Men will literally carry around a giant rock to crush their hand to mark the occasion of taking their underage crime spree girlfriend's virginity instead of going to therapy.

Watch this again and tell me Heather Donahue doesn't improvise an award worthy performance while simultaneously acting as cinematographer and accidentally capturing one of the most iconic shots in all of film horror history -- if not all of film history, full stop.

On second rewatch I'm even more about it. The criticism I've seen that this shouldn't have focused on O'Neal seem like it misses what makes any progressive blip in mainstream pop culture so potentially radicalizing. Not everybody will become a Fred Hampton. But everybody can find fulfillment and community in a cause. And everybody will be faced with many, many opportunities to find out exactly what they'd be willing to gain or lose before selling out their beliefs.

If there was an Animorphs cover of Jude Law morphing into Philip Seymour Hoffman, the middle step would be Matt Damon.

Anyway, the 90s had the best big, dumb prestige trash dramas. The types that are big and dumb and horny and more than a little bit gay (but also never gay enough) and they had incredible production value and were shot on location but still had weird spurts of like, abysmal blue screen? Yeaaaah hook that shit up to my veins.