I recently found myself in the awkward position of explaining my love of B-grade movies. Not all of them, of course, but there are a gamut of horror movies and non-horror alike that are clearly made for the love of the game, and that's the kind of thing I mean. After reading a recent script of mine, the subject in question said, "This reads like a B-movie." "Yeah," I responded in delight, a happy twinkle in my eye. At which point, he slowly backed out of the room and remains missing to this day. I couldn't believe that he had no memories of his own, no nostalgia for the Saturday afternoon creature features that were borderline incompetent as narratives, but somehow maintain a low-rent charm.

I think back to the numerous times I watched Empire of the Ants starring Joan Collins in a role no one else dared to play. As a child, I was stunned by the fact that these were GIANT ANTS; they ate people, fought other giant ants, and, apparently, got people stoned on ant gas. It's almost worth watching for that scene alone. When I watch it now, I recognize that it's not a great film, or even a very good one, but there's something so earnest about its intentions that I can't help but smile. It's a movie that doesn't apologize for itself and goes whole-hog weird by the end of the film.

Or, what about something more recent? How about John Carpenter's They Live? Is this a good movie? I think it's hard to argue on cinematic merit. There's a wrestling match in the middle of the movie, for Chrissakes. Still, it's so well-intentioned, so eager to make its point. And what about the line about kicking ass and chewing bubble gum? It's awesome, that's what! Roddy Piper in a role so far over his head, his nose bled for six weeks after filming. And it's an absolute blast to watch.

What I'm getting at is there are movies that transcend their own humble origins. I'm not saying the recent script I was showing off is in that category (and, quite frankly, I think it's less a B-picture than was implied), but rather that there is a place for these movies. I can never resist the semi-classic Night of the Creeps, what a friend refers to as a quicksand movie. Once I start watching it, there's no flipping the channel. And it feels like my movie, a little gem that no one loves the way I do. It has it's fans, I've learned, some of whom are almost as rabid about the film as I am, but I have had a long-lasting relationship with that film from the first time I saw it.

That's the tough part to explain, it turns out. It's the feeling of possession that accompanies these personal treasures. No amount of explanation or rationalization can communicate the feeling of these movies, like a soft, but tattered blanket that keeps you warm winter after winter. No new blanket can provide the same comfort, even if it is ostensibly 'better'. You can have your technically superior, but soulless, remakes or half-hearted efforts by new directors who feel that a horror movie is the cheapest, easiest way to get into movie-making (but that's a whole other post for a much angrier day). I am perfectly content with the dog-eared and clumsily fun movies that can't help but hide the love that went into them. So there.