Scanners (1981)
Written & directed by David Cronenberg

Thin on plot or explanation, Scanners gets by mainly on atmosphere, which is often what saves Cronenberg films, as brilliantly offbeat as they are, from being just plain confusing and boring. It helps that there's a couple of good deaths— one in particular an unforgettable, spectacular, and totally convincing head explosion. But what really makes the film work is total commitment to its own utter nonsense.

The story centers on Cameron Vale (Stephen Lack), a dorky Canadian drifter, whom we first meet mentally attacking an old lady for mentally calling him a dirty hippie. He's caught by some sort of pharmaceutical think-tank run by a crazy old professor (Patrick McGoohan). Turns out Vale's a "scanner," one of the few on Earth with telepathic powers, and is the only hope against Darryl Revok (Michael Ironside). Revok is the mysterious leader of an underground group of Evil Scanners bent on controlling the world by exploding people's heads.

Revok ("kover" spelled backwards) and Vale ("veil"—get it? "cover" and "veil"? Yeah, I don't really get it either) end up fighting for control of the world. In between, there's several very slow foot-chases, a few boardroom scenes at the pharmaceutical/global conspiracy company, and lots of snazzy synth music.

This isn't a particularly exciting nor scary film—it sits uneasily somewhere between sci-fi and horror, but never quite takes sides—and it's not well acted or terribly well written. The romantic leads are your classic late-70s/early-80s ugly, and there's nary a subliminal moment of nudity or even sexual tension.

But Scanners is inexpressibly cool in a way that so many movies these days try to be and fail. Maybe it's the fluffy hair, or the barren Canadian landscape with a futuristic building stuck in the middle of nowhere, or the long brown jackets, or giant reel-to-reel-driven computers. Or the scene that takes place inside a giant papier-mâchè-head sofa. Do movies even contemplate that kind of bizarre shit anymore? Give me papier-mâchè-head sofas any day over, oh I don't know, talking superbabies. Though, arguably, talking superbabies is a far creepier concept; unfortunately it's played for laughs in a fucking children's movie.

Maybe it's that Scanners just is what it is, an entertaining diversion with some unique and interesting ideas, and no contrived twists or secrets. If more movies just tried to be what they are without having to always blow your fucking mind, we'd have more instances of Scanners, and far less of The Butterfly Effect. Let's face it, if you could think your way to popping Ashton Kutcher's head, wouldn't you at least try?

Review by Crimedog