Scenes from the Goldmine (Marc Rocco, 1987)

Do we really need another movie to tell us that the music industry is full of assholes? Since I'm the only one here at the moment, I'll go ahead and answer that question myself. No, we do not. We do, however, need more movies that star the amazing Catherine Mary Stewart, an actress who you might know from Night of the Comet, Nightflyers, Dudes, etc... Oh, and The Apple! (God, how could I forget The Apple?) And Scenes from the Goldmine provides us with more C.M.S. than all those other movies combined. (Even more than The Apple?) Oh, you better believe it. This film is the ultimate C.M.S. experience. Sure, it's premise is basically this: The music industry sucks. But nothing is gonna stop me from enjoying the sight of Catherine Mary Stewart playing keyboards in winklepicklers alongside... (Wait a second. Did you just say, winklepickers?) Yeah, so? (How are you so calm right now?) Trust me, I'm not calm. In fact, my mind is racing like a cocaine-fueled tornado. When the camera zooms in on Catherine's multi-buckle winklepickers while her band was jamming at a local bar at their rehearsal space, I had to stop watching for a minute, as my psyche suddenly found itself inundated with pure, pointy-footed pleasure.

As far as I'm concerned, there's no other type of footwear on the planet that brings me more joy than winklepickers. Okay, creepers make me smile as well. But when it comes right down to it, I'm a winklepicker man through and through. Always have been, always will be.

Of course, I own pair of winklepickers myself. Unfortunately, due to financial constraints, I could only afford a pair of winklepickers that sport two buckles. Don't feel too sorry for me, my two buckle winklepickers and I have had some pretty good times together. It's just that I feel that I could have had an even better time if my winklepickers had more buckles.

Anyway, what caused me to react so intensely to the sight of Catherine Mary Stewart's winklepickers was the fact that they had [are you sitting down?] six(!) buckles (that's a total of twelve all-together). When I would dream about owning a pair of winklepickers that had more than two buckles, I would usually stop at four buckles. So, as you might expect, the sight of C.M.S. wearing a pair with six... (Yeah, yeah, you like pointy, goth-friendly footwear.) You don't understand, they're very important to me.

Besides, I'm sure everyone would rather listen to me bather on and on about winklepickers, than listen to me describe the plot of this toothless jab at the music industry. Yes, people who work for record labels are terrible human beings. We get it.

While it's true, the film, written and directed by Marc Rocco, does cover a lot of familiar territory, it does have a few nice twists here and there. The biggest one being that Niles Dresden (Cameron Dye) of Niles Dresden and The Pieces is just as big of a phoney as the music execs.

To an outsider, the red flags should have started waving immediately. But I guess Debi DiAngelo (Catherine Mary Stewart) was too awestruck by Niles' mega-mullet to think clearly. I mean, the way Niles and the boys, Dennis Lameraux (Timothy B. Schmidt) on bass, and Kenny Bond (John Ford Coley) on drums, fired Stephanie (Pamela Springsteen), their previous keyboard player, should have sent alarm bells ringing in Debi's head. But like I said, his mega-mullet is pretty persuasive.

I know, how can an overgrown clump of hair cause someone to lose touch with reality? It's simple, really, the clump in question is flowing from the back of the head attached to Cameron Dye (Valley Girl), a man whose sharp bone structure could moisten even the most obdurate of panties.

Of course, I don't mean to imply that Debi's new wave panties are soaking wet after successfully auditioning to be the band's new keyboard player. I'm just saying her judgment must have been hampered somewhat. As the quote that opens the film says, "A good girl falls for a wild one every time."

Now that Debi is a fully-fledged member of the Pieces, Harry (Steve Railsback, Lifeforce), the band's manager and Niles' brother, get them a gig at a local club, where Manny Ricci (Joe Pantoliano), an artists and repertoire man for Rush Records, will apparently be in attendance.

Even though the song they play, "Listen To My Heartbeat," is a non-threatening slab of banal mid-80s pop rock if I ever heard one, the band still manages to impress Manny, who tells them to basically keep at it.

After having dinner with her drug addict brother and her disapproving parents (her father, played by Alex Rocco, doesn't like the fact that his daughter is performing at clubs with names like, "The Lingerie"), Debi hangs out at the beach with Dana (Jewel Shepard), her best friend/roommate. It wasn't until near the end of the movie that I realized that Debi's pal was played by Jewel Shepard. I blame the director for this, as he seemed to like to shoot everyone, except for the two leads, from afar; the same goes for Lee Ving, who plays an eccentric music video director.

Taking Manny's advice to keep at it, Niles and the Pieces perform "I Was Just Asking" at their rehearsal space. On top of being my favourite song in the movie, this is the sequence where we first see Catherine Mary Stewart in her six buckle winkpicklers.

In a weird twist, Catherine's winklepickers get more close-ups than both Jewel Shepard and Lee Ving combined.

Speaking of weird twists, the decision to feature three bands performing covers of "Twist and Shout" during Niles and Debi's club crawl courtship sequence was the film's most interesting from a stylistic point of view. Of course, the version I liked the most was the robo-synth one by James House's Roberto Roberto.

Now, I don't want to say too much about what happens after Niles and Debi eventually become a couple. Though, I will say this, Debi should have never shown Niles her giant binder of songs. Seriously, that was a bad decision (you'll see why). But I like said earlier, it's hard to say no to a fully-mulleted Cameron Dye... he's a wild one.

Even though you'd be probably better off watching Ladies and Gentlemen... The Fabulous Stains, Breaking Glass, or even Eddie and the Cruisers, if you're a fan of Catherine Mary Stewart (who does all her own singing), music movies, winklepickers and zebra print, you should probably check this film out. If you can find it (there's hardly any information about this film on the interweb).

Dudes (Penelope Spheeris, 1987)

Some might say the only genuine punk moment to take place in Penelope Spheeris' Dudes is when "Biscuit" asks "Hazekiah" (who's naming these people?) to sing "Holiday in Cambodia" by The Dead Kennedys when the latter tells his visibly annoyed audience that he does requests. Well, given the circumstances, you wouldn't expect a drunken old coot to know anything about The Dead Kennedys. And you would be right, he's not familiar with the song in question. However, I found this reference to punk rock to be a tad disingenuous. In fact, the second Biscuit mentions the song, I thought to myself: Oh yeah, these guys are supposed to be punks. The reason I forgot was because the soundtrack up until then had been nothing but Faster Pussycat, W.A.S.P. and Keel. Maybe sometime during filming Penelope Spheeris lost interest in punk rock and started get into heavy metal; after all, she would go on to make The Decline of Western Civilization Part II: The Metal Years soon after this film came out. It's also possible that the producers told Penelope to use heavy metal instead of punk, I don't know. But I do know the sight of three New York City punks driving through the desert in a beat up Volkswagen Bug to the sounds of Faster Pussycat is not punk. I don't care how adorable Brent Muscat is, and, believe me, he is adorable, punks don't usually go for hair metal. This is especially true for punks who spend their evenings stage diving at gigs that feature The Vandals, a punk band who appeared in Penelope Spheeris' seminal Suburbia (now that's a punk rock movie) and fighting over a salmon-gloved Pamela Gidley (Cherry 2000).

Quit your bellyaching, you sound like a freaking baby. Besides, this is one of them fish out of water thingies, so it makes perfect sense for the music to represent the opposite end of their cultural comfort zone. If that's the case, shouldn't the film be nothing but country and western songs? I mean, the film is basically a western. Good point. If I was forced to categorize this film, I would put it in the western section, as it contains all the ingredients that make up your typical western.

Still, I was disappointed by the lack of punk music in Dudes. That being said, I did take solace in the fact that Vance Colvig, Jr., the old drunk who doesn't know who The Dead Kennedys are, sings "Mexican Radio" by Wall of Voodoo at one point. Wait, did the punks request that song, too? Nope, he just starts singing it of his own volition. Awesome. Did he sing the line about eating barbequed iguana? Nah, just the "I'm on a Mexcican Ray-deeo / I'm on a Mexican whoa-oh ray-deeo" part. Nevertheless, it was a pretty cool moment. It also reminded me of that time when Kramer on Seinfeld sings "Mexican Radio" while installing a reverse peephole on his apartment door in the aptly titled episode, "The Reverse Peephole."

How can you complain about there not being enough punk in this movie when it opens to sight of Jon Cryer stage-diving to "Urban Struggle" at a Vandals concert? Yeah, I got to admit, it's quite the punk sight to behold. Bored with life in New York City, three punk rockers, Grant (Jon Cryer), Biscuit (Daniel Roebuck), and Milo (Flea) decide to move to Los Angeles. Whoa! Stop the presses. Bored with life in New York City?!? I'm sorry, but that doesn't make any sense. If you're bored in New York City, it's not the city's fault. What are you trying to say? What I'm saying is, you're probably the one who's boring. You know what? Forget about "probably," you're definitely the one who's boring.

Whether you agree with them or not, they're going to Los Angeles. Yeah, I get the whole "let's go to Los Angeles" angle, I'm a big fan of Los Angeles. It's just that they live in New York City. You know what I'm saying? Anyway, after getting in a fight with Pamela Gidley's musclebound boyfriend at a Chinese restaurant, the three punk rockers hangout in an alleyway to discuss their bleak futures. When Grant nearly falls to his death while jerking around on a pipe, those who were reluctant to sign on to Flea's idea to move to L.A. are quickly brought on board.

Hopping in their beat up VW Bug with a 1,000 dollars in cash, the punk trio hit the road to the strains of "Jesus Came Driving Along" by The Leather Nun. Now that I've had some time to think about it, I take back what I said earlier about Dudes not being punk enough. I mean, The Leather Nun song has a sort of goth punk vibe about. And not only that, Daniel Roebuck's mohawk is quite impressive when viewed in the harsh light of the open road. Believe or not, I had this strange idea in my head that it was a fake mohawk. You don't mean a faux hawk, do you? No, I wouldn't go that far. Either way, I grew to love it, no pun intended, as the film progressed.

Entering Utah (eww, that sounds kinda dirty), the punks help Daredelvis (Pete Willcox), an Elvis impersonator/renaissance man, whose trailer is stuck on the side of the road. The side of the road is also where Grant first sees Witherspoon (Cal Bartlett), his, as we'll soon find out, cowboy spirit guide.

While camping near a giant rock, Biscuit, named so because he loves dog biscuits, says the first thing he wants to do when he arrives in Los Angeles is to meet The Go-Go's. When Grant informs him that they split up, he remains defiant, declaring that he wants make babies with them. Now, that would be an amazing movie: A trio of NYC punks travel to L.A. to impregnate the members of The Go-Go's. If I had to pair Biscuit with a Go-Go, I would fix 'em with Gina Schock. Why? Oh, I don't know, he digs drummers, and she's into chubby guys who eat dog biscuits. Who cares? It would be a great movie.

You know who doesn't think it would make for a good movie? Lee Ving. You mean the singer from the band Fear? Yep, the very same. Playing a lowlife piece of human garbage named Missoula, Lee Ving and his unruly gang of thugs, including Wes (Glenn Withrow), attack the punk's camp and end up killing Flea in the process. No, not Flea! Who's going to impregnate Belinda Carlisle?

It's weird that you thought Flea and Belinda would... You know what? Never mind that. I guess Grant and Biscuit are going to have to continue onto L.A. without Flea.

Changing his mind mid-flee, Grant decides he wants to avenge Flea's death. Wanting no part of it, and no doubt still dreaming of ejaculating sperm inside Gina Schock, Biscuit refuses to go along with Grant's plan. That all changes, however, when Biscuit gets in touch with inner Native American while napping at Catherine Mary Stewart's house. It's at this point in the film when it starts to resemble an episode of The Lone Ranger, with Grant, helped by his cowboy spirit guide, as the titular lawman, and Biscuit, inspired by his tribal elders, as Tonto, his loyal sidekick. Of course, I've never seen an episode of The Lone Ranger, nor did I see the recent movie. But I'm sure it was something like this.

You probably noticed that I mentioned Catherine Mary Stewart in the above paragraph. Well, the reason I did this is because she is totally in this movie. She plays Jessie, a tomboyish tow truck driver who helps Grant and Biscuit with their Lee Ving problem.

Realizing that a rugged Catherine Mary Stewart isn't exactly going to drive teenage boys wild with desire (discerning teenage lesbians, on the other hand, will love C.M.S. in this flick), Penelope Spheeris calls upon her go-to babe Christina Beck (Suburbia) to play Lee Ving's floozy girlfriend in a brief yet pivotal scene that takes place in a Wyoming saloon.

Mixing the spirit of the wild west with punk and heavy metal might seem like a dicey combination, but Dudes is not about genre mashing, it's essentially about standing up for yourself, or more specifically, not allowing all the Lee Ving's out there to push you around. Getting reacquainted with their inner outlaws, Jon Cryer and Daniel Roebuck manage to grow a pair just in time for the climatic showdown with Lee Ving. Of course, at times it seemed like Jon Cryer and Daniel Roebuck were merely playing dress up. However, I thought they brought some unexpected pathos, along with some deft comedic touches, to their respective roles. Now, if I knew going in that the film would turn out to be a glorified western with a heavy metal soundtrack, I would have probably steered clear of Dudes. But now that I've watched it from start to finish, I can confidently say that it was a sort of worthwhile experience.

Nightflyers (Robert Collector, 1987)

You know your space adventure film is in serious trouble when its most entertaining moment comes when the guy who played the dad on The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air equates happiness with fresh octopus. And as kooky as that may sound, that's exactly what happens in Nightflyers, an intergalactic riddle wrapped in a lifeless enigma about a primordial force that threatens to shorten the lives of a group of space travelers. The group's visual documentarian/cook is a man with some serious doubts regarding the mission he's signed up for. That is, until he smells the fresh octopus waiting for him in the ship's kitchen. After the fresh octopus has been sufficiently smelled, you'll notice that his demeanour goes from that of a cranky man whose nasal cavity is totally devoid of the smell of fresh octopus to that of a less cranky man whose olfactory organ is replete with the odor usually associated with fresh octopus in a matter of seconds. Holy shit, man, this flick must be the epitome of lame if you have been reduced to talking about fresh octopus. I mean, talk about your tangents from hell. Oh, and I know I just said it, and I'm about to say it again, but if you use the phrase "fresh octopus" one more time, I'm gonna punch you in the fucking face. Duly noted, my irrational friend. But you don't think I'm gonna let a little thing like fresh octopus slow me down? I don't think so. Unlike director Robert Collector, who, for some strange reason, is credited as T.C. Blake, I'm not afraid of this film, which is based on a novella by George R.R. Martin. Just let me check my memory banks, as there just might be something of note to salvage from the experience that is the act of watching this film; weirder things have happened. Yikes! I think I got something.

If there's one thing every women on earth, no matter their age, their race, their sexual orientation, or their marital status, has in common, it's that they all fantasize about having the power to beam a suave, tolerably awkward Englishman into their bedroom or sitting room at the touch of a button. In the 21st century, people will still smoke, say the word "fuck," and use pencils, but advances in holographic technology have reached a point where women have gained the ability to conjure up Englishmen with long, dark hair whenever they please. Okay, it's not that simple. However, in the mind of Miranda (Catherine Mary Stewart), the project coordinator of a deep space mission to find an alien lifeform, it might as well be.

We're suddenly ushered into the vast emptiness of outer space, where meet Miranda, a woman whose head is no doubt filled with thoughts of handsome Englishmen who care about her feelings (unlike those football-watching, North American neanderthals who never seem to be around when your armpits need a good licking), who is riding on a space-train. Where is she going? Duh, she's going to the Avalon Spacesport. With her on the space-train are the rest of the team who have been assembled on the cheap by Dr. D'Brannin (John Standing), a scientist whose spent the last twelve years trying make contact with an alien species called the "Volcrum," at least that's what I think they were called. Anyway, the other members of the team include: Audrey (Lisa Blount), a linguistics expert who, surprisingly, doesn't seen all that interested in being swept off her feet by a debonair Englishmen; Keelor (Glenn Withrow from Pass the Ammo), a recently unglued biologist; Darryl (James Avery) the mission's visual documentarian, and, from what I've heard, one helluva cook; and Lily (Hélène Udy), a cryptologist who works well with computers.

Meeting them at their destination are a couple of empaths, Jon Windermen (Michael Des Barres) and Eliza (Annabel Brooks), who have been brought along in case the aliens lack the means to communicate verbally. The former, besides loving white wine and shoulder padded trenchcoats, is what we in the empath game like to call: a class ten telepath. Which means, he can read the thoughts rattling around in just about anyone's mind. I wonder if Miranda, who also has telepathic abilities, albeit, somewhat limited compared to Windermen, is worried that he might find out that she's got a thing for guys who look like they would have no trouble whatsoever filling in as a member of Spandau Ballet if one of them, oh, let's say, Tony Hadley, happened to suddenly contract osmotic diarrhea after licking a couple of partially played with toy blocks at an unlicensed daycare in Swindon.

I'd just like to say–you know, before they get on board the ship, that the music score by Doug Timm was an excellent slab of synthified goodness if I ever heard one. It's definitely the best thing a guy named Doug has been associated with since the mighty Doug & the Slugs unleashed "Makin' It Work" onto a sluggish populace way back in '82. When I first heard Doug's synthesizer music over the opening credits, I thought that it had a cool Blade Runner vibe about it. These thoughts percolated even more when Miranda gets her eyes scanned at the departure gate, as the contraption they used on her reminded me of the one Dekker uses on Sean Young in the vicinity of an artificial owl.

Okay, enough with the Blade Runner references, let's get these people on board the ship already. Waiting for them in the spacesport is the Nightflyer, a large deep space freighter, which Dr. D'Brannin has chartered to take them out into the far reaches of space. Sporting a network of grandiose passageways, the team make their way to a spacious lounge, a tomb-like monstrosity that causes them to utter sounds like, "ooh," and to say words like, "wow," as they drink in its majesty. The team's visual documnetarian, as I've already pointed out, is quite impressed by the fact the ship's kitchen has fresh octopus. However, as the rest of the team are busy making themselves at home, you'll notice that Miranda is the only one who is not carrying on about the lofty nature of their new digs. Why is this? Is it because she senses something is amiss? Who knows.

After taking off (during which, the team are treated to a planetarium-style light show), they finally meet the ship's captain. Well, they sort of meet him. It would seem that Royd (Michael Praed) has decided to greet his passengers through a holographic projection. As Keelor, Darryl, and Lily are bemoaning the fact they were welcomed aboard by a hologram (a major social faux pas in their eyes), Royd can't seem to take his flickering eyes off Miranda, her blue, sleeveless dress shimmering in the lounge's mustardy glow. And who can blame him, always standing in a manner that reminded me of the work of famed illustrator Patrick Nagel, Miranda exudes a stylish grace. The fixation actually goes both ways, as Miranda seems to be enchanted by the dark-haired hologram. While they were making goo-goo eyes with one another, it was obvious that Miranda was thinking to herself: I'm so glad I decided to wear this particular shade of lipstick today, because Royd totally looks like the kind of guy who digs chicks who wear pale pink lipstick in outer space.

If I was a woman living in the 1980s...actually, scratch that. If I was a woman living during any period of time (era specific hairstyles and fashion trends be damned), I would walk into the nearest hair salon, plant my ample behind into one of the available chairs, cross my legs in a manner that conveyed to the staff that I mean business, and demand that they give me the "Catherine Mary Stewart in Nightflyers" look. Sticking with the whole female consumer theme, I want Miranda's clothes as well, especially that blue shirt she wears in the lounge when the kitchen blows up. Wait a minute, the kitchen blows up?!? Tell me more. Um, excuse me? I was talking about Miranda's shirt. Like, oh my god. How rude. At any rate, where was I? Oh yeah, of course, the shirt. Dotted with these little black symbols, I thought the blue shirt did a terrific job of framing C.M.S.'s face. The only criticism I had with the way Roger Taylor looks heavenward in the music video for Duran Duran's "Planet Earth" is that he isn't wearing a shirt like the one Miranda wears in Nightflyers. Think about it. His adam's apple could have looked even more new romantic had it been paired with a blue shirt.

Donning a white dress shirt with a matching pair of white boots, Miranda decides to get some work done in an isolated stairwell. She may be hidden from the prying eyes of her fellow team members, but she can't escape Royd, who can pretty much transmit himself to any part of the ship he wants. Impressed by her self-assurance, Royd opens up to Miranda (he admires her outgoing attitude). Sure, he doesn't tell her how he manages to keep his hair so silky smooth in outer space, but he does tell her that he was raised by the ship's computer. Spending his entire life on board the giant freighter, the hemmed in Royd wishes to leave, but his mother (who downloaded her soul into the ship's computer before she died) refuses to let him. And it's this mother-son tug of war that causes the majority of the drama in Nightflyers, as his desire to live a more human existence (enjoy a game of tennis, smear his pet beaver with marmalade, go record shopping, etc.) clashes with her decidedly misanthropic outlook.

The ship's computer, lacking the physical means to generate substantive change, uses Jon Winderman's telepathic brain as a conduit to stir up trouble. On top of exploiting his mental abilities, it also made sense for the computer to use him since he was the only one who felt the "malignant presence" of Royd's dead mother. As he is slowly taken over by the demonic motherboard, you'll notice that Michael Des Barres' performance goes from being mildly campy ("the ship is alive!") to extremely campy (check out the scream face he employs when he comes face-to-face with Royd's mother in a dream). I'm afraid the same can't be said for the rest of the cast, who basically, like the Nightflyer itself, drift aimlessly through the proceedings in a joyless haze. Only Glenn Withrow appears to be putting forth any effort as Keelor, a character who seems to be channeling Hudson from Aliens. Personal fave, Hélène Udy (Pinball Summer and Pin) utters a few lines here and there while staring at a computer screen, but her contribution is negligible. (Quirky fun fact: Nightflyers and her guest appearance on Star Trek: Deep Space Nine are the only instances, at least to my knowledge, where Miss Udy is credited as "Hélène." In most cases, she's listed as plain old Helene.)

If you're a fan of Catherine Mary Stewart, especially when she looks up, you'll definitely want to check out Nightflyers, as it's the best film in its class when it comes to showcasing the pride of Edmonton, Alberta gazing in an upwardly direction. Granted, some people will say Night of the Comet is the preeminent film in the rarely talked about "which film features Catherine Mary Stewart looking up more sweepstakes," some might even chime in by saying The Last Starfighter is the look up king. But the sane amongst us will no doubt agree that Nightflyers has got it going on in terms of Miss Stewart looking toward the sky.

On top of looking fabulous while looking up, Catherine Mary Stewart is a walking, talking style icon as Miranda, a role model for fashion-forward women the world over. Since I've already made it abundantly clear that I want to be her, let's give some love to costume designer Brad R. Loman and hair stylist Kay Cole for creating the plethora of exhilarating ensembles and hairstyles Miranda wears throughout this movie. Of course, they weren't exhilarating in the same way the hair and the clothes were in, oh, let's say, Liquid Sky (when in doubt, reference Liquid Sky), but they're no less chic.

A talkie version of Alien, Nightyflyers, a film that could have easily been called "Motherboard 2: The Possession," is a moderately interesting glob of sci-fi/horror (the film is surprisingly gory in places) that is repeatedly weighed down by its clunky script. Nevertheless, director Robert Collector, who according to IMDb: "left the production before the film's editing was completed, and requested that his name not appear in the credits" does have a flair for filming dramatic scenes in hallways and around bulkheads (the scene where the faces of Miranda and Jon Windermen are bathed in blue light while everything else was bathed in red was pretty cool). Recommended to fans of Catherine Mary Stewart and Vangelis, as for everyone else, stick with the Alien movies.

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Night of the Comet (Thom Eberhardt, 1984)

This movie is totally awesome! I know, it's a hackneyed idiom that has been used to extol cinematic shapes and colours for like, a quarter of a century or something, but it's the only sensible way I can think of to describe this flick. At any rate, when a motion picture comes along that combines the chromatic whimsicality of Valley Girl and the shopping spree-enhanced putrefaction of Dawn of the Dead, you know my eyes will be looking in its general direction the first chance I get. Well, I finally got my chance this past week, as I gazed upon the righteous neon sheen of Night of the Comet: the gold-encrusted scrunchy of teenage comet-zombie movies (one whose working title was apparently, "Teenage Mutant Horror Comet Zombies." Perfectly capturing the zeitgeist of 1980's fashion and philosophy, this giddy little film tells the story of Regina (a feisty young go-getter) and Samantha (a delightfully dim lotus-eater), two sisters who, one morning, find themselves all alone after a giant comet whizzes through the earths' atmosphere, vaporizing almost everyone and turning Los Angeles into a virtual ghost town. Through his use of drum machine-assisted cheekiness (the music score is a spine-tingling discharge of antiquated synths and wailing guitars), a gaudy colour scheme (the radio station walls were awash with flamboyant purples and mirthful reds), and opaque cinematography (a thicker than usual haze lurks over the City of Angels), writer-director Thom Eberhardt and his crack crew have created one humdinger of a comet-based zombie movie.

Add roomy hairdos, a Mac-10 shootout in ladies apparel, a hunky Robert Beltran (Eating Raoul), the legendary Mary Woronov (Rock 'n' Roll High School), Michael Bowen (Valley Girl) and Dick "Let's go get sushi and not pay" Rude to the mix, and we're not just talking about an inflamed pair of teal legwarmers lighting up the night sky, we're talking about a souped-up masterpiece.

Getting the fashions just right and teaching a pre-teen zombie to growl effectively is one thing, but casting is the key to the success of a comet-based zombie opus, especially one that features what has to be one of the most spiritually satisfying of shopping sequences ever caught on film. The casting of Edmonton's own Catherine Mary Stewart is a great start.

She is rock solid as Regina, a movie theatre employee who has a healthy addiction to the classic arcade game Tempest. Displaying a clearheadedness when it comes to firearms and dating, Catherine's plucky portrayal of the generously-coiffed hellcat is shimmering beacon for little girls to the world over.

The film's tour-de-force performance, however, comes in the diminutive, yet shapely form of Kelli Maroney. Playing the object-oriented Samantha, Kelli gives a performance for the ages. Wearing a magenta and turquoise cheerleading outfit, and a generously-conditioned mop of golden hair, the character of Samantha represents everything I stand for and epitomizes my belief in superficiality and unsupervised vacuity. (When the comet wipes out humanity, Samantha's main concern is breakfast cereal.)

Also, Sam's empty-headed whining (I love how she sulks when she finds out her sister has bagged the last man on earth), snarky one-liners ("You were born with an asshole, Doris, you don't need Chuck"), and frustration over her constantly jamming Mac-10 sub-machine ("Daddy would have gotten us Uzis") were downright spellbinding. Anyway, it's been awhile since I've come across a character that I've been so in tune with. And I tell ya, it's a good feeling.

video uploaded by arcadeshopper

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