Arguably the apotheosis of Cronenberg's early, gory period,
Videodrome is part media satire, part Freudian angst drama, part
B-grade horror flick. James Woods never fails to convince as he
descends into madness and embraces the cancer-inducing "new
flesh" that calls to him from his television set. The backdrop is
Cronenberg's usual big business paranoia, but here his imagery is
particularly disturbing. The most effective and emblematic moment is
when Woods grows a vaginal video slot in his stomach. Wondrously
twisted and inspired.
