...and the trouble she discovers.
Growing up with my father leading the way in movie taste there were two things to know in my house; you could get anything you’d like from the video rental store, Rack of Videos, no matter what the rating and Jean-Luc Picard was the fucking man. Rack of Videos was the place to be for my little brother and I. Nearly every Friday night we were allowed to roam the isles looking for VHS tapes and Super Nintendo cartridges.
The things we were able to rent was really rather shocking yet beautiful. Had my Father ever questioned our rentals I’d like to think he’d still let them slide. Should anyone ever have the power to look at the list of how many times my brother and I rented the same movies I’d put good money on IT the television mini series. The 1990 remake of Night of the Living Dead directed by legendary Tom Savini could also be a top contender. To this day Night of the Living Dead will make me laugh out loud, without the fright of being 8 years old, when Zombie In Overalls (Full and professional name) gets bonked on the head and the rubber mold folds inward ever so nicely. Before my understanding / love for bad movies in the vein of Mystery Science Theater 3000 I could never justify the warmth I felt in my heart for this movie. Now I love it unabashedly and recommend it to any zombie lover around.
By the age of 10 there was a new understanding within our family unit. Skynet would take over the world and Braveheart was the movie of (not just a life time) but ever. Yeah, ever. No man, in my Fathers eyes, will ever outshine Mel Gibson’s performance as a Scotsman. The only close second would be Kevin Costner in Water World. My Dad is truly a piece of work.
And then there was the Cronenberg remake of The Fly. I foolishly picked this title up after my Brother announced that it could be cool to see a dude turn into a fly. My Father was excited about this choice and had the entire family gather around the glowing light of the television just to watch that bad boy. We were all in for a surprise. Well, at least I was. Broken arms, rotting flesh, exploding monkeys, and a tearful ending. That’s right, a tearful ending. While high on raging puberty hormones I wept when the monster that Goldblum had become silently begged for death. The Old Man laughed. Yup, out loud. A true LOL moment. That’s the very same day I figured out just how alike my Brother and Father really are.
While there wasn’t much prohibited from our house there were two movies I remember being denied. The first was Pulp Fiction. I have a clear memory of asking my Mother what the movie was about and her response being a disgusted look on her face, turning the box around, and stating “You wouldn’t like that.” Good parenting skill, Mom, but awful advise! The second movie was Schindler’s List. At the time I was perplexed as to what could possibly be in a movie that my Mother would give a clear and concise NO to? Fast forward to my fourth viewing of the movie in high school and you might see me sleeping through it. Thanks, public education!
What I loved about that time is the amount of freedom we had. Not just in selection but in the ability to love what we watched with a deep innocence and naivety. We were able to be completely enraptured by a film, believing every scene, and being absolutely swallowed up with awe. It was nearly magical to never worry about poor acting, over stylization, or what lines should be memorized for social gatherings. I haven’t even mention the anxiety of what your friends might think of your fandom. Dear God, I hope no one ever finds out about the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle obsession.
Although I may, every so often, wish for some of that grandeur back I’m grateful I no longer have that level of bewilderment. What a terrible reviewer I might be should everything involving a murderess talking doll get two BIG thumbs up! Oh stop it; you were scared too when Andy went to military school and Chucky cleverly gained access.