"Van Nuys Blvd."(1979)d/William Sachs

Raven-tressed dames o' the world, take solace in knowing you'll forever occupy my top spot, and I'll always do whatever's in my power to remind you of that undeniable fact.It's just that, every once in awhile, a blonde'll come along from which the vibe that emanates forth is very pleasurable, indeed.Tonight's review has just such a butterscotch goddess, but we'll touch more on that later on.For now, let's return to the groovy seventies once again, and the days of disco, customized vans, cruising the boulevard for some mogambo, and  quease-inducing fast food delivered to your car by a gum-chewing bimbo in see-thru plastic pants who may or may not feel compelled to climb in the back of your '72 Chevy Van 30 and make it with you after your meal.Or during, depending on what scene she's into, man.It's a world where a sensitive Jeff Foxworthy lookalike with a gaudy porn stache and smokes rolled into the sleeve of his t-shirt could rule the boulevard, despite having the nickname "Chooch".On the drive-in exploitation set, Van Nuys is a potent blend of drunken disco dancing, feathered hair, amusement park montages, vans dragging, fatty spleefs, boobs, and dumb dick cops, everything that summer's all about really.It'd take a real antediluvian to not have a good time with this one.
 

 "Anticipay-ay-tion is making me wait! Come on, already, Heinz!"

Bobby(Bill Adler) is fed up with his small-town existence of lying around with horny nude chicks smoking grass all day(wait...what?), and decides to blow the scene for the outta sights happenings of the legendary Van Nuys Boulevard, a cruising Mecca for hot rodders and together chicks, alike.In fact, at the first drive-in restaurant he pulls into, he parlays a gross-looking burger into food sex in the back of his van with hot waitress, Wanda(Tara Strohmeier).Meanwhile, Greg(Dennis Bowen) gets into a demolish-off with a possessive hothead over his girl, Camille(Melissa Prophet), who ends up splitting on both of them and hitching a ride with sexy blonde van dragger, Moon(Cynthia Wood), who's got romantic designs on a busy Bobby in the drive-in space next to hers.We see resident blvd vet and phony cool guy, 'Chooch'(David Hayward) land in central holding after the usual weekly confrontation with Officer Zass(Dana Gladstone), a childhood rival of his.Eventually, everybody ends up in the same cell together and they all become the best of friends before the night is through.Wanda ends up getting pawed on the beach in Zass' cruiser, before handcuffing him outside the car door in his drawers and breaking camp on him.That'll learn ya, ya cockbag.Bobby, Greg, Moon, and Camille go disco dancing.For a really long time.Both couples hit it off, though Moon and Bobby still have a drag race to hold, to like, see who's van is the choicest, obviously.
 
 "You soooo cannot take me on 'Galaxian', bitch !"
All three couples hit Six Flags Magic Mountain for a lengthy amusement park montage, during which many cheap Asian sweatshop stuffed animals are won in games of chance and Chooch blows his cool and tosses his cookies.I always wondered why so many movies incorporated sequences like this, being the kind of fun you like to experience first-hand, rather than vicariously through characters getting paid to look like they're having a blast together.Anyway, Zass gets his stuff jacked by a biker, the cuff keys buried in the sand by a real ballbuster of a doggie, and is finally rescued days later by his mommy.Chooch undergoes a spiritual transformation and sells his hot rod, choosing Hawaiian shirts and a life with Wanda over failing miserably at being 'hip'.Bobby spends all night modding his engine for the big race with Moon, who's turned off by her lover's immaturity and drives off angrily.Meanwhile, we see Chooch's rod getting pulled over again, only Zass is driving now.A-Ha! That explains everything! To show her his newfound maturity, Bobby drives his van off a cliff(!).It works, she drives back and runs to embrace him while their friends do donuts around them and the credits begin to roll.How fucking Nuge is that?
 

 Move along, folks, nothing to see here: It's all fun and games until the jerkoff cop(Dana Gladstone) gets handcuffed to the door of his cruiser in his drawers on the beach.

Where were we again?Oh yeaaaaah, Cynthia Wood. If you don't click the hyperlink, you've got no one to blame but yourselves, for serious.You brunettes are gonna wanna cover your eyes for a minute now.Were I in possession of a mint honolulu blue metallic flake custom '73 Chevy sin bin with a fasces-shaped bubble window, quadrophonic eight track blaring Ursa Major's "Sinner" while hanging out on the faux waterbed in the back with a two foot glass lungbuster full of goodies and a scenic overlook at dusk ahead, I can't think of any chick that'd decorate that dream scenario any prettier than Ms. Wood.Like I said before, you won't enjoy this one if you hate shit that rules.Three big ones.
 

"Winner has the Jordache Look! On your marks..."

 

"Roadie"(1980)d/Alan Rudolph

Tonight we'll examine director Alan Rudolph's 1980 silly-but-sweet kitchen sink rock n' roll/romantic comedy starring the plus-sized crooner Meat Loaf as an unlikely leading man playing a handy beer truck-driving Texan named Travis, who's never left his county and is suddenly thrust into the sex, drugs, and concussion-inducing headbutts that come with being a roadie for rock bands, when he falls in love with a sixteen year old would-be groupie with dreams of losing her virginity to Alice Cooper.I'll let you re-read that premise, as written by a guy named "Big Boy"(Medlin)(sounds more like a Ted Nugent script to me...ba dum bum) and let it sink in properly.I never cared too much for Meat Loaf's theatrical brand of eight track pop music(apart from the tracks that he did vocals for on Nugent's 1976 "Free for All" album , and even then, ehhh...) and I wasn't a big fan of Rocky Horror, either, but I still must've seen this one twenty-five times or more on pay cable in the early eighties.Fleshing out the dated cinematic corny-copia are Kaki "Porky's" Hunter as Travis' underage love interest, Lola, Art "Honeymooners" Carney as Travis' slovenly southern paw, Don "Soul Train" Cornelius as a memorable record company bigwig, and performances by the likes of Blondie, Roy Orbison, Hank Williams, Jr.(my least favorite of the III, by far), and ol' Hard-Hearted Alice before the end credits roll.Throw in some quease-worthy BBQ rib-smackin', a redneck wedding, car chase/wrecks, and midgets in satin baseball jackets and you've almost got the complete picture.The story goes like this...

There's more than 17 g of fat on a serving of this Meat Loaf.
We meet electrical whiz-cum-beer truck driver, Travis W. Redfish(Meat Loaf), as he's picked up for work by his best friend, B.B.(Gailard Sartain), amidst some heavy duty comedic gooberage from his father, Corpus(Art Carney) and sister, Alice Poo(Rhonda Bates). During the ride, the good ol' boys encounter music mogul Mohammed Johnson's(Don Cornelius) broken down tour bus on the side of the highway, where Travis spots Lola Bouilliabase(Kaki Hunter), a teenaged beanpole groupie along for the ride, for the first time, and readily agrees to help them get roadworthy with some MacGuyver-esque tweaks.Lola turns on her Olive Oyl charm and convinces Travis to drive them to a Hank Williams, Jr. gig in Houston that night, while B.B. covers for him with the beer delivery route.At the gig, Travis sets up the equipment in record time, gives an angry hayseed a charging headbutt, develops 'brainlock', a condition where he mindlessly spouts gibberish until he gets beer in him, and causes a highway pileup after taking the wheel of Mohammed's limo and spurring on a police chase and roadblock.The mogul touts the hefty young long-haired redneck as the "world's greatest roadie", using his growing affection for the underaged groupie to con him into working for Johnson on tour.Back home, Corpus, Alice, and B.B. receive a postcard from Travis, in the middle of sloppily chowing down on some BBQ ribs.One of the grossest things I've ever had to watch, sauce-faced Art Carney smacking his lips like a backwoods glutton next to a trout-mouthed broad like Rhonda Bates, whose yap is equally saucy.

C'mon, where else are you gonna see Don Cornelius doing the 'Funky Chicken' in a cowboy hat?

Lola confesses to Travis that she plans to lose her virginity to Alice Cooper when the tour lands in New York, while he harnesses electricity from manure to power a Blondie gig where Debbie Harry belts out a Johnny Cash cover.He goes to dinner with the band, but when Lola cockblocks with a band of midgets in satin baseball jackets, it's a food fight, alright.Debbie leaves with a black midget, and Travis vows to get Lola to New York to make her groupie dreams come true.In the Big Apple, Travis barges in on an Alice Cooper soundcheck, fixes the band's sound, and earns a tour bus to drive back to Texas for B.B. and Alice Poo's wedding in, while Lola gets the royal treatment she's been dreaming of, eating a posh dinner with Alice and his constrictor, and watching him perform "Pain" front row and center.Of course, after the obligatory hootenanny at the Redfish wedding, Travis and Lola reconcile and take to the road together in the tour bus, their romantic interlude abruptly interrupted by a damaged spaceship in need of Redfish's technical ingenuity.Hurr-hurr.Cue:Cheap Trick "Everything Works(If You Let It)".Roll credits.

Debbie Harry plays the beer bottles as Travis(Meat Loaf) gets his stationary 'Swim' on.

Of course, I've got roadie tales of my own, having taken to the road with The Business and Dropkick Murphys on their '96-'97 tour, rich with wild nights of drink, drugs, football thugs, acoustic hospital bedside serenades, and ample groupie-hopping to boot.Snorkels were brung, full sacs were emptied, but that's another story for another time, kiddies.Scale-wise, Roadie earns two Wops, and hey, two outta four(ain't bad).Okay, I think I've exhausted all my Meat Loaf-related jokes for the time being, at least until I start covering the Masters of Horror series here.Some day, I'm sure.A light, enjoyable late seventies time capsule that's worth a look now and then.Check it out.

She asked me why the singer's name was Alice, I said, "Baby, you just wouldn't understand..."

"Prometheus"(2012)d/Ridley Scott

Since my Mediterranean ass got dragged yesterday afternoon from a glass slider full o' berry-scented Sativage to an IMAX 3D screening of the much-anticipated prequel to Ridley Scott's 1979 sci-fi/horror cult classic, Alien, by my roommate, Doc, the resident sci-fi guy, I thought I'd offer a few, brief opinions on the film for you Woprophiles considering throwing down twenty-plus samoleans to bear witness to the late spring blockbuster yourselves in the near future.After donning the enormous RealD 3D goggles(Dub ain't shittin' ya, folks, these puppies wouldn't look out of place on George A. or Darryl Mac.) necessary to view the damned thing and a brief 3D re-boot delay, my official tallies for the two and a half hour long spectacle began.Just beneath the breathtakingly composed space and planet exteriors lurks a storyline holier than Saints Abreha and Atzbeha combined, a lunkheaded script full of unnecessary exposition(Having a character lifelessly explain plot points I'd understood...Hell, predicted outright, an hour earlier isn't a tribute to mine own intellect less than it is to your laziness, Hollywood.) as delivered by a cast of characters that ranges from forgettable-at-best(any number of motherfuckers decked out in Planet of the Vampires-esque gear and taking up frame space while not looking scared by any of the sleek cg horrors unfolding before their very eyes, to say the least) to instantly despisable(interstellar research jagoff seeking to tame formerly unknown species of transparent alien cobra/eel that rises out of black muck puddle by extending a friggin' hand to it?).Though the effects are admittedly pretty groove-worthy(especially if you've just ripped on some nugs), whether removing a troublesome Cthulhu-ish tentacled beastie from a birth canal by laser or watching a statuesque alien architect crumble like so much coffee cake as he plummets into cascading falls, I was overcome by the feeling that I've seen all of it before in other movies that tied it in more effectively, without having to explain it away in cliche'd dialogue to the cheap seat mannekins with the popped collared pink polos and orange-hued hair pig hussies on their arms.Regardless of Scott's obvious talents in the medium, the resources for this franchise were pretty exhausted two movies in, resulting in the mindless exercise(and to hang the promise of yet another movie on the end of this mess is pretty ballsy...what you guys gonna call that one? A pre-sequel or a fucking se-prequel?) that most of the civilized world will end up going to see, if the opening weekend receipts are any prognosticative measure.To be honest, I wasn't expecting too much, just the light IMAX fluff that I received, and the accompanying promo poster was a tits bonus that lightened the sting, certainly, but scalewise, Prometheus is a pretty pedestrian two Wops, all the way.

Trust me, sister, I was yawning, too.