OUT 10 Septem­ber / CERT 15 / 103 mins


Cin­ema has a lot to an­swer for. There was a time when, to an ado­les­cent, im­pres­sion­able blank can­vas, the likes of Chris­tian Slater in

Heathers seemed a wor­thy role model, be­cause he looked cool and talked cool and Wi­nona Ry­der fan­cied him. In re­al­ity, or at least woke adult­hood, if you bumped into this smirk­ing buf­foon you might ask, “Mate, what’s wrong with you?” Wi­nona’s Veron­ica cer­tainly gets the mea­sure of Slater’s JD soon enough. And

Heathers is still a good lark, writer Daniel Wa­ters’ bit­ing di­a­logue (“Did you have a brain tu­mour for break­fast?”) hold­ing up in a mirac­u­lously ni­hilis­tic film which birthed the likes of Mean Girls (di­rected by Wa­ters’ brother Mark) and

Elec­tion. Those are ar­guably bet­ter works, but def­i­nitely less iconic. Michael Lehmann’s movie was pure John Hughes an­ti­dote, de­cid­edly free of feel­good slush, and still snaps.

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