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Happy news today from Jahnke's Electric Theater over on Facebook: it seems that one of my personal "holy grail movies," i.e., the handful of films I'd like to own but which have been long been unavailable on DVD or any other home-video format, is finally on the way. In this case, it's High Road to China, a 1983 adventure flick starring Tom Selleck. Although High Road is often dismissed as a knock-off of Raiders of the Lost Ark, it's actually a fun little B-movie romp on its own terms, and not really that much like an Indiana Jones movie. High Road is being released on both DVD and Blu-Ray by Hen's Tooth Video on April 17. Here's a peek at the sales sheet:

With this release, my list of MIAs is down to only three (well, okay, technically six) items: another early-80s Selleck vehicle called Lassiter; FM, which was sort of a forerunner to the WKRP in Cincinnati series; and, of course, decent-quality anamorphic transfers of the pre-1997 Star Wars trilogy, my perennial hobbyhorse.

It's funny... the movie industry obviously feels the DVD is on its way into the landfill of history, and it seems to me that Blu-Ray really hasn't caught on the way everyone hoped. The future, we are constantly hearing, is going to be all streaming and clouds. Maybe so... and yet it's only now, supposedly at the end of the medium's life cycle, that a lot of obscure titles are finally finding their way onto shiny silver discs. I almost wonder if the attention being given to streaming is making it possible... maybe because nobody expects big DVD sales anymore, niche titles are free to move in modest numbers without being considered a failure. Maybe... it's just an idea I had...

And here's another of the myriad things that frustrate the crap out of me: my utter inability to stay on top of this blog to my satisfaction. The first month of 2012 is nearly over and I still haven't gotten around to tying up the loose ends from 2011. Not that anybody else cares about what movies I watched during the past 12 months, I'm sure. But I care -- I've been keeping lists of this stuff for years, and I find it interesting and sometimes even useful to track my media-consumption habits -- and if I was doing this blogging thing right, I would've had this post up shortly after New Year's, if not before. Yes, I've had a lot going on during the month of January 2012, but I know my situation well enough to know it wouldn't have mattered either way. I'd still be playing catch-up regardless. Because that's just the pattern I've lapsed into in recent years. A quick check of the Simple Tricks archive reveals I have 74 unfinished, unpublished entries on this blog. Seventy-four. And nearly every single one of them has followed the exact same pattern: some subject catches my interest, I start composing an entry, and then I get distracted by some mundane matter of daily life and a day or two (or five or ten) passes, and in the meantime more subjects of interest come down the pike and then the moment is lost and that poor orphaned scrap of writing slips into blog-entry limbo. Sometimes I can come back to them later, but usually the topic has lost its relevance and I can't rekindle the creative spark to get back into it anyhow. Nobody knows or cares about these unfinished things except me, but they drive me batshit crazy.

So, this topic may be well past its sell-by date, but I'm going to do it anyhow. If you're not interested, I understand. Lists below the fold...

In case you missed it, a ripple of excitement rolled across the InterWebs last week following the release of a short "teaser" video featuring actor Matthew Broderick in what appeared to be a reprise of his signature role, Ferris Bueller. Many people hoped that whatever this was about would turn out to be a full-fledged sequel to the classic Ferris Bueller's Day Off. Well, the big secret was revealed today, and alas, it's just a Honda commercial made for this year's Super Bowl advertising extravaganza. (Personally I figured all along this was going to be the case. There's no way a movie studio could keep a sequel to a generational touchstone secret throughout its production. Nor is there any reason for them to do so -- as excited as people were over a mere ad, just think of how loud the buzz would be following the announcement of an actual feature.)

In any event, Honda is no doubt hoping this little exercise in Gen-X nostalgia will inspire all we 40-somethings who desperately need our own Bueller-esque screw-off day to rush out and buy a CRV, thinking it will somehow give us the freedom that Matthew/Ferris is enjoying. Nonsense, of course, and we should all be offended that the marketers think we're so easily manipulated. But if you can manage to overlook the cynical purpose behind it, this is actually an entertaining little homage to one of my favorite movies:



I love the bit with the stuffed panda in the car. The scene in the museum with the walrus, though... I know it's a reference to Ferris' line about the Beatles song "I Am the Walrus" in the original movie ("I could be the walrus, it still wouldn't change the fact I don't own a car."), but I can't help but think Broderick is pondering his own increasing doughiness, and then I hate myself for being unkind, because I'm not exactly looking the way I did back in 1986 myself...

Here's another look at what's happening with Discovery's replica engine nozzles. (I guess it's not really correct to keep calling them replicas, considering they're authentic spaceflown hardware, but NASA's own Kennedy Space Center Twitter feed  -- from whence I snagged this photo, incidentally -- refers to them as replica shuttle main engines, or RSMEs, so there you go, straight from the astronaut's mouth. Or something.)

Anyhow, I thought I'd share this shot because (a) it shows all three nozzles now back in place, and (b) it's a little easier to discern what you're looking at than in the one I posted yesterday. And also because I just like posting pics of space shuttles. Deal. Soon they'll be in their respective museums and you won't have to see any more of this stuff for a while, at least not until I get out to them and take my own photos...

Good evening... come on in. Why don't you get yourself some popcorn and a Coke from our stunning black-on-silver art-deco refreshment stand? (Be nice to the charming and vivacious young lady manning the counter; you'll find her attitude very different from the sullen mouth-breathers at the multiplex. She actually likes her job.) Yes, I know our modestly sized bags of corn look puny compared to those MegaTubs you're accustomed to getting at the other places, but trust me: this is all you need.

Feel free to peruse the vintage one-sheets lining the walls of our lobby. Beautiful, aren't they? Every one a genuine work of art, individually designed to uniquely showcase the films in question, painted by skilled craftsmen who've never heard of Photoshop.

Ah, here we are at the usher's podium. We called it the chopper back in my day. But of course that means nothing to you, does it? Here, let me take your ticket. That little slip of inch-wide red cardstock there. What's that? You wonder why it doesn't tell you which film you're seeing? But why would you... oh, I see why you're confused. This ticket says only "Admit One," without all the other extraneous information that's printed on other movie tickets nowadays. But we don't need all that nonsense here at the Black-and-White; you see, we have only the one screen. Now, go on into the auditorium and find a seat... watch your step, please, it's a bit darker than what you're probably used to. Slip into one of our low-back red-velvet seats. No, I'm sorry, they don't rock, but you should find them comfortable enough. I have made one concession to your modern sensibilities: you'll find the cupholder right there in front of you. There you are.

I hope you'll use the last few minutes before the movie starts to relax or to converse quietly with your date. We have no pre-show reel to distract you with mindless advertising; this space is supposed to be isolated from the outside world, a bit of escapism even before the movie begins. Isn't the hushed atmosphere so much nicer than all the blather that usually surrounds us? Please, don't do that. You won't be able to text or surf the web, not in my establishment. And no calls in or out, either, not while we're here in the auditorium. Mobile phones don't work here, not even the clock function, so you may as well put it back in your pocket and forget all about it for a couple hours. In a moment, there will be nothing trying to grab your attention except the film itself.... and here we go. The big waterfall curtain rises, the lights go down.

Tonight's feature at Bennion's Black-and-White Old-Tymey Movie Theatre is... Charlie Chan in Panama! A little bit of pre-war intrigue involving sabotage, a deadly plague, poisoned cigarettes, and the US Navy, all set against the exotic backdrop of the Panama Canal! SEE...  a beautiful refugee countess hiding out as a nightclub singer! SEE... the suave Latino club owner who has a secret identity! SEE... the author of countless "blood-and-thunder" adventure novels, drawn into a real-life web of danger!

Okay, I'll drop the silly patter. Sorry. I was just having a bit of fun remembering/imagining the way movie-going used to be back when there was still some glamour to it. The truth is, Black-and-White Theatre tonight consisted of me sitting on the couch in my bathrobe in front of my hi-def TV, spinning a DVD of a flick from 1940 that I doubt anyone reading this has even heard of. A far cry from the fabled movie palaces of old... or even those far more modest neighborhood movie-houses that used to lure people inside during the hot summers with promises of air conditioning and all-day programs for a dime. They're all gone now, the palaces and the small houses, all exterminated by the rise of the multiplex. But I love the movies that would've run at those places. Black-and-white is not inferior, kids! And just because something is old doesn't mean it doesn't still have the power to entertain...

I spotted the one-sheet for a new film called The Artist a couple weeks ago, but while I thought it was striking and classy -- a wonderfully refreshing change from the Photoshopped headshot montages that comprise the vast majority of movie posters these days -- it gave me absolutely no idea what the movie was actually about. Now I know... and I love it, at least as a concept. The Artist is a silent movie. Yes, a silent... as in "no audible dialogue" and only occasional intertitles instead of subtitles. Just like the ones made up until 1927 or thereabouts. And it was even shot in black and white. Here's the trailer:

Looks good, doesn't it? Beautiful cinematography and mood. The music is anachronistic, of course -- Louis Prima didn't record the first version of "Sing Sing Sing" until 1936, almost ten years after The Jazz Singer effectively ended the silent period -- but otherwise this thing looks about as authentic as you can get, short of throwing in a little simulated nitrate decomposition. The dog even resembles Asta, the canine costar of the Thin Man series from the '30s and '40s. But it's not just the retro gimmick that's grabbed my attention; the story intrigues me as well. The movie is about a silent film star whose career and life is about to dissolve due to that new innovation, talking pictures. Simultaneously, the pretty extra he helped discover is becoming a Big Deal. Yes, it's the same premise as A Star Is Born, but that's okay.

Although The Artist was shot in Los Angeles using many locations authentic to the silent age, and using several American actors -- you may have noticed John Goodman, James Cromwell, and Penelope Ann Miller in the trailer -- this is technically a French movie, the brainchild of a gutsy man named Michel Hazanavicius. And you know, that doesn't really surprise me, considering how utterly risk-averse Hollywood has become in the last 20 years. No American film studio would take a chance on an insane project like a modern-day silent; they prefer sure-things like remakes and sequels. Ever since my college days, I've been defending Hollywood movies to the film-snob, subtitle-loving, popularity-hating people I occasionally run across in my social circles, but just lately... Well, it says something interesting that the coming-soon attractions that have most excited me the past couple years -- this, The Extraordinary Adventures of Adele Blanc-Sec, and Space Battleship Yamato -- have all been foreign films. But then the movies I really love tend to be made by people who love movies, and, as far as I can tell, Hollywood is run these days by people who love brands...

Do you all remember The Dark Crystal, Jim Henson's experimental fantasy film from the early '80s? It's really a masterpiece of pre-digital effects work and virtuoso puppetry that immerses the audience in an alien world populated entirely by non-human creatures. Anyhow, if you recall, there's a scene in which the Skeses, the evil bird-like bad guys, use the power of the titular crystal to drain the life essence from the "Podlings," the innocent little villagers who live nearby, rendering them into prematurely aged, brain-dead slaves. Here, refresh your memories... go ahead, I'll wait...

So, yeah, my job has reminded me of a lot of this scene lately. Guess which character I am?

You know, even I have gaps in my knowledge of 1980s pop culture, i.e., movies or other media phenomena from that most awesome of decades that somehow slipped past me back in the day. And two of the biggest omissions are a pair of cult-classic films written and directed by a cat who calls himself Savage Steve Holland and starring John Cusack: Better Off Dead and One Crazy Summer.

Actually, it's not quite accurate to say they slipped past me. I'm pretty sure I actually did see both of them at some point. In fact, I'm almost positive I ran One Crazy Summer when I was working as a projectionist at the old Cameo Theater, the old-fashioned, single-screen movie house where I had my very first job. But it would seem that neither of them made much impression on me. All I recall of Better Off Dead is that it's the source of the ubiquitous Gen-X catchphrase "I want my two dollars," and all I remembered from One Crazy Summer was Bobcat Goldthwait in a Godzilla suit wreaking havoc at some kind of country-club party.

I was pretty content with this state of affairs, too. I've never felt like I was missing something for not remembering the Savage Steve canon, although I was occasionally bemused by the reactions of fellow Children of the '80s when I told them I had no memory of Better Off Dead (apparently the more popular of the two). A couple weeks ago, however, I ran across a DVD copy of OCS at Big Lots, and I figured for only three bucks, why the hell not? Three dollars is nothing, I thought, and I like John Cusack well enough. So I bought it. And today I had the day off and I was sitting around the house, and I figured this is it, this is the perfect time to plug this particular hole in my memory. So I watched it.

To paraphrase Better Off Dead, I want my three dollars back.

OCS is often described as a romantic comedy -- certainly the DVD cover art suggests that angle, far more than the original theatrical one-sheet seen above -- but the truth is, it's more like the tail end of the "slob comedy" cycle that flourished in the early-to-mid '80s. That was the sub-genre in which a band of poor, uncouth but genial misfits finds a way to stick it to the rich bastards who've been giving them shit throughout the first two acts of the film. But One Crazy Summer is no Caddyshack. It isn't even a Police Academy 3: Back in Training.

The plot is pretty thin, even by the admittedly low standards of the category, and it's almost shockingly lazy. This is a movie in which the good guys don't have enough money to save the love interest's family home from the evil land developer (played by Mark Metcalf, naturally), so they decide to get even by winning the annual sailing regatta using a decrepit boat they fix up during the obligatory '80s-flick fixing-something-up montage. But... how'd they buy a boat if they don't have any money? And renovation supplies are fairly costly, too, where'd that dough come from? And wouldn't the regatta organizers demand some kind of entry fee or something? Or at the very least inspect the boat beforehand and thus discover the "secret weapon?" Most slob comedies, at least the ones that have become classics, stick to their own premises and follow something resembling real-world logic. But not this one.

Of course, fans of the film would probably counter that the movie is illogical by design. Cusack's character is an artist, you see, and he's always drawing cartoons that comment on and inform the plot in various ways, which we of course see as animated interludes throughout the film. But in a move that I'm sure old Savage Steve thought was terribly clever, the live-action parts of the movie are like a cartoon, too, filled with ridiculous and sometimes downright bizarre gags that are obviously meant to echo the anything-goes world of the classic Looney Tunes shorts. Except the Looney Tunes were funny, and this movie isn't. Not to me, anyhow. Monty Python notwithstanding, I don't do absurdity.

Bottom line: One Crazy Summer is one stupid movie.

 

Ben E. King had been a member of the fabulous R&B group The Drifters (a group notorious for frequent changes in personnel, usually due to disputes over money), but he left in 1960 to embark on a solo career. "Stand by Me" was his second major solo hit following the lovely "Spanish Harlem"; it made it to number four on the Billboard chart in 1961. Then, like many other notable songs from the '60s, it found a second life in the 1980s after appearing in a popular movie. It peaked at number nine in 1986.

Interestingly, I don't remember ever seeing this clip back in the day. I first encountered it on the Stand by Me Special Edition DVD released in 2000 and it utterly charmed me with its nostalgic transition from 1961 Ben E. King to 1986 Ben E. King -- he didn't change much in 25 years! -- and of course with the presence of Wil Wheaton and River Phoenix. I like that they weren't playing Gordie and Chris, but were (apparently) themselves, and they seemed to genuinely understand the coolness of hanging out with a musical legend. Or at least they acted as if they did. I can't help but smile when I watch this... even if it is a little eerie knowing that River would die on a grimy sidewalk outside a sleazy LA nightclub a mere seven years later. Watching him in this video, seeing his effortless charisma and confidence, even at such a tender age, only underscores the tragedy of his too-soon death. He could've made so much of his life, and it's so evident in this clip...

Lately, it seems like every other week is witness to one of my personal pop-cultural touchstones achieving some landmark anniversary. Rick Springfield's Working Class Dog album, the one that included his signature song "Jessie's Girl," had its 30th birthday on February 24. Raiders of the Lost Ark also turned 30 back in June, and Ferris Bueller's Day Off reached its silver anniversary the day before Raiders. But somehow none of those tidbits surprised me or made me feel quite as wistful -- not to mention old -- as the news that this past Monday, August 8, marked 25 years since the release of the film Stand by Me.

The depth of my reaction surprised me, frankly, because if you were to ask me to compile a list of my all-time favorite movies -- a list very much like this one, for example -- Stand by Me would definitely be included among them, but probably wouldn't rank very highly. (In fact, it comes in at only number 41 on that list, because that's the more or less the order in which I thought of it as I was dredging up titles. Obviously, it's not in the forefront of my brain.) I'm not saying it's not a great movie. It is, in my opinion, and it's a damn shame they don't often make films like it anymore, i.e., mainstream pictures that are modestly budgeted and appear to have small ambitions but end up saying a lot while still being immensely entertaining. For some reason, however, this film occupies a relatively smaller plot of my mental landscape than something like, say, Raiders. I haven't watched it a hundred or more times, and I don't have it memorized as I do so many others. I have no particular memories of the first time I saw it. In fact, I have no memory of the first time I saw it, which is kind of odd for me when it comes to these things. (By way of contrast, I can still tell you the circumstances of my first viewing of Tron. It was with my mom at the long-departed Regency Theater, near the mouth of Parley's Canyon, and I saw one of our local TV newspeople in the restroom. I was all of 12 at the time.) My first viewing of Stand by Me was probably on home video -- by which I mean those clunky, archaic videocassette things you may have heard of -- and it was likely a year or two after it was in the theaters, because that's how the release schedules used to work, kids. But I really don't know.

It occurs to me that maybe the film's relative lack of prominence in my memory is the reason behind my strong "oh my god, that can't be!" reaction to its anniversary. Because I don't have strong memories of my first experience with it, I don't associate it with any given period in my life. Star Wars and Raiders are films from my childhood; Ferris Bueller is locked firmly to my senior year of high school. Dances with Wolves and a whole raft of others are from my college years, which overlapped the period I worked for the multiplex. But Stand by Me is timeless for me, both in the usual sense that it remains as relevant as ever, and also because it just seems to have always been around. Learning that it is, in fact, a specific number of years old, and quite a few years at that... well, it's just driven home how advanced my own years are becoming, I guess.

Like I said, though, it's a great movie no matter where it falls on some silly, arbitrary list. On the surface, it appears to be a simple, nostalgic little coming-of-age story set in a more innocent time. And it is that. But it also has a lot to say about friendship and courage and self-image and how people and events can alter the course of your life and stay with you even if you're not aware they're still there, until something happens that yanks them back into the light and floors you with the unexpected intensity of emotions you never imagined were still there. And the thing that makes Stand by Me so great is that these points are made subtly, during a story that slowly builds to a devastating conclusion (assuming you don't already know how it ends). Just writing about it now, I find myself really wanting to go watch it again. Because I may not think of it when you ask about my favorite films, but when I do stumble across it on TV or am otherwise prompted to see it, I always rediscover just how much I really love this movie.

Wil Wheaton, who starred in the film when he was just twelve years old, has some lovely thoughts about it and especially about his late castmate River Phoenix, who's been dead and gone for an astonishing 18 years, here. (For the record, I always liked and identified with River in his film appearances, and I still believe he would've become one of the all-time great actors had he lived. His death of a drug overdose back in 1993 devastated me.) Wil also gave an interview to NPR about the film's anniversary, and that includes a number of interesting tidbits that weren't in his blog entry. You can listen to it here. If you're even a mild fan of Stand by Me, I recommend you check out both of those pieces.

Incidentally, what the hell is Goofy anyhow? I never have gotten an answer to that question...