Oh, and since I couldn’t get the titles to work like I wanted them to:  Left is original, right is remix.

Rise of the Albatross — Bionic Commando

Okay, I’m borderline amazed at myself for ultimately warming up to this one.  Two reasons:

1. The original Rise of the Albatross–or “Stage 12 Music”, and it was less-loftily referred to–has an almost perfect vibe of on-the-way-to-the-final-showdown-ness.  Like, you didn’t need to be told you were heading for the finale, because you could hear as much in the music.

Well, okay, of course you the player didn’t need to be told it was the last stage, because you would’ve just parachuted into it from the eye-meltingly garish overmap.  What I mean is, if you played the song for someone with no foreknowledge of the situation for which it was used, they’d more than likely still say, “Ah!  Sounds like a spiky-haired man is cavorting off to re-kill Hitler!”

The point is, it’s a song very near and dear to me, and therefore not one I was eager to have messed around with.

2. When I first heard that Bionic Commando was getting a modern facelift, it tested my nerdly bladder control to the very limit.  I was absolutely elated, and was to the same degree galled when I heard the remixed stage tracks.

“Wow.  You know, I’ve always wondered what Bionic Commando would’ve sounded like if it had been set entirely within the confines of a gay nightclub,” snarked I bitterly.  Followed immediately by, “What the hell happened to Spencer’s Edward Scissorhands hair?”

But, I shrugged it off, downloaded the game as soon as it was released–a scant four months after its projected release date–and had it working and playable less than a month after that.  Not bad for PC!

So I start playing through it, and find, much to my own amazement, that the music works a lot better than my vicious prejudgment (I do love them so) had me expecting.  However, I reserved the acid test for the final stage; the music of which I had not heard prior to the game’s release.  And I gotta say, I was pretty disappointed at first.  The BGM for the initial Area 12–roughly the first ninety seconds of the clip below–is fairly dang weak.

But then, the insanely-difficult “real” final stage is revealed, and the music beefifies to match, and Kaleb is left feeling warm and happy in his groove-tummy.

I don’t know why I suddenly start liking the track when it amps-up (I’m particularly fond of the transition), considering all that’s really happening is that it’s just getting faster, louder and gayer, but it works somehow, and I’m not going to question it further.

Jungle Jam — Contra

If there were ever a track that really needed a rock remix, Contra’s Stage 1 music would be it.  Think about it: Two muscley, shirtless dudes engaging in wholesale alien slaughter in the jungle.  If that isn’t a situation that could benefit from having some electric guitars thrown at it, I don’t know what is.

Sadly, the limits of late-80s gaming technology sort of killed the dream, as the NES’ sound chip was only capable of accurately emulating two instruments: Kinda Drums, and the Boop (an obscure Norwegian woodwind).

Fast-forward to the present day of a couple of years ago, whenupon one Chris Kline gives Contra the gutpunch rock tribute it deserves, and thereby propels himself to low-key Internet quasi-stardom.  Not only is Jungle Jam one of the most logical tracks in this countdown, but possibly the most enjoyable, were I to rank them.  It’s Contra the way it should’ve sounded, and Hidenori Maezawa agrees with me; not because he composed the game’s soundtrack, but because I am very influential.

Not-that-interesting-sidenote: Despite the fact that I tend to be Mr. Stodgy McLeaveitalone, and like to have things un-messed with, I quite enjoy the off-the-rails latter half of the song.

Dr. Wily’s Castle — Mega Man 2

Oftentimes, what elevates an otherwise good song to greatness is its cadence.  The “William Tell Overture” works in large part because it’s evocative of galloping hoofbeats.  Donna Summer’s “Love to Love You Baby” works because it’s synced to slow, gentle porking.  And the logical third entry in that trifecta, “Dr. Wily’s Castle”, draws much of its appeal from being matched so well to Mega Man’s adorable three-frame run.

Not a song that was really asking for a rock remix, but you know me; I believe guitars make everything better.  On that note, I highly recommend checking out Powerglove’s other work.  They’re a bit unpolished at times, but have more hits than misses.

Decisive Battle — FF6

I’d like to introduce everyone to a little concept I like to call the Cognitive Suckerpunch.  I’m sure there’s an official term for what I’m thinking of that’s far less idiotic, but for now, let’s just work with what we have.

Anyway, rather than give you an exhaustive definition of what Cognitive Suckerpunch refers to, I’ll merely point to its frequent demonstration amongst the songs on this list.  Three tracks out of the five start out kind of lame (Albatross) or merely normal (OWA), or, in the case of this one, strange, and then get all kickass out of nowhere.

Decisive Battle, for reasons known only to the arranger, starts out with a distinct soft porn vibe–I’m basing this on descriptions heard from those who sully themselves with such dreck, of course–and then BLAM!!  Stratokenzildj, the guitar/keyboard/drums monster, lays waste to the cities of men!  Fuzzily-backlit nudity first, followed by Sidewinder missiles, and absolutely nothing in between!  I literally can’t listen to this song without envisioning an indistinct, satin-heavy tryst that is abruptly torn asunder by an intense aerial dogfight.

And both of the jets involved are F-15s.  That’s dirty and hot.

One Winged Angel — FF7

A remix of one of the most notorious game tracks on either side of the Rio Grande, and itself more than likely the best-known remix on this list.

For me, first impressions counted for a lot with this one.  I had never heard the Advent Children rock arrangment prior to actually seeing Advent Children.  I had heard the orchestral version, which is what this one appears to be at first.  It kicks in at the start of Cloud and Sephiroth’s climactic confrontation, and had me ho-humming a bit, initially.  Actually, I think it was more of a “ho-HURK!“, because metal armageddon saw fit to ensue right in the middle of my snark.

One second, I was all, “It’s a no-holds-barred slugfest between least-charismatic and most-overused!  Who will emerge the victor?” in my 1930s radio voice; the next, “Gah!  My nipples!  Like diamonds!”

It creates something of a conflict of conscience, actually, because aside from accompanying the final showdown between the world’s two prettiest men, the only other thing One Winged Angel can score would be the opening of a hell portal in the sky, with demon babies gnawing on frightened villagers, and such.  What I’m saying is, I’d feel better about swinging my cat around my head to something more positive and constructive.

‘Fraid it’s still awesome, though.  Sorry.  Nothing I can do about it.

The Scoop: 2008 R, directed by Lexi Alexander, and starring Ray Stevenson, Dominic West and Julie Benz.

Tagline: Vengeance has a name.

Summary Capsule: Ex-Special Forces instructor–not FBI agent–living in New York–not Miami–turns blood-soaked vigilante after his family is murdered by the mob.  Chunks ensue.

Kaleb’s Rating: True fact: The human body cannot be exploded into more than eleven pieces.

Kaleb’s Review: As one of the five people on the planet who thought that 2004’s Punisher was actually kind of okay, I felt sort of duty-bound to check out the frankly*-worse-looking Punisher: War Zone, and see if it could ascend to, or even surpass the lofty marginally-worth-watching-once heights of its predecessor.

The Ninja Turtles... um... left.

So did it make the cut?  Eh… kind of.  (Yeah, like there was any chance I was going to give a straight answer this early on.  Or… ever.)

Before we continue, I must pause and mention that there will be no vacky side-story about the misadventures surrounding my acquisition of the DVD, or some silly occurence that happened in the real world during the movie’s viewing that was strangely relevant to it.  Sorry, I didn’t plan it that way, but the rental and perusal of this film stands as one of the most uncharacteristically-smooth experiences of my life thus far.  I promise I’ll make up for it with my next two reviews, okay?

Also different this time ’round is the lack of a plot synopsis; and it goes without saying that I am as giddy as a little schoolgirl as a result.  Trust me, this is no dereliction on my part.  The plot is mecha-irrelevant, ergo, no synopsis needed.  And I don’t want to hear any crying about it, lest I should feel compelled to make numerous empty threats.

Okay then!  Getting down to the nitty and/or gritty: The best way I can describe Warzone concisely is to say that it’s basically Punisher ‘04 with its boo-boos made all better.  This sounds like a good thing right now, and it is, but it’s a highly-specialized good thing, which I will get back to later.

A chilling illustration of the perils of cat ownership.

One of the most oft-recurring complaints I heard regarding Punisher ‘04–in fact, second only to “It sucks because it sucks!” followed by a punch to the throat–was that it spent way too much time on backstory and character establishment, and way too little time on mobsters undergoing bullet-saturation therapy.

Solved.  The opening scene is a mafia party-crash, contingent of more mayhem than the previous film’s finale, and itself a pee-wee when standing next to this film’s final blast-fest, which features Frank vs. pretty much every banger and biker thug and Yakuza** in New York.  (The normal mafia is largely non-participatory, on account of most of them being dead already, and the Russian mob runs interference for the good guys, oddly enough.)

Verily, there be many a splootching head and kneecap in between as well, all the talking and feelings and sissy crap like that is kept to a minimum, and the pivotal Central Park massacre that killed Frank Castle and gave the Punisher birth is condensed to a thirty-second (if that) flashback.  It’s as though the movie’s saying, “Okay, do you get why he is the way he is?  We good?  Excellent; we now return you to your regularly scheduled violence.”

If I may contribute a personal beef with Punisher ‘04; I always thought Thomas Jane was just a touch too pretty and small for the role.  “Hey, where’s the raw-boned rugged scariness and the scowling and the perpetual five o’clock shadow?” asked I.  The answer?  Ray Stevenson had been hoarding them all in his cupboard for a rainy day.

I don’t want to say anything that will make any of you–or, well, me–uncomfortable, but this dude can be my Punisher anytime.  He just seems to fit the role really well.  I don’t think he’s quite as cut as Jane, but he does seem to be a bit taller and wider-framed, which helps a ton, and also directly addresses my other qualm.  See, my first significant exposure to the Punisher franchise came in the form of the PS2 game, and as such, I spent the entirety of the ‘04 movie thinking to myself, “Y’know, I’m not entirely convinced that he’s beefy enough to heft a grown man up off the ground and impale him on the tusk of a mounted elephant head.”  It’s a fairly minor quibble, but it’s nice to have it addressed.

Yeah, this scene really does happen.

Aside from the fact that it just isn’t really that great of a movie overall (once again, further qualification is required, and shall be given later), my only major stewpot lies with the at-times atrocious special effects.  With all of the mighty powers that I don’t actually possess, I hereby place a stricture on using CG blood effects, henceforth into perpetuity.  Give me squiberty, or give me death!

I’m reminded in particular of a scene where Jigsaw stabs a Russian mobster in the throat, and this ridiculous cartoon blood comes shooting out, and I think to myself, “Well, I guess it’s a good thing that guy died, since he obviously didn’t belong in this dimension anyway.  Although it’s erroneous to say that he ‘died’ in the traditional sense, and he should in fact be coming to, safe and sound in the Magical Fairy Gumdrop Kingdom, even as we speak.”

Also, although I previously mentioned that the action has been beefed up substantially, it seems like more still could’ve been done.  As it sits, its as though the movie is streaking across the football field, but wearing a hat so as not to be thought immodest.  C’mon, War Zone!  You’re already outlandishly violent!  Why not go for nightmarishly?

I figured it up, and I think if you lay all of the action segments end-to-end, you wind up with about forty-five minutes of exit-woundy good times; which sounds like a lot, until you consider that it leaves another forty-five minutes wherein no one is getting knifed in the skull.  Pretty cheap, Conehead.

Hate to sound like I’m hunched over with a scrap of flesh hanging out of my mouth, growling “more…”, but I guess that is kind of what’s happening.  Tra la la!!  I’m a bloodthirsty creep!

And as long as I’m waving my cane… come over here, War Zone.  Have a sit-down.  It’s time you and I had the naughty word talk.  Now now, don’t get ahead of me.  It’s not that I’m one of those people for whom profanity rather strangely and comically and altogether inexplicably causes literal physical pain (Hi Mom!  Hi Dad!), or that I’m even at all averse to a strategically-placed F-whistler hither and thither to liven things up, but what you’re doing is more like carpet bombing.

Look, you can’t marinate your dialogue in extraneous filth in the hopes of endearing yourself to the mouth-breathers, because… well, because that’s exactly what will happen, but just don’t, okay?

Oh, and yeah, I totally realize that my glee over violence and subsequent getting-all-uptight over profanity serves as a sobering example of our society’s hideously-skewed SHUT UP, HIPPIE!  You have deftly brought to light my deplorable hypocrisy, okay?  Good job.  Have yourself a well-deserved cookie.

In conclusion, your mileage will vary vastly depending on your expectations.  If you’re looking for a well-crafted Action/Crime Drama flick that can stand on its own merits as a member of those genres, and go toe-to-toe quality-wise with any of its contemporaries… yeah, you’d best just keep on a-ridin’.  Moreso if you aren’t keen on the idea of a movie that has one foot in Horror as well.  On the other hand, if you’re looking for a comic book in motion; something to munch popcorn to until your appetite gives out from all the gore… eh, sadly, you could probably still do better.

If, however, you are a Punisher fan, by all means give it a go.  And if you disliked the previous film for any of the reasons I mentioned, than this one is more or less custom-tailored for you.***

Alternatively, if you just want to be inundated with lots and lots and lots of hamburgery, sprayful carnage, that works too.

*Pun?

**Or possibly Triads; I’m sorry, I honestly can’t tell the difference.

***In particular, the fact that the original origin story is adhered to should silence your engraged fanboy keening.****

****No it won’t.

Shyah, bulletproof turtlenecks are, like, so five minutes ago.

Didja Notice?

• How Looney Bin Jim is strangely likeable?
• How disappointingly unceremonious Looney Bin Jim’s death is?
• Budiansky’s reaction to Castle’s impromptu arrest-alternative is rather hilarious (see video).
• Flashback notwithstanding, and also discounting the white Death’s Head on his vest (which you should, because it’s very, very dim), Castle is never seen wearing anything not-black.
• Is adorning an insane asylum with gargoyles supposed to help calm the patients?

Is It Worth Staying Through The End Credits?

Nah.

Groovy Quotes

Budiansky: “Which drawer?”
Soap: “What?”
Budiansky: “The alleged Punisher murders.”
Soap: “…All of them.”

Looney Bin Jim: “You look fantastic, brother.”

LBJ: “Did you know kidneys and applesauce are a delicacy in Sweden?  Did you know that?
Yes… yummy yummy yummy in my tummy tummy tummy.”

Angie: “Step the f__k away from my little girl.”
Grace: “Mom… that’s a dad word…”

Micro: “Let him go, Frank.”
Frank: “You know this piece of s__t?”
Micro: “Ex-piece of s__t.”
Frank: “Yeah, he’s a regular choir boy.”
Carlos: “F__k you, cracker.”
Micro: “Language!”

LBJ: “Evenin’ officers.”
Cop: “Is everything okay in there?”
LBJ: “No… everything is not okay.”

Budiansky: “You mind explaining to me how a handcuffed criminal escapes custody from the back
of your locked car?”
Soap: “That Castle’s a slippery one.”

LBJ: “Reeowr.”

LBJ: “Hey, I “axe”d you a question!  You don’t answer, guess I’ll have to “axe” it again!”

Budiansky: “Interesting choice for a meeting place.  Didn’t take you as a religious man,
Castle.”
Frank: “Yeah well… an eye for an eye.”
Budiansky: “If I remember right, they’re not called the Ten Suggestions.”

Soap: “Now I’ve got brains splattered all over me!”

Father Mike: “Why do you do this?”
Frank: “Somebody has to punish the corrupt.”
Father Mike: “‘…for in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure
you use, it will be measured to you.”
Frank: “Matthew… 7:2.  I’m okay with that.”

Bonus Features! (Warning: All but the GA trailer carry the Icky label.)

General Audiences trailer.

Red Band trailer.

Best?  Debatable.  A fine showcase for the crappy CGi I mentioned earlier?  Absolutely.

If You Liked This Movie, Try These:

• The Punisher
• Rambo (2007)
• Death Wish(es) one through seventeen.

Bah!  Whatever!  Titles that work are just as lame as well though-out introductions!  Let’s do this!

Oh, I will pause to mention that you are strongly encouraged to read first, and then decide whether or not you want to view.  MRFH and its affiliates, subsidiaries and shadow governments are not responsible for any puking or nightmares that may result.

When the Wind Blows

Ah, yes.  The pivotal scene in the prettiest and saddest bit of animation you’ve never heard of.

It sits at the bottom of the five (Did I mention we’re going by order of increasing scariness?  We are.) because it’s less outright scary (and not at all graphic, unless rolling sheep bother you.), more one part spooky to three parts trippy.  And I gotta say, the music works.  So bravo to whoever.

Trivia: Widely regarded as a pioneer film in the then-unexplored “let’s watch an adorable elderly couple die slowly” genre.

The Day After

Yep, it’s preeeeetty scary.

Sorry, but I’m reviewing this movie soon, and I only have so much material.

Oh, I will say that I’m endlessly amused by the pouty-lipped whining of the people in the theater when the lights go off.  “Aw man!  This is even worse than being vaporized like we’re about to be!”  Where have these people been?

Threads

Despite a number of similarities events-wise, Threads edges out The Day After in large part because of the way the sequence is handled.  Where The Day After is like, “Here, have three or four minutes of solid terror,” Threads is more, “We’re going to start you off with an appetizer terror-minute, followed by a brief intermission calibrated to the exact amount of time it takes you to think maybe that was “it”, at which point the terror will resume in earnest.”

Also, The Day After doesn’t have the weirdly ever-present chorus of screaming.  And I don’t know what this says about me, but the woman weeing herself bothers me more than anything else.

Warning for language and pee.  And I might urge you to pay special attention at 4:03.  E.T.!!!  NOOOOOOO!!!

Terminator 2

No me can watch this scene when it first came out.  Hey, gimme a break; I was ten.

And it isn’t the suddenness or the contrast of the nuclear firestorm juxtaposed against the pretty-happiness of just seconds prior, or the screaming, burning-to-death closeups.  No, it’s more that the squeal of baking children was and is just a tad disconcerting to me.  Yeah, I know, me and my little idiosyncracies.

Barefoot Gen

Dang it, Japan.  Why you always gotta be trying to mess up my life?  I hate myself for loving you.

I have the damnedest rationalizations for watching things.  Back when Jakob the Liar came out, I thought, “Yeah, it’s about the Holocaust, but it stars Robin Williams, so it has to be Silly McFuntimes!  His goofballity is going to rewrite history somehow!”

Things didn’t turn out well for either of us.

I went into Barefoot Gen with exactly the same fallacious attitude; knowing full well that it was about the bombing of Hiroshima, but thinking, “Hey, it’s animation, which I have not yet accepted as anything more than an escapist medium circa 2002.  How bad can it be?”

The answer?  Pretty much the worst thing I’ve ever seen.  Unique amongst its contemporaries, in that I’m going to go past cautioning as I would for any of them, and instead just go ahead and recommend that you not watch the clip at all.  And that’s not a veiled dare.

To give you an idea of what I’m simultaneously endangering you with and protecting you from: I couldn’t use the first clip Youtube returned, because the thumbnail featured a little girl with her eyeballs dribbling out.  So instead, I’m going with a partially-cooked dog fused to a melting guardrail.  And that about sums it up.

You were just browsing stations, right? Tell me you weren’t listening to that crap deliberately.

Well, anyway, I movieficate songs almost compulsively; rare is the occasion that I can listen to a song and not imagine a scene to go with it. So, as a public service, and because I’m apparently expected to actually contribute something once in a while–yeah, I know, don’t get me started–I’m starting what I hope will become a regular article series, wherein I provide you, sexy reader, with a selection of songs geared toward a particular movie circumstance that you might encounter in real life. In this case, fierce dogfighting in advanced military aircraft. It could happen to any one of us, at any time.

Oh, and I realize the fact that all of my selections have already been used in movies kind of puts a damper on the whole “creating a situation to go with the song” thing, but whatever. The next article I have planned in this series is the same way. Just stick with me, though; I’m sure I’ll grow some originality eventually.

“Danger Zone” by Kenny Loggins

You can’t talk about jet-flying songs and not include this one. You really can’t.

No, seriously, it is not possible. As in, I actually tried it, and was rewarded with an angry buzzer noise and a big red “X” slapping down on my entire life. Needless to say, I capitulated. So it’s a good thing for me that it’s already such a great song in its own right, and compulsion via Universe Error isn’t really necessary for its inclusion.

I especially like its use of terminology for an aborted carrier landing as a sex metaphor. In my interpretation anyway. And possibly a very specific sex metaphor, to boot; but we’ll not delve into that any further.

The Top Gun soundtrack was one of the only cassettes I ever played to ruination, and “Danger Zone” features prominently in one of my fondest high school memories. I distinctly remember popping it in during a thunderstorm, and cruising home to its accompaniment in my ‘89 Plymouth Sundance, doing 60 mph on a highway where the speed limit was 55.

That’s right; I was exceeding the posted speed limit by a full 5 miles per hour, with quasi-hazardous road conditions and mildly limited visibility–get this–in a car with very poor front-end suspension.

Yeah, you would do well to watch your step around me.

Final Assessment: A classic, and a damn sight more pleasant than spending eternity in an endless expanse of white nothing.

“Mighty Wings” by Cheap Trick

Try as I may, I just can’t get that excited about this one. Guitars–check. Pumping tempo–got it. Devil-may-care, live-life-by-the-seat-of-your-pants lyrics incorporating words like “edge” and “fire”–yep. Ho hum.

Don’t get me wrong; it’s a fine tune. It’s just that there isn’t anything it does that “Danger Zone” doesn’t do better. I’m particularly fond of the opening riff, but it starts losing steam shortly thereafter.

Final Assessment: I’ve always though of it as “Danger Zone”’s mildly less attractive sister.

“Through the Fire” by Larry Greene

Problem: This sounds more like a training montage song than a jet-flyin’ song. Yes, they are both sub-genre’s of 80s AOR, and are similar in many respects, but not the same. “Through the Fire” is supposed to make me want to splash MiGs, and instead makes me want to get better at something in a hurry by kicking trees and pushing boulders through the snow, all while mysteriously not getting any less fat.

And do I hear it stealing riffs from “Danger Zone”? Bad form, Pan!!

Final Assessment: Again, an okay song, but not the best, and arguably not in the right genre.

“One Vision” by Queen

Okay, this one, while a fine song when taken on its own merits, is probably the least jet-flyin’ of all of these. I only included it because it’s featured prominently in Iron Eagle, and is remarkable in the arena of jet music lore–primarily, perhaps exclusively–for the implausible character flip-flop it accompanies.

A running conflict in the relevant film is that Chappy is all the time like, “I’m old, and black, and comically terse, and I don’t like Doug’s music.” And then Doug pops in “One Vision”, which is exactly like everything else he’s played up to that point, and all of the sudden its, “Hey! I like this because it’s never explained why!”

On a related note: Is it just me, or does Freddy Mercury have, like, 700 teeth? I’m not sure which concerns me more–quantity, size, or horribleness–but they’re all I can look at.

Final Assessment: It’s hard not to like a song that has “gimme fried chicken” as a closing lyric, but still, it doesn’t really belong in this neighborhood.

“Iron Eagle” by King Kobra

No points for guessing which movie this one goes with.

And on that note, it’s probably a telling relfection of the films’ respective popularity and quality that every song in Top Gun has a Top Gun relevant music video accompanying it, whereas Iron Eagle’s selections thus far have featured Queen and no jets, and in this case, footage from an old anime series starring an emo-coifed nancy flying the second or third least-cool jet ever invented.

Ah, who am I kidding? I’ll probably buy it eventually (the anime, not the jet).

As for the song itself, it suffers from “Through the Fire” syndrome, in that it seems better suited to mastering a martial art in three minutes, and on top of that it’s just way too happy, especially during the chorus.

Oh, and the lyric “I never learned the meaning of what meant stop” makes my inner grammar nazi hiss like a vampire.

Final Assessment: Bleah.

“Chasin’ the Angels” by Mike Reno/Brother Firetribe

Well, who could’ve seen this coming? After two whiffs, Top Gun’s weird cousin suddenly knocks one out of the park!

Okay, here’s a treasonous statement for you: I actually feel that “Chasin’ the Angels” is better than “Danger Zone”. Wait, there’s more! I also prefer the Brother Firetribe version, for its harder guitars, addition of comm chatter at the start, and overall increased beefiness. Me! The guy who hates covers on principle! Wild!

Final Assessment: This song pulls hard Gs of rock.

“It’s you and me, Megatron.”

The Scoop: 2007 PG-13, directed by Michael Bay, and starring Shia Labeouf, Megan Fox and Peter Cullen.

Tagline: Their war. Our world.

Summary Capsule: Hey, isn’t that really similar to the tagline of Dragon Wars? Uh-oh…

Kaleb’s Rating: Take it, take another little piece o’ my heart now baby…

Kaleb’s Review: Before we get underway, I’d like to paint you a picture of my little review-making space (trust me, it’s relevant). Immediately to the right of my computer is a bookcase. On top of this bookcase is a 20th Anniversary Optimus Prime figure (sometimes referred to as Masterpiece Prime, although that technically refers to a slightly different SHUT UP KALEB!!!) with trailer, thank you very much, that amounts to roughly $150 worth of toy. It completely obscures my graduation photo, and has been mentally catalogued as the only thing I have to save in the event of a house fire. Sometimes, I’ll just sit here and look at it and sigh. Other times, I’ll just sit here and look at it and have Stan Bush’s “The Touch” playing in the background and sigh.

Add to that the fact that there are approximately 100 other Transformers figures within sight of my computer, and easily that many in storage, and you can kind of see the point I’m trying to convey, right? No, not that I’ve officially been upgraded from Harmlessly Pathetic to Menacingly Creepy! You guys are silly!

Minions of evil, beware the awesome might of Lippimus Prime!

What I’m trying to get across is this: Michael Bay did not make a film so much as he rewrote the scripture of my lesser religion (Menacingly Creepy–>FBI Watch List). And yes, I’m one of those nerds, and yes, I’m being childish and unreasonable, and no, I’m not going to stop. Granted, Bay should be given some leniency in light of the fact that he was taking on what may have been an insurmountable task, but on the other hand, I think he also could’ve failed a trifle less spectacularly.

Allow me to further elaborate with a quaint and delightful metaphor illustrating the difference between Bay-type directors and the other kind (”good” I like to call them): Imagine that beloved dork franchises are represented by ancient magical tomes, and that would-be directors are young adepts having been found worthy of receiving them. Good directors — and I’m going to cast nerd-darling Bryan Singer in this role — respect the power of the tome, listen intently to the old wizard (this would be established canon, I guess) regarding its use, and are ever-mindful of the thatch-roof village of fan-peasants they have been charged with protecting.

Michael Bay would yank the tome out of the old wizard’s hands, throw up a silencing hand to quell his natterings about responsibility, yell out “Look what I can do!” and promptly drop a meteor on the fan village. He would then rearrange the runic obelisks keeping the world-ending demon asleep according to his liking, and declare that the castle would look much better if it were all gangly and stupid.

Now here comes the last-minute twist that has become something of a hallmark of my reviews (and probably looks like wishy-washiness to the untrained eye): All of the dorkous bellyaching you’ve read up to this point, although written within the last couple of days, exists largely in the context of my initial reaction to the film back in 2007 (you know, back when it was actually relevant review material and hadn’t already been covered by three other reviewers). Since then, my disposition has softened considerably. Don’t get me wrong; I still have qualms-a-plenty, but I find that if I stuff a sock in the mouth of my inner picky nerd, I’m able to enjoy Transformers for the big, dumb, loud movie that it is.

And, unsurprisingly, and in spite of my best efforts to keep the hate fires burning in regards to Transformers ala Bay, I too let out a squee when I saw the titanic new Decepticon in the Revenge of the Fallen trailer. That has to be Devastator. And at this point, I don’t even care that it’s probably a horribly-wrongly-done Devastator; I’m stoked.

In light of the metaphorical mood I seem to be in, allow me to sum up my feelings regarding Transformers, and my probably-feelings regarding Revenge of the Fallen and any further sequels, with the following:

My cousin owns a couple of Dachshunds, which I got to play with on a recent visit (Dachshunds are awesome!). However, Sassy, the little female, didn’t seem too keen on my existence. Nonetheless, she would reluctantly waddle over whenever I beckoned; glaring balefully and growling low, but unable to resist the siren’s call of the scritchy-hand. So, we worked out a compromise; she would let me rub her tummy, but only on the condition that she be allowed to growl the entire time.

In the preceding, I am a tiny female Dachshund, Michael Bay is me, and the tummy-rub is anything having to do with Transformers. Come May, I will go see Revenge of the Fallen if for no other reason than that I can’t-not, I will grouse and stomp about everything done wrong, and I will impatiently wonder when the third movie is going to be released.

Didja Notice?

• Ha ha! Bumblebee peed on that guy!

• Uh-oh! Ratchet walked into a power line and it went “zzzap!”
• The best part about slapstick is how funny it is!

Is it worth staying through the end credits?

Yep.

Soundtrack Review

The vocal stuff I can take or leave, but I actually thought the score was outstanding.

Intermission!

Okay, time for a nerd-out: A recurring theme in the Transformers universe is that any time Prime and Megatron squared-off one-on-one, the latter could only gain the upper hand by way of trickery, as opposed to here, where Megatron gains the upper hand by apparently just being a lot stronger, and Prime has to rely on some last-second Deus ex Labeouf. Ugh. I was and am not a happy camper about how the final battle goes down.

Another point of contention is the way that Prime reacts to Jazz’s death. Seemed a tad noncommital. Kind of like, “Well, he sure is dead. So, who’s hungry?” Better yet: “We can all learn an important lesson from our comrade’s sacrifice: Even when he’s silver, the black guy still gets it.” (all laugh; fade to outro)

Fortunately my sister was on hand to allay my grumpiness by asking if I would’ve preferred a Vader-style “Nooooooo!” She’s very wise, that one.

Groovy Quotes

Ironhide: You feelin’ lucky, punk?

Megatron: Is it fear or courage that compels you, fleshling?

Prime: It’s you and me, Megatron!
Megatron: No, it’s just me, Prime!

Don’t forget to check out Drew, Justin and Kyle’s reviews!

“Let’s kill some people!”

The Scoop: 1995 R, directed by Tony Randel and starring Gary Daniels, Isako Washio and Costas Mandylor.

Tagline: A legendary warrior battles against the forces of evil.

Summary: A non-Japanese Japanese man is guided by the ghost of his non-Japanese Japanese father in his quest to defeat a second non-Japanese Japanese man for great justice. It’s long face versus giant round chin in a contest to determine the fate of shabby humanity!

Kaleb’s Rating: Heads will pop for this outrage!

Kaleb’s Review: Not too long ago, I held another little contest on the forums. The object: Guess the six robot girl anime titles I own, plus the bonus seventh title. The prize: A review request, natch.

As far as contest I host go, it was a real groundbreaker. I think I may have had as many as five people participating at one point! Five! That’s four more than usual!

Whoa... wrong boot.

Still, the contest ultimately boiled down to a hot pillow fight of anime knowledge between Eunice and Heather, and while the latter called down enough thunder to dispel any doubts I may have had regarding her anime geek pedigree, victory would ultimately go to the proverbial dark horse (I had no idea Eunice was anime-anything!). This, due in large part to her three-point peelout right off the starting line. Let’s see if I can remember how that conversation went…

“But wait! There is a seventh entry, not technically beholden to the criteria of the other six, and guarded by three devices of such lethal cunning, that only through the careful rumination of the hints I provide, can one possibly hope to–”

“Elfen Lied.”

“Crap!”

So, here we are. When I first saw the Netflix link Eunice sent me, I was like, “Hey! Fist of the North Star! I’ve always wondered about that one!” followed closely by, “Oh, the live-action version. Girls are mean.”

Or are they? I get that this was supposed to make me cry brown gravy with its awfulness, and yeah it was bad, but it was kind of likeable at the same time. You know the harmless affability Heather mentioned in her Hercules in New York review? Something like that.

The first thing you have to consider is that the setting is post-apocalyptic, which means big time leniency on my part. Also, it’s a martial arts flick, which means it doesn’t have to do much to please me. I don’t need dialogue that works or special effects that aren’t laughably odious; as long as somebody’s getting roundhouse kicked in the face, I’m good.

Granted, its being an hour-and-a-half movie with about a three minute plot does lead to some frustration on my part regarding the main character, Kenshiro. It’s made apparent early on that he could totally liberate the oppressed peoples of Wastelandland, and wail any number of the thuggardly devotees of Southern Cross (the antithetical opponents of North Star; they aren’t supposed to ever fight each other, and therefore do all the time) and their big-chinned leader without breaking a sweat (does do a fair amount of bleeding, though), and his entire rationalization for waiting so long to do so seems to be “Hey, I’d love to help, but these wastes aren’t going to wander themselves, you know!”

You know how sometimes, there are so many things you want to say, that you end up not saying anything? Yeah.

I’m reminded in particular of one of the film’s odder scenes, in which Kenshiro has a conversation with his deceased father Ryuken’s dessicated corpse. Ryuken is like, “You’re in default of your destiny, boy!” and Kenshiro responds with, “My destiny is hate and revenge!” and then Ryuken says, “Nuh-uh! Your destiny is to restore balance to the blah blah yackity shmackity blah!” Which isn’t exactly verbatim, but you get the gist.

Now, I don’t presume to tell anyone how to be a good undead father, but if it were me, as soon as Kenshiro said the hate & revenge bit, I would’ve said, “Fine! Your destiny is hate and revenge! Just do something already! Rub your hate and revenge together and see if you can light a fire under your ass!”

I mean, the whole idea is that Kenshiro needs to kill Shin to make everything nice again; are his motives really that important? Some may spout off about battles being won by attitude, but anyone with any sense knows that battles are really won with weird pressure point crap that makes people’s heads explode.

That aspect of Kenshiro’s technique is really cool, by the way (much better, in my opinion, than Shin’s equivalent Fiery Flame Bad Special Effect Palm Strike of Elbow Squirt). Not too fond of the sissy rabbit punches that lead up to it, but whatever. It is a little bit annoying that we never actually see anyone’s head explode, though. Especially when one of the head-explode victims spends the entire movie establishing how great it woud be if his head exploded. I mean, I’m not trying to be a gore-monger or anything, but if we’re going to have some exploding heads, let’s have some exploding heads.

So the question remains, would I recommend this film to anyone else? In the immortal words of Will Smith, ah hell naw. But for me, it’s some tasty cheese.

Didja Notice?

• Shin… Chin… that can’t be coincidence.

• Actually, if my Five Words of Japanese That I Know(tm) is up-to-date, “Shin” means “Devil”.
• Ru-fi-oooooooooo!!

Intermission!

Any well-meaning anime fans concerned that I claim to be the same and yet have not seen the Fist of the North Star anime: Let not your hearts be troubled, nor your mouths be griping at me. I watched Evangelion all the way through–a handful of posies held over my mouth and nose to stifle the auture stench–and the way I see it, that catches me up on my must-sees pretty much for the rest of my life.

At least… I think I watched it all the way through. The last two episodes are kind of a blur, which is a pretty good indication that I watched them.

Groovy Quotes

Shin: Ken. It’s surprisingly good to see you. What have you been up to?
Kenshiro: Ruining your plans.

Kenshiro: (To Jackal) Slitting your wrists would be quicker.

Jackal: Your Highness! Attempting to escape is a felony, and punishment is at the discretion
of the officer in charge! And that’s me! Jackal!

Jackal: It ain’t easy bein’ sleazy.

Jackal: Let’s kill some people! Let’s kill ‘em, and let’s enjoy it!

Goliath: Good! A real fight!
Kenshiro: Your last.

Goliath: Who… are you?
Kenshiro: The Fist… of the North Star!

“I need cats like I need butt implants!”

The Scoop: 1991 NR, directed by Skip Jones, and starring Michael Bell, John Byner and Robin Williams.

Summary Capsule: Opus the penguin wants to fly, and he knows just the jolly old elf to help him do it. Also, stooge-geese and hairballs.

Kaleb’s Rating: AACK! PLBBT!

Kaleb’s Review: As it turns out, I’ve had a connection with Berkeley Breathed and his odd newsprint progeny for many moons now; since long before I knew who he was, or that he had such an obnoxiously hippie-sounding name.

See, back in the halcyon days of the Neighties, ’twas tradition for I and my immediate family to spend New Year’s at my aunt’s house in Colorado. Oh, the memories. Sleeping on the impossibly fluffy sofa; the ice cold linoleum kitchen floor (this was about an hour outside of Denver, meaning it got down to roughly -8000 at night); and the giant grandfather clock which I am still convinced is haunted.

Then there was the house itself; pretty and nondescript on the outside, on the inside, strangely labyrinthine and Escherian. The basement and the attic were accessed by the same staircase! Figure that one out!

But more importantly than all that — for the sake of this review, anyway — was that my aunt’s house was close enough to a major metro to be inside the cosmopolitan safe zone where politically and culturally-divisive comic strips were allowed to exist. In other words, her Sunday paper — of which there always seemed to be one around, regardless of proximity to Sunday — carried Outland.

Wherever I lived at the time, which would’ve either been Smalltown, Kansas, or Smalltown, Oklahoma, we were given Blondie and Family Circus and told to shut up. Although Calvin & Hobbes did slip through somehow. I never have figured that one out.

But I digress. The point is, I was as fascinated with Outland as one can be with something one only reads once a year; vaguely aware in my weeness that a lot of it was over my head, but that did nothing to diminish its weird, inexplicably dark appeal. So, when the characters thereof hit the small screen in the early 90s, I was all up on that all over the place.

A Wish for Wings That Work tells the tale of Opus the penguin, as he deals with life as an earthbound bird — a ridiculous contradiction in terms, in his mind — seeks to overcome his plight with help from the big man up North, and eventually learns that, in his own way, he blah de blah blah.

So, now that the plot summary is out of the way, time for a fatuous statement: This is probably the second or third greatest animated feature ever produced. Now, before you say, “There’s goes Kaleb again, flailin’ ‘is arms about, throwin’ the ‘ole neighbor’ood into a ruckus with ‘is silly claims,” in that cockney old woman voice you have, let me throw a couple of caveats out to let you better realize just how right you are:

1. When I say it’s the greatest animated feature ever, I mean across all divisions; not just Lightweight (it’s only 30 minutes long).

2. Not only does AWFWTW not have any hot robot chicks making out with each other, it doesn’t have any hot robot chicks period. And I still think it’s incredible! Crazy!

But, I stand by my ridiculous assertion. And, just in case you think I’m doing a from-memory review of something that was great fifteen years ago when I was little but is actually crap, note the following: Up until about a month ago, the only copy of AWFWTW I had was the rapidly deteriorating VHS recording of the show’s original airing. Imagine my delight when an Amazon search revealed that some smart guy had decided to release it on Forever Crystal (sometimes referred to as DVD)! Yes! One please!

The point being, I watched it afresh mere days ago, and it has held up beautifully. Even to my grisled and surly present day self, it was as wonderful as the first viewing. Although I still can’t really put my finger on what exactly makes it work so well. A combination of several things, I suppose. First and foremost, Opus and Co. look, sound and animate exactly like they should; there are little sprinklings of absurdist sight gags — Opus’ butt occasionally falling off, for example — to keep you off-balance and perpetually chuckling, and even a couple of laugh out loud moments.

And then there’s the weirder cherry on the already-weird sundae: Bill the Cat. In my opinion, one of the most intriguing cartoon characters ever created, and the first one I ever drew both freehand and well. Bet you didn’t know that.

As to whether or not I recommend AWFWTW; that should be obvious. However, I will caution slightly, in that while I have seen it recently, and did make a game attempt at watching through critical eyes, I’ll allow for the possibility that it sort of has rose tint permanently burned-in for me.

So I guess what I’m saying is, find it, watch it, and if you don’t like it, I never made any recommendation, we’ve never met, and I will flatly deny any allegations to the contrary. Oh, and also, you’re wrong.

And while I’m thinking about it, apologies for not having this done in time for Christmas. I was going to, but then I decided to utilize my tried and true “wait until the second after the second after the last second” method. It’s the same technique that allowed me to sort of come kind of close to almost finishing college. Twice. So far.

One of the greatest minds of our generation.

• The name of the store Opus visits–Stormin’ Norman’s War Toys and Balloons. Hooray for outdated cultural references!
• How great Bill the Cat is?
• When Opus yawns, the paintings in his room yawn as well. I think that may be my favorite part in the whole thing.
• Santa’s arrival is heralded by the main theme from The Magnificent Seven.

Is it worth staying through the end credits?

As a matter of fact, it is.

Intermission!

There are quite a few recognizable names in the voice credits, especially if you’re a total nerd for voice acting and your name is Kaleb. Michael Bell, the voice of Opus, is perhaps better known (to me, at least) as Duke of G.I. Joe fame. Tress MacNeille, here portraying a random crazy chicken, is one of the most prolific voice actresses in American animation, having lent wordage to both Babs Bunny and Dot Warner way back when, as well as a whole mess of stuff since then. Last but far from least, Frank Welker, voice of Santa, is synonymous in the mind of this 80s nerd with the wheezing evil of Megatron, as well as quite a few of the other members of the Transformers cast. And also… roughly every other animated character in existence, ever.

Groovy Quotes

Opus: Some years ago, Father Christmas, I rescued ol’ Bill from the university science lab. They’d replaced his brains with tater tots.

Truffles: Did you know you have a large rutabaga on your nose?
Opus: This is my nose!

George: My puny kiwi wings weren’t good enough for Deloris. Oh no, no, she had to have an ALBATROSS!! With great, big, loooong wiiings!! He was on hormones. You heard me, read my beak; HORMONES!!

George: So what if they’re small? Some women prefer small wings! What does she want, quantity or quality? You wan’t ‘em big; marry the space shuttle, ya shrew!!

Milquetoast: Excuse me; Is this Cockroach Cross-dressers in Crisis?

Opus: That’s it! My cup runneth over with cats! I need cats like I need butt implants! You still smell like brussel sprouts, and look at you; you have hair growin’ out of your eyeballs! You lay around the house eating small rodents like… DING DONGS! And you…
Truffles: Barf on the Chinese rug.
Opus: Barf, on the Chinese rug!

If You Liked This Movie, Try These:

• How The Grinch Stole Christmas

• Toys

The Scoop: 1987 PG-13, directed by Steve De Jarnatt, and starring Melanie Griffith, David Andrews and Ben Johnson.

Tagline: She’s Blond, Beautiful and Forever Young.

Summary Capsule: Man loses his robot girlfriend to an unfortunate sex mishap, and so goes looking for another, that he may perpetuate further unfortunate sex mishaps.

Kaleb’s Rating: A character named Johnson and an actor named Johnson, in a movie being reviewed by a Johnson.

Kaleb’s Review: I know I’m always bellyaching about having to do the plot synopsis, but I’m going to break from tradition here and do it first thing, for reasons that will become apparent.

In the most unabashedly misogynistic portrayal of the future I’ve ever seen, love as we know it is a thing of the past. Traditional relationships are obsolete, with almost all women having effectively become extremely paranoid prostitutes, with pimps having been replaced by lawyers.

Wage slave Sam Treadwell, the gallant hero of our tale, won’t go for all that paperwork and artificiality, opting instead for just the artificiality, in the form of his smokin’ hot robo-squeeze, the titular Cherry 2000.

See, it seems that if one has the scratch and is in good enough with a shady artificer named Slim (what else?), one can pay a higher one-time fee, and become the proud owner/fiancee of a flawlessly sweet and obedient android babe. Sam’s friends think he’s crazy for not forking out chunks of cash night after night to have strictly-defined, lifeless sex with women who fairly radiate loathing and lack the etiquette to at least pretend the whole thing isn’t a tremendous chore, but Sam rationalizes that his relationship is ultimately no less genuine than theirs, and a fair bit more enjoyable.

Sadly, Sam — and by association, Cherry — falls victim to the old adage, “If you’re going to have a robot girlfriend, you should really get freaky with her in the kitchen.” Sound advice in most instances, except that in this case, soapy water from an overflowing dishwasher infiltrates Cherry’s inner workings through avenues not explicitly stated, and she goes transistors-up. How Sam is not also electrocuted, or why a robot designed to do what Cherry is designed to do would not be able to cope with fluid ingestion (not trying to be needlessly vulgar or juvenile, just sayin’…) is never explained.

Happily, Slim is able to salvage Cherry’s basic memory — her soul, as it were — which can easily be installed into a new chassis. The problem: Cherry 2000 bodies can only be found in The Zone (there’s always one of those) a dangerous wasteland ruled by Lester, leader of the Sky Ranch cult (kind of like Club Med, but with pillaging) and, all in all, the most positive and encouraging psychopath ever.

What’s a robot fancier to do? Why, hire a tracker, of course! Specifically, the spunky and Melanie Griffith-y E. Johnson — rather creepily also the name of my uncle — who is tough as nails and will totally change her shirt in the other room whenever she feels like it, without caring who sees her nipply silhouette!

Anyway, Sam and E. go on a road trip in her sweet car, there is an abundance of bullet-shooting, a really odd sequence involving deliberately getting the car snagged by a Sky Ranch-controlled crane, and Ben Johnson. Yes! Ben Johnson is awesome! My dad had breakfast with him once, and yours didn’t.

Through the course of the carnage — and thanks in large part to that special bonding effect that only carnage has — Sam and E. start to have a thing goin’ on, of the Me and Mrs. Jones variety. This, much to the surprise of absolutely no one. The whole weird love triangle resolves itself in a thoroughly predictable fashion which does not involve a partially-bionic three-way (Am I the only one who knows what sells?).

Okay, so there’s the real plot synopsis, plus harmless ending spoiler. The thoroughly-incorrect, imaginary, cut-n-pasted plot synopsis that I somehow came away with when I first stumbled across this movie goes more like so, relayed in the voice of the dopey stoner I have never been:

“So there’s a dude, who’s, like, this gruff bounty hunter in the future, or whatever, and he finds this robot chick out in a wasteland, or something, and, like, she needs help. I guess. They probably pork at some point.”

Yeah, I have no idea how I came up with that. You can see bits and scraps of the real movie in there, but I must’ve been half asleep or reading the synopsis out of the corner of my eye, or somesuch.

The reason I even bother to bring it up is that my hash-cloud synopsis is one variation on the basic plot structure of every Robot Chick anime in existence. If we were to flesh it out a bit more, the bounty hunter and the robot girl — who is, of course, an amnesiac and/or living under a false identity — would develop either a romantic bond or a father/daughter relationship, depending on the age gap; there would be comical fish-out-of-water moments and unassuming nudity; and the robot girl would ultimately be revealed to be either a) a state-of-the-art killing machine, stricken with conflict and guilt over her dark past, or b) a weapon of last resort against some world-threatening evil. In either case, she would get blowed up for the greater good. Throw in an ambiguous epilogue, and you’re done.

The interesting thing is, while I do love Robot Chick anime — probably my favorite genre, as a matter of fact — my initial discovery of Cherry 2000 happened back in the late 90s; a good half-decade prior to the Great Anime Renaissance of Roughly ‘04; that is, the point at which I really started to get into anime. This means that my eerily-anime-ish made-up synopsis was concocted years before I had ever even seen a Robot Chick anime.

It’s like, I was taking cues from my own future, man! All time exists simultaneously, or something! It’s pretty wicked! I don’t know what’s going on!

So anyway, I thought that was kind of interesting and worth sharing, but now that I’ve taken the time to write it out, I see that I was wrong. I actually lost interest about halfway through while writing it, so I certainly can’t blame you for skimming down to where the review becomes relevant and coherent again. Which is… now:

Cherry 2000: Not the live-action anime I was expecting, the titular Cherry gets maybe ten minutes of total screen time (still time enough to deliver some of the film’s best lines), the ending is kind of meh, there aren’t any standout performances, the plot is at times illogical, and the special effects are total cheese.

All is not bleak, however. I really like Melanie Griffith’s voice. It’s kind of… gooey. And of course there’s the previously mentioned Ben Johnson; he can class up any joint.

Like a grizzly bear made of liquid metal, this one’s kind of hard to pin down. As to where it falls on the Atrocity Scale, I mean. I’m vaguely aware that it’s a terrible movie, but I still enjoy it, and mostly unironically at that. So I guess I’ll give a cautious recommendation, and urge you to keep in mind that I have a mushroom cloud-sized soft spot for anything post-apocalypse.

And also, I dearly hope that everyone realizes that my last name is Johnson, and I was not, in fact, referring to myself as a penis earlier.

Just another day at the office.

• Is that Laurence Fishburne? It is!
• Slim’s shop also contains Gort, and the robot from Lost in Space.
• Recycling portrayed as Orwellian drudgery. There’s a new one.
• E. drives the most complicated Mustang ever.
• It’s difficult not to like Lester.

Is it worth staying through the end credits?

Nah.

Groovy Quotes

Lawyer: You stick your tongue in my client’s mouth, and I’ll sue your ass off!

Stacy: That a Cherry?
Sam: Cherry 2000.
Stacy: Va-voom.

Sam: I can’t see the bottom!
E.: Don’t worry; it’s down there!

Jake: (To Sam) There’s more to love than just hot wiring, Speed.

Lester: We’re counting on you men. Keep the sun out of your eyes, and be yourselves.

Lester: You need to work on your personality.

Cultist 1: Ginger, what are we gonna do now?
Ginger: You guys want some sandwiches?
Cultist 2: Lester’s dead!
Ginger: Well, no sandwich for him.

Cherry: (In the middle of a firefight) Honey, I’d really rather be watching this on television.

Cherry: (Examining the contents of a sandwich) Pretty!

Soundtrack Review

Ennio Morricone meets Paul Hertzog. And if that doesn’t mean anything to you, guess you just aren’t cool enough. Sorry.

If You Liked This Movie, Try These:

• Heartbeeps

• A.I.
• Hell Comes To Frogtown

The Scoop: 1938 NR, directed by Harry Revier and starring Shirley Mills, Bob Bollinger and Dorothy Carrol.

Tagline: A THROBBING DRAMA OF SHACKLED YOUTH!

Summary Capsule: Altruistic school marm tells detestable rednecks they shouldn’t marry little girls; hillbilly intrigue ensues.

Kaleb’s Rating: As it turns out, I am thoroughly incapable of ever going into a movie with the right mindset.

Kaleb’s Review: Let me back up a skosh: For those of you unaware, this review is being written under self-inflicted duress. Or, I guess maybe “self-not-avoided” would be more accurate. “Sniped through a loophole” perhaps. Yeah, I like that one.

Some of you may recall a short-lived contest hosted by yours truly a little while back. The object was to match the various branches of this year’s Haunted House with the Mutants who wrote each. Fellow-but-still-new-enough-to-participate Mutant Heather stood fast in the face of fierce competition from no one, emerged the victor, and was given the chance to assign me a movie to review. But there was a catch: It had to be a movie I already owned. Because I don’t actually have a Netflix account (should I have mentioned that before I was hired?), and renting movies via traditional means requires getting up and going outside and stuff.

Now, I don’t know if my tacking on a catch infuriated Heather into a cackling mania, or if that would’ve happened anyway, but the fact remains that she pointed my indentured mug toward a celluloid butt-nugget of purportedly-epic badness.

“Child Bride is in the public domain,” said she, “So technically, it belongs to everyone.” And the word “everyone” was naturally accompanied by the arcing, rainbow-ish arm gesture that I can’t explain very well but you know what I’m talking about, and glitter, and the sound effect that goes with glitter. Then she started laughing, and things started bursting into flame, and I left.

Anyway, in the words of Robert Muldoon: “Clever girl.”

So now I’m facing down the prospect of having to review a film that even the MST3K guys won’t handle. But I resolve to do it anyway, because an elephant is faithful, one-hundred percent, and I resemble one in certain respects (just so there’s no confusion: ears).

However, thanks to lessons learned from my Showgirls experience, I wasn’t going in unprepared. Never again would I make the mistake of underestimating a movie’s awfulness, thinking I could just swagger through it and make a few digs along the way, and instead end up with it pouring liquid nitrogen on my soul and hitting it with a sledgehammer.

Also, I couldn’t help but admit to a certain impish glee upon learning that the film was set in the Ozarks; my own rather regrettable current residence. If my understanding is correct, the locus in which I now type is regarded abroad as a backwatered hive of pedophilia and incest, and I can’t help but derive a little dab of geographic schadenfreude from any media which promotes said notion. Granted, I take exception to being caught under such a vile generalization myself, but I also understand that, when a given stereotype is 90% accurate or better, those in the remainder forfeit their right to complaint, and I’m not going to waste time and energy defending the honor of a region about which I give not a rat’s ass. Not even a single cheek.

So, I watched Child Bride. I done watched it good, and I had all available resources in my nerdly metaphorical power grid diverted to shields the whole time. Was my caution wasted, you ask? I might draw your attention to my rating. Yeah, I squandered quite a lot of perfectly good tension and fear.

Don’t misunderstand: It was a stinker, but it was also released in 1938, which bears some consideration. No, it’s not that it wasn’t bad, it’s that it wasn’t legendary-bad. Wasn’t much of anything, really. Back when I first heard that Joel/Mike & the boys regard it as strictly hands-off, I assumed it was because production values were simply too rotten, or the subject matter too eew-inducing (I did have to do the Icky Dance to cleanse myself after the wedding scene. Bleah.). But now that I’ve seen it, I’m pretty sure that it’s just that there’s not enough going on to support the minimum RPM (Riffs per Minute).

There are a couple of mockable moments, I suppose. I’m particularly fond of the exchange responsible for my solitary Groovy Quote. Apparently, in the Ozarks, mundane background noises are a portent of death. One wonders if this applies only to dogs barking, or if any noise qualifies. If, while sitting in the living room, I hear four beeps in succession, should I logically assume my chili is done heating up, or should I lament, “The Pale Rider has claimed yet another!” and faint dramatically?

All in all though, it’s just a 60 minute span of nothing. Pure lost time. The cinematic equivalent of an alien abduction. There’s a disingenuous disclaimer at the start about how nobody’s trying to condemn the customs of the smelly mountain people (after which they are portrayed as murderous chimps; again, I’m not protesting), and the next thing I know, I’m groggily coming to an hour later, vaguely aware that I had just watched a movie, but unable to recall anything about it without the aid of hypnosis.

So, I don’t know. Heather, if you’re reading this, I hope the lack of blubber-snot and eye-blood on my part does not disappoint too terribly. Like I said, sure it’s bad, but I’ve seen worse, and I’m afraid my soul is still quite operational (when your Rebel friends arrive, and otherwise).

But gosh darn it, you tried, and that’s what counts. You’ll get me next time for sure.

Bonus! Post-review quasi-apology/acquiescence!

So, after the preceding review was more or less done, I went looking for pics (obviously failing to find any viable specimens), and stumbled upon the Wikipedia page for Child Bride. ‘Twas there that I learned that the already plenty-disturbing skinny dipping scene was actually much longer and more skeevy in the original version of the film; featuring unobstructed 11-year old nudity, and a tremendously-disquieting discussion between Jenny—the titular child bride—and her friend Freddy regarding the wondrous changes their bodies are going through.

When I read this, I distinctly remember thinking, “Wow, that is exactly everything I’m glad I missed.”

So, to the MST3K crew: I get what all the hubbub is about now. And to Heather: Thank you thank you thank you for sending me the cut version.

'I now pronounce you man and jailbait. You may now do 10-25 years.'

• No, I didn’t. Thanks for asking, though.

Is it worth staying through the end credits?

Um. . .there aren’t any.

Intermission

Angelo Rossitto, who plays the appropriately-named Angelo, would (much) later go on to portray Master in Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome. Nice! It’s probably no coincidence that he is by far the best character in Child Bride. He totally whacks a guy who has it coming. Midget snipers are exceptionally deadly, you know.

Groovy Quotes

Jess: That’s no wolf, it’s a dog! I betcha somebody’s croaked!

If You Liked This Movie, Try These:

• Freaks

• The Hills Have Eyes