The Dwarves -- FEFU

Yay, more Dwarves! And this time they want to fuck! Want to fuck! Want to fuck, eat, and fuck you up! Enjoy, if you will, two differently-rated versions of the 2005 tune "FEFU," a making-of feature, and a bunch of hand-held live and interview footage. Y'know, you don't actually have to enjoy it by watching this DVD, you can just read the Prindle review and pretend. That sounds like more fun, don't it? We think you'd probably enjoy it more! We love the Prind and think his synopsis and opinions on this here video collection are so appropriate and comical that we'll send some clicks his way. (We like that "FEFU" song way more than he does, by the way.)


Now if you do watch the DVD the Highland Cinema recommends you don't skip the interview segments, segments which we're certain we liked so much since we got to see the sheer sleaziness of these guys. And it's some sleeeeaaaaze. Not necessarily over the top in its misogyny, but just kinda gross. Sure, Blag seems like a smart feller what with his book-writin' and tunesmithery, but every now and then there's a sliminess that just can't just be part of some shtick. Yeesh. And keep in mind that He Who Can Not Be Named has to be a legitimately creeped-out motherfucking psychopath. Seriously, what kind of person delights in shaking his penis around and cracking skulls with his guitar? Hmmmm...hopefully not the same kind of person that'd delight in watching such things.

The Mission of Burma Story -- Not a Photograph

I never got into Burma even though I saw 'em on the first reunion tour and I've had Vs. for the past seven years. I get it. I can hear the influence these guys had, I can understand why they get them glowing accolades, but I just haven't boarded that Mission of Burma train. Which is too bad, I suppose. They seem like really nice and super smart older dudes who finally get to enjoy the luxury of playing interesting songs to people who are dying to hear 'em. I found it pretty remarkable that prior to this reunion Clint Conley hadn't touched a guitar for years and years , but I found it even more remarkable how intimidated I was by Roger Miller.

Waking Up Dead

Look, we've all been watching Behind the Music these past ten years. We've all seen Nikki Sixx talk about shooting up and dying and then OD'ing immediately after. We all know how Zeppelin put a shark in that lady's special place and how Def Leppard enjoyed mother-daughter teams under the arena stage. So why should anyone care about Phil Varone? He played with..who?...oh, yeah, Saigon Kick and then for the post-Baz Skid Row. Wow. He's addicted to coke and has less than $2 in his bank account, and all he wanted to do with his life was play the drums. Hey, it's not like I'm saying his story isn't sad or unfortunate, but I think it's safe to say that if any one of us wants to hear about the perils of rock and roll decadence there's a ton of better places to do so.

The Dwarves -- Fuck You Up and Get Live

So I'm listening to a lot of Dwarves lately. A lot. Come Clean, How to Win Friends, Must Die, Are Young and Good Looking. Sure, it's all Dwarves of the past ten years, Dwarves that sound like the Ramones, but I think this stuff is aces. Maybe not as mean-spirited or blatantly misogynist as the Dwarves of yesteryear, but them studio knob-twiddlings make these pop furies sound so good.


To go along with the band's kinder and gentler recorded sound is a kinder and gentler live show. Whereas internet legend has led me to believe that early early 90's performances were ten minute sets of thievery and bloodshed, the Dwarves shows of 2004 are apparently tame affairs. They last 30 minutes(!) and no one gets in a fight. Singin' man Blag Dahlia doesn't even give us clever raps, only a "yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah...fuck yeah" between every single goddamn song, and the bassist looks like a tennis pro. At least resurrected guitarist (and assuredly insane motherfucker) He Who Cannot Be Named still wears a speedo and lucha libre mask. Yes, these Dwarves hardly fuck(ed) me up when they got live, but I still really liked the setlist.

The interesting sidenote to all of this is that I actually saw the Dwarves in October of '04 so chances are I saw an exact replica of this Fuck You Up show. I wish I could reminisce more, but I honestly only went to the gig to catch the Cruel Romeos.

Hype!

We've been here in Seattle for over a year and this is the first time we've watched this one. Keep in mind that even if Hype! wasn't a really good flick we'd still love love love it since it'd hearken back to our junior high Come As You Are-readin' days. This viewing taught us that the so-called "grunge" scene is such a part of us that everything we've wanted from rock music comes straight from the apparent NW band aesthetic: regular dudes havin' fun, playin' riffs, and not givin' a darn. Whoa!

Beverly Hills Cop

What a fantastic movie. TV, I love you.

Predator

Y'know, "Predator" really didn't do it for me at first. I mean, I liked that opening grumblin' riff and cymbal crash, but those vocal lines during the verses just sounded so clumsy and awkward. But then in no time, I wised up and realized "Predator" was the greatest song by the greatest band of all time. Stick around? You bet.

Shopgirl

I really like how no one likes this movie and I fucking love it. So sad and so well shot. Thanks, guy who works for David Cronenberg!

Gojira -- The Link Alive

They pronounce it "Go-jeer-a" but I say "Go-here-a." I think I'm right.


From Mars to Sirius is such a great record that now all I listen to is Archgoat, Dissection, and Cephalic Carnage.

Rescue Dawn

Yeah, I'm not surprising anyone by saying we outsourced this to the 7th Ave cineplex, but we defend this post since it's the kind of thing the Highland Cinema loves. Since we're down with Herzog we were obviously down with Rescue Dawn even though we're not sure how triumphant we'd have found it had we not seen the documentary version first. The story in and of itself is rather amazing (pilot escapes from Laotian POW camp) and there's plenty of beautiful camera work to keep cinephiles amused, but if we were unfamiliar with Dieter Dengler's pre-war biography we'd probably find his harrowing jungle trek embellished, unbelievable, and utterly preposterous. But as it stands, we think this the Dawn works awfully well as a Needs to Fly companion piece, but if it ever came down to a Herzog-filmed Dengler-themed Thunderdome we'd know the documentary would exit unscathed.

The Fly (1986)

Hahaha. That picture's gonna give you nightmares.

Terminator 2: Judgment Day

What's ArnoCorps' next move? I mean, what's left? Red Sonja, Red Heat, the comedies. Bulletin rumor has it that they have a brand new tune about themselves as ballsy action heroes, but will more songs like that fit into their Greatest Band of All Time image and ancient Austrian folklore ideal? It seems that perhaps the next tract for the band might be to tackle the various catchphrases and leitmotifs rather than the actual films themselves (as demonstrated in "Crom Strong on His Mountain" or on the website's constant demands to "Stop whining"). That method should help retain the aggressive rock qualities the band requires while still allowing them more lyrical possibilities. That said, at this writing the future of the band is far less important to me than is the current status of their online merch sales....where's my shirt, dammit?

Jonathan Richman -- Take Me to the Plaza

I spent my whole day in my Motel Hell t-shirt and my whole morning frothing about the heartbreakingly ferocious genius of Pig Destroyer, but the minute I saw Jonathan Richman I wanted to cry the sweet tears of sappy nostalgia. Yeah, I know I already told you this.

Murder Set Pieces

Disappointing since On Demand only offered us the Restricted version. Standard bench presses and femicide torture porn, though this time augmented by a Zombi-penned score and better than low-budget effects. Certain to be far more disturbing in its non-MPAA cut.

Dinosaur Jr -- Live in the Middle East

In the tenth grade I don't think I listened to anything but Dinosaur Jr. By the time I was out of high school all I didn't listen to anything but Gwar or eat anything but Taco Bell and if I was going to listen to some fucking weenie music it probably wasn't gonna have J Mascis' tired drawl in it. Sure, I'd still play a Dinosaur Jr disc every now and again, but it never meant as much since I spent the entire time convincing myself my enjoyment was little more than learner's permit nostalgia. I didn't honestly like J's voice or that awful classic rock engineering, did I? This pattern continued during the subsequent years and even after I was well aware that 2000's More Light was the best thing J had ever released and was also one of the greatest records of all time. But in spite of all of that, I still couldn't come to terms with why I liked Dinosaur Jr in the first place. Somehow down at the foundation of all those years of cranking these albums the only thing I could see was a 14 year-old's pathetic attempt to instill in himself an indie rock credibility seven years past its prime. So there was me in my twenties questioning the validity of my musical taste from a time when even shaving was years away; the adult me embarrassed by the mere chance that maybe, just maybe, one of my most important bands didn't even earn that title, and instead had it unconsciously bestowed upon them by a teenager trying to be cool. How could I trust myself? I thought. Are all of my judgments potentially worthless? What kind of person would be so easily persuaded by Micheal Azerrad?

But then one day as I sat in the car listening to Free So Free I came to the conclusion that it really didn't fucking matter why I liked Dinosaur Jr, and that there was no point in debating whether or not my enjoyment was genuine or to what extent it was at all. All these songs were just a part of me, they were in there for good. I couldn't shake 'em and why should I want to anyway? They were good songs, dammit, and if they consistently meant something it shouldn't matter what that something was.

And the guitar solos were badass.

The Amazing Adventures of Pleaseeasaur

The only things we find funny are Spaceballs, Spinal Tap, and cats in sunglasses. Oh, and apparently the Pleaseeasaur! Witness the genius of their infomercial tunes about ramen noodles and the local tv newsteam. Yes, the 'Saur is so earnest in their goofery that we can't help but find ourselves in stitches.

And they put sunglasses on a cobra!

Little Man Tate

Elementary school nostalgia strikes again. Do I actually enjoy this Yoplait-sodden Lifetime television staple so much that I've watched it every single time I've clicked past it? Do I honestly look forward to that scene where Fred calls out Dianne Weist on how she's a boring and pretentious used-ta-genius? Do I really want to watch it again right after the end credits rolled? You bet!

Bad Boys

Sean Penn fills a pillowcase with RC colas and beats a guy bloody. Need I say more? Easily my favorite movie of all time. Thanks, TBS!

Total Recall

I'm really fucking excited I don't find ArnoCorps traumatic anymore.

Lady Snowblood

The nice tale of a lady born and raised to exact vengeance on the fellas that abused her poor mama. Classic Kill Bill-influencing stuff where the blood gushes from every wound until the precise moment just before it becomes absurd and the swordplay is no-bullshit spartan stabs and jabs. We're sure we missed out on the intricacies of seventeenth century Japanese culture, but them poetic subtitles sure were classy.

Man Bites Dog

The guys who made this try to tell you it's about the nature of documentary filmmaking, but that's little more than a pretentious way of defending why their movie is a mockumentary about a film crew following a serial killer. "No...you see, it's all self-reflexive. " What a bunch of bullshit.


Man Bites Dog tricks you into thinking it's nothing but back and forth cuts between a maniac spouting his own self-important moral philosophy and his nonsense-free murders of the innocent, but as soon as our main character decides to save a bullet by giving an lonely old woman a heart attack you realize you're watching something too disturbing to be part of the Criterion Collection (which it is). Not long after that you'll get to this sequence where the stinking drunk killer and his equally sodden film crew walk in on an intertwined couple and proceed to abuse and dismember the both of 'em. That scene's probably the crux of the argument that this flick is about the sheer impossibilty of the documentarian's role as a neutral observer, but, Jesus, go watch something like Real Life if you want to stay to that idea without coming away feeling like you sentenced yourself to eternal damnation.

Benoît Poelvoorde sure does a good job, though.

Shogun Assassin

"People said his brain was infected by devils."

Among the finest lines of dialogue in all of motion picture history, and we're not just saying that 'cause Cage's "Agent Orange" has played nonstop since the dawn of the new year.

Not since we watched the Hills Have Eyes at the Regent Manor Cineplex all the way back in early '02 has a film so risen above and beyond our expectations, expectations that had incubated and festered within the very cockles of our bowels since late '94. Shogun Assassin is a treasure. It's the kind of thing that reminds you that "big" Quentin Tarantino's nothing but a cinematic Beck Hansen and reminds us that the cosmic wisdom of Joe Bob is so entwined in the fibers of our being that to emblazon the Drive-In Oath on our chests would be an exercise both trivial and insulting.

Yes, it's that serious.

Shogun Assassin is why the Highland Cinema broke ground in the first place. We exist only to satiate our need to hear a toddler narrate his tale as a killer-in-training, to watch as he remains silent onscreen only to matter-of-factly relate his memories of his father's endless evisceration of evil ninja hordes in the name of justice and loyalty. We've seen genius; it has the soaked look of an Earl Scheib drop cloth and the fiercely spiritual sound of the naive Eastern fetishism. Don't sleep on this one any longer.

Colors

I am a nightmare walkin' psychopath talkin' king of the jungle just a gansta stalkin' living life like a firecracker quick is my fuse then dead as a deathpack the colors I choose red or blue cause a blood it just don't matter...

KTLA's finest.

Radio Days

See, the Woody writes a story about life in the old-timey radio days and then films the thing like a radio drama. Genius? No, but really darn enjoyable. With Seth Green no less!

Nighthawks

Some years ago Cage and Camu Tao put out a record as Nighthawks where they bust dirty cop rhymes over Miami Vice beats. So of course when I see the Nighthawks feature film on the boob tube I think I'm in for a ninety minute tale about a pair of bad lieutenants policing a TBS world. Look! Stallone, Rutger Hauer, Lindsay Wagner, and Billy Dee! Fuck yeah. Let's see some windblown coiffures, 9mm's, and crooked cops breaking drug dealin' faces.

Unfortunately the 'Hawks are just some undercover narcs who disdain paperwork. Whatever.

The Hills Have Eyes II (2007)

If this ain't some sort of allegory about our post-Trade Center Afghani relations, then we don't know what is. Barren wastelands of miserably scorched earth, cave-dwelling psychopaths borne of our own hand, under-trained soldiers, and enlisted guys who don't give a shit. It's all there! And them killings, mutant rapes, and face-smashings are too. All in gruesomely prolonged detail. We're sure glad these major-studio horror flicks aren't the self-reflexive slasher garbage they were a few years ago, but this current wave of vile brutality and torture will ensure that your special lady'll wanna stay at home. Hey, that's great 'cause I think Grey's Anatomy is on right as we speak!

Napoleon Dynamite

Hey, I just saw this for the first time! It was pretty funny.

Hated: GG Allin and the Murder Junkies

As part of our continuing effort to expose ourselves to the most hideous things in the history of all existence we decided to watch Hated for the second time. Yeah, I can't believe it either. Wouldn't you think our need to watch a jockstrap-laden psychopath rub his own poop on his face, throw some chick into a wall, and slice himself with razor blades had already been satiated? Did we really need to hear #1 GG fan tell us about Allin's pen pal friendship with other waste-of-life John Wayne Gacy? Or see shocking Polaroids of these naked sleazebag Murder Junkies in various states of arousal? Probably not. I think we just like talking about Todd Phillips.

Shivers

More of the goopy body politicking from our good friend Canadian Dave. We sure love the Croney so of course we got a kick out of his debut even though it didn't quite deliver the goods the way his subsequent flicks do. Shivers still hit us with a bitchin' plot 'bout a lab-borne clap-ridden parasitic slug that turns high-rise condo tenants into sex-crazed zombies. We dug the mid-70s Earth tones, the way that dude puked up bloody chunks on an old lady's umbrella, and we especially enjoyed the blatant Romerian finale where a hillside of the stumblin' dead force our protagonist into a poolside Dionysian/pseudo-Sapphic orgy the likes of which you won't admit to having ever seen before! This flick is most likely some sort of comment on the changing sexual standards and practices of the post-Pill, dusk of Free Love generation, but we'll hold off on our dissertation until at least a second viewing.

Music supervised by Ivan Reitman!

Do the Right Thing

The only Spike joint that matters. A shining piece of American cinema and a testament to the genius of Ernest "Tales from the Crypt Presents: Demon Knight" Dickerson. Also features a guy who played for Sonic Youth! Race in the U.S. of A sure is complimicated.

Combat Shock

Check out this bleak and hopeless flick about a Staten Island-livin' Viet-vet. It's full of cheaply recorded misery, despondency, and dreariness, but for every truly effective grimy broken-down homeless man scene there's at least two others bookended with the worst bargain-basement Carpenter-aping synth score you can imagine. Sure it was the early-mid-80s, but that stuff was inexcusable, inappropriate, and just plain bad. Really, how am I s'posed to be repulsed over seeing a gutter-bound junkie pour heroin into his bleeding abscess when ten seconds later I'm listening to some struttin' Moog vibrato?

Combat Shock is the type of flick that actually deserves its Kaufman-awarded "Troma Classic" status and we're darn certain that had Buddy G gone onto other big-time pictures you'd hear about this one soooo much more. Dude, the last scene is a guy shooting both his pregnant wife and crying mutant infant son (the Lynch has to be gettin' a cut)! Then he drinks down last year's chunky milk and pastes his gray matter on the filthy kitchen wall!

Classic cinema.

Last House on the Left

I've got this article that calls this Wes Craven-Sean Cunningham picture one of the most disturbing of all time. All time, people! Right up there with the Nekromantik. Sure, it's a sleazy one. One full of some implied rape scenes, a don't matter just don't bite it sequence gone wrong, and a chainsaw-slicing handgun suicide finale. But what we liked most of all about this was that you could totally write your entire cinema studies dissertation on shit like this! We're certain lots of folks already have. Welcome to the bleak end of the hippie era! Hello, Cambodian invasion. Hello, Watergate. Goodbye, unrealistic and naive ideals. And take those goddamn beads with you. The world belongs to the PTS-riddled degenerates now, fuckers. You've been warned.


This is the kind of flick Zombie wanted Devil's Rejects to be: sixty uncomprimising minutes of Manson family psychopaths humiliating nice girls who were just out for some harmless sex, drugs, and rock and roll followed by twenty vengeful minutes of a middle-aged mom and dad going ape-shit crazy on your mothertrucking ass. So great. Even Fat Ebert loves it!

Also features Martin Kove! And a ridiculously awesome Lightfoot-folky score!

Guinea Pig: Flower of Flesh and Blood

The rumor is that Charlie "don't call me Estevez" Sheen nabbed a copy of this way back in '85 and then narced to the Feds thinking it was an actual snuff movie. Now that's a story that's waaaay too good to be true. Come on, dude, a snuff movie? You honestly think you could get your hands on pure cinematic death? Of course you couldn't! And if you could it sure wouldn't look like this. Sure, this whole thing looks like every shitty Korean program on your UHF dial, but we're saying that a real deal snuff flick would have one static camera and maybe some POV. It sure as hell wouldn't have close-ups of syringes pricking latex skin and it surer as hell wouldn't cut between limb severing and the severer's maniacal grins. Jesus. And it'd be at least a fifth-generation VHS dub by the time you saw it anyway. Fuck you, Sheenie. Get a clue.

Flower of Flesh and Blood is only worth if for you Rick Baker Jrs to ooh and ahh about. So much grossness and so many impressive effects! Here at the Highland Cinema we especially enjoyed that scene where the dude evicerates a bound, gagged, and unconscious lady and yanks out her intestines right as she spits up blood! Great, right? You'll probably walk away remembering other choice scenes like the eyeball spoon scoop, the severed head smooch, and the bloody fishtank of floating hands and forearms. Doesn't this sound even better? Everything you wanted to see in one easy-to-find flick! And no pesky subtitles or bad dubbing to get in the way. Have your J-pop friends translate and double your viewing pleasure.

The World According to Sesame Street

Jeepers, how much weepy nostalgia does the S-deuce conjure up? Too much, we say! Don't know what it is, but whenever the Cinema sees some foam rubber puppets acting and singing we get some teary smiles a-goin'. Must be something inherent about those ping-pong eyeballs and bargain-basement carpets 'cause it can't all be sadness over our deceased childhood. We darn near cried right there in elementary school when Big Jimmy bit the dust and that's no lie.


This Sesame Street flick isn't about our 'Pets experience at all. It's really just a ninety minute commercial for the international wing of Henson Enterprises and how great they are for their respect and compassion for all them distinct sub-cults within each of them different worldly cultures. Noble, indeed. But we're too cynical for it all. More puppets! Less neo-lib, post-post doctoral-Age of Aquarius jibber-jabber!

Sorority Babes in the Slimeball Bowl-o-Rama

With a title like this we expected eighty minutes of gratuitous boobies and day-glo spandex. Instead we ninety minutes of terribly lit puns and a jive-talking goblin trapped in a senior league trophy. That's right, a jive talking goblin. At least George "Buck" Flower character acted his way through that mumbling janitor role to save the day. He's like the Homeless Man's M Emmett Walsh he is!

Afro-Punk

You don't like music as much as the Highland Cinema does. Okay, maybe if your name's Heavy Duty you do, but including that crew is cheating.

We checked this Afro-Punk out the other night after we saw an article about it in Punk Planet and after we added the Bad Brains' ROIR to the library. The fact that this DV-cam doc is pretty decent and will ensure that you'll immediately involve yourself in a never-ending conversation about race and ethnicity in America is noteworthy, but what's really important is that alongside that epic discussion we paced around talkin' 'bout punk rock, metalcore, Necro, Cage, karate kids, Eritrea/Somalia, intensity in ten cities, Rocky George, Rollins' bands, aging, scenes, hip-hop performance, record sales, the music industry, Megadeth posters, rock and the pop narcotic, parenting skills, manTooth broads, Randall modules, fuzz pedals, women's pants, and Joel RL Phelps the Downer Trio until the wee goddamn hours of the morning. Honest.

And you thought we only liked movies.

Kiss Kiss Bang Bang

Sorry, but I'm tired of this unnecessarily stylized post-Tarantino Get Shorty junk. The story itself is good enough for this Guy Ritchie world, but why drag it down with smarmy obliterate-the-fourth-wall narration and overly chummy back-and-forth rapport? Hipster tricks like the wink-wink Sam Spade noirisms turned this thing into watchable if not memorable Saturday afternoon on Showtime fare when it certainly could have been more.

But we still think Val Kilmer's cool.

Match Point

You guys remember how Ewen Bremner absolutely killed it in julien donkey-boy? That one scene where he's on the phone with Chloe Sevigny and they pretend he's talking to his deceased mother...wow. Dogme95's finest moment. So many great performances in that film and so full of choice reviewer fodder, but we could never understand why none of those guys ever talked about that scene where Julien dons Nazi garb and talks about Hitler. They went on and on about Korine's exploitation/empowerment of the differently-abled and went overboard trying to form a schizophrenic narrative out of it all, but we can't remember any real mention of that basement scene. Weird.


Oh, Match Point. Yeah. The best SERIOUS one since Interiors. Actually we'll amend that to say, "The best SERIOUS one since ever." And that capitalization ain't no joke. Unlike some other heartbreaking Allen dramas there's no comic relief anywhere. No nebbishes. No Dixieland score. No foibles, no "bends/breaks" supporting characters, and no suede elbow-patched psychoanalytic banter. The Woods turned out quite the well-crafted flick, one that's cold and reserved and yet completely understandable, a feat we found all the more remarkable considering the sheer assholery of the main character. Don't cheat on someone, especially if that someone is your wife who loves you. Even with Scarlett Johansson.

Hey, speaking of assholes, here's another thing we don't understand. How is it possible that we like Harry Block but can't stand Alvy Singer? Everyone says, "I love Annie Hall," but when we gave it a second, third, and even a fourth chance it always failed to charm us. Our rational mind says Singer's only a kinda-jerk and Block's the hostile sonofabitch, but damnit if our irrational mind feels for the latter way more than the former. Strange, huh?

We also can't figure out why we never ever made it to the Cineplex to see Match Point. It played there for, like, six months and we saw Melinda and Melinda opening week!

Casualties of War

Heavy-handed and obvious. Yeah, yeah, War Is Hell, Viet Nam Ruined Everything. We know. Marginally better than what may be the worst of Ho Chi Minh flicks, but only in terms of real actors, directing, and set design rather than in terms of Highland Cinema talkin' 'n chompin' enjoyment.

For my money I'd rather watch Mikey J chew the dramatic scenery in that two-parter Family Ties where his buddy dies in a wreck (here's a refresher) 'cause we had one heckuva hard time stifling "Doc!" outbursts during this flick. And why did The Pennster insist on B-movie channeling Bobby D anyway? At least we had dark horse supporting players Big John C and Johnny Legs to keep our trivia knowledge in the black.

The Michael J, Turkey Sandos, and Sierra Nevs Film Fest has officially come to a close...although it has been awhile since we've seen The Hard Way.

Midnight Madness

As soon as we saw that scene where these cats head out to a Pabst brewery we walked right out the door and straight outside and down to the P-Deuce 'cause we didn't have any PBR in the entire house! Man, am I ever embarrassed to tell you guys that. I hope you can forgive us. At least take comfort in knowing we rectified the problem ASAP. It won't happen again.

This Midnight Madness, she is a movie that so predates the Highland Cinema that she ain't even a part of the El Moro Cinema, the Sixth Street Cinema, or the Victorville Cinema. A movie that goes so far back for our second-in-command that it's probably part of the, I dunno, Santa Maria Cinema or something. All I'll say is that I've been hearing about this flick for darn near 15 years and it was about time it got a spin around here. To get the real scoop read the super-sweet comment that will be posted below since nothing I'll say will do this movie justice in the eyes of the Timmons brothers.

For now know that this thing has motherfucking Eddie Deezen! Remember how he was in Punky Brewster? And a million fucking other movies? Everything from your Rhonda Shear-hosted Up All Night Classics to that Sesame Street movie and that cereal commercial. And, shit, the IMDB just told me he was in Laserblast! He plays a guy named Froggy! That's, like, so many Highland Cinema related references that I don't even want to explain them all.

Class of 1984

Originally part of our proposed "Michael J Fox Meets Turkey Sandwiches and Sierra Nevadas Thanksgiving '06 Film Festival," but since other Thursday activities came our way we had to pop this one in early. And, holy shit, Mark L Lester made this?!?! Yes, that Mark L Lester, the guy who not only lensed Commando and Armed and Dangerous, but who also directed an all-time Highland Cinema classic you know as Showdown in Little Tokyo. Can't believe we missed that piece of info. Showdown is such signature Highlander stuff it's a wonder we haven't run through this guy's oeuvre already.

Class of '84 is standard Blackboard Jungle/Lean on Me fare where I Want to Change the World teacher finds that the World Changes Me (err...Him). The tough guys deal coke in the graffiti-laden bathrooms (OJ tags! No, really!), dress like windblown Suburbia punksters, and go so far as to rape Teach's wife right before the big school band concert. Pretty boring stuff actually, but the 2 AM TBS vibe, the pudgy Mikey J, and gratuitous Roddy McDowell kept us entertained and gave us much to yak about during the runtime. You may be tempted to change the channel at hour one's close, but stick around for the bloody finale where the bearded teach who looks like a character from every '80s late-night tv flick lights a dude on fire and slices up another on a tablesaw. And dig that bloody-face, wish-we-saw-a-protuding-eyeball hanging scene right before the end credits. Too cool!

Can you believe Roger Ebert loves this movie? Get well soon, Big Rog, you just gained some serious Cinema cred.

The Russian Specialist

Dude, I totally have to buy that Dolph t-shirt.