Showing posts with label Mariska Hargitay. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mariska Hargitay. Show all posts

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Welcome to 18 (1986)

AKA Summer Release
Directed by Terry Car
Starring Courtney Thorne Smith, Mariska Hargitay, Joanne Willette
PG-13
USA

“Horses can smell fear, you know.”
“Oh yeah? Can they smell hate?”

Welcome to 18 opens with a three-girl slumber party featuring two future primetime TV stars (Courtney Thorne-Smith and Mariska Hargitay) and one girl (Joanne Willette), who’s still working on it as we speak. They did not know this in 1986, though. In 1986, they were just happy to be out of school. By the way, there's a bit in this opening scene where they pluck a goldfish out of his aquarium and plop him into a half-empty bottle of wine. Alright, I realize it’s just a gag, but I think it’s a little fucked-up. They can’t swim in wine. Miraculously, this one can, but still, what am I watching here, Make Them Die Slowly?

So anyway, these three BFFs: Lindsey (Thorne-Smith), Joey (Hargitay), and Robin (Willette), are hanging out, chugging wine, and figuring out what to do with the rest of their lives. In what seems to me like the worst idea ever, they decide to head to a dude ranch to work for the summer. Not surprisingly, it’s horrible. The ranch is littered with rich poker-playing douchebags and sleazy cowpokes, the latter of which chase the girls around when they're not shoveling horseshit or spit-shining some fucker’s boots. One notable horseback ride finds Robin being wooed by a stumpy old cowboy who tells her about the last cockfight he attended.
“Jesus,” he shudders, “There was blood and cock guts all over the place.”

Later on, during a rare break from indentured servitude, Robin runs into another teenage blonde, the skittish Talia (Cristen Kauffman, Mischief, Joy of Sex), who compliments Robin on her make-up application abilities. This film is loaded with makeup references, by the way. Perhaps Maybelline were ghost investors. Anyway, Robin sizes Talia up in a scene that throbs with accidental lesbian overtones.

“I could do things to your face,” she says, somewhat menacingly. “You wouldn't even recognize yourself.”
Talia decides she likes this odd, flamboyant girl, and she suggests that if she ever needs a place to stay and a job less manure-oriented than the dude ranch, to look her up.

After the girls’ manager, mean-assed Beulah (Micole Mercurio, who I found powerfully attractive, in a matronly sorta way) docks half their paycheck for expenses, the girls bail and take Talia up on her offer.

Talia lives in a huge lake house with a squirrely drug dealer/pimp named Roscoe (Erich Anderson). The girls, being 18 and innocent, are completely unaware of any dirty dealings, and move right in, hot-tubbing and gulping down top-shelf booze like there's no tomorrow. They get fake IDs and jobs at the casino, but all is clearly not well. Unbeknown to them, Roscoe has cameras installed in the girls’ bathroom so he can tape them showering. He has secretive conversations with shady characters and occasionally gives Talia a smack in the chops.
One morning, Talia suddenly throws them out, but she sets them up with a cheap cabin on the edge of town. While they negotiate the price, the front door falls off. The landlord takes a buck off the price. A 6 foot tall transvestite named Fuscha (Brian Bradley) lives next door, and drops by to give them some leftover pate. You think all of this would be a clear indication that it’s time to go home, but the girls roll with it. They play poker to pass the time in the grubby cabin but, lacking the funds for a proper game, bet with their make-up. Seems gross to me. Do you really want some other chick’s used lipstick?

Talia runs into them at the casino, and invites the girls to a party at Roscoe’s. She’s pretty sketchy about it, though.
“Are you sure you want to go?” She asks. “It’s going to be full of Roscoe’s friends. Older guys with lots of money.”
This is not a deterrent to the girls.

They girls get all spiffed up in gowns that they most certainly did not bring with them to the dude ranch, and head over to the party.

It takes them forever to figure it out, but once they accidentally see the tape of Joey showering, they realize it’s a sex party, and they’re being pimped by Roscoe. The cops show up and toss ‘em in jail for prostitution. Roscoe gives Talia money to bail them out, and then cries when they yell at her. They go back to the cabin and the tranny makes tea for them.
“I don’t understand why Talia would do that to us,” says Robin.
“Sometimes people get confused about who they are,” says the man in a dress.

Couple days later, Talia shows up at the cabin with her face all busted up. Robin fixes it with her magic make-up.

Pissed that Talia flew the coop, Roscoe takes Lindsey’s car as retribution, demanding the $5,000 he forked over for bail money before she can get it back. Their solution is to put a brunette wig on her and send her off to a high-stakes poker game with a bunch of the dude ranch clowns.


She manages to pull it off and they get the car back, but Talia is still being held semi-against her will, so the girls decide to launch a daring rescue mission. They wear cat burgler-esque knit hats and everything. During their break-in, the song on the soundtrack (by Randall Kirsch) goes “Someone’s going to get into this house/someone’s going to get-get-get into this house” like 57 times. It was starting to make me panic, quite frankly.
It ends in a high-speed boat chase with all the trimmings, including one of the most hilariously unconvincing exploding yachts I think I’ve ever seen.

Theoretically, I should hate Welcome to 18. It’s more of a chick-centric drama than a comedy, there’s no nudity to speak of (that’s Hargitay’s body double in the shower scene), and there appears to be some cosmetics fetish at work, given the countless close-ups of lipsticks and compacts. But despite these fairly major detriments, the film does have its strengths. The girls are adorable, the script is surprisingly sharp, and the acting, especially for such a young and inexperienced cast, is across-the-board excellent. It is neither funny nor boner popping, but it’s got pretty girls in halter tops, so I’m not complaining.

Interestingly, Welcome to 18 has garnered a small-but-fierce cult following over the decades, in part because of its blaring AOR soundtrack by a fistful of earnest unknowns like Doll Congress and Second Language. There’s no accounting for taste, man, especially in 1986.

Welcome to 19.
A goodly amount of the cast went on to do high-visibility work.

Thorne-Smith made a fortune on Melrose Place, and is currently amassing another pile of cash with the execrable, forever-running sitcom According to Jim.

Hargitay is one of the main players in Law and Order: Special Victims Unit, which, as far as I can tell, is gore-porn for Christians and grandmothers.

Willette still pops up on sitcoms and hospital dramas, as does Anderson. Terry Carr worked mostly as a producer and production manager. He worked on the unforgettable 74’ TV creepfest Bad Ronald, among several other notable titles, but this was his sole directing credit. He died of a heart attack in 2005. I don’t mean to bum you out, but that’s just the way it went.

Availability: Welcome to 18 is available on VHS.

-Ken McIntyre

Sunday, January 18, 2009

Jocks (1987)

AKA Road Trip
AKA Physical Lessons
Directed by Steve Carver
Starring Scott Strader, Christopher Lee, Richard Roundtree
Rated R
USA
Shop for this poster!

"Where's your racquets?"
"Oh, I traded them last week for a couple six packs. You can't drink tennis racquets."

Can I say something? Given the title alone, I would have never seen Jocks. Who would? It sounds like gay porn. Also, nobody likes jocks, not even jocks. Maybe drunk cheerleaders, but for the most part, people hate them. The only saving grace it had was a poster that looked like some Lois Ayres aerobics porn flick. Aerobics porn was huge in the late 80's. So yeah, Jocks. Awful title. The movie? Eh. Slightly better.

Jocks boasts more well-known actors than most 80's teen flicks, which were usually crowded up with first-timers and local-yokels working for a free lunch, so it is pretty impressive to see Dracula himself, Christopher Lee, gobbling up the scenery as President White, head-honcho at LA College, a school that hasn't won a single sporting competition in ten years. He blames his mealy-mouthed head coach Bettleborn (exploitation legend RG Armstrong), a nerve-rattled bungler who thinks killing off the tennis team and concentrating on football is the way to go. Only problem is, the tennis team actually has a shot at the championship this year (this year being 1984 - it took awhile to get this one released), and so, the tennis players and their coach (Shaft himself, Richard Roundtree) have the rest of the season to win it all, or get cut out of the budget completely, thereby losing their scholarships.

So what's the problem? I mean, they're winning already, right? Well, you've got to see the motley crew of weirdoes that make up this highly unlikely tennis team. There's the berserk Ripper (Donald Gibb, AKA Ogre from Revenge of the Nerds), your garden variety psychotic, the Felix Unger-esque Jeff (Perry Lang), Andy (Stoney Jackson), a Jheri-curled, guyliner-smeared Prince wannabe, the self-explanatory Tex (Adam Mills), Chito (Trinidad Silva, RIP), a squat, Fred Flinstone-esque Latino, and the ringleader of the this perverse circus, The Kid (Scott Strader), a booze swilling cad. In other words, your usual gang of 80's feebs and fuck-ups.

The boys head to Las Vegas for the championship, where they will ultimately have to face off with their rivals, Arizona State. In time honored teen-com tradition, the ratfinks on the other team convince our heroes to spend a night on the tiles, getting them loaded and bringing them to a gonzo biker bar that they have to fight their way out of. Not surprisingly, they are wrecked the next morning and blow their preliminary matches, causing Coach Shaft to say: "Not only have you let me down, you let yourselves down."
Seriously, that old line? Amazingly enough, it works, and the team rallies, using their oddball personalities to best their opponents. Ripper, for example, threatens to kill the other guy. Andy swishes around. Jeff is so polite, his opponent feels obliged to let him win. Chito keeps hitting his knees and praying to Jesus in Spanish. Etc. Oh, and The Kid distracts his dude by pointing out a busty blonde in the front row, which at least provides us with shots of a busty blonde in the front row.

I will hand it to the writers (Mike Lanahan and David Oas), it's probably not that easy to come up with six workable tennis-related gimmicks. Unfortunately, we're still watching 20 minutes of tennis. 'Funny' tennis or not, it's pretty boring. Thankfully, they follow it up with a strip poker scene. I would surely have been fast asleep on the couch, dreaming of a more interesting movie, if they had not.

There a few minor subplots along the way - The Kid and tennis scout Nicole (future Law and Order star Mariska Hargitay) bat eyelashes at each other, RG Armstrong ends up in a motel room with a pile of prostitutes, there's some bullshit about bets and throwing the match - but all it really leads up to is yet another twenty minutes of tennis in the film's final half-hour. And that's the problem with Jocks. It's a sports movie disguised as a teen sex comedy. And how many sweaty, cellar-dwelling teenage boob-oglers, how many late-night cable surfers, how many diehard fans of Party Camp or Pinball Summer do you think were also interested in sports? Exactly. Jocks, therefore, is pretty much a zilch, a nadir, an eyeball-drying snoozefest of interest only to actual jocks. And tennis jocks, at that. I think Richard Roundtree sums this film up nicely early on when he gathers his young charges and implores them not to do anything too crazy before the big match.
"Listen," he says, "I want you guys to have a mediocre time."
Done, sir.

Steve Carver also directed Big Bad Mama (1974), starring Angie Dickinson's breasts, and The Arena (also '74), which features Pam Grier as the first female gladiator in ancient Rome, so it's not like the man has not graced us with lasting exploitation goodness. He just blew it here, is all.

Availability: Jocks is available on DVD from BCI, and as a rental from Netflix.

-Ken McIntyre

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