The story begins with an unassuming meteorite crashing into the woods outside Arborville. What seems like the setup for another sleepy creature feature quickly morphs into a nightmare when the Blob—a sentient, acidic ooze—begins absorbing its victims in ways so grotesque you might just forgo dessert for a week. The unsuspecting town, led by Dillon’s rebel-with-a-heart Brian Flagg and Smith’s fiercely determined Meg Penny, must figure out how to stop a creature that literally grows stronger with every kill. Where the original 1958 version relied on a sense of kitschy dread, this version doubles down on horror and gore, making it as terrifying as it is compelling.
The real star here is the Blob itself, brought to life with a mastery of practical effects that modern CGI often struggles to replicate in terms of sheer visceral impact. From the sickeningly detailed sink sequence to the claustrophobic phone booth collapse, every death scene is a grotesque ballet of slime and terror. The Blob’s ability to ooze through cracks and corners elevates its menace, transforming the quaint Arborville into a smorgasbord of potential horrors. Chuck Russell’s direction ensures that the terror feels omnipresent, while the film’s use of vivid, saturated colors enhances its surreal tone. It’s as if The Blob itself were dripping off the screen and into the viewer’s lap.
Performances in the film are far stronger than expected for the genre. Kevin Dillon’s Brian Flagg is your quintessential reluctant hero, but Dillon gives him an underdog charm that makes you root for him even when he’s outclassed by the creature. Shawnee Smith, however, is the beating heart of the film. Her transformation from a high school cheerleader to a capable, resourceful survivor is not only believable but empowering, standing out as one of the era’s underrated heroines. Supporting characters, from Jeffrey DeMunn’s sympathetic sheriff to Paul McCrane’s slimy government scientist, round out a cast that ensures the town feels lived-in and relatable—even when half its residents are being devoured.
Beneath the slime and gore, The Blob also taps into Cold War-era anxieties, repackaging them for an '80s audience. Government conspiracies and biological weapons become plot elements that mirror real-world fears, adding an unexpected layer of relevance. While the pacing occasionally stumbles—sometimes moving too fast for character development and at other times lingering too long on less important subplots—the overall momentum keeps you glued to the screen, much like the Blob’s victims are glued to… well, everything.
Where the film truly excels is its unapologetic commitment to fun. Despite its often horrifying visuals, The Blob maintains a wry sense of humor that undercuts its bleakness. This tonal balance ensures that it remains accessible to fans of horror and camp alike. The script’s decision to eliminate the “plot armor” of kids and beloved townsfolk reinforces the stakes, making Arborville’s battle against the Blob feel genuinely suspenseful.
The Blob (1988) is more than a remake—it’s a reinvention that honors the charm of its predecessor while embracing the creative freedoms of its era. With stellar practical effects, strong performances, and a uniquely terrifying antagonist, it solidifies its place as a cult classic. For fans of horror, science fiction, or just a really good gross-out moment, this movie is a must-watch. And for the love of everything gelatinous, avoid eating pudding while you do.