Spielberg’s “E.T.,” Hooper’s “Poltergeist,” and Scott’s “Blade Runner;” it was one of the best years of 1980s science fiction and horror. There was, however at the time, a sleeper hit: a “barf-bag movie,” Roger Ebert said, that split audiences in two just like David Clennon’s character Palmer’s face split, just in time to devour Thomas G. Waites’s Windows.
CineDump Rating: ★★★★★
It’s ironic, really. Looking back on all of the body-horror classics of the 80s, most film fanatics think of one name, which is, of course, Cronenberg. That’s justifiable. Even deserving. Yet when someone mentions John Carpenter’s sci-fi epic “The Thing,” and exclaims, “This isn’t body-horror, it’s science fiction!”, it’s always followed by, “This isn’t science fiction, it’s just body-horror!”
Look, I’ve heard both. And in every right, it is both, it’s everything. It’s an Agatha Christie science fiction whodunnit gorefest body-horror extravaganza like no one had ever seen.
Or has seen since.
2011’s prequel, or “requel” as we say, wasn’t bad at all. In fact, I’ll defend it to my grave. It gave us a background answer that every true Carpenter fan craved—even if we weren’t satisfied. Still, looking back at Rob Bottin’s groundbreaking practical special effects, I’m abhorred, really, when people tell me 1982’s “The Thing” is a horror trash piece of cinema.
Don’t worry, I vomited in my mouth too. In their defense it is for that time, but not as of this review in 2023, 41 years old. Then again, “Casablanca” is 81 years old. The two films are 40 years apart, yet I guarantee you, when you mention one to someone, they’ll know the other. So where is the fan base? Is it supposed to appeal to everyone?
I’ll never forget the first time I saw “The Thing.” It was a weekend night, and I was allowed to have some friends over to stay the night. I was probably a senior in high school (so let’s give myself some juice for being 17 or 18). I was shocked. Disgusted. Absolutely appalled.
And so, so addicted. Over the years I tried to find a justifiable reason to be so obsessed with horror films, and every question I asked myself came back to John Carpenter (or Romero’s “Night of the Living Dead”). “Assault on Precinct 13,” “The Fog,” and of course “Halloween” all bent my horror ear and made me become a beacon for the hardest, grossest, and scariest horror films that came out each year.
I went down that Cronenbergian hill; so did I go down the Italian “video Nasty” Giallo galley of “Cannibal Holocaust” and “New York Ripper,” or more recently, “Inside,” “Martyrs,” and I even went down that disgusting “Slaughtered Vomit Dolls” route, and that’s when I learned the difference between artistically horrific and the horrific garbage that people consider “art.”
I just made a massive route from what I’m supposed to review versus my commentary on what is grotesque.
If you have never seen “The Thing,” I cannot recommend it enough. Violent? Yes. Terrifying? Yes. Paranoid? Absolutely. But if nothing else, it’s a groundbreaking film about aliens, paranoia, mystery, and most of all: the greatest practical gore.
Jacob Scheer