Heathers (Michael Lehmann, 1989)

It was about time I revisited the perturbed hilarity of Heathers; a deliciously warped movie that comforts me whenever I'm feeling a tad unbalanced or depleted in the red scrunchy department. You see, I hadn't seen it in at least five years (my overplayed VHS copy just up and died on me). So, as you would expect, the prospect of bathing in its unsavoury light once again had me all aflutter and wistfully woolgathering about blue leggings, shower-nozzle masturbation material, lunchtime polls, cow-tipping, strip croquet ("Sure beats boning on the neighbour's swing"), the perfect hangover cure, and, of course, the breeziness of teen suicide. This film, directed by Michael Lehmann and written by Daniel Waters, is a movie that I used to watch at least once a week back in 1992-93, and it remains to be not only one of the darkest comedies of all-time, but one of the best movies period. Which was a relief, because I was deathly afraid that the film's ability to shock and delight might have softened over the years. But thankfully the film continues to brilliantly skirt that fine line between utter tastelessness and biting satire. Originally, I watched the film because of my healthy obsession with Winona Ryder, but gazing longingly into the diminutive actresses' big brown eyes soon became secondary, as I found myself transfixed by the film's harsh depiction of everyday life at a nondescript high school. The random acts of cruelty and the impenetrable nature of the various social hierarchies all rang true.

"The only place different social types can genuinely get along with each other is in heaven." ~ J.D.

Displaying wonderful chemistry with one another, Christian Slater and Winona Ryder play a murdering high school duo who turn faking suicides into an art form. Now, their quirky relationship germinates in the cafeteria, but it really blossoms at the Snappy Snack Shack, where the two engage in some of the finest onscreen flirting I've ever seen; a lot of innuendos involving Cherry Slushies, Turbo-Dogs and Corn Nuts. Which culminates with one of my favourite lines: "I don't really like my friends." Something I'm sure we've all thought at one time or another.

Having not seen the film in so long has granted me the honour of seeing it from a semi-fresh perspective. In addition, I got to utilize my newly acquired penchant for all-things sleazy and salacious. I mean, I was surprised by how much I embraced Heather Chandler this time around. Her domineering brand of bitchery was probably off-putting ten years ago, but now I find her to be strangely alluring. In case anyone doesn't know, she's the leader of the most powerful clique at Westerburg High and is played with a tyrannical zestfulness by Kim Walker. The alpha Heather (a.k.a. The Red Heather) is the character who launches the film into a cattish wonderland, full of mean spiritedness and hideous blazers. She also spews some of the film's most memorable lines...

Top 10 Heather Chandler Lines

1. "Well, fuck me gently with a chainsaw. Do I look like Mother Theresa?"
2. "Come on. It will be very. The note will give her shower-nozzle masturbation material for weeks."
3. "They all want me as a friend or a fuck. I'm worshiped at Westerburg and I'm only a junior."
4. "You were nothing before you met me. You were playing Barbies with Betty Finn. You were a Bluebird. You were a Brownie. You were a Girl Scout Cookie."
5. "Is this turnout weak or what? I had at least 70 more people at my funeral."
6. "You stupid fuck... I brought you to a Remington party and what's my thanks? It's on a hallway carpet. I got paid in puke."
7. "Grow up, Heather, bulimia's so '87."
8. "You blow it tonight, girl, and it's keggers with kids all next year."
9. "You wanted to be a member of the most powerful clique in school. If I wasn't already the head of it, I'd want the same thing."
10. "Corn Nuts!"

Other Random Heather Thoughts:

I love it when Shannen Doherty (Heather Duke, a role she was born to play) asks Veronica: "Why are you pulling my dick"? Women who refer to having penises are tops in my book. There's just something inherently sexy about a dame with an imaginary cock.

The mundane patter Veronica Sawyer takes part in with her parents (William Cort and Jennifer Rhodes) out on the patio never fails to amuse me. Mr. Sawyer: "Goddamn, will somebody please tell me why I read these spy novels?" Veronica: "Because you're an idiot." Mr. Sawyer: "Oh, yeah, that's it." Mrs. Sawyer: "You two..."

The statuesque Lisanne Falk (Heather McNamara) has the gams of a professional knee-pad model. I can't believe I didn't notice them the other 150 times I watched this flick. Check 'em out when she's talking to Winona in the parking lot just after the film's first funeral. Oh, and the look on Renée Estevez' face as she sulks away after Heather Duke and Heather McNamara interrupt the croquet match she was having with Veronica always makes me sad.

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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.

video uploaded by dusk1234567890

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The Legend of Billie Jean (Matthew Robbins, 1985)

Proving that even the most benign act can change the world, The Legend of Billie Jean is a true inspiration. A sharp critique of media sensationalism and a feisty tribute to grassroots activism, the film may appear to be only about a thrashed motor scooter (a trashed red Honda Elite motor scooter, to be exact), and the salacious circumstances centered around the unpaid restitution for said thrashed motor scooter. But the mangled moped is just a metaphor for the deep-seated malaise that was infecting the citizens of the mid-1980s. Establishing that forced sexual favours will not be tolerated when it comes to settling financial grievances, the spunky defender with the golden locks of the film's title and her mirthful band of reluctant fugitives set about making the wrong things right. Armed only with a couple of G.I. Joe walkies, a plastic handgun and the mantra "Fair is fair," the underage gang of Texas troublemakers, at first, shun conventionality (lay low and stay clear of the law). However, they soon find themselves transformed into folk heroes, as their scooter plight gains a rabid cult flowing. (Much like this film has over the years.) Prompting me to clench my fist and enthusiastically launch it in the air on numerous occasions, Billie Jean is the greatest superhero to ever beautify the big screen. Casting aside the yawn-worthy antics of say, Spider-Man; Arak, Son of Thunder; and E-Man, the accidental heroine is everywhere yet nowhere at once. Sure, she might be a tad lacking in the superpower department, but what she lacks in fancy powers, she more than makes up for with grit, moxie and humility. And that's why I prefer Billie Jean over other so-called superheroes; she knows her limitations.

 

 
Taking unsubtle cues from Joan of Arc and, to a lesser extent, Lois Ayres in The Devil in Miss Jones 3, the lithesome do-gooder doesn't want to change the world, she just wants six hundred and eight dollars and a one-way ticket to an idyllic wonderland called "Vermont." And, in an unfunny way, I respect that.
 

 
Actually, it's her brother who's obsessed with Vermont, not Billie Jean. Duly noted. In fact, he's so obsessed, that he's got a Vermont poster on his bedroom wall. I said, duly noted.

 

 
Moving on to the shaper of this champion, movie actress/lesbian icon Helen Slater dons the Billie Jean costume with the beaming confidence of a bedraggled prize fighter.
 

 
At first, she's just another attractive woman riding on the back of her brother's motor scooter (played by a bratty Christian Slater - the brother, not the scooter - like I said, the scooter is a red Honda Elite), but the moment she brandishes her do-it-yourself hairdo and slips on those fingerless gloves, Helen starts to live up to the legend. (I must admit, I felt a pronounced sense of liberation during the haircut reveal scene.)

 

 
The short hair may have been integral to the success of her performance, however, the empathic facial expressions and the plucky determination that saturated Billie's nimbus was all Helen. I also thought her scenes with unconventional hottie Keith Gordon (Static), who plays the son of the state's district attorney, elevated the story beyond your typical wrecked scooter/impromptu social revolution movie.

 

 
Permeating the proceedings like porcelain porcupine, "Invincible" by Pat Benatar is a spiky Goliath of a song. Pulsating and throbbing like a wave of robust elixir, the unclogged ditty crackles with defiance.

 

 
Now do I say "Fair is fair" whenever I find myself shortchanged by unruly carnival folk? No. (I prefer to punch people in the face.) But do I think it? Hell yeah.
 

 
Oh, and keep an eye out for the leggy Martha Gehman (her legs are tan and taut) and a forthright Yeardley Smith (Herman's Head) as Billie Jean's loyal sidekicks. And Peter Coyote and Dean Stockwell as the "grownups" who want to put a stop to Billie Jean's reign of teen terror.

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