a mandroid, a mercenary, a female botanist, and a ninja walk into a bar. obviously.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
I Hate It Too
UPCOMING!!! yes, here at the drive-in we sometimes really do have some idea what we're gonna watch more than seven seconds beforehand, tho' merryman shows up with such unheralded and unforeseen gems week after week that sometimes those dreams just head out th' window. i can say that we're planning both bobcat goldthwait AND arch hall jr. double features this season, and that 'stay tuned' has been brought up way too many times to ignore. well, maybe. horror films all october is kinda obligat'ry, right, and abel ferrara's 'driller killer' is at th' top o' that particular list. th' law of no repeats may finally fall to dust simply due to th' utter undeniable glory that is 'eliminators;' laserdisc nite has been bandied aboot & since currently th' only two in th' house are 'steel dawn' & 'timecop' i don't see why that should be at all fucked with; & if there ain't 'action sports' nite feat. 'gleaming the cube,' josh brolin's finest moment 'thrashin',' & perchance a late-nite 3rd of 'rad' i think i may just throw myself in th' ravine. o'course some amount of troma worship is a must...maybe 'surf nazis' - and there's always 'fat guy goes nutzoid'...
a mandroid, a mercenary, a female botanist, and a ninja walk into a bar. obviously.
a mandroid, a mercenary, a female botanist, and a ninja walk into a bar. obviously.
The Neutral
last week, hmm. musta been nobody went to the bar or something. they just went to my house. not that i have any real problem with that. i had a blast. and there's an unclaimed case in my fridge. consider it claimed. anyhoo, monday was a wash. i didn't even go see the stitches. barely made it to th' pizza place so i could pay half-price. but i digress...point being there was a little movie marathon on th' indoor stage. which counts fer th' drive-in, 'cause, well, ya coulda been there.
'dreamscape'...i wish that asshat tommy had been foiled by th' inconsistencies of dream logic and not a goddam pipe. whatever, it was ok.
'knightriders'...i love this movie. i think this is the the third time i've watched it, and at 147 minutes, that's a life commitment. it'd be a tough one for the drive-in; the length as well as romero's penchant for character-driven drama and interpersonal politics might bog it down a little, though the ham-fisted commentary on cops and drugs and freedom...priceless. tom savini is brian o'halloran's father. i'm sure of it.
'beach girls meet the monster'...aka 'monster in the surf'...and that way it's got a theme song. been meaning to see this one for quite awhile, & i gotta say i have no clue where th' bad rap comes from. completely hokey, but i mean, duh. b&w scooby doo tale interspersed with worthless color surfing footage to pad it out. th' monster is amazing, maybe better even than th' one in 'it conquered the world,' a personal fave. th' foxiest chick dies in th' first ten minutes, tho'. bummer.
'flying saucers over hollywood'...felt like watching this after that. included on one of th' 'plan 9' dvds. no johnny legend, but still great. lotsa maila nurmi.
'maniac (1934)'...while i wouldn't say it's at all as nutso as i'd been led to believe it's pretty fantastic - exploitative in every way th' filmmaker could think up in th' eight or so minutes he spent thinking about it before filming. pre-code, kids...yes, two o'the poor young ladies lose their tops. th' scene in a room with four flapper-types takes th' whole thing. should be remade with john c. reilly in th' title role.
had a friend run my killer 'crimson ghost' tapes (orig, b&w serial version, not the still-pretty-ok colorized and movie-edited one) to dvd & watched th' first six again. perfect.
a decent amount of throwback mountain dew cans and pizza crusts ended up on the coffee table.
'dreamscape'...i wish that asshat tommy had been foiled by th' inconsistencies of dream logic and not a goddam pipe. whatever, it was ok.
'knightriders'...i love this movie. i think this is the the third time i've watched it, and at 147 minutes, that's a life commitment. it'd be a tough one for the drive-in; the length as well as romero's penchant for character-driven drama and interpersonal politics might bog it down a little, though the ham-fisted commentary on cops and drugs and freedom...priceless. tom savini is brian o'halloran's father. i'm sure of it.
'beach girls meet the monster'...aka 'monster in the surf'...and that way it's got a theme song. been meaning to see this one for quite awhile, & i gotta say i have no clue where th' bad rap comes from. completely hokey, but i mean, duh. b&w scooby doo tale interspersed with worthless color surfing footage to pad it out. th' monster is amazing, maybe better even than th' one in 'it conquered the world,' a personal fave. th' foxiest chick dies in th' first ten minutes, tho'. bummer.
'flying saucers over hollywood'...felt like watching this after that. included on one of th' 'plan 9' dvds. no johnny legend, but still great. lotsa maila nurmi.
'maniac (1934)'...while i wouldn't say it's at all as nutso as i'd been led to believe it's pretty fantastic - exploitative in every way th' filmmaker could think up in th' eight or so minutes he spent thinking about it before filming. pre-code, kids...yes, two o'the poor young ladies lose their tops. th' scene in a room with four flapper-types takes th' whole thing. should be remade with john c. reilly in th' title role.
had a friend run my killer 'crimson ghost' tapes (orig, b&w serial version, not the still-pretty-ok colorized and movie-edited one) to dvd & watched th' first six again. perfect.
a decent amount of throwback mountain dew cans and pizza crusts ended up on the coffee table.
Bring Me The Head Of The Fortune Teller
this past week marked our first night of fully unofficial pro-sponsorship and boy was it a doozer: 'c.h.o.m.p.s.' (that's k-9 home protection system fer you uninitiates), the 1979 boy-makes-dog tale from evidently the complete asshole half of th' hanna-barbera partership, and the very, very odd 'starcrash'. yer humble o-rater here thinks perchance one mr. brooks saw this slip o'celluloid a time er ten prior to building his 'spaceballs'. onward, then...
first order of biz here is to lay a whole mess of ack-o-lades on yer 'chomps' box copy, as it attempts to paint some unhealthy parallel betwixt th' flick contained therein and the mega-status-owning 'short circuit,' tho' it was made six years prior. kudos, peter travers or whoever you are, that shit is gold. so, right, guy with foxy girlfriend he pays NO fucking attention to whatsoever (valerie. bertinelli. seriously.) builds robot/AI dog that looks just like his dog (rascal, that one) and teaches it some very detailed commands like "go in mall, ride weird plastic tote-box conveyor belt, deal with baddies, come back," to be triggered mostly by the numbers 48 and 21; meanwhile rascal's nemesis next door, monster, talks or thinks out loud or something, and red buttons annoys his way thru th' o-bligat'ry scooby doo B-S while thurston howell III chews cigars and scenery and eventually explodes. i gotta tell ya about twenty mins into this one i didn't think i was gonna make it, true bereavers, but i'm here to tell ya, stix withit. a more surprising ending 'dirty mary, crazy larry' has not.
alright, lovers of all that is good about movies tinted blue beyond our control and large filmstrip screens begging for hurled aluminum (er "aluminium," as sez our brothers and sisters across the pond), 'dark star' it ain't, but 'starcrash' is one well-worth th' price o'xxtra fish oil. we gotta hottie (caroline munro) who gets progressively less-amply-and-appropriately-clothed as scenes go on fer no discernible reason, a robot who talks like foghorn leghorn, mr. 'dreamscape' himself, chris plum', and...introducing...david the fuck hasselhoff! now normally as ya may well know i don't fall in fer talent but this one's so chock full o'nuts even i was "star" struck! hui hui! plotwise some stuff happens on cardboard spaceships and some stuff happens on cardboard planets and sometimes we're in hyperspace which looks like clouds racing along in time lapse over everything & i'm fairly sure that some great cosmic disaster is averted when the baddie blows up real good nearing the end there and the one good dude just dies 'cause his work here is done (kinda like philo in 'uhf' tho' he's so much more sane about it, just goin' all large marge and blasting himself back to x-17 or wherever) & he needs to go inspire the greatest american hero's hairstylist anyhoo but like that's the point anyways, the point is they got lightsabers/schwartzes and john barry music and it's about a blilzzion times better than 'krull' and there are these two c3po skeletons that will make you yell "harryhausen" whenever they show up so ok i had a good time.
100% of whatever we were drinking out of ended up near the screen, or was meant to.
first order of biz here is to lay a whole mess of ack-o-lades on yer 'chomps' box copy, as it attempts to paint some unhealthy parallel betwixt th' flick contained therein and the mega-status-owning 'short circuit,' tho' it was made six years prior. kudos, peter travers or whoever you are, that shit is gold. so, right, guy with foxy girlfriend he pays NO fucking attention to whatsoever (valerie. bertinelli. seriously.) builds robot/AI dog that looks just like his dog (rascal, that one) and teaches it some very detailed commands like "go in mall, ride weird plastic tote-box conveyor belt, deal with baddies, come back," to be triggered mostly by the numbers 48 and 21; meanwhile rascal's nemesis next door, monster, talks or thinks out loud or something, and red buttons annoys his way thru th' o-bligat'ry scooby doo B-S while thurston howell III chews cigars and scenery and eventually explodes. i gotta tell ya about twenty mins into this one i didn't think i was gonna make it, true bereavers, but i'm here to tell ya, stix withit. a more surprising ending 'dirty mary, crazy larry' has not.
alright, lovers of all that is good about movies tinted blue beyond our control and large filmstrip screens begging for hurled aluminum (er "aluminium," as sez our brothers and sisters across the pond), 'dark star' it ain't, but 'starcrash' is one well-worth th' price o'xxtra fish oil. we gotta hottie (caroline munro) who gets progressively less-amply-and-appropriately-clothed as scenes go on fer no discernible reason, a robot who talks like foghorn leghorn, mr. 'dreamscape' himself, chris plum', and...introducing...david the fuck hasselhoff! now normally as ya may well know i don't fall in fer talent but this one's so chock full o'nuts even i was "star" struck! hui hui! plotwise some stuff happens on cardboard spaceships and some stuff happens on cardboard planets and sometimes we're in hyperspace which looks like clouds racing along in time lapse over everything & i'm fairly sure that some great cosmic disaster is averted when the baddie blows up real good nearing the end there and the one good dude just dies 'cause his work here is done (kinda like philo in 'uhf' tho' he's so much more sane about it, just goin' all large marge and blasting himself back to x-17 or wherever) & he needs to go inspire the greatest american hero's hairstylist anyhoo but like that's the point anyways, the point is they got lightsabers/schwartzes and john barry music and it's about a blilzzion times better than 'krull' and there are these two c3po skeletons that will make you yell "harryhausen" whenever they show up so ok i had a good time.
100% of whatever we were drinking out of ended up near the screen, or was meant to.
Melon Yellow
well, folks, we's up an' runnin' in this here 2009 season...o-fish first showings were two sundays ago (after a preliminary 'repo man' screening at the mayor's mansion weeks before) with the MIND-BLOWING 'roadie' starring our hero meatloaf followed by the not-really-a-linda-blair-vehicle 'nightforce' (shades of the cake-takin' 'eliminators' here, no kiddin').
basically what you've got with 'roadie' is our boy meat', a backwoods beer delivery dude and all-'round jury-riggin' inventor an' fix-it type who gets all a-tangled with a rail-thin, orthodontics-needin' doll of self-professed jailbait magnitude and joins up with some kinda rock and/or roll circus headed by none other than yer one-an'-only watch-out-he's-currently-tuff don cornelius. zaniness ensues (NATCH), including an outdoor concert run on cowshit, a roy orbison (er RAY ORBISOE, as sez shane's pals on the road) an' hank jr. duet on 'eyes of texas' in order to stop a barroom brawl, an' a night out with the ever-mild-mannered (it's not a good joke in retropect, shoulda seen that comin') vincent furnier. & all the while we're serenaded by the dulcet tones of the cheap trix. kinda essential and i can't believe after meanin' to see it all of forever that it took this long. oh yeah, and art carney (art. carney.) is in it as meat's pop, embos fans. deal.
'nightforce' is a li'l more, ahem, existential, ladies and al, but in the end there's a grimy helicopter and all gets themselves out alreet so a success it shall be called. to start at the start (as we must, loverboy never-be-damned), what ya got is some kinda field trip to central america with a u-haul full o'weaponry in tow in order to rescue the quite often suddenly topless daughter of some evidently somewhat very important fellow who's been kid-popped by a softball buddy of brother fidel's. oh, and th' aforementioned tart is bangin' a pair of brothers, one of whom she's betrothed to an' the other who leads our mission. after the first reel of skinemax softcore we dive right into the mississippi soundstage jungles an' run into our crocodile dundee/rutger hauer know-it-all o'course (in a saloon. true.), & everything proceeds to make even less sense, & eventually we get to th' helicopter. there was some confusion as to whether we were dealing with one baddie referred to as both esteeban and estobahn, or a coupla warring factions headed by coincidentally similarly-named doods, but in the end tho' i don't know that we ever figured it out it hardly mattered. stars t.j. acosta as "fat man," and that should be more than enuff to recommend it.
100% of alcohol containment devices ended life in front of the screen.
basically what you've got with 'roadie' is our boy meat', a backwoods beer delivery dude and all-'round jury-riggin' inventor an' fix-it type who gets all a-tangled with a rail-thin, orthodontics-needin' doll of self-professed jailbait magnitude and joins up with some kinda rock and/or roll circus headed by none other than yer one-an'-only watch-out-he's-currently-tuff don cornelius. zaniness ensues (NATCH), including an outdoor concert run on cowshit, a roy orbison (er RAY ORBISOE, as sez shane's pals on the road) an' hank jr. duet on 'eyes of texas' in order to stop a barroom brawl, an' a night out with the ever-mild-mannered (it's not a good joke in retropect, shoulda seen that comin') vincent furnier. & all the while we're serenaded by the dulcet tones of the cheap trix. kinda essential and i can't believe after meanin' to see it all of forever that it took this long. oh yeah, and art carney (art. carney.) is in it as meat's pop, embos fans. deal.
'nightforce' is a li'l more, ahem, existential, ladies and al, but in the end there's a grimy helicopter and all gets themselves out alreet so a success it shall be called. to start at the start (as we must, loverboy never-be-damned), what ya got is some kinda field trip to central america with a u-haul full o'weaponry in tow in order to rescue the quite often suddenly topless daughter of some evidently somewhat very important fellow who's been kid-popped by a softball buddy of brother fidel's. oh, and th' aforementioned tart is bangin' a pair of brothers, one of whom she's betrothed to an' the other who leads our mission. after the first reel of skinemax softcore we dive right into the mississippi soundstage jungles an' run into our crocodile dundee/rutger hauer know-it-all o'course (in a saloon. true.), & everything proceeds to make even less sense, & eventually we get to th' helicopter. there was some confusion as to whether we were dealing with one baddie referred to as both esteeban and estobahn, or a coupla warring factions headed by coincidentally similarly-named doods, but in the end tho' i don't know that we ever figured it out it hardly mattered. stars t.j. acosta as "fat man," and that should be more than enuff to recommend it.
100% of alcohol containment devices ended life in front of the screen.
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