Demolition High (Jim Wynorski, 1996)

What the hell? I don't believe this, but it looks like I just dragged myself away from playing Borderlands 2 to write about a film where Dick Van Patten (Spaceballs) plays a four star  general and fountain pens are shot out of the nozzle of a fire extinguisher. Yep, that's right, Jim Wynorski, director of Chopping Mall and 976-EVIL 2, and Corey Haim, star of National Lampoon's Last Resort and Prayer of the Rollerboys, have teamed up to produce Demolition High, the ultimate melding of Die Hard and The Breakfast Club. And if that wasn't enough, they, for some inexplicable reason, decided to bring Alan Thicke (Thicke of the Night) along for the ride. The kind of movie that even the most devoted Corey Haim fans would refrain from renting at their local Blockbuster Video (I don't think this movie came out in theatres), this film reeks from start to finish. I know, you're probably asking yourself: If that's the case, why am I writing about it? It's simple, really. There's a scene where Corey Haim kills an Uzi-wielding terrorist with an Uzi he obtained from the Uzi-wielding terrorist he killed in an earlier scene; it's basically Corey Haim's version of "NOW I HAVE A MACHINE GUN... HO-HO-HO."

Anyway, after peppering the Uzi-wielding terrorist's body with an entire clips worth of Uzi bullets, Corey Haim realizes he's out of ammo. The panic-stricken twenty-five year-old teen puts down the empty Uzi and grabs a walkie talkie and runs from the classroom.

(I don't get it, I thought you had a soft for submachine guns?) Sure, I love SMG's, I mean, who doesn't? It's just that Corey Haim didn't pick up the Uzi belonging to the Uzi-wielding terrorist he just killed. He just ran right past it, and this, as you might expect, infuriated me.

The only logical reason I can think of that justifies this bonehead decision on Corey Haim's part is that the writers wanted his character to get in touch with his inner MacGyver/MacGruber. Meaning, they thought it would be more interesting if he improvised weapons out of items found lying around your average classroom. (Like the fire extinguisher that shoots fountain pens?) Exactly. And it doesn't make sense for Corey Haim to be fashioning weapons out of unorthodox materials if he's carrying an Uzi, now does it?

Nevertheless, the sight of Corey Haim running past the dead terrorist's fully-loaded (that's right, the Uzi-wielding terrorist didn't even get a shot off during his encounter with the Haiminator) submachine gun was one of the stupidest things I've seen in a long time.

The film opens with a group of criminals masquerading as right-wing extremists stealing a nuclear missile from a military base. And before you ask, they were able to simply walk out of there with a nuclear missile because of three things: Some of them wore trench coats, some of them had ponytails and all of them were carrying Uzis.

Not wanting to fuck things up, their fearless leader, Luther (Jeff Kober), is taking no chances, as he is wearing a trench coat, sporting a ponytail and carrying an Uzi; he's what we in the stating the obvious business like to call a triple threat.

Proving that the Uzi has many uses (besides filling hapless security guards with lead), Luther employs the firearm in ways you wouldn't expect. Sure, he hits Gerrit Graham in the head with an Uzi (he Uzi-whipped him good) and uses an Uzi to unlock a locked gate. But did you know you that Uzis can be used to shred lettuce? Okay, unlike the first two things I just mentioned, we don't actually see Luther shred lettuce with an Uzi. Nonetheless, is there anything an Uzi can't do?

It just dawned me, this film, while rife with Uzis, is actually not from the 1980s. Now, how could I tell this film was not from the 1980s? Well, for one thing, it says it was made in 1996. That being said, despite the heavy Uzi-usage, Demolition High oozes 1996. Meaning, it doesn't ooze anything.

I know, you're thinking to yourself: It's got to ooze something. Oh, really, it's got to, eh? Are you familiar with 1996? Never have I witnessed an era with no distinguishable style.

In most high school movies, especially the one's that were made between 1978-1993, the background is typically filled with punks, skateboarders, gangbangers, new wavers, preppies, nerds, metal chicks and goths. But not this film. All I saw was an amorphous blob of vanilla-flavoured nothingness. It was almost as if everyone at Mayfield High had been robbed of their panache. And all that was left was a sea of flannel shirts and ill-fitting denim.

People who dress this dull don't deserve to be murdered with an Uzi. Every now and then I would get this sudden urge to throw buckets of paint at them. I mean, damn, I was alive in 1996, but I don't remember it being this drab.

To be fair, 1996 is not solely to blame for this dreary debacle. Some of it has to be hurled at Jim Wynorski and his crew. Think about it, did the makers of Clueless (1995) and Jawbreaker (1999) let the era's lackluster style saddle their films with dull fashion? I don't think so.

If you're curious about the film's plot, just take a look at any random review of Die Hard and replace all the positive adjectives with negative ones. Or better yet, don't watch Demolition High all-together. Seriously, who casts Alan Thicke as a police detective from The Bronx?

And the film's so-called femme fatal was a bit of a bust (no pun intended). Parading around in these tight black trousers like she's the hottest woman on the planet, Melissa Brasselle, who plays Tanya, Luther's sidekick, brings nothing to the table in terms of camp. And this film could definitely use an injection of camp; Corey Haim's painfully unfunny one-liners are just not cutting it.

Despite all this, I did enjoy the minor subplot that involved Mr. Johnson (Arthur Roberts) and Ginny (Katherine Ann McGregor), employees of Mayfield Power, the town's nuclear power plant. When they learn a missile is aimed at their plant, the interplay between Mr. Johnson and Ginny was strangely compelling. In closing, I would only recommend this film to hardcore Corey Haim fans and masochists who get off on being exposed to uninteresting mid-1990s fashion.

C.H.U.D. II: Bud the Chud (David Irving, 1989)

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Chopping Mall (Jim Wynorski, 1986)

Rendering the rent-a-cop obsolete with the simple flick of a switch, the mildly satirical, yet altogether entertaining Chopping Mall presents an off-kilter world where your average shopping centre (Sherman Oaks Galleria) is crawling with killer robots, replete with waitresses in red Lacoste shirts who are told to get "more butter" by greasier than usual customers, and features a gun shop called Peckinpah's Sporting Goods (a crisp tribute to the ordnance-friendly director of the same name). Hilarious and provoking hardly any mental exertion whatsoever, the Jim Wynorski directed film is a nimbly paced, mall-based action flick masquerading as an Eating Raoul sequel. Yeah, that's right, Paul and Mary Bland make a brief appearance near the start of the film as restaurant owners. Sitting in the front row at a well-attended demonstration for this new state-of-the-art security system, Mary Woronov (her long, slender legs on full display) and Paul Bartel (his trademark baldness neutralized by his well-nourished beard) are periodically called upon to deliver a barbed comment or two. Of course, it's not the same as having a full-length sequel, but it was nice to see that Bland's were doing well. So much so, that they can apparently afford to buy expensive killer robots to guard their classy eatery.

Designed to protect the sanctity of any merchandise that lies within a building's sturdy walls from would-be thieves and bandits, these robots aren't actually supposed to kill (the term "killer robots" is a bit of a misnomer). But like with most newfangled gizmos and gadgets, the robots start to misbehave. Sure, strangling middle-aged bookworms (Gerrit Graham) and electrocuting surly janitors (Dick Miller) ain't gonna set off any alarm bells at the companies public relations firm. (Their market value is quite low according to the device that measures corporeal merit.) On the other hand, the tension is amplified when a throng of horny teenagers are in danger of being slaughtered. (Adolescents buy more, therefore, are more important in the long run.)

Now firing head-eviscerating laser beams from their eyes, the robots (three to be exact) are hellbent on exterminating eight young people who had planned on partying the night away in the Furniture King (three of the guys work there). Splitting up according to gender, the six (head-eviscerating laser beams have quickly reduced their numbers) teens battle the robots utilizing anything they can get their hands on.

Campy without containing the properties of something that is necessarily campy, Chopping Mall may appear to be a mindless tale of robots gone amuck. However, underneath all the crazy mayhem and clever one-liners ("Fuck the fuchsia! It's Friday!" and "Let's send these fuckers a Rambo-gram.") lies a fortuitous vision of the killer robot future we're all going to be living in the tomorrow to come.

Whether this was the film's intention or not, the sight of a glorified vending machine blowing the head off a lovely lass, whose only crime was looking absolutely scrumptious in a pair of pale panties and possessing a boyfriend who loves cunnilingus, was a stark reminder that machines are becoming more militarized. That being said, the head exploding scene was pretty sweet– you know, in terms of chunk ratio and splatter girth.

Nearly falling into a giddy stupor when I first heard its groovy magnificence during the film's spirited opening credits sequence (where beauty pageant contestants, skate boarding brats, and video arcade enthusiasts literally collide with one another), the 100% electronic score by Chuck Cirino is hands down one of the greatest accomplishments in the history of movie music. The synthesizers, the drum machines, everything seemed in perfect harmony, as its chaotic throb washed over me. Seriously, it's an awesome score.

Quirky fun-fact: Chuck Cirino was the SUV driving host/producer of Weird TV, a wonderfully insane late night program that aired on Global TV in my neck of the woods back in 1995.

Proving that the excessive cuteness she displayed in Night of the Comet was not a fluke, and, of course, establishing once and for all that she doesn't need to sheath her firm body in a light-blue cheerleading outfit to get noticed, the adorable Kelli Maroney imbues her character with intelligence, heart, and, most importantly, a delicate grace. As Alison Parks, a clumsy waitress who is set up by her friends with Ferdy, a slightly awkward (though a night fighting robots should cure that) furniture salesmen played by Tony O'Dell, Kelli embraces her inner badass when the robots decide to strike.

Exhibiting a nice counterpoint to the irrational and hysterical behaviour of Barbara Crampton (From Beyond), Miss Maroney is comfortable with firearms (much like she was in the comet movie) and isn't afraid to spout cheesy one-liners before offing belligerent robots. In other words: yet another reason to worship the spunky splendour that is Kelli Maroney.

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TerrorVision (Ted Nicolaou, 1986)

The fact that this super-terrific attempt at icky-based tomfoolery takes place in only four rooms of a kooky suburban home (five rooms, if you include the "pleasure dome," and why wouldn't you include it?), didn't seem to minimize its galactic impact. A mucilaginous remedy for everything sapless and uninteresting in this drab world, TerrorVision hit my face like a rainbow-coloured laser blast. A featherbrained enterprise that knows exactly what decade it's being made in and isn't ashamed to demonstrate that knowledge over and over again. All you need to do is take one look at the breadth of funky fashions and down-to-earth prosthetic techniques that populate this flick, and you'll quickly realize that it means business. The beautifully poetic film, written and directed by Ted Nicolaou, like the similar Remote Control, plays with the connection that exists between 1980s new wave culture and 1950s science fiction. However, instead of an alien videotape taking over the world, the aliens here use cable television as their means of planetary self-assertion. Sending up the '80s zeitgeist, the film also mocks the male psyche when it comes to the acquisition of newfangled gadgets. You see, without a major hot war to fight, thousands of men who would normally be killed in armed combat have been relegated to the arena of the mindless consumer. These docile individuals purchase inessential goods and services, while their warlike parents and increasingly violent offspring ridicule their pacifistic lifestyle at every turn.

Which, in this film's case, is a lifestyle that includes wallowing in the bourgeoning five hundred channel universe. One of the earliest signs of the disintegration of the family unit, this abundance of TV choice erodes at their collectiveness. Mommy wants to watch aerobics, teenage Suzy digs MTV, and Grampa (Bert Remsen) and little Sherman want war and monsters. And Dad, well, he's too captivated by the gizmo itself to have any taste to call his own. Made-up and overly reaching theories aside, TerrorVision is ultimately about a disgusting creature from outer space who escapes from a sanitation dump on the planet of Pluton and ends up being zapped into the satellite dish of the Putterman family.

The film pretty much stays inside Putterman residence, brief visits to the set of Medusa's Midnight Horrorthon, an Elvira-esque movie program, allow the audience to stretch our cinematic legs. But the Putterman home is adorned with such a strange assortment of erotic art, that you almost forget the film takes place in one location. Revolting, yet inventive monster effects are also employed to create to the slimy thing at the centre of this silly stew. And I must say, I liked the way the otherworldly creature oozed, and their green iridescent sludge really tickled my fancy.

Now, any movie that features a leggier than usual Mary Woronov (Eating Raoul) exercising in a skintight leotard, the always hilarious Gerrit Graham (Phantom of the Paradise) using the word "tomato" as a supplemental expletive, and moron extraordinaire Jon Gries wearing a W.A.S.P. t-shirt all within the first five minutes is bound to be topnotch. Add a Valley Girl-accented, pink, green, orange, blonde, and blue-haired Diane Franklin (The Last American Virgin) to the zany mix, and were talking about a freaking masterpiece up in here.

Sporting a new wave look so extreme, that the cast of Liquid Sky would no doubt feel drab in her presence, Diane plays the culturally relevant Suzy Putterman, music video junkie and junior-grade fashion icon. And while she is off screen during the film's perilous middle section, Miss Franklin explodes so righteously when she is onscreen, that her absence barely registers. I mean, even though Suzy's younger brother (Chad Allen) is the first to come face-to-face with the space monster, it's Diane's playful spirit that makes their brief friendship with the space monster such an unexpected joy to watch.

Teaching the space monster about the wonders of food and music, Diane, and to lesser extent, Jon Gries (who plays her her boyfriend, O.D.) shine comedically as they instruct the beast on how to eat snacks. Diane even says "yum" twice in quick succession to signify something that is tasty.

Speaking of phraseology, I love how she would liberally pepper her sentences with words like, "barf," "dork," and "awesome." Sure, the third is rarely used to denote anything that is actually awesome anymore. But back in 1986, if you called something "awesome," or in extreme cases, "totally awesome," it usually meant something was genuinely awesome. For example, The Fibonaccis' song, "TerrorVision," which opens and closes the film, is not only awesome, it's (you guessed it) totally awesome.

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