I'm sat in our bedroom, idly browsing the web while watching The Living Dead At The Manchester Morgue. My girlfriend is asleep, and doesn't seem to be having any issues with her slumber while folks are getting their guts ripped out and chomped on the bedroom TV. I don't sleep well. I never really have. This means that no matter how full a day is, there is always time to squeeze in a film or a few episodes of something to see me into the small hours, when I'll finally feel sleepy.
It's weird - the more violent and disturbing the movie is, the more relaxed I get. I don't ink it's because I'm a maniac in waiting or something, more that there's some catharsis going on while watching weakly written characters get their limbs torn off and had as elevenses.
Zombie movies are great for this. Especially old ones. With the slew of recent zombie flicks, I've never got that same sense of exploitative nastiness that older films carry. I'll take a gaudy, implausible old horror film over the latest releases any time as late night viewing.
Maybe it's the glance at a more naive time that I find cheering. Whatever the reason, the simple fact is that I'm sat he in my boxer shorts and an old Red Dwarf t-shirt, rambling about horror movies while a sleepy British town is being eviscerated on the TV screen. Aaah, celluloid bliss.