Showing posts with label Wendie Malick. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Wendie Malick. Show all posts

Friday, July 24, 2009

Mr. Mike's Mondo Video (Michael O'Donoghue, 1979)

The perfect film to play on a blurry television set overlooking the bar of a garish, porno-friendly nightclub on the outskirts of a once vibrant neighbourhood, Mr. Mike's Mondo Video might not be the most educational of the so-called "mondo" movies I've seen over the past sixty or so years, but it's definitely the most randomly interesting one. A demented and slightly warped product of the mind of Michael O'Donoghue, the video is a disjointed mishmash of dreamlike ideas that go nowhere, yet everywhere at the same time. A heady feat for a film that dares you not to masturbate to Dan Aykroyd's partially webbed feet. Just a second. I can't believe Dan Aykroyd's feet were mentioned before the sight of a statuesque Wendie Malick in radioactive lingerie. I don't know about you, but I think that's pretty messed up. I wonder what compelled me to mention his stinky, misshapen feet as my opening salvo? Very bizarre, very Mondo. Anyway, hit and miss in terms of being tolerable, the film never once goes for the easy laugh. Of course, that could have been because it wasn't funny in the first place (most awesome things are). But the rapid fire nature of the film's overall structure kept things so unpredictable, that you couldn't really focus on what was delightfully stupid and what was insufferably stupid. Either way, the scattershot endeavour, that features everyone from Bill Murray and Deborah Harry to Margot Kidder and Klaus Nomi, is a fascinating document of what Saturday Night Live could have become had the lunatics been given free reign to do what their unhinged brains were designed to do – which is to produce weird comedy that is more unpleasant than it is whimsical.
  
Oh, and I liked the abundance of bunny rabbits that appear throughout the video, and I have come to the conclusion that Paul Anka's anus is sometimes full of an inordinate amount of poop.

Favourite Mondo Moments:

"American Gals Love Creepy Men"
(Every cool chick in New York City at the time is featured in this bit. Including the sexy Wendie Malick and the lovely Laraine Newman.)
("When I reach down and feel a firm colostomy bag, I know I'm with a real man.")

"Klaus Nomi performs 'Samson & Delia'" and "Looking up Cheryl Tieg's dress"
(I wonder if the crotch they used--I doubt Miss Tiegs allowed her own crotch to be used--is the same crotch Wendie Malick wears on a day-to-day basis?)

"The general hotness of Wendie Malick" and "The insane amount of Rinse Dreamian posturing"
(Uh-huh.)

"Christmas on Other Planets" and "Japanese girls bathing in dolphin blood"
(I couldn't help but notice that one of the light bulbs the Christmas celebrating alien was smashing got away from him/her/it.)

"The demonstration of the Laser Bra 2000" (Featuring the exquisite tallness of Wendie Malick.)
(My outer pervert kept thinking: "Get undressed slower. Slower! The military industrial complex ain't going nowhere." My inner pervert didn't think anything, as she was killed in a horrific blimp accident in the early 1480s. Wait a minute: a "horrific" blimp accident? Yeah, as supposed to a pleasant blimp accident. Prat.)

"Gig Young's groceries" and "Nazi oven mitts"
(Tasteless. In that, Gig will never taste those groceries.)

"Wendie Malick smoking a cigarette while wearing Radioactive Lingerie"
(Try Annie Sprinkle's special secretion sauce - Now banned in Bhutan!)


video uploaded by Shout! Factory
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Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Adventureland (Greg Mottola, 2009)

A thoughtful and surprisingly heartfelt film about a young man's summer working at a rundown amusement park, Adventureland brilliantly captures the youthful spirit of 1987. Of course, I didn't even release that year had any sort of spirit. Nevertheless, as far as years go, it's pretty underrated, if you ask me. Personally, I view it as a year of firsts. For example, it was the year I started listening to industrial and house music (a not-so weird combination if you think about it); I got my first deviant haircut in 1987 ("Excuse me, kindly Supercuts lady. Yeah, could you please shave off everything except the top."); purchased my first pair of pointy shoes; and began tuning in to Brave New Waves on CBC Radio Two on a regular basis. However, since this film isn't about me and my charms, none of the swell things I just mentioned transpire within its modest running time. No, the people who populate this film have aspirations, dreams, goals, and interests that go beyond obscenely buckled footwear and a wicked four-to-the-floor beat. Well, there was one character who was able to properly express what I consider the flavour of '87 in a semi-succinct manner... (more on her in a minute).

A sick and partially twisted tale involving a couple of morose Hüsker Dü fans being forced to listen to Falco for an entire summer, the Greg Mottola (The Daytrippers) directed lark is about finding happiness in a joyless environment (a dilapidated amusement park called Adventureland). Every square inch may be covered in a freshly spewed layer of vomit, and the chances of being punched in the testicles at any given moment are quite high, but the time James Brennan (Simon Amstell look-a-like Jesse Eisenberg), a recent college graduate with thoughts of Europa and Columbia University dancing in his head, spends in this depressing place are probably gonna be the most memorable of his life.

Forced to seek employment after his parents (Wendie Malick from Mr. Mike's Mondo Video and Jack Gilpin - who had the privilege to stand next to Su Tissue in Something Wild) run into a patch of financial trouble and can't afford to pay for a planned summer trip overseas, James begrudgingly dons a t-shirt with the word "games" written on it ad nauseam and begins to work at Adventureland in the, you guessed it, games division (the other division is devoted to rides). As you'd expect, the well-educated, Dickens admiring, Replacements fan (yeah, I know, he has really lame taste in music) isn't looking forward to wallowing in this glorified cesspool.

On the bright side, he does get to hang out and share his large stash of marijuana with fellow game workers: Em (Kristen Stewart), a sarcastic gal with a wig wearing step-mom, and Joel (Martin Starr), a lanky Gogol lover who shows him the ropes (I had no idea all those games are fixed). In other words, a situation that was rife with complications of a soul crushing nature, turns out to be kinda cool, especially since James and Em like the same music and both enjoy acting sullen and disaffected in public. The two end up bonding over past flames, weed, and Lou Reed; it's quite romantic.

Complicating matters, however, is Em's super secret relationship with a carny repairman/musician named Mike Connell (Ryan Reynolds), who is also married. This bit of dating angst is the central thrust of the story and is handled more or less in a mature, non-juvenile manner. Sure, an erection joke is thrown in there every now and then to keep things balanced, but I thought the film's relationship angle to be rather touching. Lending a hand when things get too introspective and junk are the always dependable Bill Hader and Kristen Wiig, who show up every now and then as the de facto rulers of Adventureland and interject the proceedings with a much needed slice of levity.

Now, I'm not 100% sure if the character of Lisa P. (Margarita Levieva) was supposed to be a subtle jab at the perceived vacuousness of the 1980s. I mean, the fact that they show her dancing enthusiastically to music that had a distinctly un-Velvet Underground timber to it has lead me to believe that their aim was to mock '80s dance pop. But whatever their original intent might have been, I still managed to worship Lisa P. and everything she represents. Which is nothing. As much as they tried to besmirch her, and her inane lifestyle, my overwhelming love for this ridiculous creature grew inexplicably stronger as the film progressed. Making, what doesn't have to be, one of the greatest entrances in recent film history, the finely bottomed Lisa P. saunters through the park like a cock alerting angel smeared in a thick coat of magenta and cyan. Whether profoundly philosophizing about the differences between sail boats and speed boats or inducing others to obsess over the crack of daylight that appears between her thighs and buttocks, Lisa P. manages to put life in perspective in a highly succinct manner.

Dancing in acid-wash jeans, and the derisive tittering towards her by certain audience members that followed notwithstanding, the shots of Lisa P. getting down to some the grooviest jams the era were most definitely my favourite scenes in Adventureland. The sequences that take place at Razzmatazz, a local discotheque, in particular; as she lets fly to killer tracks by Exposé, Mary Jane Girls, and Animotion. Actually, Lisa P. and James smoking a joint together in what looked like a graveyard for broken bumper cars was a pretty solid scene as well. And it didn't involve dancing. Just gorgeous cinematography and a stimulating theological discussion.

I know I've made a couple of unflattering comments towards the non-electro bands in this film, but I want to make it clear that I enjoyed all the music used in Adventureland. A strange cornucopia of '80s era (and some 60s and 70s) material, the soundtrack (which includes a music score by Yo La Tengo) is one of the most eclectic I've heard in years. Featuring everything from Wang Chung to Judas Priest, to Crowded House and the New York Dolls, the music is a dizzying clash of almost every style that was popular at the time. The key word being "popular." (There's no industrial or house music to be heard in this movie.)

Favourite songs from the soundtrack (in order of preference): "Point Of No Return" by Exposé, Shannon - "Let The Music Play" (Get down, Lisa P.), Obsession by Animotion, the Mary Jane Girls' "In My House," an early INXS song called "Don't Change," "Pale Blue Eyes" by The Velvet Underground (which is played twice), Crowded House - "Don't Dream It's Over," and "Taste of Cindy (Acoustic Version) by the Jesus & Mary Chain.

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