers growing up today who want to be horror-movie directors or make-up artists, which is kind of a goddamn shame.
But then there’s My Bloody Valentine 3D, a movie that’s monumentally awful. But it’s the most fun I’ve had at a horror movie since the last Final Destination flick. What’s particularly troubling about My Bloody Valentine, however, is that I can’t tell if the director, Patrick Lussier (White Noise 2: The Light, Dracula 2000) is either a genius or spectacularly incompetent. The result, here, is the same: Horrendous acting, unbelievably awful plotting, and bloody fucking awesome death scenes. That’s the 80’s way, y’all. You know you’re watching a special kind of movie when a white crowd — and not just white, butMaine white — is yelling at the screen. The typical audience reaction: A bunch of teenagers laughing their fool goddamn heads off for 90 minutes and walking out, exclaiming “Worst Movie Ever!” In other words, My Bloody Valentine is sucktastic. The body count is huge, the gore is off the hook, and the plot is hilariously nonsensical.
My Bloody Valentine opens ten years ago in a small coal town. Tom Hanniger (Jensenohmyfuckingodawful Ackles) mistakenly forgets to bleed the lines in a coal mine, and six men are trapped inside. One man, Harry Warden, uses a pick-axe to kill off the other five so that he’s got enough air to survive. Once rescued, Harry Warden is in a coma, but wakes a year later and goes on a hospital killing spree, before returning to the coal mine and fantastically murdering a group of teenagers. Only Tom, Axel (“Dawson Creek’s” Kerr Smith), Tom’s girlfriend, Sarah (Jaime King, who as a brunette is a dead ringer for Kimberly Williams), and Irene (Betsy Rue) survive before the police arrive and shoot Harry Warden dead.