Day Forty-five - Roy Orbison: Black & White Night, or "Bruce... stop trying to hog the spotlight, Bruce. No, Bruce, Stahp!"

I felt in the mood for some music today. Unfortunately, Rattle and Hum isn't on Netflix, or I would've gone straight to that.

I was able to find Roy Orbison's live concert in 1988 that featured plenty of guest stars, some whom I loved (Tom Waits and Elvis Costello) and some who should've SAT THE HELL DOWN AND PLAYED instead of grandstanding like they always do (I'm looking at you, Bruce).

That's sacrilege, I know, saying anything negative about The Boss. I'm sure if Jon Stewart were standing in front of me right now, he'd kick me in the nuts... in a very erudite and witty fashion. Still, I was not impressed early on when Bruce was crowding Roy on the mic. Sure, he calmed down as the night wore on, but... first impressions had me fuming.

It's a pretty good concert, though. Some pretty fine guitar work on the part of so many greats, a little harp action courtesy of both Roy and Elvis Costello, and some lovely key stroking by Waits.

I think my main complaints come in two parts, one that is just his style and the other that seemed a little old fashioned.

First, there wasn't much in the way of stage presence going on. Sure, while I was just chastising Bruce for gettin' all up in dat face, I felt like it was all just so much standing around from pretty much everybody. What theatrics that were there bugged (Bruce) and what could've been disappointed me when nothing ever showed (Tom, KD, Bonnie, Elvis, etc.).

But really, that was just Roy's style. I shouldn't fault him at all for that, I just felt that, personally, it would've appealed to me more if the staging was more dynamic.

Just can't please me, can you?

Second, I didn't like that Bonnie (love her), kd (and her), and Jennifer Warnes (who I respect, but am not a fan of) were relegated to Backup Singer duty while all the boys were allowed up front and given feature status. That really bugs the hell out of me.

Sure, I get that Roy basically gave kd her start, but both her and Bonnie Raitt can play and deserved better than Backup.

Hrm.

Still... it wasn't bad, but it wasn't really 80's enough (as the songs all predate the decade even if the concert was filmed in '88). I just wish I could've watched/listened to Rattle and Hum instead. I'm really jonesing for With or Without You. Now THAT was classic 80's.

Until tomorrow, Potatoes~

Day Forty-four - Airwolf: Season 1, Episode 3, or "Yay Jingoism!"

Another of Donald Bellisario's quests to present hot action to the American people and garner ratings gold (Monday's blog subject, Magnum PI, was also a Bellisario production), Airwolf represents pretty much everything that was wrong with the 80's.

Blatent cold-war paranoia, Asia as the Third World, cheesy American ubermensch fighting incompetent, yet vaguely threatening Russian strawmen, and awesome Western technology on display to deter any who would cross the Red, White, and Blue.

Seriously, if Airwolf wasn't so patently ridiculous, you'd almost think it was a recruitment video for the Armed Forces.

To start off with, the whole series revolves around a CIA or NSA or whathaveyou super-helicopter that is not only bullet proof and built with more weapons and countermeasures than DARPA's wet dreams, but it can also reach MACH 1 and go from an undisclosed airbase in the continental United States (a cave in Monument Valley, Utah for anyone with ANY sense of national landmarks) all the way to the far western tip of Alaska on one tank of gas.

Then there's the cast.

Jan Michael Vincent is a terrible stoic... I mean, a cello playing, ace pilot, warrior-poet? What is this, a Clive Cussler novel? I can't watch a single moment of his long, pointed stares without wanting to break up into fits of laughter... and, though I have a soft spot in my heart for Ernest Borgnine, he's thoroughly underutilized as the comic relief. Sure, he has a great sense of humor and timing, but it's like putting Groucho Marx in a community theater production. In an attempt to add some class, he only serves as a distraction.

The premise of the series aside, this particular episode is just so much chest thumping on the part of writers to reaffirm that they are, indeed, loyal and patriotic Americans. The closest it gets to being any sort of critical is having a drunk officer rail against the unsympathetic civilians who hated him when he returned from Vietnam and how war orphans and similar destitute children of American servicemen were left to fend for themselves only to become pawns of Soviet spies trying to extract the latest US Aircraft via blackmail.

Guh.

I despise this show... not only for its heavy handed politics and crude special effects, but also for its lazy production value overall. At least Magnum was filmed in Hawaii. Here we're supposed to believe that shots of the high desert with winter snow blanketing the ground with pinion trees sprouting up from the sea of white is a PERFECTLY ACCEPTABLE substitute for footage of Alaska.

Seriously... they say they're some small distance from Nome, Alaska during the final length of the episode's journey to trick the KGB and save the child, yet nowhere is even any STOCK footage of our Northernmost state. Nor are there ocean shots or refuels as us ignorant American television viewers have no concept of distance or geography.

There's snow, so it MUST be Alaska.

Ugh.

Maybe I'm just bitter, but it's television like this that has dulled the wits of society. Hopefully the rest of 80's week won't be this bad.

Until tomorrow, Potatoes~

Day Forty-three - The Presidio, or "Mark Harmon's NCIS Training."

There weren't a lot of hard boiled mysteries in the 80's.

Instead, it was the decade of the funny/buddy cop movie. Be it Beverly Hills Cop or Running Scared or 48 Hours, most detective stories were about the laughs, usually brought by streetwise underdogs with hearts of gold and mouths that never quit.

Pretty much gone were the days of the stoic cop who talked little and loved hard. Dirty Harry and the hard boiled detective were on their way out.

Oddly enough, though, one or two films cropped up that still stuck to noir tendencies and followed a rather logical set of reveals. All of the evidence is there to be discovered, it's just a matter of the investigators finding it and making the connections.

The Presidio is one of them.

Now, everything I've just said is a little unfair to several films. Eddie Murphy did a pretty decent job in Beverly Hills Cop. To be honest, that first one was actually good in how it laid out its mystery. Not great, as it relied on laughs too much and his comical interactions with Judge Reinhold and John Ashton, but good. And I love the chemistry between Billy Crystal and Gregory Hines in Running Scared, even if the plot is mostly meh. I mean, they spend a good quarter of the movie on vacation... shooting a music video, for crying out loud.

Anyways, back to The Presidio.

Starring Sean Connery and Mark Harmon as a pair of policemen (one military, the other civillian) who have a history. Their antagonism is established right from the start. It certainly doesn't help that Connery's uber-hot daughter, played by Meg Ryan, starts instantly dating the brash detective her father abhors.

Despite these seriously cheesy cliches, The Presidio performs decently as a movie of the week. I don't think it would ever win any awards, but I could definitely see it as a rental compromise when you couldn't choose between Pretty Woman for her and Commando for him (or vice versa, as would've been my case).

I really enjoyed the addition of supporting player Jack Warden (whom I loved in the original 12 Angry Men) as a sounding board for both father and daughter, spouting words of wisdom and showing up in a third act twist that had the minimum legwork, but really came as a shock. He was a great actor and filled the shoes of his role much better than the token CIA villain and his goons.

Personally, I think the weakest thing of this movie was the love story between Harmon and Ryan. Sure, they were cute together, though, I couldn't stop laughing when she popped his shirt buttons and buried herself in his chest hair, but the investigation lasts the length of the movie... and there's no real sense of time. Sure, a few of the lines imply that they've been seeing each other quite a bit, but compression of time for the hour-forty it fits into? Just can't believe it.

Especially when she starts dancing with an officer at an O-club function that she went with Harmon to, obviously trying to push him away. It's silly and clumsily done.

If I were to rewrite/reshoot, I'd add more about the catalyst for the whole movie, the murder of Harmon's female MP ex-partner. There was plenty of implied history there to be delved concerning her, Harmon, Connery, and first and second act villain Lawrence.

Still it's a harmless enough film that could've been done better, but was a pretty good example in the era.

Until tomorrow, Potatoes~

Day Forty-two - Magnum P.I.: Season 1, Episodes 1 and 2, or "Sex, drugs, and... Disco?"

Back in the 80's, Magnum was never really my thing.

Sure, I caught it every once in a while when it hit syndication halfway through the decade and aired during the afternoon action block, but my parents steered me away. I think they were trying to shield me from all the bikini-clad Swedish stewardesses.

No, instead of Magnum, I was pushed more towards MacGyver, Murder She Wrote, and Father Dowling.

Oh... oh no... just had a Father Dowling flashback. That was rough. Just... just give me a minute. Where did those Swedish stewardesses go?

Phew, that was close.

Anyway, I kind of admire what they were doing here with Magnum, P.I.. While it still suffers from terrible amounts of cheese and War on Drugs moralizing, it didn't do it with the typical 80's hamfistedness of other shows like 21 Jump Street or MacGyver... where drug dealers where caricatures and easily thwarted.

Sure, that just means some of the heroes are caricatures... like Higgins, the stiff upper lip British regiment Sergeant-Major... or TC, the horn-dog helicopter pilot, but they're still watchable, even though I cringed through most of their posturing.

But hey, it was a pilot. They hadn't really settled into their roles comfortably yet. I'm sure, if I had time to keep at the series (and who knows, maybe I will), they'll find their center and it won't feel so... so... cheddar.

As the introductory episode, we meet Tom Magnum (guh, Tom Selleck is Tom Magnum? Lazy.) in a cold open where he's seen breaking into a private Hawaiian mansion that is owned by the mysteriously super-rich author, Robin Masters.

Seriously... I could use the sort of bank that this series' Charlie seems to have.

Wait. If Robin Masters is Charlie... does that make Magnum, TC, and Higgins his "Angels?"

Creepy.

Moving on, the two-parter revolved around the murder of Magnum's Vietnam war buddy via a burst condom full of cocaine in the stomach. This causes the sailor to be posthumously courtmartialed in disgrace and puts Magnum on the case as war buddy's mousey, yet attractive (but not quite as attractive as the stewardesses) sister begs for Magnum's help.

What follows is a pretty low key "investigation." There's a plot for missing WW2 gold, more drugs (and a 17 year old drug queen named "Snow White," I kid you not), some sexual tension to break up the pseudo-noir atmosphere (or amp it, depending on your interpretation), and disco... DISCO!

Seems one of Magnum's war buddies owns a discotheque and his name is Rick. Guess how many times they drop Casablanca references? Only twice, actually.

Also, kudos to Robert Loggia and Judge Reinhold for their guest and bit parts respectively.

Still, the two-parter isn't a terrible start for an 80's prime-time mystery... and it paved the way for things like Miami Vice (not sure how I feel about that, really).

More importantly, while it never really outright said it, the sex was heavily implied. Magnum stretched the limits of the good, moralizing television that we were getting in that era. Sure, it was nowhere near as close to what we have now (which, still isn't much... thank god for the internet), but it was a start.

I think Magnum is a pretty safe bet if you want to scratch that nostalgia itch... despite it's cheese. Beer, boobs, and guns... all in a high-class, tropical setting.

It's the American dream.

No, seriously... someone buy my books en masse so I can get the palatial beach front villa, complete with open-minded Swedish stewardesses.

Please? Pretty Please?

Until tomorrow, Potatoes~

It's Eighties Week!

I'm feeling the need... the need for cheesy 80's schlock!

For some inexplicable reason last night, I had a serious jones to watch White Nights with Gregory Hines and Baryshnikov... and Helen Mirren! I had forgotten she was in that film until I queued up Lionel Richies' Say You, Say Me on Youtube.

Unfortunately, the Cold War/Buddy/Ballet/Escape film that I desire to watch is NOT available for stream on Netflix at the moment. Bumsville.

Instead, I'll be bringing you tons of other 80's gems and/or dreck depending on just how much of a nostalgia lens remains deep in your heart of cinema hearts. I'm going to try and break it up by doing television and films on alternating days, but we'll see how that works in the schedule.

Until then, enjoy this picture that looks like it could've fallen out of a Tiger Beat!

Run, run, run, ruuuuuun, run, run... run, run, run, ruuuuuuun, run run!

Also, this video~

Alright... that's enough beefcake to pander to the ladies. How bout a little something for us dudes?

Oh yeaaaah... now that's what I'm talking about! By the Power of Greyskull, indeed!

And let's not forget Phoebe Cates!

Ah, Fast Times at Ridgemont High, how true you were then and now.

Stay Tuned, Potatoes~

Day Forty-one - Futurama: Season 7, Episode 3, or "Wait, we're still making Palin Jokes?"

Woo! Season 7 finally dropped on Netflix and I couldn't be happier!

Wait, now that I think about it, in the grand scheme of things, I probably could be happier. I could be happily married, dividing my time between a private island in the Caribbean and warm cabin in Alaska or Washington. My royalties check could be in the six figures and all my bills could be paid. J.J. Abrams could've tapped me to write the new Star Wars movie.

NO! STOP! Get out of your revelry, Mokti! You must resist! Dream big, but come back to Earth!

Phew.

That was close.

So, Season 7.

I've been tempted to pick this up as I just saw it over at the store the other day at quite the reasonable price. Now that it's on Netflix, I might wait a while... which is kind of a bummer, now that I think about it. I love owning series and movies, but it's just easier to double click than it is to pop a disc into my PS3 (that's right, Playstation rep-prah-zent!).

I'm sure that I'll get it eventually, it's just better for my budget if I put it on the list.

Anyway, I zoomed straight to the election episode as I remember the first time Richard Nixon's Head was elected the President of Earth. It felt like pretty good satire similar to the Simpsons election episodes of old (you know, Kang and Kodos replacing Clinton and Dole?).

Does that date me too much?

In the episode, Leela gets an itch to get involved in the process. That would be fine if the episode just centered on that. Instead, she gets involved by almost immediately becoming the head staffer for an actually reasonable sounding candidate... who is being overshadowed by the vacuous candidates our election cycle tends to throw at us.

To be honest, I was kind of mad when the writers threw another tired Palin joke at us. Not that I don't think the gal deserves to be mocked mercilessly, but it didn't have any panache. It felt like a retread of a rework of a grainy representation of Tiny Fey's impersonation from 2008's cycle.

I mean... c'mon guys. Michelle Bachman would've been a bit more prosaic as a target, wouldn't she? She was actually in the primary for quite a while, for one thing.

The main thrust of the episode is the same old birther argument. Personally, I think both the joke and the argument is dead as a doornail, but I do know plenty of people in the oil town where I live and work that STILL FREAKING BELIEVE.

Maybe the satire would've been okay if they had got the Severed Head in a Jar of Donald Trump in on the action, but seeing as how he's suing folks for jokes of late, methinks Groening and company went a safer route.

And that's more that just a bit sad (even if it is just speculation). Futurama was hip and prescient once upon a time. Since the reboot, though, it feels like they just don't know where to go. Their time travel stories used to make some odd amount of sense. Now, instead of being smart, they opt for sitcom era resets at the end of the 22 minutes of allotted time.

Instead of averting the coming Robot Apocalypse (at the hands of a certain B.B.Rodriguez), the epi is given a silly paradox out. I would've been much happier if the Professor had just swooped in and saved the day by putting the Baby Travers in a biodome that simulated the Robo Apoc so that the loop could be maintained... but noooooooo.

Anyways, as much as I'm piling on the hate, it's STILL good to have Futurama around. Even at its worst, it's better than Family Guy ever was.

Until tomorrow, Potatoes~

Day Forty - Golgo 13: Collection 2, Episode 14, or "Macho is the Name of the Game."

Back in the 80's one of the most frustrating games to play on the NES (aside from Battletoads) was Golgo 13: Top Secret Episode.

One of the reasons for this was, back then, I had absolutely NO clue who Golgo 13 (or, Duke Togo) was. It was one of those rare tie-in properties that made it to the states with no supporting literature to provide context. On top of that, because of Nintendo's censorship of content, the game was altered from it's original state (where Duke is an assassin) and for some reason we have to help him save the world.

Now, for further information, Duke Togo is not a hero like the game implied. He's a cold-blooded killer. Even more so than popular assassin anti-heroes like Leon (The Professional) or Nikita. He would kill anyone and anything for money... even the love of his life. It is very hard to be sympathetic to this psycho.

Anyway, on to the episode.

For some strange reason the first 13 episodes of the series (the entire first season) are missing from Netflix, so you have to start with episode 14, the first of the second season (Japanese anime tend to run in 13-episode seasons to fit into a quarterly calendar where new content is shown all year round).

That's not a huge loss, though, as most Golgo 13 episodes are entirely self-contained. All you have to know is that Duke Togo is the world's top sniper assassin, there's a target in the episode, and that target will be dead/destroyed by the end of it.

Simple, predictable, and boring.

In this particular episode, the intro shows a U.S. Senate hearing in which the CIA is exposed as having created or financed (it's hard to tell) the manufacture of a super-poison against convention... and, somehow the Senate got wind of it and is going to investigate, blah, blah, blah.

Don't pay too much attention to the plot. The plot doesn't matter in Golgo 13... EVER. What does matter is silent stoicism and the calm, even callous, taking of human life.

Duke Togo is sent to destroy the plant where the super-poison is made and wipe out all witnesses, at the assumed request of the CIA. The hook in this episode is that some rogue middle-eastern state and/or organization (never really clear on this, either) ALSO got the super-poison from the plant and THEY have sent an assassin to clean house as well.

So, Duke follows just a few steps behind of this other assassin as they both stalk the island paradise where the hush-hush plant and it's criminally cautious overseers live. Both assassin's arrive on the island, proceed to kill guards and scientists (man, it does NOT pay to be an egghead), and generally stay out of each others' way until, predictably, the other assassin reports in and is given another contract... Golgo 13!

Really, the series is just an excuse for the often mute Duke Togo to get his kill on... and with absolutely no style. They try, though. There are a few shots that attempt to scream cinema, but I ended up laughing instead of being impressed.

I'm a huge anime fan, and it pains me to say that I cannot recommend this series at all. It's a weak fantasy for men who never grew up, but love ultra-violence. I'd say it was therapy for psychopaths, but that may be too harsh. Perhaps there is some artistic aspect of Golgo 13 that just flies way over my head.

Perhaps... but, I doubt it.

Until tomorrow, Potatoes~