There aren’t many remakes that can hold a candle, or a flamethrower, to their originals, but The Blob (1988) is one of those glorious exceptions.
Like The Thing (1982) and The Fly (1986) before it, this reimagining doesn’t just honour the 1958 classic, it absorbs it, digests it, and extrudes the original narrative into something truly jaw dropping.
At the centre of the gooey chaos is Kevin Dillon, a mulleted motorcycle-crashing rebel-without-a-clue who’s also kind of an unlikeable goon. He’s got a sneer for every occasion and a charisma deficit that shouldn’t work on screen. And yet, thanks to Dillon’s magnetic mullet and the film’s relentless momentum, you eventually find yourself rooting for him anyway. The real standout is Shawnee Smith, who transforms from a plucky small-town cheerleader into a Ripley-tier badass before the credits roll – she’s definitely one of the great unsung heroines of 80s horror. The supporting cast is loaded with familiar faces – but no face is safe. This is one of those rare films that isn’t afraid to put anyone in danger, including kids.
The jello breaks the mould a bit and swaps some of the original’s cosmic mystery flavour for something that’s a bit more down-to-earth – it’s got shades of government conspiracies, white van coverups, and the sort of mad-science-gone-wrong paranoia that would later grip 90’s sci-fi.
While it lost the bouncy Bacharach theme tune of the Steve (28 year old teenager) McQueen original, the remake eventually carved out its own unique crater on the horror landscape.
Its reputation, um, grew over time.
The Blob originally came-and-went with very little fanfare or box office success, and it languished for years on the bottom shelves of most Video Stores horror sections. But the decades have been kind to Chuck Russell and Frank Darabont’s love letter to 50’s drive-in creature features, and it’s now regarded as one of the best horror remakes of the 80s – and a timeless classic in its own right.
The effects are spectacularly creative, the pacing is razor-sharp, and the film pulls no punches. This is horror with teeth – or rather, tentacles.
-Pop, the creepin’ leapin’ splotch blotch.