I had planned to write a rave review of Niels Arden Oplev’s terrific film of Steig Larson’s incredible novel THE GIRL WITH THE DRAGON TATTOO for this second blog, but due to all the insanity surrounding the publication of my new book CITIES OF NIGHT, I haven’t had the time to go see the must-watch movie a second time and have only just finished the book.

Horror’s universal themes and ability to gnaw at at least one of everyone’s fears make it an incredibly wide-reaching and affecting genre that often spills over into the interests and influences of other artists, including those not directly related to the business of the macabre. Unsurprisingly, one such avenue terror often extends into is music, and band members who may play, sing and scream by day, but revel in splatter at night.

Today, May 28, marks the national theatrical unveiling of writer/director George A. Romero’s latest zombiefest, SURVIVAL OF THE DEAD. “National” may be stretching it a bit, though, as SURVIVAL is only playing in 20 theaters or so across the country, quite a step down from Universal’s summer launch of LAND OF THE DEAD in 2005 at over 2,000 screens (a record for a Romero film). Then again, if SURVIVAL OF THE DEAD doesn’t come to your town today, it will be rolling out in more venues through July 2. Or, you can watch SURVIVAL via video on demand, Amazon, Xbox Live and other digital platforms, where it slipped in a month ago (see listings here).

Or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love a Child Molester

Reading the bile that many of my fellow critics and fans have heaped on the new NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET has led me to some reasonably deep soul-searching on the issue of what it means to be a critic, or at least the kind of critic I have become. Not much of an issue in a sea of bloggers and self-pronounced pundits, but perhaps a worthy endeavor for a man who would like to consider himself spiritual.

A NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET has come and gone and has definitely left a taste in my mouth—a taste I can’t quite identify. Sometimes I think it’s pizza, a treat that lingers as a reminder of how awesome it was to enjoy. Other times it’s like drinking orange juice after you brush your teeth. It’s just wrong and should not have been done. What I’m trying to say is that I may have eaten a few of my words… only a few of them. Just a little snack and not a full spread of “told-you-so.”

I strongly dislike having to watch “party scenes” in films. Also, my brother once told me he hates seeing other people have fun. And to a degree, I think we all do. When you’re banging on a downstairs neighbors’ door, yelling for him (her) and his (her) stoner (skanky) friends to keep their party to a low roar, it’s not that it’s keeping you up. You can’t sleep because really, you long to be downstairs shotgunning a beer too, but you weren’t invited. And there are very few party scenes in movies that have made me feel like I was invited.

Though we only worked together for maybe five weeks or so, former ’80s FANGORIA editor David Everitt, who passed away May 7 at age 57 from Lou Gehrig’s disease (see item here), affected my life in so many profound and wonderful ways. Fresh out of college, he showed faith in me that not even I had in myself when I started at FANGORIA as a lowly editorial assistant in July 1985.