The Hills Have Eyes

On Friday night, I went across town to Georgetown to see The Hills Have Eyes remake. I hadn't seen the original and I wasn't sure exactly what it was about entering the theater. My excitement for seeing it dissipated about halfway through the movie when my hands started to tremble and I had to bury myself into my neighbor. Reading reviews later I have to agree with those horror purists, that parts of this film were more for obscenity than classic scares. Although I'm still glad I saw it. Exiting the theater I offered to drive Charlie (my brother) and Lu (his girlfried) home because I didn't want to be alone due to the fragile state of a post-horror movie. Lu asked me if I was going to be scared going back to my empty apartment, and I said no because we were in the city and those mutants were in the desert. At the time it made perfect sense, but now I'm not sure what my line of thought was to think that flesh-eating psychotic mutants actually exist in New Mexico or wherever this story was supposed to take place. Furthermore, I discovered later this film was shot in Morocco, which also seemed to calm my nerves about ever happening upon such a clan.
Anyway, the rest of the weekend was filled with recognizing elements of film in other things. On Sunday I went to the National Gallery and saw Cezanne in Provence and the Dada exhibits. Both had pieces that led me to remark, "that's so the hills have eyes."
On a sidenote, over the past three days I have seen Amish people shopping in Nine West and a buddhist monk talking on a cell phone outside the Nine West - but on a different day.