Chopping Mall (Jim Wynorski, 1986)

Rendering the rent-a-cop obsolete with the simple flick of a switch, the mildly satirical, yet altogether entertaining Chopping Mall presents an off-kilter world where your average shopping centre (Sherman Oaks Galleria) is crawling with killer robots, replete with waitresses in red Lacoste shirts who are told to get "more butter" by greasier than usual customers, and features a gun shop called Peckinpah's Sporting Goods (a crisp tribute to the ordnance-friendly director of the same name). Hilarious and provoking hardly any mental exertion whatsoever, the Jim Wynorski directed film is a nimbly paced, mall-based action flick masquerading as an Eating Raoul sequel. Yeah, that's right, Paul and Mary Bland make a brief appearance near the start of the film as restaurant owners. Sitting in the front row at a well-attended demonstration for this new state-of-the-art security system, Mary Woronov (her long, slender legs on full display) and Paul Bartel (his trademark baldness neutralized by his well-nourished beard) are periodically called upon to deliver a barbed comment or two. Of course, it's not the same as having a full-length sequel, but it was nice to see that Bland's were doing well. So much so, that they can apparently afford to buy expensive killer robots to guard their classy eatery.

Designed to protect the sanctity of any merchandise that lies within a building's sturdy walls from would-be thieves and bandits, these robots aren't actually supposed to kill (the term "killer robots" is a bit of a misnomer). But like with most newfangled gizmos and gadgets, the robots start to misbehave. Sure, strangling middle-aged bookworms (Gerrit Graham) and electrocuting surly janitors (Dick Miller) ain't gonna set off any alarm bells at the companies public relations firm. (Their market value is quite low according to the device that measures corporeal merit.) On the other hand, the tension is amplified when a throng of horny teenagers are in danger of being slaughtered. (Adolescents buy more, therefore, are more important in the long run.)

Now firing head-eviscerating laser beams from their eyes, the robots (three to be exact) are hellbent on exterminating eight young people who had planned on partying the night away in the Furniture King (three of the guys work there). Splitting up according to gender, the six (head-eviscerating laser beams have quickly reduced their numbers) teens battle the robots utilizing anything they can get their hands on.

Campy without containing the properties of something that is necessarily campy, Chopping Mall may appear to be a mindless tale of robots gone amuck. However, underneath all the crazy mayhem and clever one-liners ("Fuck the fuchsia! It's Friday!" and "Let's send these fuckers a Rambo-gram.") lies a fortuitous vision of the killer robot future we're all going to be living in the tomorrow to come.

Whether this was the film's intention or not, the sight of a glorified vending machine blowing the head off a lovely lass, whose only crime was looking absolutely scrumptious in a pair of pale panties and possessing a boyfriend who loves cunnilingus, was a stark reminder that machines are becoming more militarized. That being said, the head exploding scene was pretty sweet– you know, in terms of chunk ratio and splatter girth.

Nearly falling into a giddy stupor when I first heard its groovy magnificence during the film's spirited opening credits sequence (where beauty pageant contestants, skate boarding brats, and video arcade enthusiasts literally collide with one another), the 100% electronic score by Chuck Cirino is hands down one of the greatest accomplishments in the history of movie music. The synthesizers, the drum machines, everything seemed in perfect harmony, as its chaotic throb washed over me. Seriously, it's an awesome score.

Quirky fun-fact: Chuck Cirino was the SUV driving host/producer of Weird TV, a wonderfully insane late night program that aired on Global TV in my neck of the woods back in 1995.

Proving that the excessive cuteness she displayed in Night of the Comet was not a fluke, and, of course, establishing once and for all that she doesn't need to sheath her firm body in a light-blue cheerleading outfit to get noticed, the adorable Kelli Maroney imbues her character with intelligence, heart, and, most importantly, a delicate grace. As Alison Parks, a clumsy waitress who is set up by her friends with Ferdy, a slightly awkward (though a night fighting robots should cure that) furniture salesmen played by Tony O'Dell, Kelli embraces her inner badass when the robots decide to strike.

Exhibiting a nice counterpoint to the irrational and hysterical behaviour of Barbara Crampton (From Beyond), Miss Maroney is comfortable with firearms (much like she was in the comet movie) and isn't afraid to spout cheesy one-liners before offing belligerent robots. In other words: yet another reason to worship the spunky splendour that is Kelli Maroney.

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Fast Times at Ridgemont High (Amy Heckerling, 1982)

Supposedly setting the tone for every teen movie to come out after its 1982 release, Fast Times at Ridgemont High is a film that I have pretended not to like for the past couple of decades. (Its status as a universally beloved entity has always fraudulently annoyed me.) Well, I'm proud to say that those days are almost over. No, seriously, they're totally over. As of this day, I'm officially coming out as a fan of this somewhat humourous ode to degrading employment, after school change room copulation and quickie abortions. I'll admit, from the moment Amy Heckerling's adolescent-friendly camera pokes its head through the glass doors of Ridgemont Mall (Sherman Oaks Galleria and Santa Monica Place), and we hear The Go-Go's "We Got The Beat" blasting on the soundtrack, I was hooked. Quickly introducing us to the film's many youthful characters, this opening salvo immediately gives the audience a solid sense of the school's social infrastructure before even any of them has the chance open their mouth. However, when they do start flapping their gums and reciting scripted dialogue, whether it be about oral sex technique or the importance of wearing a shirt in a fast food dining environment, the results are always mildly illuminating.

Boasting a sort of meandering approach when it came to dispensing nuggets of plot, Fast Times at Ridgemont High, based on a book by Cameron Crowe, is basically about sex, freedom, and tasty waves (despite the fact the ocean isn't seen outside of a marijuana-fueled dream). The sex segment (naturally) is the most important subject out of the three, in that it concerns almost every character in the film. Although in this case, it mainly relates to Stacy (Jennifer Jason Leigh) and Linda (Phoebe Cates), two girls who work at a pizzeria, Mark (Brian Backer), a shy guy who is the assistant to the assistant manager at the mall's movie theatre ("smoking's upstairs to your left"), and Mike Damone (Robert Romanus), a smooth talking fella who sells overpriced tickets to rock concerts (he's also an amateur bookmaker). The levelheaded Linda mostly gives humping advice and interrupts sham pirates while their masturbate, so it actually focuses on the unintended love triangle that forms between the other three I mentioned.

The film's freedom angle is generated by Brad Hamilton (Judge Reinhold), an always employed high school senior who is looking to extricate himself from whatever mind-numbing job he is currently doing at the time and cut loose his longtime girlfriend. Of course, these things get accomplished in a manner he did not expect. And the tasty waves bit, well, that primarily is the arena of one Jeff Spicoli (Sean Penn). This surfing enthusiast and all-around party animal engages in a bit of a non-surfing battle with Mr. Hand (Ray Walston), a time weary history teacher.

While the sex section is all about melodrama (and how guys are pricks), and the freedom chapter concerns pre-millennial angst, the Spicoli part is pure comedy. Sure, the sight of Mr. Reinhold in his goofy fish restaurant garb is kinda funny, as are the antics of an under-caffeinated science teacher (Vincent Schiavelli) and a pair of over-caffeinated cheerleaders with way too much school spirit (Kelli Maroney and Pamela Springsteen), but it's the normally pompous Sean Penn who is off-the-hook in terms of stoner hilarity. His, "hey, I know that dude," nonchalant interaction with Mr. Pizza Guy (Taylor Negron) and mock playing of a drum cymbal during "Wooly Bully" are watermarks when it comes to cinematic buffoonery.

Now, the thing that has always bothered me about this film has been the fact it fails utilize the pop culture of the day. Saturated with a seemingly unending deluge of smug references to dinosaur rock from the sixties and seventies, the film repeatedly goes out of its way to make allusions to these outmoded bands and artists at every turn. When instead it should be chock-full of post-punk, new wave and synth-pop. You know, like, Valley Girl and The Last American Virgin. The only aspect that reflects the era musically is the wall of Mike Damone's bedroom, as it's plastered with posters of The B-52's, Devo, and even oddities like the Suburban Lawns.

Luckily, this obsession with arena rock can't sully the red bikini-ed magnificence that is the sight of a taut Phoebe Cates existing a backyard swimming pool in slow motion to the instrumental strains of The Cars' "Moving In Stereo." The sound of Greg Hawkes' keyboard* lushly humming as the gorgeous actress gingerly unfastened her swimsuit top is the stuff of semi-nude legend.

I cannot believe there was a time when I used to think this scene was overrated, and focused my praising gaze toward the subtle acting of the justifiably esteemed Jennifer Jason Leigh. Well, thankfully, that person doesn't work here anymore. Don't get me wrong, I'm still a fan of Leigh's performance (she makes getting deflowered in a dilapidated dugout seem like an exercise in extreme torment). It's just that I like to think that I have matured a lot as a viewer of things. Which means that I can safely declare the Phoebe Cates bikini pool scene to be awesome with nary a hint of irony.

Since this was my eleventh or so screening of Fast Times at Ridgemont High, I couldn't help but notice the stellar work of Blair Tefkin (V) as Pat Bernardo, one of the three girls who have "cultivated" the Pat Benatar look at Ridgemont High. You see, every time I look at a film, I end up coming away with something different. And this time around my unparalleled gaze seemed to focus on the girl dressed as the short-haired rock enchantress.

Sexily attired in a regalia of headbands, tight red and black sweaters, and many leg revealing skirts, I couldn't take my eyes off her every time she appeared on-screen. (I loved the closeup shot of her left thigh as she went to check the cheat sheet she had scribbled on it.)

I was truly fascinated by her dedication to the Pat Benetar look. I mean, I remember seeing people who copied the clothing of celebs and artists back when I was roaming the halls (the red cod piece worn by Larry Blackmon was all the rage at my dump of a school), but never once did I see anyone go to the lengths that this gal goes to look like a famous person.

* After watching it again recently, I couldn't help but notice that Greg Hawkes' keyboard is pretty much nonexistent on the version of "Moving in Stereo" used in the film. I know there were a couple of other things I should have been focusing on while I watched the pool sequence. But still, I was quite disturbed by the lack of Mr. Hawkes' synthesizer.

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