"Out of all the cars you own, you had to pick me up in the Dodge Dart."
Maybe the end of SOV fascination for me. There are moments—but only moments, and they are few and far between.
I admit it's a matter of taste.
Saturn's Core Blu-ray.
Anytime, anywhere. For my money, Spielberg made 5 perfect films, and this one is at the top. Not a wasted shot, pitch perfect casting, pitch perfect dialogue. No sentimental hokum, and a Mamet ending.
I find when talking to others that the legacy of this film (in terms of "inventing the summer blockbuster," "shark movie," etc.) tends to overshadow what a finely crafted thriller it, so much so that it I think it might be called one of the few "creature" films of the 1970s with an auteur stamp.
So, where do I begin?
It's 1973. Penthouse Pictures has some money, and wanted to make a "white-people-move-into-a-haunted-house-against-all-reason" picture.
Penthouse Pictures hires Robert Culp, and ask him if he's willing to give his penis second billing in the film. He agrees.
Samantha Eggar is asked to join the cast, and says, "why not?"
Everyone drops acid. Shooting begins.
Dominic Frontiere writes a brilliant score, thousands of miles away from all of this.
Movie is edited and released. No one involved in the making of the movie can remember what happened.