Beyond our Ken. Karen Black and the Trilogy of Terror

Ken and Barbie. Which of us hasn't at some point considered sticking them in the microwave and seeing if they end up looking like the mutants in Beneath the Planet of the Apes?

I haven't. I'm too busy giving them genitals. But, if I wasn't, the microwave would indeed be their first port of call, thanks to me having always viewed dolls as things of purest evil.

I wasn't exactly dissuaded from this notion by the 1970s' made-for-TV flick Trilogy of Terror in which Karen Black's chased around her flat by an African Zuni fetish doll.

Now, I have to admit I don't have a clue what this blog's about or even what kind of purpose it's meant to serve but at least it means I can talk about what I want to when I want to. The other thing I value about it is that is that, unlike my other blog, the mighty Steve Does Comics, I don't feel any need to have the slightest clue what I'm on about. Thus I feel free to declare that, even though I haven't seen it for twenty eight years, and can remember almost nothing about it, Trilogy of Terror is the scariest horror movie ever made.

Granted, if I actually saw the thing again as a grown-up, that opinion might change.

And that's why I won't be making any effort to see it again. Better to hold onto my youthful fancies than to blow them away, like cobwebs, with the icy wind of reality.