Chitty Chitty Bang Bang

Price: 25 cents
Runtime: 144 Minutes
Year: 1968
Director: Ken Hughes
Screenplay: Ken Hughes + Roald Dahl
Production Designer: Ken Adam
Cast: Dick Van Dyke, Sally Ann Howes, Lionel Jeffries, Benny Hill

With Samantha's gurgling under SEED OF CHUCKY post seemingly relgated to residing in a perpetual state of Chinese Detoxcracy, it seems that I need to prop up this boognish with some more filibuster on quarter vids, but this one requires a bit more focus than your average Jean Claude Van Damn Those Olsen Twins vehicle.

You see the first (and prior to yesterday, only) time I saw this lumbering, clunky curio was as a hyperactive kid in kindergarten, which means that there is a 50/50 chance this was still the 80's (feeling old). It was shown to us by that awful wench Ms. Doolittle when the late Ms. Gemme was out sick. I still possess a deep and bitter hatred of that foul Doolittle cunt even though I cannot for the life of me remember what made her so repulsive, I was only 6 at the time. But I digress, Gemme left a copy of this to keep us occupied through our half day and on second viewing, it is very obvious why.

This is maybe the longest seeming movie I have ever seen.

Now I don't mean this literally, of course. 144 minutes barely kicks the ass of the Harry Potter 3 vid I chomped a couple days prior and I've dug some 6 hour Italian familial epic gunk in my day while awaiting the way too long coming of a fucking Berlin Alexanderplatz DVD to crush all others in it's wake, but there is a difference between real time and felt time. While Chitty Chitty Bang Bang may not break the bank in actual measured stop watch time, I'll be damned if I have ever felt more incapacitated and slogged in by a movie. Once the horrifying final chapter kicked into high gear, there was no escaping this film's brown acid grasp on me. I was slathered in molasses and Dick Van Dyke kept on licking my face and throwing pieces of lunchmeat into my slobbering jaw.

It's a pity this movie is so disastrously paced because there is a great great movie lurking somewhere in here. First, you have the gorgeously tacky and oppressive art design of Ken Adam, who famously designed most Bond movies from Dr. No to Moonraker in addition to Dr. Strangelove and Barry Lyndon. His gift for the aggressively massive set lends this movie a sense of scale that almost validates its bloated and fatuous runtime. Second, you have the hateful and misanthropic pen of Roald Dahl scribbling off a story that hinges on poverty, delusion, and the universal enslavement of all children. Third, you have some ungodly Bond money funding this since it was A) based on a story by Ian Fleming and B) as a result, the only post Dr. No non-Bond movie to be produced by the goofily named Cubby Bruccoli. Fourth, you have the gift and curse of the Sherman brothers writing your songs, hot off their Mary Poppins and Jungle Book triumphs.

Ok, fuck this. I am taking this way too methodically and serious. This movie is cracked out on too many drugs for me to try to break it down like it's some fucking Carl Dreyer movie or some shit. Basically, it's too fucking long, a lot of the songs blow, the actors mostly suck, and it pales in comparison to most anything else I can compare it to. As far as overlong clunky late-period road show spectacles go, this most closely resembles It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World, but without that movie's saving grace of having the best comedy cast from 1936, 1948, and 1957 yucking it up in Sunny Long Beach in 1963. As far as acid drenched kid's flicks with a hint of the OE800, there's always the superior BEDKNOBS AND BROOMSTICKS, with its animated nuttiness and the hotness that is Angela Lansbury (rowr). God, it's just so fucking slow. And then near the end, it just gets too fucking weird and creepy, just look at this abomination of the senses,



The dead lifeless stare of Cock Molestermobile Butch in his homeless bleached rastafarian clown make up at the end is almost enough to make me pull an Owen Wilson on this bitch. But once again that's all you need to know. The main chick in this is to Julie Andrews what Joe Estevez is to Martin Sheen, but without the blood and plus an Adam's apple. The kids are obnoxious and in need of a good reaming in the shed with Penis Aerostar Lesbian, I have heard horror stories from the set of Diagnosis Murder, let me tell you! I don't know, it's just too much. I need to like get really wasted or something to stop thinking these horrible things. You see that's what this does, it makes you think bad thoughts, it's in that Return to Oz Dark Crystal territory for sure. Fuck it all. I can't take it anymore. It's just Van Damme movies and the Butterfly Effect 2 from here on out.

Also worth noting is the very odd (specially for a kids movie) ad for the fledging Virgin Atlantic airlines starring suicidal monolinguist Spalding Gray rambling about god knows what for entirely too long. oh, branson, what will you waste your money on next? MURRRRDAHHHH!

Seed of Chucky

Price: $2
Year:2004
Run Time:87 wonderful minutes
Director: Don Mancini
Cast: Jennifer Tilly, Brad Dourif, Red Man, Billy Boyd, John Waters

How do I even begin?

Seed of Chucky is essentially the movie that gave me the initial cheap vhs bug. It has all of the qualities a cheap video should have, and much much more. I might even go as far as to say that if it weren't for this movie, I might have never started this blog.

Allow me to explain.

For me, the ideal dollar video is the sort of movie that was almost entirely ignored at the time of its release, or in this case, booed of the stage before it even had a chance. This isn't all. The movie has to use its own ridiculousness to the fullest, and commit to this to the extent that the effect is an off-putting sort of genious; the kind where you think it isn't an accident, but are never totally sure. I love this sort of tension because it keeps me on the edge of my seat, and stimulates me in a way that more critically acclaimed movies rarely do.

Seed Of Chucky is all about this particular sensation. It makes sense that it was unfairly scoffed at around the time of its not so long ago theatrical release. I mean, it was the fifth installment of a horror franchise started in 1988 about a killer doll! Although that sentence sounds great to me, the Crash loving critics just can't handle something so openly trashy.

It really is to bad, because I feel like Seed of Chucky and its (in my opinion) lesser predecessor, Bride of Chucky, are perfect examples of how a franchise can really reinvent itself in an interesting way. My colleague Osama talked about this a bit in his post about Friday the Thirteenth part 7: The New Blood. A lot of the time horror franchises go a bit stale when they repeat themselves too much. The first three Child's Play movies have a bit of this problem. While the first one is an effective horror movie, despite its concept, number two and three are a little dull and redundant. Both have their moments, but it is easier to get away with one formulaic horror movie about a demon doll than it is to get away with three.

The introduction of the Tiffany character (played by my favorite Oscar winner) added something really promising to the franchise, and that promise was fulfilled with Seed of Chucky. After all, two dolls are always better than one, and three is ideal, particularly when the third looks like David Bowie. Tiffany took the serious out of the series by giving the film makers an opportunity to create humorous instances of inanimate object sexuality. And then came Glen or Glenda?....

.....and with her/him came something remarkable.

Not only do you have doll murderers, but you have dolls dressing in drag, gutting rap stars, and having 'typical' familial disputes on top of it all. Chucky and Tiffany's misfit child is a high cheek boned ticket to the wonderful land of the ridiculous.


This is what I mean


If the dollies aren't enough for you, then you might enjoy Jennifer Tilly, who supplies this movie with a unique kind of humour. When I claimed her as my favorite oscar nominee earlier, it was not a complete lie.


Ms. Tilly gives a hilariously self-aware performance as both Tiffany and herself. She hilariously plays into the public perception of her as a trashy, oversexed busty femme. The whole movie is a Jennifer Tilly vanity project to an extent, but while watching it you'll realize this is a good thing. She's the cherry on top of an already delicious sundae.

Whether you see Seed of Chucky because you are home sick, love Ms. Tilly, or are really into bowie-esque doll children, you're sure to laugh if you have any sense of humor.

New York Minute

Price: 25 Cents
Runtime: Not Nearly Long Enough
Year: 2004
Director: Dennie Gordon
Cast: Mary-Kate Olsen, Ashley Olsen, Eugene Levy, Andy Richter, Dr. Drew Pinsky, Jack Osbourne, Darrell Hammond, Riley Smith, Jared Padalecki, and SIMPLE PLAN!!!

In 1964, a dude named Clarence 13X founded an offshoot of the Nation of Islam that he dubbed the Nation of Gods and Earths; today it is more commonly known as the Five Percent Nation. This shorthand comes from the central teaching of this sect that loosely breaks down the global (black) population as such; 85% are the mentally deaf, dumb, and blind masses who are incapable of discovering the truth about themselves and the world they live in by their own volition, 10% are devils who can see through to the truth but use their knowledge to oppress the 85% through religion, politics, the economy, the media, etc., whereas the titular 5% are the enlightened divine beings who possess the holy knowledge of themselves and the world and seek to overthrow the devilish 10% through educating and enlightening the 85%.

That on the very day on which I would forever pop my long festering NEW YORK MINUTE cherry I would be dually barraged by this numerical philosophy, both on the crapper while leafing through the Wu-Tang Manual and while driving to the discount supermarket via the track "The Meaning of the 5%" on a tape of Brand Nubian's excellent, if hateful, IN GOD WE TRUST, seems particularly significant. At around the 30 minute mark of this video, I began hazily adapting the 5 percenter philosophy to the Olsen Twin's post-pubescent (let us never forget IT TAKES TWO) theatrical coming out party. Essentially, I feel that 85% of this world is deaf, dumb, and blind to the greatness of NEW YORK MINUTE. These sad people have never deigned to consider spending 91 of the shortest minutes of their lives luxuriating in the warm, viscous, and creamy soup of pleasure that the Bowlsen twins cook up for us all here. These sad, forgotten people have not and never will see this film without specific guidance and teaching. Then there is the devilish and evil 10% who have seen the all-encompassing glory of Andy Richter pretending to be Chinese yet still speak ill of the film to the 85% by stuffing the IMDB with votes of "1" and garnering it a tellingly low and evil 13% on rottentomatoes, among other acts of conspicuous deceit and disruption that ensure that the 85% will never see or embrace their true calling . . . NEW YORK MINUTE. Then there is the 5%, to which me and you (trust me) belong, who have been witnesses to the resplendent enlightenment of the mellifluous tones of MKO's snare riding and skins pummeling and make it their life goals to open the eyes of the 85% to the majesty and totality of NEW YORK MINUTE as life tool and divining principle.

And then I passed out.

This was no fault of the film, but more a product of the severe mental taxation and focus this film required to unravel that, when coupled with my reckless substance abuse and a 5 AM video viewing commencement, rendered me temporarily and blissfully comatose.

The next day I watched the rest of it, and then the next day I set out on my campaign to enlighten the 85% and mercilessly crush the 10% the best way I know how.

Through this blog.

"Life is nothing but show business in two thousand four"


If you don't like this movie, I fucking hate you.














NEW TORK MINUTE

New Jack City

Price: 75 cents
Runtime: 101 minutes
Year: 1991
Director: Mario Van Peebles
Cast: Wesley Snipes, Ice-T, Chris Rock, Judd Nelson, Mario Van Peebles, Allen Payne, Bill Nunn, Michael Michele

"I need New Jack cops to take down a New Jack gangster" - Stone

This movie is pretty fucking silly, which may or may not have something to do with Chris Rock outacting (almost) everyone else in this movie, but certainly has something to do with the precise moment in time that it was conceived and executed. In 1991, this movie was not perceived as a joke, it was a fucking threat, motherfuckers were killing one another in the fucking movie theaters, for criswell! Its grotesque Disneyland-on-Crack underworld was seen more as a near future nightmare and less of the histrionic Batman Forever-esque carnival it now resembles most closely.

The problem stems from the very root of the title, "NEW JACK CITY." Teddy Riley musta been giving Van Peebs handies in his trailer or something cause this whole movie is kind of a giant sale-a-bration of the T-monster's domination of R&B circa 1990 under the whole New Jack Swing zeitgeist, which he singularly ruled as exquisitely as Keith Sweat's nasal passages would allow. In addition to the Sweatmonster's epic turn here as "Singer at Wedding", we are granted a New Year's Eve gala performance from GUY (Greasiest Underoo Yearling) and a lil side show of Levert with the slightest tingling sensation as only these guys

can service properly.

Now I am not laying a diss to all the NJS musicians above. I pump some Make It Last Forever in my tape deck on the regular and ginuwinely respect Mr. Riley's contributions to our world culture, "No Diggity" in particular, but for a movie as cold, bleak, and harsh as this one, it seems a little too fluffy and bouncy to serve as the prevailing aesthetic. Rap is alluded to with a Flav cameo, some Fab Five Freddy face-time, and the junky Ice-T track here and there, but in a movie where characters deliver lines like that one up top with straight faces, you need something that hits a little harder to underline your point. It's not like O-Dog was drive-by-ing to Boyz II Men or Bell Div Devoe (although he might sip out of a limited edition commemorative Taco Bell Biv Devoe cup if they run out of the Scorpions ones). I have the same problem with the melodramatic and overblown score to Boyz N Tha Hood, which sounds like it's on some Douglas Sirk shit everytime somebody decides to slow it down for a speech or some shit. So audibly, the whole thing is just left of center the whole time. And the whole thing is unbelievably heavy-handed and the conclusion for our big bad drug lord goes down, well, it is as unfathomable and outlandish as possible, ergo, brilliant. This is the rare movie where all the so-called flaws I may point out do nothing but serve to entertain and enlighten us viewers that much more. It is without flaw.

In addition to Chris Rock's bravura performance as troubled flipflopping crackhead with a heart of sterling silver, Wesley Snipes opens up his maw and consumes the rest of the cast whole in this movie. In addition to sporting the silliest haircut sported by a stone cold badass this side of

Brian "The Boz" Bosworth in the correctly titled "Stone Cold" as of '91 vintage (the best movie year, I think, I will argue this in full at a later date, fuck a '39)
Anyway, Snipes became the all-time champion here, this is his big break out, his definitive statement as a young actor on the up and up, his initial proposal to all the fine Asian women of the world to line up for some snipe hunting. Even though his role is written with all the subtlety and finesse of a cock sculpture rendered out of mayonnaise with a crowbar, Snipes proves that he is too large for your petty "words" anyway. With one smoldering vampiric glare, his whole character is embodied. It's kinda like Klaus Kinski in Aguirre or Nosferatu, the intensity and burning insanity behind the eyes. It's all in the eyes. Except Snipes has never claimed to fuck his daughter (yet).

Essentially, Mario Van Peebles is attempting to do here what his father did twenty years prior with Sweet Sweetback's BBBBBBBBBAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAADDDDDDDDDDDDDAAAAAAAA AAAASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS Song, carve out a cheap independent movie that offers a host of cheap thrills with a little message and gravy on the side. But whereas SSBS made no pretensions towards being anything more than an albeit excellent, but still pulpy, unrealistic, and OTT movie, Van Peebles the highlander takes himself very very seriously, even if no one else involved seemed to get the memo. The often corny script only really works when it goes into full YES I AM ON A STAGE AND THIS IS WHERE I SHALL ACT mode, such as Wesley Nino Snipes Brown's stunningly concise courtroom diss speech (as memorably, at least to me, sampled at the end of Immortal Technique's "Peruvian Cocaine"). But even though this sounds like I am griping, it's exactly these flaws that lend NEW JACK CITY its unique and compelling quality. It's like a black Scarface cliff notes with a heavy dosage of Graffiti Bridge cocaine ego set pieces and editing (though there is no scene that rivals the Morris Day Strobe Light Seduction Scene from Graffiti Bridge). That this movie extends its paws over the current hip hop landscape in unquestioned. Even though it's been 13 years since Biggie mushed out "it's like the crack did to Pookie in New Jack, except when I cross over there ain't no coming back" at the conclusion of Ready to Die, current G.O.A.T. Lil Wayne (Weezy Fucking Baby for you who need unpleasant sexual pairing imagery in yr nicknames) has his street (of the burbs and dorm rooms) classic official album series THE CARTER 1 and 2 seem to be named with a dueling reference to the housing project that Nino Brown takes over with his nutso crack house scheme as well as LW aka WFB's respective last name and a subliminal thrown at Joe Camel incarnate, JZ. Oh yeah, and how could I get this far without mentioning Pookie's positively surrealistically over sized and conspicuous camera belt. He might as well have been wearing a cowboy hat with a giant lens popping out of it like Homer Simpson did that one time. His final plea into the camera for Ice-T and Judd after he gets found out is unintentional comedy at its most honest and true. Oh yeah, and what about my main man Judd Nelson's turn as a loose cannon cop that no one else will work with. The thing is I could buy this to an extent cause he WAS John Bender if he didn't wear the silliest widdle tinted-glasses-that-Richard-Grieco-refused -to-wear-on-an episode-of-21-Jump-Street-and-Judd-Nelson -picked up-off -the-prop-table ever, which when combined with his Fido Dido haircut equals the least intimidating bad-ass cop not portrayed by Kevin Spacey in the history of the world according to Terri Garr. But none of this can take away from the fact that New Jack City is an undeniable classic crime movie thats pacing never flags, features memorable if slight characters, and lots of drugs, sex, and violence but not without letting everyone know what is really going on (crack is wack). One of the best dollar videos I own, I will cherish it forever and you should too or else Woody Harrelson will steal your weed.

Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer (1964)

Price: 25 cents (i shit you not!)
Run Time: 53 minutes
Year:1964
Director: Larry Roemer, Kizo Nagashima
Cast: Burl Ives, Billie Mae Richards, Larry D. Man


Christmas has arrived early!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Well, not quite, but it seems that way, because I just watched a 25 cent copy of Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer, that I bought last night.

We all know the story and the song. A misfit reindeer with a nose like Ringo Starr at a Senor Frogs struggles to find acceptance, until one day he is called upon to save the day. In addition to this being a popular song, children's films often go back to a very similar story. The moral is that different is good, even if (or especially if) you have a nose like a christmas light.

I can't help but feel that Tim Burton was heavily influenced by this movie. The scenes in Santa's shop and on Misfit Island (a haven for botched toys) are very reminiscent of The Nightmare Before Christmas. The absurd, yet organic look of the characters make me long for a time when stop motion (claymation or otherwise), was the standard in 3D animation. Although CGI animation has had some major triumphs, it has had more failures. Mr. Burton lost the magic of Nightmare Before Christmas when he focused on CGI in Corpse Bride, his most recent mediocre animated effort.

The stop-motion animation used in this classic movie is both organic and surreal in quality. It was considered cutting edge technology at the time it first aired on television. It was sponsored by General Electric, and TV guide did an entire spread on stop-motion animation. Rudolph is certainly one of the most famous stop-motion pieces, and was clearly a big television event.

If you are around my age (22) or older, you probably have seen this at least once, since they used to show it every year on TV, like how they show Its a Wonderful Life. These days Rudolph has been MIA, and not in the hipster-friendly rapper way. I guess today's kids are so used to CGI animation and cell animation that something like Rudolph might seem dated. Every once in awhile we get a Wallace and Gromit, or Chicken Run, but for the most part stop-motion has gone out of vogue when it comes to children's animated features. In fact, you're more likely to see stop-motion animation under the umbrella of experimental film and video. If you yourself are interested in learning stop-motion techniques, Rudolph wold probably be a good piece to look at. With the advancements in animation that have come since its creation, I am more likely to recommend Rudolph to fans of more off beat films than I am to recommend it to children. The jilty movement of the characters might be a little frightening to tots who are used to increasingly graceful characters.

Speaking of the characters, Rudolph has some great ones. My personal favorites are the Abominable snowman, and King Moonracer, who is the flying Lion that rules Misfit Island. Also, Coach Comet, Yukon Cornelius, and Hermey the Elf have some strong moments.

If there is a movement to bring back this classic to regular holiday programming, then i intend to join it. Maybe they could show it as a midnite movie? I know it has many fans....

Including Beyonce and Co.!









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Friday the 13th, Part VII: The New Blood

Price: 75 cents
Year: 1988
Runtime: 90 mins
Director: John Carl Buechler
Cast: Kane Hodder as Jason, Lar-Park Lincoln as Carrie Lite, Bernie from Weekend at Bernie's as a non-dead (initially, at least)

Before Little Steve Franc(h)is(e) ruined the word with his selfish ballhandling, the Friday the 13th horror FRANCHISE shattered the concept of diminishing returns with a to-date 11 film streak of wide north american theatrical releases in the post video age. Whereas the foreigners have no compunction about shitting out endless series entries (England's Carry On is at plus 30, don't even get me started on A-Z-AH), the douchey american population wants to front like we don't shake that way. whatever.

Anyway, this entry came at a critical juncture in the series. After the semi-classic debut, the pretty alright follow-up, the disastrous but requisite 3-D entry, the remarkable and odd 4th chapter (ironically dubbed the THE FINAL CHAPTER and featuring Corey Feldman "killing" Jason and Crispin Glover's otherworldly dance), a universally reviled 5th entry where Jason naps pretty much the whole time while some yokel pretends to be Jason, and a 6th chapter that according to the imdb lacks boob shots thus rendering it impotent and valueless to the young sleepover pursuers of the 80s, the series needed some warm piss on its sleeping lips to bring a little originality to it (that which herr glover could not produce again, see below).




Friday the 13th Part VII was supposed to be the first attempt at a Freddy vs. Jason scenario, but it got stranded in development hell for another 15 years of wheel spinning, and what we got instead was essentially Carrie (not Carrie) vs. Jason, which works a lot better than it should. After opening with the by-now requisite opening narrated montage of previous mayhem, we see some girl kill her dad with her mind by making him drown in CRYSTAL LAKE after he hits her mommy. Then she's all old all of a sudden and Bernie from Weekend at Bernie's is her shrink. Because he is dastardly and evil, he makes her go back to Crystal Lake because he thinks it will be therapeutic for her, but he just wants to make Jason come back or something, I don't know this part didn't make any sense. Either way, once there, she freaks the fuck out and runs across a bunch of kids at some cabin who all keep fucking and smoking weed and drinking, so you know they will all die terrible deaths, which they do. So then the Carrie girl fucks her mind up and straight murks the dude a bunch of times, but he keeps refusing to die even after she blows his mask off, then she thinks real hard and something amazing happens, something so amazing that I am still in awe and think that it validates all the tired bullshit that precedes it.

So basically, 80% of this movie could be swapped with any other entry in the series and no one would notice. The kids carousing and getting killed is nothing special. Most of the kills are pretty blah, although the irritating party noisemaker through the eye was a nice touch. Apparently, the MPAA demanded like a bazillion cuts to the various kills, which sucks and is obvious. But once everyone else dies, it gets interesting. First of all, you get to see the dude without his mask on for the first time in a minute and he looks really silly. Like


fuck, no, like . . .
Yeah, there it is. I mean, looking like Eddie (UP THE IRONS!!) is never a bad thing because it means you're that close to being Keith Richards, which pretty much means you get a guaranteed role in Joe's Apartment 2. Anyway, there was also an uber-nerd character who was the only likable one in the whole gang, but doesn't even get laid before Jason snuffs him. Lame. The final battle between Carrie and Jason is pretty badass because, well, Jason hardly ever gets to actually fight motherfuckers. It's always just sneak, murk, sneak, murk. So it's very nice that we get a nice 15 minute warfare sequence between Carrie and Jason; it's just too bad that all the HACK-neyed kills before than have to be so die-r and lame (although not as bad as they get in "Friday the 13th VIII: Jason Takes Manhattan, Wait, I Mean, Vancouver, Vancouver Can Pass for New York, Right? Oh Well, Fuck It, Let's Try Anyway, We'll Just Stick a Buncha Kidz on an Ocean Liner for the First 80 Minutes Then Have the Last Ten Be in A Nondescript Alley"). Also, this is the first time Kane Hodder plays Jason, nerds think he is the best, so it's important that you know that. Finally, the lead in it, the ridiculously named Lar-Park Lincoln looks like the primordial genetic soup of Rebecca DeMornay, Amy Smart, and Jenna Jameson. So there's that.

It's hard to write about Jason and the Friday the 13th series because, as much as I love it (and I do, really, I do), it was always the runt of the 80's-early 90's horror franchise litter in terms of character, content, and continuity. Unlike the Halloween, Nightmare on Elm Street, and Hellraiser filmic progressions, Friday the 13th lacked that super classic first film. Hell, Jason isn't even the fucking killer in the first movie (as Skeet (skeet skeet skeet) Ulrich would like to remind you) and he doesn't don a ski mask until the 3rd. Essentially, the first Friday the 13th movie is a competent, generic slasher-loose-in-the-woods-near-a-camp pic; notable only for the deluge that followed it, an early performance from woodsman / bluesman Kevin Bacon, and the always appreciated effects work of Tom Savini. From there, it dithered into a brutal, repetitive series lacking in vision and ambition. Jason is slow, lumbering, damn near mute, and pretty rote as a killer (stabstabstab yawnyawnyawn). Most of the time, he's simply a homicidal version of Kraftwerk's Man-Machine, a model who is killing fine. The better installments of the franchise place him out of context and give him inventive kills, such as the woefully underrated JASON X, which places him in space where he kills a record 28 beautiful young people in interesting and fantastic waze (the face freeze ice smash is a personal favorite). So while Friday the 13th may lack the humor and surreality of Freddy Krueger, the seething blistering evil of Hellraiser, the goofed profanity of Chucky, or the Warwick Davis of Leprechaun, it's still not without its charms; in fact, the sheer predictability of the franchise was probably its biggest key to success. Since every kill was telegraphed five minutes in advance, nobody had to actually get scared, but horny kids in the 80's could still sneak in and use em as a good excuse to snuggle up with their desired and "terrified" ugly bumpers. So there's that, as well.

Huh, according to the IMDB, the main character's name in this is Tina Shepard and not Carrie after all, I guess that's how you avoid a lawsuit (now where's a copy of The Rage: Carrie 2 when I need one?).


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GET OVER IT!

Price: $2.99 (?) (guessing Sam bought this one, not me)
Year: 2001
Runtime: 86 minutes
Director: Tommy O'Haver
Cast: Kirsten Dunst, Ben Foster, Melissa Sagemiller, Shane West, Colin Hanks, Zoe Saldana, Mila Kunis, Swoosie Kurtz, Ed Begley Jr., Martin Short, Carmen Electra, SISQO, COOLIO, and VITAMIN C (!)

This one makes me feel all fuzzy and warm inside. A missive from a youth culture renaissance I largely slept on while in its demo because, well, I was a twerp back then. Yeah, I mean, of course I watched Dawson's Creek for the first two or three seasons with a side order of Buffy and Felicity, quietly mourned the duelling losses of Freaks and Geeks and Undeclared, saw all three American Pie movies in theatres (let's pretend presents band camp nvr hpnd), nibbled on a couple of the big ones on video like She's All That and Can't Hardly Wait, and scoped the random generic factory model a la Whatever It Takes. Well, actually, now that I type it all out, it sounds like I wasn't sleeping on this teentertainment age d'or at all, but this belies the massive glut of interchangeable product heaved on me and my fellow teenagurz round ye olde Y2K. There was about 3 years there ('98-'01), where a movie like GET OVER IT! was shit out every two weeks to mild box office returns and a virtual guarantee of continual slumber party rental profits well into the next twenty years. Or at least that was the idea for all these John Hughes lite with farts and r & b stunt casting and nepotism stunt casting (hello Colin Hanks!) and based kinda on something classic (Shakespeare? Brothers Grimm?) but adapted loosely enough that nobody will feel like they are learning anything cause like school sucks and the whole point of these shits is to transport you to some magic HS fairy land where everything can be resolved via one well-deployed dance number and tightly constructed moment of honesty.

GET OVER IT! is an archetypal example of the most mathematical and generic offering of this low bugd profit era. It's like a latter period Roger Moore Bond film in how cleanly and efficently it adheres to formula in the most pleasing and mind numbing way.

Essentially,

Aging, semi-busted child star from blockbusters past (the risible Kirsten Dunst before Spider Man ensured we'd be looking at her creepy teeth and forehead forever and ever amen) + Random Hot Chick never heard from again (Melissa Sagemiller) + "Lovable," out-of-his-league Doofus the studio is trying to push as the next Tom Hanks / Proto-Shia (Ben Foster) +
R & B stunt casted non-actor in superfluous standing by protagonist's side on left side of frame tour de force (SISQO) + Hunky Douchebag (Shane West, the DeNiro of the Hunky Douchebag, channeling Chad Michael Murray for a world who wasn't quite ready for the real thing yet) + Nepotism pu pu platter (Colin Hanks) + Hot Black Girl to prove the filmmakers aren't racist (Zoe Saldana) + That 70's Show cast member (Mia Kunis) + Old Talented People slumming for the kids (Kurtz, Begley and Short) + More cameoriffic stunt casting (COOLIO, CARMEN ELECTRA, VITAMIN C) + Extremely Loose adaptation of some old Classic Shit (Midsummer's Night Dream by Billy Shakespeare, who wrote a buncha sonnets) = $$$$$$ in 1999

The problem was that this came out in 2001, when the continuous fatigue of three years of WB-pandering teen comedies had dried the well to the point that GET OVER IT! didn't even clear 12 mill domestic b.o. which is all well and good because my obliviousness to it during its initial release enabled me to evaluate it with fresh eyes and an empty colon and what I get is a film that is simultaneously completely and utterly derivative of all that preceded it, but also reaches a mild level of glib surreality that lends it a off-handed charm that is entirely its own. Basic Plot is Main Dude (the foster) gets dumped by super out of his league gf (sagemiller) for mega douche (shane west) who inexplicably is some boy band drop out with an inconsistent british accent. As the Fost mourns, he slowly falls for douchey best friend (colon hanks)'s sister (the kunst) who is more right for him. That this movie was penned by the same dude who wrote She's All That excuses some of its lack of freshness (only fogerty can rip himself off) and explains all the electronia posters on everyone's walls (Kunst has a Chemical Brothers poster, Foster has a Fatboy Slim, She's All That had that epic Rockafeller Skank dance number).

A cursory wasted viewing convinces me that this whole film is supposed to be a dream. It never has its School Daze moment of "I hold my audience in so much contempt"- Spike Lee, 1988, but it might as well. How else can one explain a world in which this Ben Foster fellow who resembles mr. potato head sculpture rendered with play doh and feces is given a lead role requiring him to be lusted after by women while dream fairies circle his head, Coolio bugs his eyes out on his parents cable access sex show, Martin Short plays a heterosexual, but pervy drama teacher, and Vitamin C bookends the film with musical dance numbers occurring diagetically with the integration of SISQO breaking down the fourth wall. Yes, it's like a fever dream of budget minded year 2000 teen popculture ephemera, but I choose to believe it was intended this way; To be a wet dream for the audience of what high school should be like, but isn't, essentially Hughes plus 15 years and not much else. It's hard to pick apart this movie cause it's like making a birthday cake out of easter bunny peeps in the middle of a coke party at Ric Flair's mansion while a hurricane (streets starring warren from empire rekkids) spins the house around in the air (up there starring kevin baking). The center will not hold. My best bet is to fractalize and hope for the best.
Ergo, the scenes of the ludicrously reimagined pop musical version of Midsummer's Night Dream hit closest to home for two reasons, (1) they are the most legitimately funny scenes in the movie, albeit the comedic equivalent of fish barrel bazooka, and (2) my own high school staged a massively similar production by an equally perplexing hetero drama teacher by the name of MOTOWN MACBETH, I shit you not, (example: MACBETH sung to the tune of my girl, fuk u clumsky). The movie version was not as funny as my own personal experience, but what could be, at least this part rang true. The actors in this movie kinda blow generally as I'm sure you could deduce from my darby crash OD of snark above (coming soon Shane West as Darby Crash in What We Do is Secret, featuring Bijou Phillips as Lorna Doom, crossing fingers it will be the unintentionally camp hipster disastro that Factory Girl should have been). The old people steal the show, the movie only ever comes to true life when the old prose push the kids around. When not around, the movie limps along with good will, quick pacing, and the kind of mind numbingly watchable semi-competence that Saved By the Bell rendered transcendental, but here hews closer to the stunning mediocrity of bellwether middling of thee road cable fare like TOMCATS and latter day WB throwback JOHN TUCKER MUST DIE (We will call it henceforth the TOMCATS effect, a film I hated but watched from top to bottom one fatefully unstoned sunday).

Either way, you slice it, formulaic claptrap, surreal avant prank, or somewhere in be-TWEEN! you are right. This movie is simply a reflective surface that enables us to peek into nothing less than the deepest, darkest recesses of our own vividly realized souls. Like the cover of Smell the Glove, the novels of Clive Cussler or Sue Grafton, or the bronzed skin of Zac Efron, GET OVER IT! offers each and every consumer their own personal entertainment horoscope for success. What is your life success plan? Where will you be in two years? How will you get there? What are you doing about it now? SHUT THE FUCK UP!! SHUT THE FUCK UP!!! Get out of my head, Tommy O'Haver!! You may think you know me, but you don't!! I don't even know me!! I am going to go gnaw my hand off.

Spacehog, check out this youtube video of highlights for children from this moovie,



P.S. everytime Sisqo was on screen in this movie, i was reminded of d-12's visionary proclivity to replace the hateful word "fag" in their songs with the hilarious replacement "SISQO,"
at least as far as their first album was concerned (did anybody ever listen to the second one, "my band" aside?). So I hit OHHLA to find the "fruits" of their labor and realized i had just dreamt this and was thinking of a SPIN article where they did that because their lyrics only have a couple SISQO references, one is directly challenging him (way to go Eminem, stick it to the tough targets), and a couple of synonym references to its use in this way. Neither of which are particularly amusing. The lesson is D-12 can only be more amusing in memory than in practice. Never try to revisit, you will only be disappointed and sad in the end. RIP Proof.


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