This past weekend marked the return of one of the biggest stars to shine in a fading universe.  You probably caught Alex’s announcement about it this past week – I mean, that’s how I found out about it:

Elvira’s Movie Macabre has risen from the dead.

You have no idea what kind of gleeful squeal this illicted from me (well, unless you read this blog that I posted not too long ago).  As a fan and connoisseur of the dying art that is the horror show host, the very idea that one of the biggest icons to hone that craft has successfully managed to re-emerge is just an incredible feat.

I mean, to be fair – Elvira never really went away.  She’s managed to consistently defy every visit the reaper may have paid to her doorstep, even while the rest of her counterparts continued to succumb to obsolescence.  Her brand name, even at its faintest, has still remained solid.  She even got her own reality show a couple of years ago to find “the next Elvira”.  I didn’t watch it, so I have no idea what the result was.

But it appears that the one-and-only is still standing.

So – needless to say, I was pretty damn stoked to find that her show – last seen in the eighties – was back.  And what better classic to begin with than one of my favourite horror films of all time – Night of the Living Dead.  

I wasn’t able to watch it as it originally aired on our local station this past weekend (2 AM Sunday morning; I’m old and that’s past my bedtime), but I made sure I threw it on the TiVo so that I could watch it last night.  From the moment she appeared onscreen with her trademark humour on display, I was instantly transported to the days of my youth back in the eighties.

It was glourious.

Every bumper, every twistedly macabre pun, every moment when Elvira would pop-up on screen to comment during the film (and in one case, put herself in the

film) was a perfect throwback to a better time – one where pure, unadulterated fun and horror of all kinds walked hand in hand.  It reminded me of what horror used to be and what it should be – a celebration of the gruesome, a spectacle of thrills and chills, a wink and a nudge of schlock and cheese, a commentary on what we fear and hope to rise against.  This is the horror I grew up with, and this is the horror I wish to see a return of in larger doses (like this year’s awesome remake of Piranha).

It’s amazing that all it took to reinvigorate my love of horror was the return of an old favourite to the airwaves.  I’m already looking forward to this weekend’s offering.  Maybe this time I’ll even stay up and watch it as it initially airs.  Hell, I may even defy my thirty-five year old constitution and pop myself a big ol’ bowl of popcorn, down about three bottles of Mountain Dew, and allow myself to succumb to the child in me that adores this stuff.

Unfortunately, he’s not going to like the heartburn afterwards.