Specifically, Fangoria, since it was just about the only horror publication worth reading (how times have changed). This wasn’t exactly the pre-internet days, but I was rocking a horribly outdated Dell desktop with a 56K modem so horror news had to be learned the old-fashioned way: magazines. What happened to the time when horror thrived on being unique and weird? Right around the turn of the century, word began to spread of a film that was being heavily touted as The Next Big Thing in horror: Jeepers Creepers (2001). The swill most directors served up was redundant, callow, and – like most of the cast by the time the credits rolled – lifeless. The cinematic landscape was largely devoid of any lasting titles, save for a few lucky franchises and the odd instant classic.
The state of American horror in the early aughts was bleak. Detestable as his crimes are, there are plenty of shitbags working in Hollywood whose crimes have not be made public, so the only purpose of this review will be to judge the film based on its own merits, with no further discussion of how Salva is a huge piece of shit. This is because writer/director Victor Salva is a convicted pedophile, having videotaped himself molesting the then-12-year-old star of his debut film Clownhouse (1989).
There was a bit of controversy a couple months back when Scream Factory announced they would be releasing collector’s editions for both films in the Jeepers Creepers series.
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