For a scientifically-engineered super-dog that was supposed to be the answer to petit crime, CHOMPS was a chump.
All I ever saw Chomps do was sit, or walk, or run. Or run, then walk, then sit... and then get back up again and stretch, and then walk, and then jog to K-Tel dance hits. And sometimes it had all the answers to the daily Jumbo. But mostly it just sat a lot.
All I am saying is: In a Celebrity Death Match, Chomps couldn't take out Mr. Bigglesworth.
The Isle of Misfit Toys. They were all sent there because they had some malfunction or gross-deformity. The fish flew. The train had square wheels. There was a queeny-toy named Charlie-In-The-Box. All of their defects were plain & obvious. So:
What was wrong with the doll?
I can't figure it out. She had all 4 extremities. She had two eyes, a nose, a mouth and fabulous yarn hair. What was her damage? What made her such an unloved misfit? My sister Horabeth says that the dollie was a misfit because she didn't have boobies. But I counter that by insisting pre-school dolls *never* have boobies. Was it that she cried? Couldn't be. They make dollies that cry! Was it her outfit? Maybe. But a dollie in a really tacky jumper does not a misfit make!
I contend that there was absolutely NOTHING wrong with that doll. She must have went out ice-fishing one day and crashed upon that awful island with all those venomous, bitter, loser-toys who lied to her and turned her into a nut-case. It's just another example of the losers trying to bring the pretty people down. Jerks.
2nd quibble: Santa rescues all of the misfit-toys on Christmas Eve, packs them on his sleigh, and finds them all loving homes. That means a lot of kids got some broken-sh*t that year.
Wren is a dirty birdie. A vagrant punkette skumbag who wears a checkered vinyl mini-skirt with blue pantyhose and pink hi-top Converse. Her only possessions are a busted-up portable TV and a trash bag full of really scary dipsy-dumpster punk fashions (think Pat Benatar 1981 or Punky Brewster 1984). She looks stupid, acts stupid, and is stupid. She's my hero.
Wren inadvertently wins the affection of this dorky kid with a big heart, who lives in his van and has really bad hair. This relationship functions because:
A) She's a filthy homeless mess, and he's got a van she can sleep in
B) He's into filthy homeless messes, and he's got a van she can sleep in
The dork doesn't understand why Wren lets him buy her drinks and then leaves the bar with other dorks. He keeps buying the drinks and pouts a lot. What a dork! Wren can't be bothered with the dork's unwanted advances and so she goes about stalking this skuzzy douche-bag who has a punk-band. And really bad hair.
All kidding aside, there are some touching moments in this film that kind of reach inside of you and warm your heart. Like when the dork lets the cracked-out hooker sit in his van because it's chilly outside, and in return she offers him a bee-jay and the tuna-sandwich her mom packed as a between-trick snack. That scene almost made me cry.
I love this movie so much that I had to go out and buy it. And I'm glad I did because now my sofa doesn't tip forward on that one side.
If I give you another hit will you shut the hell up?
If Nancy Spungen was anything at all like Chloe Webb portrays her here, it's no wonder Sid Vicious stabbed her to death. Did Nancy really behave like a psychopathic toddler and speak with that Marlboro-throated screechy whine? My gawd.
2 things happened after I popped this movie into the VCR and started watching--
1) My neighbor called and asked me to please turn it down. And it wasn't even that loud!
2) During Nancy's first tirade my roommate came out of his bedroom and asked, "What the *hell* are you watching?" I laughed knowingly.
And I thought Johnny Rotten was supposed to be THE original punk-spirit anti-estab badass? The way he's portrayed here makes him seem like the model of charm-school decorum and a certified puss.
Fun scene: Sid breaks up with Nancy and starts to stagger out of the hotel room. Nancy screams and cries and whines and yells, rolling around the skuzzy floor until she finally shouts to him, "SID!!! COME BACK! WE FORGOT TO DO THE FAREWELL DRUGS!!!"
"Farewell drugs". I love it. Those silly heroin addicts!
Another movie that aired about 10,000 times too many on cable. I'm not exactly sure what audience I should recommend this to-- there's no gratuitous sex or T & A. No witty dialogue on the trials of being a young person. And nothing particularly screwball enough to qualify it as screwball comedy. It's just kind of there. Like a man's nipples or Wisconsin.
As far as I can tell, it's a movie about a cartoonist, a singer (note to Demi: don't quit the day job), a boat-race (always exciting, those boat-races are!) and a really deathly looking dog with a satellite dish around it's neck. Oh, and some sub-Family Circus animation.
This isn't good enough to be good, nor bad enough to be bad, it's the Cheerios of teen comedies. Although I must note, it's seriously teetering on the edge of Puffed Rice or Muslix with all those ultra-annoying Bobcat Goldthwait scenes. Are there really people out there that find this man funny? I mean, sober people?
The dog with one paw in the grave did make me laugh though. And so did the two ugly kids with the frozen faces. Eeeeeeek!!!!!!!!!!!
"I went to the movies, to see 'Beat Street' / it wasn't bad, it was kinda' neat / 'Krush Groove' was a flick, that I didn't mind / but when it came to 'Rappin', I drew the line." Word to your mother.
Want me to stop?
That's just a small sample of the stupa-fly style of rhymin' on display in this waste of film and location permits. This movie is seriously wack (thats 80s-speak for just f*cking awful). As an emcee, Mario Van Peebles is one hell of an actor. And as an actor, Mario Van Peebles is one hell of a bodybuilder.
Any film calling itself "Rappin'" had better deliver at that genre's highest standard of the time. So why were 6 year olds rolling in the aisles, even back in the day when standards were so knee-high-to-"Webster"-low? Because this rap is weak. So weak that not even B.E.T. or Comedy Central will touch it with a 10-foot gold-rope chain.
Blondie's "Rapture" is def poetry next to this bit of Dr. Suess in the hood. So don't be a boobie, avoid this movie!
It just cracks me right up when people mention "A Night in Heaven" and the word "plot" in the same sentence. Yeeping yimminy, take a look at the box cover! All they ever promised us was Chris Atkins in his Xanadu disco-slut-wear, pulsating and gyrating and waving his goodies at the camera. A male nudie flick. That's what they promised us, and that's what we got!
Mr. Blue Lagoon prances about the entire movie wearing nothing more than a cheap self-tanner and dental floss. The direction is nothing more than an endless string of tight close-up shots of Mr. Atkins' generously lathered nether-regions. Pure smut. That's what they promised us, and that's what we got!
Word of caution: This flick is where that "Obsession" song came from ("I will have you, yes I will have you..wah wah wah...") It's not the Animotion version either, it's, gasp ...even worse. It sounds like it was recorded at one of those amusement park "You be a Star!" karaoke-style "recording studios". Shudder.
But that's irrelevant. As is the acting, the cinematography, the editing, the lighting and most of all Lesley Ann Warren. "A Night in Heaven" is all about an oiled-down Atkins, a few clutzy dance moves, and a skimpy boy-toy thong. That's what they promised us, and that's what we got.
I'm luvin' high-school teenagers being played by actors who are clearly pushing 30. I'm luvin' skintight Sergio Valente flair-jeans and double, triple, quadruple feathered bangs. I'm luvin' luscious hot babes stuck in a movie with a severe shortage of dreamy studs. I'm luvin' the theme song with it's highly complex and hard-to-remember chorus: "Prom night, Everything is all-right!/Prom night, No need to be up-tight!"... (repeat)
Most of all... I'm luvin' "Prom Night" for the one scene that's a cinch to make the highlight reel at a Jamie Lee celebrity roast--
The dance scene! All 20 minutes of it! Watch as Jamie gets her groove on to the super-ultra-maxi-extended-remix of "Love Me Till I Die" (better known as "the song playing throughout the entire last 45 minutes of the film"). Go Jamie! Go Jamie! Go-go-go!
Before I dice this show to ribbons I would just like to say that I am a huge card-carrying Margaretphile. Even still after seeing this. Now on with the dicing...
Beef #1-- The intro-segment was cute for about 60 seconds and then the damn thing just refused to crawl off and die. The interviews with Cho's family & friends weren't revealing enough to be interesting, nor inspired enough to be jocular. It's like, okay...we get the point already: Queens really dig Margaret Cho. Big newsflash there! The entirely overlong intro quickly becomes a tiresome chore, where instead of being amused, enlightened, or remotely interested... you just feel compelled to locate your DVD remote and pounce on the FF key. Just start the effin' show already. Yeesh.
Beef #2: Material-- Clearly the weakest she's had to work with to date. If "I'm The One That You Want" is a pair of Manolo Blahniks, then "Notorious C.H.O." is a pair of rubber slingback-wedges from a Rite-Aid clearance aisle. Raunch earns a few free laughs just for the brazen act of taking on the topic. After that, it has to earn the laughs on it's own and it just barely got a few minor chuckles from me. Perhaps it was funnier in person, it usually is.
Beef #3: Delivery-- Welcome to Margaret Cho's pause-a-thon. She never used to do this so blatantly. It's as if someone told her that the longer she pauses between each joke, the funnier the joke becomes. Uh uh. It's just annoying. And ineffective, unless the effect she's going for is built-up anticipation towards the next spectacularly-funny joke, which unfortunately never comes. So therefore, it's just ineffective and annoying. C'mon Margaret! Don't they teach that in Stand-Up 101?
Greg Germann stole this show, not unlike his efforts on "Ally McBeal". Debra Messing was far less annoying here than she currently is on "that show". Thomas Hayden Church was sublime as the me-centered womanizer he illuminated with "Ned".
I do a polka of disgust when clever, acerbic comedies like "Ned & Stacey" meet an untimely death and crud like "Yes Dear" & "Good Morning Miami" live on. Tis a travesty.
This delightfully original series lived a micro-short life in syndication, but your chances these days of seeing it are about as likely as seeing a sequel to "Rabbit Test". It's a low down crying shame. First "Herman's Head", now this.
The verdict has been delivered by broadcast TV: Strip it of life, dress it up, make it palpable for the masses, and viola! Hit.
Disclaimer: We all have an Achilles' heel when it comes to our taste in films. There's always that one movie that we admit to liking to that sends our cool-point count plummeting. Here is mine.
Kristy McNichol, Matt Dillon & Tatum O'Neal...how can you go wrong?
Okay, so it goes terribly wrong, but who cares? Any movie where two babes wager a years supply of Bubble Yum over who gets boinked first is cool to me. It could also be that I had an evil crush on Kristy at the time, a curse that was corrected with one viewing of "The Pirate Movie".
You need to see this for 3 reasons:
* Condom machines in public restrooms...in the early 80's!
* Food fight! Pancake to the neck! That really puts me off!
* The worst screen-punch ever committed to Kodak film. Watch as Cynthia Nixon (future "Miranda" of "Sex & The City") throws the lamest fist this side of "Batman" reruns. It's full-out summer-campy! Misses by a good 12 inches!
Tell me you didn't crack a smile when "Let The Love Flow" started playing in that final scene.
Geeks unite! "Little Darlings" made 80's kids run and start packing for summers at Camp Hiawatha!
Thinking of seeing this? Ha ha ha. My dear friend, greater pleasure can be derived from a root canal or a slow limb amputation, minus the anesthesia. Watch this only if you're into laughably bad make-up effects or "Diff'rent World" actors destroying their careers.
I like a lot of celluloid garbage but this merits a 10 on the no effing way scale.
The trailer for "Wildcats" showed 3 ghetto-riffic cheerleaders stomping around a pile of dirt and chanting, "U-G-L-Y, you ain't got no alibi, you UGLY! What-what! Yo' mama says you ugly!"
Okay, you got me. I'm there.
Ha-ha low-brow highlights include--
* Goldie Hawn's purple-headed teenage daughter gets sloshed at a team party. Wesley Snipes comes to the rescue: "We're taking you home. If your mother sees you like this she's gonna' turn your ass the same color as your hair" Funny, rite?
* Goldie's team kidnaps the rival school's mascot, a goat. When principal Nipsey Russell invades the locker room and asks, "You all wouldn't happen to know what happen to the Cougar's goat, would you?" The goat, hidden in a locker, starts to baaaaah, which prompts Goldie to simultaneously reply "Naaaaah!" See? Hysterical!
Fans of Jan Hooks (like me) will love her turn here as the uppitty stick-up-the-butt wife of Goldie's ex. Fans of Woody Harrelson should note that a brief cameo is made here by his bare butt. Fans of Swoosie Kurtz should contemplate bathing with downed powerlines. Just kiddin', she's good too.
TEN! 1 point for the fat guy, 1 point for flatulence, 1 point for LL Cool J's lamest rap ever. The rest of the points go to Goldie. Goldie rocks.
Back in the 80's HBO and it's ugly step-sister Cinemax seemed to air the same 12 movies over and over and over. And over. "Spring Break" was one of them. We watched because we had no other choice. Oh sure, we could have watched such gems as "Highway To Heaven" or "Riptide" on broadcast TV instead, but then what the hell were our parents paying $6.50 a month on cable for?
Just like parachute pants and zipper-front tees, if you saw dumb teen-sex movies enough you got used to them. You might even start to like them. That's just about the only case I can make for not utterly despising this beer-cozy full of bile.
A point of favor must be surrendered here for equal exploitation of the sexes. While we're treated to an endless parade of bodacious ta-tas, we are also clobbered with a line-up of dorky dudes in wet Fruit Of The Looms. It's crazy. The director made an entire movie out of wet underclothes and people pouring beer on each other. What a horrid waste of product from 2 guys who work 3 jobs just to party!
Rent this to see the most painful performances by an all-girl rock band this side of Carry Nation. With lyrics like, "I want to do it, to it...I wanna do it to you", you'll want to drown *yourself* in a few thousand beers. Or the ocean.
I hate this movie. It's wretched and all known copies of it should be doused in concentrated acid and then farted on. It's bad, bad, bad and I can't wait to see it again!
"Smack The Pony" was true twisted television. BRAVO kept it hidden in a late-night weekend time-slot, but this comedy-craving insomniac was not to be denied. "SMP" had me peeing my Calvins. I loved it, I never missed an episode, and my couch still has the urine-stains to prove it.
I don't think this show was anything like "Saturday Night Live". SNL has always been content in it's role as a mostly political/pop culture parody. SMP mostly avoided those themes-- eschewing celebrity impressions and giving us quirky, delightfully-bizarre, slice-o-life comedy. The 90 minute SNL moves with all the momentum of a drunk moth in a bowl of cold punch. SMP scoots right along, thanks to it's ultra-quick sketches and 30 minute running time. When the half hour is up, you're left wanting more.
Perhaps the most significant difference is that Smack The Pony featured a primarily all-female cast. Gifted comediannes all. The divine ladies of SNL have nothing on them.
Two of my favorite sketches are the ice-skaters in the kiss-n-cry (think: tongues) and the dental hygienist from hell (think: she's not very hygienic). Time to coat the sofa in plastic!
I have seen this movie more times than I've seen my own elbows.
Gifted thespian Joyce Hyser plays "Terri" (note cool yuppie spelling). Terri is a hot babe, the height of teen fashion, and an aspiring journalist. She's got her meticulously-lined eyes set on an internship with the city newspaper. To try and earn it, she submits an essay on the nutrient content of high-school lunches. Her english teacher is not impressed. He thinks her writing sucks wet pantyhose. Apparently the sodium-level of tater-tots is a topic that fails to move him. What a stick!
Rather than face the reality that her writing bites old dusty cardboard, Terri convinces herself that the essay has been pooped on simply because she does not have a penis. How could anyone *not* be excited by tater-tots? It HAS to be sexism! Having arrived at this highly logical conclusion, Terri does what any rational and self-reliant teen would do in this predicament:
Dress up as a boy, enroll in the rival school, and enter the essay as a guy. But of course, silly!
As a dude, she is sure to be taken seriously. As seriously as one can be taken while wearing black skinny ties and 10 rolls of duct-tape.
Terri lops off her heavy-metal-mama hair, rummages through her brother's closet, and a few crotch-grabbing lessons later...viola! A boy!
I'm not even gonna' front --this movie gives me the warm fuzzies. Joyce Hyser make most funny faces. Me laugh lots. She should have been a huge star, or at the very least been given her own bad FOX sitcom. I love this movie and I don't care how uncool that makes me. I'm going to go watch it for the 367th time...I can never get enough of girls in drag and guys with painted-on Wranglers.
This was a good show. I think. I was young and I watched a lot of crap back then. Anyway...
ABC had high hopes for this show, the pilot achieved the coveted post-Super Bowl time-slot in 85. After the big game, millions of Americans who were either too drunk or too lazy to change the channel, watched this. Then ABC promptly moved the MacGruder & Loud playing piece from Boardwalk to Baltic Avenue, giving it a cushy new home Monday nights at 10:00 PM EST. Graveyard slot.
Everybody knows that in those days there were 2 types of shows that weren't going stand a creamsicle's chance in hell of surviving:
1) Any sitcom that aired immediately following "Facts Of Life"
2) Any ABC series that aired Monday nights at 10:00 PM EST
Nice knowing ya' Malcolm & Jenny!
The show itself was watchable. I think. In that "Hart To Hart"/"Remington Steele" sort of way. MacGruder and Loud weren't detectives though, they were ordinary beat-cops. They didn't fight crime in stylin' J.C. Penney leisure-wear, no detective-salary fashions for them... no, they served and protected in (get this) plain ole wash-n-wear police uniforms! Imagine.
The bad guys were always interesting. I think. And the chase-scenes were always quasi-thrilling. But the real reason 3 people in America kept tuning in was Malcolm & Jenny's secret marriage. To fool their nosy precinct captain (he of many impromptu home-visits) they lived in side-by-side apartments. With a secret passageway between the two that was hidden by a *bookcase!* YES! The only thing missing was Alfred and the bat-poles!
Such fun this show was. I think. I was young and I watched a lot of crap back then.
Factoids about this stunning achievement of the cinematic arts and cherished family favorite--
* The dearly departed Dick Shawn ("Snow Miser") plays "Mae", the cross-dresser with a heart of gold and breasts of bird-seed. He's too much! Bah-dum-bump-bump!
* The dearly departed Susan Tyrell ("lots of bad movies she made cool by just being in") plays "Solly". To this day I have no idea what gender Solly was supposed to be. She wears wife-beaters and droopy trousers held up by suspenders. She shaves her eyebrows off and paints them back on Divine-style, with what looks to be a black Sharpie marker. She's lovely.
* The dearly departed Rory Calhoun (lots and LOTS of bad movies..'Motel Hell' rocks!) plays "Kit Carson". Kit is an out-of-work film cowboy who wanders the Hollywood strip decked out in full-on cowboy drag. The hat. The holster. The chaps and stirrups. The whole shebang! I think he may have been an escapee from an insane asylum or perhaps even a hardcore drug addict. It would make sense.
Oh...and there's a killer who likes to have sex with dead stuff. He's hunting down a teen-hooker who witnessed one of his murders, or something like that. There's a cop who does nothing the entire movie except look real worried. Or something. Who cares about this lame A-plot?
We want more of the matronly trannie! More of Susan Tyrell as the foul-mouthed... whatevershewas! Bring on the KooKoo-fer-CoCoPuffs Cowboy! Yeeeee-haaaw!
Diane Lane as a fledgling punkette/media-whore named Corinne "Third Degree" Burns. She's got a band called "The Stains" --3 teenage girls who perform in black lingerie and 6-inch stilettos and smear on layers upon layers of Rocky Horror makeup. When they land a spot on a prominent punk tour, the media latches onto their GIRRL Power-style and Corinne's contradictory motto: "I don't put out".
I can't decide what I dig most about this flick:
* The wannabe "Skunkette" girls who worship Corrine and share in her undying love of Clorox and Pepe Le Pew hair fashion
* A blase & bored-looking Laura Dern, chewing scenery here and rocking out under the stage-name "Dizzy Heights" (!!!)
* "The Professionals" --super-cheezy and super-fun! The music video at the end was wayfreakycool. They look like acid-tripping stewardesses who work for Pat Benatar Airlines
So much to like here. Diane Lane kicks it. Joe Strummer & Fee Waybill are in this. All the acting is good. The music does not make you want to reach for kerosene and matches. Recommended!
MTV lures her to this sordid affair under the pretense of an all-star tribute. Some producer and his P.A.s feed her Percoset and prop her up on a podium for everyone to scrutinize, just like a purebred-Yorkie at the Westminster Dog Show. She's flanked on both sides by the two men who write her all her music and have tied her shoes every day since January of 1986... Jimmy Jam & Terry Lewis. Oh, and some of her fat creepy brothers are there too.
So according to MTV, "tribute" means subjecting their longstanding cash-cow to embarrasingly bad, bastardized renditions of her tunes at the hands of infidels like Pink & Usher. You simply don't know horror until you've seen Pink --in all her PAAS Easter-egg Coloring Kit terror-- attempt to reenact the "Miss You Much" choreography. It's like Tiny Tim jamming away at a Jimi Hendrix tribute. Why? And does anyone know what Pink's x/y chromosome count is?
What joy it is for us to watch Janet cringe and squirm as the helpless prisoner of the whole sad, slowly unfolding tragedy. You can practically see her contemplating an escape route or whether or not to phone in a bomb threat. I love it when about half way through the show, the camera pans over to Janet's pedestal and the only thing in her seat is a rebel strand of her weave. Smart girl.
I'm not saying ICON sucks. I'm just saying that the highlight of the show was the remake N*SYNC did of the "That's The Way Love Goes" video. Which pretty much means I'm saying ICON sucks.
3 things you might learn from this festering helping of yuck-yuck:
*Italian guys have great tans and work in their parents' pizza shops
*Gay guys dress in drag and straight guys think they're really women
*The best thing about gay films is usually one cute hetero guy on the boxcover
And to think: Some Hollywood yitz dug this floppy flick enough to turn it into the FOX sitcom "Some Of My Best Friends" --a short-lived stinkbomb starring Jason Bateman that was responsible for Some Of Our Worst Nightmares.
Kenny is an aspiring mixmaster/deejay. He mans the wheels-of-steel at Kool Herc's happening hangout, The Burning Spear. Kenny's brother is Lee. Lee participates in subway platform breakdance battles. Lee befriends serious dance student Tracy. Tracy falls for a guy from the wrong side of the split-open cardboard box, Lee's brother Kenny. They have snowball fights, roam subway passages together, and have arguments about what it really means to be "down".
Oh, and Kenny has a friend named Ramo' who bombs (spray-paints graffiti on) the endless number of clear, white, subway trains that were seemingly in circulation during the filming of this movie. Only, there's some jagoff named "Spit" that keeps painting over Ramo's mobile masterpieces. "Why does he do it", asks Ramo's homey. "'Cuz he can't do no better" comes the response. Yup. Intense stuff.
But "Beat Street" was never about plot, or acting, or even breakdancing (there are but a few short scenes featuring any at-length dancing at all).
It's all about rap songs with lyrics like: --"My name is Brenda Starr, and I, move to the beat/I go to the Roxy just to move my feet"... or: "Jingle, and Jangle, a Jingle-Jangle for the poor/and when you get your welfare check, you can buy reindeer by the score!"
It's all about juicylishus wet dripping Jerri-curls and goose down coats. It's about Fila suits and sneakers with the tongues hanging out. It's about girls named Sha-Rock and guys named Cosmic Pop, Crazy Legs or Powerful Pexster. It's about manly-man rapper Grandmaster Mel E. Mel, wearing zebra-print scarves, thigh-high black leather boots, dreadlocks with Christmas ornaments on the ends, and a wrap shawl that looks like a mutant-sized tarantula crawled onto his shoulders, threw-up, and then died.
Stay tuned for the film's "Showtime At The Apollo/Welcome To Your Own Personal Hell" grand finale. It's true-- white men can't jump and not all black guys can rap either. Word.
*The "Wings" guy sucks face with the "Pretender" guy... why would anyone suck face with the Wings guy?
*The Wings guy gets totally upstaged (Eric McCormack-style) by the far more interesting characters that surround him (note to Mr. Weber: never star opposite children, animals, wallpaper or oxygen)
*The Pretender guy's dance scene is performed with all the rhythm and agility of a flu-stricken Henry Rollins stuck in a k-hole. And on crutches.
*The Wings guy has all the charm of a wad of wet Charmin stuck to the side of a men's room urinal
*The Pretender guy finds the Wings guy attractive. This could only happen in Gay Hollywood, and it's about as believable and convincing as a Guy Ritchie plot-line or Madonna guitar riff
*Olympia Dukakis is our patron saint. The pill is far less bitter when washed down with just a swallow of Olympia. The woman can spin dung into daffodils, and her Adam's apple and Swamp Thing-hands just make her all the more enchanting
*Patrick Stewart totally owns this movie... and why would anyone suck face with the Wings guy?
KIDS Incorporated is what would have happened had the 90210 gang been a kids band in the 80's.
The KIDS were actually a neverending Menudo-style lineup of tweenie-boppers, who performed as the house-band at a Peach Pit style malt-shop/hangout for rugrats. They sashayed across stage in their large, over-sized, neon colored blouses and tight black leggings. They rocked out on their guitars and keyboards, with enough dramatic energy to suggest that they thought the instruments *really* were plugged in, and they *really* were playing them. The KIDS covered our not-so-favorite hits from Casey's Top 40, and we tuned in every week to see which songs they were going to put to a slow torturous death.
KIDS gave us Marta Marerro, before she washed the 20 lbs. of 'L.A. Looks' out of her hair and became pop-goth princess Martika. I prefer the old Martika, in all her satin jacket, giant brooch-wearing, neon leg-warmer glory. She was sassy and saucey and we worshipped her and her Crayola make-up, and we kept hoping her pirouettes would go awry and she'd fly off stage.
And you had to love "The Kid" (no, he was not played by Prince). "The Kid" marched around with attitude and threw shade and impersonated Diana Ross. Luvvem! There was also this dude named Riley, who made way-awesome yogurt-frappe' and seemingly loved steroids. I think he owned or managed the club or something. He helped the KIDS through life-altering crises like:
*Which song should the band do tonite-- "We Got The Beat", "Rhythm Of The Night" or "Gloria?"
*Stacey is like, sooooo tired of being a back-up singer. If she doesn't get to sing lead, like, NOW...she is going to barf out her retainer and go solo!
*Ohmahgawd...there's a leprechaun next to the gelatto machine and he's all like, "Where's me lucky pot-o-gold?" (I loved that episode...the leprechaun was "Isaac", the evil dwarf guy from "Children Of The Corn"!!!)
Damn I miss this show. We hated the KIDS and we loved them too. We sang along with them and then secretly wished the roof would collapse on top of them. The Saturday morning TV universe is a stark, empty void without KIDS intoxicated.
Dear friend: You are cordially invited to party with me right before I lock myself in my bedroom and kill myself. Farewell gift optional.
Ewwww! Heebie jeebies!! Do *NOT* R.S.V.P.!!!
This ill-conceived opus is T-T-T ...tacky, terrible and tasteless. And while I'm sure Dr. Kevorkian's VHS copy of this film is nearly worn out... when *I* cross paths with this unholy mess at the video store, I clutch rosary beads and crucifixes and Flo Jo my way right past it. And I'm not even religious.
It's most unfortunate that someone, or anyone, involved here didn't come up with the idea of entirely re-writing this film into a black comedy. Or a musical. I'm serious. The Margaret Cho tap dance has already been choreographed in my head...
Dreadfully depressing and devoid any redeeming quality or modicum of light-hearted humor, "Its My Party" is one big celebrity infested, on-screen funeral (sans the quick running time.) If funerals are your idea of a spankin' fun, knee-slappin, hee-hollerin' good time, then I salute you. Throw on a fierce black party dress, light a few vigil lights, pop this stinker in and enjoy!