MY MOVIE SHELF: Real Genius

The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order (Blu-rays are sorted after DVDs), by June 10, 2015.  Remaining movies: 163  Days to go: 157

Movie #220:  Real Genius

I watched Real Genius so many times in my ‘tween and teen years, I came to associate that Tri-Star Pegasus with the film itself. Any time I saw it galloping toward and over that giant T, I expected it to be followed by a snappy, jazzy version of “You Took Advantage of Me” and some space lasering of a bald guy in a rattan chair. It’s frequently a disappointment when it isn’t.

Real Genius is a goofy college comedy, but it’s a goofy college comedy about smart kids. About brilliant kids. It’s specifically about a kid named Mitch (Gabriel Jarret), accepted into Pacific Tech at the tender age of fifteen to work on a five megawatt laser project, under the mentorship of senior and uber-genius Chris Knight (Val Kilmer) on the top academic team led by professor Dr. Jerry Hathaway (William Atherton). Of course, anyone who’s ever watched a movie made in the ’80s should know that if William Atherton is involved, his character is up to no good. And that’s the case here, as he wants this laser for the military in order to vaporize enemy targets. Fun!

Despite the heavy-sounding, Cold War-appropriate conflict, however, Real Genius is an irreverent, whimsical comedy. Mitch has a hard time adjusting, a hard time fitting in, and a really hard time relating to Chris — once a young prodigy much like Mitch, now unwilling to take much of anything seriously. Chris reels him in, of course, with the help of the truly delightful hyperkinetic — and crushworthy — Jordan (Michelle Meyrink) and an epiphany garnered courtesy of basement recluse Lazlo Hollyfeld (Jon Gries).

There are also hijinks writ large and small, from ice in the hallways to a house exploding with popcorn, plus a bunch of opportunities to torment rival Kent (Robert Prescott) with all manner of pranks, and vice versa. More than that, though, the entire film is sprinkled with quippy, quotable dialogue full of wit and charm (I reenact the cha-cha scene in my head all the time). And a fair amount of bunny slippers, too.

Lazlo is the best, of course, not only because he appears to live in a closet, but because he rigs a machine to hand-write millions of entries into a contest sponsored by Frito-Lay. Now there’s a guy I’d like to get to know. No wonder Sherry Nugil (Patti D’Arbanville) was looking for him for ten years.

“So, you’ll … hammer later.”

MY MOVIE SHELF: Ghostbusters

The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order (Blu-rays are sorted after DVDs), by June 10, 2015.  Remaining movies: 254 Days to go: 255

Movie #123: Ghostbusters

Moral dilemma: In the great “I Want a New Drug” vs. “Ghostbusters” controversy, I am clearly on the side of Huey Lewis and the News. They’re song obviously came first, “Ghostbusters” clearly uses the same riffs, and from what I hear Huey Lewis turned down the offer to write a song for Ghostbusters, so Ray Parker Jr. was asked to do something “in the style” of “I Want a New Drug.” Since as far as I can tell, that all adds up to “Ghostbusters” being a rip-off of “I Want a New Drug,” I firmly stand with the News. And yet, I can’t not jam out and dance to “Ghostbusters.” It’s an incredibly catchy tune, and I can listen to it any time. It makes me happy, it makes me groove, and it’s super fun to sing. I can’t say any of that for “I Want a New Drug.” The conflict eats me up inside, it really does. (Not really, but it is kind of upsetting, when I think about it.)

Ghostbusters is one of those comedies that is somehow both not as funny and much funnier than you remember. Which maybe means it’s just as good as you remember it, but in different ways. Maybe you never really appreciated the dry, brilliant subtlety and comedy game-ness of Sigourney Weaver as Dana Barrett when you were younger, but as you grow you find yourself kind of in awe of her. Maybe you though Louis (Rick Moranis) was the height of hilarity, but now find it too much. Maybe you preferred Peter Venkman’s (Bill Murray) sexual innuendos to Egon’s (Harold Ramis) monotone and now that’s switched. Maybe you adored Ray’s (Dan Aykroyd) goofiness and Winston’s (Ernie Hudson) real talk, and still do today because they’re just as great as you remember. Maybe all that’s different. What still holds true, though, is what an enjoyable film Ghostbusters is, regardless of the particular parts you enjoy the most. (Annie Potts as Janine, duh. She’s the best. “I’ve quit better jobs than this.”)

The encounters with the Gatekeeper and the Keymaster are a highlight, and prove to be the best part of both Weaver’s and Moranis’s performances. (“I want you inside me.” “It looks like you’ve got at least two or three people in there already.”) (“Yes, have some.”) And William Atherton continues his run (or starts it, actually) as Movie Prick of the ’80s in his role as EPA representative Walter Peck. (“Yes, it’s true. This man has no dick.”) Plus nothing quite beats Gozer the Gozerian turning into the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man and laying waste to New York, only to get roasted (haha) by crossing the streams. (“This chick is TOAST.”) It’s just a good, fun flick.

But I’m not sure I would trust a doctor with a PhD. in Parapsychology.

MY MOVIE SHELF: Die Hard 2

The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order (Blu-rays are sorted after DVDs), by June 10, 2015.  Remaining movies: 291  Days to go: 279

Movie #86: Die Hard 2

I used to really like Die Hard 2. I thought it was a fun and satisfying follow-up to the original. That is, until I read this piece by Chris Klimek, lovingly eviscerating it. Now, I can’t watch this movie at all without relentlessly mocking it.

I mean, the entire premise of the movie is based on the idea that there is nowhere to land a plane within 90 minutes of Dulles. Considering a jet can cover 100+ miles in about 15-20 minutes (considering the length of a Columbus-to-Cincinnati commuter flight), that means Die Hard 2 expects its audience to swallow that there are no reasonable landing options within 400-600 miles of Washington, DC. Nevermind that Baltimore is only 58 miles away, or that freaking New York City is less than 300 miles away, or that even Columbus, Ohio is less than 400 miles away. So if you took a map and a compass (one used in math, for drawing circles), put the point of the compass on Washington, DC and the pencil point on Columbus, OH, and then drew a circle all the way around at that exact radius, you would encircle the entire area a plane could possibly cover in the 90 minutes between not being able to land at Dulles and crashing from fuel loss. I couldn’t tell you exactly how many airports there are in that space that would cover everywhere from Charlotte to Columbus to Buffalo and nearly to Boston, but I’m guessing dozens upon dozens upon dozens. So, yeah, my suspension of disbelief is kind of lost on this one.

However, I still like it more than I like any of the newer ones (Live Free or Die Hard and A Good Day to Die Hard). For one, it still features Bonnie Bedelia being a badass, tasing the shit out of stupid William Atherton, who’s making a nuisance of himself again. There’s even a cameo of good old Sgt. Al Powell (Reginald VelJohnson ) trading quips with our beloved (if overstepping his bounds-y) John McClane (Bruce Willis).  And never underestimate the attractiveness of Officer McClane to airport personnel. (Just the fax, ma’am.) This one also features the new faces of actor/politician Fred Thompson as Trudeau, the head of the airport maybe? Plus Dennis Franz pre-Sipowicz as airport security Capt. Carmine Lorenzo. And John Amos is an Army Special Forces major who never once tricked me into believing he was a good guy once I saw him putting blue bullets into his machine gun.

The villains in this one are weird, though, in that all they want to do is fight communism? I don’t know. It was 1990 so maybe there were people who still thought communism was a threat. But I prefer a villain who just wants money and has no moral compass or political agenda, like Die Hard villains are supposed to be.

In the end, though, McClane triumphs with a hugely cool explosion and another “Yippy-ki-yay, Motherfucker,” and the cutthroat lady journalist’s heart grew three sizes that day. Merry Christmas!

MY MOVIE SHELF: Die Hard

The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order (Blu-rays are sorted after DVDs), by June 10, 2015.  Remaining movies: 292  Days to go: 279

Movie #85: Die Hard

Man, do I love Die Hard. Perfectly paced, sharply funny and just about as timeless as you could ask for — despite the quintessentially ’80s fashions and outdated technology, the film holds up really well; it could be a period piece.

The movie starts with Officer John McClane (Bruce Willis) getting fuck-me eyes from airline attendants as he nervously flies from New York to L.A. on Christmas Eve to visit his wife and family, while receiving the valuable advice of making fists with his toes to calm his fear of flying. Innocuous, perhaps, but never suggest someone make fists with their toes in the first act to have them not end up shoeless later in that same act. Everything in Die Hard is there for a reason, absolutely nothing is wasted.

In the few minutes spent on John’s meeting with his wife Holly (Bonnie Bedelia) before she rejoins the office Christmas party and shit goes down, everything is revealed about their relationship — the tension, the hope for reconciliation hindered by pride and months-old arguments, and the arrogant jerkwad Ellis (Hart Bochner) who forcefully points out Holly’s new Rolex for a job-well-done. Hey, I wonder if that watch will come into play later?

Even the score is efficient, as it just reworks and reuses the familiar strains of “Ode to Joy” in different ways, from deep, ominous bass strings, to the flighty playfulness of a flute, to a full-on symphony orchestra, depending on the tone it needs to set.

It also can’t be said enough how crazy good Alan Rickman is in his feature film debut as “exceptional thief” Hans Gruber. Cultured and sophisticated yet a ruthless killer, Gruber sets the standard for high-class criminals everywhere. He is smart and quick at adapting to changing situations, but he also has an incredibly detailed and comprehensive plan, down to predicting the movements of the FBI, once they become involved. If it weren’t for some rogue cowboy crawling around the elevator shafts, he’d be on a beach right now, earning twenty percent.

Props also go out to Paul Gleason as uppity, useless police deputy Dwayne T. Robinson, resident ’80s schmuck William Atherton as smarmy and inconsiderate journalist Richard Thornburg, De’voreaux White as the charming limo driver Argyle, and one of the terrorists for wearing the tightest pair of sweatpants I have ever seen. But why, I ask you, has there never been a John McClane and St. Al Powell (Reginald VelJohnson) buddy cop TV series? I ask so little of you, Hollywood. Why must you disappoint me?

Actually, nothing disappoints me about Die Hard, not even the ridiculousness of a police department who scolds someone calling in a terror attack for taking up a line meant for emergencies — but only because it gives me, “No fucking shit, lady, do I sound like I’m ordering a pizza?” “Yippy-ki-yay, motherfucker” might be iconic, but the pizza line is the best.

Also, Bonnie Bedelia packs a hell of a punch.