Death Becomes Her

365 Films

Entry #14

Death Becomes Her (1992)

Directed by Robert Zemeckis

Let’s see how I can pull this one out of my ass.  I haven’t seen Death Becomes Her in well over a decade.  I have some thoughts about it, but they are based mostly on vague recollections and quasi-remembered ramblings.  I had to do a quick wikipedia recap to even remember what the fuck happens in this movie.  That reminds me, is wikipedia interested in being a sponsor of this blog?  I feel like I plug them enough to be worthy of a few kick-backs.  I’m not actually sure how they’d pay me, but that doesn’t matter, we’ll figure something out.  Death Becomes Her is about a past-her-prime actress and her life rival ingesting some sort of vitality potion that makes them immortal.  The main object of their rivalry is a nebbish-y plastic surgeon who ultimately chooses a life that ends over spending an eternity with these two nattering nabobs.  If that description sounds horribly misogynistic, I’d have to plead the fifth on that one, but if anybody wishes to chime in with a comment feel free.  The reason I am including this film on my 365 list is because it was the first time a casual film-going experience filled me with a verifiable amount of dread.  I feel like if I ever get the chance to meet Mr. Zemeckis, my line to him would be identical to that of Homer’s when he met Mel Brooks. I love that movie "Young Frankenstein"... scared the hell out of me.  I have an incredibly specific memory, not of the movie, but of the ride home through the dark back roads of Wilmington, Delaware.  The radio was blasting Haddaway’s What is Love and all I could think about was, “one day, I am going to die.”  Even the lyrics to the song itself sounded like the ghostly echo of a spirit from the other side.  The idea haunted me, and the fact that the movie treated the concept of death with such blithe cynicism was even more distressing.  On second thought, maybe it wasn’t What is Love? it could have been CeCe Peniston’s Finally. Does it really make a difference?  I have no idea how Death Becomes Her has aged in the past twenty-one years; according to the wikipedia page it was not a financial windfall for all concerned parties.  I can’t imagine introspective thoughts of one’s own mortality were the desired reaction by the filmmakers.  Wow, that’s kind of a bummer, let me see if I can wrap this up on a lighter note.  If this helps, just imagine eight-year-old Ethan sitting in the theater watching Death Becomes Her.  Instead of laughing at the cgi-enhanced-black-comedy-mayhem like everybody else, he is cowering in his seat, hiding his eyes with his hands from the images.  If that doesn’t inspire guffaws, I don’t know what will.