WHAT THE FUCK...

How many moviegoers remember when Paramount took out nation-wide full-page ads containing a ton of quotes from the critics for Black Sunday, a “prestige” disaster flick made by John Frankenheimer? More than a few claimed it was as thrilling and terrifying as Jaws. If we can sue for false advertising, can we sue for false blurbism? Walking out of the theatre afterwards, I heard a woman gripe, “Whats the point? Wasnt that fucking blimp suppose to blow up on em in the stadium?” She wasnt being entirely cold-blooded, and it didnt seem she was drooling for splattered innards and torrents of blood—well, she might have, and they would have helped—she was looking for a reason for the movie. (It had already been made as Two Minute Warning.) Black Sunday, like War Games the same year, is a cautionary tale done with too much taste—i.e., everything that happens shouldnt and everything that should doesnt. With Robert Shaw, Marthe Keller and, reliably bonkers as ever, Bruce Dern.

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