A GOD! And because that is a good feeling, I am going to share it with you.īefore I even begin to describe the movie I am going to reveal the killer: Rebecca Gayheart!
It’s easy to feel powerless in Donald Trump’s America but I am telling you, friend, that knowing the twist ending to Urban Legend made me feel like a God. Because I had already seen Urban Legend, and consequently could speak knowledgeably about it to bored college kids, I knew who the killer was. Memories! Precious, precious memories! As is so often the case with this most Proustian of pop culture websites, memories are what attracted me to re-visit Urban Legend. I didn’t even get a slice of pizza or twenty bucks the way I would have if I were an actual babysitter, and not a film critic unexpectedly pressed into that role. It quickly became apparent that I was visiting this school not as a distinguished guest but rather as an uncompensated babysitter tasked with keeping these teenagers occupied for an hour or so by bullshitting about the topic of urban legends and, by extension, the shitty movie Urban Legend. I don’t know what I expected but when I got to the college, I was led to a nondescript room in a nondescript dorm where a group of college kids in their pajamas sat on the floor, some with sodas. I was a hungry young man, eager to make a name for myself so I said yes to just about anything. Urban Legend will always occupy a special place in my heart because when I just started out as a film critic in Wisconsin back in the late 1990s I was asked by a small nearby college if I wanted to come and talk about urban legends, possibly around the time Urban Legend was released.
#Urban legend movie series#
This generous patron is now paying for me to watch and write about the cult animated show Batman Beyond and I also recently began even more screamingly essential deep dives into the complete filmographies of troubled video vixen Tawny Kitaen and disgraced former Noxema pitch-woman Rebecca Gayheart.īecause this is the spooky season, I have been given permission by the generous patron commissioning the Gayheart series to skip ahead in Gayheart’s filmography and write about fright flicks like 1997’s Scream ’s Urban Legend. I’m deep into a project on the films of the late, great, fervently mourned David Bowie and I have now watched and written about every movie Sam Peckinpah made over the course of his tumultuous, wildly melodramatic psychodrama of a life and career. Or you can be like three kind patrons and use this column to commission a series of pieces about a filmmaker or actor. The price goes down to seventy-five dollars for all subsequent choices. It’s the career and site-sustaining column that gives YOU, the kindly, Christ-like, unbelievably sexy Nathan Rabin’s Happy Place patron, an opportunity to choose a movie that I must watch, and then write about, in exchange for a one-time, one hundred dollar pledge to the site’s Patreon account. Welcome, friends, to the latest entry in Control Nathan Rabin 4.0.
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