By now, there's scarcely a horror fan left (or anyone else, for that matter, thanks to some serious media saturation) who hasn't at least heard of the loudly trumpeted MASTERS OF HORROR series on Showtime, and its subsequent (though incremental) Anchor Bay DVD release. Forums and message boards are still afire with wildly differing opinions on whether the series marked the long-awaited return to "true" horror, in a creatively open environment fostered by like-minded producers, and a playground for some of the greatest names in the genre, free from the snip of the censor's scissors (well, almost... just what the hell was in Miike's episode anyway?). Even those who think it was a fairly well-executed idea overall (I'd plant myself squarely in that camp, thank you very much) disagree on which directors returned to glorious form, which entries were fun but nothing special, and which ones reeked like toasted dog dick.

Myself, I didn't think any of the assembled talents failed to at least acquit themselves artistically, and I'd further assert that they hit quite a few homers. I've even professed deep love for a couple of the episodes that have otherwise met with the most intense critical vitriol of the lot (the oft-maligned William Malone, for example, turned in my favorite episode by far). Get over it, dorks. It's just a fucking TV show. But that being said, it's a pretty damn cool one when done right.

Some would say the legendary John Carpenter - whose name has become almost as iconic in popular culture as a certain other J.C. - hasn't gotten it right in a very long time. As a lifelong fan of the man's oeuvre, I disagree; sure, he's slummed now and then, but even John's lesser works are more entertaining than anything bearing the name of Michael Bay... and anyone who calls me to task for loving GHOSTS OF MARS better step off, or they'll have a lump in their throat that they used to piss with. Anyhow, John's had his good and bad stretches - who hasn't? - but nearly every one of his movies bears his creative stamp, and is all the better for it.

One of the standout favorites of MASTERS' first season is this twisted little number - a kind of horror-themed, gore-drenched take on CHINATOWN spliced with VIDEODROME by way of RINGU - which tackles an idea that I've always wanted to see addressed on film: the concept of a motion picture so horrifying that it causes madness and death in anyone who dares view it.

The malicious movie in question is the unholy grail sought by creepy film programmer Kirby Sweetman (Norman Reedus), who is deep in mourning for his O.D.'d fiancée, and even deeper in debt to her father, who once loaned him $100,000 to keep his esoteric art-house cinema afloat. Desperate to pay him off, Sweetman accepts a bizarre mission offered him by millionaire film fanatic Ballinger (genre legend Udo Kier, at the top of his game). Obsessed with collecting prints of the rarest and strangest motion pictures ever made, Ballinger has set his sights on the ultimate prize: the infamous LE FIN ABSOLUE DU MONDE ("The Absolute End of the World"), an experimental film created by a mad genius. Screened only once at the Cinema Fantastique at Sitges (so the story goes), the film allegedly drove its premiere audience literally insane, culminating in a bloody massacre that left few survivors.

As you might imagine, there seems to be some truth to rumors of the film's diabolical powers, as explained by one of its lead "actors" - an emaciated angelic creature with its wings crudely sawed off, chained to a revolving platform by Ballinger, who amuses himself by pelting it with ice cubes. The angel claims that his soul is bound to the print of the film, and as long as any copy exists, he remains imprisoned in the real world. Whether Sweetman buys this line or not, he nevertheless realizes Ballinger will pay any price to get a hold of his one desire, and doubles his finder's fee.

As Sweetman's mission brings him closer and closer to the only surviving print, he begins to experience strange visions and blackouts - always preceded by small burning holes at the edge of his perception (the "cigarette burns" of the title - projectionist's slang for the reel-change bugs at the top corner of the film frame). These strange fugues culminate in a graphically violent confrontation with a maniacal snuff filmmaker, who provides Sweetman with his final important clue. One last print of the film does in fact exist, and its eventual screening serves as the ultimate blood-drenched coda.

Despite his usual journeyman's attitude to filmmaking, Carpenter achieves a more sublime, thought-provoking product with this entry, which shares much of the doomed, otherworldly feel he created for IN THE MOUTH OF MADNESS, despite the confines of a low-budget TV environment - a medium with which Carpenter has had some success in the past. Fans of the director's work may be put off a bit by the more static approach and the absence of his gorgeous trademark widescreen compositions, but his tremendous skill in creating atmosphere using little more than available light and well-placed shadows lends itself handily to a mood piece like this.

As Carpenter himself admits, the wry, reference-heavy script (by "Ain't It Cool News" scribes Drew McWeeny & Scott Swan) is basically a series of expository dialogue scenes between two actors (even in the violent scenes), and moves forward at a pretty leisurely pace for the first two acts - but I'd consider the over-the-top climax a worthy payoff; Not since VAMPIRES has Carpenter drizzled on the red sauce with such gusto. In less than an hour, we get a full on-camera decapitation, ocular self-mutilation, undead throat-munching, and the piece de resistance: a man watching his own intestines being threaded through a projector's sprockets. Wheeeeee!

Another nice touch is the moody, piano-based score by the director's son Cody (his first score ever), which favorably recalls the simple but effective themes John etched into our collective psyche in his early classics. It's based around a simple recurring theme, but as with so many of the elder Carpenter's musical cues, it will haunt you for many days afterwards, along with the creepy images it invokes.

The first episode of the series released by Anchor Bay, this classy presentation is full of tasty goodness. An excellent 1.77:1 transfer (widescreen compatible) sets things off nicely, with near-perfect color and black levels - which is crucial here, since most of the scenes are lit with limited available lighting and are cloaked in deep shadow. Audio is presented in fine Dolby 5.1 and 2.0 versions, with good placement of effects and some eerie sub-bass rumblings of doom.

The disc is also jam-packed with yummies, totaling a greater runtime than the episode itself. A making-of montage is provided (which features Kier's immortal line: "Put the sausage in me!") as well as interviews with Carpenter and Reedus (who seems cut from the same cynical cloth as his director), but the gem here is the lengthy "Working with a Master" retrospective, which covers all the high points of Carpenter's storied film career, bolstered with new interviews from the likes of Sam Neill (IN THE MOUTH OF MADNESS), Keith Gordon (CHRISTINE), P.J. Soles (HALLOWEEN), and the great Keith David (THE THING, THEY LIVE). The supporting clips are pretty bland - mostly culled from trailers for various Carpenter classics - but the actors offer many fresh new observations and anecdotes, which is a bit of a surprise considering how meticulously every minutia of Carpenter's work has been dissected over the years. There's also a slew of MASTERS OF HORROR trailers, a nifty downloadable version of the script for DVD-ROM users, and a decent still gallery.

Also included are two audio commentaries: the first from Carpenter will sound familiar to anyone who has heard him hold forth on DVDs and laserdiscs past, as he turns in the same blasé, self-deprecating monologue. Dismissive toward the artistic merits of his work (much like his idol, Howard Hawks), he remains more fixated on the unclothed charms of his actresses than anything else, bemoans how little Vancouver looks like L.A., and describes the haunted film-within-a-film itself as "bullshit." Screenwriters McWeeny & Swan weigh in on a second track, describing the creative process in bringing their script to the small screen and their delight in working with their god; the fannish enthusiasm stands in stark contrast to Carpenter's laconic banter.

"Cigarette Burns," though classically Carpenter, has a unique look and feel to it - partly due to its small-screen limitations, but mostly because it represents a new stylistic direction that could, if nurtured properly, signal great things to come. Despite some shocking moments of surreal violence, it remains at its center a thoughtful and multi-layered tale that reflects a lifelong love of the movies, and - although John would dismiss the idea as ridiculous - their almost magical power to change the audience forever.