So, this past weekend saw the release of the hotly anticipated (by me, and apparently 21 million dollars worth of other late 20s/early 30s former 90s teens) American Reunion. While the movie wasn’t absolutely perfect, it more than made up for its flaws with the nostalgic factor of spending two hours with some of  your favorite, old High School friends. I don’t know about you, but I had a group of friends in high school that we called the American Pie crew. Each one of us were able to relate to one of the four main guys in the movie. That’s right, while you women were off discussing if you were a “Samantha” or a “Carrie”, we were figuring out if we were a “Jim” or a “Finch”.  I was a “Kevin”, the self-aware, logical and realistic thinking one of the group. In Reunion, Kevin has become domesticated as he works primarily from home, watches trashy Bravo reality TV shows, and DVRs episodes of Gossip Girl. HELLO, story of my friggin life, RIGHT?!?!?! Seeing what became of these characters and hearing them reminisce about the glory days of their youth truly hit home with me, especially since it was released a week after I received a Facebook invite to join the page set-up for planning my own High School reunion this summer.

These characters, in one way or another, defined my generation, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t nearly tear up a couple times throughout the movie as I related to things they were going through and the life changes they were dealing with. Not to mention some of the subtle references to the original movie, like the same song that played when Oz smashed out Heather on the dock at the lake playing during their dance at the reunion. Perfect touch. The American Pie series was always known for its balance of gross out humor and heart and Reunion was no exception on this front. If you’re part of my generation, you owe it to yourself to see this movie. With a soundtrack filled with awesome late 90s songs and references to days where it was unheard of for average teenagers to have cell phones, it’ll make you feel old as effing dust. But, at the same time, remind you of how awesome being a teenager really was.

Does seeing everyone back together again not make you the least bit moist...in the eyes?

And now that I went and got all sentimental on y’all, let’s get down to the subject at hand. Revisiting the original American Pie. Clearly, it’s no secret that I’m thoroughly obsessed with teen movies with a special affection for every one released during my formative years of yester. But, let’s get real serious with ourselves, for every phenomenal 10 Things I Hate About You and Election, there was a less than phenomenal Eurotrip and Here on Earth. I know, right? You’re totally asking yourself, “what the hell is Here on Earth?”, to which I reply, “Exactly”. They couldn’t all be gems, now.

In 1999, the teen genre peaked with some of the best of the genre. But, aside from the occasional R rated fare like Varsity Blues, Jawbreaker, and Cruel Intentions, they were mostly fun, PG-13 flicks. That was until one little movie snuck its way into the summer blockbuster season and brought back the Porky’s-esque teen sex comedy with a vengeance. High School was R rated. We swore every chance we got and spent every available minute being obsessed with sex and American Pie knew it. It was what everyone was talking about on AIM and in the AOL chatrooms (I know, right? How ancient did I just make you feel?) and I NEEDED to see it. Having been released a week before my 15th birthday, I was obviously WAY too young to buy my own ticket to see the movie, but luckily I had a dad who said “get in the car, we’re going to the movies” without me even having to ask. Man, my poor father. Totally subjected to every and any R rated film, for better or for worse, that came out before my 17th birthday. Luckily for him, American Pie was indeed for the better.

I feel like there’s some movies you watch for the first time and right off the bat know that this is something special. Something that will age gracefully and stand the test of time. Kind of like watching Clueless or Scream for the first time. These were seminal films that started pop culture trends, yet, in the end, always out shined their many imitators. As I mentioned earlier, we used to assign characters to ourselves, which I think shows why the movie was so popular. There was a character that every person was able to relate to. I mean, come on, in the days before hours upon hours of free, streaming porn was just a mouse click away, who of us didn’t try watching the scrambled Spice channel? (Channel 71 on my local cable provider, if memory serves.) The script was funny, the direction was on the ball with comedic timing, and the actors really clicked on screen (not to mention how HOT Shannon Elizabeth and Tara Reid were…and still are). A perfect storm in making what can be considered a “classic” film.

Dear American Pie,

Beneath the pie fucking, pale ale, flutes in orifices, and MILF, there was an honesty that really captured the bonds of High School, and for that, you and your characters will forever have a place in my heart. I’m so glad we were able to get together again this past week for a well needed reunion. And if we never see each other again, just remember that I totally man-love you, bro!

Love, John.

P.S. If I didn’t make you all feel decrepitly ancient enough already, behold the original American Pie theatrical trailer!

If any of you are friends with me on the book of faces, then you’ve probably taken notice of my recent posting of various pop culture clips from my teen years. You see, children, my quarter life crisis has extended into my late 20s because, dammit, I don’t want to get old. I want to stay young and PHENOMENAL looking forevs. And while that’s obviously not possible (unless there’s some magical, insanely expensive European lotion made out of boar testicles and pixie poop that I missed the memo about), I can at least live out my ageless fantasies through YouTube clips. My pathetic clamoring for my golden youth proved SO popular on the FB that I just had to bring it over to my beloved, neglected site. I have arse-loads of fave teen clips to discuss in the future but, to make things interactive, I will be more than happy to take anyone’s requests to discuss certain ones.

Unless you grew up in one of those super creepy Christian homes where television was the devil and every time you masturbated god killed a kitten, you should be fully aware that Scream revitalized the teen horror genre in the 90s. While most met with huge financial success upon their release, there were a few that, unjustly so, flopped harder than a fat kid on a diving board.  One such went by the monicker of Disturbing Behavior. Mind you, I can understand why it flopped. While Jennifer Love HugeTits and Neve Campbell were being chased around by angry men with sharp, metaphorical penises, Disturbing Behavior dared to be different. And by different I mean they forced The Stepford Wives into letting Dawson’s Creek violently inseminate her egg with his angsty seed. The result is far from perfect, but fuck if I don’t enjoy the Hell out of this bastard child. Behold!

Joey Potter is WAY hotter as Cook’s Ridge white trash than she was as Capeside’s doting girl next door who constantly pushed her hair behind her ears, don’t you think? And what of the irony, looking back now, in the fact that she’s actually NOT one of the brainwashed teens! It’s no secret that Disturbing Behavior gained a bad rap. But it’s my belief that most of its shortcomings can be attributed to the butchering done in the editing room just before the movie’s release. Years back, when Syfy was still called SciFi, they aired the complete version with all of the deleted scenes added back in. You know, the parts that actually developed the characters and filled in the GIANT plot holes. Who’d a thunk the movie would be better with these things? MGM sure as hell didn’t.  But even in its current state, it’s still one helluva entertaining, underrated little nugget of Scifi/horror/teen awesomeness.

Dear Disturbing Behavior,

I’m not going to lie to you and tell you you’re perfect, because you’re far from it. But I define a “classic” movie not by how much money it made or what kind of reviews it got. I judge it by its re-watchability and its achievement in making the target audience remember it. Anyone my age will know EXACTLY what I’m talking about when I say “Rats from the bay!”, “Meet the musical little creatures that hide among the flowers”, or “Bad wrong, wrong bad…” For that, you will forever be a classic 90s teen film. Rock on with your batshit bizarreness and fucking SICK soundtrack.

Love, John.

While I try my very best to avoid any and every place where I might run into those selfish, annoying creatures of society that many like to call “people”, my vain, egotistical self must head to the gym six days a week in order to look good naked. And upon these travels across the vast wasteland of New Haven, CT, one thing has stuck out at me more than a music video playing on MTV. The 80s have returned with a vengeance. Gone are the loose fitting khaki cargo pants, GAP hoodies, and Aviator sunglasses that populated the late 90s/early 2000s. In their place are skinny jeans, denim jackets, and Ray-Ban Wayfarers.  Which is totes cool with me, because I look AMAZING in my skinny jeans, denim jacket, and Ray-Ban Wayfarers. Actually, EVERYONE looks good in wayfarers, except for ugly people. They don’t look good in anything…obviously.

Our fashion is far from the only thing harking back to the glorious birth decade of yours truly. The movie theater marquee over the past few years has featured such familiar titles as Friday the 13th, A Nightmare on Elm Street, Fright Night, The Thing, The Karate Kid, Arthur, Clash of the Titans, Conan the Barbarian, etc… I could go on forever about the varying degrees of quality amongst these blasts from the past redos but, frankly, I’m not quite in the mood to burst the blood vessels in my cranium this evening. Let’s just agree that some of these movies were harmless, respectable, well-made films. And others were cat shit pissed on twice, re-eaten by a dog, then defecated back out as dog shit.  I should make myself clear that I’m not against the movies that populated my childhood getting remade. I’m just against shitty movies. They just unfortunately, more often than not, go hand in hand.

Now, onto the subject at hand. Footloose. The one thing to remember about me is that, while I adore the horror genre like it’s the bastard child I never wanted, I also am butt crazy addicted to teen films. I’m legit fascinated by the evolution of youth culture, from the 80s, into the 90s (when I was a teen), and to modern day. I mean, hello, I NEVER miss an episode of Gossip Girl, Pretty Little Liars, or The Vampire Diaries. Epic television right there, I tell ya. In any event, I was beyond hesitant at the thought of Footloose being remade. While by no means a masterpiece, the original was the embodiment of the 80s teen dance movie. It’s fun, cheesy, and all around 80s-riffic. Then the trailer was released for the remake and I was embarrassed to admit that it kinda, sorta, maybe didn’t look terrible.  And dare I say it, even enjoyable. Color me intrigued.

What I didn’t expect, however, was to enjoy it as much as I did. Even though the story (and even a lot of scenes) are identical to the original, director Craig Brewer brought the energy and really delivered. Maybe it’s because of my aforementioned affection for teen movies, or the fact that I used to be a dancer back in my fat days when I was trying to lose weight, but DAMNIT, Footloose was kind of the shit. And by kind of, I mean it totally was. I remember sitting through that wretched Mamma Mia movie a few years back, wondering why in the Hell all the middle aged, ill proportioned housewives were dancing in the aisles. After witnessing Footloose’s infectious mix of country, hip-hop, and 80s pop music paired with the insane dance moves of its talented cast, I know what those fugly old women felt like. Only I obviously have better taste in music than Abba’s greatest hits.

Dear Footloose,

I didn’t want to like you. I had every hope that you would die a quick death at the box office, putting another nail in the coffin of shitty 80s remakes. You’re not flawless, but I’m stoked to have been proven wrong. You are what the Fame remake wished it could have been. When all is said and done you’re not only a good remake, but also fine addition to my never ending love of teen movies. You’re the Pepe’s cheese pizza to my cheat day. The definition of a guilty pleasure.

Love, John.

P.S. Does anyone else think that Bonnie Tyler’s “Holding Out for a Hero” from the original’s soundtrack is like the best work out song ever? If being a twentysomething straight, white male who lifts weights to that song is wrong, then I do NOT want to be right.

EPIC!

P.P.S. I told you I look AMAZING in my 80s wear!

Dear “Party Rock Anthem”, “Last Friday Night”, “Raise Your Glass”, “Rolling in the Deep”, “Moves Like Jagger”, and every past/present/future Kesha song, here is a list of things I would rather do than be subjected to listening to one of you again.

1.) Watch Sex and the City 2 on a 24 hour loop.

2.) Download the entire soundtrack for Glee to my iPod.

3.) Procreate with the mother from What’s Eating Gilbert Grape?.

4.) Receive a handjob from Freddy Krueger.

5.) Receive a blowjob from a zombie.

6.) Camp out at Crystal Lake on a Friday the 13th.

7.) Attend a Justin Bieber concert.

8.) Pluck out my pubic hairs one by one.

9.) Catch the disease from Cabin Fever.

10.) Eat a cheeseburger off of a New Haven McDonald’s bathroom floor.

Please die and go to pop culture Hell.

Love, John.

Dear TLC’s “Big Sexy”

As a former fat kid myself, I see nothing wrong with overweight people who are okay with their larger figures, and who are all around confident.  There were countless times when I sat on the couch with my dorito stained hands, and Mountain Dew tinged burps, when I wish I could have found solace in my gigantic bitch-tits and overtly exposed Fat Upper Penis Area.  But, alas, I had family members who convinced me that this was wrong, and hazardous to my health.  And you know what?  They were absolutely right!  Okay, so maybe I do see something wrong with fatties with self esteem.

More often than not, your cast of plus sized females refer to themselves as merely curvy women.  Um…Kim Kardashian is curvy.  Kate Winslet is curvy.  Beyonce is curvy.  Hell, I’d even refer to Queen Latifah as curvy.  This cast, however, ranges from dangerously overweight, to morbidly obese.  Have you given any thought to the fact that a show like this is just as dangerous as a show about ultra skinny people?  You are doing nothing but promoting an unhealthy lifestyle.  They drink and eat excessively and are, quite frankly, a hot mess.  If you’re goal was to promote acceptance and shatter body image stereotypes, then you tragically failed.  If you’re goal was to show that fat white women can always get dick from a skinny black man, then congratulations!

Love, John.

P.S. Style Network’s “Too Fat for 15″ and MTV’s “I Used to be Fat” are the true inspirations, featuring people who aren’t just trying to lose weight, but adopt a healthy lifestyle.  Just sayin’…

OMFG, can you believe it?  Scream 4 is a mere two days away!!!  Well, for all of you losers, at least.  I, on the other hand, will be seeing it tonight because I’m just THAT much cooler than you.  And let me just say, I can hardly contain my engorged erection excitement.

Today’s clip comes courtesy of one of the ultimate Direct to Video, late 80s greats.  Sleepaway Camp 2: Unhappy Campers.  The original Sleepaway Camp was nothing more than a Friday the 13th ripoff with a plethora of creative deaths, but will forever have a place in the anals of slasherdom for it’s ultra bizarre and obvious homoerotic subtext (Ha, did you see what I did there? “anals” of slasherdom?).  Hell it even gave Freddy’s Revenge a run for it’s money with it’s chick with a dick ending.  Sleepaway Camp, The Unseen, Terror Train…damn, the 80s loved them some cross-dressing killers.

But with Unhappy Campers, the Sleepaway Camp franchise was taken down the phenomenally trashy, exploitative route.  Meaning tons of sex and titties!!!!!  Our resident Head Bitch in Charge, Ally, was a mammary flashing, filthy, fornicating whore that needed to be taught a lesson.

Dear Sleepaway Camp 2: Unhappy Campers, you effing rock trashy, 80s socks.  Love, John

Another day closer to Scream 4, which means another gloriously unforgettable clip from the slasher heyday.

There are some things in life that once seen, you just can’t unsee them.  1982’s Pieces is such a thing.  There’s a seemingly endless line of terrible 80s slashers that fall into the category of “forgettably bad”.  Then there are those glorious pieces of golden shit nugget that are so brain meltingly insane that they stay with you forever.  Pieces has found itself in cult slasher infamy for a number a reasons.  The badly dubbed dialog, the opening featuring the coolest children’s puzzle ever, the inexplicable male nudity, the one of a kind dialog (”the most beautiful thing in the world is smoking pot and fucking on a waterbed at the same time.”) and the INSANE chainsaw deaths.  With so many outlandish scenes to choose from, it was hard to pick just one.  But at the end of the day, this less than 30 second scene encompasses everything one would need to know about this film.

I know what you’re thinking.  How did Linda Day George’s stirring and emotionally draining performance not land her the Razzie  Oscar?  Just more proof of the Academy’s blatant disregard for the horror genre if you ask me.

Pieces….it’s EXACTLY what you think it is.

With the release of Scream 4 merely days away, it seems only fitting to pay tribute to the slasher greats that inspired the modern day classic franchise.  All this week I’ll be posting the most insanely batshit clips I can conjure out of my memory from some of my childhood favorites.

For those who have never seen the original Prom Night, you are totally missing out.  Not because it’s a great movie (trust me, it’s not) but because it’s parts are greater than it’s sum.  There is some epic badassery brewing at Hamilton High, from the unnerving opening, to the practically heartbreaking final scene…unfortunately until they actually get to the prom, the film is quite the endurance test.  Thankfully for us (and to the dismay to Jamie Lee Curtis, I’d assume) it made  the genius choice to not only piggy back off the success of Halloween, but  Saturday Night Fever as well.

BEHOLD THE GLORY:

Dear Prom Night, this made sitting through the previous hour of murderless nothingness completely worth it. Thank You.  Love, John.

Many moons ago, in a decade far, far away known as the 80s, then segueing into the 90s, I was a complete and utter video store rat.  Yes, youngsters, say it with me now…”video store”.  Before this current lazy, self serving, technology brat youth generation sent stores carrying hard copies of movies into the oblivion occupied by audio cassettes and landline telephones, the video store was my favorite American past time.  The aroma of the cardboard cover boxes melding with that of the magnetic tape inside of the VHS casing gave me a greater high than any overrated, crushed and rolled cannabis plant or fungi grown in cow defecation ever could.  It’s a feeling that adding movies to my netflix queue can never replicate, no matter how freaking badass of a selection it may have.

R.I.P.

Now, obviously the horror section was my aisle of choice from the moment I was able to walk down it, but from the mid 90s into the early 2000s I was totally an anti-mainstream, indie arthouse film snob.  I thought that my movie tastes were the definitive on what was good and bad and that I was better than everyone else because of this.  (NOTE: I still am better than everyone else, only now I just don’t think it, I know it.)  Being a teen movie fanatic from the moment I was catapulted out of the womb like a placenta covered creature from The Descent, any box art with a fresh, Seventeen cover-esque cast plastered across it immediately found its way into my chubby, dorito stained hands.  And if it was an independent film on top of it?  Automatically would it become a favorite.  This lead to many of wasted $3.75 rental fees on atrocities that shall remain nameless and a young, teenage Johnny who convinced himself they were good just to maintain his superiority over the rest of the movie viewing public.

One such film, however, that was NOT one of said atrocities, was Darren Stein’s Sparkler.  If his name sounds familiar to you then, congratulations, you are one of many cool kids to have seen his second film Jawbreaker.  (NOTE: One need only to click here to relive the raging, engorged erection I have for Jawbreaker.)  It had been damn near a decade since I’ve seen Sparkler.  In fact, I’m pretty sure the VHS I purchased previously viewed from a Blockbuster all those eons ago may very well still be sitting on a shelf in my parents house in between The In Crowd and Drop Dead Gorgeous. All that I remembered about the film was that A.) it was about a group of young guys, heading to Vegas, who cross paths with a small town, trailer trash woman and her sometimes same sex oriented, aging showgirl friend, and B.) I had really enjoyed it.  So when a DVD copy of it showed up in the mail, I was beyond excited to revisit the film to see if it still held up.

After FINALLY finding the time in my busy schedule (yes, I’m just THAT cool and sought after) to pencil in a viewing, I was pleased to see that Sparkler was actually even better than I had remembered.  Being the filmmaker’s first feature, I was delighted to see how technically on point the final product was.  From the Grade-A lighting, the creative camera movements, the crystal clear sound, and the shot on location production value, everything on screen is the work of a professional level production.  These may seem like simple things to find appreciation in, but as someone who has watched COUNTLESS films with bigger budgets fail epically in some of these areas, I’ve learned to appreciate the things that the average movie goer never gives a second thought to (which, again, makes me THAT much better than everyone else, DUH).

While the teen horror veteran cast of Jamie Kennedy and Freddie Prinze Jr. (aka Mr. Buffy Summers) may have been why I initially rented it all those years ago, the film, without a doubt, belongs to Park Overall.  As Melba May, a jilted trailer-wife, Overall brings all this charisma and energy to the part.  The audience immediately falls in love with this sometimes dumb, but always lovable, loser turned hero.  While not as mean spirited and dark as Jawbreaker, the script (co-written by Stein and Catherine Eads) still has plenty of twisted, quirky humor intertwined within the overall feel good story.  There’s a cynical side to these well written characters that makes Sparkler a fun, well paced little gem that will hopefully expand its audience in the years to come.

Dear Sparkler,

You are pure 90s gold that wears its independent, cynical, redneck heart on its sleeve.  While you may have the occasional weak moment, your strong characters and overall engaging story makes it a sobbing shame that most people have never heard of you, let alone watched you.  Watching you again brought me back to those many hours in the video store that always brought a smile to my face.

Love, John

Dear Super Bowl,

Having been a good week or so since your special day, I’ve had time to digest and contemplate the obsessive behavior that Americans exhibit over you every year.  And, truth be told, I still don’t fracking get it.  It’s a G.D. football game for sobbing out loud.  Now, it’s no secret that I am far from a giant sports enthusiast.  When all other kids were out and about playing said sports I was in the house, petting my cat, and stuffing my face with doritos, mcdonalds, and any thing else high in saturated fats.  However, I’ve actually been known to be rather fond of this football sport on an occasion or two.  Chalk it up to the fact that my dad used to take me to Giants game as a wee, lil fat boy.  Or because Varsity Blues fucking rocks my socks off and Friday Night Lights owns hardcore face.  I see the fun in it and understand how one can get wrapped up in the excitement.

BUT…

What the hell is so exciting about a team that you couldn’t care less for battling another team that, just a few weeks previously, you had been praying for their mass homicide.  In all mathematical honesty, the chances of the team you’ve been rooting for all year has a little over a six percent chance of playing, yet the entire country practically shuts down for this one little game.  I’d be pretty frickin peeved if I was an actual fan of the team all the while and then all those bandwagon muthafuckas joined in at the last minute.  And, so help me God, if I heard that piece of shit “Black and Yellow” song one more time that day I was going to crash my car into a giant brick wall in hopes of violently murdering my radio.  If one has zero interest in either team then the only reason I see for the giant hubub can easily be explained by the fact that everyone just wants to stuff their already fat faces with more crap foods and drink themselves into oblivion.  Way to stay classy America.

Love, John

P.S. What is all of this identification with a favorite team? “We had a good offense last night” and “You guys played terribly today.”  Um…YOU’RE NOT ON THE TEAM.  It’s like if I was rooting for a movie to win the box office race or an Oscar and I said “Well, we have such strong cinematography, but you guys have those impressive performances.”  It’s not healthy to live ones failed dreams out through such fantasy….I’m just sayin…