Top 50 Trash Horror Films of the 1980's: #35-31

Sheesh, all this time and I'm not even half-way through my commitment?  Well then...I'd better step it up.  For those finding this randomly (likely due to screen caps) here are the previous reviews:

#50-46

#45-41

#40-36

#35 - Nightmare (1981)

(Not to be confused with Nightmares from 1983, a pleasure)

Back of the VHS Description: Nightmare is a terrifying trip into the mind of a man who is going mad - and trying desperately to stop himself.  It begins with the very nightmare that is the source of all the terror to follow: A man named george is suffering through a graphic dream that depicts the axe murder of a love-making couple.

(That's it?)

A presentation from Goldmine Productions.  I have to say, this was an interesting beginning: after the initial "scare" we get some knock-off Mike Post style music.  

But once we get going, it's the usual schlock fare.  I have to ask: just how much are we (the viewers) supposed to suspend belief?  And I'm not even talking about the plot - merely the way its shot?  I see what's happening, but the way it's done (say, a bad dream that is also a kill) is so slapdash that I'M the one that has to connect the dots that the filmmakers can't?  (Ugh, preposition)  

Whatever is there (in terms of a good idea, or random time capsule shots) is marred by things like juxtapositions in location when we're clearly in 1 setting, re-using shots (in walking scenes no less), and...ok, wasting too much energy on this one.  The redeemable qualities it has includes:

1) Genuine Times Square / 42nd Street adult clubs from 1980

2) Seemingly off-air radio from North Carolina & South Carolina

3) A C/W bar called Gatsby's

4) A character who's clearly trying to look like Tommy Chong

5) A close-up of a TWA plane landing (along with the Orlando airport), 1980

So, not a complete and total waste.

#34 - The Abomination (1986)

Back of the VHS Description: Breaking out of a hauntingly real nightmare, adolescent Cody finds himself an unwilling host to a 5,000 year old beast multiplying within and tearing out of his tortured stomach!

He is terrified when he discovers that he has become a helpless slave to an army of formless, bloody monsters tucked away in every secluded corner of his home.

Unable to resist their commands, Cody finds himself on a killing rampage filled with chainsaws and decapitations attempting to feed these ravenous, evil beasts.

Soon a whole town is terrorized with blood and scum as young Cody is transformed into an evil maniacal puppet of terror.  No one is safe anymore!  Not his friends, not his boss, not his girlfriend, not his evangelical mother, and most definitely not the deceitful television evangelist, Brother Fogg.

Naturally, this film contains multiple graphic depictions of blood, guts, and slime!

(Yowzer!)

From the first few seconds, it's blood splashes, awful effects, gigantic blood-covered monsters, shots re-used, all with sleazo synth underneath.  We are to understand that this film is written by...

While this ENTIRE MOVIE seems to have ADR dialogue & sound effects (Super 8, that'll do ya) this includes an excellent effect of a throat slashed.  (I watched it 3 times, still couldn't figure out how they did it.  Maybe he had the blood packed underneath?  Who knows - must've been real.)  As this happens the dialogue is "So you cut her throat?"  "Yes."  "Please go on."

The ADR is one thing, but when you have that going over an actor saying the same line just makes this seem dubbed.  Which, of course, makes this whole movie all the more insane.

Favorite part: upon visiting Brother Fogg, it is implied that he's in the bathroom, as we see a hand reaching for toilet paper.  We then are treated to 4 of the fakest-sounding farts this side of 2nd Grade.  I was dying!  He sprays air freshener (for good measure) and then doesn't wash his hands.  Talk about terror!

Edward Tylor was the founding father of cultural anthropology.  I wonder if there's such a thing as popular culture anthropology.  Specific to the 70's & 80s.  If not, it's something I'm starting to think that I founded: I've been studying all my life.

#33 - The Boogey Man (1980)

(Another one that was in theaters)

Back of VHS description: Look, it's insanely long and gives everything away, but it's Wizard Video, so here you go:

If we believe/know how much Halloween and Friday the 13th set the template for many a knock-off, they also set a template for construct of different plots.  Let's say the theme might be the same, then it was that film's job to either give a subtle (or otherwise) nod to those films or give their own take.  The crane shot to start is gold, and this is synth that would make anyone (even NFL Films) proud.  

The hauntings Lacey is going through are psychological, but using this as the throughline for the gore, well, that's what sets this apart.  Because instead of "crazy guy goes crazy", "crazy guy is STILL crazy", or "sane person goes crazy" it's instead the past.  (Some sort of faux-exorcism aside)  Just throwing this out there, but a question: if it's a single person (or persons) who caused harm in one's youth, does it only take their death to end the pain?  The suffering?  The, well, haunting?

For every 1 thing this movie does wrong (the music CUTS), it does 2 things right, be it awesome lighting, that super synth, Willie being seduced by, possibly, Laverne Defazio, (a very "of mice and men" ending to that scene), even a human shish kabob.  Suzanna Love, too...hoo boy.  With the good outweighing the bad, I'd recommend, but I also wonder if this film should be included in the list at all.

Moral of the story: Synth is forever good, and if someone had a traumatic experience in their youth - believe them!  

#32 - Truth or Dare?  A Critical Madness (1986)

Back of the VHS description: Truth or Dare, a child's game turned into a psychotic, twisted game of self-destruction.  This non-stop psycho-thriller packed with action will assault you personally.  Mike Strauber, played brilliantly by John Brace, formerly of the Burt Reynolds playhouse, brings you to the edge of your seat with passionate understanding coupled with unbridled hatred.  If anyone ever asks you to play Truth or Dare, tell them you saw the movie.

The Burt Reynolds Playhouse

Did you get that credit, folks?  I'm gonna say it again.  

Immediate props for a topless scene right off the bat.  Sadly, when it comes to the quality of the thing, it's the wrong things that are why this movie is even on the list.  Honestly, it's all the other things that make this film memorable: driving scenes with the same synth beat that go on WAY too long, music that cuts when a scene ends and I mean cuts (and when that doesn't happen, it's music that stops and starts again within the same scene, with nothing different happening!), those phones that could be hung up on any flat surface, the complete lack of nuanced editing and pacing, synth accenting when a character hits a car interior...

Right here I was going to put a screen capture of a "head exploding" in a mental asylum but even that didn't even look like much, sad to say.  So in sum:

One minute you're a mental hospital orderly, grooving out to music.

The next, the maniac has escaped, killing the music-lover and a patrolman, and then steals a car by missing the script supervisor's head by a good foot and a half.

#31 - The Uninvited (1987)

Back of the VHS description: Five young college students are about to receive an education in living terror.

At the Genetech Research Lab, Fort Lauderdale, Florida, scientists experiment at tampering with the forces of nature and unwittingly create a horrific and uncontrollable mutant creature.  When a group of young college student crew a luxury yacht they fall prey to a series of bloody, murderous attacks.

One by one passengers encounter the killer mutant.  Are the remaining survivors trapped in a floating coffin or can they return to the port on time...

(takes a sip of iced tea, clears throat, leans forward)

You know how many times, during this movie, I thought "OK, now I'm back on track!  This is great!"  There was some shit that brought me back to earth?

Good: (cat escaping) Scientist: Oh god, go get him!  Get the cat!

Bad: You should have cut that scene to a reaction 2 seconds before you did.

Good: Claire Carey on a boat

Bad: Having awesome practical effects and then cutting away?!

Good: George Kennedy!  On a break from playing Carter McKay on Dallas for this!

(George looks like if I somehow convinced Big Ed to star in a horror movie)

"Young broads are a pain in the ass.  (beat)  Old broads are a pain in the ass."

"I don't like you.  I don't like punk kids who think the world owes them a living."

Bad: Guy puking

Good: After George has been bitten by the cat, and freaking out, he shoots at it, giving us this shot

The more I look back at it, its ending, and other faults, I must admit I was laughing a LOT.  There are faults, yes, but there were many, many wrong choices that were so wrong I was just roaring!  Even with two then-current names (kind of stretch for Clu Gulager, but he'd been around) and more future names, as I have with some others in this experience, I have to raise my glass to this film.  They had a goal, and budget be damned, they did it.

Going Up and Down (But Up)

It is the volt to the veins.  The great reminder, of memories old and anew.  Of the first and the most recent.  There are gems of some kind just about everywhere you look.  And if there aren't any in the exact here and there, well, the anticipation of them in the very near future, YOUR future, is enough to tide you over.  

The ocean and road play cat and mouse: they are side by side, then not - the road wants you to take into green, see what's going on in towns medium, small, and next to nothing.  It knows you know the sea is very close by, and that you'll see it again if you just let the road guide you.

And so, it did, on Cinco de Mayo no less, for us to take in and celebrate.  All around us were reminders of all the rain the last handful of months.  Some good (flowers aplenty) and some not (the creeks were fine, but the sideways trees speak of a rough recent past).  After proper margarita and enchilada intake, plans began to be made.  We'd need to review just what the hell happened.

This was now a month or two afterwards, so the result was seeing how nature deals with what it wrought.  Driftwood is one thing, certainly not uncommon on any shore.  But this...

this seemed to let there be no doubt.  In April, residents and those visiting began piling it up along the shoreline, always in some sort of design.  (So much so, you'd think it had been there for decades)  This was new to me, but it likely wasn't to those south of San Simeon, some of who've seen much.  Maybe seen it all, though if we've learned anything the past 5 years weather-wise, it's a lot we've never seen before.  This will likely happen again.

That kept coming to mind as I ambled, looking at the turbulent Pacific.  Always shit going on.  What it might take of the coastline, it continues to give in waves.  A pack of surfers were doing well with a good tide considering it's near impossible for me to get out of the rack early, ever...certainly not on vacation.  I was fortified not by waves but by a breakfast burrito and hot sauce from Gilroy, but then again, the waves kept me moving.  Deep, slow breaths.

I wanted the coast to be my guide this time.  Paso Robles, maybe another visit. Hey, by the way, I saw a sign for town that, I swear, said its population was 18 people.  Is that true?  I'm pleased to report that it IS true.  A small dairy farm used to be here, now moved south to SLO where you can get help and run a business, but descendants (and others) stayed.  What's left, besides trespassing, was a barn with plenty of homemade wares and freshly made ice cream.  The kind where you eat it and realize that what you're tasting is how it's supposed to taste, why it became so popular, the kind that you'll think of when you're at someone else's place and you're given some slop you take to be polite and, after one lovin' spoonful, let melt to then toss out.

There is a collage of memories afterwards, though what stands out was The Big Scoop beating grown adults over and over again at bar shuffleboard.  She might have eaten 4 or 5 desserts that day as well.  I was complimented (in a roundabout way) on her personality and spirit and I kept to myself stuff like "yeah, but does she wake you up at 3:30AM because she can't find her pillow in the dark?"

The following day brought more of the same.  This is not a stretch where you're looking for the next truck stop.  You're looking for the next place to stop and look out, get out, and roam.  I can think of 2 states like that.  Hawaii is the other.  So, there you go.

It was a strengthening by mother nature, one that is always there but never in the same place 365 days a year.  You find it, and it gives life.  It gives strength.  It gives you just enough energy to make it to Buellton and Solvang.  Solvang for a hearty meal (do they make any other kind there?) and wandering.  Buellton to feed ostriches, as you do.  You can also take in what was, and what is.  20 years ago, this Summer, I started in Carpinteria and then ambled north.  It was a true vacation with no plans, the kind you can take at that age.  Somewhere in Los Olivos (maybe at the Cafe?  I don't exactly remember) I'm forced to share my profession with a local.  "Oh, really?  You know, a film company came to scout.  There's going to be a movie filmed around here in a couple months."  That's cool, I thought, never knowing what would happen.  

What was - Days Inn.  Outside of the windmill, an average motel I chose not to stay in due to the proximity to the main drag & the 101.  Now?  It's the "Sideways Inn" with fire pits and "an out of this world gym."  Driving past it, as expected, the Hitching Post II was packed.  In that brief flash along 246, all I could think of was a line from the bartender, where he says a busload of old people showed up.  That's what this area has endured, for good and bad, for the past 2 decades.  

Is that the same kind of evolution that you find along the coast?  That storms of any kind can come along, and with it some things stay while others are washed to sea?  Like any good thing, there is an eagerness to see what's changed, what's the same, all the while thankful to the eternal: that the coast, in its evolving form, will always be there.

(insert name here)!

Each decade brings with it its own trends, some more than others.  In the 1990's, everyone had a talk show.  Not only was that the case, doing so was big business.  Late Night talk shows (competition, first episodes, last episodes) were front and center of the public.  Daytime talk shows ran the gamut from the sedate to the clinically insane.  And, having our public access (another old trend) late night talk show, we had to acknowledge the daytime talk show...somehow.

To compete against Letterman and Leno, another station in town would rerun that day's Jerry Springer show.  This wasn't always the case, but at least once a week you'd be guaranteed to see something that, in a talk show setting, you'd never seen before.  I'd sit thinking "There's no way he's taking this seriously."  I had been taught in the "School of Dave" that much comedy comes from taking something stupid completely serious.  Such seriousness becomes the joke.  

And so, Jerry's show morphed into what was making it popular, what was causing imitations each new fall season.  And for our show we, too, were figuring out what was funniest, who we could trust to ad lib, etc.  Our core of the show needed little direction: they could be trusted in any situation.  There were others that were 50/50 on if they'd blend in or become a liability (Nic/Kevin).  And there were others that I'd wish hadn't shown up, hadn't known about the taping, weren't invited, etc.  

BUT, when you're doing a show like this, you need bodies, plain and simple.

One episode was titled "Oh those hobbies" and featured some unique hobbies.  One man really enjoyed pecans.  Another man enjoyed punting marshmallows.  "It started a while back in the kitchen.  Kind of raining out.  This bag of marshmallows there...all kinds of different colors.  One thing led to another, and before I knew it, I was hooked on...punting marshmallows."

In these instances, there were surprise clips of people at home doing these hobbies.  "How'd you get that?" they'd ask.  But it was too late - the audience had seen enough.

"If he ever moves into MY neighborhood, I'm gonna punt his marshmallow face right outta there!"  (Audience goes crazy)

The pressure soon got to Jorge Tacomaisch.  His personal hobby shown on television, well...

The guests (and nutty hobbies) continued.  One man was in denial about his love of icing.  Not wanting to be agreeable, the audience went for the throat.

"If Rollie keeps playing with cake toppings, he better ice himself right outta my sight!"  The audience went crazy, again.  All the host could say is "THAT IS CONTROVERSIAL!"

In another, "Bounce Pass" Williams came clean on his uniform fetish and how he's able to manage life.  He also shares of meeting people with "Lab coat fetishes."  

A later episode, titled "I've Got a Secret" featured guests Garth Schlinkterz ("Boy!  Me & Eggs!  Forget it!) and Nim-Wam Nam ("Boy!  Me and dryers at the dry cleaners!") sharing aspects of their unique personalities, all for the delight of the audience.  

A couple years after these videos, I met Jerry, if ever briefly.  Enough for a handshake, photo, and quick word.  He was polite, forthright, kind, funny.  A good TV personality.  He was riding high.  That's a good time to meet most people, I've found.

Our parodies were played for laughs.  What were Jerry's "authentic" guests for beyond ratings and making money?  On the show, Jerry would seem level-headed (and he was) and seemingly concerned (maybe he was) with each episode concluding with a "let's come together" thought.  It kept everything upbeat despite how downbeat, bizarre, or depressing things would be during the episode.

In 2006, I was working at ABC.  I was asked if I'd want to attend Dancing with the Stars episodes in the past and was asked again as the new season premiered.  I politely declined.  The next day, the reviews were in: it was some obscene audience total, like 22 million viewers.  Flipping around the in-house TV, they showed a clip of Jerry being interviewed by fellow contestant Tucker Carlson.  From Television City, they shared their war stories from the previous night.  The insane size of the viewing audience was brought up, and they both shook their heads.  They were amazed and couldn't believe it.  A moment in time.  

He chased the money.  He was honest about it.  He had willing and unknowingly willing enablers.  And it worked beyond his wildest dreams.  Me?  Well, I watched Sabs convulse, Jonas channel his inner-audience, and Nim Nam talk about riding in a commercial-sized dryer.  In a very 90's way, we both succeeded.

Just between us, I think it's time for us to recognize

The following events (seemingly trivial to the untrained eye...or the slow) have occurred to me over the past 4 months. It has led me to controlled rages of anger and high annoyance.    

1) On a very chilly & early morning in southwest Florida, I left a bait shop as bundled up as I could under the circumstances.  I was wise enough to bring my Rams winter cap, but the rest was a struggle.  The natives were doing the same.  "Where is everyone from?" we were asked.  The German families made their presence known.  The woman formerly known as Smiley said we're from LA to simplify things.  "Minnesoooota." said my mother.  "It's certainly a cold morning!" the lady said.  The Germans nodded.  "I hear that." I said.  

"COLD?  YOU'RE FROM MINNESOOOOTA!" my mother bellowed.

The rumbles of bewilderment began to erupt, but I was held back by the arrival of the guides.  I later shared this with my family: they only seemed to slightly understand despite my pleading.

2) I am helping The Big Scoop gather all her shit to enter school.  It is maybe 40 degrees in this morning and the wind is a-movin' all the while I wonder why the hell I had to get out of the car.  It is then I see a fellow father I casually know.  I recognize his face, of course, but I don't remember his name because I barely remember anyone's name.  It's a fault I've admitted may times over.

"GOOD MORNING!  BET YOU LIKE THIS WEATHER!  JUST LIKE HOME!"

3) I am dragging the trash bin to the curb.  The Santa Anas are blowing, but the customary heat has not joined them.  It's windy as fuck.  As I begin to contemplate how the streets will look if the bin falls over, my neighbor gets out of her car.

"I hate this weather!"  She says.  "Me too!  I'm so sick of this shit!  Months and months and no relief."

"BUT YOU GREW UP IN MINNESOTA.  IT'S NOT BAD TO YOU!"

Time is of the essence in all of these interactions, so there isn't the space to give the full explanation.  For many (yes, including my mother) it would do no good, but I'd feel better if I had the chance. 

The many visits in my youth to southwest Florida for Spring Break told me 1 thing, albeit slowly (because I was a kid): I don't understand why we live where we live.  As I'm walking around in a t shirt and shorts in mid-March, knowing at the same time next week I'll be back to bundlin' up for whoever knows how long until everyone around me pretends 55 is warm and "roll down the car windows!", I don't know how anyone could turn this down.  My parents didn't have the patience to explain the "real life" of jobs, housing, etc.  But even then, impassioned and a touch ignorant, I'd press on.  I was usually told to shut up by my father and that was that.

And then it was a trip out here to see the Golden life and well, that's where I am now.  I live here so I have the "right" to complain about highs of 58 in March.  I've lived here more than half my life, and more than anywhere else.  I haven't spent the majority of a year in Minnesota in nearly 30 years.  I'd like to think I've left everything behind.  Yet people I know very well to barely at all don't seem to want to let it go.

The majority of folks who know of my youth (or when I tell them when asked) say something along the lines of "oh, well, I'd move here from there, too."  Well, yeah.  And as soon as I could, I did.  Why my parents chose there and didn't high tail it out to Coconut Grove, Fernwood, Hermosa Beach, you name it, I don't know.  

When you hear the term "settlers" does it ever make you think that those people, hundreds of years ago, said "eh, let's stop here.  I'm tired."?  That they settled?  A LONG time ago I wrote of this when visiting Minnesota during Christmas.  It's how it was at the time.  Now?  It appears that everyone, including myself, is the same.  My chosen fate is sealed in Gold.

"I had to question the mermaids. What were you doing while I was working?"

Tuesday night, when Texas A&M - Corpus Christi defeated Southeast Missouri State in a play-in game, Dean Donuts or whoever exclaimed it was "their first tournament win in school history!"  Which...is it really?!  I mean, it's a play-in game.  That's like saying

A) "I'm still giving up donuts for lent but they were in the break room so..."

B) "Yeah, but those first 2 beers were at home before we went to the bar."

C) "How many?  Well, I was in the kitchen when she was making the deviled eggs, so I tested...some."

I'll Make It

We are paying for the pleasure of last Winter (when temps were abnormally high, and rain was scarce) with the complete opposite.  This is, we are told, what we should be having.  (Well, the rain, not temps THIS bad.)  Rain is something good, something we need, life giving - I'm not annoyed by that.  It's just that I'm freezin' m'ballz off the past 3 months, and it doesn't look positive as the calendar turns to March.  Then again, ol Droughtbuster Darvez left a 5-gallon bucket out on the patio to capture that rainwater.  Look at me go!

I've been taking in more college basketball as this countdown begins, and speaking of...

Cash Window Closed

As college football ended and basketball warmed up, I had doubled my initial deposit in my spite gambling, and I was feeling fat and sassy.  Then, seemingly out of nowhere, I lost large (for me) amounts of money back-to-back on very suspicious events.  Games where top teams from small conferences get favored by like -2.5 and then absolutely wrecked by some group of randos at home no less!  It was enough to give me pause and say "wait till football."  This is not a phrase I wanted to turn, but fiscally responsible, and since $1 nutty parlays don't happen south of the border (any border, you choose) that's another reason.

Since this occurred, I continue to look at the scores of similar games, and sure enough, I continue to see the same issues.  For example, last night in the WAC, conference leader Utah Valley was visiting Tarleton State, a team which has not performed nearly as well this season.  UVU was favored by -2.5.  Both schools had winning records against the spread, so I would have passed on it despite the odds.  But the game was played and 

So...UVU lost by 19?!  Look, that kind of shit happens, right?  That's why games are played.  My gambling stoppage this season was because I realized rather quickly (and unfortunately, to a degree) that it's harder than usual this season to find good, professional schools - even more so to find the deep gems and, when you do, near impossible to ensure they aren't fool's gold.  

This should mean that March Madness should be even more entertaining and upset-filled than ever.  Well, only one way to find out...

Dine-In

Occasionally the YouTube algorithm is right on the money, and earlier this week it suggested a video titled something like "Inside a Burger King, 1986" that was B-roll footage of food cooking and the interior.  The interior took me by surprise: it was gigantic.  Yes, there was a portion with ashtrays (try explaining that to the younger set) but plenty of people were dining in.  It then hit me: pre-Covid, if it was a fast-dining restaurant, I'd eat in.  Then it was drive-thru only for a long time, but those days are over.  When was the last time I did that?  I couldn't recall, so for the research of this blog, I visited a nearby franchise just to see what it was like.  

For half of the meal, I had the place to myself.  The drive thru was doing medium, steady business.  A guy came out when I arrived almost surprised someone was there.  He handed me napkins, a fork, a cup and straw because none of those things were stocked anymore.  What was the point?  Hardly anyone comes in.  Those who do, it seems, are of the food delivery industry, so they don't need that shit either.  The food was given to me "to go" because they no longer give out trays.  Another sign, I realized.

With such anonymity I initially thought it would be pleasant but then I thought "if you're really the only one eating, wouldn't you rather be at home?"  Thus, I rushed through the rest of lunch.  When I cleaned up and dropped it in the trash, it was a "THUD" as it landed at the bottom of the can.  Nothing else in there.

"Thanks for coming in!" I was told as I left.  "Thanks a lot!" I said back.  I wondered: did I just waste time?  When I told The Big Scoop about "Burger Towels" she didn't understand.  Then I took her to In N Out and after going through the drive thru had her put the beach towel over her lap.  "Dig in!" I said.  "We have places to be - this way you can have lunch and not worry about any spilling."  This blew her mind.  "This is awesome!"  You do a lot of those kind of ideas to make ordinary things fun, and for a while there we had no other option.  But now we do and, aside from In-N-Out (that drive thru line can be murder at dinnertime) when faced with the proposition, I'm met with "UGH, I don't want to get out of the car!"  That's progress, but which way, I couldn't tell you.

Top 50 Trash Horror Films of the 1980's: #40-36

What, did you think I was stopping this quest?  Did you think the mediocrity would get to me?  I'm not one to make "the talk" - we see things like this to their conclusion out here.  And yeah, this just means watching more old horror movies - why wouldn't I?

#40 - Mystics in Bali (1980)

Back of the VHS description: (None found in English)

The description from Bloody Disgusting was that Indonesian films are memorable; would this be the case?  Well, if you can look past the dialogue dubbing that was clearly recorded without any viewing of the film altogether & annoying music (which, after a while, I couldn't), we have:

An "evil voice" out of a cereal commercial

Quotes such as: "Delicious.  This is good blood." and "Now tell me, young lady, are you ready for the first lesson?  Good, good.  Now, you need to take off your skirt."

People turn into sows with a clever jump cut.

And, well, these 3 screenshots

I can only wonder who would have chosen this at first glance back then and then their thoughts afterwards.  But just when you think you've seen it all...well, look at it!

#39 - The Oracle (1985)

Back of the VHS description: From beyond the grave, a murder victim lashes out a sadistic bloodbath of vengeance.  Using a young newlywed couple as his medium, Jennifer is soon possessed by THE ORACLE - a macabre fortune telling game she and her husband find in their apartment.  Guided by this restless spirit, Jennifer becomes haunted by unspeakable visions.  Then these gruesome dreams come true as The Unseen weaves its evil web of bloody justice.  Prepare yourself for the unrelenting carnage and hair-raising terror of THE ORACLE.

I want to get this statement out of the way first: our lead actress, the one playing Jennifer, has acted in 1 film to date.  It is this one.  She hadn't been in a film before, nor since.  Perhaps some stage work?  Television commercials?  We'll never know.

Now, this film looks awesome.  It looks totally pro, and it's just great direction and cinematography.  Big ups to Roberta Findlay.  This is a very visually appealing film.  The practical effects are a ton of fun, too.  There are some neat, sneaky DIY shots of 42nd street and New York '84 in general.  It's just...

Oh, the acting.  It's a mix of poor actors overacting and new actors needing time to work on the skillz.  It's a lead actress who only has 1 scream and...she doesn't sound super scared, more of a "what the?" response.  An initial struggle and kill is backed with music for a 1980's medieval-set action film.  

It also took me over an hour to realize one of the main characters was a woman, but maybe that's on me.  However, what maybe moves this film to 51% good would be 2 things.  First is this visor:

And second is death by garbage chute.  When you're a kid and first encounter one of these, they seem a mystery.  Garbage disappears immediately and at a rapid rate.  So, when you see what happens to a man attempting to dispose of an item post-haste, well, I bet as a kid I'd have been freaked the fuck out.  Again, hilarious effect and well done by all involved.  So, yeah, give it to 'em.  And in the end, this film has the last breath of New York grindhouse all over it!

#38 - Bloodstream (1985)

Back of the VHS description: None, because this wasn't properly released.  So, why is it on the list?

Well, if seen, it begs the question: "What if some British people tried to make a 1980's horror film.  Not their own, mind you, a distinctly AMERICAN 1980's horror film? But it's more than that - it's about making a film.  Not just that, but the distribution.  Are all these layers ok with you?" 

Awful acting, confusing editing, weird directorial flourishes, and accents that are much too proper for such fare.  But this is 8mm shooting, shots of Betas about, and good instrumental music of the time.  DIY all over it, plus you get the clips of "other films" the director is watching with some truly inspired effects.  Maybe that should have been the movie instead: distracted (or rejected) horror director watches "other movies" to get ideas, and these "other movies" are all ones we find out (in the end) he's already made.  He's done it all!  Or has he???

#37 - Rock n Roll Nightmare (1987)

Back of the VHS description: Demons dwell it what seems like an "ordinary" household where a horrific, spine-tingling suspense story unfolds.  A rock group looking for the perfect place to practice are haunted by a gouging mass murderer returning from the dim and distant past.  One by one, the young rockers are sexually assaulted and brutally killed until only one person remains, the final conflict...good against evil.  "When you raise hell, the devil must be paid - in full!"

Ways to stretch out your movie to almost 90 minutes:

1) show off your Steadicam

2) include many MANY driving sequences inside and outside the car

3) Do #2, but add some scenery shots

4) If you have a crane, by god, use it, whether there are people in the shot or not

5) If you show a car pulling to a stop, hell, use 2 different shots to show it twice

6) Feel free to linger on a shot

"Stiggie baby, why couldn't you've become a coke dealer or something sensible?"

ROCK!  TALK ABOUT ROCK!  WE LIVE TO ROCK!  Somewhere, Joe Stixx is watching this film and thinking "man, if our band played those gigs in Winnipeg, we'd have made this movie."  

Now that the rocking is out of the way, let's talk about the frights in this film, including the ghouls straight out of Pee Wee's Playhouse:

Can I also say, I simply can't get enough of Candian accents when they're trying not to sound Canadian!

"You've overstepped your line, Bub."

Put it this way: looking at the VHS box, and the first 15 minutes, I didn't think it was going in THAT direction.  I thought the cover was attempting a "heavy metal" album cover.  I was wrong.  They were honest in their intentions all along.  

WEEE ACCEPT THE CHALLENGE!  AND FIGHT!  AND NEVER LOOOOOSE!  

Bonus for the last shot(s) making no fucking sense at all.

#36 - Iced (1988)

Back of the VHS description: It's a ski vacation they won't forget - those who survive, that is!  In a snowbound, isolated ski resort high in the slopes, seven friends become the victims of a cold blooded maniac who turns their dream vacation into hell on ice.  Staring the beautiful LISA LORING who played little Wednesday Addams in the cult TV series THE ADDAMS FAMILY.  ICED adds a "terroricing" new twist to the meaning of ICE SCREAM!

(Sad coincidence - I'm viewing this film the same week Ms. Loring passed away at 64)

Because this is a horror movie (or supposed to be) this can't be called "Ski Weekend '88" because oh my does this take you back to a time and place.  Yes, this is 1988.  The music, the styles, the hair, a close up of someone saying "Rad!", very upbeat music, it's all here.  

Then there's a shot that says "four years later" because that was 1984?  Or this is 1992, both of which look exactly the same?  The other problem is that, in setting up this device, the film then feels the need to add even more layers of backstory: why the killer is still around, what they think of him, even some all-too-specific comments on time share salesmanship.  

Sadly, the film is a bore.  A toast to Ms. Loring, who looked lovely in the film, with this out of context quote:

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!  ALL OF YA!  Now Jeanette, go over there and get the god-damned phone, call Eddie, and find out if he's the one who's bustin' our balls.  NOW!"

Like they say in Iced, those time share salesmen!  And I agree: they're almost the worst.  The actual worst was when I dated a girl who was doing a knock-off of EST.  She invited me to come to a ceremony where she had completed a round of "treatment" and she wanted to honor me as a positive part of her life.  It was in a hotel ballroom and well set up, and very nice.  Everyone was friendly, I was briefly feted in a forthright way, and I thought that was that.  Suddenly, us non-members were led to another ballroom.  In this other room, the sale tactics were high.  I was polite at first.  Then, after the speaker broke and the rest swarmed around us, I got hostile.  One man accosted me.  "Trip, what's something you want to change about yourself?"  To be honest (then and looking back), I was in a good place at the time - there wasn't much at all.  They needled me.  So, I said "Well, I'll tell you a problem about me that I've been trying to solve for years; one that I haven't told anyone."  The leaches looked at me, serious.  "I can't tan.  I want a tan, and I...I just can't.  I've tried everything.  All I do is sweat.  I don't even burn."  This led to a minor uproar, but right before the uproar, an old lady laughed heartily.  She and I, thankfully, were escorted out.  There, in the lobby, we talked like war buddies.  "My friend, she's always on me to do this.  I haven't seen ANY change in her at ALL."  I nodded.  "Well, you would know" I said.  "It just all feels like a sale to me.  It's human transaction in the name of self-help."  She nodded and added "You're right" in a soft tone.

The girlfriend came out and saw my displeasure.  I shared the tale.  She apologized profusely, but it was too late.  The relationship was never the same - it ended a month later.  Folks, that time in the ballroom was scary.  The salespeople were trash.  Iced is on to something here, in a VERY roundabout way, of what could have been a nuttier sub plot (and maybe a better movie).  Problem is, you'd have to cut 30-40 minutes of people talking in a condo to see it.

Real Dreams

An odd occurrence has happened 2 of the last 3 nights to me: I'm asleep and dreaming (overnight, of course) and the dream will suddenly be snapped into real life.  One of these recent dreams was just plain weird (the kind where you begin to explain it to someone and it just makes no sense at all and they are annoyed rather quickly) and the other was...well, we won't get into it.  Equally an odd process of events, I'll say that, and that, too, had a moment of reality in a world of very much not reality.

Most of my dreams, honestly, are stuff like "I found a golden retriever in a yard, and we were playing."  Or it's funny, or funny to me because these can be oh so personal.  I've also, over the years, had dreams about work, one thing that is bad enough because you've had enough in the conscious world to have it invade your other thoughts.  Thankfully, that hasn't happened in some time, and what a coincidence: that goes with a better job, doesn't it?!

At this stage in life, for better or worse (actually, worse) so much of my time is locked in: there is this shit to do, or that, at a certain time, and that takes so much of the day.  Actually, this is more on the weekends, and surprisingly it's because there must be something planned now, not just randomness.  I remember when I first realized this and wrote about it, and I suppose some of that still applies.  But it wasn't invading my dreamtime.  Which, on a 24 hour scale, is even more time of my life.

Look, I'm still watching these trash horror films, going through the list...and believe you me, I figured there would be many MANY images that would make a reappearance in a dream and...nope.  Not at all, or at least nothing yet.  I guess it's just stuck in the back of my brain with so many other random things, only to pop up out of nowhere when I'm, like, walking the dog or at the grocery store and then I burst out laughing.  Arthur Bach did the same thing and he had to explain "Oh, sometimes, I just think funny things!"  

But tonight, I wonder if I'll be on another wavelength, going along with whatever is happening and then all of a sudden, dream Trip will think "wait, is today pick-up at 4:30 or 5?" and...doesn't matter how out of it I am or not.  I'm awake.

That's What You Get When You Open Your Yap

The end of an at-best "all right" trip had come to an end.  The assignment from the editors of Pacific Gold was to review on the carnage, change, and color of the locals of Fort Myers 3 months after the hurricane.  The title of the piece was already chosen: "The Best of What's Left."  On day 1 of the visit, I drove about an hour south, all the better to drink "Passion Fruit Splash" with "some" rum while sitting in a hot tub.  He then said to me "Hey, did you see all those people stuck on Southwest flights?" I hadn't, but I did see the line at LAX the day before, and that might have been the first indication of a massive fuck-up.  And no matter where I went in the early parts of my research, this issue was all the talk.

Half of the visit was just downright shit weather, and it made some of the locals surly.  Almost surly as I was considering it was 80 in Dealville and had I not been eating grouper and Key Lime Pie at a rapid rate, I'd have been...well, worse?

On return day, the editor texted to check in.  I said that we're almost back: that I wished the non-stop flight hadn't been cancelled, but the notes are there, the story will be sent on Thursday, and hey how about that Sun Bowl?  The editor, again, brought up Southwest's stranded folk.  I could only see cancellations on the board, but that must be in another terminal.  (BTW, Denver's airport is just one big-ass hallway.  Dogshit)

And then...I waited.  And then it started snowing.  Then I got on a plane.  And then I waited and waited some more.  I waited so long, I was told the unfortunate news: sorry, you're staying here.  It's Colorado, it's a blizzard outside, have fun!

The only other time such an event has happened to me was, looking back, life-altering.  In January of 1999, my futile attempts to return to Boston covered nearly 48 hours, Northwest Airlines, flying over (but not landing at) airports, a shared cab ride with 4 other grown men I'd never met in my life, and a handful of hours of sleep at a motel in Ann Arbor.  The temperature was -1 when we arrived.  Nearly 24 hours later (after being on 4 cancelled flights), I flew eastward.  Those of us on that flight who survived the ordeal were literally hugging and dancing in the aisles.  The flight attendant asked why we were so happy.  Before I could answer, a middle-aged man said, "because we're never flying this airline again!"  I'm proud to say I never did.  And on that flight, I looked out the window the entire time on a clear, cold night.  In the distance, I saw small towns every few minutes.  I made a promise: next year will be the last winter.  During that time, we will move to Dealville (or somewhere) where there will be nothing like what forced this experience.

This very play started to screen in my subconscious as I was in the passenger seat of a compact car, being driven in this hell storm, snow so thick there were no lanes, just vague remembrances of rules and laws.  I'd never been to Aurora, Colorado before.  Now I have.  It took a little over an hour to make this trip, the entire time my adrenaline flowing because there are cars on the side of the road, abandoned.  I saw one car slowly push another up a hill.  It's a tough feeling, having to accept a fate you so doggedly work to avoid.

Now, you see, this is the kind of shit that is likely all too common to many people the world over.  But I have strived and strived to avoid it, and in reality, I had nothing to do except "deal with it" until the next day.  But there was no way I could sleep.  I laid at first, still shivering, extra towels on top of the blankets.  The adrenaline wouldn't let go.  I was on full go-zone gonzo while I could look over and see The Big Scoop herself, someone who, in a pinch, could fall asleep anywhere.

As I returned to the airport the next day to wait some more, I spoke with some fast friends from the last flight.  An active senior couple who lived in town up and slept on the floor of the airport, forgoing any free sleepin'  "That turned out to be a bad idea" he said.  "I didn't think they'd close everything, but they did.  Only the bathrooms were open.  We couldn't even get water."  I asked if, in fact, he did sleep.  "Probably not."

Upon landing in Dealville, everything else came easy.  (Except the drive back, but I've never been happier to sit in traffic) Not that I needed the reminder, but having endured what it was, it was another reminder of why this is home.  Despite (gestures) it all out here, I don't think I'd have it any other way.

"I'm happy for you." "I'm happy for them."

Of the at-most 10 regular readers of this blog, I'd guess a few might remember the first blog in the chain was, believe it or not, an NBA blog.  I wasn't on that at the start, but it goes to say something that it's been over a decade since anyone's graced the pages with insights, thoughts, or jokes.  It would seem we've moved on from the NBA for one reason or another.  At BEST I haven't watched in over a decade.  No specific reason: interest just faded and college football amped up even more taking that space in my brain.

So, when The Artest Formerly Known as Smiley asked if she should enter a raffle at work for Clippers tickets for a Saturday night game against San Antonio, I demurred.  I guess it was a vague, half-hearted agreement to the idea.

Her: Wouldn't that be fun?

Me: I guess?

Her: It's in a suite!  It comes with free VIP parking, too.

Me, (thinking of the pain in the ass it is to get there with any kind of traffic): That's good.  

Her: The Big Scoop is starting basketball, I thought it would be good to take her there and go over stuff, get her excited about the game.  You could point out some fundamentals.

Me: Thank you of thinking of me.

Well, the Clippers in November were not a hot topic, and to no surprise, we received 2 tickets.  I even said that she should take the Scoop so they could bond, but the game was of even less interest to her.

And, as predicted, Dad really had to watch his language in the car as it took 50 minutes to go 13 miles and we were almost run off the Harbor Freeway.  But eventually we found the VIP parking.  Pretty slick for the usual going rate - easier (and closer) than the same at Dodger Stadium.  Upon arrival, the walkways and concessions were merely upscale-looking versions of those in the upper deck serving the same ol slop.  I was impressed by the view, however.

It was at that moment that I wished these seats were for something I really cared about.  I couldn't get upset because it was a raffle - it's not like I stole 'em from someone.  People slowly filed in, and the "entertainment" was a constant: someone on the mic was trying his damndest to hype everyone to what is about to occur: the Clippers are about to play!

A man in what looked like a toucan costume began to hit a giant bass drum and it went faster and faster, leading up to the lights dimming and the hype video began for all.  Briefly, you see owner Steve Balmer in a construction hat in his "Forum II" in Inglewood.  And while we await that completion to the arena scene of southern California, I couldn't help but think back to when I cared about the Clips.  Then, as now, they were the underdog.  Then they were controlled by one of the worst owners in the history of sports.  Now, even though they've been better than the Lakers for the last couple of years (I think?) it's still rough rowing.  At least Steve gives a shit and wants the team to grow.  That made me happy.  For them.

My attempts to engage in the game went for naught while we shoveled in overpriced garbage in the lounge.  Each basketball topic I brought up was met with 1-word answers and then something I didn't ask about: the new Pokemon video game, over-worn anecdotes, and other items at the concession stand.  (Did you know that hot chocolate is cheaper than a bottle of water?)

Come gametime, I (and the game) held her interest until the TV time out of the 1st quarter.  My eyes drifted to the TV in the suite showing the Game of Games, with USC and UCLA football going back and forth.  Even AT the basketball game, the other raffle winners and I were watching Dealville's big game in Pasadena.  I was briefly concerned if the Scoop was bored, but then remembered she brought a book.  There she sat in a lounge chair, reading, unaware of the noise around her.

I would cheer for dunks, I would say aloud how no one takes mid-range jump shots anymore, I would bemoan the audio onslaught at every waking second, but she wasn't concerned.  She wasn't paying attention, and the fact that she was calm and doing her thing enforced that paying any kind of money to go to a game would be a true waste.

We left early not to beat traffic: that had subsided by that point.  We left because there was no reason to stay.  In the car, we didn't talk about the game, we talked about Thanksgiving.  She talked about her book.  Near home, I reminded her of topics she should bring up once inside for the press conference of questions.

A bit over a month ago we went to a football game for what (we hope) will be her high school.  I figured it'd be more of a hang out than anything, and it was, but when asked how she liked the game and she replied, "it was delicious!" she wasn't talking about the good defensive play.  I just know that food prepared by band parents is a hell of a lot cheaper than at Staples Center (I'm not going to stop calling it that).  And if that's the measuring stick of sporting events, let's keep it local.  I applaud Steve and his attempts to grow the Clippers.  For me, I fear the ship has sailed.

We Can't Have Nice Things

It's been a noise battle to get sports gambling here in Dealville.  You'd think this would be a minor point to the high majority of the voting public, but the relentless advertising for both propositions proved otherwise.  The LA Times had a snotty "endorsement" of voting No to both the prop of sports gambling at tribal casinos only and the digital sports gambling prop as well.  Why did they say you should vote no?  Heresy in a negative form.  It was heresy in a positive form when they endorsed legal marijuana years ago.  "We think this should be given a try."  I found out that, when you bring receipts to the LA Times "letters to the editor" they ignore you - as they did when I called them out for the rosy tributes for the late Tom LaBonge.  

We're not even half-way finished counting, and the sign is as loud and clear as pit boss walking over to the sleeping degenerate in the book.  "All right, pal.  Let's go."  So, now what?

On the night of Election Day, the Big Scoop and I looked over various sports gambling sites.  No, it wasn't what I wanted.  The ease wouldn't be there.  I also didn't feel happy.  It was nagging at me.  I'm trying to pretend to be totally happy.  And I guess I am...a little, but what I did today I could have done long, long ago.  This was pure spite.

And, having done this for decades, I can tell you that sports gambling out of spite is a different animal, one not nearly as fun as the "regular way" where it's all hitting and you're just looking for action.  Here, there is action, but not all of it.  It's just what I'm allowed to have and nothing more.  So, I'll just keep mashing the giant button labeled "GAMBLE" while thinking about how there was a time when I could do true nutty parlays for $1 a pop. Ain't nothing if I lost.  If I turned $1 into $5, or $10?  Shit, I was a happy man.  

If Potsy were still alive, why do I think that he'd have already moved (under the cover of night) to another state...one where it's all easy and free?  People say, "if you like sports gambling so much, why don't you move to Las Vegas?"  Because I can't have it here?  And why not?!  Why can't I give my "guaranteed winners" back to the state?  Because this would make "addicts" out of thin air?

A person maybe 15 to 20 miles from me just won a lottery prize of $2 Billion.  Guess they were an addict for having gambled, right?  Now they're a billionaire.  "Me and Kathy both bought tickets.  The lotto is really high!"

The hypocrisy will never EVER leave the general public's view of sports gambling.  And for now, once again, those of us in Dealville will have to go back to the drawing board, or Nevada, or "back-alley guys" or whatever stupid shit was said in the past few months.  I look to the sky; I say it aloud to no one and everyone: ALL I WANTED WAS THE ACTION!

Top 50 Trash Horror Films of the 1980's: #45-41

What better a month to continue the countdown than October?!  It was times like these that the Horror section at video stores would start to get a bit thin.  As such, sometimes you'd end up with your 6th choice.  Might one of the films below been such a choice?

#45 - Beyond Dream's Door (1989)

Back of the VHS description: BEYOND DREAM'S DOOR...it's where dreams become reality and your worst nightmares come true.  Suspense, action, adventure, and terrifically entertaining story combine to make this tale of terror an unforgettable experience.  

Ben Dobbs, an All-American college student, has been repressing his strange and terrifying dreams since childhood.  Suddenly, he loses control - his dreams turn into living nightmares where he must find a seductive but deadly dream girl in a house inhabited by the living dead.

In a tense battle of wits, strength and determination, Ben must make the toughest and perhaps last decision of his life.

I felt mixed about this one.  When it comes to the movement of the plot, and the action therein, it has all the subtlety of a frying pan to the face.  The continued, unnecessary close-ups had more than a touch of film school, and I was correct (Ohio St).  The acting is monotone, at best.  

And yet...

At least they're trying something interesting here.  How long do your dreams stay with you?  I remember dreams I had when I was a kid - enough to wake me up as a "bad dream" and none of them are remotely resembling a horror movie.  (Mostly resembling a YouTube video of unsettling local TV footage from 1982) I thought about how the woman formerly known as Smiley has vastly different dreams than I yet we're right next to each other.  How The Big Scoop usually has dreams of what's interesting her at the moment.  About how, after reflection, I remember some daydreams from years back!

The film came and went with me but the concept, the idea, has stayed with me much longer.  I usually only stump for remakes if they're really "do-overs" to fix issues beyond their control from the original (some of which is budget in nature) and Beyond Dream's Door certainly deserves such a treatment.  The tone can remain the same, even nearly all the plot, but up the game with actual actors and tighter editing, and it would be sensational.

#44 - Blood Lake (1987)

Back of the VHS description: A quick dip into the lake turns into a blood bath of horror.

Six teenagers are looking forward to a weekend of partying, sex, and all around fun.  But before the party is even started, one couple disappears, only to be found later brutally murdered.  A blood thirsty killer is stalking their summer playground.

One by one bodies begin to turn up.  On the beach, in the boat, the vacationers become prey to the venomous, vengeance-seeking maniac.  There's only one person left to either kill the killer or be killed.  There's no where to hide.  Who will come out alive?

Editor's note: Hey, A+ on grammar

Barryfilm presents!  "Boss!  You gotta look at the files!"  And it's actually SHOT ON VIDEO!  

We're not 30 seconds into the movie proper, and I'm already laughing.  A man whose tube socks are pushed all the way down is just up and stabbed.  But even the threat of being stabbed doesn't seem like a big deal...until it is, of course.

You can believe that 6 people can fit into a Trans Am, can't you?  Lead, played by the film's writer Doug Barry, might be Marc Summers' twin:

Tony, maybe 14/15, the horniest guy you know: Hey Mike, you gonna be a butthole this weekend or are you gonna let me drink?

Mike: A butthole?!  I don't care if you drink.  Don't go crazy on us.

This shot above lasts roughly 2 minutes with dialogue all said with their backs to the camera.  Gold.

The plot is straight-forward, but as it moves along, the way it evolves makes no sense.  Mike hears noises and runs outside to investigate.  He yells "oh shit!" and runs around to the shed, and comes back in.  False alarm.  Was it?  If so, why were you so panicked?  It doesn't matter, because we can cut to a water-skiing montage to rock & roll!  Nice blend of Molly Hatchet and Quarterflash.  Plus, Becky in her swimsuit: what a babe.  And then...ANOTHER water-skiing montage!

After another time-killing scene playing "Quarters" with homophobic improv galore (and Mike the clear King of this game), it takes more than HALF the movie to be completed before you get any genuine suspense (a drowning, I think?  Who needs lights when the moon exists).  Perhaps that's why this film is rated so poorly: as a horror film, it's below average.  But as a cultural curio of its time and place (Oklahoma, late 80's) it is sensational.  It's as if, for 90 minutes, you've found a time machine you can't control, but the visit is worth it.

Closing Credit: Dry Lake Special Effect by An Act of God

#43 - Bloody Moon (1981, 1983 in the US)

Back of the VHS description: Two young American girls living in Europe, are attending a school where they are learning Spanish.  Unknown to the girls, in the school, a murder was committed two years ago; in this institution.  Miguel, who was accused of the murder, returns to this town, when soon after one of the girls in the school is murdered.

Panic sets in at the school, as the crimes continue, as the police search for the murderer.

Who is the killer???

(Editor's note - the grammar on these boxes is unreal.  Why does it always seem as though these descriptions are written by people who've never seen the movie?  Is it because that's true?!)

Unlike Violent Shit, this foreign film is more cinematic than nearly anything else on this list.  It has great musical stings, whether for suspense (seemingly borrowed from the TV series Kung Fu) or just exposition.  This also being a foreign film, means the literal translations sound like the voice actors from language cassettes.  (And, wouldn't you know it, there are scenes of the girls listening to just that) Just because one is willing to look past it doesn't mean the viewing experience is any easier.  

All that said, my favorite parts were things like this random tennis scene, where a woman acts as a "judge" while 2 other women (who have never played tennis before, it appears) play against a guy.

(Look at that soft lens, the natural light, the "judge")

The California sound plays (the very sting that plays throughout the whole damn movie) as that scene is then, randomly and immediately over; the player is now walking toward topless sunbathers by the pool.  He gets pushed in, of course, but so does one of the topless girls, it appears, by accident.  Then that scene, too, is randomly and immediately over; we're now on to fully clothed girls catching up by the pool, working on the Spanish lessons.

There are 2 ways to fill in time between kills in these kinds of movies.  You can do a waterskiing montage in Oklahoma, or you can shoot something that looks like a foreign perfume commercial at a resort.  

Angela then arrives.  She'll be staying in bungalow 13.  

(Oh, you 1980 Spanish & German babe.  Olivia Pascal, you are a bewitching, beguiling gal.  It is up to me to save you from the weirdo with the facial skin rash and hair worse than my own.)

That weirdo is one of many men trying to sneak into your place while you do such tasks as unpack and inspect each piece of clothing as if you're seeing it for the first time.  

Life won't get any easier for Angela.  She'll surely witness a murder, even hearing the confession on one of those language cassettes.  A giant "boulder" might almost crush you out of nowhere.  You'll "murder" a mannequin.  It takes you almost becoming the final victim to then get the fuck out.  And there it ends.  Yes, I'm leaving out a lot of weird bits here, and I'm in no rush to see this again, but it wasn't a total waste of time.

#42 - The Children (1980, in theaters)

10+ years ago, as the 2nd of a double feature at the New Beverly Cinema, I saw this gem for the first time.  Oh, did I enjoy this film.  Entertainment intentional and otherwise.  Let's just go back in time over 40 years ago for a TV commercial, one more time, because I honestly and truly miss commercials like this one:

Folks, when that bus goes through the radioactive smoke, it's all over.  See this movie.  Here's another:

Honestly, give this a shot.  You will be entertained.  If these commercials can't sell you on your time, know that Terror Trap refers to this as a "tacky exploitation film."  You'll need to be in the mood to see a tacky exploitation film, but when you are, this should be at the top of your list.  I could go on and on, but I'm doing that already!

#41 - Anthropophagus: The Grim Reaper (1980)

Back of the VHS description: A deserted beach.  A bloodcurdling scream.  A decapitated head.  So ends another tourist's holiday.  So begins another Anthropophagus The Beast as it gallops through shock after bloody shock.  Probably one of the most frightening films you will ever see, it will leave you wondering if deep inside us all, there may lurk the cannibal.  Watch it, if you dare!

Gotta say, the setup about sent me to the off button, but it was a half-hour in until we very s  l  o  w  l  y saw some sort of plot movement and payoff.  Nice instrumental music from the "In Search Of..." files.  And, after a stabbing, the rest of the island visitors consoling the killer is a unique turn of events for these kinds of films.  I don't know - maybe I'm watching too many of these (as if that's a problem).  But I was left wondering if Bleeding Skull put some titles in here to give the Comic Book Guy vibe of "yeah, but have you seen THIS?!"  Well, I've seen this, and I'm ready for the next title.

Still, though, Halloween is right around the corner.  Anyone up for water skiing?  If you come along, I'll get you a beer if you won't be a butthole.

That was a long, long time ago, when I was passing through

When you're in search for video gold, analog in type, you find yourself cleaning up constantly.  My desk always looks the way it does because the shipments just keep coming.  Because someone reminds me of something and I have to find it - and when I do, "putting it away" becomes a labored affair.  Because someone asks and research has to be done.  

One such issue was the request from Trip Darvez, who (once upon a time) wrote for the L.A. Reader.  That paper hasn't been around for decades, as you know.  Speaking of, it was 2 decades ago that I first met Trip (at a pool party) and he said that he had a copy - on Beta! - of "Video Reader" a special from KCOP in 1983.  I think the fact that I had heard of it connected us, though anyone who really knows me knows that I've heard of a lot of random old TV, commercials, night clubs, so on.  Can't say it's all the way useful in my daily life but it's actually helped me every now and then with employment, so I continue to pile it on in the same manner of my desk.

Anyway, without getting too into the mundane, Trip didn't make it in time for our meet-up at the last living Du-Par's restaurant...one nowhere near me, because he said (almost unintelligibly) there was something wrong with his Plymouth.  I was pleasantly surprised by the food, annoyed by the pay-for-parking, even more annoyed about the drive at a time when purchasing gasoline is to be part of a vast conspiracy, but so goes another day.

It wasn't until I decompressed that I realized there was a connection here: the last of an LA chain, the last Plymouth that wasn't a collector, the last writer from that lane of prose that was grinding out LA Life at a time when it was at its nuttiest.  The combination of all 3 items gave me an appreciative smile at a time when I needed it.  I think Trip might have noticed it too, but I assure you he didn't connect the dots in the same fashion.

Days later I received a box from Trip (mailed) containing a stack of video and audio cassettes, even some micro cassettes he used for interviews.  There was a note enclosed, written on a wrinkled paper wine bag.  "Do you think it's in here?"  The tracks of Trip's mind were going off in all directions.  He needed help, but not in the way you'd think.

So, I flashed back to those 2 decades ago, the days of the Crescent Heights Overdose, of the walk west on the Strip, the mental gates of steel in view.  At that time, more was new than current (or "old" in that respect) and meeting Trip was one of many things at that time.  I remember asking Donovan about how often he'd visit his store and he said he didn't know him.  And then Trip's missives would be here and there, and time would march on, and I'd always think of how random life can be, how connections can be made with the flimsiness of pretenses, and what loyalty means.  

So, after some prompting, it came together.  Like being able to understand someone through a thick accent that baffles others.  We hadn't talked about that show since...shit, was it when the blog started - 2005?!  No, that can't be...but I think that's right.  And yet, this is what he's asking.  

To be fair, I haven't done anything but just look through the box.  It still sits next to my desk.  In sum the contents could be anything or nothing.  I could contact Trip, then eventually get a hold of him (one way or another) and say "nope, looked through all the tapes, no Video Reader."  Would that be enough?  "Hey, you taped a bunch of Goodnight L.A. episodes!" Oh...but what else? he might say.   

Hey - at least he's still around.  Just like the tapes.  The stories.  Some of the locations.  Trip is still out there and, it seems, so is more gold.