My Best Friend Is a Vampire (Jimmy Huston, 1987)

You can always depend on Hollywood when it comes to characters making safe, unobjectionable choices. I've found this is particularly true in the niche market known as: Teenage Transformation Cinema, a sub-genre of films that usually involve a male adolescent in the midst of some kind of atypical crisis. Well, I'm happy to say that nothing comes easy in My Best Friend Is a Vampire (a.k.a. I Was a Teenage Vampire), a film where a young man is not only encouraged to except his newfangled identity, but encouraged to embrace it. Unlike the protagonists in films like, Once Bitten and My Boyfriend's Back, the central figure in this cockeyed tale doesn't try to weasel out of his ghastly predicament. Never once does Jeremy Capello (Robert Sean Leonard) attempt to find a so-called "cure" for his unique quandary. Sure, he resists the temptation to drink blood at first, but he soon discovers that it's not that bad. To put it in terms most of you can understand: drinking blood is similar to the sensation one feels after listening to the music of Nurse With Wound. In that, each subsequent listen is less irritating than the one previous.

The advantages to being a teenage zombie or teenage werewolf are completely lost on me. In fact, being a zombie has no perks whatsoever as far as I'm concerned; the gradual decomposition and inexplicable craving for human brains are both dead-ends in terms of spiritual growth. On the other hand, the long list of benefits that greet you when one becomes a teenage vampire are something I could easily find myself getting used to. And while the desire to drink blood may sound just as unappealing as the zombie brain eating, the decelerated aging process, the gift of animal mutation, the power of persuasion, and, not to mention, the ability to gothify your bedroom to the strains of Timbuk 3, the perks outweigh the negatives by an innumerable margin. Okay, acquiring a talent for redecoration isn't exactly a vampire-specific one, but you get the picture.

Considering the fact that the most of plot of My Best Friend Is a Vampire can be inferred by simply reading the title aloud to oneself, I'll try to examine some of film's more subtle intricacies. It should come as no surprise that Jeremy Capello's unexpected brush with vampirism is a veiled metaphor for the suppression of human rights. The eradication of prejudice is the film's main objective, the silly vampire jokes and frequent car chases are just a diversionary tactic to keep the dunderheads in the audience blissfully unaware.

Having Jeremy show signs of being attracted to Darla (Cheryl Pollak)—a girl he technically shouldn't be attracted to (a cheerleader named Candy is campaigning hard for his teenage cock)—before becoming a vampire, and making the chauvinistic Ralph (Evan Mirand) his best friend, are just a couple of the forthright indicators that the film is working on a totally different level of brilliance.

Take for example, the van the vampire hunters Professor Leopold McCarthy (David Warner) and Grimsdyke (Paul Smith) drive throughout the movie. It's austere shape and unassuming colour easily cause one to think of South African Apartheid and the era of when Pinochetian kidnapping was all the rage. Hell, even Leopold's genocidal nonchalance (he wants to wipe vampires from the face of the earth) was totalitarian in nature. Anyway, taking what was a symbol of 1970s ingenuity and turning it an instrument of hate, intolerance and fear, director Jimmy Huston and screenwriter Tab Murphy have wittingly fashioned a stark reminder of how something created for fostering good can be quickly turned into a tool of evil.

Luckily, the neophyte bloodsucker has Modoc (Rene Auberjonois) to help him do battle with the sinister van drivers. Okay, he doesn't really help him battle anything. However, the two hundred and sixty-something vampire does assist when it comes to making Jeremy's transition from human teen to vampire teen a little less stressful; he gives him a guidebook and the business card of an all-night butcher.

The sight of Jeremy and Darla making out in his parents' car, their similar haircuts melding into one, is the kind of hotness you can't find in the majority of high school set trans-vamp comedies. Now, I don't really want to go into much detail as to why I enjoyed watching them kiss and stuff. But let's just say, I like the idea of watching a boy and a girl androgynously combining their mouth saliva together in a way that causes you to temporarily forget which one is male and which one is female.

Conveniently, that's the perfect segue for me to extol a modicum of praise on the overall look of Darla in this film. Dressing actress Cheryl Pollak (Pump Up the Volume) in a frumpy array baggy dress shirts, vests, and floor length skirts was a bold move on the part of the producers. It's true, they needed to give her style a unique flavour that separated her from her vacuous peers. (I'm looking in your general direction LeeAnne Locken.) But the glasses, the brash beret, boyish haircut and the Frannie-esque (Annie Ryan's character from Three O'Clock High) affection for pins were almost overkill in terms of off-kilter awesomeness.

It also helped that Miss Pollak had distinct manner of speaking. I mean, the way her vocal singularity and fashion backwardness managed to commingle with one another so succinctly was a reason to overly rejoice. That, and the fact that every scene had neon signs lingering in the background (the film takes place in Houston, Texas) , and the drum machines of composer Steve Dorff (Back to the Beach) weren't afraid of the handclap function.

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Pump Up the Volume (Allan Moyle, 1990)

I'm sure I'm not alone when I say this, but I really wanted to launch my own radio station after I saw Pump Up the Volume, a shimmering glob of underrated awesomeness, one that fought for your undivided attention twenty years ago, but got lost in the overcrowded realm that was teen angst cinema. Of course, nowadays, the idea of broadcasting a pirate radio show from the moldy, jizz-stained confines of your parents' basement might seem a tad quaint–especially in a world dominated by social media and reality television–but in 1990, it was groundbreaking stuff. Seriously, a disaffected teen as the catalyst for change wasn't that far-fetched during a time when apathy and yuppie culture had infected the general populace. Spouting a crude yet compelling melange of saucy malapropisms on the radio, complimented by an eclectic array of rap, punk, pop, and Leonard Cohen, a properly motivated adolescent in a bowling shirt could inspire the alienated and the downtrodden hovering around their speakers to do his or her bidding, and do so with an alarming ease. It didn't matter if person doing the talking originally intended to shake things up, your voice was singled out as the champion for those being "butt-surfed by the system" whether you like it or not. My pirate radio station, for example, would have been an ear-destroying cacophony of post-industrial sex music and italo disco (with weather and fashion updates on the hour). In other words, while my station's chic temperament would never be in doubt, its seemingly innocuous content wouldn't cause the shady bureaucrats who the run local high school to loose any sleep. The radio station featured in this film, on the other hand, oozes of subversion from every pore.

Welcome to Paradise Hills, Arizona, a sleepy suburb that will think twice the next time it decides to underestimate the power of an aniseed flavoured chewing gum enthusiast wearing nothing but a cock ring. Capturing the spirit of aimless youth in a manner unseen in the bulk of movies about teenagers, writer-director Allan Moyle (Times Square) has created an unusual world where one teen talks and the rest listen. Typical teen archetypes like, the jock, the geek, the popular girl, the freaky chick in striped tights, and, of course, the burnouts (Seth Green and Andy Romano), are all rendered mute, as they all become enamoured with a single voice. The stresses that come with attending Hubert Humphrey High are too much for Mark Hunter (Christian Slater), a newly transferred student from "back east." Started in his parents' basement as a lark (it seems he originally wanted to get the attention of the popular girl archetype), Mark responds to this stress by performing nightly rants on the radio.

Over time, his rants, which are mainly directed toward his school's corrupt administration and usually married with the alternative music of the day and juvenile humour, grow in popularity. Every night at around 10 P.M., Mark, who uses the on air handle: Hard Harry, plops the needle down on Leonard Cohen's "Everybody Knows" (the official theme song of his late night program) and proceeds to enlighten and amuse his dedicated audience.

The audience is encouraged to participate in the Hard Harry experience, and do so usually by sending letters to his P.O. Box. His favourite correspondence is with a listener he dubs the "Eat Me Beat Me Lady," who is, in reality, a Hubert Humphrey High student named Nora DeNiro (Samantha Mathis). Sending him erotic poetry on a semi-regular basis, which is written on the same red paper and written in the same black handwriting, Nora and Harry seem to have a weird chemistry with one another, despite the fact that they've never met.

Determined to uncover the phantom DJ's true identity, Nora keeps a record of all clues she picks up while listening to Hard Harry's show. The clues "likes to read alone" and "Black Jack gum" cause Nora to zero in on Mark, as those are a couple things that Hard Harry has stated that he likes to do while at school. Of course, Mark and Hard Harry, who are technically the same person, behave totally different while immersed in their own environment, so making the connection between the two people won't be easy.

The death of a student, whose suicide is blamed on Hard Harry (he'd kill himself, but he's "too depressed to bother"), puts a damper Mark and Nora's inevitable meeting, as increased scrutiny is placed on the subversive radio show. The media accuses Harry of exploiting his teenage audience, while principal Creswood (Annie Ross, Basket Case 2), the fascistic ruler of Hubert Humphrey High, wants to crush Harry for daring to expose her administration's wrongdoings. What will Mark/Harry do? Will he lay low until and hope that all this will eventually blows over, or will he strike back at the forces that are lined up against him with the only weapon in his arsenal? Only time will tell. Personally, I'm hoping he chooses the latter, because I'd really like to see Harry's minions/listeners rise up in the cafeteria and stab their adversaries with their plastic forks.

Motivating students and teachers alike, Harry inspires Paige Woodward (Cheryl Pollak, My Best Friend Is a Vampire) a frustrated popular girl to destroy her belongings and causes English teacher, Jan Emerson (the beautiful Ellen Greene), to stand up for what's right. I'll admit, I was mildly perturbed by the fact that Mark seemed to be attracted to Paige and not Nora at first. However, Mark does ultimately make the right decision and starts to focus his romantic gaze in Nora's general direction. Did he really think that Paige was Eat Me Beat Me Lady? Only someone as alluring as Nora, with her elongated neck and artistic temperament, could possibly be responsible for writing like that.

Don't judge me too harshly, but I tend to flip-flop between Pump Up the Volume and Heathers quite regularly as to what I consider the best Christian Slater performance of all-time. But right this minute, I'm leaning toward this particular one. Mainly because Mark Hunter, shy teen by day, horny disc jockey by night, is such a juicy role. Plus, I tend to relate more to Mark/Harry's personality crisis. When he's pontificating as his more forthright alter ego, Hard Harry, a cock-ring wearing, masturbation enthusiast with a penchant for Wild Cherry Diet Pepsi and Black Jack gum, you could tell Christian was having a blast being the reluctant spokesmen for the Why Bother? Generation.

I don't know why I'm mentioning this, but the manner in which Mark Hunter carried his knapsack was exactly the same as one of my friends back in high school.

The girl who helps bring Mark Hunter out his shell, and assists him when he needs an extra pair of hands to help bring his revolutionary message to the pimple-covered masses is a sensuous angel in stripped tights; a dirty-minded hellion with a sinful penmanship; a loquacious hellcat who likes it rough; a raven-haired goddess in a...uh, you get the idea. At the time this film came out, I thought Winona Ryder was the only quirky brunette I ever needed. But that myth was shattered forever when I saw Samantha Mathis' bob-haired silhouette all over media during the week of the film's release. Stalking the HHH campus in search of the elusive DJ, Samantha, her black and white striped tights calming the nerves of every pervert within a five mile radius, looked like a Goth supermodel. Merely saying that I adore Samantha Mathis' performance in Pump Up the Volume doesn't seem to cut it. You see, my adoration for her sultry turn as Nora DeNiro, a.k.a. the "Eat Me Beat Me Lady," soars beyond the stratosphere in terms of unrequited infatuation.

The swirly smooch between Eric Stoltz and Mary Stuart Masterson in Some Kind of Wonderful is, in my opinion, the best onscreen kiss in movie history. Well, that intimate moment between Christian Slater and Samantha Mathis has to be the best non-kiss in movie history. Their gaping mouths linger, as if they were about to inhale one another whole, but their lips don't actually touch. It's an extremely provocative scene, full of adolescent desire and sexual frustration. Oh, and the fact that both actors are topless in the scene probably helped in the sizzle department. This sense of longing is continued the very next day when Mark and Nora meet up on the HHH campus and proceed to go through the same mouth lingering machinations.

I'd be remiss if I didn't mention Lala Sloatman, who plays Nora's bespectacled gal pal, Janie. I loved the vintage clothing she sports throughout the film; lot's of greens and pinks with an emphasis on layers and novelty leggings (one pair is covered with peace symbols). She's kinda like a cross between a hip librarian and a New Wave bag lady. In other words, very sexy. Oh, and keen observers will notice that Lala subtly gives the principal "the finger" in one scene (she pretends to scratch her eye with her, you guessed it, middle finger). Quirky fun-fact: Lala's uncle is Frank Zappa, and her boyfriend in the movie is played by Ahmet Zappa.

The film's soundtrack is virtual who's who of late '80s alt rock, hip hop, and punk. My faves being: "Titanium Expose" by Sonic Youth, the Peter Murphy oddity "I've Got a Secret Miniature Camera," the Pixies' "Wave of Mutilation (U.K. Surf)," and "Love Comes in Spurts" by Richard Hell.

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