the TV set

"They look just like you and I, but inside - inside they're...different."

In the early 90s, nothing was better than hunkering down for Friday nights with Rhonda Shear (and sometimes Saturdays with Gilbert Gottfried).  Heaven is a double feature comprised of Can't Buy Me Love and The Howling: Part 4.  I remember the palpable thrill that can only be derived from being twelve years old and desperately trying to stay awake throughout both USA Up All Night movies.  Coming out of the MTV years, I think we all took for granted that TV wouldn't always be rock'n roll.

As long as there's been television, there's been cheap and easy late-night horror programming - the two go together like Kristin Chenoweth and twitter.  Whether staying Up All Night with Rhonda or hiking across town to the local video store and being lured by the siren song of a VHS box cover, one of the best elements of Pre-Blockbuster video culture was the element of discovery.

I miss being able to put my faith in late-night horror hosts and video store hipsters - the intimacy and trust implicit in that experience. Ticking through Netflix isn't the same.  Times have changed.  Even when Elvira came back to syndication a couple years ago, something was off.  Elvira still looks exactly the same as she did in 1987, but the revival of her late night shtick (using the same exact formula as it did in its original run) only demonstrated that we can't go back, we can only move forward.  

Here in LA, we're fortunate enough to have repertory theatres like Cinefamily and the New Beverly that drag out the classics week after week to expose a whole new generation to the joy of cinephilia. Nostalgia and kitsch are back in the hipster zeitgeist where they belong.  The good folks over at Shout Factory (the good people who brought us the Jem and Thirtysomething DVDs) were paying attention to this rash of sold-out horror screenings (each more obscure than the last) and Scream Factory was born.   A lot has been made of Scream Factory's recent slew of blu-ray restorations and the hype is well earned.   They're rapidly becoming the Criterion Collection of horror.  Now we can all can host our very own curated late-night movie marathons!

It’s thanks to Scream Factory that I discovered my favorite film of the summer, The Video Dead.

I know I can be a hard bitch, but once in a while a movie comes along that sweeps me off my feet and makes me feel like a giddy eleven year old sneaking downstairs late at night to watch scrambled pay-per-view in the living room with the volume turned all the way down. The Video Dead is such a film. 

With an electric synth score and prominently featuring many "actors" who wear high-waisted denim and appear to struggle with the English language, this movie has it all.  The Video Dead is about a brother and sister named Jeff and Susy who inherit an indestructible television that zombies come out of unless it’s covered in mirrors - aka: it's the stuff that pre-adolescent dreams are made of.

Last month, I was heading out to a party in Laguna and I couldn't decide which shoes to wear.  I've developed a weird habit of leaving yesterday’s shoes outside the front door – so I was trying on a couple pairs of dress shoes on my front porch when a platinum blonde barefoot girl charges at me.  Apparently I have a new neighbor.  Within three minutes, I was informed that she loves gay people and that I shouldn't get upset if I hear her yelling “Faggot” because she’s family and that her Facebook wall is full of rainbow flags.  Then she asked if I was a bottom and invited me to a party hosted by one of the Real Housewives of Miami.

Miami?  Really?  Anyone with a lick of common sense would know that I like The Real Housewives of New York.  Pay attention, please!  Stone-faced, I told her I liked her pedicure and pad-locked my door.  

This is basically what happens to my namesake protagonist in The Video Dead. 

Jeff doesn't like to wash or change his clothes.  He lives with his sister, Susy, who is a college freshman majoring in aerobics with a sensible minor in "Music Videos".  She just bought her first house.  An obnoxious blonde girl ingratiates herself to her new neighbors and the next thing you know, zombies are pouring out of the television.

This is why we must avoid talking to strangers (especially manic girls who think they're sexy)!

When the zombies start doing what zombies are wont to do, Jeff takes to the woods with a creepy old man and a chainsaw.

You know I love a movie where the boy takes on a Final Girl role and this is a good one - Jeff runs and falls and yelps and even gets tied up.  Watch out, Amy Steele, somebody's coming for your spot!

Shot on 16mm, The Video Dead was a movie made for the booming '80s home entertainment market – produced fast, cheap and locally and then gussied up with fantastic box art to spark a thousand adolescent imaginations for thirty years to come.  This is the pulp nonsense movie that those V/H/S movies wish they could be.

We're older than we ever intended to be, but thanks to Scream Factory, we can relive the majesty of Up All Night horror movie marathons in the comfort of our own living rooms without having to stay up all night or having the face the indignity of waiting in a line outside a sold-out screening with 100 fanboys in black t-shirts loudly talking at each other.  The future has its perks.

hail satan!

"I used to break out when I was twelve.  Doctor said it was homosexual panic."

I got real caught up in my apartment this morning - aimlessly wandering from room to room with my coffee cup, absently touching surfaces.   The outside world was just too much.  Luckily, we appear to be in the midst of one of those free Cinemax preview weekends and I am clearly blessed because John Carpenter's Prince of Darkness is on.  Blessed be!

I've probably watched this movie seven or eight times over the years and I have absolutely no clue what it's about.  None.  To my understanding, a group of scientists (or maybe they're students) in high-waisted pants and terrible haircuts lock themselves up in a vacant school building someplace (or maybe it's a church).  Donald Pleasence from Halloween invites the old man from Big Trouble in Little China to help him with something having to do with outer space and the devil and a big vat of interstellar Ooze.  Prince of Darkness posits that Jesus Christ was from outer space (or was is devil from outer space? or is it the Son of the devil?) and that homeless people are all blood-thirsty monsters from hell.  There may even be an eclipse at some point (solar or lunar, who knows).

I do know that there are a bunch of bugs everywhere and there are state of the art 1987 computers and lots of Catholic imagery (always good for a fright) and the movie has a solid John Carpenter synth score throughout.  Donald Pleasence delivers many monologues.  People get demonically possessed by water damage leaking through the ceiling.  Alice Cooper even shows up at one point.  Regardless of plot, Prince of Darkness is one of the greatest Background Movies of all time.  It should come as no surprise that I love any movie whose central protagonist looks like he came out of a 1985 gay porn.

Thank you, Cinemax.  While I am grateful to see Prince of Darkness presented in glorious High Definition, I still have no intention of ordering your services.  I have HBO.

Xo

Let's watch a movie!

I wanna be your Tokyo convertible

"Sunday's my birthday and I don't want to go to the mental hospital!"

Before there was Inception, there was Slumber Party Masscre II (1987).  The dream is real.

Maleficio!

"I'm exactly where I want to be and I'm doing fine."

Oh my gosh, y'all.  What a day!

Tonight I was gathering my business from the back seat of my Honda Passport when out popped a pair of white briefs that I had been keeping there in case of an emergency.  Oops. Staring at those underpants lying there helplessly on the grey concrete, all I could think was, "Slut." Then I nearly doubled over - I was having a vision. My tidy whiteys with the turquoise waistband coupled with the sense memory of being called a slut reminded me of the most perfect Faggotyass summer movie - The Witches of Eastwick (1987)!

A full decade before the Sex and the City sluts permeated popular culture, we could readily categorize ourselves according to The Witches of Eastwick.  You were either an Alexandra (brassy and strong-willed), a Jane (prissy and demure, waiting to be unfurled like a summer rose),  or a Sukie (ethereal and perpetually frazzled by care-taking for other people). In gay speak: you were either Cher, Susan Sarandon, or Michelle Pfeiffer.

While these three actresses may have been at the apex of the 1980s Hollywood food chain, the ladies they're playing aren’t quite so glamorous.  They find themselves stuck in small town New England with an overwhelming feeling that life has all but passed them by. Recently divorced Jane is teaching music to unappreciative mongrels, losing her funding and constantly fending off advances from the fat and married board members of the elementary school.  Alexandra is an artist whose sculptures aren't selling; her husband died years ago, so she lives alone with her teenage daughter. Sukie loved a rocker but he left her high and dry to raise their six children by herself, working as a writer for the local paper.  

But, watching this film as an adult, I couldn't help but wonder...

"Why is it always women who have visions?"

These are women who can influence the weather and who have persuasive powers over fruits and vegetables.  They can predict the future and make the earth move. They raise children and maintain mortgages. When their powers combine, they can vanquish enemies without even having to leave their martinis. Are these witches or just women? 

If they possess all this power, then why is their primary concern that of finding a man? Is that a product of the time in which it was made?  Is The Witches of Eastwick a feminist parable or does it suggest that women are only content with a man who treats them like shit? I’ve seen this film dozens of times and still couldn’t tell you.

If you take away any struggle of good versus evil, are these women complex or are they sort of awful? The actresses present us with strong figures, but the movie tells us that they’re using Jack for his power and influence and for the sex.  Even when they've completely drained him of his life force, they still take his house and the servants. Men and the townspeople are only there to serve them.  Much like the Sex and the City girls, their actions have no consequences.  That's not an incredibly feminist perspective.

While Jack Nicholson initially appeals to their intelligence to get them in bed, in the end it's his chauvinism that keeps them there.  Why would three women who are smart and funny - with perfect bodies and great sundresses - ever desire a rotund, balding, narcissistic schlub like Jack Nicholson?  Is it internalized misogyny? Is this something lost in adaptation (adapted by men from a text written by a man)?

Maybe I'm just a messy queen who lives for drama, but I used to love this film.  But why? Why do a lot of gay men of a certain age hold onto this movie? 

I think the answer lies somewhere in the delicate line between homophobia and misogyny.  Both gays and women have to work twice as hard for recognition in a society that is structured around the whims and desires of straight men.  That can take a toll.  Also, strong witches (like the gays) love themselves a pitcher of cocktails and a girls night out.  The gays (like the witches) are known for their permissive, if not European, approach towards sexuality.  Women and gays can both be found running board rooms, paying mortgages and supporting their parents, but still obsessing over finding the perfect man.  In the end, like the witches, friendships are our primary care relationships.  Consequently, gays (like powerful women) seldom seem able to carry on functional, long-term relationships because they see that it's a rigged system built to keep shackles on your own desires in favor of a capitalist notion. 

Plus, The Witches of Eastwick is a Cher movie.

Despite a near perfect script from Michael Cristofer and an even better John Williams score, The Witches of Eastwick is a weird film.  Its behind the scenes stories are legend - the (male) producers pitted the girls against Susan Sarandon from the get-go and it definitely shows on screen.  I've heard Susan agreed to play Alexandra, only to show up to read through and find out that they'd given the part to Cher. I've head Susan spent weeks learning the piano only to show up on set to learn that they'd made her character a cellist.  Halfway through shooting, they made her a redhead. Whichever story is true, her Jane is particularly uneven - especially when paired alongside Cher and Michelle Pfeiffer's naturalistic performances. The film's third act ultimately succumbs to Hollywood bloat (having been re-shot three times) and causes confusion with regard to the films perspective. 

Coherent feminist narrative aside, grab your best can of Aussie Mousse and pop this DVD in for a good time.  Whether you're gay or straight (George Miller directed it. He directed Mad Max.), you're sure to find this movie better than a bowl of fresh cherries on a hot summer day. 

(Keep a lookout for the grumpy supermarket checkout lady throwing shade at Susan Sarandon for being a "slut" - I like to pretend that she's the same grumpy checkout lady who threw supermarket shade at Debra Winger for having insufficient funds in Terms of Endearment.  Supermarket checkout girls are so judgmental.)

Just when you think you're all by yourself, you're not.

"It is an abomination to God and to man."

Growing up in the breathless heights of domestic horror distribution was a glorious thing. My mother was always working, leaving me to my own devices for days on end. One time Mary tried to get me involved with the local church youth group to ease her guilt. They gave me a butter cookie and took me on a tour of the grounds.  It was too perfect with the vintage stained glass and oak pews! Within ten minutes, I was acting out my favorite scenes from Return of the Living Dead Part 2 in the sanctuary and they asked me to never come back.

I cannot be held responsible for such a seemingly brazen breach of etiquette. It’s what any little gay boy would have done.  In the 1980s, sequels were rarely ever carbon copies of the original film. Far from it! These continuing adventures became so progressively phantasmagoric that they begged for playground reinterpretation. Believe me, there was no better playground role-playing than A Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors (1987).

Refusing to be a tired rehashing of A Nightmare on Elm Street, Dream Warriors is indicative of everything that’s missing in franchise horror today.

It has a story.

With a viable story, there was a reason to continue the franchise. Final-girl Nancy Thompson is a post-graduate intern now.  Despite the platinum highlights around her bangs indicating the terror that she'd survived at the hands of Freddy Krueger, her hair is more voluminous than ever!  She has a penchant for wearing Nolan Miller gowns, Laura Ashley prints and she can’t be bothered with acting anymore.  

A Nightmare on Elm Street 3 is about what happens to final-girls after they live to see another day. Without being bogged down in expository monologues, Dream Warriors successfully expands the mythology of Freddy Krueger. We learn that Freddy was the bastard son of a hundred maniacs. We learn that his insatiable teenage bloodlust is not just prompted by revenge; rather his physical need to feed off of the souls of these kids in order to stay alive and powerful. Scary business!

"If your only faith is science...it may be you who is laid to rest."

It has a concept behind it.

 Imagine if you will, Girl, Interrupted or One Flew over the Cuckoos’ Nest. Troubled teenagers are living in a lockdown mental health facility. They are bewildered by recurring night terrors. Apathetic and underpaid nurses administer medication with no regard for these kids’ horrific tales of a burned maniac trying to kill them in their dreams. One by one they start dying off.

"She was raped hundreds of times."

It's High-Concept.

Did I mention that the kids at the Westin Hills Psychiatric Hospital are X-Men? Oh, yes. Kristen Parker is not only an Olympic gymnast; she also has the uncanny ability to drag people into her dreams. Her tramp mother sent her off to the nut house rather than actually having to talk with her. Hungry for a role model, Kristen pulls Nancy into her nightmare. Worlds collide.  

Contrary to slasher decorum, none of our characters are disposable.  Everyone contributes to the story at large. There's a nebbish, brunette boy with glasses in a wheelchair that can turn into a magical, laser-spewing wizard.  There's a Jewish girl who turns into a knife-wielding punk rocker. There's even a black kid with super-human strength. X-men indeed! These kids are rejected by society; locked away to rot by apathetic parents.  Like X-Men, Dream Warriors is a social commentary on the nature of freaks - whether a homosexual or a disenfranchised teenager, everyone has felt misunderstood and misrepresented by the powers that be.  

When you feel isolated, you can easily lose yourself to depression and self-pity.  That's when you're vulnerable and that's when Freddy comes. There is strength in numbers, kids.  It doesn't matter if you're a girl; it doesn't matter if you're a gay; it doesn't matter if you're not an actress.  No matter how lonely you feel, no matter how misunderstood you may be, there’s always someone who has it worse - someone who has been there and lived to tell the tale.  A Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors makes this point crystal clear.  Furthering its message of group empowerment and girl-power, this film doesn't have a final girl, it has a final gang.

"You're mine now, Piggy."

While this movie deals with themes of drug abuse, conflicted sexuality and the sins of morally bankrupt parents forever haunting their children, it's a lot of fun!  With graphic kills and minimal Freddy screen time, this movie scared the dickens out of me as a child. I had a VHS copy that I'd watch and then promptly hide in my mom's room for fear that Freddy himself would materialize out of the cassette and haunt my dreams like Patricia Arquette!   The end made me sob.  

Parents take note: if your little boy is sobbing from the emotive powers of Heather Langenkamp, he may be a gay.  Prepare accordingly.

Through creativity and a willingness to explore new terrain, A Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors re-launched a franchise left for dead.  The fun was only just beginning...