It’s been a week. Not the greatest one, but a week nonetheless. I’m going to have a drink.
Friday the 13th is happening. You can’t stop it. Why would you want to? It’s still a Friday. If you end up taking a harpoon gun shot to the eye, at least you probably blew the evil weed and had relations beforehand.
In a giant twist, I’m not going to watch anything related to those happy camper movies.
I’m going to hoist a few while watching Dementia 13.
Written and directed by Francis Ford Coppola and produced by Roger Corman. Coppola’s first legit directorial work by most accounts. Legit being a subjective term.
If I had planned better, I would have gotten some Coppola wine. A pinot noir.
As it is, I’ll have to suffer through some ridiculously good porter instead. Tough breaks.
The plot follows a scheming young woman (Luana Anders) who, while visiting her husband’s family castle in Ireland, inadvertently causes his heart attack death. She attempts to have herself written into her rich mother-in-law’s will since her husband (Peter Read) has pre-deceased his mother (Eithne Dunne). Her plans are permanently interrupted by an axe-wielding lunatic who begins to stalk and murderously hack away at members of the family.
This could be a Friday the 13th movie if I squint real hard and focus on the ax-wielding lunatic part.
I’ll let you know how it turns out. I’m sure it will be award-winning. Coppola and Corman got in a spat while churning out a cheap skate Psycho ripoff and a second director came in after it was done to film additional scenes to finish it off. That’s a recipe for greatness.
I’ve been assured of a miasma of madness.
I’m off to the domain of the damned, the dead and the demented! As you do.