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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Road to Nashville

Price: $1.99
Year: 1967
Run Time: 110 minutes (although the box says 88)
Director: Will Zens
Cast: Marty Robbins, Doodles Weaver, Connie Smith, Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings

By this point in time, concert documentaries are pretty standard and accepted. For the most part, they only appeal to fans of the artists in question, but every once in awhile, a concert movie will play in theaters nation wide (anyone remember Dave Chappelle's Block Party?). Road to Nashville was clearly made before this became a trend. Following a very loose narrative, it tells the story of goofy Colonel Feitelbaum (Doodles Weaver), who is an employee of a Hollywood movie studio. His boss tells him to go to Nashville to make a movie about country stars, particularly Marty Robbins. Feitelbaum (who is a cross between Mr. Bean and George W. Bush) gets right on task and heads down to Nashville. This is where the fun and music begins. The film features 38 songs, some by artists who were most likely flash in the pan, and others by artists who are legends, such as Waylon Jennings, Johnny Cash, The Carter Family, and Connie Smith. There are a few surprises along the way, and a few hijinks from Doodles, but mostly this is a straight up concert video. Many of the performances are very samey, featuring a lot of medium close ups of the main singer, with the back-up singers coming into frame when they do their part. While this isn't to say that the performances aren't good, in my opinion the fashion takes center stage in this movie. It really shows you how country music has changed. While today's country stars tend to be more understated, and don't differ much in appearance from bubble gum pop stars, here it is all about loud, shiny, big, and patterned. In a genre that these days is associated with old-fashioned masculinity, it is startling to see men in matching lightning bolt and star patterned suits, with neatly manicured hair. The women (with the exception of Norma Jean) have bouffants and beehives that rest well above the tops of their heads. Some of these styles are ill advised, but for the most part they leave me wondering if there's any possibility of pulling them off today.

There are some really wonderful music moments. A group I'd never heard of before watching the film, called the Stoneman family, play a set early in the show that is really ahead of its time. Donna Stoneman, and her magical ukelele own this sequence. The speed and gusto with which she plays in this instrumental number is pretty otherworldly, and very reminiscent of a lot of today's folk music. A later performance by the same group is more of a crossbreeding between country and the pop music of that time. The stage presence of the group is very weird here. Donna Stoneman looks as happy as she can be, while the other female band member (playing banjo) looks like she wants to kill someone. The father figure in the middle is pretty cheerful, but has a sort of nervous energy to him. It seems like at any minute the whole thing is going to explode.

The Johnny Cash/Carter Family combination is certainly a powerhouse. I'm slightly biased, because I bought the movie to see Johnny Cash in the first place, but its still pretty notable. The Carter family rendition of "Walk the Line" is pretty well, done, and has more of an air of romanticism than the original one. The highlight of the sequence is when Mr. Cash performs a song (which I don't know the name of) about a band that fails because of the different political affiliations of its members. The song seems rather tongue in cheek because of Mr. Cash's generally radical persona.

It seems like Rhino (the distribution company) is really trying to sell this to Johnny Cash fans. The cover of the box features a large drawing of a 1980s feather haired Johnny Cash, and then smaller drawings of Marty Robbins and Connie Smith, that both look strikingly 80s.

In addition to Mr. Cash, there are many other notable performances, such as that of Lefty Frizzell and of Connie Smith. Also, seeing Waylon Jennings looking all tailored and smooth faced is pretty remarkable.

The loose narrative isn't necessary, but it still entertains. The fact that they felt the need to attach a narrative to this is pretty hilarious, although Doodles Weaver is an entertaining and refreshing screen presence. In fact, it is good to have him around to add some comic relief to a medly of country songs, many of which are about heart break.

I recommend this movie to lovers of music, and lovers of 1960s fashion and style. If you are a fan of movies like Robert Altman's Nashville, this will give you more insight into the insular world portrayed in that film.

There is not too much in terms of images or information about this movie available online. However, here is some vintage Johnny Cash to satisfy your hunger.




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Spice World

Price: $1
Year:1998
Run Time: 93 minutes
Director: Bob Spiers
Cast: THE SPICE GIRLS, Alan Cumming, Meatloaf, Richard E. Grant, Roger Moore, Elton John, Elvis Costello, Bob Geldof, Bob Hoskins

Right off the bat I want to say that I was not a fan of the Spice Girls at the height of their success. I probably rocked out to them when nobody was looking on more than one occasion, but I never bought any of their records, or displayed any public admiration. I was too hung up on a certain grunge band from Seattle to let myself do so. Still, having been a twelve year old girl at the time that "Wannabe" shot to the top of the charts makes me feel an obligatory nostalgia for those 5 english lasses. Also, a little bit of age and perspective has made me into a lover of bubble gum pop.

Instead of trying to find Spice Girls reunion tour tickets on eBay, I decided to give this movie a second look. When I first saw it, my feelings about it mirrored the way I felt about its stars. Well, it seems like a lot of things have changed since 1998. No, the Spice Girls aren't great actresses, but the aggressive frenetic nature of the film makes up for it. Although most compare it to A Hard Day's Night, it has most in common with Head, the Monkeys movie that Jack Nicholson directed. Like that movie, it is a intoxicating cocktail of bubble gum and post-modernism. Its heroines, who are spokeswomen for the feminism-lite known as Girl Power, each cling to hilariously 2 dimensional female personalities. Just in case you don't know, we have the sporty tomboy, the cutesy babyish one, the posh fashionista, the freaky (or scary), ethnic one, and... um... Ginger Spice! A lot of the movie focuses on these identities, and how absurd they are. In one rather sophisticated sequence, the girls do a photo shoot in which they "trade" these identities, each dressing as a different Spice. They also put on other popular identities, both male and female, such as Diana Ross, Twiggy, and both Danny and Sandy from Grease.


Whether it means to be or not, this is a really interesting scene. If anyone ever wanted to teach Judith Butler to tweens, this sequence might be a good one to show them. In the most simple way, The Spice Girls are saying that their identities are nothing but spectacle.

About 70% of British celebrities make a cameo in this film. The most notable are Bob Hoskins (who has no lines and comes out of a phone booth for one scene), and Roger Moore, who plays the record executive/ wealthy benefactor of the girls. He is constantly petting cute animals, the pinnacle of this being a piglet that he bottle feeds. He keeps a straight face as he does this, and hardly ever looks at the animal.

The movie takes a lot of ridiculous twists and turns, including a run in with some aliens who want Spice Girls tickets, a nervous and sweaty tabloid publisher who uses a creepy bald paparazzo to get dirt on the girls, a haunted mansion, a child birth scene, and the famous bomb on the bus. I'd dare you not to have a good time while watching all of this unfold.

There is so much more I could say about this movie. It is really very ahead of its time. If you dismissed it like I did back in '98, I'd endorse giving it another look, even if all you get from it is a reminder that Victoria Beckham once looked like a normal person. From my point of view, Spice World is an avant-garde masterpiece in disguise.

Judge Dredd

Price: $1 (or 75 cents)
Year: 1995
Director: Danny Cannon
Screenplay: William Wisher and Stephen E. de Souza
Cast: Sly Stallone, Armand Assante, Diane Lane, Jurgen Prochnow, Max Von Sydow, Balthazar Getty, Ian Dury, and ROB SCHNEIDER AS FERGIE

Oh, Dredd, why are you so hated? What did you ever do to incite such scorn? Oh yes, this is a gimme, I even put it in all caps right there to make it easy to remember. ROB SCHNEIDER AS FERGIE. If ever a potentially great film was torpedoed by "comedic relief," this is it, but there is still copious qual oozing out around the schneid's hyuck-ster-y widow's peak to make this an easy dollar pick-up that titillates, arouses, and climaxificateasizes all my action trash desiahs with the cold clean efficiency of a sex robot dialed past sheen to sizemore, and without the urge to beat you, unless it is beating you with awesomeness and not cody from step by step-esque violencia. ahem. but i digress.
JUDGE DREDD, perhaps more than any other movie ever made this side of Triumph of the Will, needs to be contextualized in order for its massive miscalculations to be fully appreciated. Let us establish the scene. It's 1995. The love hangover from the massive summer of '94 lingers considerably over all in its wake. Truth be told, I barely fucking remember '95. It sits idle and unremarkable between the two biggest years of the 90's for me. But, oh boy, I remember when the dredd came out. Two things stand out to me about the hype building up to its release. First, it was Stallone's first $20 million paycheck, and, correct me if I'm wrong, was the first time any actor was paid that magic amount upfront for a starring role (profit points for Nicholson on Batman and Cruise on Mission Impossible netted them both far more vs. less upfront). It should also be noted that Stallone has maintained that same salary for every subsequent, non-auteur starring role of his, including the theatrically unreleased recent dudz AVENGING ANGELO and DETOX. Secondly, I remember that Mad Magazine ran a parody of this timed directly to the release date of this movie as opposed to the usual 3 to 4 month delay that accompanied most of their movie parodies, meaning that they were so sure that Judge Dredd would be a massive hit worth blessing with a 'rody that they sought out advanced screenings and shit to make it so. Ergo, it was supposed to be a movie that could not miss. Anyway, I never saw this when it came out and always wanted to know what kind of fiasco could direct my main man Sly's career on such a downstroke.

This movie has some ballsy pedigree. First, it has Stallone in his overblown, overbudget, Planet Hollywood shucking prime. Second, it cost a fuckload and looks it. Third, it has a screenplay written by two of the definitive writers of golden age action films: Wiliam Wisher, who wrote the first two Terminator films, and Stephen E. de Souza, who had a finger in the pie of almost every massive action franchise of the era (career highlights: 48 Hrs., Commando, The Running Man, Die Hard 1 and 2, Hudson Hawk) . Fourth, it has Diane Lane looking all fine and shit. Fifth, it was based on some comic book that was really popular in England, but a cult thing in the US so they could fuck around with it a lot and not cause a national nerd uprising (in the US that is, the imdb still hosts legions of butthurt britons whining about sly taking off his helmet). Sixth, it had that badass teaser poster up above. Seventh, it has Armand Assante at his coked up, bug-eyed zenith as a bad guy. Eighth, it had a primo summer slot where it's only competition opening weekend were the power rangers movie and some fruity borefest about astronauts starring the dude from joe versus the volcano and captain footloose. Ninth, it had the exquisite comedic timing and light hearted antics of a burgeoning supple flower of incestuous guilt and romance, the man whose erotic howls enchant survivor cast members globally and locally, the schneid's.
Needless to say, it was those last two sure things that fucked this shit up like it was ving rhame's gardener.

Let's focus on the positive. The special effects are awesome, looking dated in the best possible way. The sets are expansive and impressive, recalling demolition man clusterfucked with some blade runner and maybe a little robocop on the side. The action scenes are well developed and shot. The script is filled with cracking dialouge, gaudy one-liners, whatever. It's competent, tacky, bulky, awkward, but ultimately distracting enough, mercifully short and better than most stallone vehicles as a stallone vehicle, but the problem that ruins the movie or at least, knocks it down from acceptably passive action classic to maddeningly frustractingly inconsistent object of ire is that little cuntfuck ROB Schneider. Now, this little turd of a placenta shouldn't have been allowed to live after spreading his flaccid testicles all over the overwise perfectly amazing SURF NINJAS, yet inexplicably Sly handpicked this undersized grunion to be his sidekick in this big movie and nothing about it works. The way they meet-cute and become BFF is totaaly forced and insipid. His "funny"killing of the main bad guy at the end by whacking the evil robot on the back, thus causing his to short out and sputter like the pacemaker of a cast member of *batteries not included ruins all tension and build that the excessively competent crew rendered so lovingly.

He is quite simply a cunt. A fact that his subsequent career has born out in fantastically rendered detail from his pre-natal emergence as that cunt who says dumb shit about copiers on SNL to his recent Leno-ified mocktacular of my main bitch LiLo on Cuntchin's circus of the cuntified. God i just wanna choke his little measly throat with a laminated burger king crown while beating his nads with a frozen haddock. After releasing his throat from the suffocating grasp of diddy's favorite cardstock headwear, I would proceed to pour tapatio on his eyes while singing LA Puerta Negra by Los Tigres del Norte in a falsetto and using the frozen haddock as a flotation device while i drag his limp lifeless body out into the middle of poolake. once in the poolake, i would urinate myself to prevent hypothermia and recount the plots of various episodes of small wonder to keep my mind limber and alert while i proceed to dive deeper and deeper into poolake looking for the poomonster to offer up the schneid's corpse as an offering of friendship. after the poomonster eats the schneid, we would smell one another and play alien vs predator on atari jaguar until the end of time.

Either way though, Judge Dredd is a good dollar buy, worth revisiting, though i would not recommend watching it sober or alone or without a bag of smelt to pelt the schneider with. Also, the only person more hateable than Rob Schneider is Fergie from the black eyed peas, and in this movie he plays a guy named fergie thus making the hate so strong, the hate so strong.

Gigi

Price:$1
Year:1958
Run Time:1 hour and 55 minutes
Director:Vincente Minnelli
Cast: Leslie Caron, Maurice Chevalier, Louis Jourdan, Eva Gabor, Isabel Jeans

A young woman, who is slightly rough around the edges, is tailored and trained in the mannerisms of high society. In the end she successfully completes the transformation and becomes a beautiful and refined woman, winning the heart of her mentor. All of this is told through various musical numbers.

Sound familiar?

If you guessed My Fair Lady, you are wrong, but very close.

If your answer was Gigi...

DING DING DING!




You are right. Gigi was Lerner and Loewe's follow up to My Fair Lady. Filmed on location in Paris (besides a few scenes filmed in an MGM Hollywood studio), it was an adaptation of Collette's novel of the same title. The story follows a young woman, and a slightly older man. She is Gigi, and he is Gaston. Gigi (portrayed by the adorable and beautiful Leslie Caron) is a tomboyish Parisian girl being trained as a courtesan by her aunt (who was once a famous courtesan herself), and her grandmother. Gaston ( the handsome Louis Jourdan) is a wealthy and handsome playboy who serves as a friend and role model to Gigi. When we first meet him, he is being disgraced by his current mistress, who is openly cheating on him with a soldier. He deems that the only logical response is to confront her in public place about this and humiliate her, making their situation the scandal and focal point of Parisian society. To re-establish his superiority, he takes a different woman with him to the famous Maxim's every night, in an effort to incite gossip in a way that could only be matched by today's young hollywood. Meanwhile, Gigi is being trained to identify exemplary jewelry and to pick out cigars for her male patrons. One day Gaston looks up to discover that the little girl he once knew is now a beautifully refined woman. At last he is able to embrace the feelings he has always had for her. After a brief back and forth, they get married.

Fans of classic musicals will most likely enjoy Gigi. The score is really wonderful, and there are some great performances. Maurice Chevalier steals the show, of course. He performs show stopping numbers such as "Thank Heaven for Little Girls" and "I'm glad I'm not Young anymore." However, the movie is .more light than would be expected for the story of a girl who is being prepped by her family to participate in the sex industry. The movie does not ever confront this issue, perhaps because the creators thought it necessary to keep this musical as light and fun as possible. Still, it seems as though the movie suffers from trying too hard to integrate the values of the characters into the values of the American middle class. When Gaston asks Gigi to become his mistress, she is offended that he would want her to lead such an indecent life. This is odd, because it implies that she doesn't know what her grandmother and aunt intend for her, which is pretty troubling. In the end they get married, making her a decent woman, but the role of prostitution in the film is not addressed very well at all. A scene of confrontation between Gigi and her relatives would have certainly been a tonal shift, but it might have made the film a bit more meaty, and sent a clearer message to audiences. I have not read the original novel, but having read other works by Colette, I find it hard to believe that one of her heroine could be so unquestioning.

Still, there is some humorous social satire here. The necessity of Gaston to salvage his image by participating in numerous meaningless trysts is pretty comical, and from a 2007 lens, is very reminiscent of today's celebrity gossip culture. Almost all of the characters (besides pre-transformation Gigi) are obsessed with appearances to a ridiculous extent.It also seems like there is a mild tone of criticism of marriage, although this is subverted by the matrimony between Gigi and Gaston.

Gigi won a whopping 9 academy awards in 1958. Although I wouldn't say this is my favorite film, knowing that makes me wish I could live in a time when Best Picture winners weren't always such self important movies. Gigi is an interesting story, with wonderful mise en scene and music, and is perhaps superior to most of the recent best picture winners (save The Departed). This film delights and entices, and will have you singing along by its last chapter.

Tango & Cash

Price: $1 (or 75 cents if you average out the 4 for 3 bargain discount at amoeba berkeley)
Year: 1989
Director: Andrei Konchalovsky (billed), Albert Magnoli (actual)
Producers: Peter Guber & Jon Peters
Cast: Sly Stallone, Kurt Russell, Jack Palance, Brion James, Teri Hatcher, James Hong, Michael J. Pollard, Michael Jeter, Clint Howard, and Robert Z'Dar's Jaw

"RAMBO?? Rambo's a pussy!"

Before getting too deep and sweaty inside Tango and/or Cash's nether regions, it bears noting that "Tango & Cash" features one of the great opening sequences in all of 1980's action cinema (see above, although this version appears to have been a re-dubbing project for a film class so all the sound is weird and it cuts out early). If you choose to watch it skip the rest of this paragraph, if you are not in the position to fuck with u toob at the present allow me to regurgitate as follows: On a desert road, an oil tanker is being pursued by a helicopter and a police convertible driven by our main dude, Sylvester Stallone, who is trying his hardest to come off sophisticated (Armani suit, Glasses, Proper Diction) in a time of action. The helicopter foolishly implores him to back off because this is their bust and he's about to be way out of his jurisdiction. Sly politely zooms ahead of the careening tanker while maintaining the composure of a cucumber at absolute zero. After gaining a half mile or so on the lumbering silver wildebeest of crime, he skids to a stop with his car vertically across both lanes of the desert highway, steps out of his car, carefully and patiently removes his six shooter (not his penis you "Party at Kitty and Stud's" fans), removes the empty shells, reloads a new clip, and as the tanker reveals itself over the horizon, he aims and unloads on the driver who it should be noted has a cartoonishly oversized jaw. As the tanker approaches, he stops unloading on the windshield and knocks out the front tires causing the gasser to screech to a stop 3 fucking feet in front of him while maintaining enough inertia to propel the two bad dudes driving it clear through the windshield where they land at his feet where he calmly tosses the handcuffs at them to "do the honors" themselves. After a typically delayed arrival (accompanied by Sly watch check and eyeroll) by the other lesser cops who ream him for being out of his jurisdiction and for stopping a tanker on which they can find no contraband, Sly takes aim with the last shot of his pistol at the oil tank itself. Rather than the customary explosion that accompanies such action, a steady stream of cocaine spills out, which Sly tastes and nods.

Hello, Ray Tango.

In the next scene, some asian dude tries to kill Kurt Russell and fails spectacularly, thus introducing us the our other protagonist, Gabe Cash.

"Tango & Cash" is the Judy Winslow of both Sly and Kurt's action resumes. Underutilized, under-appreciated, and unloved. If it were to walk up to the attic and never came back down again, you probably wouldn't even notice and if it were to star in "More Black Dirty Debutantes 30," you wouldn't even bother masturbating to it. It barely turned a profit on its large (for 1989, 55 mill) budget, was greeted with hostility by critics, and is now perpetually relegated to wal-mart bargain bins and USA late night action movie spots.

Yet . . . "Tango & Cash" is a fucking action masterpiece. Maybe 1989 audiences were just too spoiled by the awe-inspiring glut of the golden age of the action movie (roughly "First Blood" to "True Lies") to appreciate T & C's humble zingers, scenery chewing, explosions, electrocutions, slinky stranglings, and ground breaking sodomy humor. Maybe they were unsettled by Sly's awkward attempt to class himself up while still wallowing in the excess of the genre he helped redefine. Maybe it was the total lack of chemistry between the two leads who seem to be acting in their own individual movies the whole time, rarely making eye contact with one another even while on-screen at the same time, and delivering their back and forth lines with the choppy lifeless rat-a-tat of two stars who memorized them in their respective trailers while blowing rails five minutes before ACTION! Maybe they just expected something they hadn't seen before, which this movie unapologetically does not offer because above all, Tango & Cash is a masterpiece of formula. Every single aspect of this film has been done ad nauseum before and after it's release. So while Tango & Cash may not have the cultural cachet of Riggs & Murtaugh, Axel Foley & Judge Reinhold, or even Hallenback & Dix, it's not like they don't deserve a seat at the counter. Their unfailing whiteness could have been a problem. 1989 was right plum in the heart of the halcyon days of the interracial action duo (as all the duos above exemplify). Watching it for the first time in 2007, this point is impossible to avoid noticing, yet entirely perfunctory.

Tango and Cash is not without it's flaws. One wonders why such a big film wasn't entrusted in the hands of a Tony Scott, Walter Hill, John McTiernan, Mark L. Lester or any of the other 80's action impresarios. The look is often soft and muddy, with scenes stumbling into each other with the finesse of a drunken toddler. The writing is snappy, post-Shane Black zingers delivered with the timing of actor's who can barely locate where the punchline is, but this actually lends the movie a cumbersome charm. And above all else this movie deserves a re-examination for one fucking reason in particular

ahem


Jack Palance owns this movie. He chews scenery like Animal in the Great Muppet Caper. When he delivers a speech comparing Tango and Cash to rats in a maze while cradling two mice in his hands, you half expect him to bite their heads off and cover himself in their blood while masturbating furiously, he's that fucking intense. Granted this is a man who built his whole career on such OTT-ness, and frightened the academy into voting him best supporting actor for a fucking billy crystal movie (although maybe that was just a consolation prize for their ignorance of this movie). But either way, Palance was rarely given roles this meaty and (chronicles of) riddickulous at this stage in his career and every moment on screen is a treat (williams).

Some more observations:

Brion James is one of my favorite actors of the 80's but his performance here is truly baffling. He's supposedly be British, but his accent is as viable as Keanu's Shakespeare. He waffles between clueless cockney posturing and weirdly aussie inflections while throwing "bloody"'s around like it's nobody's business. Truly distracting, but fittingly bizarre for this Frankenstein monster of genre cliche.

Robert Z'Dar's JAW
As much as I love Kurt Russell, he is on total auto-pilot here. His Cash is a loose mash-up of Snake Plissken, Jack Burton, and Kurt Russell, but without an interior life or logic to speak of. His main purpose seems to be to act as the Coors Light swilling counterpoint to Sly's brandy and cigar imbibing social climber. Hell, even their last names tell you all you need to know CASH is a no bullshit dude, he just wants the fame and the money that breaking open drug busts can bring, whereas TANGO is intellectual and removed when discussing his craft and uh he wears suits like uh people who tango cause only rich people bother learning how to dance unless Antonio Banderas (or Robert Duvall?) helps them.

Which bring us to the most fascinating aspect of Tango & Cash. Namely the delusional and transparent ambition of Sly Stallone's "Cake and Eat it, too" personification of Ray Tango. "Tango & Cash" marks the first post-Rocky inklings of Stallone's tragic and misguided attempt to distance himself from the gleeful brutality upon which he built his empire of mumble and become reborn as some kind of intellectual brutewad who can pummel your ass while quoting you Sartre. Granted, the dialogue never approaches such lofty heights, but Stallone's terse delivery of the line bolded at the top of this review lets his intentions be known. This is Nu-Stallone, you know, the one who can read and shit (at the same time!). Within two years, he would be starring in his disastrous attempt at screwball OSCAR, where he sports a suit and an education, but a staggering lack of comic timing, which is contrasted charmingly here with K Russ's offhanded brilliance. While Russell succeeds at his role while making no attempt to be anything other than himself, Stallone succeeds with his characterization because it is awkwardly and painstakingly opposed to his comfort zone. It's kind of exhilarating and undeniably quaint to see an actor as iconic and unflaggingly same-y as Stallone stretch outside of his comfort zone, however timidly the stretch may be by any almost any other actor's standards. It's more of a testament to how uniformly Stallone-y most Stallone performances are that one can derive such pleasure from seeing him flail his arms around in the deep end of the pool without his water wings like he does in this movie, but it sure as hell beats trying to wade through COPLAND again, that's for sure because that movie does not feature Clint Howard, the handsomest man in the world.

Heavy Metal (1981)

Price: $1
Year: 1981
Run Time: 91 minutes
Directors: Gerald Potterton, Jimmy T. Murakami
Cast (voices): John Candy, Joe Flaherty, Eugene Levy, Caroline Semple


For as long as I could remember it had called to me. I'm not sure what was the most enticing element. Could it have been the textured block letters? The blond lion's mane on the buxom cover girl? The adorable, yet frightening phoenix/pterodactyl creature she is riding on? While all of these elements are certainly intriguing, I think what really caught my eye was the shiny metallic cover.

Yes, the cover shined and shimmered, and called out to me when I was just a wee lass, but due to the combined prohibitions of my father and the overbearing video store guy I was not allowed to watch Heavy Metal during the era when it most appealed to me. Then, this past November when my boyfriend and I were cleaning up the dollar video collection at a Blockbuster in Providence, RI, I stumbled upon a copy of this VHS. The shiny cover was just how I remembered it, although this copy was clearly a reissue. I bought it, but didn't watch it until earlier today.

I'm certainly not going to say that this movie isn't enjoyable, but I will say that I now fully understand why my dad and the Video International guy didn't think it was a good idea for me to see this movie. The whole movie is very focused on giant glowing orbs, particularly ginormous animated space bazooms. While I've learned to overlook gratuitous nudity and exploitation of the female body to a certain extent, for the first couple of vignettes the unecessary boob action was pretty hard to get past. The filmmakers have a specific audience in mind, and since I'm neither 12, male, a virgin, and living in an era where internet porn isn't readily available, I just don't quite make the cut. At age eight, when I most wanted to see it, I would have turned beet red, but now I can just laugh.

The movie's strongest feature is the animation. Although it might not impress anime fanatics, and has certainly been surpassed recently, this movie has some images in it that are pretty hi-tech for early 80s animation. Its baroque use of color and light is reminiscent of The Last Unicorn, and The Hobbit, which are more chick friendly early 80s animations. If you're a fan of the style of these two movies, than you are a likely fan of the visual style of Heavy Metal.

The movie also has a few worthwhile characters, such as Hanover Fiste, a plebe with Leno-esque chin whose life is ruined by the effect of the green orb. I'm also a fan of Taarna. While she is gratuitously bare breasted for a portion of her screen time (like most of the women in the movie), she's a badass lady space freedom fighter, and the closest thing to feminist figure that you'll find in a movie like this.

The previews and extras on this VHS are pretty great. They include The Last Supper (a "mature" comedy), starring Cameron Diaz, Annabeth Gish, Bill Paxton, and Ron Perleman, which is about a group of liberal friends who conspire to kill a right wing tv personality; The City of Lost Children, which is a surreal Jon Jeunet movie; Desperado, which is an awesome action movie directed by Robert Rodriguez, starring Antonio Banderas. After the feature, there is some deleted footage called "Nevermore Land", which is pretty basic, but very visually interesting. It tells the story of the orb throughout Western history, showing us images of Ancient Rome and Jack the Ripper to name a few. It is perhaps more compelling than the rest of the film.

All in all, Heavy Metal is a good way to spend an hour and a half, as long as you aren't turned off by misogynistic sex scenes, and know how to appreciate dated animation.

Casper

Price: $1
Year: 1995
Run Time: 1 hour and 41 minutes
Director: Brad Silberling
Cast: Christina Ricci, Bill Pullman, Cathy Moriarty, Devon Sawa

I first saw this movie in theaters when it came out in 1995. I was 10 at the time. I don't remember the circumstances too well, but it was probably at some all girl movie birthday party. Most of the girls in my grade probably saw that movie. After all, Ricci and Sawa were like the Bogey and Bacall for pre-teen girls circa 1995.

While it is likely that I viewed this movie at least once more within that year at a slumber party, none of those viewings are particularly distinct in my mind. Up until my most recent viewing the only thing I could tell you abut the movie is that I hated Christina Ricci at the time because she got to kiss Devon Sawa twice! (bitch!). When I found a VHS copy of it earlier this month at a Hollywood Video in Oakland, CA (one that you are probably going to hear more about in this blog), I had to have it, if only for nostalgia's sake. It came in one of those puffy plastic boxes that many children's movies are packaged in. The box didn't appear to be in the best condition, but that didn't phase me.

When I popped in the tape (which had no previews), it all started to come back to me. Casper is certainly guilty of many of the cliches associated with kids movies, such as over the top villains, and little consideration for reality. That isn't to say that this is a problem. While Cathy Moriarty's performance as rich bitch Carrigan Crittenden is pretty irritating, the story and its breaks with reality are pretty dead-on in terms of appealing to the not quite teen who likes to flirt with the dark side, but not go overboard. The idea of ghosts in therapy because of their "unfinished business" is one that I realize stuck with me for many years. The movie deals with death in a way that could be considered problematic, but is actually pretty compelling. Bill Pullman's psychiatrist character gets involved with paranormal patients in order to reconnect with his dead wife. His daughter, portrayed by Ricci, has a a flirtation with Casper, who is of course, a very friendly ghost. At the age that I first saw this movie this element didn't seem that weird to me, perhaps because my own fantasies had a similar tone to them. Now that I'm more than ten years older, its still a beautiful idea, but not one that I'd expect from a kids movie. In fact, Casper is all about how the dead never really dies. At one point Bill Pullman dies, but is brought back pretty quickly. Although it is amusing to see the animated ghost version of Bill Pullman, If I were Brad Silberling I'd be a little uncomfortable sending children the message that their parents can come back from the dead. However, the whole movie is so dependant on suspension of disbelief that most children watching would not take this section of the movie literally.

At the end of the day, watching Casper at age 23 is a real treat. The quality of my particular VHS was a bit questionable, but still very watchable. If you see a copy of this for sale at your local branch of a video store chain, and are the sort who likes macabre material intended for children, Casper is worth picking up, but only if the price is right.

And btw, here's something for the fan girls and boys