Real Genius (Martha Coolidge, 1985)

In Real Genius, a ragtag group of university students at a Caltech-style California technical institute unwittingly help the U.S. military develop a powerful laser that will enable them to kill anyone they want with the simple push of a button. When said ragtag group of university students eventually learn what their laser is going to be used for, they try to stop them. Wow, talk about science fiction. The reason they try stop them, by the way, is because to them the idea of being able to vanquish your foes from the comfort of your living room is immoral and unethical. Of course, nowadays, killing people with the flick of a switch is commonplace. But back in the mid-1980s, not being in at least the same zip code of the person you wanted to kill was seen as cowardly. Oh, how times have changed. Don't worry, I'll get to the scene with the sexy beautician students from The Wanda Trussler School of Beauty frolicking [makeshift] pool-side and I'll be sure to talk about Michelle Meyrink's delectable Meyrinkian thighs, and, not to mention, her Colleen Moore-inspired haircut in a second. It's just that I wanted to prove that I could make a profound point if I wanted to. Now, you wouldn't think that Real Genius would be the type of film that could elicit such a point. However, as most people know, Real Genius isn't as dumb as it looks. Sure, the look plastered on Val Kilmer's face throughout this movie practically screams cluelessness, but underneath that doltish grin lies a sly form of intelligence.

In the past decade or so, the pop culture landscape has been littered with smirking eggheads like Val Kilmer's Chris Knight. Whether they be on TV shows like, Silicon Valley or The Big Bang Theory, or in movies, like, oh, let's say, The Martian or Interstellar, knowing stuff about science has somehow become cool.

Oh, and in case you're wondering, watching two derelicts fight over a half-smoked cigarette while waiting in line to see Laibach was what was considered cool back in my day. And just for the record, I've never seen an episode of The Big Bang Theory from start to finish.

Call it the anti-Revenge of the Nerds, Real Genius is the thinking man's college set comedy. While not as raunchy or crude... or lewd... or even lascivious as Revenge of the Nerds, this Martha Coolidge-directed film has two of the best montages I've seen in a long time. Placed near the beginning and the end of the movie, these montages help move the plot forward by showing the rapid passage of time. Featuring a series of events that go out of their way to show the evolution of the principal characters, these montages are the reason the film is ninety minutes and not three hours. Allowing directors to cram more movie into their movies, the montage is a vital component of cinema.

You're probably thinking to yourself: Um, every movie from the 1980s has a montage. While, yes, that is true. The montages that appear in Real Genius are different. In that, they actually serve a purpose. And it shouldn't come as a surprise, as Martha Coolidge's Valley Girl has some totally awesome montages as well. Get it, "totally awesome." I'm using Valleyspeak in conjunction with Valley Girl, which, most of you will probably agree, is not even close to being grody to the max.

While there's no Valleyspeak spoken in Real Genius, Valley Girl's Michelle Meyrink is basically the female lead and Deborah Foreman has a small part as the daughter of Ed Lauter, who, of course, plays a hard-ass military man.

Don't let the I ♥ Toxic Waste t-shirt fool you, Val's Chris Knight is no Spicoli. He's neither a manipulative sociopath like that Ferris Bueller creep. No, Chris Knight is one of the better cinematic role models to be hatched during the 1980s. Quick-witted, smart as a whip, sexually active and sporting a social conscience, Chris Knight represents all that is good and pure. Seriously, he's one of the few slovenly rebellious types I've seen that I didn't want to slap silly by the time the Tears For Fears song started to inevitably play over the closing credits.

Sure, it helped that Chris Knight's antagonists, the aptly named Kent and Prof. Jerry Hathaway, are played by William Atherton and Robert Prescott (actors renowned for their ability to be first-rate assholes), but you can't help but like Chris Knight. And a lot of it has to do with Val Kilmer, whose never been more charming than he is here.

After an opening credits sequence that shows us the evolution of weaponry (from the bow and arrow to the atomic bomb), we get a military demo of some kind of space laser and a scene featuring a 15 year-old science whiz-kid named Mitch (Gabe Jarret), who specializes in lasers. Call me perceptive, but I think this film is an artful satire about how the military exploits scientific innovation in order to make killing easier. I mean, how long did it take for some military commander to suggest that they put machine guns on airplanes after they were invented? Five... maybe ten minutes?

Invited to study at Pacific Tech (the Caltech-style school I alluded to earlier) by William Atherton's Prof. Jerry Hathaway, Mitch finds himself rooming with an eccentric student named–you guessed it–Chris Knight. Invited because of his knowledge when it comes to lasers, Prof. Jerry Hathaway hopes Mitch can breathe new life into his laser project, which he is actually doing for the military. Of course, Mitch and Chris have no idea what Prof. Jerry Hathaway is up to. Though, they should, Prof. Jerry Hathaway is a major slimeball.

Since Mitch is only 15, he finds college life a little overwhelming at first. You would be to if some guy, Lazlo Hollyfeld (Jon Gries), would disappear in your closet every now and then, and a student named Ick (Mark "They're Beauticians?" Kamiyama) had this weird habit of turning the dorm hallway into a skating rink.

As habits go, it might be weird, but Ick's indoor skating rink is where Mitch meets Jordan (Michelle Meyrink) for the very first time. And trust me, meeting Michelle Meyrink is hella positive. So, thanks, Ick. Thanks for being the catalyst that introduced the one-woman adorable symposium that Michelle Meyrink in Real Genius.

After another awkward scene between Mitch and Jordan in the bathroom (Jordan attempts to give Mitch a sweater she knitted for him while he's trying to take a piss), we get our first montage. While editing is a key ingredient when it comes to making a good montage (the sight of Mitch gradually surrounded by tape recorders and less actual students in class is a terrific sight gag), the song choice is probably the most important element. And this particular montage is blessed with a gem called "I'm Falling" by The Comsat Angels.

Under pressure from the military to speed things up, Prof. Jerry Hathaway threatens to flunk Chris if doesn't produce "five megawatts by mid-May." I'm no scientist, but that sounds like a lot. Not wanting to see his classmates burn out, Chris decides to help them unwind by throwing them a pool party in the school's auditorium. Even though there are countless lines in this film worth quoting, I can't help but make a chuckling sound every time I think about Mark Kamiyama's "They're beauticians?" line. He, of course, is referring to the babes currently dancing pool-side.

No thanks to that Kent cun... Um, I mean, no thanks to that Kent jerk, Prof. Jerry Hathaway busts up the pool party, and becomes even more dickish.

Speaking of dicks, did Deborah Foreman just ask Val Kilmer if he could hammer a six-inch spike through a board with his penis? He did? Well, that was unexpected.

Determined not to flunk out, Chris and the boys turn up the heat, and focus the bulk of their energy on that damned laser. Which brings us to the film's second montage. This one features a catchy song by Chaz Jankel called "Number One."

Anybody else find it odd that in a film that boasts songs by Bryan Adams and Don Henley, that the most memorable songs are by The Comsat Angels and Chaz Jankel? What am I saying? Of course those songs are more memorable. Bryan Adams and Don Henley are lame. It's true, the use of "Everybody Wants to Rule the World" by Tears for Fears is technically cliched, and on the cusp of being lame. But since this film was actually made in 1985, I'll give 'em a pass (using overplayed 80s songs in the 80s is acceptable).

Anyway, when Chris and the boys (and Michelle Meyrink) learn that they're actually working for the military industrial complex, more scientific hi-jinks transpire and more hilarity ensues. I can't believe they made three Revenge of the Nerds, yet there's only one Real Genius. Come to the think of it, maybe that's a good thing. Though, I have read that there's a Real Genius TV series in the works.

3:15 (Larry Gross, 1986)

When I saw Lori Eastside hanging out with the Cobras, the baddest street gang this side of Wilshire Blvd., in the opening scene of 3:15 (a.k.a. Showdown at Lincoln High), I thought to myself: Yay! Add another Lori Eastside movie to my ever-growing list of Lori Eastside movies that I have seen with my eyes. Tickled pink that I had just increased my cinematic output, vis–à–vis, Lori Eastside-based cinema, right out of the gate, I prepared myself for the inevitable letdown that was surely to come when I found out that she was basically an extra. Oh, how wrong I was. Granted, her role is still pretty chintzy, but I have two words for you, my friend: Weaponized scrunchies. That's right, Lori Eastside (Downtown 81, Get Crazy and Fear City), who plays Patch, the leader of the female wing of the Cobras, the Cobrettes, uses her ponytail as a weapon. Now, if you saw a woman employ her ponytail as a weapon, what would you say to them? I'll tell you what you would say... No, wait. Let's let the Cobrette played by Gina Gershon tell us what we should say. Whilst in the ladies room adjusting their hair and make-up, Gina Gershon sees Patches putting the finishing touches on her weaponized scrunchie. And, as any sane person would, Gina Gershon declares Patches to be, and I quote, "so fucking cool."

You said it, honey. And, by the way, you're kind of fucking cool yourself, if you don't mind my saying so. What am I saying? Kind of fucking cool? You're a lot of fucking cool. I mean, it's 1986, you look like Gina Gershon, and you're a member of a gang called the "Cobrettes. Of course you're fucking cool.

Okay, now that we've established that Lori Eastside's Patches and Gine Gershon's unnamed Cobrette character are both fucking cool, we can safely move on to describing the plot or some shit like that.

Or can we? I don't know 'bout you, but the blonde Cobrette in the black stockings looks an awful lot like Christina Beck, the actress who appears in three of Penelope Spheeris' punk rock movies (Suburbia, Dudes and The Boys Next Door); I know, The Boys Next Door isn't technically a punk rock movie, but it has punks in it. At least I think it does...

Anyway, the reason the blonde Cobrette in the black stockings looks an awful lot like Christina Beck is because she is Christina Beck.

All right, let's re-establish where we stand. This movie, which, like I said earlier, is called 3:15, features Lori Eastside, Gina Gershon and Christina Beck as members of the Cobrettes, the all-girl offshoot of the most feared gang in the city.

Most feared in the city?!? That might be pushing it. But if you were to calculate their badness based solely on the swagger they display in the opening scene, they be pretty bad.

Only problem being, the Cobras lose Jeff Hannah (Adam Baldwin), their toughest member, after their leader, Cinco (Danny De La Paz), kills a rival gang member during a rumble outside a hamburger joint.

Even though he still has the Cobra tattoo on his arm, from this day forward, Jeff wants nothing to do with the gang; he throws his Cobra jacket on the ground to signify his withdrawal from the Cobra fold.

After a year passes, you would have thought that Cinco would have forgiven Jeff for leaving the Cobras. But this couldn't be further from the truth. Cinco still feels betrayed. And so does Lora (Wendy Barry), Jeff's crazy-eyed Cobrette girlfriend, who's relationship with Jeff ended the second his Cobra coat hit the cold concrete.

As expected, things are a tad awkward for Jeff while at school, as the halls of Lincoln High, a graffiti-adorned, gang-ridden paradise, are replete with enemies.

Is Lincoln High really a high school? From my vantage point, it looked more like a prison. The way the gangs congregated in this fenced in area reminded of a prison yard. The fact that all the gangs were made up of members of the same race only added to the school's prison vibe.

However, not all the gangs are like this. While the Tams, the school's Asian gang, and the M-16's, the school's black gang (who are lead by Mario Van Peebles and dress like Cuban revolutionaries) are homogeneous, the Cobras have a mixture of Latino and white members.

Breaking up the serenity of this "gangsta's paradise" is a massive drug bust (set to "All Lined Up" by Shriekback). Initiated by Horner (Rene Auberjonois), the school's warden-esque principal, and Moran (Ed Lauter), Horner's police confidante, the bust targets the Cobra's elaborate narcotics operation. Unfortunately, however, the bust does nothing but open up old wounds, as Cinco blames Jeff for his arrest.

While it's clear to anyone with half a brain that Jeff had nothing to do with Cinco's arrest, that doesn't matter, as Cinco has the excuse he needs and plans on exploiting it to the max.

This puts Jeff in a tight spot. You see, Horner and Moran want him to testify against Cinco, but by doing so would expose him as a narc to the rest of the school.

If that wasn't enough, Sherry (Deborah Foreman), his new, non-gang-affiliated girlfriend, doesn't seem realize that the school she attends is a hellhole.

I mean, you're wearing a teal sweater vest?!? I'm not saying your wardrobe should be devoid of teal, or turquoise or cyan, for that matter. I'm just saying it should better reflect the temperament of the school you attend.

No wonder Patches gives Sherry the stink-eye when she sees you walking down the hall. Though, to be fair, I think Patches looks at everyone that way. That being said, Patches does resent the fact that Lora and Sherry have made positive inroads in the dating world. And how do you think Patches expresses these feelings of resentment? You got it, she does so by swinging her weaponized ponytail at those she feels have wronged her.

Call me deranged, but I loved the scene where Patches and the rest of the Cobrettes (including Gina Gershon and Christina Beck) beat up Deborah Foreman in the ladies crapper.

The film's title refers to the time when Jeff must face the Cobras, and once and for all, exorcise the demons of his past. Who will stand with Jeff against the Cobras? The Tams? The M-16's? His floppy and curly-haired friends? Don't count on it. No, the answer to that question might surprise you. A high school movie with prison movie overtones, 3:15 is gritty and overly serious at times. That being said, you'd be nuts to skip this film, as it's an authentic snapshot of 1980s fashion and youth culture.

 

April Fool's Day (Fred Walton, 1986)

The clarity of my recollection might be a bit foggy, but I definitely remember sneaking in to see the end of April Fool's Day after a bunch of friends and I were finished basking in the robotic tomfoolery of Short Circuit. I only bring this up because the ending of this undervalued slasher flick is probably its most celebrated attribute. Well, not by everyone; some hardcore horror fans (the kind that wear t-shirts adorned with Jason Voorhees and don't worship Aunt Martha) think the ending is lame. Anyway, as you would expect, my woefully undeveloped brain had no idea what was going on when I sat down to watch the last five minutes. You have to understand, I was young, and plus, the image of a naked Ally Sheedy immersed in bubbles was still fresh in my mind. ("Attractive. Nice software.") Fast-forward to modern day, when the opportunity to see what all the raucous merriment happening on-screen was all about finally came my way. I don't why I waited so long to fill in the huge gap. But either way, I'm glad I was given the opportunity to see what lead up to the loopy finale.

Even though I find the whole idea of changing one's behaviour just because the number on a calendar changes to be extremely stupid (anniversaries and holidays are all made-up nonsense), I was able to except this film's premise rather easily. Which entails a largish group of college age white people assembling on a dock in order to take a ferry over to the island estate owned by a classmate named Muffy (Deborah Foreman). The pranks start early, as the more playful members of the party begin executing semi-elaborate practical jokes on one another during the trip over. This buffoonery continues when they arrive at Muffy's house, as each houseguest finds some sort of gag awaiting them in their rooms.

Now the fact that April Fool's Day lacks the graphic depictions of murder that normally permeate films of this type might seem like a bit of a hindrance. In this case, however, our imagination is repeatedly rewarded by having the results of the obligatory stabbing and slashing veiled in mystery. Sure, there are floating severed heads and bloodstained bed sheets peppered throughout the movie, but the film seems more preoccupied with creating a genuinely unsettling atmosphere than it does with gore.

I'll admit, there were times when I couldn't really tell the guys apart. I mean, Griffin O'Neal, Jay Baker and Ken Olandt all had the same preppy temperament about them. Luckily, Clayton Rohner (Just One of the Guys) and Thomas F. Wilson (Back to the Future) were on board to make things a tad more distinguishable. Both were terrific, in that, they added their own unique brand of humour to the proceedings.

("Number Five is alive.")

The complete opposite to characters she played in Valley Girl and My Chauffeur, the always charming Deborah Foreman gets to wear argyle sweaters and frumpy cardigans as the slightly demented Muffy St. John. In fact, she's so buttoned-down, that the only time she shows any leg is when she hops on top the dining room table in a desperate attempt to obtain some much needed stalking leverage. At times, sporting an unkempt mop of brunette hair (a subtle attempt to distance herself from her more perky roles), Miss Foreman seems to take a giddy delight in playing such a creepy young person. And, I must say, as an unabashed Deborah fan, it was quite the treat to see her leave her acting comfort zone.

I don't want to sound crude or anything, but the tantalizing majesty of Deborah Goodrich's smooth labia being pressed up against the unforgiving tightness of her purple and cyan bathing suit was an image that failed to vacate my mind as I watched April Fool's Day hurdle murkily towards its awesome end. Since Deborah Foreman was busy growing as an actress, the yummy Deborah Goodrich (Remote Control) does an excellent job of stepping in to fill the adorable void. Whether lounging in nondescript sweat pants or lifting her legs aloft in order that the erect penis attempting to prod her sufficiently moist undercarriage may prod more effectively, Miss Goodrich is an itty-bitty goddess as Nikki Brashares. On top of being gorgeous, I found her manner of speaking to be rather enticing, especially when she read aloud that magazine sex quiz.

The only time the film falters was that huge chunk of time when the Debs were off screen. But other than that, it's quite the efficient slasher flick. I mean, even I didn't see the twist coming, and I purportedly had already seen the end– you know, twentysomething years ago. ("No disassemble Number Five!")

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Valley Girl (Martha Coolidge, 1983)

There are two distinct chapters in my life: The period of time before Valley Girl (a.k.a. Valley Girl - Das Mädchen und der heiße Typ), an appalling netherworld where magenta is nonexistent and everything for as far as the eye can see is covered in a suffocating layer of beige, and the one that existed after Valley Girl, a gleaming, effervescent place in which your average leg warmer isn't just a wooly thing that covers your legs, but a full-bodied cornucopia of bold colours and unique possibilities teeming with nuance and guile; a place where idiosyncratic social groups can commingle with one another to eat complicated sushi without fearing an unexpected kick to the crotch. Now, I don't think I have to tell you which realm I prefer living in, but just in case... Seriously though, I can't believe there was an actually increment of time where Martha Coolidge's seemingly accidental ode to passion and nothingness was not a part of my stunning existence. It baffles me to think that I once lived without knowing about the power of Randy and Julie's love for one another. A love that crosses so many boundaries, that it boggles the mind. I mean, he's a new wave punk from Hollywood and she's new wave preppy from the Valley. I'm no expert on L.A. geography, or alternative subcultures during the early 1980s, but that's got to be one of the most unorthodox pairings in the history of heterosexual dating.

Confounding shapely linguists and unhinged anthropologists since its righteous inception, Valley Girl represents a time and a place in the annals of human history that will never be duplicated. Which is why I treat each screening of the film as a sacred ritual. Sure, the clothes I wear as I watch the film may be the gothiest of jet blacks. But believe you me, and that creepy naked guy inhaling his own genitalia in the corner, my clothing is extremely pastel on the inside.

Ironically, it's colours and clothing that get the characters into so much trouble in this film. You see, when Randy and Julie first lay eyes on one another, they're at the beach and stripped of their tribal uniforms. However, when they meet again at a totally rad Val party, they're sheathed in their respective colours: Hers are light-coloured (lot's of whites, pinks, and soothing blues), while his are industrial (lot's of red and black, or, in much simpler terms, a Mussolini Headkick album cover come to life).

Anyway, this party scene is the nitty-gritty of Valley Girl, as we spend a good chunk of time there. In fact, every nugget of plot is launched at this swanky shindig: Fred's relationship with Stacey, the mother-daughter competition over a guy named Skip, Tommy's manipulation of Loryn, and, of course, Randy and Julie's first up close flirtation.

The way Randy and Fred standout at this Val party, and the way Julie and Stacey standout when the two aforementioned guys take them to a club in Hollywood, is the film's most compelling aspect. In that, everyone can relate to being dragged somewhere and end up feeling like an alien.

This so-called cultural exchange feels natural because the talents of Nicolas Cage and Deborah Foreman as the film's signature couple. I found their looks of longing and desire to be genuine and the heat they generate during their stare downs to "Eyes of a Stranger" by The Payolas and "A Million Miles Away" by The Plimsouls is stuff of teen movie legend.

The switch over sequence, however, is sent into stratosphere in terms of honest-to-goodness whimsicality thanks to the brilliant acting of Heidi Holicker and Cameron Dye as Fred and Stacey. Heidi in particular, whose constant whining is expertly realized through a series of sincere complainants (the music was a tad on the loud side) mixed with obnoxious bellyaching (let Fred grope you, you prude).

On an aesthetic level, I loved Miss Holicker's thighs. They're prominently on display during the infamous sleepover sequence, and, to be perfectly honest, I wanted to Holicker them like you wouldn't believe.

The extended dating montage set to "I Melt With You" by Modern English is the pinnacle of extended dating montages. It's true, the song has lost some of its lustre over the years (it's been used to sell everything from cheeseburgers to low cost fallout shelters), but the moment the songs blasts on soundtrack never seems to fail in jazzing me for some forbidden romance Summing up the awe-inspiring splendour that is Valley Girl in just over three minutes, this montage pretty much shows the blossoming of Randy and Julie's love for one another in a tight little package.

Speaking of tight little packages, never has anyone looked cuter than Elizabeth Daily does when we see her dancing in nothing but pigtails and zebra print underwear.

The soundtrack is one of the greatest ever devised by humankind. The Flirts, Psychedelic Furs, The Plimsouls (the girl with the extra long bangs who is seen excessively dancing to them at the Hollywood club looks exactly like my most prominent high school crush), Felony, and Sparks, (the mother-daughter subplot involving the gorgeous Lee Purcell and Canadian cutie Michelle Meyrink features the most excellent "Eaten By the Monster of Love"), and Josie Cotton and her 1950s accented pop.

In closing, to say that life has been different since Valley Girl would definitely be an understatement. A rewarding cinematic experience like no other, the film changed the way I appreciate things. In other words, it has taught me how to love, like, totally. Ugh.

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