Netflix has debuted the trailer for the new Texas Chainsaw Massacre film. Everyone is agog over this thing. I will admit, it's a good trailer. Big deal. Okay, I can tell you're ready to muzzle any signs of an oncoming cloudburst of codger-screened dyspepsia (where did I leave my Tums?). Hear me out! My cynicism is warranted. TCM is my favorite film of all time. In the 90's, I was already having to put up with commoners confusing the classic with 1994's The Next Generation. Granted, the subtitle was de-emphasized on the VHS cover, so much so that it seemed intentional. Noooo, couldn't be...
Then came the remake. A respectable effort, but now, I had to clarify my response when asked, "What's your favorite movie?" The original, damn it. The original! Sequels retched themselves into existence. In accordance with prevailing trends, one of those sequels is simply called Texas Chainsaw. Who needs numbers when you have dingleberry dipsticks? Don't think it's a trend? Tell that to Scream 5--I mean Scream. Or Halloween 11--I mean Halloween. I can't tell who is lazier, the edacious studios or the apathetic audiences who turn out in ever-proliferating gaggles.
But that isn't the fault of Netflix's Chainsaw reboot/refuck. It stands independent of previous installments. Too bad! I don't have to share your enthusiasm. It might be decent, but I don't know if I'll ever watch it. The older I get, the more I realize that intellectual properties are destined to be recapitulated time and time again, catheterized of all sanctity. Makes you wonder. Were there any jaded genre fans around in 1958 protesting the release of Hammer's Horror of Dracula?
Wait a second. I'm countering my own point. I better stop typing before I disagree with myself.
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