So there’s the “I hate you, Harry. I really hate you,” scene from When Harry Met Sally. There’s the… oh, fuck. There’s no other movie to watch on New Year’s, Lerlines. Where else can you get a joke that starts “A hooker, a priest, two Africans and Paul Gleason walk onto a train…”?
There’s this.
And then also this, which has Dan Aykroyd in blackface, but still doesn’t feel as horribly racist as it ought to, maybe because of the terrible white ring around the collar, and because he’s trying not to be recognized, or maybe because they’re just having so much fun.
And let’s not forget Inga from Sweden, who only the butler knows should be Lisel from Switzerland. (By the way, every clip of Jamie Lee Curtis in Trading Places has her in the bare-chested scene, except this one, which is entitled “Jamie Lee Curtis tits HD.” Seriously, guys?)
And also the late, great Paul Gleason.
And then, of course, young James Belushi in his underwear, Al Franken as a drunk baggage handler, and gorilla love. That’s New Year’s, Lerlines.
Lastly, if you’d like to ring in 2014 with a look at how the butler, the whiz kid and the beggar ended up on their own island at the end, check out this quick tutorial from Winthorpe* himself. Or read this article, which is less fun but more informative.
* My dad looks just like Dan Aykroyd. I’m not kidding. And sometimes, when I watch The Blues Brothers, I see that my brother looks like him, too. Which means I probably look like Dan Aykroyd’s niece.
Writer’s note: This is a repost from 2012, yes. But as far as I’m concerned, this is the only Christmas video in my heart.
You knew this was coming.
So I made a deal with myself back at Thanksgiving: I would post Last Christmas as the Friday Morning Video on either December 21, or after I heard it on the radio, whichever came first. Well, folks: Christmas came early!
I first saw this video when I was, I’m guessing, nine years old. That was around the time that Wham! Video Hits was released on VHS, and subsequently viewed infinity times by my sister and I. (Jamie and Jenny Stowinsky, too. We used to take turns playing the four roles in Careless Whisper, but that’s a different Friday post.)
Many of Wham!’s videos tell a story, but this one tells a very particular narrative. It goes like this:
Boy meets girl.
Boy falls in love.
Boy gives girl a lapel pin.
Girl dumps boy the day after Christmas because she’s the only woman in the 80s without lapels.
I’m breaking the outline format here, because this part deserves full-on prose. The next year–one year, only twelve months after he’s so in love that he gifts her a brooch–he and his friends all decide to rent a house in the Alps (I’m guessing French, but it could be Swiss) to have a great Christmas away from home. He agrees, one would imagine, because his last Christmas sucked so much. After all, he cared about a girl enough to give her a gift, and her repayment was to promptly dump him. Hello, tacky? Miss Frizz is on line one.
(Although, in fairness, maybe she was waiting to see if the contents of the jewelbox was round instead of flower-shaped. When she saw a pin instead of a ring, well…?)
Anyway, they all hop on a plane and a train and a tramway, and then–here’s the kicker–his BFF shows up with her! Did no one talk about this before leaving London? “Oh, hey, yeah, George, we’ve got the house and everything’s just brilliant, and Andrew’s bringing that chippie of yours from last year, and did you drop your share of the rent in the post, chap?” So not only is Andrew Ridgeley clearly a jackass for bringing George’s ex to a ski chalet from whence they will have no escape, but she was OK with it, too. Especially given the little dinnertime bomb they drop later in the video.
Moving on: everyone’s trimming the tree, Pepsi and Shirlie are on the couch, looking adorable like they always do (did those two sweeties ever get together? I was pulling for them!), and George drops some tinsel, and BOOM! There they are, face-to-face, and here’s the nutty thing: Miss Frizz pretends she doesn’t recognize him. According to the lyrics, anyway. And also according to the lyrics: this doesn’t surprise him.
People, I may not remember the names of every dude I’ve dated, or other stuffed, but I remember their faces. And I definitely remember the faces, and mostly names, of every guy I dated who gave me a present. And I definitely would’ve remembered him a year later, especially if he’s, you know, the BFF OF THE GUY I’M CURRENTLY DATING.
(Note: This is where I diverge from my she-wanted-a-ring theory, and I begin to wonder if perhaps they only went out on one date. And he gave her the pin and said he loved her. And she was all, “Bangers and mash, are you barmy? We just met last week and you’re dropping clams on lapel jewelry? Mind the gap and beat your elbows!”)
Then there’s a bit where he looks really sad while his friends romp in the snow, because he just found out that someone trimmed his parka with his pet keeshond.
He really loved that dog.
So now it’s dinner time, and they break out the Christmas crackers, and, hair feathered perfectly, wine sipped seductively, George stalks Last Year’s Girl, who is totally snogging the BFF. Gag me. And her.
You will pay. Yes, you will pay.
And then! AND THEN! In a move so tacky it makes Molly Ringwald’s prom dress look like Jackie O’s anything, we see that she actually regifted the flower pin! Not only did she dump him like right after he gave it to her, but then she handed it off to Andrew at some point in the last year, and he wore it to their ski chalet, as if George wouldn’t recognize it. Filth!
Of course, what follows is happy romping in the snow, and a flashback of her getting her lapel pin and wearing it on her blouse, and then we flash forward to the whole passel of friends heading back to the tramway. And I think they’re friends again, because he leaves the tram with the cute blonde with whom he arrived, and everyone’s OK with having suffered through the single most awkward Christmas ever.
(Here’s a third theory: she’s a demon who trapped his soul in the pin. So he means it literally when he says he gave her his heart, and she gave it away, and so now Andrew owns his heart, which, really, explains a great deal about the trajectory of Wham! and George Michael’s life. So if anyone knows the whereabouts of the soul-capturing flower pin, please send it back to him. Or to me.)
Ed Lauter, esteemed character actor whose name you probably never knew, who was such a good actor who has been known as Susan’s dad from “Real Genius,” Murray from “Youngblood,” or Mr. Kelly from “Gleaming the Cube”… he was even in “Automan” back in the day (but who wasn’t?). Mostly, he was that Militaryish Tough Guy With a Heart.
The man was in 204 movies and TV shows. Seriously.
But you and me, we know him as Janie’s Dad.
He’s OK with her sneaking out of the house as long as it’s in pursuit of a job.
In his honor, I invite you to re-read my first-ever SlumberPartyMovies post, entitled “Slow, Slow, Quick-Quick Slow,” a treatise on why Girls Just Wanna Have Fun was the greatest 80s teen movie.
If you don’t have time for that, just watch this. Aw, Dad.
I’ve been thinking of this video for the last two weeks. And wouldn’t you know it? The last time I posted it was 13 months ago this week. Must be something about fall.
September 9, 2012: We’ve just come out of two party conventions. I couldn’t post any video but this one.
For ten years, every time we got into a car, my husband and I called a bet: How many minutes before U2 plays on the radio? Shortest time: “Even Better Than The Real Thing” was playing when we turned the radio on. Longest was, I believe, 12 minutes, when the drumbeats of “Sunday Bloody Sunday” began.
Since moving back to Pittsburgh, we don’t hear nearly as much U2. Then one day, en route to IKEA, David said, “I think Huey Lewis and the News is Pittsburgh’s answer to U2.” Which is funny, since Huey’s an SF native. And kind of reviled there. But he is a god in Pittsburgh, his wonders which I beheld no fewer than five times in concert before I turned 21. Yes, folks: before I could drink, I saw Huey Lewis five times in concert.
So to close out the summer, to say goodbye to beaches, here’s If This Is It.
In a classically plot-heavy video, we open with “The Power Of Love,” a morning DJ, a boom box, and a bodice-ripper getting tossed into a bendy plastic white basket, thus letting us all know that this is the real 1984, and not the Orwell novel. Huey Lewis is very sad and conflicted, because, despite the fact that his girlfriend audibly tells her kid sister “Tell him I’m not home,” when he calls, he’s not really sure if she wants to break up with him.
Must be one of those broadband wireless telephone booths.
Point one, Huey: you’re calling your girlfriend from a telephone booth at the beach. And the next guy in line is also wearing a polo shirt and jeans. Next time, call from your Corvette.
Point two, Huey. Women who can pull off wearing deep-backed white one-piece bathing suits do not, as a rule, go after dudes who wear polos and black jeans to the beach. You have a swell voice and pretty blue eyes, but that only gets you so far.
Can YOU pull off this all-white one-piece? No. No, you can’t.
His visit to a psychic goes no better than his first glimpse of the White Girl; he finds his entire band committed to a seance, presumably to bring his relationship back to life or something, although it fails pretty miserably, as the next time he sees White Girl, two sailors have won her two giant duckies, which puts his little tiny duckie to shame. Poor tiny duckie.
Do you have two duckies? No. No, you don’t.
Back to the beach with Huey, where he’s sad again, and then he does this.
This is what we call the “Cheesecake Huey Lewis Shot,” also known as the “Five Heads of The News Shot,” also known as the “Any Reason to Show A Tan Because It’s the 80s Motherfucker Shot.”
But that doesn’t work, because here’s what happens next.
See these guys? They’re in shorts, at the beach. You’re not. You lose.
But it all works out, because after a fight in which she actually must say “Dude, what the fuck, this is IT, seriously IT, stop stalking me and can’t you take a hint, Jordache?” he’s more sad and lonely, but then who shows up?
Shelley Long, in a black strapless bikini, who decides that a rebound guy in beach blackjeans is the best thing she’s got going.
You are literally the last man on the beach, so I guess you’ll do.
Maybe she’s from Pittsburgh.
P.S. Does anyone recognize the carney? He must be somebody, right?
Who IS this guy?
P.P.S. There’s a thing at the end about how ugly fat people who go to the beach get eaten by sand sharks, but we’ll let that lie.
It’s been a long time, Lerlines, and for that I apologize. Things have been busy in the Burgh. But I’m going to make it up to you.
You see, about 12 years ago–yes, 12–after many hours breaking into random song at a local beer garden, three friends formed a little comedy group. It was the world’s first all-girl boy band, called 2Good4U, and their first show, Dance Dance Dance Explosion, featured such pop classics as “You Didn’t Do It Again” (yes, THAT; you didn’t do THAT for me), “Young” (why should men get all the pedophile songs when there are so many hot teenaged Boy Scouts?), and “Why Won’t You Go Away” (featuring the unforgettable line, “Stop sending your artwork.”).
The show also featured a number of San Francisco then-rising stars, including Kitten on the Keys, who is now pretty much at the pinnacle of the worldwide burlesque circuit, and Robbie Cantrell, who now goes by Rob Cantrell and was recently seen smoking Stephen Colbert’s shoe. (Robbie was especially on that night, telling your very own Melinda that she had to perform certain acts on her boyfriend after the show in apology, due to an unplanned nipslip compounded by the filthy lyrics in “You Didn’t Do It Again.” Her boyfriend is now her husband of seven years and father of her daughter, so I guess the aftershow party went well.)
In any case, at the end of DDDE, as we called it, we members of 2Good4U–yes, your very own SPM Lerlines–gave ourselves a gift, and that gift was a choreographed, lipsynced dance to “Running With the Night.” If I’d gone to school in Nashua, NH, I feel confident we’d have performed the exact same number for the high school talent show.
As it was, we totally rocked it. And we danced with trenchcoats. And also fedoras.
A few notes about this video:
It is Lionel Richie’s best video, and best song. Never have visuals so matched the tune; the song sounds like dark city streets, fedoras, cigarettes and alleys, back when all those things were sexy. “Hello” fans can suck my silver cigarette filter.
Sexy cigarette smokers. Those were the days.
At the one minute mark, when Lionel shows up, you can hear the gate open. Brilliant.
Creak!
Everyone dances. Everyone. Every second. Bob Fossesque step-toe-limp-hand dances. We didn’t have youtube back when we choreographed our dance, but you know what? We came pretty fucking close. See 1:30.
We let it all hang out.
It also includes a sequence that encapsulates my fondest dream, and pretty much foretells every flash mob, ever: that me and a bunch of elegantly dressed strangers will stride dancingly out into moving traffic and everyone stops and we dance and it’s spectacular and awesome. You understand me, Lionel Richie.
DANCE.
And then I think they’re all in jail, I guess for stopping traffic, but that shit happens sometimes when you’re running with the night. And so they all stride up the steps and crash a wedding, and engage in a dance off, and Lionel Richie is all smooth and snappy. Like, actually snapping his fingers. And the most gorgeous wedding guest in the room, clad in pouf sleeves and massive hair, who is inexplicably dateless at this wedding? She knows the dance, too.
The OG wedding flash mob.
And the bride and groom are all WTF? But they keep dancing and then Lionel OH NO YOU DIDN’T Richie totes gets the bride in on the party, and there’s one white lady dancing badly, and then everyone is dancing through the rip-roaring guitar solo, and then they’re all dancing in a parking garage because why not, and then Lionel saunters off and is all, “My work here is done.”
P.S. What happened to 2Good4U? I left the group, and they brought on two brilliantly talented women, and went on to produce such songs as “Killing Me Softly With Pillows,” “Hell is for Bridesmaids,” and “Mudslides.”
I thought of this song to post as an exceedingly lovey-lovey-supa-lovey song to celebrate the end of DOMA, Prop 8, and the dawn of an era when Jade Butterfield (no kidding, that’s her name) would be played by Tom Cruise, as Jude, or David Axelrod would be Jodie Foster, as Denise.
And then I looked up the movie, and watched the video, and I almost regret my choice.
A few fun facts about the cast of the 1981 Zeffirelli film:
James Spader plays Brooke Shields’ brother, and he is credited as Jimmy Spader. I assume he is a dick.
Jami Gertz is ALSO in this, making it a Less Than Zero twofer!
Ian Ziering plays Brooke Shields’ brother, as well.
Robert Altman is in it. As a hotel manager. Huh?
I’ve never seen the movie, but based on the storyline on imdb, I think I might have to, because it sounds really, really fucking awful, like on a level with “Ice Castles,” complete with the easy-listening theme song.
Two young kids fall in love with each other. But the passion is too consuming for the parents of Jade. The parents try to stop them from seeing each other. But when this doesn’t work David burns down the house and is sent away. This doesn’t stop him from seeing her. When he gets out he goes to look for her. But in the end the passion for his first love is too strong and she has to leave or this love will kill both of them.
If I’d seen it when I was 15, I bet it would’ve blown Dirty Dancing out of the water. But now I’m 38. And while I can’t judge how he burned down the house or how Jade Butterfield really feels or anything, that bloodless description is creepy in the extreme, and I’m with Mr. and Mrs. Butterfield in the “Stay Away from My 15-Year-Old Daughter, Asshole” camp.
Honestly, I’m really annoyed that I didn’t read about this earlier, because my husband’s out of town and I totally would’ve watched it on Netflix tomorrow night. Now I’m going to have to wait until he leaves town again, or else I’ll never get agreement to watch it. Once, the promise of a nudish Brooke Shields would’ve been enough, but now we have daughters. Two of them. And because of that: ew.
In case you miss it in the video: yes, Mum is watching them have sex in front of the fire, and she doesn’t run down the steps with a baseball bat. She knows what her daughter looks like; she should keep a baseball handy at all times. Possibly a retractable one, hidden up her sleeve. Also, knives are small and fit nicely into leg holsters.
But let’s forget about all that, and bear witness to the softcore porn that is apparently fairly unscandalous for the hetero crowd. Imagine a naked RDJ instead of Brooke Shields, and it does make it much, much more fun to watch.
That’s right, folks: DOMA was struck down, and while the Prop 8 rulling didn’t demand that Adam can marry Steve and Eve can marry Joan in every state, at least the nice folks in California can marry again!
This morning I’m in San Francisco, about to get my annual work bonus on. So I thought I’d share this 90-licious bit of dance history for all y’all, complete with Soul Glo in a ponytail, baggy suits, and a red Cabriolet.
And in case you’re wondering: yes, I’m looking fly.
slumber party movies 