I don't see many scary movies, largely because I don't like to be scared, particularly when the privilege runs about
I'm more of an "Isn't
("Welcome to earth!")
But in light of everything terrifying happening in the world that
As I thumb through the pay-per-view guide, I brief my husband Fletch on contenders. "Let's see . . ooh, 'The Omen' from 1976 . . . 'The Exorcist' . . . 'The Shining' . . . and, although technically not appropriate for a
Fletch shrugs. "Your call. I've never seen any of them."
The man with an encyclopedic memory of every zombie movie ever made hasn't seen any classic horror films? From "
"How'd you miss these? Did you grow up Amish and not tell me?"
"We didn't have HBO as a kid."
"But you've had 35 years to catch up! And you quote 'Jaws' all the time! Do you even know what you're referring to when you say you 'think we need a bigger boat'?"
He shrugs again.
After forbidding him to quote anything he hasn't viewed, I decide his education should begin with "The Omen," which is more psychological thriller than bloodbath. I haven't watched the film since the early '80s but I clearly recall being petrified. When it was released, all my aunts saw it on the first night of our extended family vacation and for the rest of the week they slept with the lights on.
The movie starts and not five minutes into it, Fletch begins to mock it. "How did they not know the kid's evil? I mean, he's 5 years old, yet he's wearing a leisure suit."
"This film grossed sixty million bucks in
"For best film?"
I mumble into my sleeve. "For best score."
After Damien knocks his mother
The longer we watch, the less Fletch can contain himself. After
Finally, when the photographer is decapitated in a graphic manner - almost unheard of in 1976 cinema - Fletch has to stifle a yawn before asking, "You want to watch 'The Walking Dead' after this?"
But all is not lost because "The Omen's" final image is absolutely chilling. When we see that Damien has survived to fulfill his biblical prophecy of doom, I can practically hear the collective gasp of the audience from 1976.
As the credits roll, I turn to Fletch for his final assessment.
"What'd you think?"
He looks thoughtful for a moment. "I think that our next dog should be a Rottweiler."
The rest of our weekend is booked with other classic film viewing and now what scares me is that the movies will likely inspire him to cook split pea soup and perhaps write a book.
On the plus side, maybe we'll get a bigger boat.
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