Hollywood Vice Squad (Penelope Spheeris, 1986)

Do you like pornography? What about gambling? You gotta love hookers, right? How 'bout drugs? Okay, I realize you probably get asked this everyday, but do transvestites with polio scratch you where you itch? Or maybe switchblade-wielding transvestites without polio are more your thing? I'm sorry, but it's hard to keep track of your likes and dislikes. Either way, like most non-mentally-ill people, you're probably a fan of all the stuff I just mentioned. Unfortunately, however, the members of the Hollywood vice squad, who, strangely enough, appear throughout Penelope Spheeris' Hollywood Vice Squad, think these things should be outlawed. I know, who in their right mind would want to outlaw hookers, or even transvestites with or without polio for that matter. But trust me, they're out there. And they, it would seem, have it in something fierce for everything fun in this universe. Don't believe me? Check out the amount of energy the cops in this film expel trying to curb vice, you'll be exhausted by the time the end credits begin to roll. And while it pained me to see leggy hookers, unruly pimps, shady pornographers, leggy junkie whores, harmless bookies, and leggy hookers who are also leggy junkie whores constantly being harassed by "The Man," they do sort of need one another.

Think about it. Take away the vice cop and their so-called "rules and regulations," and you pretty much take away the sense of danger. And these professions feed off danger. In fact, it's part of their innate appeal.

Besides, what would Robin Wright (in her film debut) be doing if she wasn't a heroin-addicted prostitute in Hollywood? Exactly, she would be going to the prom and having bland sexual intercourse with football players somewhere in the not-so wild wilds of Iowa. No offense to Iowa (okay, maybe a little), but I'd rather be murdered in a cheap motel just off the Sunset Strip by a jealous pimp, than have sex with Brad (the punter for the Urbandale J-Hawks) in the back of his 1970 Dodge Dart (don't get me wrong, it's a sweet ride, but the blisters on his scrotum cause the hairs on my lady taint to stand on edge).

If the thought of a pre-Sean Penn, pre-Princess Bride Robin Wright strutting around Hollywood wearing hooker clothes while high on drugs is getting you all excited, don't over do it. What I mean is, pace yourself. The film actually contains three subplots, and only one of them is worth a damn in terms of being good and junk.

Supposedly based on real cases investigated by the Hollywood vice squad, the film follows a group of detectives as they try to crack cases involving a teen runaway and her unruly pimp, a harmless bookie and the mob, and a shady pornographer.

The only thing worth noting about the gambling subplot is Julius Harris as a harmless bookie and Robert Miano as a mob boss. Why? It's simple, really, I like these guys. But other than that, it's nothing special.

The sames goes for the porn plot. Sure, it features, an at times, leggy Carrie Fisher as Betty, an ambitious vice cop eager to make a name for herself, but it's so sanctimonious (porn is evil, vote Reagan).

Tired of being overshadowed by her male co-workers, Betty decides to take on a porn ring she suspects of using underage actors in bondage films. And, I have to say, the way she stumbles upon this nugget of information is quite laughable (I wish I came across porno shoots while out jogging - all I ever come across are discarded scratch lottery tickets and the bodies of dead hobos).

Actually, the film has four subplots. There's a hooker subplot involving two vice cops played by scene stealer Evan Kim and non-scene stealer Joey Travolta. However, this subplot quickly converges with the film's main subplot. Which, of course, centers around Pauline Stanton (Trish Van Devere), who is looking for her daughter, Lori (Robin Wright), a teenage runaway who has gotten herself mixed up with Walsh (Frank Gorshin), an unruly pimp.

As you might expect, Mrs. Stanton doesn't believe Captain Jensen (Ronny Cox) when he tells her that she's probably selling her girl-crevice for dope (he puts it a tad more delicately), so she continues wandering around Hollywood in the hope that she might find and bring her daughter back to Iowa, or wherever. Fans of movies that feature characters wandering around Hollywood will no doubt recognize these streets, as they're the same ones wandered in Savage Streets, Vice Squad, Angel, Hardcore, Don't Answer the Phone! and Modern Girls.

All the movies I just listed, by the way, are vastly superior to Hollywood Vice Squad, so watch them first.

When word gets out that Lori works for Walsh, Captain Jensen teams Evan Kim and Joey Travolta with Hawkins (Leon Isaac Kennedy), who specializes in being a fake unruly pimp, and Judy (Cec Verrell, Hell Comes to Frogtown), who specializes in being a fake leggy whore.

Concocting an elaborate sting operation to nail Walsh for human trafficking, the four detectives need to hurry, because Lori is starting succumb to the adverse effects of semi-regular heroin use. How can I tell? That's easy, heroin-based face-touching. When she's not snorting blow or showing John's the tops of her stockings, Lori can usually be seen clawing at her face. If movies have thought me anything, it's that drug abusers get itchy nostrils when their cravings aren't properly satisfied.

Now, you might be looking over the words I just typed (or scanning the pics that I provided) and be wondering: Where are the punks? It's true, Penelope Spheeris does have a reputation for being a "punk director," but that reputation seemed to slowly melt away as the 1980s progressed. It does briefly resurface in Dudes. But if you remember, my biggest complaint about that movie was the fact that the soundtrack was mostly composed of heavy metal songs.

While the film is totally punk-free, it is transgender-friendly. Okay, maybe it's not exactly "friendly," but it does feature Sandy Crisp (a.k.a. Goddess Bunny) as Charlene, Walsh's cynical receptionist, and a cross-dressing hooker, who, for some reason, pulls a knife on Evan Kim, and that's at least something. Oh, and the holding cell at the Hollywood police station is filled with transvestite hookers. And by "filled," I mean, it boasts a couple of rough-looking queens.

Dudes (Penelope Spheeris, 1987)

Some might say the only genuine punk moment to take place in Penelope Spheeris' Dudes is when "Biscuit" asks "Hazekiah" (who's naming these people?) to sing "Holiday in Cambodia" by The Dead Kennedys when the latter tells his visibly annoyed audience that he does requests. Well, given the circumstances, you wouldn't expect a drunken old coot to know anything about The Dead Kennedys. And you would be right, he's not familiar with the song in question. However, I found this reference to punk rock to be a tad disingenuous. In fact, the second Biscuit mentions the song, I thought to myself: Oh yeah, these guys are supposed to be punks. The reason I forgot was because the soundtrack up until then had been nothing but Faster Pussycat, W.A.S.P. and Keel. Maybe sometime during filming Penelope Spheeris lost interest in punk rock and started get into heavy metal; after all, she would go on to make The Decline of Western Civilization Part II: The Metal Years soon after this film came out. It's also possible that the producers told Penelope to use heavy metal instead of punk, I don't know. But I do know the sight of three New York City punks driving through the desert in a beat up Volkswagen Bug to the sounds of Faster Pussycat is not punk. I don't care how adorable Brent Muscat is, and, believe me, he is adorable, punks don't usually go for hair metal. This is especially true for punks who spend their evenings stage diving at gigs that feature The Vandals, a punk band who appeared in Penelope Spheeris' seminal Suburbia (now that's a punk rock movie) and fighting over a salmon-gloved Pamela Gidley (Cherry 2000).

Quit your bellyaching, you sound like a freaking baby. Besides, this is one of them fish out of water thingies, so it makes perfect sense for the music to represent the opposite end of their cultural comfort zone. If that's the case, shouldn't the film be nothing but country and western songs? I mean, the film is basically a western. Good point. If I was forced to categorize this film, I would put it in the western section, as it contains all the ingredients that make up your typical western.

Still, I was disappointed by the lack of punk music in Dudes. That being said, I did take solace in the fact that Vance Colvig, Jr., the old drunk who doesn't know who The Dead Kennedys are, sings "Mexican Radio" by Wall of Voodoo at one point. Wait, did the punks request that song, too? Nope, he just starts singing it of his own volition. Awesome. Did he sing the line about eating barbequed iguana? Nah, just the "I'm on a Mexcican Ray-deeo / I'm on a Mexican whoa-oh ray-deeo" part. Nevertheless, it was a pretty cool moment. It also reminded me of that time when Kramer on Seinfeld sings "Mexican Radio" while installing a reverse peephole on his apartment door in the aptly titled episode, "The Reverse Peephole."

How can you complain about there not being enough punk in this movie when it opens to sight of Jon Cryer stage-diving to "Urban Struggle" at a Vandals concert? Yeah, I got to admit, it's quite the punk sight to behold. Bored with life in New York City, three punk rockers, Grant (Jon Cryer), Biscuit (Daniel Roebuck), and Milo (Flea) decide to move to Los Angeles. Whoa! Stop the presses. Bored with life in New York City?!? I'm sorry, but that doesn't make any sense. If you're bored in New York City, it's not the city's fault. What are you trying to say? What I'm saying is, you're probably the one who's boring. You know what? Forget about "probably," you're definitely the one who's boring.

Whether you agree with them or not, they're going to Los Angeles. Yeah, I get the whole "let's go to Los Angeles" angle, I'm a big fan of Los Angeles. It's just that they live in New York City. You know what I'm saying? Anyway, after getting in a fight with Pamela Gidley's musclebound boyfriend at a Chinese restaurant, the three punk rockers hangout in an alleyway to discuss their bleak futures. When Grant nearly falls to his death while jerking around on a pipe, those who were reluctant to sign on to Flea's idea to move to L.A. are quickly brought on board.

Hopping in their beat up VW Bug with a 1,000 dollars in cash, the punk trio hit the road to the strains of "Jesus Came Driving Along" by The Leather Nun. Now that I've had some time to think about it, I take back what I said earlier about Dudes not being punk enough. I mean, The Leather Nun song has a sort of goth punk vibe about. And not only that, Daniel Roebuck's mohawk is quite impressive when viewed in the harsh light of the open road. Believe or not, I had this strange idea in my head that it was a fake mohawk. You don't mean a faux hawk, do you? No, I wouldn't go that far. Either way, I grew to love it, no pun intended, as the film progressed.

Entering Utah (eww, that sounds kinda dirty), the punks help Daredelvis (Pete Willcox), an Elvis impersonator/renaissance man, whose trailer is stuck on the side of the road. The side of the road is also where Grant first sees Witherspoon (Cal Bartlett), his, as we'll soon find out, cowboy spirit guide.

While camping near a giant rock, Biscuit, named so because he loves dog biscuits, says the first thing he wants to do when he arrives in Los Angeles is to meet The Go-Go's. When Grant informs him that they split up, he remains defiant, declaring that he wants make babies with them. Now, that would be an amazing movie: A trio of NYC punks travel to L.A. to impregnate the members of The Go-Go's. If I had to pair Biscuit with a Go-Go, I would fix 'em with Gina Schock. Why? Oh, I don't know, he digs drummers, and she's into chubby guys who eat dog biscuits. Who cares? It would be a great movie.

You know who doesn't think it would make for a good movie? Lee Ving. You mean the singer from the band Fear? Yep, the very same. Playing a lowlife piece of human garbage named Missoula, Lee Ving and his unruly gang of thugs, including Wes (Glenn Withrow), attack the punk's camp and end up killing Flea in the process. No, not Flea! Who's going to impregnate Belinda Carlisle?

It's weird that you thought Flea and Belinda would... You know what? Never mind that. I guess Grant and Biscuit are going to have to continue onto L.A. without Flea.

Changing his mind mid-flee, Grant decides he wants to avenge Flea's death. Wanting no part of it, and no doubt still dreaming of ejaculating sperm inside Gina Schock, Biscuit refuses to go along with Grant's plan. That all changes, however, when Biscuit gets in touch with inner Native American while napping at Catherine Mary Stewart's house. It's at this point in the film when it starts to resemble an episode of The Lone Ranger, with Grant, helped by his cowboy spirit guide, as the titular lawman, and Biscuit, inspired by his tribal elders, as Tonto, his loyal sidekick. Of course, I've never seen an episode of The Lone Ranger, nor did I see the recent movie. But I'm sure it was something like this.

You probably noticed that I mentioned Catherine Mary Stewart in the above paragraph. Well, the reason I did this is because she is totally in this movie. She plays Jessie, a tomboyish tow truck driver who helps Grant and Biscuit with their Lee Ving problem.

Realizing that a rugged Catherine Mary Stewart isn't exactly going to drive teenage boys wild with desire (discerning teenage lesbians, on the other hand, will love C.M.S. in this flick), Penelope Spheeris calls upon her go-to babe Christina Beck (Suburbia) to play Lee Ving's floozy girlfriend in a brief yet pivotal scene that takes place in a Wyoming saloon.

Mixing the spirit of the wild west with punk and heavy metal might seem like a dicey combination, but Dudes is not about genre mashing, it's essentially about standing up for yourself, or more specifically, not allowing all the Lee Ving's out there to push you around. Getting reacquainted with their inner outlaws, Jon Cryer and Daniel Roebuck manage to grow a pair just in time for the climatic showdown with Lee Ving. Of course, at times it seemed like Jon Cryer and Daniel Roebuck were merely playing dress up. However, I thought they brought some unexpected pathos, along with some deft comedic touches, to their respective roles. Now, if I knew going in that the film would turn out to be a glorified western with a heavy metal soundtrack, I would have probably steered clear of Dudes. But now that I've watched it from start to finish, I can confidently say that it was a sort of worthwhile experience.

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.

Suburbia (Penelope Spheeris, 1983)

Wild dogs tearing apart toddlers, shirtless skinheads sexually assaulting chic new wavers while Casey Royer looks on with a snotty brand of indifference, what has the world come to? Just kidding, I don't give a shit. Don't get me wrong, I think tearing apart toddlers and humiliating new wavers is wrong, I just don't care about the state of the world. Wait a minute, where have I heard this tone before? Oh, I know, you're trying to get in touch with your inner punk, aren't you? Yeah, so what if I am, you bleeding tosser! Ooh, "bleeding tosser," I like that. You blithering git! Even better. Fuck the world and the giant donkey dick you rode in on, 'cause I'm about to review Penelope Spheeris's Suburbia, the punkiest punk movie that ever punked its way through the spunk stained drapes that is my punk-addled subconscious. It's that punk, eh? You better fucking believe it is. Since I'm the one typing words about about this movie, I guess it's okay if I share a few punk-related anecdotes about my days as a punk-adjacent juvenile delinquent. What the hell does "punk-adjacent" mean? You know, a common vertex? Let me put it this way, I wasn't a punk, but I occasionally found myself next to punks, and inevitably some of their punkiness would rub off on me. Not so much that I started listening to The Exploited and wearing suspenders on my trousers for no reason, but enough to understand the ethos. I recall spending an entire day with a group of punks; I knew one of them, so they tolerated my presence. And there's a scene midway through this film where T.R. (The Rejected) march down the sidewalk of a suburban street in slow motion that reminded me of my day with the punks. I distinctly recall the looks on horror on the faces of the so-called "normal people" as we walked by like it was yesterday; remember, this was long before wannabe chefs on reality cooking shows had spiderweb neck tattoos and celebrity babies had mohawks.

When word got back to me that one of the punks, an oily sycophant in desperate need of a bath, didn't think I should hang out with them (something to do with the fact that I didn't have the right "look"), I was actually glad, as I've always had a deep disdain for groups of people who insist on dressing alike. Whether it be Nazis, punks, or Nazi punks, I shall reject fashion conformity whenever and wherever it rears its ugly head.

The punks in this film, however, didn't have that problem, as each seemed to bring their own unique look to the fashion table. For example, I thought their de facto leader Jack Diddley (Chris "I never thought I'd get hit" Pederson) had a ska-punk, proto-industrial tinge to his look (he wouldn't look out of place at a Selector concert or a Front 242 gig). While Skinner (Timothy O'Brien), the muscle of T.R., is rocking the skinhead look, and Joe Schmo (Wade Walston), the romantic member of T.R., is sporting a goth punk--I secretly like The Cure--ensemble.

Even though I already stated that "T.R." stands for "The Rejected," I should mention that T.R. is the name of a gang of street kids, and that the film is basically about some of T.R.'s newest recruits. A teenage runaway named Sheila (Jennifer Clay), who witnesses a toddler torn to shreds by a wild dog while hitchhiking, Evan (Bill Coyne), who is later joined by his younger brother Ethan (Andrew Pece), flees his alcoholic mother, and Joe Schmo (Wade Walston), who doesn't like the fact that his father lives with his boyfriend. These three, I mean, four, shack up with a ragtag group of their fellow teens who are squatting in an abandoned house off the 605 in Los Angeles, California. I have to say, Joe Schmo's reason for running away is pretty weak. I mean, so your dad is gay. Big deal!

Anyway, despite Joe Schmo's homophobia, which, I suppose, was accurate given the period and his age, I liked how Evan winds up with T.R. Alone in L.A., Evan spots a group of punk rockers walking down the street. Intrinsically drawn to them, Evan follows them to a punk show where Keef (Grant Miner), who, judging by his armband, is a member of T.R., slips a black triangle (his drug of choice) in his drink when he's not looking. One thing leads to another, and Jack Diddley is helping a passed out Evan into his car.

During the concert, which features a band called D.I., Skinner, the lone skinhead in T.R., rips the dress off this poor new wave-ish woman, which causes a crowd gather around her. The sight of all these vulgarians taunting her with her torn clothing as she cried for help was sickening. It's true, I was eventually able to get past this scene, but the fact Skinner was the main culprit left a bad taste in my mouth.

On a more positive note, the concert scene introduces us to T'resa (Christina Beck) and Mattie (Maggie Ehrig), my absolute favourite characters in the Suburbia universe.

Never seen apart once throughout the film, I loved how T'resa and Mattie were always together no matter what. In fact, guess what? What? Chicken butt! I'm officially declaring T'resa and Mattie's friendship to be the most adorable thing ever. Um, ever?!? Don't you think that's a little too much? Okay, how 'bout this, T'resa and Mattie friendship is the most adorable thing in this movie. That sounds more realistic. But T'resa and Mattie better watch their adorable backs. Why's that? Oh, I don't know, have you ever seen Evan's little brother sitting on a Big Wheel? Yeah, so? Lots of kids sit on big wheels. Do these "lots of kids" you speak of have mohawks? Damn, I don't even have to see a picture of that to know that's pretty freaking adorable.

All right let's change the wording, shall we? Little Ethan with a mohawk is adorable, there's no doubt about it. On the other hand, T'resa and Mattie are now officially the sexiest characters in the Suburbia universe. If that's true, then why weren't any of the punk guys–I'm looking in your general direction, Flea–constantly hitting on them? What's that? Maybe they're lesbians. I don't think so. Check out the scene where hey rush the stage and shower T.S.O.L.'s Jack Grisham with kisses, they exude uncut heterosexuality from every orifice. I guess they were just intimidated by their hotness. And besides, Flea is already in a relationship...with his pet rat. Eww.

If you want to stay at the T.R. house, a cockroach infested, graffiti-covered dump that strangely enough still has electricity, you need to get a "burn," which involves burning the letters T.R. into your flesh. Once you get a burn, you can sit around the house, watch TV, listen to T'resa and Mattie do the whole "Guess what?" "Chicken butt!" joke over and over again (I told you they were adorable) and wake up to the sound of gun-totting reactionaries shooting wild dogs.

These "reactionaries" are the punk's primary nemesis, and end up causing them a shitload of grief over the course of the film. Standing in-between the two groups, the reactionaries on the one side and the T.R. punks on the other, is William Rennard (Donald V. Allen), a police officer who just happens to be Jack's stepfather. Don't tell me the reason Jack doesn't want to live at home is because his step dad is black. If that's the case, I'm giving up on these people.

After a run in with a couple of  reactionaries outside a T.S.O.L. concert, T.R. become the focus of "Citizens Against Crime," a community action group made up of massive squares, puritan pukes, drunk housewives and frustrated child molesters.

It's not all tragedy and slam dancing, the film does have a few moments of levity here and there. And the one that stands out the most is when T.R. steal sod (chunks of grass) from the front lawn of some house, transport it to the mall, lay it out front of the mall's Radio Shack, sit on it, and proceed to watch television.

I wonder if Christina Beck and Maggie Ehrig still have the scarfs they wear in their hair throughout this film. Actually, I wonder if I'm the first person ever to wonder this. Actually, forget about the scarfs, I wonder if Christina Beck and Maggie Ehrig are still friends. It would be totally awesome if they were.

Despite the repugnant scene involving the new wave chick being humiliated at a D.I. concert (it goes on for excessively long period of time), I'm declaring Suburbia to be fun-filled romp. Just kidding, I found Suburbia to be a gritty, authentic look at the punk subculture of the early 1980s. Using amateur actors and real locations, Penelope Spheeris creates a filthy, depressing world that doesn't shirk from showing us the consequences that can arise when you put a bunch of teenage runaways under one roof and surround that roof with packs of ravenous wild dogs and cars filled with trigger happy reactionaries.