The Stuff teeters between amazing and dogshit at such a breakneck pace I don't think I can cover it all.
The great things about this movie: Chocolate Chip Charlie, Michael Moriarty's bizarre lead performance, the actual physical Stuff, the consumerist satire, a few moments of genuinely fun body horror.
If only it weren’t for the writing, the editing, the sound, the WORST child actor I've seen in a while, the greenscreen, etc.
When the credits rolled on this one, I had two thoughts: I don't think David Cronenberg liked his ex-wife very much, and I need to see more Oliver Reed films.
(Side note: I recommend reading Carrie Rickey's essay on The Brood for Criterion if, like me, you were looking to expand your thoughts on what this movie might be trying to say beyond just “fuck that psychotic evil bitch”)
Sam Neill covers himself in crayon before trying to convince me that I'm the crazy one. What's not to like?
An eerie, engrossing, weird movie that does cosmic horror well, albeit with some dated effects and a fair bit of campiness along the way. Carpenter uses great images and sound to create some solid scenes of terror. The high concept is a big sell, and in some ways, it feels like a movie that would have been a lot more successful in the modern age of horror films.
