Writers pay attention to human behavior.
I've always been a frustrated storyteller. Writing fiction has never been my forte, but I think I've applied observational skills to my own brand of creative nonfiction.
It was January 1993. I was thirty-two years old, at a crossroads in my life. I made a career change, and was in a transient state between near poverty and making a sustainable living.
The previous few years were lean and for a while I didn't even have a car. I existed by means of city transportation and my own two legs. It wasn't as bad as people seemed to think it was. Not owning a car is a kind of freedom in its own way.
A cold night, with frost enveloping everything. Most people huddled in their homes, keeping warm.
I was also in a state of changing my taste in movies. I watched all the John Waters movies. I was sampling foreign films. A friend gave me an eye-opening copy of Film Threat magazine, which was certainly revealing new cinematic worlds to me.
I still loved horror, even while the ramparts of the genre were changing along with me. We needed new blood and it would be some time until we had it. Most of us carried on by watching older movies, which were becoming increasingly easier to find.
Cheap horror movies, often knockoffs of successful properties, were still oozing into the world. They often received decent distribution deals. Especially if you were lucky enough to live near the dwindling reserves of independent theaters.
I lived near one and I went as much as I could. The Newmarket Cinema was my favorite and I lived a mere two blocks away.
If you went during the week and attended a twilight show, admission was cheap.
What else was there to do on a freezing Tuesday night than go see Children of the Corn 2: The Final Sacrifice?
I pulled in, early as has always been my habit. I wanted in my beat up old monster of a car, and another vehicle pulled in next to me.
There were three young occupants in it. Young, probably just out of high school. A girl and a couple of guys. I couldn't help but look over and stare.
I could feel waves of jubilation pouring from their car. She was in the driver's seat, with one guy next to her and another in the back. They had concert tickets and were obviously overjoyed at the prospect of seeing a favorite band perform live.
The three of them looked so happy. Their celebratory joy gave me a pang in my heart. I remembered being younger, more carefree. A time when nothing was more important than an impending concert. Or a cheap horror movie.
I got out of my car and they did the same just seconds after me. They were laughing and I felt an urge to say hi. I wanted to know what show they were seeing. I imagined it was some great indie band or a really cool artist. For all I know it was Garth Fucking Brooks or something repugnant like that.
A trio of cool kids. Society's best, going in to see Children of the Corn 2. Concert tickets still in hand. The kind of people I wish I'd known instead of a bunch of illiterate party dogs.
I didn't say anything. They didn't want some old guy, thirty-two years old for Christ's sake, bothering them.
The old mantra, "Never trust anyone over thirty" was still in memory. It was like the passive-agro "OK Boomer" of later years.
I felt old. My youth was gone and I was ass deep in the working world. There was nothing fun whatsoever about learning to be a machinist. It was maddening, exhausting work, and I was surrounded by rednecks.
We paid our money and chose our seats. The young people were cool and kept their mouths shut and watched the movie, the way God intended us to do.
The movie? Oh yeah.
I was learning about art films and underground movies. Children of the Corn 2 was a cheap, cynical way to earn a few bucks by exploiting a successful property and the good name of Stephen King.
"Children of the Corn" is slight short story and a thin one to try to adapt into a feature length movie. The first film, while beloved by fans, is pretty bad. I actually think this sequel is a little better.
The story takes place after the murderous events in the town of Gatlin. Surviving children want to take up where Malachai left off. The plan was to kill all the adults in the name of He Who Walks Behind the Rows. Why does that ring a bell?
A Bill Pullman wannabe is a tabloid reporter who goes to Gatlin to write about the horrors that took place there. He doesn't get along with his delinquent son, who looks wholesome enough to have stepped straight out of Riverdale High with Archie Andrews.
There's some Native American mojo, a subplot about poisonous moldy corn being mixed into fresh crops, but mostly the movie is just an excuse to show slasher-style deaths.
There are a few great moments. A doctor is attacked by kids with hypodermic syringes, which is pretty intense. In one uproarious scene an old lady in a wheelchair is struck by a tractor trailer and is thrown into the window of a senior citizen game room. Bingo! A cult kid is fed into a thresher to nice effect.
There's some interesting use of animation and some weird light exposure photography effects.
Hey, I wasn't thinking I was going to see Hitchcock or Lynch. This was Children of the Corn 2 and I got exactly what I expected out of it. It's a lowbrow, fun hour-and-a-half horrorshow.
Children of the Corn 2 was an early Dimension film, which was still a modest concern in those pre-Pulp Fiction/Scream days. Dimension was the genre department of Miramax Pictures. Bob, not Harvey, headed it up.
I recently got a twofer DVD with Children of the Corn 2 and Children of the Corn 3. It was from the despised Echo Bridge company. They routinely released shitty transfers, which looked like bad VHS dupes.
Now it's thirty-two years later. Half my life ago. I wonder if my young trio of moviegoers remember that icy night. Maybe, but I'd bet the memory means more to me than it does to them.
I guess they went on to become old people, enslaved by employment, mortgages, debt, and aging bodies. I like to imagine they held on to their love of cheap, bad horror movies. Odds are they didn't. It takes a special kind of crazy to do that.
I'm happy, deliriously so, that all these years later I can get enjoyment out of a simple-minded movie like Children of the Corn 2. I'm also glad that I am still experimenting in tasting and trying new things. Sampling the vast reaches of imagination cinema has to offer. Part of me still wants to eliminate the grown ups and live in a world of perpetual youth.
Newmarket Cinema still stands, a sad reminder of better things. The area used to be fairly nice, but now it is too depressed for developers to mess with. It isn't an area you'd like to walk in after dark.
I have this occasional dream. This is true, not one of the flights of fancy I am wont to have. I am outside the theater, just as on that cold night of Children of the Corn 2. I go to the booth and buy my ticket. Inside isn't a movie theater, but a gateway to a simpler time. When movies seemed less corporate. When I bought my paperbacks at WaldenBooks in the mall. When my joints didn't ache, I still could take a fall and laugh; when I heard about new horror writers, they were actually worth reading.
Now I have the present, which isn't so bad. I'm still on my feet, I have endless books to read, movies to watch. Book and movie hunting has changed, but I still do it as much as possible. There's a cool little theater near me that feels like stepping into a time machine.
I have the old books, the classic movies, to always return to and see how they, and I, hold up after all these long and frightening years.
Written by Mark Sieber
I've always been a frustrated storyteller. Writing fiction has never been my forte, but I think I've applied observational skills to my own brand of creative nonfiction.
It was January 1993. I was thirty-two years old, at a crossroads in my life. I made a career change, and was in a transient state between near poverty and making a sustainable living.
The previous few years were lean and for a while I didn't even have a car. I existed by means of city transportation and my own two legs. It wasn't as bad as people seemed to think it was. Not owning a car is a kind of freedom in its own way.A cold night, with frost enveloping everything. Most people huddled in their homes, keeping warm.
I was also in a state of changing my taste in movies. I watched all the John Waters movies. I was sampling foreign films. A friend gave me an eye-opening copy of Film Threat magazine, which was certainly revealing new cinematic worlds to me.
I still loved horror, even while the ramparts of the genre were changing along with me. We needed new blood and it would be some time until we had it. Most of us carried on by watching older movies, which were becoming increasingly easier to find.
Cheap horror movies, often knockoffs of successful properties, were still oozing into the world. They often received decent distribution deals. Especially if you were lucky enough to live near the dwindling reserves of independent theaters.
I lived near one and I went as much as I could. The Newmarket Cinema was my favorite and I lived a mere two blocks away.
If you went during the week and attended a twilight show, admission was cheap.
What else was there to do on a freezing Tuesday night than go see Children of the Corn 2: The Final Sacrifice?
I pulled in, early as has always been my habit. I wanted in my beat up old monster of a car, and another vehicle pulled in next to me.
There were three young occupants in it. Young, probably just out of high school. A girl and a couple of guys. I couldn't help but look over and stare.
I could feel waves of jubilation pouring from their car. She was in the driver's seat, with one guy next to her and another in the back. They had concert tickets and were obviously overjoyed at the prospect of seeing a favorite band perform live.
The three of them looked so happy. Their celebratory joy gave me a pang in my heart. I remembered being younger, more carefree. A time when nothing was more important than an impending concert. Or a cheap horror movie.
I got out of my car and they did the same just seconds after me. They were laughing and I felt an urge to say hi. I wanted to know what show they were seeing. I imagined it was some great indie band or a really cool artist. For all I know it was Garth Fucking Brooks or something repugnant like that.
A trio of cool kids. Society's best, going in to see Children of the Corn 2. Concert tickets still in hand. The kind of people I wish I'd known instead of a bunch of illiterate party dogs.
I didn't say anything. They didn't want some old guy, thirty-two years old for Christ's sake, bothering them.
The old mantra, "Never trust anyone over thirty" was still in memory. It was like the passive-agro "OK Boomer" of later years.
I felt old. My youth was gone and I was ass deep in the working world. There was nothing fun whatsoever about learning to be a machinist. It was maddening, exhausting work, and I was surrounded by rednecks.
We paid our money and chose our seats. The young people were cool and kept their mouths shut and watched the movie, the way God intended us to do.
The movie? Oh yeah.
I was learning about art films and underground movies. Children of the Corn 2 was a cheap, cynical way to earn a few bucks by exploiting a successful property and the good name of Stephen King.
"Children of the Corn" is slight short story and a thin one to try to adapt into a feature length movie. The first film, while beloved by fans, is pretty bad. I actually think this sequel is a little better.
The story takes place after the murderous events in the town of Gatlin. Surviving children want to take up where Malachai left off. The plan was to kill all the adults in the name of He Who Walks Behind the Rows. Why does that ring a bell?
A Bill Pullman wannabe is a tabloid reporter who goes to Gatlin to write about the horrors that took place there. He doesn't get along with his delinquent son, who looks wholesome enough to have stepped straight out of Riverdale High with Archie Andrews.
There's some Native American mojo, a subplot about poisonous moldy corn being mixed into fresh crops, but mostly the movie is just an excuse to show slasher-style deaths.
There are a few great moments. A doctor is attacked by kids with hypodermic syringes, which is pretty intense. In one uproarious scene an old lady in a wheelchair is struck by a tractor trailer and is thrown into the window of a senior citizen game room. Bingo! A cult kid is fed into a thresher to nice effect.
There's some interesting use of animation and some weird light exposure photography effects.
Hey, I wasn't thinking I was going to see Hitchcock or Lynch. This was Children of the Corn 2 and I got exactly what I expected out of it. It's a lowbrow, fun hour-and-a-half horrorshow.
Children of the Corn 2 was an early Dimension film, which was still a modest concern in those pre-Pulp Fiction/Scream days. Dimension was the genre department of Miramax Pictures. Bob, not Harvey, headed it up.
I recently got a twofer DVD with Children of the Corn 2 and Children of the Corn 3. It was from the despised Echo Bridge company. They routinely released shitty transfers, which looked like bad VHS dupes.
Now it's thirty-two years later. Half my life ago. I wonder if my young trio of moviegoers remember that icy night. Maybe, but I'd bet the memory means more to me than it does to them.
I guess they went on to become old people, enslaved by employment, mortgages, debt, and aging bodies. I like to imagine they held on to their love of cheap, bad horror movies. Odds are they didn't. It takes a special kind of crazy to do that.
I'm happy, deliriously so, that all these years later I can get enjoyment out of a simple-minded movie like Children of the Corn 2. I'm also glad that I am still experimenting in tasting and trying new things. Sampling the vast reaches of imagination cinema has to offer. Part of me still wants to eliminate the grown ups and live in a world of perpetual youth.
Newmarket Cinema still stands, a sad reminder of better things. The area used to be fairly nice, but now it is too depressed for developers to mess with. It isn't an area you'd like to walk in after dark.
I have this occasional dream. This is true, not one of the flights of fancy I am wont to have. I am outside the theater, just as on that cold night of Children of the Corn 2. I go to the booth and buy my ticket. Inside isn't a movie theater, but a gateway to a simpler time. When movies seemed less corporate. When I bought my paperbacks at WaldenBooks in the mall. When my joints didn't ache, I still could take a fall and laugh; when I heard about new horror writers, they were actually worth reading.
Now I have the present, which isn't so bad. I'm still on my feet, I have endless books to read, movies to watch. Book and movie hunting has changed, but I still do it as much as possible. There's a cool little theater near me that feels like stepping into a time machine.
I have the old books, the classic movies, to always return to and see how they, and I, hold up after all these long and frightening years.
Written by Mark Sieber
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