The Spirit of '76 (Lucas Reiner, 1990)

Given that this film is saturated with references to the founding of the United States of America, I thought I was going to be completely lost when it came time to decipher it as a piece of filmed entertainment. Then it dawned me, I know a shitload, maybe even a fuckload (if such a load actually exists), about America. You could even say that I know more about America than most Americans. Sure, I couldn't recite the Pledge of Allegiance if you held a registered hand gun to my head and I'm a firm believer in three down football, but I can name all the state capitals and I know the names of at least half the presidents. Hell, I even remember watching Schoolhouse Rock! as a kid. In other words, my foreign ass totally knows how a bill becomes a law. Thankfully, having knowledge of any kind floating around in your head is completely unnecessary when it comes to enjoying The Spirit of '76, the righteously groovy slice of nepotism a go-go that's been endorsed by Devo. All you need to know is that the United States Constitution is a very important document and you should be good to go. (I thought you said the film was, and I quote, "saturated with references to the founding of the United States of America.") Nah, I didn't mean that. I was just trying to scare you. The film's message can actually be applied to almost any country that feels like it's lost its way. To be honest, I'm way more interested in the love triangle that forms between Olivia D'Abo, David Cassidy and Leif Garrett. (Hold up. You mean to tell me that while you were boring us about your supposed knowledge of American history and culture, that you could have been talking about a love triangle between Olivia D'Abo, David Cassidy and Leif Garrett?!?) I guess.

(Do you know how rare this is?) How rare what is? (Think about it. Year after year, we see the same stupid faces, acting in the same stupid movies.) I don't understand. (Remember that brief period of time when Kate Hudson–speaking of nepotism a go-go–was in every other movie?) Yeah. (Well, that's what I'm getting that. It's the same people appearing over and over again. Okay, now how many movies are there that star both David Cassidy and Leif Garrett?) I don't know, how many? (Zero!) Are you sure? You might want to double check that. (No way, man, I don't need to. I'm confident when I say The Spirit of '76 is the only film with the guts to cast David Cassidy and Leif Garrett as its leads.)

I don't want to cause you to spill maple syrup all over your maxi-pads, but don't they suck? (Oh my God! I can't believe you just said that. No, they don't suck. If anything, they're complete opposite of something that sucks.) You mean they rule? (Yeah, they kinda do...rule, that is. You heard right, David Cassidy and Leif Garrett rule in this movie. And they totally almost come to blows over the gorgeous Olivia D'Abo, the actress who first won us over in Flying, the second greatest leotard-centric movie to come out of the Great White North during the 1980s; the greatest being, of course, Heavenly Bodies.)

Hey, get your head out of the 1980s, this film, written and directed by Lucas Reiner, is all about celebrating the 1970s. (Are you sure about that? I mean, the decade is mocked pretty hard in this film.) That's true, there's quite a lot of mocking going on. But if you look at the film's final scene, it's clear that the mockery comes from a place of love. You could even view the film as confirmation that the decade was the nation's cultural nadir, and that if the country doesn't get back to the fun-loving and frivolous ways that defined the decade, it could find itself turning into the drab, colourless landscape that it becomes in the year 2176.

You know how nothing is hardly even written down on paper anymore? Well, that decision, according this film, is going to bite humanity in the ass in a big way. You see, when a magnetic storm wipes out all the computers, history, specifically, the history of United States of America, ceases to exist.

Members of The Ministry of Knowledge, who are, of course, played by Devo, want to repair the damage the magnetic storm caused by piecing together the fabric of America. Turning to Dr. Von Mobil (Carl Reiner), one of the last Americans who remembers what the country was like before the magnetic storm wiped everything out, Devo, mostly Mark Mothersbaugh and Gerald V. Casale, ask him for his advice on how to re-build the nation; it has become a grey, ashy place devoid of joy.

If you wanna fix America, you're going to have to start at the beginning. And according to what I have gleamed from American television over the years, it began on July 4, 1776.

The Ministry of Knowledge, along with Heinz-57 (Geoff Hoyle), who runs the sector of psycho-historical inquiries, and Chanel-6 (Olivia D'Abo), the nation's foremost epistemological anthro-sociologist, offer Adam-11 (David Cassidy), the inventor of a time machine, as much tetrahydrozoline-6 (the stuff that makes his time machine run) as he wants, if he agrees to take Heinz-57 and Chanel-6 back to 1776. Since he's only interested in visiting "Ikiki Beach" (the "wa" on the Waikiki post card he carries around with him are missing - anything with printing on it is cherished in 2176), he declines their offer.

Of course, I forgot to mention that he didn't know Olivia D'Abo would be going with him. And let's just say, his attitude regarding the mission changes greatly once he learns that he will be stuck in a cramped time machine with Olivia D'Abo for who knows how long.

Setting the coordinates to 1776, Adam-11, Heinz-57 and Chanel-6 should be hanging out with George Washington and Button Gwinnett in no time.

(Call me crazy, but I don't think any of the Founding Fathers looked like the guys from Redd Kross.) Oh, I don't know, put a powdered wig on them and give them some buckled footwear, and I'm sure they could pull it off. (Um, hello, I don't think Thomas Jefferson rode a banana chopper four with quarter spokes and full knobbies. And he definitely didn't have a Gene Simmons patch sewn on the crotch of his pants.) Actually, the patch was adjacent to his crotch, it wasn't actually on it. (Whatever, it's clearly not 1776.)

The year is '76, but just not the one they expected. Something must have went wrong with the time machine. It doesn't matter, 'cause, funny thing, Adam-11, Heinz-57 and Chanel-6 still seem to think that it's 1776. We know it's 1976, but to them, it's acceptable to think that people wore tube tops, listened to Grand Funk Railroad, and drove yellow AMC Pacers back in 1776; they have no frame of reference.

(Speaking of tube tops, when are you going to get around to talking about Moon Unit Zappa? After all, she's the real reason you watched this film in the first place, isn't it?) No, I watched it because I was interested in the subject matter. What can I say? I've always been fascinated by time travel and American history. (What can you say?!? It sounds like what you "can say" is a steaming pile of horseshit.)

(Word on the street is that your obsession with all things Moon Unit Zappa has become so pronounced, that you can't even think straight.)

Okay, you're right, I am obsessed. But can you blame me? I mean, look at her. Her beauty is, like, transcendental and junk.

Anyway, let me get this out of the way before I continue down this path. When Adam-11, Heinz-57 and Chanel-6 arrive in 1976, they're greeted by Chris Johnson (Jeffrey McDonald) and Tommy Sears (Steve Johnson), two best buds who use the sight of Moon Unit Zappa in a tube top as beat-off material. Keen to help the wayward newcomers, Chris and Tommy agree to hide Adam-11's time ship at their "crash pad" - you know, keep it from the prying eyes of a couple of C.I.A. agents (played by The Kipper Kids) and Rodney Snodgrass (Liam O'Brien), an obnoxious pustule who would look great in drag (his bone structure practically screams fabulous).

Now that we got that out of the way, let's head to "Planet Earth," a local clothing store, to get Adan-11, Heinz-57 and Chanel-6 some new duds, 'cause the colour grey has no place in 1976. And guess who works at "Planet Earth"? You guessed it, Moon Unit Zappa!

Reading "Future Shock" by Alvin Toffler when the time travelers enter the store, Cheryl Dickman (Moon Unit Zappa)... (Hey, wait a second, if grey has no place in 1976, why is Cheryl Dickman's tube top grey? Answer that, smart guy.) Are you sure it isn't silver? (Are you kidding?) Whatever, man, Moon Unit Zappa is, like, wearing a tube top and a pair of super-short jean shorts. (Yeah, you're right.) So, where was I? Oh, yeah, Cheryl Dickman notices Adam-11 looking at shirts.

Asking if Adam-11 if he needs any help, Cheryl Dickman, making sure he catches a glimpse of her stunning calves as she approaches him, uses the old "my mood ring totally changed colours" trick to break the ice.

It obviously worked, as Adam-11 is hanging on her every word, even as she rambles semi-coherently about astrology.

The biggest tragedy about The Spirit of '76 is that Cheryl Dickman tells Adam-11 that she will see him later, but she totally doesn't. (Totally doesn't what?) She totally doesn't see him later. (Meaning?) Meaning, that's it as far as Moon Unit Zappa goes in this movie. (You must have been totally crestfallen.) You bet your ass I was totally crestfallen. I was also totally depressed, totally dejected, totally despondent, totally downcast and totally dispirited. In other words... No, wait, other words won't be necessary, as I think I totally just used all of them.

The second biggest tragedy is that Eddie Trojan (Leif Garrett) doesn't score with Chanel-6. (Who the fuck is Eddie Trojan?!?) Um, he's Eddie Trojan, a.k.a. The Bonemaster. Duh, where have you been? (Doesn't he, at one point, prevent Tommy Chong from dipping his cannabis-stained dick in some free range D'Abo pussy at Hocus Smokus?) Yeah, so? (I'm just saying.) Either way, I thought Leif Garrett and Olivia D'Abo had great chemistry together.

While Eddie Trojan is desperately trying to get inside Chanel-6's tight, lacey, purple pants, Heinz-57 receives a history lesson from Ms. Liberty (Julie Brown), a peepshow stripper/constitutional scholar in red stockings and red opera gloves, attends a self-help seminar being given by Rob Reiner (his way of helping people seems limited to calling them assholes), and gets in a heated argument with a large man waiting in line to buy gas.

In case you're wondering what Adam-11 is getting up to while all this is going on, he's hanging out with Red Kross at their crash pad. Nooice. No, seriously, it's pretty sweet. The art direction, the use of bright colours, the juvenile humour, the costumes (by a teenage Sofia Coppola), the music (every crappy/awesome '70s song you can imagine is featured on the soundtrack), Moon Unit Zappa in a tube top, everything about this movie is agreeable. Sure, I thought Eddie Trojan got shafted, but, in a way, Eddie Trojan, and 1976 in general, help save the future. I wouldn't be surprised if they put Eddie Trojan's face on Mount Rushmore in the year 2176. Don't tell anyone this, but if I could ovulate, I would totally have Eddie Trojan's baby.

While I didn't tear up during the final scene, I did catch myself trying to prevent a sly smirk from appearing on my face on several occasions. And you know what they say? Self-stylized sly smirk obstruction is the highest form of flattery.

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.

Nightmares (Joseph Sargent, 1983)

My misguided attempt to watch everything in the cinematic oeuvre of Moon Unit Zappa continues abated with her brief yet integral appearance in the horror anthology, Nightmares, a film that includes four unrelated stories slapped together in a semi-haphazard, semi-entertaining manner. And they include, "Terror in Topanga," the tale of Topanga Lawrence (Danielle Fishel), a shapely teen whose virginal vagina becomes haunted by the ghost of a recently deceased serial killer named Bojangles McGillicutty (voiced by actor/game show show Bert Convy), "Bishop of Battle," a frightening...Hold up, you're not going to do a fake synopsis for all four segments, are you? Why wouldn't I? And besides, what do you mean, "fake"? That's totally what "Terror in Topanga" is about. No, I get it, "Topanga" is the name of Danielle Fishel's beloved character from the '90s classic, Boy Meets World, and when you saw the words "...in Topanga" flash on the screen, you immediately thought of Topanga's not-taciturn vagina. Don't be ashamed, I'm sure most people you're age probably thought of that too. The only problem with your joke is Danielle Fishel was only around two years-old when this film was shot. In other words, your joke has gone from being mildly creepy, to extremely creepy in the blink of an eye. I see? Okay, say Danielle Fishel was 18, don't you think a movie about a poltergeist living inside her pussy–don't you mean, pulsating pussy? fine, inside her pulsating pussy–would be a lot more compelling than one about Cristina Raines (The Sentinel) going out after 11pm to buy cigarettes? That's not the point, you should always try to review the movie that's on the screen, not the one that's inside your head. Either way, don't sell Cristina Raines late night cigarette run short.

Don't tell me, Cristina gets abducted by aliens. Not quite, but there's a deranged mental patient on the loose and she's low on gas. Is that it? I'm afraid so. Oh, I just remembered, the guy who plays the store clerk is played Anthony James (The Teacher); one of my favourite actors. Shouldn't he be playing the deranged mental patient? Technically, yes, he probably should. But the first chapter of Nightmares is filled with little twists like that. Speaking of which, another twist just came to mind.

Keep an eye on the grainy picture of the deranged mental patient that appears on the news, as he looks eerily similar to a character who shows up during this chapter's cryptic climax.

Anyway, to say that I was unimpressed with "Terror in Topanga" would be one of them understatement thingies. However, things pick up when "Bishop of Battle" gets underway. I won't lie, this chapter is the reason I watched Nightmares in the first place. And, yes, I realize it's the video age, and that I could have easily just watched this chapter and skipped the rest. But I wanted to experience the film the way director Joseph Sargent and producer/screenwriter Christopher Crowe (he wrote chapters 1-3) originally had intended. Sure you did.

It's true, I haven't checked out what the general consensus is regarding "Bishop of Battle," but I can safely say that the sight of a video game addicted Emilio Estevez hustling Chicano gang members while listening to Fear on his Walkman is pretty badass.

Getting off the bus (to "I Don't Care About You" by Fear), J.J. Cooney (Emilio Estevez) and Zock (Billy Jayne) are in Hollywood to make some quick cash. No, they're not prostitutes, they hustle unsuspecting rubes using J.J.'s talent for playing video games and Zock's talent for, well, playing the concerned friend.

Noticing a Chicano (complete with a plaid shirt, tan trousers and a hair net) playing Pleiades, J.J. approaches him and challenges to a game using his best "aw-shucks, I'm not from around here" voice. The stakes are only for a dollar, but they soon rise, as J.J. purposefully digs himself into a hole. When the Chicano posts a score of 17010, his friends let out a cheer. With the stakes at twenty-five dollars, J.J. decides to stop messing around. You know what that means, right? You got it, it's time "Let's Have a War" by Fear to blast on the punk rock heavy soundtrack.

Isn't "Let's Have a War" by Fear also on the Repo Man soundtrack? Yes it is. You do realize that Nightmares and Repo Man both star Emilio Estevez? Oh, you do. Okay, just checking.

While I've got your attention, did anyone else laugh when J.J. tells Zock that he needs to "beat the bishop"? Last time I checked, it's a slang term for masturbation. After barely getting out of Hollywood in one piece, J.J. is back on his home turf in The Valley, or more specifically, the Fox Hills Mall (which is an actual mall in Culver City).

Apparently when J.J. was talking about beating the bishop, he wasn't talking about his erect penis, he was talking about, you guessed it, the Bishop of Battle, a video game he's been trying to beat for some time now. Entering the mall's Game-O-Rama arcade with an overconfident swagger, J.J. is mobbed by his many admirers (fellow gamers who worship his gaming skills). When one of these so-called admirers yells out, "Hey, it's J.J.!" you'll notice that the alluring vision of loveliness (a short-haired goddess in a purple jacket), playing Starhawk turns her head with a rapid brand of neck turning efficiency.

It might not be obvious to the casual observer, but we're about to experience the majestic splendour that is the one and only Moon Unit Zappa.

Positioning himself in front of the Bishop of Battle game, which is located in the centre of the arcade, J.J. puts in his quarter and prepares to play. "Greetings, Earthling. I am the Bishop of Battle, master of all I survey. I have 13 progressively harder levels. Try me if you dare," says the animated floating head that represents the Bishop of Battle. Well, does he dare? Of course he does. There wouldn't be a movie if he didn't. And besides, he already put in his quarter.

Able to reach level 12 with a relative ease, J.J. can't seem to make it to level 13. This, as you would expect, frustrates J.J. to the point of madness.

The game itself is actually quite lame as far as early '80s video games go (the graphics are beyond crude), so I won't bother describing the game action. However, the look on Moon Unit Zappa's face as she watched J.J. play Bishop of Battle was anything but, as you can tell exactly how J.J. was doing, game-wise, just by watching her animated expressions.

After failing yet again to make it to level 13, J.J. has grown visibly angry. And not only that, he appears to have lost his mind. Yeah, the game seems to have consumed him. Yeah, the game has taken over his life, but I was referring to the way he treats Moon Unit Zappa, who's the only one left in the arcade (everyone else has since gone home).

Wait, he doesn't blow off Moon Unit Zappa, does he? He totally does. What an idiot. Did he not hear Moon Unit Zappa when she says: "C'mon, J.J. Let's get a pizza and talk like we used to"? It doesn't look like it. How could he not hear her? She put the emphasis on the "za" when saying "peets-zah." Oh, he heard her all right. It's just he's more interested in getting to level 13 of this stupid game than getting to second base with Moon Unit Zappa.

To be honest, I don't know exactly what getting to "second base" entails (I was raised by British people), but I sure hope it involves groping her unit. Get it, unit, her name is Moon Unit? Never mind. Anyone who makes Moon Unit Zappa sad is not cool in my book. I don't care if he likes punk rock, you don't mess around with Moon Unit Zappa's heart like that. No one ignores Moon Unit Zappa's tubular invite to get peets-zah. At least not on my watch.

I don't mean to be the bearer of bad news, but there are still two chapters left in this anthology. And it looks like you have used up your allotment of paragraphs for this review. I have an allotment of paragraphs?!? Well, not really. But you should really start to think about wrapping things up. Okay, chapter three, "The Benediction," stars Lance Henriksen as a priest who is having a "crisis of faith." After quitting the church, Lance, or, I should say, his stuntman, is repeatedly confronted by a mysterious black truck along a stretch of desert road. Think of it as Duel but nowhere near as awesome. Chapter four, "Night of the Rat," involves a suburban family, played by Veronica Cartwright, Richard Masur, and Bridgette Anderson (don't forget their cat Rosie) who are menaced by a giant rat.

Other than the sight of Veronica Cartwright (Mirror Mirror 2: Raven Dance) in a tight sweater and a couple of decent jump scares, I wasn't that impressed with this chapter. I did like how they filmed Veronica Cartwright in that aforementioned sweater from every angle imaginable.

My favourite, of course, being the view from the back, as it highlighted her domestic prowess; open those kitchen cabinets, you sexy, excellent at not being detected by pod people, minx.