Nowhere (Gregg Araki, 1997)

A film that helped me make the lopsided transition from pretending to like bland, competent films to repeatedly landing nose first in the bosomy cleavage of cinematic trash. In other words, the sex and violence filled wonderland that I have always been destined to wallow in. Nowhere is a film that I resisted at first (I dissented so hard, I felt ill afterward), but have since learned to appreciate its aimless narrative, nihilistic overtones, and scattershot view of adolescent humanity. Call it masochistic, call it an act of celluloid-based attrition, but I forced myself not only to like Gregg Araki's ode to the rudderless youth of the mid-to-late '90s, but to love the living secretion out of it. Each time I begrudgingly sat down to watch it, I'd come away more enriched than you could imagine. It's like I'm infected with a disease, except instead of abstaining from the causation, I would bathe my eyes in its abhorrent life force, get swept in the sheer ridiculousness of it all, and find myself quoting the swollen-headed characters' adroit put downs and their hyperbolic proclamations of love like a mindless fiend. Yeah, I guess some of the dialogue was overly clever at times, but I'd rather something be clever than be whatever the opposite of clever is.

Besides, I love it when women (and men) refer to each others genitalia using saucy, unorthodox language.

Now normally, this is where I'd pretend the story was too labyrinthian for my puny brain to handle. But in the case of Nowhere, there's hardly anything for me to grasp at in order to falsify a compelling yarn. And I think that was Araki's intention. The best way to represent teen angst gone awry is to strip away all pretense and present the characters in the most raw manner possible. Sure, the alien subplot flies in the face of this minimalist attitude, but the words "alien" and "alienation" don't just sound similar and share some of the same letters, they represent an all-embracing bumptiousness that shapes the idiosyncratic young people that populate this die now, live later culture.

In reality, the film is about a bunch of drug addicts, part-time high school students, musicians, and amateur filmmakers who plan on congregating at a party being thrown by a fella named Jujyfruit (Gibby Haynes). Until then, some pass the time by eavesdropping on a trio of valley chicks waiting for a bus (a totally awesome cameo by Traci Lords, Shannen Doherty, and Rose McGowan) and exchanging pleasantries with deceptively genial teen idols from Tasmania. While others engage in femdom activities that involve spanking, crotches slathered in chocolate, and rough coitus where the words "Mommy" and "Daddy" are not used as safe words.

The cast is so enormous in scope, that it takes the entirety of Slowdive's "Avalyn II" just to list the principle players. So, I'll just focus on a fistful of the many fleshy parts that are sprinkled throughout this film. The main pairing (most of the "plots" are told via pairs) are Dark and Mel (James Duvall and Rachel True). The two begin to drift apart when fellow young person, Montgomery (Nathan Bexton), starts to show up in Dark's spank bank, the budding Clive Barker usually has Mel and dominatrixes Kriss and Kozy (Chiara Mastroianni and Debi Mazar) deposited in there. Mel, on the other hand, is spending an awfully lot of time with Lucifer (Kathleen Robertson), a feisty lesbian who utters the films tastiest insults. Plus, her reaction to a skinheaded partygoer that asks if he can "jizz on her face" was pretty sweet.

This little nugget of plot may drive the film forward, but it is by no means the most interesting of the lot. For example, the one where Shad (Ryan Phillippe) and Lilith (Heather Graham), a couple of death-obsessed sex addicts, are seen constantly mock eating each others faces has its moments. As do the underage adventures of Zoe (Mena Suvari) and Joshua Gibran Mayweather's Zero, and the drug addiction bit with Cowboy (Guillermo Díaz) and Bart (Jeremy Jordan) caused me to feel somewhat sad.

However, it was the brief encounters between Christina Applegate's Dingbat and Scott Caan's Ducky that proved most interesting. I don't know, but there's something fascinating about the way Miss Applegate plays Dingbat. Maybe it's the braces and the funky kitty-cat t-shirt, or maybe it was the clueless expression she is constantly wearing on her face. Well, whatever it is, she made my spirit soar. A rare occurrence in a film that features a man killing another man with a can of tomato soup.

The Nowhere soundtrack is one the best and most eclectic of the decade. Writer-director Gregg Araki, no doubt mining the contents of his own personal record collection, fills the air with wide array of alternative music styles. Everything from industrial dance (Coil, My Life with the Thrill Kill Kult, Nitzer Ebb, Nine Inch Nails - a cover of Soft Cell's "Memorabillia") to old school shoegazer (Lush, Mojave 3, Seefeel) and Brit Pop (Suede, Elastica, Blur) is featured in this movie. Hell, even freaking Stacey Q manages to make her way into the mix.

Oh, and I like how even though the film is set in 1997, Araki somehow manages to make it seem like grunge rock never happened.

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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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Girls Just Want to Have Fun (Alan Metter, 1985)

The first thing I noticed as I looked toward the viewing screen was the neon glow emanating from the ankle socks and tank-tops of those assembled on the stage of Dance T.V. (a television show about dancing). My eyes, soaked in a rich tapestry of vicious pinks and transsexual blues, watched as the taut bodies encased in these brightly coloured fabrics thrashed about in a frenzied attempt to justify their corporeal existence. Now if that isn't a great first impression, I don't know what is. Actually, I think the first thing I saw was the celestial contour of Sarah Jessica Parker's unfairly maligned profile, but that's not important. What is important is that I got to bask in the unparalleled righteousness that is Girls Just Want to Have Fun (a.k.a. Lipstick & Ice Cream), a film that symbolizes everything that was electro-positive about the 1980s. The garish clothing, the prerequisite Kristi Somers (Tomboy) supporting role, a physically attractive yet ill-natured antagonist (Holly Gagnier), the synth-driven pop music, the Molly Kathleen Ringwald in The Breakfast Club-style dancing, the girlish giggling...there all here.

Oh, and the montages were so emotionally charged, that I was almost tempted to put on my pointiest pair of winklepickers and smugly admire the buckles as they shimmered in the glow of my boyfriend's scrotal piercing.

Brushing aside the bland earth tones of the punk scene and the soul crushing denim look of the rock crowd, this film celebrates the sheer wonderfulness that is new wave. I mean, the number of fingerless gloves I spotted in this film made my head spin.

Gloves without fingers: They're great for swinging on playground equipment or dialing telephones.

Seriously, I loved the way Girls Just Want to Have Fun portrayed new wave fashion as something to be proud of. (I dislike it when people liken the style to the equivalent of drinking five parsecs of unrefrigerated clown vomit.)

This pride is best represented in the variegated form of Lynne Stone, the gumptious gal pal of Janey (the lead girl who desires fun). Played with hilarious aplomb by Helen Hunt (who has never been funnier), Lynne is the pinnacle of new wave adventurousness, as her outfits ranged from kooky (a grasshopper-adorned hat with a torn yellow sweater) to the bizarre (I could have sworn I saw her wearing blue dinosaurs in her hair).

Over on the other side of the girl/fun spectrum, Sarah Jessica Parker's Janey is saddled with a plaid skirt and a blue blazer for lion's share of the film. However, when she does get to let her Lauper flag fly, she does so with a splashy elegance. And dancing exuberantly to the bubbly strains of Q-Feel's "Dancing in Heaven (Orbital Be-Bop)" in rose-coloured leggings, well, that automatically lands you in my good book (as it is an excellent song).

Rounding out the girly triad, Shannen Doherty (Heathers) plays Maggie, the little sister of Janey's dance partner, Jeff (a hunky Lee Montgomery - girls swoon at the mere sight of his hairy arms). Anyway, I thought Shannen was adorable. Which is a word not often associated with Miss Doherty's work. But here, she's cute and sane.

On the surface, it may seem like your average girl meets boy, girl mopes while wearing purple panties, girl and boy enter a dance contest type of movie. Nevertheless, it's got so many levels to it, that lost count. Oh, sure, the film has a number of inconsistencies, like when Lynne says the greatest inventions of the twentieth century are Tab and the Walkman, and ten minutes later she's drinking a Pepsi. But judged solely on the basis of style and execution, Girls Just Want to Have Fun is a winner. (Orbital Be-Bop)

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