It‘s horror movie season, witch!
The idea of a perfect movie is stupid. After all, perfection doesn’t exist. But neither do ghosts, goblins, zombies, vampires, werewolves, or the Candyman, or the Candyman, or the Candyman.
And yet, every October, as the weather cools, the leaves turn, the pumpkin spice products take over the supermarket shelves, and the interminable family season of Thanksgiving threatens to peak out from behind the bushes, our minds turn to horror movies. (True horror will always be family.)
This year I gathered some friends together and asked them to write up their favorite horror movies. Some of these movies will be new to you, and some will be comfortingly familiar. Some reek of the arthouse, and some just reek. But they are all glorious and worth your time.
There is a movie for every day in October. I hope they scare the shit out of you.
All I ask in return that you make a donation to Trans Lifeline (there's also a QR code in the zine).
At this point we are only sending zines to the US. (International shipping is A LOT.) If you’re outside the US (congrats!) email me and I might send you a PDF.
Because I like you, here’s one of the movie reviews:
THE EXORCIST
1973, directed by William Friedkin
In 1973 I turned six years old and my parents enrolled me in Catholic school. Neither of them were particularly devoted, but since all their friends sent their kids to Catholic school that’s where they sent me. I didn’t care for it. In 1973 nuns could still whip your ass and they enjoyed doing it. We got whacked upside the head for talking at our desks, we got smacked for bad penmanship, and we got straight-up slapped if we didn’t fold our hands correctly as they marched us into church every Wednesday morning. In church we were told there were about five thousand ways you could end up in hell, about three ways to end up in heaven, and we were such stupid, evil children that we should probably just resign ourselves to the former. On our way from church we’d get smacked for being stupid, evil children. I went home crying most days. My mother eventually became concerned enough that decided she’d do something nice for me. So she took me to the movies. We saw The Exorcist. I spent the next six months waking up in the middle of the night screaming. Decades later I started going to therapy and we spent about six sessions discussing this.
This is a perfect movie, but child, I cannot watch it.