It’s tragic (or maybe a vast relief?) that Nabokov didn’t live to see this happen, the sublimated obsession with necrophilia in the romances of popular culture clawing its way up to the surface. This isn’t new for the horror genre (see the Japanese zombie film Stacy, for example, in which adolescent girls become zombies because they really just need love–the love of necrophiliac middle-aged men), but this is a new level. The blogs are going to have a field day with this. I clearly have some reading to do. Maybe one day I will try and do some writing on why a large segment of popular horror film seems to have missed feminism? In short: GROSS GROSS GROSS, but I will probably watch it out of morbid curiosity.