Up There

 

We forget how '80s the early '90s were. 1993 is pushing it, but when you're a low budget action movie starring Billy Blanks, you're all in.

Quick Plot: The earth's surface has been poisoned (I should rephrase: humans have polluted and destroyed the air they're supposed to breathe), forcing those that can afford it underground. They're protected by Tracker-Communicators, a martial arts-savvy task force of bodyguards and hunters.

Chief among them is the team of Jason Storm (workout king Billy Blanks) and Zoey Kinsella, daughter of the dead genius who founded the entire city that now keeps the elite safe. When gang leader Nicky Picasso (yes, that's a name) leads his goons in a vicious attack, Zoey is killed. Policy dictates that her body is the property of the underground's lab, and therefore the perfect canvas to test out a new acrobatic supersoldier. 

Jason is rightfully upset, but there's little time to dwell once he's framed for Zoey's murder and banished to the surface. Up there, he teams up with tai chi specialist Sumai (the balletic Bolo Yeung) for a training montage and plan.

At just under 90 minutes long, TC 2000 is about 88% martial arts fighting and 12% half-hearted world building. Don't ask me to show my work, but the math vaguely adds up to some satisfyingly dumb entertainment. Bolo Yeung is incredibly watchable. The villains look like they've emerged from a 2D arcade game into something somewhere between that technology and earth. 

It's a good, very dumb time. Making his film debut, director T.J. Scott (who would go on to helm lots of TV, including a few episodes of my beloved Spartacus) succeeds most when his camera follows the action. Yes, the set is cheap and the costumes are only slightly above the caliber of a Party City sale, but nobody came here for fine art (despite our villain being named, you know, Nicky Picasso). 

High Points

I was unfamiliar with Bolo Yeung before watching TC 2000, so what a treat it was to discover someone so watchable who also happens to have dozens of films to his name

Low Points

Ever watch Top Chef and constantly worry that your kitchen timer is going off because on Top Chef, timers constantly go off? That's annoying. You know what else is annoying? How every scene set in the computer room of TC 2000 has an ambient beep that sounds like a smoke detector. And so at first you pause thinking, "is that MY smoke detector?" And you realize that no, it belongs to the movie, and every time the action RETURNS to this room, you're going to hear it. And pause and worry that you have a carbon monoxide leak. 

Look, TC 2000 isn't a very good movie and there are plenty of other callouts I could make here (having Blanks narrate with less enthusiasm than Harrison Ford in the theatrical Blade Runner cut, for example) but as a new home owner, you have to understand: beeping is scary.

Lessons Learned

Much like Gallagher's humor, the best vessel for communicating tai chi is smashed watermelon

Zoey is Greek for life

Future press conferences will include floor routines

Rent/Bury/Buy

TC 2000 is not a good movie, but it's stuffed with enthusiasm. In the mood for a '90s wasteland that looks like the '80s? Here you go, appropriately hanging out in the junk pile of Amazon Prime. 

Mommy Lightest

It cannot be said, nay SCREAMED, enough.

Judith Light is, and has always been, a national treasure. 

Quick Plot: Because director Bill Corcoran (last seen here with the Tara Reid screamer Vipers) loves us, we open on a sexy closeup of Ms. Light's lips purring out a beautiful first line:

What she doesn't specify is that the object of her affections was Nick, her grown son and only source of joy in Diana's life. She loves this young man so much that she wakes him up with a freshly frosted cake for his birthday. She loves him so much that she attends his court hearing and cheers him on as he loses. She loves him so much that she seduces his would-be landlord so the pending rental agreement can be nullified, meaning Nick has no other choice but to stay in Mom's house. 

It's, you know, not a very healthy relationship.

Furious when he realizes he's stuck at home, Nick packs his bags to crash with a friend, only for Jane to respond with a suicide attempt. She survives, and unwittingly leaves Nick even further away: he strikes a romance with hospital nurse Abby, who, as predicted by the cynical Diana, quickly gets pregnant. 

Diana tries everything to break up the young couple: faking prostitution records for Abby's background, hiring (and stiffing) an unhoused man to annul the marriage, and finally, paying off a pair of goons to just murder the poor girl. 

That wraps us back to the framing device of Diana's narration, coming from inside a jail cell because naturally, she's caught. But sweet Nick can't believe that his mother would do such a thing and in an act of true law and disorder, agrees to represent his own unstable mother in the murder trial of his own dead pregnant wife.

My gosh do I miss the era of making TV movie posters look like VC Andrews' book covers

Don't worry: the film has already established that Nick isn't a very good attorney.

Still, this is a wild, wild last act. Too Close to Home is based on the true story of a case I won't explain in detail as it may spoil the ending. But if this is your kind of jam, then spread it. Spread it well.

High Points

Seriously, I can never say enough good words about Judith Light. This is obviously a soap opera of a TV movie, but Light knows exactly how to command the camera as a juicy, needy sociopath

Low Points

It's inevitable in a movie light this, but there's simply no way Rick Schroder can summon the kind of obsession Diana has for him in Light's hands. Both Ricky and Nick are simply outmatched

Lessons Learned

A good son keeps an 8 x 10 glamour shot of his mother framed on his work desk

In the '90s, collies made excellent police dogs

Most girls don't dream of being proposed to the night that their boyfriends present falsified documentation of their past as sex workers

Rent/Bury/Buy

Too Close to Home is gloriously ripped from the headlines made-for-TV trash. I say that as a compliment. Find it on Peacock when you feel too clean. 

What's the Opposite of an "Urban" Legend?

As someone born in 1982 who therefore spent the bulk of filmgoing in the '90s, it's fascinating to see the current pendulum swing on genre cinema of that era. I had a big moment of reevaluation when I revisited Disturbing Behavior, and ever since then, I've found myself not just charmed, but sometimes surprisingly impressed by movies that I as a surely teenager wrote off 20+ years ago. Would Campfire Tales, a rare anthology, have the same effect?

Spoiler alert: no.

Quick Plot: After a quick teaser starring Amy Smart and vampire James Marsden (not a vampire in the story, just a human celebrity vampire who doesn't age) as a couple encountering the urban legendary hook man, we meet our storytellers: two young couples with very familiar faces drunkenly speeding late at night. They crash in the woods, start a fire, and indulge in their titular routine. 

The first tale follows a pair of newlyweds on an RV trip through the woods. A mysterious mechanic stops by and warns them of a murderer on the loose, but they brush that away as the ravings of a mad man. Naturally, they soon find themselves mysteriously out of gas. Rick (Ron Livingston, savoring the chance to push a Long Island accent on innocent cinema goers) discovers the mechanic brutally murdered, and tries to get back in time to warn his wife. Things don't end well.

Up next is a standard chat room PSA about being catfished before we used the term 'catfish.' A young girl is excited to be left home alone with her dog (don't get attached) and soccer ball, but she makes the mistake of telling her online pal. Things...don't end well.

Last up is the saga of an aimless motorcyclist (Glenn Quinn) who runs into mechanical trouble just outside the sprawling horse farm of a beautiful, mute young woman who's adequate enough at charades for them to quickly fall in love. The only thing standing between them is her abusive father and choker necklace. Things, you know, end as they do.

Back to the campfire, our youths are finally found and - 

you know.

Campfire Tales was made right before Scream exploded the market for mostly mediocre teen slashers. On that front, I can appreciate its almost old school charm. Urban Legend would do a better job of this a few years later, but Campfire Tales is still watchable. The stories move quickly. They have to, since there's not much to any of them. 

The first is the best, probably because Livingston and Jennifer MacDonald carry it well and it moves at such a brisk pace. The second goes the other route: it can't be more than 20 minutes, but the story just doesn't really move in one direction. It ends on a classic urban legend beat, but takes such a convoluted route there that I can't imagine anyone caring. Then again, I spent the entire thing telling myself, "you know they're gonna kill the dog and spare the kid," so in fairness, that might have been my own problem. The haunted farmhouse has a little bit of poetry to its soul. That doesn't mean it's good...just that it clearly tried. 

Directed by the trio of Matt Cooper, Martin Kunert, and David Semel and written by a slightly different trio of Kunert, Cooper, and Eric Manes, Campfire Tales is probably most interesting as a taste of the '90s seasoned by a heaping tablespoon of before-they-were-famous stars. It's fine. Never scary and not particularly funny, but considering how few horror anthologies the '90s gave us, it's an interesting relic.

High Points

Anthologies should fundamentally be about comeuppance, making the final reveal of Campfire Tales feel very right

Low Points

The more I think about that poorly paced second segment AND the fact that it ended with a lovable golden retriever massacred, the angrier I get at everything

Lessons Learned

Don't promise M&Ms before you've evaluated your surroundings

Crows only squawk at night if stirred

Everyone needs to learn what it means to be free, which is the kind of thing someone with a broken down motorcycle would say

Rent/Bury/Buy

There's a particular nostalgia people of a certain get now when we think back to the '90s, and Campfire Tales, with its dial-up tech and choker fashion, will certainly fuel it with Diet Snapple. This isn't a very good movie, but the stories are short, and the wraparound has a rewarding payoff. Watch it on Peacock if the mood strikes. 

Just a Friend You Haven't Met

 

If you had asked me two days ago what my life was missing, I might have said something silly like "world peace."

Now that I've watched Never Talk to Strangers, it's clear that the answer was in front of me all along (or at least since 1995):

a slow motion montage of sex and trust falls

Quick Plot: Dr. Sarah Taylor is a criminal psychologist currently in the middle of evaluating an accused rapist murderer Max Cheski (the always welcome Harry Dean Stanton). Following the disappearance of her fiance one year earlier, Sarah's personal life mostly involves gently fighting off neighbor Dennis Miller, until one fateful evening when she meet-cutes Tony Ramirez in the wine aisle.

This is a man who knows his cabernet and looks and sounds like Antonio Banderas. How can she resist?

Sarah and Tony begin a steamy relationship that quickly fizzles out when she reacts weirdly to him shooting a moving clown target at a carnival. It only takes one reminder of Tony's luscious body hair to send her straight back to his industrial loft, because it's the 1990s and every sexy mysterious man lives in an industrial loft. 

While her personal life is on the ups, her work days are a bit scratchy. Sarah's estranged father shows up in his Willy Loman drag to restart their rocky relationship. Cheski makes a few veiled threats. Then she gets a few presents: a bouquet of dead flowers, her own published obituary, and her precious orange tabby Sabrina cut up in a gift box.

The police give the super helpful and comforting advice that they can't do anything about this, and that Sarah's best bet is hire a private detective (the more things change...). He reports some unpleasant details about her new beau, but this being a '90s erotic thriller, there's always a whole lot more to the story.

And whoa boy there is! I would never dream of spoiling this oddball slice of Snackwell's era junk food. Director Peter Hall had a long career in theater, and he doesn't quite seem to know how to make Jordan Rush and Lewis A. Green's messy script come together (would anyone?). But then there's Rebecca DeMornay's steely blue eyes running down Antonio Banderas's bare chest, while slow motion flashbacks, and the kind of twist ending that sings like a soap opera aria. 

High Points

The world has never fully appreciated just how sexy a screen presence Antonio Banderas has. Never Talk to Strangers gets it

Low Points

I think it simply has to be a tradition that anytime Dennis Miller plays an ex-boyfriend in a '90s thriller, he comes off as the kind of scummy toxic male who would whine about being in the friend zone and is easily the worst part of his respective film

Lessons Learned

We're all just animals with beepers

There's no such thing as a good domestic pinot noir

Electric heaters are always dangerous, even more so when INSTALLED OVER A BATHTUB 

Rent/Bury/Buy

Never Talk to Strangers is a terrible exploration of mental health, and a damn fun watching experience. You can find it streaming on Tubi in all its sexy saxophone-scored glory. 

Growing Pains

Is Judith Light the most underrated actor of her generation? 

Well, no, because there's Alfre Woodard, but is Judith Light the SECOND most underrated actor of her generation? 

A TV movie from 1996 suggests so.

Quick Plot: Irene and Ed McNair have been through some things: the death of their eldest son Joey, Ed's winding road to recovery from alcoholism, and now, the horror of Joey's living teenage twin Teddy's sudden outbursts. 

Teddy is...needy. He demands his mother come with him for a sleepover at his dead grandmother's house then whines like Veruca Salt when he finds out she's planning on selling the empty home. Irene soon learns that Teddy was expelled from college for some scandalous artwork, fired from his job for decorating a department store window with BDSM-style mannequins, and has a closet wall covered in newspaper clippings detailing their small Connecticut's town shocking crimes.

See, a few young blonds are turning up dead. Ed's AA sponsor happens to be the head detective who has a full profile ready to share with his bestie: a young man, artistically frustrated, sexually confused, deep mother issues, previous tenure on Roseanne. You get the picture. 

Murder At My Door is a very, very made-for-TV movie. The screenplay is credited to veteran Christopher Canaan and Patti Sullivan, whose scanter IMDB resume only lists this and Reading Rainbow. Perhaps most excitingly, the director is  Eric Till, a perfect unicorn of a filmmaker responsible for both A Muppet Family Christmas and the Costas Mandylor/Jennie Garth joint Falling For You. 

This one isn't quite as memorable as those incredibly diverse classics, but I had a good time. Between fog-framed flashbacks and a very dense score, Murder At My Door screams its 1996 CBS roots with such fury that even the most hardened live-in-the-now viewer can't help but feel nostalgic. I wish the screenplay offered more surprises or that Johnny Galecki found more layers into Teddy, but also, well, this is a 1996 made-for-TV drama. If I can give Zombie Night a good review, I have to pause and say my standards are inconsistent and unfair. 

High Points

I really do mean it when I say that Judith Light is a national treasure. As Irene, she's mostly stuck playing an ill-defined (on the page) fraught mother, but by golly does Light seem fully present in every mournful stare. This is a woman who does not throw away a performance

Low Points

It's a strange day when you realize how made-for-shock-TV movies have, in some ways, made huge strides over the past 30 years. Sure, Lifetime rarely snags a lead as good as Judith Light, but Murder At My Door's biggest flaw is that it plays out exactly as you would have expected from the first beat. Had this been made today, we'd get a bonkers twist revealing (SPOILER ALERT TO WHAT WE DON'T ACTUALLY GET) that Teddy was troubled but innocent, and it's, say, his little Mikey-in-the-making brother who has actually been stabbing blonds

Lessons Learned

Mansplaining was just as bad in the '90s, particularly if you enjoyed CD shopping at the mall

If you're planning on murdering a woman, always take note of her earring count before and after (but also, don't murder women)

There's nothing you can do to go against the district supervisor

Special Exception

If you've ever spent more than 11 minutes drinking with me, you probably recall that I can't go 12 without ranting about one of my biggest movie credits pet peeves:  "Special Appearance By". Movies are temporary, and a cameo (though rarely is it a singular appearance) should simply be an "And" or "With" credit, or a complete surprise without introduction. That being said, when you get the glorious Grace Zabriskie, it is indeed special

Rent/Bury/Buy

TV movie enthusiasts, particularly those with soft spots for the '90s, will certainly find Murder At My Door entertaining. I wish it had a little more bite in the end, but can I REALLY complain when I get to see Judith Light cry and Grace Zabriskie scream?