Get Crazy (Allan Arkush, 1983)

Made during a time when superficial mayhem wasn't even close to being frowned upon, the little seen Get Crazy is a stark reminder of how playful music used to be. Of course, I'm not saying that music isn't fun anymore (Karen O. seems like a fun gal), but the music world presented in this film is not same as the one we live in – you know, the one where a teen pop star gets scolded for displaying her naked back, or touching a pole in an erotic fashion. For one thing, sex and drugs are openly pursued, and behaving irresponsibly in public is not only encouraged, it's mandatory. Hell, even the seemingly straight-laced Paul Bartel (Eating Raoul) jumps willy-nilly from a lofty balcony at the behest of a screaming punk singer named Piggy (Lee Ving - the most Aussie-looking Minnesotan ever). Promoting the convergence of rock and roll, new wave, blues rock, glam rock and punk, director Allan Arkush (Rock 'n' Roll High School) presents a universe where these distinct styles can commingle and thrive all under the same roof. Presenting the shockingly simplistic tale of a storied theatre (The Saturn) being threatened by comically evil tycoon (Ed Begley Jr.) just as their about to put a big New Year's show to ring in 1983, the rowdy film mainly focuses on Neil Allen (Daniel Stern) and his desperate struggle to maintain a semblance of sanity as the kooky array of acts slowly begin to show up at the theatre.

Each musical act gets to the gig in their own unique style: A group of hippies lead by Captain Cloud (Howard Kaylan) arrive early, but also kinda late (they thought it was Dec. 31, 1968); a blues band called King Blues (fronted by Bill Henderson) get to the show in a smashed up Rolls Royce -- Cool (Franklin Ajaye) ain't the best driver; a mildly depraved glam rocker named Reggie Wanker (Malcolm McDowell) arrives via his groupie-filled, cocaine-fueled jet plane; and Auden (Lou Reed), a metaphysical folk singer, tells the cab driver to take the "scenic route" (he's still working on a song).

An energetic Lori Eastside and her band Nada (with Lee Ving in the trunk) make my favourite entrance, in what can be best described as a garish presentation of new wave/punk clothing, hair and makeup. I liked how each Nada member got their moment in the sun (fashion-wise) as they got out of their car.

Complicating matters–but only slightly–is Neil's little sister Susie (Stacey Nelkin), who desperately wants to attend the show, and the welcome arrival of Willy (Gail Edwards), an attractive friend and former employee of the Saturn's ailing owner.

The rambunctious Susie reminded me Stephanie Kaye (Nicole Stoffman's character from Degrassi Junior High) and Debbie Strand (the temptress played by Rose McGowan in Devil in the Flesh), in that they all left their places of residence in drab, unsexy clothes, but transported themselves into more trollop-friendly attire along the way to their desired location. Only difference being that Stephanie and Debbie were going to school dressed like pg-rated prostitutes. Susie, on the other hand, was attending a wild concert that would feature a giant walking and talking marijuana joint, Malcolm McDowell's massive crotch bulge, and Mary Worornov in an angora sweater.

A series of fantasy sequences that featured a scantily clad Gail Edwards looking all sexy in first-rate lingerie were one of the many non-musical highlights to come out of Get Crazy, a film that is rife with moments of sheer stupidity.

Anyone familiar with his film about the adventures of Riff Randall and the Ramones will not be surprised by the fact that Allan Arkush loves to saturate the screen with childish sight gags and broad physical humour.

Combining both of these distinct styles of comedy was the little aside that featured Malcolm McDowell having a conversation with his penis. Okay, now wait a minute, that's the second time I've referred to Malcolm's genitalia, and that's one too many. Though, I have to admit, I was strangely turned on by the way his manly protrusion dented the front of his dystopian underpants in A Clockwork Orange. So... my obsession shouldn't come as a total shock. (That's four references, by the way, for those keeping score.)

Other than the feistiness of "I'm Not Going to Take It No More" by Lori Eastside, I wasn't that impressed by Get Crazy's musical performances (too much rock, not enough new wave). Luckily, the aforementioned goofiness is implemented at such a rapid pace, that I didn't really have time to effectively scrutinize the music. Besides, bloated arena rock and old timey blues music doesn't exactly scream 1983. Ending the picture, however, with a Sparks' song (the aptly titled "Get Crazy") kinda made up for some of the film's musical squareness.

You know what they say: Whether you put one at the beginning (Heavenly Bodies), plop in the middle (Valley Girl), or, in this film's case, crank it at the end, having a Sparks song on your soundtrack is a surefire way to make your film a little more awesome. Oh, and I loved how the film seemed to promote drug use.

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Valley Girl (Martha Coolidge, 1983)

There are two distinct chapters in my life: The period of time before Valley Girl (a.k.a. Valley Girl - Das Mädchen und der heiße Typ), an appalling netherworld where magenta is nonexistent and everything for as far as the eye can see is covered in a suffocating layer of beige, and the one that existed after Valley Girl, a gleaming, effervescent place in which your average leg warmer isn't just a wooly thing that covers your legs, but a full-bodied cornucopia of bold colours and unique possibilities teeming with nuance and guile; a place where idiosyncratic social groups can commingle with one another to eat complicated sushi without fearing an unexpected kick to the crotch. Now, I don't think I have to tell you which realm I prefer living in, but just in case... Seriously though, I can't believe there was an actually increment of time where Martha Coolidge's seemingly accidental ode to passion and nothingness was not a part of my stunning existence. It baffles me to think that I once lived without knowing about the power of Randy and Julie's love for one another. A love that crosses so many boundaries, that it boggles the mind. I mean, he's a new wave punk from Hollywood and she's new wave preppy from the Valley. I'm no expert on L.A. geography, or alternative subcultures during the early 1980s, but that's got to be one of the most unorthodox pairings in the history of heterosexual dating.

Confounding shapely linguists and unhinged anthropologists since its righteous inception, Valley Girl represents a time and a place in the annals of human history that will never be duplicated. Which is why I treat each screening of the film as a sacred ritual. Sure, the clothes I wear as I watch the film may be the gothiest of jet blacks. But believe you me, and that creepy naked guy inhaling his own genitalia in the corner, my clothing is extremely pastel on the inside.

Ironically, it's colours and clothing that get the characters into so much trouble in this film. You see, when Randy and Julie first lay eyes on one another, they're at the beach and stripped of their tribal uniforms. However, when they meet again at a totally rad Val party, they're sheathed in their respective colours: Hers are light-coloured (lot's of whites, pinks, and soothing blues), while his are industrial (lot's of red and black, or, in much simpler terms, a Mussolini Headkick album cover come to life).

Anyway, this party scene is the nitty-gritty of Valley Girl, as we spend a good chunk of time there. In fact, every nugget of plot is launched at this swanky shindig: Fred's relationship with Stacey, the mother-daughter competition over a guy named Skip, Tommy's manipulation of Loryn, and, of course, Randy and Julie's first up close flirtation.

The way Randy and Fred standout at this Val party, and the way Julie and Stacey standout when the two aforementioned guys take them to a club in Hollywood, is the film's most compelling aspect. In that, everyone can relate to being dragged somewhere and end up feeling like an alien.

This so-called cultural exchange feels natural because the talents of Nicolas Cage and Deborah Foreman as the film's signature couple. I found their looks of longing and desire to be genuine and the heat they generate during their stare downs to "Eyes of a Stranger" by The Payolas and "A Million Miles Away" by The Plimsouls is stuff of teen movie legend.

The switch over sequence, however, is sent into stratosphere in terms of honest-to-goodness whimsicality thanks to the brilliant acting of Heidi Holicker and Cameron Dye as Fred and Stacey. Heidi in particular, whose constant whining is expertly realized through a series of sincere complainants (the music was a tad on the loud side) mixed with obnoxious bellyaching (let Fred grope you, you prude).

On an aesthetic level, I loved Miss Holicker's thighs. They're prominently on display during the infamous sleepover sequence, and, to be perfectly honest, I wanted to Holicker them like you wouldn't believe.

The extended dating montage set to "I Melt With You" by Modern English is the pinnacle of extended dating montages. It's true, the song has lost some of its lustre over the years (it's been used to sell everything from cheeseburgers to low cost fallout shelters), but the moment the songs blasts on soundtrack never seems to fail in jazzing me for some forbidden romance Summing up the awe-inspiring splendour that is Valley Girl in just over three minutes, this montage pretty much shows the blossoming of Randy and Julie's love for one another in a tight little package.

Speaking of tight little packages, never has anyone looked cuter than Elizabeth Daily does when we see her dancing in nothing but pigtails and zebra print underwear.

The soundtrack is one of the greatest ever devised by humankind. The Flirts, Psychedelic Furs, The Plimsouls (the girl with the extra long bangs who is seen excessively dancing to them at the Hollywood club looks exactly like my most prominent high school crush), Felony, and Sparks, (the mother-daughter subplot involving the gorgeous Lee Purcell and Canadian cutie Michelle Meyrink features the most excellent "Eaten By the Monster of Love"), and Josie Cotton and her 1950s accented pop.

In closing, to say that life has been different since Valley Girl would definitely be an understatement. A rewarding cinematic experience like no other, the film changed the way I appreciate things. In other words, it has taught me how to love, like, totally. Ugh.

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Heavenly Bodies (Lawrence Dane, 1984)

If you thought that childish deviants, pudgy-faced troubadours, clubs that centre around parachutes, and film's about non-consensual necrophilia were the only things the nation of Canada had to offer in terms of art and culture; think again. The formidable grandeur that is Heavenly Bodies (a.k.a. Himmelskörper) rips apart the stereotype of the passive hoser (an unshaven layabout whose main goal in life is to watch others ice skate while inebriated) and depicts Canadians as the feisty, leg warmer-wearing go-getters that they really are. Unfolding during the time when exercise wasn't viewed as a subversive act, the inspirational film is a montage-fueled dream machine that poses the question: How long does one have to stretch in order to attain spiritual maturity? The continent is fully immersed in the workout craze that swept the early part of the 1980s and this film perfectly captures the perky pizzazz of that particular era. A taut profusion of kicking legs, flailing arms, and an armada of sweat-drenched torsos struggling to maintain a cohesive sense of self, the bodies seen throughout this film speak volumes. Now, that's not to say that verbal dialogue is frowned upon. On the contrary, I noticed there were number of occasions where characters found the time to talk to one another. It's just that the wonderfully symmetrical citizens that populate this world do their best communicating while jumping in unison.

The definition of a spry film, Heavenly Bodies is basically about Samantha Blair (a gutsy single mother) and her two gal pals, KC (Patricia Idlette) and Patty (Pam Henry), and their dream of running their own fitness club. Of course to keeps things interesting, Samantha lands a job on a morning workout show (the kind you'd catch your Uncle Steve masturbating to most mornings circa 1983) and gets into a bit of tiff with a rival jumping jack pusher named Debbie (Laura Henry). (I could tell Debbie was gonna be trouble the moment she walked on screen.)

Anyway, plucky determination permeates the sweaty pores of Samantha, as she transverses the cramp-addled wasteland that is modern day aerobics. I mean, never has the slipping on of a pair of leg warmers seemed like such an act of defiance. The montage that shows them shedding their corporate duds (heeled shoes, taupe pantyhose, and banal blouses) for the tight-fitting smoothness of their exercise garb exemplified this defiance.

One of the sexiest people ever to pretend to hand out flyers outside the Uptown Theatre, a Toronto landmark demolished in 2003, Cynthia Dale plays Samantha with a street smart aplomb. Proving that action speaks louder than words, Cynthia dances like a crazed bunny on crystal meth.

Utilizing an over-sized vat of gumption and a cutting board littered with moxie, the ultra-fit vixen moves like a flung piece of crushed ice (her solo numbers were beautiful...in a cardiovascular sort of way), and the hypnotic manner in which she thrust her fat-free undercarriage brought a tear to my eye.

Particularly the scene where Miss Dale stares at her football playing boyfriend as Bonnie Pointer's "The Beast In Me" throbs on soundtrack (which also includes excellent songs by Sparks, The Tubes and Boys Brigade).

She's probably not proud of this film (I bet she's performing Shakespeare in Stratford , Ontario right this minute), but I hope Cynthia Dale understands that this flick about solving ones grievances through calisthenics has brought joy to literally hundreds of hardworking people.

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