Scanners (David Cronenberg, 1981)

Imagine not being able to, oh, let's say, ride the bus without the ability to drown out the thoughts of the other passengers. I think most people would agree that the constant of barrage of inner inanity would slowly erode a person's mental well-being. Luckily for us, we have no idea what other people are thinking. However, to a small segment of the population who exist in the world of David Cronenberg's Scanners, the scenario I just described is all too real. It should be noted, however, that, yes, it's true, most people can't read people's minds. But for a brief moment there, I did have to listen to other people's conversations (which are like thoughts, but more verbal). You see, when the mobile phone first started to become an acceptable mode of communication within the non-brain surgeon/non-drug dealing community, I felt like I was being inundated with pointless bather non-stop. It was only when talking on the phone became passe (eventually replaced by texting) that I felt secure that my brain cells would not have to be subjected to such tediousness. Every once and awhile I'll hear someone talking loudly on their phone. But since they're usually speaking a language I don't understand, I try not to get too bent out of shape about it. Oh, and just to let you know, I have a strict "No English Allowed" policy on my bus.

Anyway, getting back to Scanners. Does anyone know if Margaret Gadbois, who plays "Woman in Mall," was wearing a full slip or a half slip underneath her dress? The only reason I ask is because I'm a huge pervert. Just kidding. But seriously, does anyone know?

The reason I ask is because the sight of Margaret's not quite middle-aged, not quite elderly gams kicking and flailing on the floor of a mall food court is the first image to grab my attention in this film, which, should come as no surprise, explores the destructive nature of the human body.

According to David Cronenberg, the human body (specifically the human brain) propels us forward, but ultimately let's us down.

(What caused Margaret's oldish legs to flail so violently?) What are you doing, man? I was trying to make a profound point. (You already made that point in your review of David Cronenberg's Rabid.) I did? Let me check... Well would you look at that...

If that's the case, let's get back to talking about those kicking and flailing old lady legs, shall we? Like I said earlier, the legs belong to an oldish woman who is sitting in a mall foot court with a friend. Noticing a mildly dishevelled man eating scraps of food off the bolted-down tables that have recently been vacated, the woman and her gal pal start to think disparaging thoughts about him. The reason we can hear their thoughts is because the man, Cameron Vale (Stephen Lack), is a scanner, the name given to a powerful group of telepaths.

Except, Cameron doesn't know he's a scanner. Nevertheless, while attempting to block out the women's thoughts, Cameron inadvertently causes one of the women (the leggy one wearing the full or maybe half slip underneath her dress) to convulse on the food court floor.

As she twitches violently (her friend and some passersby try to calm her), two creepy dudes in trench-coats begin to pursue Cameron through the mall. After a brief chase, the men eventually shoot Cameron with a tranquilizer dart and take him to a warehouse run by CONSEC, a Blackwater-style security company, who, in the grand tradition of David Cronenberg films, are shady as fuck.

Lulled into thinking he's amongst friends, Cameron is given a drug that will help him suppress his powers (or "quiet the voices") by Dr. Paul Ruth (Patrick McGoohan), the world's foremost scanner expert.

Meanwhile, over at CONSEC's main headquarters, a scanner is giving an audience a demonstration of what a scanner can do. Asking for a volunteer from the audience, the scanner... oh shit! (Don't tell me, another woman just showed her slip while being scanned.) No, the audience member who volunteered is played by Michael Ironside. (You're right. Oh shit.) This does not bode well for that scanner's mental health. *splaaaaat!* Wow, now that was quite the understatement.

Irked that a scanner was able to infiltrate their organization and cause their scanner (the only one they had on the payroll) severe cranial distress, CONSEC hire Braendon Keller (Lawrence Dane) as their new head of security.

While the hiring of Keller is initially seen as a step in the right direction, Dr. Ruth manages to convince the CONSEC higher-ups that the only way to stop a scanner is to use another scanner. And that's where Cameron Vale comes in.

Sent on a mission by CONSEC to infiltrate the so-called "scanner underground," Cameron Vale goes literally head-to-head with Daryl Revok (Michael Ironside), the world's most powerful and therefore most dangerous scanner.

Culminating in an epic battle, one that will test the structural integrity of his mind, Cameron Vale quickly discovers that not all scanners are socially awkward misfits. Some have plans to take over the world, while others are merely content to look awesome in high-neck knitwear; I'm looking in your general direction, Jennifer O'Neill, from Lucio Fulci's The Psychic.

In one of the film's best scenes, Cameron Vale also discovers that he can hack high security computer systems simply by picking up the phone.

Boasting top-notch make-up effects (especially during the scanner showdown), an appropriately throb-friendly film score by Howard Shore and the always terrific Michael Ironside (in what is easily one of his best roles), Scanners does an excellent job of mixing the silly with the cerebral. Which, and I think most people will agree with this, is the key to making a successful David Cronenberg film.

Happy Birthday to Me (J. Lee Thompson, 1981)

If you're like me, and you were a little confused by what transpires during the final moments of Happy Birthday to Me, a slasher film with more Canadian content than, oh, let's say... don't you dare say Annie Murray's vagina. Uh... with more Canadian content than... Ahh, my brain isn't working properly. I know, it's a slasher film with more Canadian content than Cynthia Dale's vagina. Yeah, I like that. If you're know the identity of Cynthia Dale's husband, than that line about the contents of her vagina is pure gold. However, if you have no idea who Cynthia Dale is, and, using common sense, you probably have no clue who her husband is either, than I'm afraid I can't help you. What I should have said was: this film is very Canadian, and moved on. But no, I had to show off. Look at me, my references are so off-kilter, please love me! Anyway, like most Canadian exploitation movies from 1970s and 1980s, this particular entry in the slasher free-for-all that was the early '80s tries to hide its Canadian-ness like it were a festering neck boil. Throbbing just beneath the collar of your polo shirt, it's Canuck temperament is just waiting for someone to come along and say the immortal words: Do you want me to squeeze that unsightly nodule pulsating on the back of your neck? You do? Okay, just let me score this game-winning goal against the Soviet Union in the Canada Cup and I'll be right with you. Unfortunately, no one comes along to squeeze your boil. In other words, the film's true Canadian character remains hidden from view. Yeah, hidden from view to those out there languishing in a pit of Canadian ignorance. I, on the other hand, have never spent anytime in that pit. Oh, sure, I don't watch hockey, I rarely ever wear flannel, and I've never been inside a Tim Hortens, but I do know that Lenore Zann, cult movie queen and the voice of Rogue on X-Men: The Animated Series, is the MLA for Truro-Bible Hill.
 

 

Meaning, my knowledge of Canadian culture goes deeper than any of you could possibly imagine. And I can prove it. Now, making smug allusions to my childhood is not something I'm comfortable doing, but I did watch The Hilarious House of Frightenstein as a kid. I know, eh? 'Nuff said. Getting back to my original point, the luminous Lenore Zann is one of the stars of Happy Birthday to Me. That's right. All that blathering I did just was actually pertinent to the movie I'm currently writing about.
 

 

Hell, even the bit about Cynthia Dale was pertinent. How so?!? I'll tell you how so. You see, Cynthia Dale starred in Heavenly Bodies, the greatest leotard-centric movie of all-time. You mean to say that Cynthia Dale is in Happy Birthday to Me? I wish. But not quite. You didn't let me finish. The writer-director of Heavenly Bodies, Lawrence Dane, and the film's male lead, Richard Rebiere, both appear in this film as actors.
 

 

While all that is fascinating stuff, let's stir this ship into more conventional waters, shall we? Welcome to Crawford University, where the so-called "top ten" rule the roost. Oh, look. Here comes one of them now. While I can't see any evidence of a roost being ruled, they do have a certain swagger about the way they walk. Maybe it has something to do with white tights that are currently holding her legs in a nylon stranglehold, or maybe it doesn't; please have something to do with her white tights, I don't ask for much.
 

 

Anyway, if you're a fan of watching Lesleh Donaldson get murdered, you'll love the film's opening scene, as she totally gets murdered in it. And like her legendary date with slasher movie infamy in Curtains, Lesleh's demise is long and drawn out. In other words, it's just the way we like it. Playing Bernadette O'Hara (you can tell she's in the top ten by her purple and grey striped scarf), Lesleh is choked by an unseen assailant in her car (remember, kiddies, always check the backseat for leather-gloved strangers before starting your car). Thrashing her white nylon-adorned legs about the car's interior with a reckless, "I'm about to be straight-up asphyxiated up this here Buick," kind of abandon, Bernadette makes a valiant attempt not to get strangled to death. And you know what? That effort sort of pays off. Sort of? Yeah, she eventually gets her throat slasher with a razor. But you got to hand it to her, she's in, or, she was in, the top ten for a reason.
 

 

Where was Bernadette going before she got killed, you ask? She was heading over to the local university watering hole to have a pint with the other members of the top ten, that's where. Well, as we all know, she doesn't quite make it. The exalted top ten have already been reduced by one, and the film has barely gotten started. And get this, Bernadette was apparently friends with the killer.
 

 

Did you just say...yeah, Bernadette recognized the killer. No, the other part. The top ten have been reduced to nine? Yeah, that part. You mean to say that I've got to keep track of nine characters? It looks like it. Fine. Well, they better kill off a bunch of them over the next ten to fifteen minutes, because there's no way I'm going to be able keep track of all these snobby pricks. You do realize that you just called Lenore Zann a snobby prick? What? Oh, crap. You're right. She's in the top ten. I didn't mean that. What I should have said was, I can't believe Lenore Zann is friends with these assholes.
 

 

After nearly starting a riot with a group of drunk Shriners, the nine members of the top ten spill out onto the street. Hearing that the nearby bascule bridge is about to open, they jump into their respective vehicles, assign each vehicle a number, and proceed to race toward the bridge. A variation on the classic game of chicken, Etienne (Michel-René Labelle) hops aboard his motorcycle and makes the jump with relative ease, then Rudi (David Eisner), with Maggie (Lenore Zann) sitting next to him, makes it safely in his car. Following closely behind Rudi is Ann (Tracey Bregman), who clears the bridge. The final two cars have Steve Maxwell (Matt Craven) behind the wheel of his car and Greg (Richard Rebiere) behind the wheel of his Trans Am. However, unlike Steve, Greg has two passengers, Amelia (Lisa Langlois) and Virginia (Melissa Sue Anderson), a girl who is clearly not into this.
 

 

Um, before I continue. I would like to do a quick head count–you know, to see if I missed anyone. Okay, I counted eight. The reason there are eight instead of nine is because Alfred (Jack Blum) didn't participate in the jump. Now, you would think the reason he didn't jump with the rest of them might have something to do with his outsider status in the group (despite being in the top ten, the others seem to pick on him). But the more logical explanation probably had something to do with the fact that he drives a scooter. And there's no way a scooter would come close making it over the bridge.
 

 

Backing out at the last minute, Steve watches Greg, who seems determined to make it, shoot past him. Oh, sure, they make it. But nevertheless, Virginia freaks out (she gives hissy-fits a bad name). As we'll soon find out, Virginia and the bascule bridge have a bit of a history with one another; a tragic history. In fact, you could even say it's a secret history, as the movie has many things in common with the Donna Tartt novel of the same name.
 

 

Even though Happy Birthday to Me is directed by J. Lee Thompson (10 to Midnight) and has Timothy Bond (One Night Only) listed as a co-writer, you won't find much to savour if you happen to be a pervert. The only reason I mention this is because the film's lone pervert moment, besides the opening scene with Lesleh Donaldson, takes place when Virginia runs home after the bridge incident. After having a dull chat with her father (Lawrence Dane), Virginia, or "Ginny," as her dad likes to call her, goes to her room to change for bed. She doesn't know it, but Etienne has followed her home and is lurking in the bushes. Oh, wait, no, he's moved from lurking to stalking. Yep, he's now outside her bedroom window. All this, by the way, is a veiled attempt to paint Etienne as a suspect. And you know what? I ain't buying it.
 

 

At any rate, there's a close up shot of Ginny's not even close to being granny panties languishing on the carpet of her room during the Etienne stalking sequence. Actually, the pantie close up is, believe or not, integral to the plot, as the very same panties are seen later on in the film. So, technically, the pantie close up wasn't gratuitous. Which, I have to admit, fills me with great sadness. I guess I'll have to take solace in the swooshing nature of the long, scholarly skirts Melissa Sue Anderson and Tracey Bregman wear to science class the very next day, 'cause this film seems to be going out of it's way not to be sleazy. Mmmm, look at those skirts swoosh.
 

 

Speaking of swooshing, there's a scene where the top seven attend a soccer match (two are players, the others are spectators). You mean the sight of David Eisner in tight purple shorts? Actually, that's not what I'm referring to. Though, speaking as a guy who has seen Sleepaway Camp more than six times, I do like men in shorts, especially the super-short variety they wore in the early '80s. No, I'm talking about are the Crawford cheerleaders. Oh, yeah, the cheerleaders. If memory serves me correctly, and it usually does, there are upskirts aplenty in that scene. Exactly. And there's nothing more perverted than leering at a cheerleader (I had my eye on the cheerleader with the letter 'A' on her chest) with the hope that her skirt might rise as result of all that cheer-based jostling they tend to get up to when cheering. And given the skimpy nature of their skirts, it doesn't take much cause them to rise.   
 

 

If you noticed that I said top seven as supposed to top nine. Congrats, you're obviously paying attention. No, you see, two of their ranks have gone missing. Well, they think they're missing, we all know that one of them had their face torn up by a motorcycle engine (here's some free advice, don't work on your motorcycle with the engine running while wearing a scarf) and another had their throat crushed by a barbell. However, don't expect all the kills to be this inventive. I mean, other than a nasty encounter with a shish kebab and that horrible flashback sequence involving brain surgery, you're not got going to find much as far as gore goes. As for the story. Well, we get a ton of misleading plot twists.
 

 

Hi, my name is Alfred. And I'm the biggest red herring the horror genre has ever seen. (Call me crazy, but I thought Alfred was hot. He's got that Keith Gordon/Ron Mael thing going for him.)
 

 

These plot twists all lead us to the film's big Scooby-Doo-style ending. Which, I guess, was sort of satisfying (if anything it explains the film's title). Do I think the film could have had more scenes that featured Lenore Zann? Of course I do; she's awesome. But I have found that you can't always get you want. This is especially true when it comes to Canadian horror films that pretend to take place in New England, but were actually shot in Montréal (according to my exhaustive research, the car stunts were filmed in Phoenix, New York).

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Heavenly Bodies (Lawrence Dane, 1984)

If you thought that childish deviants, pudgy-faced troubadours, clubs that centre around parachutes, and film's about non-consensual necrophilia were the only things the nation of Canada had to offer in terms of art and culture; think again. The formidable grandeur that is Heavenly Bodies (a.k.a. Himmelskörper) rips apart the stereotype of the passive hoser (an unshaven layabout whose main goal in life is to watch others ice skate while inebriated) and depicts Canadians as the feisty, leg warmer-wearing go-getters that they really are. Unfolding during the time when exercise wasn't viewed as a subversive act, the inspirational film is a montage-fueled dream machine that poses the question: How long does one have to stretch in order to attain spiritual maturity? The continent is fully immersed in the workout craze that swept the early part of the 1980s and this film perfectly captures the perky pizzazz of that particular era. A taut profusion of kicking legs, flailing arms, and an armada of sweat-drenched torsos struggling to maintain a cohesive sense of self, the bodies seen throughout this film speak volumes. Now, that's not to say that verbal dialogue is frowned upon. On the contrary, I noticed there were number of occasions where characters found the time to talk to one another. It's just that the wonderfully symmetrical citizens that populate this world do their best communicating while jumping in unison.

The definition of a spry film, Heavenly Bodies is basically about Samantha Blair (a gutsy single mother) and her two gal pals, KC (Patricia Idlette) and Patty (Pam Henry), and their dream of running their own fitness club. Of course to keeps things interesting, Samantha lands a job on a morning workout show (the kind you'd catch your Uncle Steve masturbating to most mornings circa 1983) and gets into a bit of tiff with a rival jumping jack pusher named Debbie (Laura Henry). (I could tell Debbie was gonna be trouble the moment she walked on screen.)

Anyway, plucky determination permeates the sweaty pores of Samantha, as she transverses the cramp-addled wasteland that is modern day aerobics. I mean, never has the slipping on of a pair of leg warmers seemed like such an act of defiance. The montage that shows them shedding their corporate duds (heeled shoes, taupe pantyhose, and banal blouses) for the tight-fitting smoothness of their exercise garb exemplified this defiance.

One of the sexiest people ever to pretend to hand out flyers outside the Uptown Theatre, a Toronto landmark demolished in 2003, Cynthia Dale plays Samantha with a street smart aplomb. Proving that action speaks louder than words, Cynthia dances like a crazed bunny on crystal meth.

Utilizing an over-sized vat of gumption and a cutting board littered with moxie, the ultra-fit vixen moves like a flung piece of crushed ice (her solo numbers were beautiful...in a cardiovascular sort of way), and the hypnotic manner in which she thrust her fat-free undercarriage brought a tear to my eye.

Particularly the scene where Miss Dale stares at her football playing boyfriend as Bonnie Pointer's "The Beast In Me" throbs on soundtrack (which also includes excellent songs by Sparks, The Tubes and Boys Brigade).

She's probably not proud of this film (I bet she's performing Shakespeare in Stratford , Ontario right this minute), but I hope Cynthia Dale understands that this flick about solving ones grievances through calisthenics has brought joy to literally hundreds of hardworking people.

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