How do you judge the greatest horror film ever made? Is it how near you come to running out the room, sweating? Is it the intensity of the nightmares that follow? Or is it the film that sparks off agorophobia? If that is the criteria, then Big Momma’s House gets my vote.
The remake of The Karate Kid is coming out soon and I’m scared. I have visions of myself coming out of the screen a broken woman, feebly humming Joe Esposito’s You’re the Best to myself. The horror of seeing a much loved film pillaged by grasping Hollywood producers is traumatic enough to merit the forming of some sort of support group.