Pretty in Pink (Howard Deutch, 1986)

As they're leaving Trax to go on their first date, Blane asks Andie, "So, do you wanna go home and change"? Obviously implying that what she is currently wearing is not appropriate first date attire. Can you believe this guy? There's a lot to like about John Hughes' Pretty in Pink, but there's a lot that will make your spiro-saturated blood boil. And the scenario I just mentioned is one of the most infuriating. If I was Andie, the date would have ended the second that glob of verbal repulsiveness passed through the mouth-hole attached to Blane's smug face. Now, you could say: Hey, give the guy a break. I mean, he's not used to dating girls who shop at thrift stores. But I'm not going to be doing that today. No fucking way. Besides, his decision to then take Andie to a party being thrown at James Spader's house was just as misguided. And, no, this isn't the kooky, lovable version of James Spader from 2002 we're talking about. This James Spader circa 1986. In other words, we're talking about someone who is a major douchebag. I don't know 'bout you, but "major douchebag" actually undersells the level of douchiness James Spader is putting out there in this movie. At any rate, what was Blane thinking? I realize that the whole dating sequence is set up to highlight the colossal divide that exists between Blane and Andie's different social structures. But never have seen someone act so clueless before. Seriously, you would think, judging by his actions, that he was trying to sabotage his relationship with the redheaded enchantress right from the get-go.

Mind you, I'm not one of those Pretty in Pink fans who, after they're done trashing Blane, goes ahead and starts listing the reasons why Andie should be dating her best bud Duckie instead. I don't think so. Despite possessing "strong lips" and a unique sense of style, Duckie is a clingy crybaby and a bit of a stalker. Actually, all the men in this film have a stalker-ish vibe about them.

Watching Blane stalk Andie in the halls and then show up at Trax, the record store where Andie works after school, like that was kind of unnerving. Think about it. Who wants some guy with no personality or fashion sense following you around for most of the day? I know I sure don't.

Wait, did I just say that Duckie, played by Jon Cryer (Dudes), had a "unique sense of style"? While it's true, Duckie is a style icon. You'll notice that when Blane (Andrew McCarthy) goes to talk Andie (Molly Ringwald) in the place where all the cool/misunderstood students hangout, the joint is crawling with Duckie clones.

We're talking garish blazers, brightly-coloured blazers, tweed blazers, check blazers, blazers covered with anachronistic military insignia. It's like an irregular blazer free-for-all back there. Not to mention, vests! Bolo ties! Studded bracelets! Jelly bracelets! Pointy monk strap shoes!

And my God. The fedoras! Never have I seen so many young people in fedoras. Of course, that statement makes sense when said between 1986 and, oh, let's say, the year 2000. But have you walked down the street of any major North American city over the past fifteen years? There are fedoras everywhere. You could say that everyone has morphed into Duckie. Yeah, yeah, not everyone looks like Duckie. But you can definitely feel his presence. It's kinda eerie when you think about it.

Who would have thought a character from a John Hughes movie would go on to become the template for the hipster movement?

Don't be fooled, though, the toxic brand of masculinity that the likes of Blane and Steff stink of still permeates the atmosphere. Anytime you see a man assume that a woman owes him something, whether it be her attention or even sex, you can thank the likes Blane and Steff... And, in a way, Duckie is no better than them. He has this idea in his head that if he keeps harassing Andie, she'll eventually fall in love with him.

At the end of the day, Andie shouldn't date any of them. Okay, she should definitely fuck James Spader... a bunch of times. But as for long term relationships? Yeah, I don't think so.

   

My advice to Andie is: Listen to music... on vinyl (it's 1985/86!!! Depeche Mode, Skinny Puppy, Cocteau Twins and countless others are putting out albums, like, all the time), continue to play around with fashion, try dating a woman. It's 1986! You're living in one of the most exciting times to be alive. Don't waste it by dating a bunch of needy twerps.

Hell, date a trans person. I'm not sure, but I think I spotted one during the fedora scene. They're wearing a brimmed hat and carrying a camouflage backpack. Trans or not, there's definitely some gender fluidity brewing at this particular high school.

Anyway, yeah. I'd tell Andie to date Iona (Annie Potts), the owner of Trax, but she seems to fall under the soul crushing spell that is mid-1980s heterosexuality. Sure, heterosexuality is fun now (you know, with all those newfangled kinks and fetishes and whatnot), but mid-1980s heterosexuality was a different story all-together. You can watch Iona slowly succumb to it by watching how her wardrobe changes over the course of the film.

In her first scene, she's rocking a bondage-inspired punk look. And to top it off, she uses a stapler against a shoplifter. Bad-ass.

Her second outfit is a new wave look with new romantic flourishes. All that was missing was a Visage song blasting chic-ly on the soundtrack (the film's real soundtrack features three(!) New Order tracks).

The third and I guess fourth outfits combine cultural appropriation and nostalgia, as Iona embraces that brief trend where everyone pretended they were Chinese or Japanese (or, in some cases, both at once) and sports a 1960s-style beehive hairdo/pink prom dress.

Of course, if you were Chinese or Japanese in the 1980s, you pretended you were Madonna. Who, by the way, is mentioned in this film. This might sound odd, but it was kinda freaky hearing people talk about Madonna in the 1980s.

At the end, Iona sells out and becomes a yuppie. Which, in a way, sums up the last ten years (1976-86) pretty accurately.

You start off with punk (safety pin earrings)  and new wave (pink lip gloss on weekdays), dabble with cultural appropriation (remember when you wore a Japanese rising sun bandana to that Kajagoogoo concert?)  and nostalgia (admit it, you used to watch Sha Na Na reruns... unironically). And then you sell out and move to Connecticut. The end.

Random PIP observations:

Duckie, from the looks of it, lives in an abandoned crack house.

Gina Gershon can be spotted twice, once during the gym scene and again at the prom.

Did you know that Trax, the record store where Andie works, is based on Wax Trax! Records, the iconic record store/record label in Chicago? Yeah, I didn't know this. Apparently it's where John Hughes used to shop when he lived in Chicago.

The DJs at the prom are ridiculous. I mean, really? Does it take that much gear to spin OMD records?

A copy of The Residents' Diskomo/Goosebump can be seen for sale at Trax for 7.99.

Hey, Duckie. Yeah, Ed Norton from The Honeymooners called, he wants his entire wardrobe back.

And finally, Andie can't even surf the 1985-86 version of the internet without being harassed. Typical.

Less Than Zero (Marek Kanievska, 1987)

You could view this film as a highly polished expose on the negative effects drugs had on the W.A.S.P. population during the height of the "Just Say No" era. You could also view it, if you had some serious time to kill, as an eerily accurate foretelling of the emergence of rap metal. However, as someone who has seen Less Than Zero (a.k.a. Unter Null) more times than they care to admit, the proper way to view it is to look at it as the only film to capture the majestic splendour that is Jami Gertz in black stockings in a satisfactory manner. Oh, and I know what you're thinking: "Hey, Yum-Yum. How do you know Jami Gertz was wearing stockings? For all you know, they could have been pantyhose... super-tight, vagina-constricting pantyhose." Trust me, I know. No, I don't have the ability to see through women's clothing (at least not yet I don't). But thanks to the fully-clothed hallway sex scene that takes place near the end of the movie, I was able to ascertain the exact type of hosiery that was affixed to Jami Gertz' slender gams. So there.

(Did you say, "fully-clothed" sex scene? If so, how does that work?) Well, you see... Wait, I'm not going to explain to you how fully-clothed sex "works." But I will say this, if you don't have sex while at least wearing one article of clothing, you're no different than a mentally-challenged emu or some insipid billy-goat trolling the fields for ovulating sheep pussy.

While it brings me great pleasure to go on and on about Jami Gertz, who, seriously, looks amazing in this film, the thought of James Spader stalking L.A.'s hottest night-spots circa 1987 is never far from the back of my mind. I mean, how could it not be? Sure, he's a drug dealing scumbag named "Rip," but he's so darn pretty.

Sporting a brown trench-coat and slicked back hair, James' Rip is the personification yuppism gone awry; not to imply that yuppism was ever symmetrical, but yuppies usually commit white collar crime, they don't sell crack to leggy debutantes and shiftless trust fund layabouts.

Anyway, while Jami Gertz and James Spader provide the eye candy, Robert Downey, Jr. provides the acting chops. His performance as Julian, a drug addicted rich kid, is... What's that? What does Andrew McCarthy provide? Um, I'm not quite sure. I've seen the film, like I said earlier, a shitload of times, but I've never really given him much thought.

As I was saying, Robert Downey, Jr.'s performance in this film is definitely a career highlight. (I thought you said Hugo Pool was his career highlight.) You're joking, right? If anything, Robert's drugged out demeanour in Hugo Pool is eerily similar to the one he displays in Less Than Zero. The only difference being, I don't think he's acting in Hugo Pool.

Filled with hope and junk,  three friends, Clay (Andrew McCarthy), Blair (Jami Gertz) and Julian (Robert Downey, Jr.), graduate high school in Los Angeles in the spring of 1987. While Clay goes to college on the east coast, Blair and Julian stay in L.A. to do cocaine. The end.

While you're probably thinking to yourself: It can't be that simple. Well, actually, it can. You see, 1987 was a simpler time. You went to school, you did cocaine and that was it.

We do learn, thanks to some stylish black and white flashback scenes (accompanied by the warm synths of composer Thomas Newman, Welcome Home, Roxy Carmichael), that things got somewhat complicated for the three friends over the course of the following summer, when Clay learns that Blair and Julian became fuck buddies his back (Clay and Blair were a couple - and, for what I could gather, pretty hot and heavy).

Even though Clay plans on coming home for Christmas (to spend the holidays with his cartoonish-ly waspy family), he is still somewhat shocked when Blair calls up him out of the blue. Thinking that she wants to apologize for her fling with Julian, Clay seems eager to see her (this eagerness is accentuated by the use of The Bangles' cover of "Hazy Shade of Winter," which famously blasts on the soundtrack as he arrives in L.A.).

Oh, and before you point out the unlikelihood that Clay would be a Hüsker Dü fan (his L.A. bedroom has a "Land Speed Record" poster on the wall). Remember, kids, Ferris Büller had a Micro-Phonies-era Cabaret Voltaire poster on his wall. And does anyone actually think Ferris listens to Cabaret Voltaire? 'Nuff said (someone on IMDb pointed this out, and, in doing so, saved me from going on a mini-diatribe).

As for Tia Russell, Jean Louisa Kelly's character from Uncle Buck... now she's a Cabaret Voltaire fan.

Sticking with the music theme. As anyone who has seen Less Than Zero knows, music plays an important role in shaping the hedonistic, party-obsessed universe depicted in this film. Curated by producer Rick Rubin, the music heard during the film's many club scenes was, for the most part, not to my liking. For one thing, I don't think Kiss (covered by Poison), Jimi Hendrix, Aerosmith and The Doors do a very good job of representing the period. I mean, couldn't they have at least used "Everything Counts" by Depeche Mode? I know, it's a little too on the nose, but still... it's synthy.

On the other hand, I loved the use of Manu Dibango's "Abele Dance." The funky Afro-jazz funk barn-burner also has the distinction of playing when my favourite extra appears onscreen. Holding a portable hand-held television near his face, the way this guy bops back and forth to the track's catchy horn hook never fails to fill me with joy. Wait, joy?!? Yeah, fuck it. Joy!

Getting back to the story for a second. When his disappointment over the fact that Blair called him not to get back together finally subsides, Clay soon discovers that almost everyone is abusing drugs. Including Blair and Julian. But more so in the case of the latter, who owes James Spader's scumbag drug dealer character 50,000(!) dollars.

In a weird twist, IMDb comes through yet again. You know that white shirt Robert Downey Jr. wears throughout most of the movie? Yeah, the one with the giant red splotch on it. Well, I always thought the graphic was a gun shot wound. It turns out it's not a gun shot wound, but a poinsettia; which is fitting since this is technically a Christmas movie.

While it's no Christiane F. in terms of realism, nor in terms of exuding late 1970s West Berlin/Bowie cool, the film does have its moments. And even though most of these "moments" are visual, thanks to cinematographer Ed Lachman and production designer Barbara Ling, I happen to think Less Than Zero is, after all these years, still on the cusp of being watchable.

Mannequin (Michael Gottlieb, 1987)

Inanimate objects like, plastic combs and wooden spoons serve their purpose with a lifeless diligence every time they're implemented by the user. Whether straightening tangled hair or stirring a spicy sauce, their commitment to the task at hand is resolute. On the other fingerless glove, the department store mannequin is an inanimate object whose man function is to mimic the shape of a person in order to sell them fabric-based coverings to conceal, or, in some cases (depending on the virtue of your particular neighbourhood) accentuate the periodically engorged regions of their dirty flesh. Intentionally sculpted to look human, the people looking at these frozen figures often drift into a dreamlike state, where the desire to aggressively lick and caress the motionless embodiments of humanity in their nonexistent naughty places soars persistently through their little heads. This unconventional want comes to fruition for an artist named Jonathan Switcher (Andrew McCarthy) in the vivid and life affirming Mannequin, a film about not being afraid to blur the line between perversion and true love, and failing to care what others think about you and your offbeat fetish. The amount of mental excursion involved may be minimal, but the mental reinforcement one gets from this film is insurmountable in terms of enlightenment, and, not to mention, the sheer quantity of unmitigated joy obtained through the simple act of staring at it. Meticulously crafted by screenwriter Edward Rugoff and writer-director Michael Gottlieb, the film is a tribute to all those who believe that love lasts forever. Dressing it up as a loopy satire about the unscrupulous world of retail politics, deep down the heart of the film is in fact a thoughtful meditation on the meaning of human existence.

On the surface, the screwball farce appears as if it takes place solely in the chichi aisles of two rival department stores, Prince & Co and Illustra. However, the universe of Mannequin is much bigger than that. Spanning a thousand of years of human history, Edward Gottlieb and Michael Rugoff have created a breathtaking origin story, one that equals any work of classic fiction. Commencing with the sight of an attractive woman arguing with her mother about dating in a well-lit crypt in ancient Egypt, and then proceeding to bob and weave its way through the next millennia via a hauntingly beautiful animated opening credits sequence, the journey inexplicably settles in late 1980s Philadelphia.

Cursed to remain inactive until she finds true love, Ema 'Emmy' Hesire (Kim Cattrall), the attractive woman from the well-lit crypt, finds herself lifelessly standing in the window of Prince & Co in a pink ensemble that is absolutely to die for. Going through a bit of a funk of his own, Jonathan Switcher (Andrew McCarthy), a motorcycle riding sculptor, is having trouble staying employed (he can't help but bring his artistic nature to every job) and his sexy girlfriend Roxie (the gorgeous Carole Davis), a junior executive at Illustra, is embarrassed to be seen with him (his motorcycle and overall poorness are hurting the yuppie image she is trying to maintain).

In a series of weird, yet totally believable circumstances, the wide-eyed artist lands a job at Prince & Co by impressing its owner (Estelle Getty), and soon finds himself face-to-face with Emmy, his creation.

The gainfully employed Jonathan, thanks to his piercing stare, somehow manages to arouse Emmy from her mannequin slumber and the two proceed to engage in what has to be the love story of the century. All that's standing in the way of their pursuit of happiness is Mr. Richards (an extra oily James Spader), a slimy Prince & Co administrator secretly working for Illustra, and a bumbling night-watchman (G.W. Bailey) and his dog Rambo. Luckily, their ludicrously evil performances are counterbalanced nicely by the excessive flamboyance of Meshach Taylor's Hollywood, who is not only a Friend of Dorothy, but her BFF. Anyway, Meshach and his many pairs of outlandish sunglasses look out for Jonathan and is accepting his relationship with a piece of plastic. You see, only Jonathan can see Emmy move and stuff. So, to everyone else, it appears as if he's tonguing a dummy.

Since perversion is best explored at after hours, Jonathan and Emmy's love for one another comes alive when the store is closed. This, of course, leads to some of the film's finest moments. Some of which include a spellbinding montage set to "Do You Dream About Me" by Alisha, a miraculous glider flight, and a mock beach party complete with the application of suntan lotion and some mild straddling.

Peppy montages and gliders are swell and all, but having an actress that is worth animating is probably the important ingredient to making a successful romantic comedy that revolves around a mannequin. I mean, what if she was just as stiff while awake? Fortunately, there's no chance of that happening with the effervescent Kim Cattrall in the role of Emmy. An actress who knows how to use her killer body simultaneously with her winning personality, the leggy Miss Cattrall wields her supple frame like it were a deadly weapon.

On the receiving end of these dangerous stems is a boyish Andrew McCarthy, who bounces between naive and cocksure with a subtle ease.I really thought he sold the whole "I can't believe my favourite mannequin is alive" segment quite well. It's essential that the audience's doubt is properly massaged before Jonathan starts accepting the fact that a walking and talking mannequin is redecorating her tonsils with his lukewarm man-glaze.

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