The Stuff has such a beautifully vague, utterly daft title, one finds it impossible to scroll past it when perusing the lower bowels of Netflix (other movie streaming sites are available). It begs to derail all attempt to be a ˜proper’ cinephile. Maybe you planned tonight to finally get to the end of There Will Be Blood (let me save you the trouble: There Was Blood). Or maybe you feel guilty for not yet watching that Oscar-nominated foreign language drama about the gay nuns who all contract tuberculosis. You know the one, had a massive twist at the end, and takes five viewings to understand. It doesn’t matter: forget those films. See The Stuff instead, and give your brain a far greater workout.
It is, essentially, an ultra low-budget, b-movie horror, the likes of which director Larry Cohen has quite the track record – one of his biggest hits was the cult monster flick Q: The Winged Serpent (1982), in which a flying lizard beast terrorises contemporary New York. The Stuff is no less high-concept, not least with its wonderful title.
The Stuff is about some stuff that causes some stuff to happen – stuff which happens to some people on account of the stuff that bad people did with the stuff. And then some people try some stuff in order to stuff up the bad stuff that has happened as a result of everyone else’s involvement with the stuff. Following me so far? Of course you’re not. You’ve just experienced the text-based equivalent of watching The Stuff.
Okay, so there is an actual plot here. The titular ˜Stuff’ is a mysterious, otherworldly white goo which one day begins seeping out of the ground. It tastes delicious and has highly addictive qualities, so predictably it is quickly mass-marketed by entrepreneurs unknown. An ex-FBI agent, David ˜Mo’ Rutherford sets out to discover the source and secrets of the Stuff, after some terrible side effects become apparent – the main ones being violent herd behaviour, unexpected facial explosivity, and terrible terrible acting. Mo isn’t the only person to have his suspicions about the Stuff, as he soon crosses paths with Jason, a young runaway forced to flee his family due to their Stuff-related homicidal tendencies.
At this stage, saying any more about proceedings would give too strong an impression of a coherent film with a functioning narrative. That would miss the point entirely of The Stuff, because the strongest appeal of the film is its ability to confuse the viewer with endless moments of what?, why? and is that Paul Sorvino?. By the end of The Stuff, you will probably find yourself howling madly at nobody in particular, all the while bashing your hands against your skull like a chimp in a microwave. You will feel that you have either forgotten entirely how films work, or that your brain has somehow learnt to fart.
I decided to make notes during my first viewing of this masterpiece. Not for reasons of journalistic or critical integrity, but because I was genuinely worried that my flatmate would come home and find my bedraggled corpse on the sofa, literally confused to death. At least this way she’d be able to pick up the notepad and find in big letters, LARRY COHEN DID THIS TO ME. And below that, she’d see the following notes, the proof of the cinematic bludgeons that had done me in:
The list would have gone on much longer, if laughter hadn’t constantly interrupted note-taking. Therein lies the dilemma. The Stuff should be an awful film, it should cause anger and upset for wasting your time with an inconsequential plot and terrible characters. Liking a film because it’s so bad it’s good has become such an irritating ironic pastime these days, but it’s hard to knock when a film like The Stuff shuffles into view. It’s like the mad friend of a friend who shows up at your party, sicks up on the cat, knocks over the telly and wanders off. It’s stupid, badly put together, and often infuriating, but yet – somehow – oddly engaging and, well, entertaining. Watch it, and stuff.
Trailer Review Tarantino gets a lot of stick for his movies. He is accused of…