All posts by Louis Fowler

Kitchen Sink

Xanadu (1980)

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WTF

In the mid-’80s, I had (have?) a huge crush on Olivia Newton-John, thanks to obsessive repeat HBO airings of 1983’s Two of a Kind. Even though I’d never seen her other films like Grease or, well, Grease, I got a Sears-supplied, clearance single of “Twist of Fate” from the movie I routinely staged intricate dances to when no one was looking.

“Sex Shooter” singer Vanity took ONJ’s sex-symbol throne in HBO’s The Last Dragon era, but I never forgot Olivia. (Or Vanity.) Once I had my own Blockbuster card in the early ’90s, I rented a sun-bleached VHS copy of Xanadu and all these hormone-driven feelings came back to the forefront, this time with an ELO soundtrack!

Xanadu came recommended by one of those somewhat prolific “bad movie” books that took up so space on my shelf. It was described as a “turkey” to comedically scorn and anthemically balk at. As the VHS played, I thought, “Sure, it’s a little corny … but what ’80s musical isn’t?“

I mean, this film has everything, including a post-The Warriors/pre-Megaforce Michael Beck, a duet with New Wave band The Tubes, an animated sequence from Don Bluth, glitzed-out dancing machine Gene Kelly and, in a most virginal wardrobe choice, ONJ and her sisters — mythological muses, of course — dancing off a mural in the street and into my dreams.

Really, that’s the best entertainment for the likes of me. I can see now why everyone thought I was gay. I wasn’t.

Even if the Xanadu movie isn’t your cup of bleach, the Xanadu soundtrack is a truly stellar find. Half ONJ, half Electric Light Orchestra, these worlds collide on the singles “Magic” and “All Over the World,” as well as the title cut — a total banger. It’s pure pop perfection that can be found in the discount bin!

Rewatching Xanadu all these years later on Kino Lorber’s Blu-ray keeps the late ONJ on my schoolboy crushes list, but now it’s more for the stylish grace, playful demeanor and wistful wiles that takes me back to a time where a musical can still be magical for the right person.

And that person is me. —Louis Fowler

Get it at Amazon.

Comedy

The Jerky Boys (1995)

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Even though I might lose credibility, I liked the 1990s comedy team of the Jerky Boys. Crafting a whole mythology that seduced young men with their Howard Stern-era humor, the duo (Johnny B. and Kamal, to the educated) and their prank calls were actually pretty funny when my younger brother played their tapes for me on the way to school.

Complete with their “Hey, jerky!” salutation, we amateurishly taped our own calls from friends’ bedrooms, dialing in to a momentary glimpse of cult stardom we thought we could have, too.

I recall our enthusiasm at the promo screening for The Jerky Boys movie at Oklahoma City’s Penn Square 8 in 1995, where copies of the soundtrack CD (featuring Collective Soul’s minor alt-radio hit “Gel”) were handed out.

But the movie was, in a word, terrible. I realized the Boys’ careers were done, and so was my fandom. These jerks had no more yuks to give. I gave my brother the soundtrack.

Yet 30 years later, my Amazon Prime menu has practically begged me to stream The Jerky Boys, pleading on its scabby knees. After a month, I could no longer resist.

Now, while it’s not the worst cinema of the ’90s as many claim, The Jerky Boys is definitely one of the laziest comedies I’ve ever seen. It even makes hemorrhoids jokes in the first few frames. Johnny B. and Kamal play two unemployed good-for-nothings in Queens. As you might have guessed, they make prank phone calls that are truly scatological in tone and volume.

While trying to look for a job, they create the character of Frank Rizzo, a mob enforcer who fucks with half of the cast of The Sopranos, to great comedic effect. Of course, this gets them in trouble with real mafioso Alan Arkin — let that settle a bit — who orders a hit on them.

In the 81-minute running time, the boys mimic anal sex in a public bathroom, Tom Jones performs “Are You Gonna Go My Way,” Paul Bartel discusses “piss clams” with Kamal’s “Egyptian Magician,” and Ozzy Osbourne manages alt-rockers Helmet. As you probably expected, the climax finds the boys pranking President Bill Clinton.

Oh, to be alive again!

In the hands of The Stoned Age (another of my brother’s favorite films) director James Melkonian, The Jerky Boys was too much, too soon, and he never directed again. Did he kill himself?

While I’ll always snort when I hear the phrases “silly ass,” “milky licker” and “lamby nipple chops,” the movie is so episodic that, if it were made today, it’d be a prestige-format limited series on Netflix and get canceled halfway though, prompting a re-evaluation on TikTok, leading a renaissance of prank calls.

Or maybe The Jerky Boys will be lost to time. —Louis Fowler

Get it at Amazon.

Comedy

Eat the Rich (1987)

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Comedically prescient as all get out, Eat the Rich is all about class warfare, rampant snobbery, low-class politics and, of course, the most sarcastic form of cannibalistic fine dining.

And I would have known about all these stiff-upper-lipped British themes, discussions and subtle comedy before now, if only my VCR worked the way it was supposed to in the early ’90s. Those were the days, when KOBC Channel 34, Oklahoma City’s UHF television station, broadcast religious programming in the morning, Western reruns in the afternoon and low-rent syndicated shows during prime time. When normal broadcasting went bye-bye around 11 p.m., KOBC became the best non-cable station around.

From Z-grade horror and UK sex comedies to rarely seen campy treasures from all around the world, you never knew what you were in for, and I was here for it … but it was past my bedtime. So I used my parents’ VCR to tape dozens of films off KOBC, with 1-900 sexy singles’ lines ads, Time-Life’s Mysteries of the Unexplained shills and Channel 34’s own sad weather reports.

Eat the Rich was one of those tapes, except the VCR only recorded the first five minutes before skipping to the 6 a.m. farm report. Never were cattle futures so sad! Even in the era of Blu-ray special editions, this British satire was impossible to locate until I found it on Amazon Prime. Even better, it was only $3.99 to rent. God save the Queen and her fascist regime!

Featuring bit-part players of England’s alt-comedy faction the Comic Strip and, even better, music from Motörhead, it’s off to a ripping start, well past the originally allotted five minutes. In the posh restaurant Bastards, the abusive patrons dine on cheetahs, koala and pandas.

After a row with a blowhard patron, put-upon waiter Alex (Lanah Pellay) is having not anymore, shouting, “Oi! Where’s my fuckin’ tip?” He’s thrown out by staff and, through a series of blows to his ego and his superego, becomes a leader of a group of nonmilitary anarchists who want to, undoubtably, eat the rich.

Concurrently, former boxer Nosher Powell is a faux politician, a lager-swilling lout who gets all the racist football fans in his corner because he brokers deals with his ill temper and his uncompromising fists. (Sounds like the politicians in Oklahoma — right, Markwayne?) As you can imagine, all these punked-up parties and fucked-up parts end up riotously dead, with arms dealer Lemmy coming out top. And why wouldn’t he?

Though the film was a massive flop on a grand scale, it’s still a Comic Strip Presents movie, giving the well-to-do British society two fingers way up. It’s directed by Peter Richardson, with alternative-comedy regulars such as Nigel Planer, Rik Mayall and Adrian Edmondson in brash cameos. But Eat the Rich is comedian and cabaret singer Pellay’s show as Alex, with every line dripping in sarcastic wherewithal and venomous barbs that made me guffaw in all-knowing titters. Pellay is a true revelation, 30 years too late.

It took me three decades to find, watch and embrace this, but Eat the Rich is a properly digested and classically disposed comedy that needs to be rewatched, reassessed and, true to the movie, regurgitated. —Louis Fowler

Get it at Amazon.

Kitchen Sink

The Wiz (1978)

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WTF

Growing up, I didn’t watch The Wizard of Oz. Sorry.

I know that sounds weird, but in our house, my mother and I watched the overlooked The Wiz on home video. It was our preferred version of L. Frank Baum’s tale of Dorothy Gale and her trip to the marvelous land of Oz.

So whereas people sang along to “If I Only Had a Brain,” I was grooving to “You Can’t Win.” Where some old man was the Wizard, I knew that Richard Pryor — the dude in Superman III — was the Wiz. Plus, the Quincy Jones score can’t be beat!

Muddy VHS and somewhat muddy DVD transfers haven’t helped The Wiz. Thankfully, its Criterion Collection upgrade makes it seem like a brand-new movie with a new heart. And brains. And courage.

The story gives the world of Oz a car wash, a buff and a shine. A winter storm transports Dorothy (the electrifying Diana Ross) and her dog, Toto, from Harlem to a magical land, where she accidentally kills the Wicked Witch of the East and eventually becomes a freedom fighter. Along the way, she encounters a bevy of choreographed friends — including the Scarecrow (a teenage Michael Jackson, truly magnificent), the Tin Man (Nipsey Russell, Wildcats) and the Cowardly Lion (Ted Ross, Police Academy) — who help her defeat the Wicked Witch of the West (Mabel King, TV’s What’s Happening!!).

Obviously crossing The Wizard of Oz with mid-1970s Noo Yawk-era films, The Wiz is more than a street-smart take on the material, taking societal concerns and  giving them a fantastical sheen that made them all more revolutionary. Director Sidney Lumet (12 Angry Men! Dog Day Afternoon! Network!) lets the story breathe, slowly letting all the magic of the movie out until the finale.

There, Ross sings the one-two punch of “Believe in Yourself” and “Home,” and there’s not a dry eye in the house. That stellar soundtrack makes The Wiz so special. With cuts like “Slide Some Oil to Me,” “I’m a Mean Ole Lion,” “Don’t Nobody Bring Me No Bad News” and the timeless “Ease on Down the Road,” it’s one to own and play regularly.

Like that old East Coast electronics store’s advertising slogan, nobody beats The Wiz. No one. —Louis Fowler

Get it at Amazon.

Kitchen Sink

Light of Day (1987)

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After the one-two punch of Back to the Future and Teen Wolf, with all their time-traveling and van-surfing going on, Michael J. Fox went for the box-office hat trick with a film that, sadly, had none of those fantasy leanings: the rock ’n’ roll drama Light of Day. He failed.

That said, I never considered Light of Day a Michael J. Fox movie. Instead, I viewed it as a Joan Jett film detailing her fictional rocky road to ill-fated stardom. With her gloriously raspy voice belting out the mid-’80s hard-rocking tunes within the context of a late-phase cancer drama, it’s an uphill battle for the entertaining devil-signing hordes of the decade’s lost children. By God, it works for me, but for others? Woof.

In Light of Day, Jett’s a single mom collecting cans around town while her brother Fox “works on the line,” whatever that is. As the sun goes down, they’re in a band called the Barbusters, the kind of band only movie people can make. Fox is on guitar and works a steady job, while Jett is the type of musician who believes “music is all that matters.” Together, they go on the hardest road imaginable. It’s a bad scene, cumulating with her using kid in a shoplifting scheme that tears them all apart. Sad!

After a label-mandated Fabulous Thunderbirds show — they are tuff enough! — their overbearing mother (Gena Rowlands) is diagnosed with late-stage ovarian cancer. As depressing as that is, Jett and Fox play the terrific Bruce Springsteen-penned title tune at the close, so everything is all right in the end.

Directed by Paul Schrader — the guy behind Hardcore, Cat People and, um, Dominion: Prequel to the Exorcist — is a fine director, sure, but he is way out of his element here. Like a Michael Bolton biopic, it seems like he wants to create a rock movie with plenty of drama … with little to no rock involved.

In her film debut, Jett is not the best dramatic actress. But she’s better than most erstwhile rockers in their debut, creating real gravitas and a rocking performance. Who could do it: Alice Cooper? Ozzy Osbourne? Jon Mikl-Thor?!?

On the other hand, the supporting cast of Fox, Rowlands and Jason Miller are good actors, but likely terrible musicians. (Supporting player Michael McKean is passable in that Spinal Tap way, so he gets a pass.)

Light of Day could have been a real rock drama with a good screen story, impassioned performances and the best soundtrack around. Instead … well, the music is pretty good. As a staid Fox vehicle, it’s pretty flawed and very rundown. But if hard-rocking, screaming-metal sirens of filth and fury are your spiked bag, it’s the best Joan Jett movie around! —Louis Fowler

Get it at Amazon.