natsukashi

Episode VI: Monster in the Closet

 
Monster in the Closet (1987)
Rated: PG
Directed by:  Bob Dahlin
Starring Donald Grant: Richard Clark
Denise Du Barry: Professor Diane Bennett
Claude Akins: Sheriff Sam Ketchum
Howard Duff: Father Finnegan
Henry Gibson: Dr. Pennyworth
Tagline: It's Out! It's Out! It's Out!
By Jason Plissken
Past Memories:  The last time I saw this movie, I was in 7th or 8th grade.  Being somewhat of a geek, I always looked forward to watching monster movies on the weekends.  There was a period of time during the late 80s that Channel 17(Philadelphia’s first-ever UHF station, WPHL) would show late night monster movies.  (Ed. Note – This is where I, too, developed my love for monsters in rubber suits and such, since it aired many a Godzilla movie, as well as the series Ultraman and Johnny Sokko and His Flying Robot).
I think the segment was called “Friday Night Frights” (hosted by Bill “Wee Willy” Webber).  Saturday afternoons on Channel 48 often would play monster movie matinees during its Creature Double Feature as well.  My favorite presentations were the seemingly endless stream of Godzilla movies with the model cities, toy tanks, and excrutiating dubbing.
I watched Monster in the Closet on a Saturday afternoon.  I believe my first encounter was on HBO (back when they were none-too-discerning what they showed during the afternoon).  The movie actually freaked me out pretty bad, and had a lasting impact on my psyche.  I thought the monster suit was pretty creepy looking… at least creepy enough for a 12 year old.  The death scenes also seemed pretty gruesome to me as well, from what I recall.  Most of the titular monster’s victims were grabbed unsuspectingly and yanked or dragged into a child’s most feared corner of his or her bedroom. It was there they would meet an agonizing death, filled with screams of terror from the victims and elation from the beast.  I can also recall its Alien-like mouth that protruded out of its primary gaping mouth when it was ready to attack.
One particular scene involved a seeing-eye dog being hung (by its guide-grip) on the inside of the closet door when the creature was through with it. The scene disturbed me then, and the thought actually still does today.The film, for whatever reason, stayed with me years afterward.  I can remember that, for years afterwards, I always had to have my closet door closed before going to bed.  By the time I was senior in high school, I was finally able to let go of this closet door phobia.
Is Jason now twitch-free when he slides open that door to retrieve his Oxford shirts or shoebox full of Star Wars trading cards?   
 
  You can download the episode right here.    
 

 

Episode V: 'Jaws'

 
Film: Jaws
Rated: PG
Directed by: Steven Spielberg

Starring:
Roy Scheider:  Sheriff Brody
Richard Dreyfuss:  Hooper
Robert Shaw:  Quint

Tagline: Don't go in the water

By:  Efferdent Johnson

Past memories: In 1975, I was doing my best to propagate the best hair helmet any pre-teen had ever hoped to wear. My interests were few and my fears were many. Some of which were brought to the surface by a frightening grey machine with a zillion teeth and a thirst for blood. By my tenth year of life, the most frightening movie experiences were the ever-so-scary villains of Disney. I can remember sinking in my seat during Willy Wonka’s boat ride, or almost all of Chitty Chitty Bang AHHHHHHHHH!!!

Jaws would never affect me… or so I thought. The chances of me seeing the movie were less than my chances for a Senate seat. My mom would make sure that her young sons would not be turned to evil, sexually confused or exposed to the violence of the cinema. The following summer Rocky came to town and my brothers and I were not permitted to go. “It is way too bloody and violent. No. I will not tell you again.” I can remember hearing that daily for two weeks.

 Mom, though, couldn’t censor every facet of a 10-year-old’s life.

The commercials started and it led to a frenzy of attention in our tiny land-locked community in southern Colorado. Every conversation both of adults and kids seemed to begin and end with some reference to a man-eating shark. On the play ground while sneaking up on the girls, my friends and I would be revealed by our own musical accompaniment, “Dunt Dunt, Dunt Dunt”. After the movie played in town and moved on to the drive-in theater, the book appeared on every shelf not already packed with Rockem Sockem Robots, Hardy Boys lunch boxes or Billy Beer. I even remember the local sporting goods store with a Jaws display in the window next to the fishing tackle and baseball cleats. 

Never seeing the movie juiced every waterborne fear a 10 year old could have. As an avid swimmer on the swim team, my paranoia was limitless. If a teammate was to scrape at my toes while swimming laps, the chance of something other than urine coming from my Speedo was possible. I guess Spielberg my have been responsible for some of my best times.
               
I am sure the first time I saw the movie was on network TV probably five years later. Robert Shaw has always been the salty fisherman in my mind while reading books about the sea. I can imagine him now as Hemingway’s old man or Melville’s whale-obsessed, one-legged captain. Ah, what a glorious time before Stakeout, Another Stakeout or a terrible Poseidon remake when Richard Dreyfuss was cool. Or to see Roy Scheider  ( R.I.P) as something more than a douche bag flying a fictitious helicopter.
               
Ultimately, the movie didn’t live up to the expectations of my 10-year-old imagination. It was years later while in high school after watching the horrible sequels that I realized why the original had transfixed my tiny hometown. People from every walk of life could relate in some way to a story that was chock full of the human experience. Man vs Man, Man vs Beast, small town politics and obsession that ultimately leads to a bad and bloody end or just having the crap scared out of you, take your pick.

If nothing else my friends and I had so much fun replaying the Saturday Night Live skit “Land Shark” that to this day the mention of it will bring us all too contagious belly laughter.

And what did Eff think about his most recent screening of a film he had not seen in more than a decade?
 
Or to download: Here's Episode V:Jaws.

Episode IV: 'Excalibur'

 
 
Excalibur (1981)
Rated PG/R
Director: John Boorman
Producer: John Boorman
Written by: Thomas Malory (book), Rospo Pallenberg (screenplay)
Nigel Terry: King Arthur
Helen Mirren: Morgana
Nicol Williamson: Merlin
Tagline: No mortal could possess it! No kingdom could command it!
By Gurn Blanston
Past Memories: When this film was released in 1981 I was still one year away from a driver’s license. Which meant that any movie I saw had to be with my parents, or I had to arrange my own ride and money. Since they had no interest, and I had no ride or funding, I had to wait until 1982, when I had a license and the movie was playing at the local dollar theater, to see it.I went with several like minded friends, by like minded I mean bored and cheap, and we all pressed into the tiny theater with butter saturated bags of popcorn and Bacardi Rum laden soft drinks, (just because we were a bunch of Asteroid playing, Star Trek quoting geeks doesn’t mean we didn’t know how to party,. …which we didn’t) to watch the show.
What I remember most was the stylized portrayal of the knights and ladies, the grand matte painted castles, very flashy and clean, and how everyone seemed so polished and energetic. Forget the story, this film looked cool! The scene where the Lady of the Lake (or the moistened bim if you're a Python fan) was stunning, and the sword itself made my hands itch to wield it, even though my massive 120 pound frame probably could not have lifted it. At the time we all assumed that this was historically accurate and that we had been educated as well as entertained. It’s not that we were stupid, just slightly tipsy. We ran around the parking lot afterwards engaging in pretend, mostly non-homosexual, sword fights and jousts.
The strength of Max von Sydow as Merlin, the allure of Genevieve Bujold as Guinevere, the pageantry and the spectacle all combined to make this the standard, in my mind, for all medieval era films I was to see for the next decade. Unfortunately, I now know that neither of these actors were actually in the film, and that it was also the first film for both Gabriel Byrne and Liam Neeson, neither of whom I remember being in it at all. Bacardi marred memories be damned, Mr. Von Sydow, you will always be Merlin to me.

Episode II: Streets of Fire

Natsukashi: Episode II: Streets of Fire
By: Rob Rector
Streets of Fire (PG) – 1984
Directed by: Walter Hill
Starring: Michael Pare as Tom Cody Diane Lane as Ellen Aim Rick Moranis as Billy Fish Amy Madigan as McCoy Willem Dafoe as Raven Shaddock
Tagline: “A Rock & Roll Fable”
Personal Pre-screening Recollections: Tonight it what it means to be young indeed!
There are some films that come along at just the right time in your life and consume your thoughts, affect your decisions (“What would Indiana Jones do if his mom asked him to clean his room?”) and make you want to be that person on the screen. Tom Cody was one of those people for me.
Street of Fire affected me on several levels:
1.   Musically : Granted, the film’s most popular tracks are rather weak, resembling some overly embellished piece of pomposity that even Meat Loaf would have snickered at. Soundtrack aside, it was the film’s score that really got to me. I felt hip among my elders to proclaim my passion for blues-guitar virtuoso Ry Cooder (who scored many a Walter Hill film).
2.   Visually: The rainy streets, the violent neon. It was all so Blade-Runner-esque to me. And because Harrison Ford was a childhood idol, anything remotely resembling his films was of automatic interest.
3.   Narratively: I know I’ll get crap for this, for the plot could be written on the back of a cocktail napkin, but each scene was stages like it could comfortably fit in a comic-book panel, which it seemed as though it was trying to emulate.
4.   Perversely: In the first half hour, I could get my steady diet of cuss words, booze-swigging, chain-smoking heroes, and get flashed of nippledge from a rather homely stripper (but let’s face it, when you are in those formative years, that nipple could be placed on a woman’s earlobe and still elicit interest). And all of this was safely under the just-about-to-be-changed PG rating, which meant no parental supervision!
5.   Critically: I can remember using one of my spiral notebooks purchased for school (which, of course, was typically blank inside) and beginning my career of a film reviewer. It was the kind of booklet that had the little colored tabs on the side, which I used to alphabetize the volumes of films I was devouring at that age. Streets of Fire got four stars (the highest). I really wish I held on to that little book. *silent weep*
6.   Physically: Thank you, Diane Lane for that wonderful trifecta of “The Outsiders,” “Rumble Fish” and “Streets of Fire” for jump-starting my puberty.
7.   Emotionally: I recall being crushed upon learning that “I Could Dream About You” was sung by a white guy Dan Hartman). Yet I still continued a slavish devotion to all actors in the film, including Stoney Jackson, who only pretended to sing the song. I remember watching him all his Jheri-curled glory in the “Miami Vice” ripoff “The Insiders “(featuring a Phil Collins-led Genesis theme “Just a Job to Do”), where he played a reporter teamed up with a honky to solve crimes. Right around the same time as Flip Wilson’s Cosby knock-off “Charlie & Company”
8.   Cinematically: Walter Hill was a cinematic god to me, between this, 48 Hrs, Brewster’s Millions, Extreme Prejudice and Trespass (not to mention that The Warriors was on constant rotation on HBO back then), he defined machismo (even though I failed to emulate it in real life).
9.   Heroically: I was convinced between this and Eddie and the Cruisers, Michael Pare was destined to become a star. Only now do I realize that those two films would be the apex of his ability. I followed every player in his/her next project, from the aforementioned Stoney Jackson (perhaps the coolest name ever!) to Moranis to Dafoe.
Viewing the film today
It came as no surprise that this film held up as well as it did, partially because it was set in an ageless alternative universe, filled with ersatz 50s-era style, retrofitted with 80s sensibilities. Pare stars as Tom Cody, a delinquent who is summoned back to his home town by his sister played by Deborah Van Valkenberg of “Too Close for Comfort” -- Ted Knight, rest in peace) after his former flame Ellen Aim (played by Diane Lane) is abducted onstage by a gang of bikers. Ellen is currently shacking up with her nebbish promoter Billy Fish (played by Rick Moranis), and together they team with McCoy (played by Amy Madigan) a drifter/former soldier to rescue the chantreuse back from the clutches of Raven Shaddock (played by Willem Dafoe).
That's it. Honestly. The film's plot is as economical as its 90-minute runtime.
But its brevity allows viewers to focus on the many other aspects of the film – from the host of supporting actors (hey, there's Bill Paxton, testing out his portrayal of Chet from Weird Science a year in advance; poor Robert Townsend,relegated to a non-speaking role. So this is what led him to Hollywood Shuffle; Ed Beagley Jr.? Is that you?) to the steamy, rain-slicked set design.
As I watched, I was still amazed at how much they were able to slip into this PG-rated picture – drinking, swearing, smoking, non-stop violence and gunplay and even the aforementioned boob shot from a Sandra Bernhard lookalike stripper at the Torchy's nightclub.
The cinematography is really what keeps this film from aging. Even the film's puddles are vibrant, shimmering with the neon-soaked streetscapes (a la Blade Runner). It certainly isn't the pulpy dialogue, which seems straight out of a cut-rate Dashiell Hammett or Mickey Spillaine novel (Sin City owes a helluva lot to this film.)
The film is a textbook definition of “style over substance,” but when a film oozes this much style, it's easily forgiven.
New Memories
I don't care if he looks like a pissed off Gorton's fisherman in his rubber clamming trousers, Dafoe still can summon legions of hell with his scream. He creates some of the film's most iconic scenes with just a stare.
I noticed, too, that the score is so much better than the soundtrack which was the most popular thing about the movie after its release (made for $14 million, the film only grossed $5 million at the box office). I wish legendary guitarist Ry Cooder would make more films solely for the opportunity to say the words “Ry Cooder.”
The acting ranged from wooden to spasmodic, but little in between. Pare was perfect in the roles of stoic bohunk, required to be little more than a 3-D cartoon. How badass is Tom Cody, you say? So badass that in the first scenes in which he appears he's antagonized by a butterfly knife-wielding gang, he slaps the leader silly, takes the knife, closes it and hands it back to him, telling him to “Try again.”
Every character possesses that hyperbolic sense of self. For example, Moranis is not just a nerd – complete with a wardrobe so mismatched, sparks fly when they come into contact with one another – he's a nerd with a smart mouth, a yellow streak and a look that is just shy of a “Hit Here” tattoo on his forehead. But that was the picture's whole wonderfully deranged plot.
I still consider myself a devotee and fervent supporter of this film, even now that I view films with a much more critical eye. It's whisp of story and vacancies in dramatic deliveries are far eclipsed by the sheer visceral candyland in which it places it's audience. Sure, Streets of Fire wears some of its 80s heart on its sleeve, but it's just loopy enough and short enough to remember “what it meant to be young.”