Showing posts with label Kimberly Beck. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kimberly Beck. Show all posts

Thursday, January 8, 2015

Friday the 13th: The Final Chapter (Joseph Zito, 1984)

In order to prevent myself from experiencing Friday the 13th fatigue, I recently decided to start watch 'em two at a time. At first I thought I had made the right call, as I wasn't experiencing any fatigue whatsoever. Sure, there was some mild mental erosion and a shitload of regret, but no fatigue. Well, after recently enduring Part III and the so-called "The Final Chapter" back-to-back, I have to admit, I'm starting to feel a tad sluggish. Repeatedly hitting me over the head with the same tired formula, the Friday the 13th franchise has got to be one the of the most artistically bankrupt in movie history. Other than a few variations here and there, every film is exactly the same. Since I'm writing about it, let's take, for example, Friday the 13th: The Final Chapter (the fourth film in the teens in peril slasher series), which opens with Jason Voorhees (the world's most famous deformed drowning victim) coming back to life.  Given that it's way too early for Jason to be killing the film's leads, he usually targets secondary characters who just happen to be in the area (a.k.a. bit part machete fodder). After these people are murdered, we're usually introduced to a young sexually inactive woman who lives with her mother in a house near a large body of water. And then suddenly, like a clockwork, a car, or a van, filled with horny (sexually active) teenagers shows up and moves in next-door.


The young sexually inactive woman develops a crush on one of the car/van boys at some point during the film, but he's typically killed by Jason just as she's about to put the moves on him. But he's not the first teen to die. No, that honour is usually reserved for the most sexually active (female) member of the group.


I'm sure this has been said a thousand times before, but I think these films are trying to say that sex is bad. Or at least they're trying to imply that if you have sex, you will be brutally murdered. On the other hand, if you don't have sex, you might live to see the end credits.


What am I saying? Trying to imply?!? These films are blatantly anti-sex. In fact, they're downright puritan at times. Ugh, I can't believe I just watched... Wait, how many have I watched so far? 1, 2, 3... Okay. Someone call an ambulance, I've just been subjected to six puritan propaganda films. Luckily for me, I watched them in groups of two, so their corrosive message had little effect on my psyche. But still, you should add "dirty and ashamed" to the long list of things these films have caused me to feel.


While it's obvious that these films have a pro-abstinence agenda, that doesn't mean a skilled degenerate like myself can't find tiny droplets of perversion languishing between all the film's sexless sermonizing.


Even though a major hurt is coming their way, we can still enjoy the puerile antics of the film's vagina and cock-starved characters; who, like I said, just arrived and are ready to party like it's 1984.


After a lengthy recap that features clips from parts 1, 2 and 3 and a dull opening credits sequence, we're whisked to the hospital where Jason's "dead body" was taken. The reason I put the phrase "dead body"in quotes is because Jason ain't dead. In a shocking twist, Jason comes back to life to kill more teenagers.


Of course, he can't kill any teenagers this early in the movie, so, he settles instead on a sexy nurse (Lisa Freeman, Savage Streets) and a horny orderly named Axel (Bruce Mahler, Rabbi Glickman from Seinfeld). The best part of this sequence is not that Axel's head is cut off with a saw, but the fact he's watching Aerobicise just before he loses it (his head).


Technically, I should mention that the film's lead character is introduced in the next scene, but the sight of Corey Feldman (National Lampoon's Last Resort) playing Zaxxon in an alien mask is too distracting. A fedora-less Corey Feldman plays Tommy Jarvis, the younger brother of Trish Jarvis (Kimberly Beck, Roller Boogie), who is anxious because six teenagers are apparently moving in next-door.


When I saw that the six teenagers were four boys and two girls, I let out an annoyed sigh. That being said, two of the male of teens are played by Lawrence Monoson (The Last American Virgin) and Crispin Glover (Rubin and Ed). And since these two are the film's most capable actors, they're given a long dialogue scene in the back of the car where their characters, Ted and Jimmy, discuss matters of the heart.


After Ted calls Jimmy a "dead fuck," and after they fail to pick a hitchhiker (Bonnie Hellman), the six teens arrive at their destination (the hitchhiker, of course, is killed by Jason moments after the teens drive by her without stopping).


Since the other characters were virtually ignored during the car ride, we learn a little about the group's two female members. It would seem that Samantha (Judie Aronson, Weird Science) is a bit of a skank, and that Sara (Barbara Howard) is not... a bit of a skank. Hmmm, I wonder which of these young ladies is going to be murdered by Jason first.


In order to even up the female to male ratio, twins Tina (Camilla More) and Terri (Carey More) are introduced (they just happened to riding their bikes along the same path the teens were).


Of course, Crispin Glover sees this sudden influx of semi-attractive twins as an opportunity to prove to The Last American Virgin that he isn't a dead fuck. And what better way to disprove this than by dancing spastically to "Love is a Lie" by Lion for Terri's benefit?


I don't know what I liked better, the sight of Crispin Glover dancing to heavy metal party rock or Kimberly Beck's predilection for prancing around in shirt dresses. It's a tough call. But I will say this, Crispin Glover's dance is the only thing in this movie that didn't smack of trite tedium. Similar to Tiffany Helm's scene in Friday the 13th: A New Beginning, Crispin injects the film with a much needed dose of creativity.


In fact, the only thing that director Joseph Zito (the man responsible for the bland and uninspired The Prowler, a film totally not worthy of the HOSI touch) gets right in this film is his decision to allow Crispin to choreograph his own dance moves. At any rate, while not as terrible as Friday the 13th Part VI: Jason Lives and Friday the 13th Part VIII: Jason Takes Manhattan, Friday the 13th: The Final Chapter proves that the franchise was already starting to overstay its welcome. Oh, and unless I change my mind, that's it as far as Friday the 13th movies go. I'm done, see ya!


Saturday, August 9, 2008

Roller Boogie (Mark L. Lester, 1979)

Just when I thought that I had consumed every last morsel of yummy goodness that the 1970s had to offer, along comes a cinematic master work so potent, so purifying, so funky, that I literally got down on my hands and knees and thanked the unseen overlords who inhabit the warm and gooey confines of my easily-impressed heart for allowing me to witness such an unequivocal work of art. In Roller Boogie (a.k.a. Roller Fever), a perfect amalgamation of pulsating disco beats and balletic roller skating if I ever saw one, acclaimed directer Mark L. Lester (Class of 1984 and Class of 1999) has made a bold and audacious statement. You see, by making a film that is predominantly made up of montages, the cagey filmmaker has created what I like to call: A silent movie with sound. Hurdling the story towards its gratifying, fist-pump-worthy, super-awesome conclusion, these montages helped flesh out the characters without the nagging hassles that come with reciting dialogue. However, when the characters do speak, it's a rich tapestry of sentences and words. The script writing person (Barry Schneider) could have easily had the actors just verbalize guttural noises and it wouldn't have taken anything away from the film's majestic splendour. But this movie ain't about cutting corners. Uh-uh, it's about romance, friendship, syntax, integrity and personal autonomy. That, and the finding of ones self while gliding around in crotch-confining short-shorts.

The story centres around Terry Barkley (Linda Blair), a bored flautist who is tired of her rich, ineffectual parents. So, one day, she grabs her skates, puts on her sexiest pair of light blue shorts–with matching leotard, three loopy bracelets and a red belt tie the ensemble together, hops into her Excalibur Phaeton, picks up her well-groomed gal pal (Kimberly Beck), and heads down to Venice Beach to skate her gorgeously aerobicizied butt off.

There she meets Bobby James (played by ultimate where-are-the-now candidate Jim Bray) and his motley band of boogie-woogie skating enthusiasts. The brash Bobby pursues her romantically–you know, because he's a sane man with a functioning set of eyeballs. While Terry wants Bobby to teach her to skate well enough so she can enter Jammer's Roller Boogie Contest.

Complicating matters is Terry's parents, who disapprove of her new lifestyle, and a shady land developer who wants to turn the roller rink into a shopping centre.

Will Terry and Bobby be able to stave off a gang of malignant crooks, appease her fuddy-duddy parents, and save their beloved roller rink from demolition in time for them to win boogie gold? I don't want to spoil the ending or anything like that, but let's just say my fist, and most of my arm was being thrust upwardly in a celebratory manner near the end.

The throbbing disco soundtrack was an amazing showcase for the much maligned style of music, and the limb-twisting agility displayed during roller antics were wonderfully realized. But who am I kidding? It's Linda Blair that makes Roller Boogie really soar.

You'd have to been born without genitals or a complete moron not to receive any enjoyment from the sight of Linda Blair skating around in tight-fitting outfits of every colour imaginable; her glimmering, deliciously substantive thighs basking in the warm California sun.

Far-fetched as it may sound, but Linda's acting is just as astounding as her first-class organic structure. The adolescent boozehound from Sarah T. - Portrait of a Teenage Alcoholic shows a new-found maturity as Terry. Playful, yet dead serious at times, she imbues her delusional drama queen with enough moxie to fill a travel-size tube of toothpaste.

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