One of the nicest things about being single is that I can embrace all of my old traditions and habits. My habits are not compatible with, well, being compatible with anyone who is even remotely normal and/or sane. So when I'm in a relationship, I'm much less of a Quirky McWeirdo. It's sad, really.
Take Crap Movie Sunday. Oh, Crap Movie Sunday, I missed you most of all!
There is something wonderful about rounding out the weekend with a big bowl of goulash and the very worst that cinema has to offer. The criteria for a Crap Movie: zero intellectual vitamins, plotting that could permanently power the Heart of Gold, and the sort of casting that makes you wonder if it was all a case of casting couch, crossed with Faustian bargain, and a mild case of the stupids.
I mean, really, 3000 Miles to Graceland? Kurt Russell, Kevin Costner, and Christian Slater knock over a casino dressed as Elvis impersonators, and that’s the part that makes the most sense. And let’s not even get into the only female character, a trashy single mom played by…Courtney Cox. Leaving her son in the care of an Evil Elvis was just the tip of the child endangerment iceberg. In fact, her role was so wildly anti-woman that I wanted to find the screenwriter, seat him on a comfortable leather couch, and ask him to tell me about his mother.
Where was I? Oh, Sunday night’s feature. Flash Gordon. I fell irrevocably and madly in love with this film in the first 30 seconds. Ming the Merciless, picking out natural disasters from a menu on his dashboard. “Hot Hail” might have been my favorite.
Flash and Dale randomly crash their plane into a field, which just so happens to be owned by a mad scientist, who just so happens to need to take some people into outer space in the rocket he so conveniently keeps in his backyard. And the rocket just so happens to land on Ming’s planet, and Ming’s daughter conveniently falls in love with Flash…and, oh, I’m not going to ruin it for you. Just imagine a bunch of screenwriters playing 52 Pick-Up with random scribbles of dialogue. Or, picture the thousand monkeys churning this out to warm up for Hamlet.
Anyhow, see it. It’s glorious.
In the comments, tell me if you’re coming over for next Sunday’s feature: The Last Unicorn. Mia Farrow as that most narcissistic of mythical beasts, completely trippy villains, and more estrogen than you can wave an EPT stick at. Or, suggest some Crap Movies for me to watch.