Crisp+crimson+succulent flesh, yielded by free range critters brought up in low pollution areas. Ethical omnivores, unite! Seeing how fast that thing explodes from the hosting body, I'd add a gunky slogan to the niche farming products I'd scheme to dish out to the strictly connoisseur: forget the balut eggs and controversial fetal soups, here're fresh viviparian delights to take you smack into lymph-dripping Arcadia!
Carpenter marries classicism with subversion in his bleakest, nastiest, and best film. His dystopian microcosm carries the significance of a violent, apocalyptic vision, where he finds greater meaning in the confines of masculine anxiety. There is an upending of the seen-unseen binary, but there is also a cold and relentless dissertation on humankind's most hideous traits. A grim, formidable masterpiece.
Truly the darkest, hopeless picture ever created. Carpenter's obsession with showing the creature comes from his necessity of proving its existence. There are no more shadows ("Halloween") or fog ("The Fog") to conceal the horror: in "The Thing", Evil is real and it assumes human forms. There's only one smile in the whole picture, given by McReady and Childs in the final sequence, both knowing they will die.
This movie draws many parallels with Alien (1979), but whereas Alien was about femininity and women's way of survival, The Thing is about desperate, helpless and paranoid men whose alpha male mentality is both their main source of motivation and the primary reason of their failure, which is what makes it the more melancholic one of the two movies.