Prophecy (1979)

Prophecy
Year released: 1979

Directed by John Frankenheimer (The Manchurian Candidate, Black Sunday and, well, lets just forget about that remake of The Island of Dr. Moreau shall we?)

Starring: Mrs. Rocky, Some white-afro'd mod supercool mustachioed 70s dude with groovy pants suits, that guy who would later go on to play that other guy in John Carpenter's The Thing and gets his arms ripped off by an alien chest cavity, Armand Assante and his ramrod straight spinal cord, a grizzly bear turned inside out and lots of pine trees.

The 1970s were one long teaser trailer for me. I was born in 1970. That first decade of my life was incredibly formative. I learned, in the space of ten short years, that my father was a scumbag, my sister was mental and horror movies - much like growing breasts and kissing boys and staying up late on school nights - were just beyond my reach. It was a lot like the tiny little sips of beer that my Dad allowed me to take from a Dixie cup at dinnertime: not enough to get me drunk, but enough to let me know that this would be something to which I would return in time, immerse myself in and master. Great goals, huh? Thanks dad, I was determined to be a drunk by the age of 8. But I was more determined to be a horror movie expert long before my first sip of Budweiser.

By now I'm sure I've told you all the story of my first horror experience at the age of three when I saw a TV trailer for The Exorcist, about as many time as your mom has told you all about the days she used to walk to the bus stop, up hill, both ways, barefoot, in ten feet of snow.

The year after that, I saw the trailer for The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and put it on my mental To-Watch list. Then came Carrie and The Omen. The Hills Have Eyes, Dawn of the Dead, Halloween. 1979's television trailers were the equivalent of a decadent dessert tray rolling slowly past me: Alien, Phantasm, The Brood, The Amityville Horror and, last but not least, Prophecy. I had no idea what the word Prophecy even meant. All I knew was that something BIG was crashing its way through the treetops, a thing so big that no flashlight beam could pin it down. I had to know what the Prophecy was. What did it look like? Did it have big ripping teeth and claws the size of Ginsu knives? Did it eat people?

Anyway, the 80s finally arrived and it was a pretty shit decade all things considered: Reaganomics, lots of cocaine, shit pop music and fluorescent green leg warmers. Bleagh. But finally I was old enough to start watching horror movies and I quickly ran down the list I'd made in my head. Except for one. I never did get around to watching Prophecy. Not sure why. It must have been available to rent at some point, but it just never happened. No matter. It is now the 21st century and ultimately, thank god for YouTube.

Okay, so finally, after 35 years of waiting, here we go.

Never go bobbing for french fries.

Hmm, pretty straightforward so far. White Man has ruined the earth and poisoned the water in the name of profit. Native Americans do not approve and are, of course, the scapegoats who are blamed whenever the White Men need someone to blame for their own fuck ups. Mr. 70s EPA agent sympathizes with the Native community and sets out to do whatever he can to prove that the local paper mill has contaminated the water supply with lethal amounts of mercury, which has also been causing the wildlife to mutate into icky, gooey, twisted former versions of themselves, i.e. giant blobby tadpoles, bigass duck-eating salmon and a couple of baby bears caught in a fish net who look like the horrible aborted offspring of a wax dummy and a cheese pizza. Their pathetic little grunty cries and hoarse baby tantrum shrieks are excruciating to listen to and throw newly pregnant Talia Shire into a panic. After all, she's been eating the local fare - what the hell will her baby come out looking like? The Lovecraft fan in me wonders if this agonizing scene was inspired by the freakish, waterlogged corpses of indescribable monsters washed up on the riverbanks of Vermont following a Biblical flood.

And suddenly, out of nowhere in a thus far dead serious eco-horror tale comes this:

HahahahahahahHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! What the fuck was that? Did footage from a Friday the 13th flick sneak its way into the editing room? This is fucking hilarious! The moral of this campfire story seems to be: never try to bunny hop your way out of danger. Also, never pack your sleeping bag with nitroglycerine, because a single, half-hearted swipe from a pissed off, irradiated bear will cause you to explode, leaving nothing behind but a shower of goose feathers.

So Dr. WhiteGod, a nauseated looking Talia, Armand Apseudo-Indian and a handful of disposable bear bait go fucking off into the wilderness with their squishy bear babies, hoping to get them to a news outlet and expose the Horrible Truth, but Momma BurnedBearRoast is following them every step of the way, kinda like that scene in Jurassic Park 2 where the T-Rexes come after Vince Vaughn in a desperate attempt to prevent him from doing True Detective Season 2. She even crosses a lake at one point in dogged (bearred?) pursuit, and the remaining cast helpfully stand stock still, waiting for her to catch up so they can scream their stupid heads off and have the nerve to look surprised. Quick! Lets us take shelter in a nearby cabin and wait for the bear to smash  its way in. And, oh hey look! We have WEAPONS! We could have been using these the whole time! I wonder why we waited so long? Let's use them now and kill the thing in a frenzy of outraged anger, thereby invalidating all of the prep work done so far to prove to the audience that not all White Men are bad and can learn how to live with nature and take responsibility for their mistakes. Nah, screw that - KILL THAT FUCKING BEAR!!! Grunt a lot while you do so and make it manly! Both fists, come on you pansy! Assert your alpha masculinity! Oh, and make sure you use Armand's arrow as your final weapon so as to insinuate that you have somehow been accepted as one of them and are the incarnation of the White Mustachioed Savior come to bring them into the 21st century via The Bible and Home Shopping Network.

So yeah - definitely not worth the 35 year wait.
Except for that fucking sleeping bag scene.
Still giggling.

"Hey! I'm walkin' here!"