The Boys Next Door (Penelope Spheeris, 1985)

When the two protagonists at the centre of The Boys Next Door started discussing where they would like to go after they're done crashing their high school graduation party, I must admit, I got a little nervous. Throwing around names like, Las Vegas and Phoenix, I didn't like where this conversation was going; I wasn't really in the mood to watch a film where Maxwell Caulfield and Charlie Sheen tool around the desert to the sounds of Great White. My stress, however, began to melt away almost immediately when one of them--Charlie, I think--mentions driving to Los Angeles. Even though the city as it sits right now has no appeal to me, the Los Angeles featured in this film–the neon-adorned, sleazy as fuck, new wave/punk rock mecca that was the L.A. of 1984-85–is very appealing. I'm sorry to interrupt your love affair with mid-1980s Los Angeles, but is it okay if I ask myself a quick question? Sure, go ahead. How could they [Maxwell and Charlie] crash the party if it was for their graduating class? Why, that's simple, the alluring Moon Unit Zappa didn't invite them. Oh, and before you make a comment regarding my sanity, yes, I called Moon Unit Zappa "alluring," you got a problem with that? It's totally cool if you do happen to have a problem with that; it's a free country after all. I just want to put it out there that I am pro-Moon Zappa. More on the alluring Miss Zappa in a minute. Let's talking about unnecessarily heavy-handed opening of the film, shall we? Aw, man, do we have to? Yes, we do. If you want to come across as a normal film critic, you need to touch on the aspects of certain films that rubbed you the wrong way. And judging by the annoyed look on your face as you watched the opening of The Boys Next Door, a film directed by Penelope Spheeris, it's safe to say you had some issues with it.

Come on, dude, can't I just write about Patti D'Arbanville's lacy pantyhose? You can do that; in fact, I can't wait for you to do that. But not until you tell everyone what your problem was with the opening credits sequence. Okay, fine. I didn't like how they used the names of real life serial killers to set up the story. And? And, well, I thought it was a tad tasteless. Isn't "tasteless" your middle name? It is. But still, I thought it was kind of exploitative. I understand why they did it, they wanted to give the film gravitas. But it didn't really suit the tone of the rest film. Which is, don't get me wrong, pretty dark in places. I just thought, well, enough about that.

Despite their conventional good looks, seniors Roy Alston (Maxwell Caulfield) and Bo Richards (Charlie Sheen) seem like outcasts at their small town high school. Looking as if they had just walked off the set of Grease, or, in Maxwell Caulfield's case, Grease 2, Roy and Bo seem out of place in their plain white t-shirt and blue jean ensembles. Actually, I wouldn't use the word "ensemble" around them if I were you, as their attitude regarding the social changes that have occurred over the past twenty years seem mostly negative.

Pivoting her left leg in a manner that will surly send all the boys into a leg-appreciating tizzy/tailspin, Bonnie (Dawn Schneider), the senior class's resident blonde hottie, knows exactly what she's doing as she signs yearbooks in full view of the entire school.

If only Bonnie was a as good at remembering the names of her classmates as she was leg pivoting while signing yearbooks. What does that mean? She calls Bo, "Bob." Oh, I see. Anyway, as the alluring Moon Unit Zappa is telling Bo he's not invited to the big graduation party happening tonight at Joe's house, Roy is talking to a recruiter for The Marines. He doesn't enlist, but you're going to wish–well, at least some of the residents of Los Angeles are going to wish–the recruiter was a little more persuasive by the time this film is over.

You can sort of see that Roy ain't hooked up right during the scene with the recruiter; he basically tells him he wants to kill people. However, the part where he stares blankly at his classmates at Joe's party was when it became clear to me that there's something definitely wrong with Roy; the way the camera lingers on his face is chilling.

On the other hand, the part where the alluring Moon Unit Zappa says, "Excuse me, I think I'm going to be nauseous," while "I Ain't Nuthin' But a Gorehound" by The Cramps plays in the background, was anything but chilling, it was downright awesome. It was right then I decided that I wanted more Moon Unit Zappa in my life. In a misguided attempt to rectify this lack of Moon Unit Zappa in my life, I played Frank Zappa's "Valley Girl." Unfortunately, I couldn't get through ten seconds of it. That being said, the search for Moon Unit Zappa-related content continues unabated; wish me luck.

You mean to say that Moon Unit Zappa isn't going to Los Angeles with Bo and Roy? Ugh, like, gag me with a spoon. Moon Unit Zappa wouldn't be caught dead with these two losers. But you know who is going to L.A. with Bo and Roy? That's right, Joe's tiny dog Bon Bon. After causing a scene at the party (Roy pees in the pool and Bo asks Bonnie if she ingests seminal fluid when she performs head), Bo and Roy grab Bon Bon, hop in their grey [unpainted] 1973 Plymouth Satellite, and head to Los Angeles for a weekend of fun.

Supposedly set to start work at a factory come Monday morning, Bo and Roy see this adventure as one last blow out before becoming a couple of cogs in the wheel of industry. Renaming Bon Bon, "Boner the Barbarian," they're just about to enter the greater Los Angeles area when Roy tells Bo about this "stuff inside me." Call it rage, call them anger issues, Roy displays some of this "stuff" when he nearly kills an Iranian gas station attendant over two bucks worth of gas and a few packs of gum.

As Bo and a shirtless (yes!) Roy relax in their motel room, Detective Woods (Christopher McDonald) and Detective Hanley (Hank Garrett) investigate the crime scene they had a hand in creating.

I would love to tell you more about the detective subplot, but this woman just walked by wearing a blue zebra-print bikini.

Where was I? Oh, yeah, I remember. Getting trouble wherever they go, Bo and Roy unleash the ire of three women after Roy hits an old lady in the head with a beer bottle while hanging out at Venice Beach. The part where one of the irate women rides on the hood of their car for an extended period of time reminded me of that movie with Kurt Russell–you know, that one that begins with "Death" and ends with "Proof."

After taking a break at the La Brea Tar Pits, Bo and Roy hit the streets of Hollywood. Engaging in behaviour that was, and still might be, typical of suburbanites, Bo and Roy yell at people (a wondrous collection of authentic-looking punks and freaks) as they cruise up and down the strip. I loved it when one of the punks tells them to go back to the Valley. You loved that, eh? Wait until Bo and Roy come across Christina Beck (Suburbia) walking down the street with a friend. What happens? C'mon, tell me. Are you ready? Yeah, man, let's go! She tells Bo to eat her fuck. You mean? Yep, she says, "Eat my fuck!" But isn't that the line Rose McGowan says so memorably in The Doom Generation? That's the one. Oh, man, this changes everything. You see, I thought Gregg Araki was the one who came up with that line. And judging from what I just saw, he clearly didn't. Boy, this is awkward.

I don't think it diminishes the impact of the iconic line uttered by Rose McGowan, but it does lessen its standing as one of the greatest lines ever to be hurled in the general direction of the Asian guy from 21 Jump Street somewhat. Either way, Charlie Sheen's confused query after being told to eat Christina Beck's fuck, "What exactly does 'eat my fuck' mean," is classic. I would say, besides his cameo in Ferris Bueller's Day Off, that that particular line reading is Charlie Sheen's finest moment ever to be captured on film.

Enjoy the frivolity while you can, because it's going to get dark. Oh, sure, the darkness is lightened a tad when Bo and Roy watch street performers, the gorgeous Pinkietessa (The Blitz Club), Texacala Jones (Dr. Caligari), Maggie Ehring (Twisted Roots) and Tequila Mockingbird (she plays the wall tongue in Dr. Caligari), do their thing. But mark my words, the boys in The Boys Next Door are done fooling around.

It doesn't matter if they're hanging out at a gay bar in West Hollywood, stalking a yuppie couple, or spending time with a hippie barfly in lacy pantyhose (Pattie D'Arbanville), Bo and Roy leave a trail of death and destruction wherever they go. Or, I should say, Roy leaves a trail of death and destruction. Not to imply that Bo is some sort of innocent bystander, far from it, he's just as culpable. It's just that Roy is clearly the more deranged of the two. God, I'm starting to sound like Bo's lawyer. Anyway, featuring an excellent performance by Maxwell Caulfield, scenes of violence that were actually difficult to watch, Moon Unit Zappa, and a great location, The Boys Next Door is a definite hidden gem; "hidden" because I had never heard of it up until now.

Population: 1 (Rene Daalder, 1986)

The greatness of a nation when extolled by a citizen of the very country being glorified is jingoism at its most obnoxious. On the other hand, when an outsider is doing the extolling, the results can be electrifying in their profundity. Such is the nationalistic situation that arises with Population: 1, Rene Daalder's psyche vaporizing chronicle of the United States of America. A Netherlander doing a punk and new wave infused musical about the history of America, as filtered through the imagination of the last American on earth, is one of the most subversively constructed ideas to ever land squarely on my optical dinner plate. Making one misty-eyed over the idea of America, Rene Daalder has cobbled together a strange tribute to the world's most powerful republic. Sure, it's a tribute to a country that's been completely destroyed in a nuclear suicide pact and left with only a single resident, but it's a tribute nonetheless. How did things get so dilapidated and underpopulated so quickly? Well, you see, the government estimated there would be around thirty million causalities. However, there was obliviously a bit of a miscalculation on their part and the whole shebang up in smoke. Ironically, Mr. Daalder uses footage of cities the U.S. had a hand in flattening and its own urban decay to represent its destruction. Left to fend for himself, Tomata du Plenty, the world's last American, spends his days locked in a subterranean bunker equipped with all sorts of electronic doodads. Filled with a heightened sense of purpose, the scrawny du Plenty sees this isolation as an opportunity to commemorate America by forging a musical ode utilizing the memory his beloved Sheela (Sheela Edwards) and anyone else his cerebral cortex can conger. And if that means a twelve year old Beck playing the accordion and a torch carrying Vampira getting swept up in a flood, then so be it.

Combining my unfathomable devotion for all things post-apocalyptic, bizarre musical numbers, measured approaches to being goth in public, garishly chromatic costumes, synthesizers run amok, and anything sporting a tinge of the surreal, the extremely agile endeavour is the epitome of aesthetically pleasing.

Call it new wave pornography, call it juicy nectar for the flamboyant soul, the film rises above its high-minded premise and bursts forth with creativity, as snippets of vintage nudity, newsreel clips, flashy animation effects, and uncomplicated dance choreography commingle to make one seriously messed up movie. Actually, the head twirling during "Nervous" seemed pretty complicated (keeping your head still while simultaneously moving it looked rather difficult).

Along with the aforementioned Beck and Vampira, the eccentric supporting cast includes: Penelope Houston from The Avengers, Tequila Mockingbird (the "Door Tongue" from Dr. Caligari), Carel Struycken (Lurch from The Addams Family), K.K. Barrett (production designer for Cheerleader Camp and Where the Wild Things Are), and Nancye Ferguson (Rockula). They all linger in the background and give the proceedings a vibrant edge.

Not lingering for a single moment, however, is the up-front forcefulness of Tomata du Plenty as the solitary American. Aggressive in a punk rock sort of way, yet sporting a new wave playfulness, the lead singer of The Screamers is deranged and charismatic from get-go, and gives an unrelenting performance as the pugnacious sole survivor. The unbalanced vocalist also handles the film's many pro-American monologues with a sincere flair. It's true, some of the dialogue has a hint of European snarkiness. But I thought Tomata balanced these two distinct attitudes excellently.

Boasting a cracked front tooth, a mop of electrified black hair, and enough goth-based moxie to make Lydia Lunch and Nina Hagen feel grossly inadequate in the female weirdness department. Sheela Edwards is an under championed revelation as Sheela, the lost love of Tomata du Plenty. Her wonderfully shrill voice does a wonderful job of attacking a multitude of musical genres explored in Population: 1. Whether she's spewing blood during "Jazz Vampire" (her animated fangs were to die for), or swinging out on "10 Cents a Dance," the exquisitely pale Sheela sings with an enthusiastic brand of gusto.

The black and white photography (there's a great shot of the New York City skyline) and overall decayed temperament of film's opening number, "Armies of the Night," did a tremendous job of accentuating Sheela's unique allure. I also liked the mismatched stockings and scratchy film stock; very film school-like, but quite chic.

The thought that permeated my mind throughout Population: 1 was: "Why hasn't this film been hailed as a bohemian classic by the demented elite and their midnight movie attending allies?" I mean, it has all the ingredients of a cult film. Well, for one thing, it's a musical, and secondly, it was made during the 1980s.

These two things alone should qualify it as a must-see hunk of underground cinema, but the fact that it's saturated with such a wide array of so-called "out there" moments (the image of Tomata being harassed by his bathroom appliances immediately springs to mind) and features one kooky mix of a supporting cast should guarantee its place alongside the likes of Forbidden Zone (colour version) and Liquid Sky.

I don't know what a simple peasant like myself can do to make this film the next Rocky Horror Picture Show (the sight of audiences showing up in mismatched stockings, carrying red barbells, and wearing old school army helmets isn't that far-fetched), but I will do my best to increase its profile.

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