Blood Beach (1980)

Blood Beach (1980)
Directed by Jeffrey Bloom
Starring John Saxon, Burt Young, Marianna Hill, Lena Pousette
Rated R 
USA

"Real men don't believe in monsters."

Man, I've been waiting to see this movie for decades. The poster, the tag line (“Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the water…you can’t get to it!”) hell, even the title is exploitation gold. No wonder, really, since it was a late in the game grinder from Jerry "I Drink Your Blood" Gross. So, can the movie possibly live up to the hype? Of course it cannot. Not even close. Not a bit. Directed by the redoubtable Jeffrey Bloom (ugh, Starcrossed), Blood Beach bucks the early 80’s gore trend and shoots for a 50’s style creature-feature, complete with all the tedium, stiff dialogue, and murky photography you’ve come to love/loathe from those creaky monster flicks.

Lady out walking her dog gets sucked into the sand. By who? Or what? Who knows, but a trio of beach cops, including the dude from Rocky, Burt Young, are on the case. The dead lady's daughter Cathy (Marianna Hill, Messiah of Evil) drops by to pick up her mom's dog. She used to date Harry (David Huffman), the main beach cop, and the ostensible hero of our story, many moons ago. They have a monotone conversation that goes like this: "You look different, Cathy." "You do too, Harry." Anyway, she's gonna stick around in the off chance that her mom is just missing, and not in the belly of a beach monster.

Cathy wanders around on the beach when a crazy shopping cart lady tells her that her mom was raped and murdered and buried under the sand. And then she cackles and wanders off, squeaky shopping cart wheel and all. You know the type. Cathy is naturally shook up, but she continues  searching for her mom’s dog, who won't stay outta the hole Cathy’ s mom got sucked into. Meanwhile, Harry's at home, boning his stewardess girlfriend Marie (Lena Pousette), who keeps her hair in a very intricate bun. Life goes on, man.

Anyway, the stupid fuckin’ dog get his head ripped off. Which is what happens when you keep sticking it in a murder hole. Next day, a bunch of bikini chicks are on the beach, burying one of their buds in the sand. Naturally, she starts to get eaten by whatever is under the sand. Luckily, everybody rallies and yanks her outta there, leaving her with legs covered in spaghetti sauce.

And then John Saxon, who is the police chief or something, decides to take action. He hires a bunch of bulldozers to dig up the beach. Meanwhile, Burt Young is ranting about how it's not something under the beach, it's the "goddamn American Nazi party." Seems valid.

There’s a stoner harbor patrol night watchman in this movie, too. Why wouldn’t there be? Later that evening, his girlfriend drops by for a visit. When she splits, he tells to go straight home and don't make any stops. So what does she do? She sees an injured bird under the pier and she fucking stops to check it out. A goddamn rapist jumps outta nowhere and tears her shirt off, but before he can get any further, he gets sucked into the sand and there's nothin' left but jelly. By the way, that’s the only nudity in the movie, one raped boob.

And then Marie, on her way to Harry's for dinner and sexytime, takes a shortcut through the beach and meets her bitter end in the sand. Goodnight, sexy stewardess. Harry figures he's been stood-up, and pays Cathy a visit. He finds out she's getting divorced. He's still hung up on her, so this is good news. And now his girlfriend is dead, so, you know, serendipity.

Next day, Harry goes looking for clues in the basement of a mystery shack on the beach where he used to hang out with Cathy when they were kids – seriously - and sees something in the cracks, but it's so fucking dark that who knows what it is. Honestly, it's like ten minutes of this fucker rooting around in pitch black darkness.  And then he takes Cathy out to see Barbara Mandrell or somebody and then they go home and fall in love. Big day for Harry, a painful eternity for you and me.

Meanwhile, Blood Beach Mania is taking hold. The press is all over the place and folks are reporting sightings of "the creature of Blood Beach" by the hundreds, all of which sound insane. And then, a break in the case! One of the guys who got sucked into the sand emerges from a manhole, still alive! Now he can tell us what the hell is going on!

No, wait, he's got severe brain damage and his tongue is missing. Never mind.

Cathy decides to dig around in the shack too, only she uncovers a pile of dead bodies and severed heads and whatnots. Pretty bad day for Cathy. John Saxon decides their best bet is to just blow the whole fuckin’ shack, and whatever's in, it to smithereens.

They set up the explosives and wait. The whole town gathers. And then...

Well, I'll give Blood Beach this much. I had no idea what was under the sand until it showed me. The problem is, I still didn't after it did. Well, I kinda did, but it definitely wasn’t worth the wait. Blood Beach is severely hampered by a glacial pace, stiff acting (except for Ward and Saxon, who are their usually weird/awesome selves), lame dialogue, no nudity or gore (despite an R rating) and a “monster” that’s about as scary as a trip to the florist. Blood Beach? More like Bummer Beach, amirightpeople? Blah Beach. Lame. Buzz.

- Ken 

Stacey says:
Wow, what a snore-fest! This movie is super slow, really boring and the dialogue is like listening to some strangers try to make awkward conversation.  The characters are all one-dimensional. I didn't care what happened to any of them, except the cute dog.  I was hoping there would be some weird twist at the end to save it... No such luck.  This one gets the buzzer... Bzzzz.

Beach House (1982)

Beach House (1982)
Directed by John Gallagher
Starring Ileana Seidel, John Cosola, Kate McNeil, Dana Nathan
Rated PG
USA 

"C'mon Cindy, lets get Freudian. Loosen your mandible. "

This is the debut film from John Gallagher (sadly, not the dude from Raven), who has gone on to have a reasonably successful career as an indie producer/director in NYC. My guess is, he keeps this one off of his promotion reel. Ostensibly a free-wheeling 80’s T&A beach comedy, this (I’m assuming) largely improvisational, extremely low-budget time-waster seems more like a collection of grubby home movies made by stoned goofballs. It’s outsider cinema, like a hetero John Waters with really lame friends. Still, it casts a mesmerizing spell, like some kind of fucked-up dream that you can’t quite remember, but can’t quite shake out of your head, either.

An assorted, mis-matched collection of kooks, creeps, cretins, and gum-snapping hussies from Brooklyn head to Ocean Cityon on the Jersey shore for a week of fun in the sun. They end up sharing a house with a pseudo-punk band from Philadelphia who, inexplicably, hang out with a bunch of stuck-up preppy types. Some of these people are teenagers, but a couple of the guys look about 35. It’s nearly impossible to tell who is who. No one, as far as I can tell, is an actual actor. I'm pretty sure it's just a bunch of locals getting wasted on a cheap beer and rag weed and making a "movie."  The mugging is pretty incredible, particularly from frizzy haired Cecile (one-time actress Ileana Seidel), the crass Brooklyn chick who bounces constantly and says stuff like, "Honey, I was your age when I was 12."

There’s no plot to speak of, just one meandering “party” scene after another. And even though the set-ups are pretty standard, the results are always weird and awkward to watch. For example, the gang takes a trip to Phil's Disco Inferno where they guzzle booze and dance to Plastic Bertrand, which seems perfectly reasonable for 1982, but then they head for the Boardwalk to do a barbershop quartet routine. Haha, what?

Later on, some big fucker named Marty (Al Wheatley, who also never acted again) walks into the Brooklyn pad and starts hitting on the chicks. It's entirely possible that he actually just wandered in off the street, completely unaware that a movie was being made. One of the girls (Angela? They might all be named Angela) tells him to fuck off, and he says, "Hey, I was just trying to be gregarious,” and then he leaves. And that's the whole scene.

The Brooklyn gang and the punk/preppies mingle at the beach and the alpha-preppy chick, Cindy (Kate McNeil, House on Sorority Row),  invites our scraggly heroes to their 4th of July 'turkey and tequila' (what?) party because she's got a crush on Anthony (they might all be named Anthony), but it quickly descends into a booze/fist/food fight. No one wins. Everybody is a loser at the Turkey and Tequila party.

All the fellas end up getting arrested, although they couldn't find an actual police station to shoot the scene. I think it's actually the coat room at the Elks club or something.

The next morning, they decide to play softball to hash out their differences, but quit halfway through because Baby (Paul Anderson), the perpetually stoned 40 year old they hang out with, wants a drink. And that's how the scene ends. It is entirely possible that the scene ended because the guy who plays Baby really did want a drink.

Did  I mention that there's a guy named Snookie who looks like Howard Stern and acts like Bowzer from Sha Na Na? Well, there is. Incidentally, Snookie was portrayed by Eddie Brill, who went on to be David Letterman's warm-up guy.

So anyway, a couple inter-group romances develop, which naturally causes friction between the two groups. To blow off some steam, Cindy wanders over to the amusement park after hours and starts riding the merry go round, which is inexplicably running all by itself.

Turns out its Marty stalking her behind the scenes. He chases her into a dark tunnel, presumably to rape her, while Anthony and her brother desperately search for her. Holy fuck, did this movie take a dark turn! Luckily, Anthony shows up and saves the day.

And then everybody goes to the beach to make out and dance to the band, who perform, right there, in the sand, with no electrical outlets in sight. It says The Pleasantville Music Shop on their bass drum, but I have no idea if that's the name of the band, or where they rented the drums. Anyway, it's a good party. The end. Really. The whole thing is over in a merciful 75 minutes.

You know, I think if you watched this drunk with a bunch of your snarky friends, this would probably seem like the greatest movie ever made. Stone cold sober, it’s a head-scratcher. This is definitely the lowest-budget, shot-on-film, non-porn 80’s teen-romp I’ve seen, cheaper even than woeful softcore Archie rip-off Hot Times, and it doesn’t even deliver on the basic T&A goods. Nobody gets naked, and even if they did, the entire cast has a ‘real people’ vibe, so you’d  probably be disappointed if they did (although Ileana does have a Linda Lovelace-y appeal).

There are no real jokes, just a lot of puns and forced slang, there’s no character development, and no acting, just people spouting lines. The picture is grimy and grainy, the lighting is non-existent, and the sound mix is muddy. For all intents and purposes, Beach House should be thoroughly unwatchable, but still, there’s something hypnotic about it. It seems sorta mysterious, like maybe we’re peeping in somebody’s private stash of long-gone goodtimes, like perhaps this was never meant for our eyes, it was meant for Snookie and Googie and whoever to reel up and project on a sheet in their basement every twenty years to remember when they were young-ish and free and the Jersey shore was an exotic wonderland where anything could happen. As an actual movie, something you would pay to go see and sit through in a theater, Beach House is ridiculous. But as a hazy, bizarre artifact from a weirder time, it’s sorta spellbinding. You ever hear a Shaggs record? Same thing here. I kinda wanna watch it again, and I kinda wanna never see it again as long as I live. Ding?

- Ken

Stacey says:

It's entirely possible that the majority of  Beach House was improvised. The "actors" appear to have been given an extremely loose plot line and been told to riff. It's also possible that MTV got the idea for the Jersey Shore from this "reality show" before it's time.

 This movie is terrible and awesome at the same time. At first, I kind of wanted to shut it off, but kept watching... it was crazy! The dudes are mostly off-putting and the girls are kind of annoying, but somehow it all works. I am with Ken on this one... Ding?

Private Resort (1985)

Private Resort (1985)
Directed by George Bowers
Starring Johnny Depp, Rob Morrow, Emily Longstreth, Leslie Easterbrook, Hector Elizondo
Rated R
USA 

"Just ‘cuz some idiot gorilla with a gun hates our guts, we're not gonna let it ruin our weekend."

From the boner champ who brought us My Tutor, Private Resort is a quintessential 80’s T&A romp remarkable mostly because it stars two future somebodys in the leads: Johnny Depp and Rob “Guy from Northern Exposure” Morrow. And also because you get to see glamazonian alpha-blonde Leslie Easterbrook (mostly) naked. Your brain is definitely not required to watch this one, so you can send it on some errands or something for the next 82 minutes. 

Private Resort opens with lots of ass, which is a good sign. Chasing some o' that ass? Jack (Depp, 22 but looking about 16) and Ben (Morrow), on a expensive weekend vacation. Oh, and a fat kid.  It's a pool party at a resort. A private resort! If you’re wondering what the tone of this movie is, in the first five minutes, the fat kid uses a fishing rod to snatch ladies’ bikini tops, and then gets chased around by a bumbling security guard with a greasy mustache. Boing!

Also at this resort, an eye popping Leslie Easterbrook as bouncing southern belle Bobby Sue. For whatever reason, she's hanging out with shifty Hector Elizondo. He's "The Maestro" and he's here to steal some old lady’s diamonds, or something. Intrigue!

Bobby Sue accidentally leaves her room key at the pool. Jack thinks she did it on purpose because she wants to bone him, so he strips naked and hides in her room like some kind of fucking maniac. Ben's there too. Instead of Bobby Sue, the goddamn Maestro shows up and assumes Ben is the barber. He is definitely not the barber. 

So while he's mangling Maestro’s head, Bobby Sue really does show up and slips into something extremely comfortable, i.e. a see through nightgown, and discovers a naked Jack in her closet! 

And then the real barber, an angry German dude, shows up! Holy fuck!

By the way, the story goes that Easterbrook told director George Bowers that she wasn’t getting naked for the scene, so he compromised and gave her the nightgown, promising her it wasn’t too sheer. It’s way too fuckin’ sheer. Nice one, Georgie boy!  Anyway, they get the fuck outta there and run....right into an all-girl aerobics class!  The 80's really were magical, weren't they?

Even though he's hiding under a table to avoid the Maestro, Ben manages to score a date with Patty (the elusive but alluring Emily Longstreth from American Drive In), the foxy blonde waitress at the pool bar. Nice work, Ben. 

Meanwhile Jack's in love with a rich blonde chick named Dana (Karyn OBryan) that he met in the aerobics class. But she'll only go out with guys her snooty grandma approves of, so he just tells the screwy old broad that he's a surgeon, and they're good to go. They arrange a double date with Dana and her cousin Shirley (crazy-eyed Hillary Shepard) who is some kinda lunatic in a turban. Ben wants out of the deal, especially since she doesn't even want to go out, but Jack gives him a bottle full of Quaaludes and tells him to feed a bunch to her and then go nuts. That is what we call 'date rape' these days.

Anyway, it turns out the old broad Maestro is here to rob is grandma. Maestro tries to put the moves on her on the dance floor, but she sees his fucked up haircut and laughs in his stupid face. 

Also, turns out Shirley is totally hot under the turban. We find this out when she gets completely naked and then makes Ben get naked, too. 

He figures this is his lucky day, but it turns out to be religious nonsense and she leaves him there with his boner flapping in the breeze. Naturally, this is exactly when grandma gets home! So he ends up tearing ass naked down the hallways (again), while grandma gulps down the Quaaludes, thinking they're aspirin.  And just when it looks like things couldn't go any wore for Ben, he somehow ends up in a bathtub with The Maestro! What a night of hijinks!

But fuck, in all the excitement, he ends up missing his date with Patty, who accepts a ride home from her asshole boss Scott (Michael Bowen AKA Tommy from Valley Girl). "I want you to know that this is not a date," she says. "Ok," he tells her, "but you never know what can happen." Sounds threatening to me.

Later on that night – of the next day, who the fuck knows - Andrew Dice Clay, of all fuckin' people, is at the bar trying to cheat on his drunk girlfriend. She tells him she gonna go bang the first guy he sees for revenge, so Jack takes her up on the offer. Because that's the way these things go, Dice ends up in the same hotel room with his new gal pal while his out-of-it girlfriend stumbles around, waiting to be discovered.

 It ends like every scene in this movie ends, with half naked people running and screaming down the hallway.

The next morning Ben decides he's had enough of all this nonsense and decides to go the fuck home, but then Patty convinces him to stay. Cue the goddamn love montage, including the obligatory bicycle rides and sunset make-out scene at the beach.

Because something’s gotta get us to the inevitable climactic pie fight, Maestro tries to get the diamond again, but it turns out grandma knows Kung Fu! But Maestro knows Gun Fu, so he wins. Well, he almost wins. He's on his way to easy street until he runs into Ben, who Maestro still thinks is a crazy barber, so he decides to kill him before he leaves. Ben dresses in drag to get away and Maestro and Dice molest him in an elevator, because they think he’s a hot chick, even though he is clearly Rob Morrow in a dress. Things get kinda crazy from there, prompting a line that has to be a high water mark in Elizondo's career: "You moron, that's a faggot barber and he's got my diamond in his tits!"

It should come as no surprise that the chase/fight continues in the women's locker room and culminates in a crowded restaurant with a machine gun that doesn't hit anything and a goddamn pie in the face and more old lady Kung fu and a dick joke. The end. 

Every 80’s sight gag you can think of is in here. Every one. Stoned surfer dude who pops in every once in a while to remark on the action? Check. Old lady doing things young people usually do? Check. Fat girl overeating gag? Check. Bumbling authority figures bested by wiseass kids? Check. Etc. I don’t think there’s one original scene in the whole goddamn movie. But it hardly matters – there are half or nearly naked blondes in almost every scene, and Depp and Morrow have great chemistry together. Its’ clear from even this that they both had potential to be stars. Bower keeps things moving at a furious pace, and there’s plenty of moments when the laughs and the cringes collide in perfect syncopation – it’s like the Lucy Show with silicone. Goodtimes, no hassles. I approve. 

- Ken 

Stacey says: This movie is cuckoo-cuckoo bananas!  Classic 80's fare. Loose plot, bikini babes, and every sight gag under the sun...you can see them coming before they even happen. Depp and Morrow make a great team. I'm not sure the film would be watchable without them. I actually favor Morrow over Depp in this one, probably because Depp's character is a douche, while Morrow's is actually sweet and grounded (as grounded as one could be in the midst of all the 80's antics.) Totally awesome 80's, Rumspringa-woo!

Yeah Sure, Why Not

Found this. Had to post. As Ken is famous for saying, sure, why not?

-Drew Buzzy

Malibu Beach (1978)

Malibu Beach (1978)
Directed by Robert J Rosenthel 
Starring Kim Lankford, Susan Player, Steve Oliver
Rated R
USA

"Hey, you got big tits, for a lifeguard!"

Robert J Rosenthel was, briefly, an exploitation mini-mogul. Besides this breezy beach epic, this long-lost drive-in svengali wrote and/or directed  Zapped!, The Pom Pom Girls, The Van and, naturally, Zapped II. For a good few years, he was the go-to guy if you needed a popped bikini top gag. Imagine being that guy? That’s a good angle.
“I need seven half-naked cheerleaders and a case of beer stat!”
“Sure thing. Robert J!”

Who knows why it ended? Did Robert J just get tired of tits? Can you ever get tired of tits? It’s been 44 years, I’m still not tired of tits. And here’s the good news. This movie has a lot of tits. It also has a LOT of 1978.  The waves of late 70’s nostalgia hits hard and fast, right from the beginning.

There’s a bikini top stealing dog, there’s Dina, (Kim Lankford) the lanky, heavy-lidded new lifeguard (in a bikini) , there’s Paul (Michael Luther), a goofy dude with an Elvis visor, there’s weirdly named Glorianna (Tara Stroheimer) a bosomy good-time girl with frizzy hair in a sports car with a "Cure virginity" bumper sticker and a John Scnhneider iron on on the back of her sweatshirt, etc. The pop culture bullshit is pretty overwhelming.

It’s Malibu Beach, it’s the summer of 1978, and the kids are alright.

So anyway, Dugan (Steve Oliver) is the local over-aged musclehead asshole who’s always hitting on the young chicks. But today he finds somebody his own age to bug, Miss Plickett (Flora Plumb),  the stuffy teacher  for most of the kids at the beach. Malibu must be a small town.

For whatever reason, she decides to go for a ride on his motorcycle, and he takes her back to his place. There's photos of body builders and paintings of big eyed puppies on the wall. I think there’s a velvet-rendered jungle scene, too. If his weird garage/apartment wasn’t off-putting enough, he rants to her about some dead goddamn plant.  Then he puts his moves on her. It all feels kinda rapey, even with the schlocky soft rock jam on the soundtrack. She doesn't dig it, and bails. You get the feeling this kinda thing happens to Dugan a lot.

But fuck it, there's a party tonight. Claude (Roger Lawrence Pierce) wears safety goggles while he drives. Quirky motherfucker.

Dina and her bud Sally (Susan Player) get a flat tire. I know it sounds like I’m just randomly mentioning things that happen in the movie, but that’s the way this one rolls. It’s like the scenes are all marbles and Robert J just drops ‘em on the ground and lets them roll wherever they want. Parenthetically,  Sally has the most amazing bangs I've ever seen. They’re awesome!

The fellas - Paul and certified cocksman Bobby (James Daughton) - help fix the flat, and they all head out for booze and disco dancing. They do the Bump in high waisted pants. But then the fellas strike out. This might bum you or I out, but you and I are not at Malibu Beach in 1978.  The guys plit, head to the liquor store, do some drunk driving in Bobby's pimped-out Jeep, and head out to the beach for a late night booze, frisbee, and weed party. A couple cops show up. The "police" sticker on their car is not convincing. It's peeling right off the fuckin' door.

The old cop goes to the bar and sends the young one, Rodney (Parris Buckner) to bust the kids. But they know him, so they just pass him a joint, and everybody gets mellow.

Dina and Paul end up hanging together on the beach. Paul decides to make his move, and lays his lips on her. She rejects him, and to make matters worse, Dugan shows up and shoves him around.

Luckily Rodney breezes by and tells ‘em to be cool. So they stay cool. Rodney munches on Crackerjacks until the fat cop shows back up and they drive away, drunk and stoned.

With the heat off, the gang goes skinny -dipping. 70's kids were a lot leaner, man.

Then they fuckin’ chug wine to get warm. All in all, it was a sweet night.

Dina gets home. She's got Rolling Stones, Zep, and A Star is Born posters on her wall. She sits there and hugs Bobby's jacket. He let her wear it on the way home. Then she gets in bed with it. Dina, I hope you know that you are like the third chick he's made out with TODAY.

Back at the beach the next day, some snotty punk kid pretends to drown just to fuck with Dina, but then he actually starts to drown. She saves him anyway. Some dude says, "You shoulda let him drown". Harsh. And then Dugan roughs him up. How about you fuck off once in a while, ok Dugan?

I dunno, Dugan and Bobby get into some static, and they decide to drag race. Dugan takes Claude’s wheels and Bobby takes Rodney's police car. Rodney was busy smokin’ weed with busty Margie (Sherry Lee Marks) at the time.

Anyway, they total the fuckin’ cars. Luckily, they're both ok.  "That was the highlight of my life," says Bobby, as he drives always triumphantly in his own jeep, with Rodney's cop car lying in a crumpled heap. Fuck you, Bobby.

Meanwhile Claude hooks up with Gloriana, the Vette chick. Nice score, Claude. By the way, Claude's a rich kid and he's got plenty of cars, so he's not even mad about the drag race.

Night’s still young, so the gang bust into the fairgrounds and go for an illicit bumper car ride before heading to inspiration point for some heavy makin’ out. Good times. I wish my 1978 was like this. My 1978 was mostly sweating on a bench outside of our apartment because we didn’t have air conditioning.

Next day, Paul rats out a couple of gas thieves, and they slit his tires and threaten him with a switchblade. "Very 50's", laughs Sally.  Also, Paul sticks a hose in their rape van and floods it. They'll probably come back and fuckin’ kill him later. I kinda hope they do,  because all the guys in this movie are assholes.

And then, disco party at Claude's! Everybody is having good times. The outfits are diabolical. The dancing is ferocious. The only thing that could fuck up this night is Dugan. So guess who shows up? It's all fist fights and cops from there. Dina's had enough of all this he-man bullshit, and tells them both to buzz off. And that's the night disco died on Malibu Beach.

Later that night, Dina and Bobby make up and make out on the beach. He was swimming in his jean shorts. She was wearing white flares. Who could resist? Anyway, then there's a bunch of love stuff for the next ten fuckin’ minutes. Lame.

Clearly, we've been building up to a climactic face-off between Dugan and Bobby, and boy do we get one. A shark is involved. Well, a wooden plank with shark teeth nailed to it, at least.

So who wins? It's 1978, man. Everybody wins.

If we're going to technical about it, nothing really happens in Malibu Beach, but then again, if you were living it, it’d probably be the most memorable weekend of your life. In fact, I would suggest that if you are a young person, you study this movie and then go try to live your next 48 hours exactly like this. That would be ballsy. If you are not a young person, I would suggest you watch this and then lament the fact that you spent your 1978 on a fucking bench when you could’ve been partying with Sally and her bangs, or whoever your foxy neighborhood equivalent was. In fact, whatever your age or disposition, you should watch Malibu Beach. Why wouldn’t you? It moves along at a fast pace, the acting is solid, the chicks are rad, the boobs are plentiful, and you can tell that everybody involved is having good, hazy times. And isn’t that what life is all about?

- Ken 

PS: Stacey says:

Hot fun in the summer time! Good times and a few hassles... this is one fun flick! Too bad the boys weren't cuter.

Cool or not so cool 70's fashions, a guy wearing goggles 24/7, and someone get those girls some hair conditioner!  Obviously the boys don't care about that... but I suggest a classic 70's Alberto VO5 hot oil treatment (the girls get it, I'm sure.)

 Surely, this was the inspiration for Richard Linklater's tamer Dazed and Confused.  Rumspringa Whoo, for sure!