Star Trek (J.J. Abrams, 2009)

A circular spacecraft named Enterprise, bald aliens wielding a large drill, and the burgeoning friendship between two rivals are at the centre of an exciting new film called "Star Trek," an intergalactic tale about men and women who like to fly around the universe in gold, blue, and, if their unlucky, red outfits; in the men's case, the shirts are the only item coloured in this manner (their trousers and boots are typically black). Not knowing anything about this storied franchise beforehand, I sheepishly entered this film, which is directed by Felicity creator J.J. Abrams, like a newly hatched Jem'Hadar about to receive their first dose of Ketracel-white. This inexperience with all things Star Trek put me in a unique situation; in that, I was able to appreciate the space battles, macho posturing and planetary destruction from a fresh perspective. Similar to one of Weyoun's many clones, yet not similar at all, I approached the material with the stealthy cool of a disgraced member of the Obsidian Order. Now, I know what you're thinking, and you're absolutely right, I do sound more like a disgraced member of the Tal Shiar. But what super secret intelligence agency best represented my spiritual temperament as I sat in a room for two hours and stared at a giant screen that featured angry dudes with pointy ears getting all huffy is not important. What is important, however, is that I enjoyed the shapes, colours and sounds that washed over me in this film (you know, despite my fake ignorance).

Starting off on the planets Earth (which in the future looks like Iowa) and Vulcan, the film is basically about a cocksure human named James T. Kirk (Chris Pine) and conflicted a half Vulcan/half Human named Spock (Zachery Quinto), and their rocky journey to the bridge of the Starship Enterprise, the most powerful ship in the United Federation of Planets. The standoffish relationship between the forceful Kirk and the logical Spock is the driving force behind the film; as it should be.

The plot involving a deeply troubled Romulan (who are now bald and have facial tattoos) named Nero (Eric Bana) and his desire to destroy one of the Federation's most digable planets is just an excuse to get the two science fiction icons to stop bickering long enough in order to have them to team up and shoot lasers together by the third act. In terms of geekiness, the moment Kirk and Spock open up on a group of Romulans with their laser guns in the engine room of their vile looking ship was my favourite.

Looking at things from a purely action-based perspective, I'd have to say the skydiving sequence was the most thrilling. And on top of being an exhilarating spectacle, it also gave Sulu (John Cho) a chance to make his presence felt–he engages in a sword fight with a couple of Romulans on the roof of a giant space drill, and, of course, rescues Kirk. In fact, all the members of the supporting cast are all given the opportunity to rescue one another throughout the film– it's a quick and easy way for the ship's crew to build trust.

Out of all the characters who assist/rescue Kirk along the way, I'd say that I was most impressed with the hilariously gruff performance by Karl Urban as Dr. McCoy and Anton Yelchin's thick Russian accent as the boyish Chekov (who has dropped the mid-60s Rodney Bingenheimer look). I must admit, felt a kinship toward the surly doctor. Mainly because he was always annoyed with something–and let's face it, space can be pretty annoying at times. His line about space being "disease and danger wrapped in darkness and silence" had me nodding slightly in dorky agreement.

While Chris Pine (Just My Luck) brings a swagger to Jim Kirk that is all his own (the only time he reminded me of William Shatner was while he was eating an apple during a battle simulation), Zachary Quinto (So noTORIous) is coolness personified as Mr. Spock. The blue shirt, symmetrical haircut and pointy ears all seem to fit him perfectly. Now, I don't want to say that he was born to play Spock– that would be extremely dweeb-like. But there was an air of nonchalance to the way Quinto brought the logic-obsessed Vulcan-Human to life. And I loved the how he said the word "fascinating," as it was very Nimoy-esque.

Oh, and how super terrific was it that Winona Ryder plays Spock's mom? Yeah, so it's not quite up there with Welcome Home, Roxy Carmichael, but it was still kinda terrifically super.

Since Star Trek is rated PG, I knew going in that the chances of seeing Spock's space penis were pretty slim. Nevertheless, that doesn't mean the film is completely limp in terms of sex appeal. The image of Nichelle Nicols' Uhura sitting at her station, her beautiful, pantyhose-covered legs crossed ever so gingerly, is the stuff of sexy legend. Sure, I didn't see the original series until the mid-90s, but her healthy thighs remain an unmistakable part of my existence. So, in terms of pressure, I'd say Zoe Saldana (Centre Stage) had the biggest boots to fill out of the new actors. Of course, there's no way Zoe can replace Nichelle, but she does bring her distinct charm to the role. Sporting an expertly tied ponytail at all times, Miss Saldana is more than just a glorified secretary, she's a gifted linguist and a Vulcan jizz receptacle.

Anyway, Winona, babes with green skin (Rachel Nichols), ponytails, the skydiving sequence, and Karl Urban all make this "re-boot" an experience that is on the cusp of being worthwhile.

Star Trek Trailer
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Welcome Home, Roxy Carmichael (Jim Abrahams, 1990)

Viewed more times than Killer Klowns from Outer Space and Valley Girl combined, the wonderfully hokey Welcome Home, Roxy Carmichael is the most watched movie in my celluloid arsenal. At the moment, I'm not quite sure why I continue to bask in its pinkish glory at an alarmingly rate. (I'd say I've watched it at least twice a year since 1992.) I hope, well, in the next few paragraphs, anyway, to shed some much needed light on the inexplicable phenomenon that is me and this movie. The most obvious reason I find myself repeatedly returning to the town of Clyde, Ohio can be summed up by two simple words: "Winona" and "Ryder." However, that can't be the only reason. I mean, she's appeared in lot's of movies, and I don't, for example, watch Mr. Deeds on an annual basis (once was plenty enough). No, there has to be something else beyond Winona, and, not to mention, Thomas Newman's effervescent music score and Ava Fabian's wet naked bum exiting a swimming pool in slow-motion. Teen angst, the most potent of cinematic elixirs, has to be one of the deciding factors.

The appeal of watching disaffected adolescents yammer and complain has always been a weakness of mine, and in the freak-friendly figure of Dinky Bossetti, I think may have found my patron saint. The diminutive outsider with the healthy penchant for black clothing is so outside the mainstream, that kids hurl rocks at her as she rides down the tree-lined streets of her inconsequential, under-deodorized armpit of a town. And on top of that, she gets scolded and mocked for reciting erotic poetry in class.

As you would expect, I was quite taken by this extreme form of collective ostracism. The residents shun her because she's different, much like they did the titular Roxy Carmichael fifteen years ago.

Except, Dinky isn't different in an obnoxious way. Unlike the so-called weirdos who pretend to be depressed and cool nowadays, she doesn't buy her grim wardrobe at chichi boutiques or insipid chain stores. Uh-uh. She brings a genuine punk aesthetic to her ghoulish style. In that, she wears whatever she finds. I distinctly remember being rather taken by Dinky's do-it-yourself approach to late twentieth century goth fashion, and recall employing many of her techniques.

The dichotomy between Dinky Bossetti's black motif and the frothy pink of Roxy Carmichael was also integral to the film's charm. Take, for instance, the scene where Dinky explores the bedroom of Roxy's old house (which has been turned into a museum), the sight of the morbidly attired teen poking around the aggressively pink confines of that particular room provided quite the contrast in styles. This commingling of contradictory colours was definitely a major influence on me. Actually, I think I just hit the nail on the head.

You see, the colours black and pink are the only two colours that are both revered by the heterosexual and homosexual communities. And since I've always seen myself as an arbitrator between the two distinctive groups, that means Welcome Home, Roxy Carmichael is responsible for developing a good chunk of my world famous personality. (I think just blew my own mind a little bit.)

Eye-rolling her way into the gooey confines my fickle heart like a disgruntled rash, Winona Ryder is the main reason this film manages to succeed on any normal level (I'm sorry Jeff Daniels, but your moping just isn't cutting it). The pale actress from Winona, Minnesota imbues her Dinky with enough teen-based frustration to last twenty life times.

Paired with, what has to be, the most unconventional leading man of her career, Winona has terrific chemistry with the floppy-haired Thomas Wilson Brown. Whether they were talking about the gaps in his teeth or pining while Melissa Etheridge wailed in the background, I found their scenes together to be weirdly compelling.

Sporting one of the most subtle lesbian subplots in Hollywood history (it was so subtle, that I don't think I even noticed it until my fifth viewing), I love the same sex relationship between the bitter Evelyn (Dinah Manoff) and a cutie named Libby (Sachi Parker). Actually, I thought Dinky and the lithesome guidance counselor were on the cusp of making out a couple times as well. So, let's see, make that two subtle lesbian subplots, two Melissa Etheridge songs, and an actress named "Manoff." Wow, this film is more Sappho than two doily dykes necking at a Cinémathèque screening of Mädchen in Uniform.

The supporting cast is rife with so many familiar faces, that not a day goes by without spotting one of them in something or another. The ubiquitous Stephen Tobolowsky bookends the film nicely with his trademark dorky charm as Clyde's mayor, Graham Beckel is great as Dinky's sympathetic dad, Frances Fisher makes stacking carpet samples seem sexy as Dinky's indifferent mother (I loved the unabashed womanliness of her physique), and Heidi Swedberg (Susan from Seinfeld) displays an unhinged quality as a hurried tailor.

Proving that I've matured slightly when it comes to ogling actresses, I was pleasantly surprised by how tantalizing I found Laila Robins to be in this film. I mean, I always thought her character was attractive and stuff, but there was clearly something different about her as I gazed upon her this time around.

Playing Elizabeth Zaks, the aforementioned guidance counselor who befriends Dinky, Miss Robins brings a dignified professionalism to the proceedings, and of course, some much needed legginess. Which I can't believe I didn't notice the other gazillion time I watched this, her legs, that is. I guess, like every other sane person, my focus was on Winona's performance.

Anyway, utilizing my newfangled predilections and curiosities, my revisiting of this film was, as expected, a resounding success.

video uploaded by DinkyDean23

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Heathers (Michael Lehmann, 1989)

It was about time I revisited the perturbed hilarity of Heathers; a deliciously warped movie that comforts me whenever I'm feeling a tad unbalanced or depleted in the red scrunchy department. You see, I hadn't seen it in at least five years (my overplayed VHS copy just up and died on me). So, as you would expect, the prospect of bathing in its unsavoury light once again had me all aflutter and wistfully woolgathering about blue leggings, shower-nozzle masturbation material, lunchtime polls, cow-tipping, strip croquet ("Sure beats boning on the neighbour's swing"), the perfect hangover cure, and, of course, the breeziness of teen suicide. This film, directed by Michael Lehmann and written by Daniel Waters, is a movie that I used to watch at least once a week back in 1992-93, and it remains to be not only one of the darkest comedies of all-time, but one of the best movies period. Which was a relief, because I was deathly afraid that the film's ability to shock and delight might have softened over the years. But thankfully the film continues to brilliantly skirt that fine line between utter tastelessness and biting satire. Originally, I watched the film because of my healthy obsession with Winona Ryder, but gazing longingly into the diminutive actresses' big brown eyes soon became secondary, as I found myself transfixed by the film's harsh depiction of everyday life at a nondescript high school. The random acts of cruelty and the impenetrable nature of the various social hierarchies all rang true.

"The only place different social types can genuinely get along with each other is in heaven." ~ J.D.

Displaying wonderful chemistry with one another, Christian Slater and Winona Ryder play a murdering high school duo who turn faking suicides into an art form. Now, their quirky relationship germinates in the cafeteria, but it really blossoms at the Snappy Snack Shack, where the two engage in some of the finest onscreen flirting I've ever seen; a lot of innuendos involving Cherry Slushies, Turbo-Dogs and Corn Nuts. Which culminates with one of my favourite lines: "I don't really like my friends." Something I'm sure we've all thought at one time or another.

Having not seen the film in so long has granted me the honour of seeing it from a semi-fresh perspective. In addition, I got to utilize my newly acquired penchant for all-things sleazy and salacious. I mean, I was surprised by how much I embraced Heather Chandler this time around. Her domineering brand of bitchery was probably off-putting ten years ago, but now I find her to be strangely alluring. In case anyone doesn't know, she's the leader of the most powerful clique at Westerburg High and is played with a tyrannical zestfulness by Kim Walker. The alpha Heather (a.k.a. The Red Heather) is the character who launches the film into a cattish wonderland, full of mean spiritedness and hideous blazers. She also spews some of the film's most memorable lines...

Top 10 Heather Chandler Lines

1. "Well, fuck me gently with a chainsaw. Do I look like Mother Theresa?"
2. "Come on. It will be very. The note will give her shower-nozzle masturbation material for weeks."
3. "They all want me as a friend or a fuck. I'm worshiped at Westerburg and I'm only a junior."
4. "You were nothing before you met me. You were playing Barbies with Betty Finn. You were a Bluebird. You were a Brownie. You were a Girl Scout Cookie."
5. "Is this turnout weak or what? I had at least 70 more people at my funeral."
6. "You stupid fuck... I brought you to a Remington party and what's my thanks? It's on a hallway carpet. I got paid in puke."
7. "Grow up, Heather, bulimia's so '87."
8. "You blow it tonight, girl, and it's keggers with kids all next year."
9. "You wanted to be a member of the most powerful clique in school. If I wasn't already the head of it, I'd want the same thing."
10. "Corn Nuts!"

Other Random Heather Thoughts:

I love it when Shannen Doherty (Heather Duke, a role she was born to play) asks Veronica: "Why are you pulling my dick"? Women who refer to having penises are tops in my book. There's just something inherently sexy about a dame with an imaginary cock.

The mundane patter Veronica Sawyer takes part in with her parents (William Cort and Jennifer Rhodes) out on the patio never fails to amuse me. Mr. Sawyer: "Goddamn, will somebody please tell me why I read these spy novels?" Veronica: "Because you're an idiot." Mr. Sawyer: "Oh, yeah, that's it." Mrs. Sawyer: "You two..."

The statuesque Lisanne Falk (Heather McNamara) has the gams of a professional knee-pad model. I can't believe I didn't notice them the other 150 times I watched this flick. Check 'em out when she's talking to Winona in the parking lot just after the film's first funeral. Oh, and the look on Renée Estevez' face as she sulks away after Heather Duke and Heather McNamara interrupt the croquet match she was having with Veronica always makes me sad.

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