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A slightly perverted indulgence in monstrosity and body horror, The Evil Dead is a fine old horror wine that relies heavily on taunting demons and gratuitous gore above psychological roots of dread. And maybe due to this fact alone, Sam Raimi's genre defining fluid-fest has somehow lost a bit of its sheen with time.
There's only so much that shrieks, shrills and shocks can make up for and it is the paper thin plot and dummy act of supporting case…
"She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks, she was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always - Lolita. Light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin. My soul."
I remember reading Lolita when I was nineteen. Against summer morning breezes while inhaling sweet grass scents, I was amazed at the sheer madness of love. It…