The Dead Zone

To my Darling The Dead Zone.
It’s been 30-odd years and we’re still going strong.  Biannual dalliances have kept us perennial, and with every date you deliver something new, to someone who is:
Not scared – she knows him.
Each time you visit, you promise me a cold time in the old town tonight. And you ALWAYS play that game with me: Castle Rock, Paperback, Dodd’s Scissors…..


With an apparent budget of tens of dollars, I can easily forgive your one flaw: the worst movie death ever (Johnny’s mom), instead relishing one of the finest (her son).

You iconified Walken, and via Sheen, you gave us the Dark Side of Jed Bartlett (You KNEW!!).
Herbert Lom achingly reveals Weizak’s past – a devastating telephone-exposition that his young self just wasn’t meant to be; and so, we learn how second-Sam was born.
Even your melancholy score is in absolute simpatico with my heartbeat, every note reflecting seat-edgedness, teasing out a symphonic range of emotion via a three-part harmony (The Murders, The Spells, and The Prez).
Your clued up crew were in on it, and it shows-from the aural delight of the crunching gazebo snow to the Johnny-lookin’-spooky uplighting.
You’ve been a real sport to me. You just fucking (castle) ROCK and I shall never let you go.
Let’s send Mediocrity to hell.

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