Film #143: Dead Ringers

There was a time, in the 70s and very early 80s, in which David Cronenberg was (at least to me) one of cinema's crassest filmmakers. It wasn't that his films were bad; they were often elegant to look at and were always memorable. But the images I took from them left me with a sour taste: Marilyn Chambers frothing at the mouth in Rabid, the slimy slugs from They Came From Within; the famed