Monthly Archives: February 2013

Slumber Party Movie Fashion Victims and Victors. The Big Date edition.

A common Slumber Party trope is The Big Date. After many sweaty nights, you finally get The Girl to agree to go out with you, usually through some sort of blackmail or straight-up Bunny Ranch-type payment for services rendered situation. That’s okay. You didn’t expect her to do it for free. You are just some poor, shlubby guy with a never-ending sense of humor, a totally misguided intrinsic respect for women, a talent for something stupid like music, art or computers and you are not blonde. Gross! Step up. She is the most popular girl at school. Everyone knows her by two names like Amanda Jones, Cindy Mancini, or Blane McDonnagh, and she is really good at doing things like talking to her friends, cheer-leading and being a bitch. I mean come on!

Like most Slumber Party tropes, The Big Date is filled with its share of Fashion Victims and Victors. Here are my picks:

In Some Kind of Wonderful, when the terminally ginger-haired Keith finally picks up the one-and-only Amanda Jones* for their Big Date, a date he literally mortgaged his entire future for, I’m sure he expected her to be dressed like the flawless princess she was…or at least like she was being paid to be on a date. But no. After spending a lot of time looking in the mirror, super-gluing her mullet into the perfect helmet-like shape and refusing to put on make-up, AJ showed up looking like a bank teller from Oklahoma.

VICTIM

VICTIM

You are taller, more beautiful and a better dresser, but I'm the most popular girl in school? Even I don't get it.

You are taller, more beautiful and a better dresser than me, but I’m the most popular girl in school? Even I don’t get it.

The weird thing is that Keith hired a hot heterosexual-yet-androgynous drummer to dress up like Morris Day’s chauffeur  and drive him around, but somehow couldn’t keep his eyes off Miss Helmet Hair.

VICTOR!

VICTOR!

In Can’t Buy Me Love teen McDreamy proves that he can buy love when he offers to pay Cindy Mancini (yes THE Cindy Mancini) the 1500 dollars to have the worst outfit in Big Date history cleaned after the Big Man on Campus spilled pretentious wine on it.

VICTIM

VICTIM

I don’t know which is worse–that it is all ivory suede, that it is fringed, that it is three pieces, and not one of those pieces is a shirt, that it would cost 1500 dollars to clean, or that she borrowed this slutty monstrosity from her MOTHER. Ew.

I think the stain is an improvement.

I think the stain is an improvement. Wait. Are those feather earrings? Holy hell.

In Pretty in Pink, Andie Walsh finally breaks through the stigma of being super cute and having lots of cool friends to actually land a date with the oh-so bland Blane McDonnagh. She of course decides to make her own dress! Spunky! The only problem is that she ends up looking like she ran into Dr. Shrinker on the way to the prom and had to wear something from Barbie’s Disco Queen collection. Spelunky….

VICTIM

VICTIM

I don’t know what is sadder–that Molly Ringwald’s nipples seem to be psychically forecasting Anne Hathaway’s recent Oscar dress controversy, or that if she had just worn Annie Pott’s adorably out-of-style dress as is, she would have been named the Victor! …Even with the fluffy yellow slippers.

Victor!

Victor!

*As long as you don’t Google her name or look it up in the phone book.

Seth MacFarlane’s Sketch Comedy Show!

Now that Downton Abbey’s done for the season (I HATE you, Downton Abbey, BTW.), Sunday nights have returned to a doldrum of channel-surfing. We’re flipping through last night, and landed on this crazy concept comedy show–I thought it was SNL, but I was kind of surprised because it was on ABC, so maybe it wasn’t SNL, but some other new sketch comedy show. It ran a little long, but in that We’re-going-on-too-long-because-we-know-it’s-too-long way. And I don’t know how they managed to get like every star in Hollywood to cameo, but I guess Lorne Michaels does have a lot of power–I mean, he got Adele AND Shirley Bassey AND Barbra Streisand to perform. In sequins!

Anyway, it was basically a send-up of the Oscars, and how hilariously awful it would be if Seth “I Like Poop” MacFarlane hosted it. It even opened up with this totally meta sketch where Captain Kirk shows up and tells him not to host, because if he does he’ll be excoriated for it, and then shows him this musical number that will get everyone calling him a sexist.

I think Seth MacFarlane is the taller one in this picture.

I think Seth MacFarlane is the taller one in this picture.

Here’s the thing: he performs the musical number–like, the whole thing, without stopping. So in the process of Kirk demonstrating the sketch to show how it’ll fail, he shows the sketch and it fails! BRILLIANT! Just for context, it’s Seth MacFarlane doing a song-and-dance number ripping off my husband’s childhood hobby of naming all the women whose boobs he’s seen in movies. I mean, can you imagine if someone actually did that at the real Oscars? I kept picturing myself at an awards banquet for work, where I’m expecting to get promoted because I’m brilliant and I’ve done a bang-up job of working my ass off, and then having my boss’s opening joke be, “Hey, that Jody–she’s got great tits!”

So the whole show was about how he’d fail, and they open with warning him he’ll fail and then he DOES fail, but only in the warning–It’s like  FAIL-FAIL-FAIL. Super-meta, man. Meta.

Then he goes on to make Rihanna jokes, because part of the conceit of the show was that it’s 2007; then he compares the woman who engineered the death of Bin Laden to a nagging girlfriend. Being that I’m totally a feminist, I thought all the jokes were absolutely hilarious, because I’m pretty cool with the guys, and I know Seth MacFarlane isn’t really a sexist, because someone who’s really a sexist wouldn’t say those things because all sexists are afraid of seeming sexist. And it’s all good because it’s a comedy show, which means that you can totally act like you’re a sexist, because then everyone can laugh at the sexist laughing at sexist jokes, and you’re not really laughing with the sexist.

And, let’s face it: that Zero Dark Thirty woman was probably really annoying with her “100%” BS. Even though it wasn’t BS.

The really amazing thing was all the guest performers, which–brilliant!–were almost ALL women! So while he’s doing his I’m-not-a-sexist-just-telling-sexist-jokes bit, he’s positioned himself among women who apparently have more talent in one labia that he’s got in his entire body.  And then Michelle Obama shows up–no lie! Michelle Obama!–surrounded by the military, and it was getting pretty late so I didn’t quite catch all of it, but it was totally weird and totally, totally meta.

The only down spot was Daniel Day Lewis, who showed up late in the show (what the heck was HE doing in a sketch comedy show, anyway? They couldn’t get Alec Baldwin?). He was all “I’m a humble gentleman” and classy and self-effacing, which kind of ruined the concept of the whole night.

It kind of made me hope Seth MacFarlane would actually host the Oscars for real some day. I mean, if he knows it would be awful to make those jokes, then I know he wouldn’t actually  make those jokes, not for real. I can’t wait to see what he comes up with.

WTF was that?

What? You have something better to do? ... Oh. You do? Can I come along? No? Fine. I'll watch this then.

What? You have something better to do? … Oh. You do? Can I come along? No? Fine. I’ll watch this then.

Fans of basic cable might have noticed that USA’s Psych totally stole our shtick with their Psych Slumber Party marathon last Friday night. While watching it, I noticed something spine-chilling. Fan-made videos of Psych devotees so rabid, they are just one missed med away from a “Sean and Gus together at last” skin suit. Less scary, but very entertaining was Tuesday the 17th, an episode from season three that paid tribute to the Friday the 13th series:

In it, is a scene that so awesomely and perfectly captures the “Holy Sh@tballs! What was that noise? Oh it was just a thing. Holy Bumbits! There’s another noise! Oh it was just this other thing. Holy Splamoney! What in the name of sexy camp counselors was that? Oh. It was just a thing…a thing that wants to KILL ME!!!” trope that I had to pay tribute in the highest form that a blog about Slumber Party movies can muster. Flowchart.

Yeah. I made it in Paint. So? Is that a crime? ... Oh it is? Oh I see. Well...click on it anyway. I'll be phoning my lawyer.

Yeah. I made it in Paint. So? Is that a crime? … Oh it is? Oh I see. Well…click on it anyway. I’ll be phoning my lawyer.

Oh no. Thank YOU, creators of Psych. Thank you.

Happy Valentine’s Day, for sure. I mean really.

It seems strange that we have yet to post about Valley Girl. It is such a Slumber Party Movie with a capital SPM that it actually has a slumber party scene in it.

This was the Slumber Party dress code in the 80s. Feety pajamas for all those under 12 and string bikini briefs and tanks for all those over.

This was the Slumber Party dress code in the 80s. Feety pajamas for all those under 12 and string bikini briefs and tanks for all those over.

I guess it’s like how the prettiest girl at school never gets asked to the prom. By the by, there is an epic prom scene in Valley Girl. How epic? The word ‘scarf’ is used as a verb, the prom king gets a face full of guacamole  and, oh yes, pink and/or gray tuxedos…with tails.

I hope that corsage matches baby's breath and feathered hair.

I hope that corsage matches baby’s breath and feathered hair.

But for today, let’s just talk about Valley Girl–the love story. Watch it bloom in all its tubular glory here. Highlights: Nick Cage’s psychic chest hair that seems to predict the uprising of vajazzling, bathroom stalking and the most romantic moment in language barrier history. When Randy asks Julie to leave the party, she says, “I’m soooo sure.” He smiles and says, “Cool. I’ll meet you out front.”

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Friday Morning Videos: Lights Out

There was this thing that happened almost a whole week ago, and you probably either don’t remember it, are reliving every moment, or are trying desperately to forget it ever happened. But it’s true: sports anchors had to talk for a half an hour about something other than overgrown men chasing a brown ball around a green field. I shudder.

Halfway through The Half Blackout of 2013, I thought that this would surely be the weirdest Super Bowl ever. And then the game started, and the team that had been losing in epic fashion came back in epic fashion, and then I thought it was definitely the weirdest Super Bowl, and then a guy from the winning team stood and wandered around the end zone, thus winning the game, and then I thought, “I missed Downton Abbey for this?” (Slate.com backed me up.)

The upside of it all was that I knew what this week’s video would be. Last week, I mentioned how The Escape Club always sends me back to watching my sister spin in front of a mirror, so it’s only appropriate that I have reason to post “Lights Out,” by Peter Wolf. I don’t remember how or why, exactly, but this song was designated as our “spinning song.” On Saturday afternoons, while my mom made pepperoni rolls or bread or both in the kitchen, we stacked all the 45s on the record player and commenced lip sync contests. (Kids: “stacking 45s” was our way of putting a playlist on shuffle.)  If “Puttin on the Ritz” played, we grabbed our glitter batons and made like Fred Astaire. If “Almost Paradise” hit the deck, we sang a mournful duet.

And if “Lights Out” came on, we spun ourselves into a nausea so delightful that even Southern Comfort can’t recreate it.

Video highlights:

  • Actual Degas-style dancers in the dark.
  • Peter Wolf’s impressive stature. A cursory search of internet revealed no height statistics, but I’d guess he’s about 8’1″.
  • A new wave tuba player.
  • Peter Wolf’s loss of muscle control at 2:30.

Tuesday Tribute: Christopher Guest

Happy 65th Birthday, Christopher Guest! I’m in a rush to prepare for a business trip, so I’ll just let him make with the funny, and you can all gape at his transformative powers. I think he might be a metamorphmagus.

His first name is Tyrone.

My favorite Christopher Guest character, simply because he’s possibly one of the nicest men in cinematic history.

Everybody dance!

And, yes, I know you want to turn it up to 11. But you’ve seen that one.

Let’s Watch the Super Bowl!

Super Bowl. Love it, hate it or don’t know what the heck it is. One thing is for sure. We all have to watch it. We don’t have a choice about that, but we can choose how we watch it. Here are a few suggestions. Choose wisely. Some of these might get you arrested or featured on a television show hosted by Chris Hanson.

Flashdance as a rough draft for Showgirls

Nice move, breakdancer

Seriously.

Flashdance (1983), a Slumber Party Movies favorite, is a complex movie to contemplate. When I watched it as a child, all I saw was the dancing (and the ice skating), but it seems a lot creepier now. And I figured out why: Joe Eszterhas wrote it.

It’s pretty obvious that Eszterhas hates women. His filmography includes lady-lawyer-in-distress dramas Jagged Edge (1985) and Music Box (1989), lady-FBI-agent-in-distress lemon Betrayed (1988), widow-in-distress misfire Nowhere to Run (1993), fictional snuff porn Sliver (1993), hooker murder porn Jade (1995), and the truly execrable Basic Instinct (1992). But his greatest achievement in misogyny is Showgirls (1995).

Lick that pole, Nomi.

Dancing tastes like Windex and herpes.

Watching Flashdance again after seeing Showgirls was a revelation for me, and not a happy one. Some of the parallels:

  • The Dancer: Ingenue who is not as innocent as she seems. Flashdance‘s Alex is a girl without a family who holds down two jobs, only one of which involves lingerie. Showgirls‘ Nomi is a girl without a family who holds down two jobs, both of which involve lingerie (for the first few moments, anyway). Lady loners making their way in a man’s world, nipples akimbo.

    Backlit Alex from Flashdance

    It’s lonely on the stage.

  • The Boss: Both films feature a creepy boss who fucks The Dancer. Flashdance‘s Nick owns the steel mill where Alex does not take off her clothes, so he pressures her into taking off her clothes after work instead. Showgirls‘ Zach is a lying pimp who owns nothing but terrible clothes and deluded whores, but at least he buys Nomi flowers that one time, right?
  • The Best Friend: In Flashdance/Showgirls, the poor innocent-ish Best Friend gets sexually assaulted. In only one of these movies, however, does the Best Friend get hospitalized as a result. Guess which one.

    Molly the Best Friend

    It does not pay to be nice to Nomi.

  • The Rival Boss: In Flashdance, the owner of a sleazier strip club (where the girls actually strip instead of just dancing in their underwear) tries to recruit Alex, but she resists. In Showgirls, Nomi actually works for the Rival Boss first, essentially hooking in the VIP room until she lands the coveted (topless) chorus line slot at the casino.

    Rival Boss from Flashdance

    Rival Boss from Flashdance gets grabby.

What’s distressing to me is how far The Dancer fell between 1983 and 1995. While the outline is the same for both movies, everything has been degraded or escalated: Instead of aspiring to be a ballet dancer, Nomi aspires to be a topless showgirl; the scummy job descends from dancing in lingerie to lap dancing; the Best Friend goes from being groped to being violently raped. Little wonder that at the end of Showgirls, The Dancer’s victory is not holding her own at a ballet audition and learning to accept favors, but beating a rapist unconscious and getting revenge on a suitcase thief.

Nomi with a knife

She will cut you.

Maybe Showgirls is a sequel to Flashdance, and Alex turned into a hooker after not getting into the ballet company. Maybe the world is that terrible. Maybe everyone has to eat dog food now and again. I can live with that. I totally love Dog Chow.

Friday Morning Videos: Wild, Wild West

I’d never seen this video before today. But occasionally I’d hear the song on the radio, and have a very vivid memory of my sister dancing in front of her oversized mirror in my grandmother’s house. Samantha attended Catholic school for three years, living with Grandma and assembling a hefty collection of cassingles in the meantime. As she was a big believer in playing songs until every lyric was memorized, we still know all the words to this song, and it’s always been associated with me sitting on her bed, watching her quick-draw on her reflection before executing a nice cross-ankle/spin.

That was before I’d seen the video. If you have a good memory associated with this song, close out of this browser and never come back. Because if you follow through and watch this video, your nice teenaged memory will be forever tainted by the most disturbing mirror effect ever used in a video. I may never touch a tambourine again.

Can I get a what the fuck?

Can I get a what the fuck?

On the upside, The Escape Club’s lead singer makes Simon le Bon look like Mikhail Baryshnikov. And is that Ralph Fiennes playing the drums?