Just deserts

From Sunday's New York Times:

It is not true that horror movies are a mindless, wasteful form of entertainment with no redeeming social value. From a studious viewing of horror flicks, one can learn several important, even life-saving lessons. The importance of sticking to paved highways, for example. As countless movies have demonstrated, most recently Wolf Creek and The Hills Have Eyes, Alexandre Aja's remake of the 1977 Wes Craven classic, the detour down a dirt road is almost always a mistake, especially in the desert.

A couple friends of mine recently completed their own horror film, Death Valley (not pictured), the mayhem of which also transpires in the desert, and I occasionally wonder what it is that makes the locale such a potentially effective setting for the genre. Granted, there are few, if any, places for a "monster" to hide. Of course, there are equally few places to hide from such a creature. And that is the particular horror of the desert: whatever dangers it may present, it leaves one vulnerable, naked and exposed to the elements and any threats. Moreover, the desert, as its name pointedly suggests in verb form, has been isolated, abandoned or forgotten by law, civilization (and all of its niceties) and probably whatever higher power you prefer. (I am told all this by the put-upon yet plucky Death Valley caterer.) Remote places like this are termed godforsaken for a reason. Under the circumstances, the desert's vast expanse, so idealized in country music and Hollywood westerns, generates its own claustrophobia, and that brilliant desert sun, its special brand of darkness.

More urgently, watch the season finale of that other delightful blend of light and dark, Veronica Mars, which airs tonight at 9 p.m. on UPN.




"I didn't think it was possible, Ronni, but you are even cuter when you pout."