The second movie of this weekend’s viewing.
I was living closer to civilization in the 1990s, although still in an exile, and the local supermarket started renting videocassettes. For a limited time — until sons of bitches ruined it — I could borrow VHS tapes without having a credit card. It was wonderful. I’d take out something like 3-5 — whatever the limit was — at a time during the weekend and watch away.
Signs of Life was one of them.
I don’t know why I was attracted to it, other than it had a good cast and that seemed promising. At least it didn’t have the unknowns of some of the low-budget dreadful ones I’d tried.
It turned out to be a kind of horror movie.
Say something is a “horror movie” and people expect monsters or sociopaths.
There are worst things to fear: family, obligations, the inevitability of the marketplace, desperation, lack of opportunity, frustration.
Signs of Life has all of that. But it also, in the end, it has a kind of happiness too. That’s what life is.
A great cast:
I might have watched only one American Playhouse. And I don’t remember it at all.
When the barbarians of money rise up on their hind legs and decry funding for public TV, slap them in the face with Sign of Life. It’s the kind of movie those eejits mean when they say, “They don’t make movies like they used to.” It’s because asshats like those cut off their funding.
Go watch it on Hulu. You will be glad you caught it.