Faustus is still otherwise occupied, so here I am. Last night, my boyfriend Rob suggested we see one of the worst movies ever made. Well, actually, he said, “Do you want to see Dreamcatcher?” but the result was the same. We saw what one reviewer said should have been titled Anal Worms from Space at the 9:15 showing.
As near as I can figure (and I read the book), Dreamcatcher is about four fart-joke-telling guys (who, by the way, are psychic), who end up getting attacked by alien creatures that resemble nothing so much as vaginas with row upon row of pointy teeth. One of these men, nicknamed “Beaver,” says “Fuck me, Freddy” a lot. I believe he is also the one who, at one point, instructs one of his friends to “bite” his “bag.”
No wonder the vaginas kill him first.
There is a connection between this film and the sociopolitical climate in post-September Eleventh America, but I do not feel like discussing it.