I was but seventeen in 1980 when I experienced the film Sarcophagus. I viewed it at the Therion Theater in my hometown of Drexell, Arkansas. I remember it vividly. As of late, they had been showing a lot of bad movies - and that gets old. With few exceptions, I was fed up with throwing my money and time away at the Therion.
Egor Hatley, an old codger and frustrated science fiction writer who sacked groceries at the Piggly Wiggly market (he called it the Wiggly Pig) summed up the Therion’s state of business in succinct style: “It’s S.A.D. -- sinful and disgusting. They should pay me to go inside.”
Everything changed when, on Friday October 31, 1980, Sarcophagus - written and directed by Zefrin Fitzhugh - came to Drexell.
The Therion's vampiric cash register would feed hungrily from my wallet.
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I remember precisely how Sarcophagus made me feel. I was saturated with an innate sensation of necrophilic coolness. It was as if I gleaned the meaning of life and death while watching that film. You never get that exact feeling again, no matter how many times you watch the movie. The best you can hope for is an echo of the first encounter. Not unlike the first time one runs into raw, beautiful sex.
That evening was also the first night I ever got a girl completely naked. It’s funny what you remember. Beneath her Van Halen T-shirt, Lacey Meyerson wore a pink bra with tiny green embroidered flowers on the straps. And somehow, from head to toe, she smelled exactly like Junior Mints.