(Not So) Deep Thoughts of the Pop Cultural Persuasion, Part 2

While the entire premise of this blog can often be described as "(Not So) Deep Thoughts of the Pop Cultural Persuasion" I'm contemplating a new series titled just that. Here's the second entry; and here's the first. Believe me, I was awfully tempted to add "Electric Boogaloo" after "Part 2" this time, but somehow I managed to restrain myself.

I don't have a plan yet for it, and frankly I'd prefer not to. I'm not very good at planning, all it does is stress me out. So let's just say, in this spot, you're likely to find a wide-ranging potpourri of topics, from film to books to music to art to politics to comics and on and on. Sometimes it's exhausting coming up with post-specific topic ideas. It'll be nice to just have a spot to dump whatever random cultural musings are careening around in my head at that moment.

Also of note, in a way this new series is taking over for the Barely Making a Dent series. Maybe not forever. Maybe it's just going on hiatus. I dunno. Either way, the idea now is to include the sort of book-related info I would've included in that one over here. We'll see how it goes. And I'll try to include some Marilyn Monroe in this space, for those who grew fond of seeing her as the patron saint book nerd of Barely Making a Dent.

So let's get started with what's been on my mind these days.

Scene stealer and Academy Award Winner Mercedes Ruehl.

It's been twenty-seven years, so naturally people don't talk about it that often anymore, but it's crucial to remember that in 1991 Mercedes Ruehl turned in a spectacular, heartfelt, emotionally charged performance in The Fisher King. That it won her an Academy Award for Best Supporting Actress proves the universe got something right for once. The film is a personal favorite, and Ruehl, Robin Williams, Jeff Bridges, and Amanda Plummer mesh beautifully with Terry Gilliam's wildly eccentric film about magic, mental illness, despair, and hope.

"In Soviet Union, we call it an Unhappy Meal."

Another Robin Williams movie (oh how I still miss him) passed through my mind's orbit recently, because I just watched it for the first time a few months back. Paul Mazursky's Moscow on the Hudson (1984), about a Soviet circus performer defecting to the United States, was a cable staple back in my misspent youth—probably aired on WPIX-NY, in fact. The movie is a wonderful example of the sort of sadness-suffused, thoughtfully rendered movies that were commonplace in the 1970s and early 1980s. Maybe it's nostalgia speaking, but films of that era seemed particularly sensitive to the human condition, especially, to paraphrase Prince, how we're all just trying to get through this thing called life.

Williams and Conchita Alonso are delightful together.

Moscow on the Hudson isn't a great film, but it is a good one, and parts of it reach for and do attain greatness. One moment I'm thinking of is the wonderfully chaotic scene where Robin Williams as Vladimir declares his defection from the Soviet Union while in the middle of jam-packed Bloomingdale's in Midtown Manhattan. All hell breaks loose, with Vladimir's Russian comrades chasing after him, local and federal authorities arriving on the scene, an immigration attorney stepping forward, store security guards yelling at people to calm down, and Williams ultimately hiding under Maria Conchita Alonso's skirt in a meet-cute moment that's so '80s it hurts. It's a glorious scene, full of the sort of vibrant, chaotic, kinetic energy only found in New York.

The rest of the film is quite subtle, sweet, and if slightly faltering in parts, still a sensitive portrait of immigration, making it highly relevant in today's anti-immigration climate in the United States.

He's ba-aaaaaaack."

Big news to report: we signed up for Shudder in my household. Finally! So far, so good. I've found some great films to check out soon, some I've seen, some I haven't, including Phantasm, The Lords of Salem, and Prom Night. This has really kicked my Halloween movie marathon up to eleven.

The drive-in will never die.

I've begun my Shudder experience watching the recently completed marathon The Last Drive-In with Joe Bob Briggs, which features Joe Bob's intelligent, witty, always informative commentary of cult classics like Tourist Trap, Sleepaway Camp, Pieces, and Sorority Babes in the Slimeball-Bowl-O-Rama. As an avid—no, rabid—fan of Joe Bob's '90s show Monstervision, I'm in horror heaven. He hasn't lost a step, riffing with rapid-fire through a cornucopia of cinematic musings and epic, tangential rants.

Felissa Rose with some adoring fans.

An early highlight hast to be Felissa Rose dropping by to provide fun behind the scenes stories of filming Sleepaway Camp. Her enormous, Chesire grin and riotous laughter are completely infectious. Even Joe Bob, who rarely breaks up, giggles and grins along. Clearly, they have great chemistry from hanging out at horror conventions over the years. She's the real deal, a genuine person, which is why she's easily one of my favorite cult movie crushes.

From the moment we meet sassy, sexy, snarky Eileen (Robin Sherwood), we know she won't be around long because this is an '80s (okay, 1979) slasher and we all know the misogynist rules in play back then.

Tourist Trap, which I'd never seen but had long heard was bonkers, lived up (or down?) to its B-movie cult film status. The film is like one long, demented fever-dream. You’ve got creepy living dolls, rambling monologues from an unhinged Chuck Connors, someone suffocated to death by wax, a tomahawk to the back of the skull, and Tonya Roberts right before she briefly became one of Charlie’s Angels or played slave-girl Kiri in '80s classic The Beastmaster. Starting to think a Tanya Roberts marathon of her cult classics is in order one of these days. Any recommendations? Leave 'em in the comments.

Suffice it to say, Tourist Trap is indeed bonkers. Joe Bob and I give it three and a half stars. Check it out.

Tanya Roberts as Becky, whose hobbies include skinny dipping, being tied up by lunatics in dank basements, and taking tomahawks to the back of the head.

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