Todd Seavey recently sent me this article about certain death, after I’d recently raved to him for a while about the greatness of the Final Destination series. Anyone who isn’t familiar with those horror films can catch up on their general importance via my review of Final Destination 3, complete with intrusive political content. The topic I was discussing with Todd was my own imminent death. I’m pretty sure that the upcoming The Final Destination in 3-D will give me a heart attack, a brain aneurysm, or both. That’s mainly because—again, as noted in my review—the Final Destination films perfectly capture how an unnatural Death is most likely to find us. In fact, I’ll quote myself:

The Final Destination films should be honored for keeping the term "Rube Goldberg" in the lexicon of film critics. None of the survivors can simply get an anvil dropped on their head. Death—personified only as a cold wind—has to first drop the marble which spills the drink which falls on the radio that shocks the laborer who’s holding the pulley that's supporting the anvil.

The Final Destination franchise is the most realistic horror series ever, once you understand that Death doesn’t drop the marble. It’s dropped by some idiot who’s going to go about his merry way while your grey matter oozes all over the sidewalk in the kind of 3-D that doesn’t require special glasses. My current recurring vision of Final Destination mortality is the Bank of America executive encouraging the sale of a home to an illegal alien who is then arrested four times for drunken driving and has his license revoked but is ignored by politically correct law-enforcement officials and is never deported until he drops an anvil on my head—or runs me over while driving drunk yet again, if you prefer your horror movies based on a true story.

You know who could direct a really good film in the Final Destination series? Bob Clark, but he isn’t available.

 

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