To this, I have admittedly little to add, aside from some personal reminiscence perhaps. For years, I have longed to relive the experience of going into a movie completely blind to what it is about (if anything, considering the opening narration and the lurid title, I was expecting a 'true crime' story a la Helter Skelter or In Cold Blood and not a horror film, despite Halloween being a week away) (never one for deductive reasoning at that age, or now for that matter) and being so completely bowled over. For my money, there is no scene more gutwrenching in the annals of cinema than the scene where the hippie youth, en route to a concert, decide to accrue some good karma and pick up a hitchhiker. In the cramped confines of their van, the hitchhiker, played to sun-damaged perfection by Edwin Neal, succeeds in sufficiently unnerving the kids first with his overpowering slaughterhouse stench and then with his incredibly stunted and awkward attempts at conversation, nervously giggling and stammering through descriptions of slaughterhouse techniques and headcheese recipes from behind some very authentically filthy locks. The hippies' disgust is palpable, and the scene verges on the unbearable as you develop a sort of sympathy for the brain damaged Manson family castoff with the smudge of facial birthmark and pitiful, twitching leer trying to connect with the "normies" while simultaneously empathizing with the infinitely more relatable plight of the hippies whose initial regret about picking the guy up quickly descends into all-too-real horror.