FRENCH FRIES and FULL MOON FEATURES part VI: "The Gingerdead Man" and McCain Garlic and Herb Crinkle Fries

As is the case with many movies in this series (as well as our Corman series), it's usually pretty easy to spot the films that were heedlessly greenlit based solely on a premise, a poster, and/or a title. And often times, that backstory is the most interesting thing about them. 

The Gingerdead Man (2005) began its journey as a rejected MADtv sketch, that was then brought to Charles Band's attention who immediately gave the go-ahead to a write a feature. That initial script was then reworked to bring the budget way way down, and the final product both benefits and suffers from that. Gary Busey is introduced in 3 minutes of screen time as a well dressed maniac killing patrons in a diner (in one of the most awkwardly blocked and composed sequences in Cinema). Through tedious exposition we learn that Gary was captured, convicted, and executed, but then with the aid of blood, electricity, and some apparently cursed cookie dough, Gary Busey is resurrected as a gingerbread man. The original script called for a CGI cookie monster, but this is Full Moon, so instead we're treated to the puppet design of John Carl Buechler, turning in one of his least impressive creature designs. Honestly we never get a good sense of perspective so it's often impossible to tell exactly how big or small The Gingerdead Man really is - up to and including the scene where he drives a car (with the help of a rolling pin). But even in spite of all the complaints against the titular character, there's not nearly enough of him; its 75 minute runtime is painstakingly padded out with long long dialogue scenes exploring the very superficial backstories of these characters -- we learn so much yet so little about these people. Between the dramatically lit fixed location and the meandering stretches of talking, we're only one step above High School stage production, and one step beneath MADtv sketch. 

New Flavor Alert! We've documented McCain Fries once already in this series, and since McCain is like the Jackie Chan of french fries, it probably won't be the last. Besides, they got a fancy new seasoning that simply can't go ignored: Garlic and Herb (which sounds like a title that would've been part of the 1990s Nicktoons lineup). "Herb" is like "berry" - We don't know what it is and neither will you. But whatever, these are aces! The brand and the description and everything about them was raising expectations really high and they pretty much hit these heights; any french fry that can survive on its own without the aid of salt, ketchup, or other, is automatically elevated from "side" to "star", and since these are consistently the main course with these movies, they were a delightful distraction from the lackluster feature. 

The Movie: F

The Fries: A

The Swiss Colony Catalog

You've heard of Flintstones Kids and Toys R Us Kids. Me, I'm a Slim-Jim Kid (yes, I'm making that a thing). My parents always loved to remind me of how they gave me one of the famous spicy meat sticks when I was barely old enough to chew, hoping I'd react in a funny way to the hotness, but instead I happily consumed the snack without a fuss. But really Slim-Jims were the gateway drug to my main fascination with, and adoration for, the cheese and cracker platters I'd find at family get-togethers and other social events, where an entire spread of meats and fruits and nuts would be offered alongside the main attraction of sliced dairy and sleeves of Ritz and Triscuits. Fortunately I'm not alone in my lust for these hors d'oeuvres because there are entire companies out there that actually consider this cuisine to carry enough clout to be given as a gift. One such company is The Swiss Colony. 

A brief backstory... At some point in the 1990s my family was gifted a small assortment of meats & cheeses (probably like two 1 oz. summer sausages and a few bricks of cheddar and colby). Obviously from someone not that close, and it obviously sat in the fridge forgotten by all - except me. I picked at it until there was no more, never quite knowing what to make of it -- a snack? a meal? an appetizer? I loved how it was a small self-contained project that I could "prepare" myself and eat at my own pace, on my own terms. The closest Mom could find for me at the grocery store were the Slim-Jim Beef & Cheese sticks, which held me over happily during the off-season. And then, closer to the Holidays, my mother spots an ad in a magazine (probably TV Guide) for Figi's Gift Sets, featuring the miniaturized consumables I'd fallen in love with. She buys me a set for Christmas, landing her name on the mailing list, and year after year the catalogs came rolling in. 

When she died in 2015 the Figi's catalogs found their way to me, under my name, at my own address. I don't remember what circumstances may've caused that but I like to think it was some kinda destiny. Moreover, Figi's went out of business in 2019, and then The Swiss Colony catalogs started showing up. Again, I'm sure some business changed hands between the two companies and Figi's relinquished their customer records to a similar enterprise (though I never consented to that), but I'm perfectly happy that it continues in some form. The Swiss Colony catalogs are nearly identical to the Figi's ones: big enticing smorgasbords of colorful foods presented like the pornography that it is, along with many other pages dedicated to cakes and fudge and various spreads. 

It all looks like a feast presented by The Ghost of Christmas Present, but even if you've never ordered any kinda product from a paper catalog before, I'm sure you're still fully aware that everything pictured throughout these books is wildly exaggerated in terms of size; a lotta forced perspective photography and "enlarged to show texture" tricks continue to deceive me even as I sit here looking at them now. Man, that chocolate covered butter toffee could last me till summer! The only true-to-life depictions of products (I'm assuming) are the totally nerdy "gifts" offered throughout the middle pages. 

I'd love to say that there's a quaint innocence to the fleece pullovers and illegible cursive signage but it teeters too close to "conservative extremist" aesthetic for me. So I simply ignore that as I continue to focus on deez nuts. And deez mustards and chocolates and popcorn tins. Although I sadly have to admit that I've never actually gotten anything weird, and by "weird" I mean anything outside the meat and cheese assortments. That's due partly to my predisposition to tradition, combined with my anxiety for gambling. But maybe even more than that, I can still hear my mother's voice cautioning me about the deceptive depictions of baby swiss wheels the size of throw pillows and beef logs that could choke a colon. $39.99 is a hefty bill vs. six bucks at the deli (less as the gas station), but as she and I and most people understand (some more deep down than others) that it's just way more fun to eat finger foods out of a fancy ass survival kit. 

- Paul

STATIC SHOTS

Nintendo Pocket Power - THE WIZARD

Nintendo Power Magazine is testament to the perfect storm that was brought on by the cool front of the 80s colliding with the hot front of the 90s, generating a lotta red skies, blue lightning, rockin' guitar shreds, and heavy dance beats. Word! I've explored that pixelated landscape several times before on this site, but today I'm here to talk about its spinoff mini-magazine, Nintendo Pocket Power.

Roughly the size of a TV Guide or Reader's Digest (if any of you can even remember those dimensions) but only about 40 pages long, making it a little bit closer to a pamphlet. Impractically puny and ergonomically cumbersome, this decidedly smaller version of Nintendo Power had a total of one issue: This One. Apparently, this was a movie theater promo that you could've picked up for free when you went to see The Wizard in December of '89 - which is a good explanation as to its scarcity and current dollar value (I was able to get mine from St. Nick a few years back). The bulk of its contents plays out like a regular issue of Nintendo Power, featuring tips and strategy guides for the latest games like Fester's Quest, Marble Madness, Double Dragon II, and of course a big ass to-do about the upcoming Super Mario Bros. 3.

But like I always point out, the best parts of these Nintendo magazines are the portions that have less to do with boring video games and focus more on stuff like comics, interviews, statistics, and advertisements -- usually (actually exclusively) ads for the magazine itself, along with other Nintendo products. For too many obvious reasons, this one included a two-page push for The Power Glove.

Pepsi products can be found throughout The Wizard, and so why not a prominent plug for The Choice of a New Generation, in an ad that embraces every artistic hallmark of a New Kids on the Block music video (who can also be heard throughout The Wizard).

Lastly, a full page ad for Jell-O Pudding Pops, which truly didn't need any extra fanfare in 1989 -- even without the aid of wholesome spokesman Bill Cosby, I can't even remember these being unpopular (until the 90s, when they sadly vanished). I miss the days when childhood obesity was just something we casually took for granted. 

Jell-O gets to be part of this scene because, as noted, they were a sponsor of the Nintendo World Championships. As I mentioned a while back, I've only ever assumed that these real life video game contests that began in 1990 were directly inspired by (or at least in cahoots with) The Wizard and its Video Armageddon plot thread. This magazine also takes a page to tell us all about that, and if the atmosphere of these championships was anything like the movie, I'm sure every kid in the country was anxious to prove their prowess in a public forum (except for me, who didn't really care for people, crowds, yelling, competing, or traveling). 

Every Nintendo Power managed to snag a small interview with a young celebrity to ask them about their video game habits and preferences, but here in this abridged issue is the crown jewel -- not just because he's the star of the Nintendo Movie, but as I once confidently declared so many years ago, 1989 belongs to Fred Savage!

All you need to know from this is that Fred can't wait till Super Mario 3 hits stores so he can buy it. (Really? After selling it this hard you'd think the folks at Nintendo would've hooked him up.) But believe it or not, I didn't come here to show off pictures of chocolate ice cream and Power Gloves - that shit's child's play compared to THIS: 

Merchandising! Sexy and delicious treasures featuring licensed Wizard branding that I have never ever seen in existence outside of this full page ad in this singular tie-in magazine. T-shirts! Stickers! Fanny packs! All donning the title of the movie in its official typeface, along with some weird insignia which, if you look closely, appears to be Jimmy posing like da Vinci's Vitruvian Man. And speaking of, if I had to vote for a most desirable prize in this lineup, it'd probably be the lunchbox - because hey, an official Jimmy Woods lunchbox! It's even listed as "The Wizard's Lunchbox" -- though I'd wager 50,000 Double Dragon points that it doesn't contain photos of his dead sister. 

- Paul

The McDonald's Grinch Depression Meal

Out of habit (and some self enforced obligation) I went ahead and treated myself to McDonald's latest "Adult Happy Meal" gimmick, The Grinch Meal. 

The choice is between a Big Mac Meal or a 10 Piece McNugget Meal (I chose the latter because Chicken McNuggets will always be linked to the Holidays in my mind), along with fries and a drink. Not a whole lotta innovation going on here -- the real star of this stunt is a packet of pickle flavored "Grinch Salt" that's meant to be added to the fries. They're even courteous enough to supply a dazzling paper bag for the purposes of dumping in your fries and Grinch Salt and shaking it all about. 

To be honest, my attempt at decadent comfort came at the end of a long hard day in a series of long hard days and I simply wasn't in the mood for proactive experimentation. So I'm sorry to say I didn't try the pickle salt - frankly I'm bored with the pickle flavor trend; I like pickles but there's a time and place and I'll decide when and where on my own terms. I actually would've been more inclined to take part in the madness if they'd leaned more into the "garlic" or "sauerkraut" references that are more obviously associated with the character. So, in short, I ate some regular McDonald's and decided to make it your problem. 

Maybe that's the point; maybe it's best to experience The Grinch Meal when you're full of hate and self loathing. But that's just where I was at - objectively there are some bells and whistles here that are enough to excite even the baddest bananas with the blackest peels. Right off the bat, the striking red and green boldness of the box itself is one of the rare times when modern McDonald's minimalism actually works to its own benefit; I think it's a gorgeous midpoint between the artwork in the book and the 1966 cartoon: stark... with just a little bit more. 

It ain't a Happy Meal without the toy -- except it's a much more adult toy (hiyooo!). But this isn't wrapped in some translucent plastic covered in copyright info and choking hazard warnings. Instead they've given us these beautiful, vibrant graphics that are more suited to the wrapping paper you'd probably find in Whoville. 

Ah, novelty socks. I do enjoy them and have several pairs, but the quality is hit or miss: itchy, won't stay pulled up, too tight in some areas, too loose in others, the patterns leave little cartoon shaped indents in your shins, susceptible to stray strings and holes, etc. etc. I can't imagine the socks that came with my room temperature french fries possess artisan quality couture, but I also can't imagine anything too sunny right now because that's where I'm at. But short of my heart growing in size, I can make one positive observation by noting that there are 4 different pairs of Grinch socks to collect: red, green, yellow, and the ones I was hoping to get (and, in fact, did), teal. Dahoo Dores I guess.

- Paul

Want not

Microwave what's left in the pot

mix the tylenol with the advil

make time for obligation

leave room for contemplation

take care of that other thing

the knives and forks are wet

all the clothes are dry

delete the old messages

unsubscribe from emails

take care of that other thing

don't forget to feel bad

don't forget to warm the car

mix the honey with the butter

soak the knives and forks

don't forget to eat

don't forget that other thing

push in the chair and play CDs

Think about slow dancing that time

all the clothes are on hangers

make a new pot and play the blues

reach out of the darkness or don't

check for new messages

forget that other thing

put on reading glasses and finish the chapter

- p

FRENCH FRIES and FULL MOON FEATURES part V: "Dollman vs. Demonic Toys" and Strong Roots Crispy Crinkle Fries

By 1993, Full Moon was no stranger to sequels, with Puppet Master, Trancers, and Subspecies all several films into their own blossoming franchises. And since all of these movies seemed so damn similar as is, there was yet another logical direction to follow: Crossovers!

Sorta kinda picking up where Dollman (1991) and Demonic Toys (1992) left off, 1993's Dollman vs. Demonic Toys pits Brick Bardo (aka the 13'' Dollman) against a handful of possessed dolls that plan to bring about the rebirth of their Demon master - all set to a Quiet Riot soundtrack, along with Melissa Behr reprising her role as Nurse Ginger from 1992's Bad Channels! Confused? You shouldn't be - this premise is as deep as a puddle, and if you're not already caught up on all your Dollman/Demonic Toys mythology, roughly 30 of its 64 minute runtime is dedicated to "flashbacks" from the three movies it combines. Bad Channels is strong on its own, but this movie is what the other two storylines needed; regardless of all the recycled footage, Dollman and Demonic Toys were a lot duller as separate entities. Combined, they're a little less dull. Still, one has to assume this is how exciting it must be for Comic Book Movie fans when some other superhero makes a surprise cameo. 

But forget comic books or Full Moon monotony -- nothing rivals the dullness of Strong Roots Crisp Crinkle Fries. "Light and fluffy crinkle cut potato fries with a drop of sunflower oil. Just two ingredients." Strong Roots's whole deal is food that's good for you, and good for the environment(?) - who knew french fried 'tater manufacturing was such a drag on the ecosystem? Instinctually, you'd think the aid of salt and some supporting sauces could disguise the blandness, but still, the dryness perseveres - that "drop" of sunflower oil really seems to get lost in the mix. If you wanna enjoy these (or just survive them) then melted butter is what you need for dipping - and don't be afraid to fuckin' drown 'em in that shit because that's as close as you'll get to a decent fry. But at least they're good for you!

The Movie: C-

The Fries: D-

STATIC SHOTS

TOYS ARE US : The Turtle Blimp Disaster

Can you recall Christmases (or other gift giving occasions) when you received a present and a parent or guardian asked you to "hold up" your prize for the purposes of photography? I found it to be generally annoying from a very young age - which is why people eventually stoped asking me to do that dance on command. Now, of course, I regret not having pictures of me showing off every gift I ever got - not just for the purposes of a silly nostalgia website, but for my own cheap amusement. It would also help me to better frame my past and orient myself in a more structured and complete manner. Or something. 

Seen here is my father on Christmas morning in 1988, doing that exact thing and holding up a freshly unwrapped copy of The Voyage of the Beagle by Charles Darwin. But this also serves as the only physical evidence of my doomed Playmates Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Turtle Blimp.

**activate ZOOM and ENHANCE**

In my mind I always equate Ninja Turtles toys to the very early 90s, when the action figures got weirder and more far-reaching with characters like Fugitoid and Pizzaface - that's when I remember really immersing myself in Turtle collecting. In fact, at this point in history (December 25, 1988) the Playmates Ninja Turtle toyline was barely a few months old - heck I'm surprised I even knew who the Turtles were let alone had any of their merchandise. My guess is this blimp was probably accompanied by some other TMNT gifts, which most likely made this morning my official introduction to this prominent institution of the 1980s. And it's probably that freshness in the relationship that was the basis of my maturity and nonchalance in the face of tragedy later that Christmas Day.

I didn't really have too many "playsets" or "vehicles" in my toy collections - largely because I never actively played with the toys, so the accessories would often remain as bulky floor displays and showroom models that battled their action figure counterparts for shelf space. Obviously I was never gonna turn down a Batmobile or Ecto-1, but they spent their lives parked alongside their immobile owners. Though at 5 years old I can't imagine myself lusting after (or even asking for) a cumbersome vinyl balloon from a brand new cartoon that hadn't even fully captured my passion yet. Still though, the thought was nice, and I graciously accepted it as the kinda badass extravagant toy that it was. And I'm sure I wasn't openly appreciative then but my father went ahead and immediately inflated this giant conveyance with what I can assume was coffee breath and a pair of smoker's lungs. Cowabunga!

No, that's not me. I probably got to spend less than an hour with the blimp (as well as the rest of my bounty) before it was time to get dressed and go to some relative's house. If nothing else, this short tale is a parable expressing the dumbness of gifting a child a buncha cool shit on Christmas morning and then tearing them away from it all to go break in a pair of new socks at an aunt's house to watch a cousin greedily indulge in their own new prizes without offering any turns. I believe my parents finally came around on the realities of this injustice and started getting these social obligations outta the way on Christmas Goddamn Eve. But in 1988 I left my loot for however long on Christmas Day, and upon returning home I'd found my Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Blimp had been slashed and deflated by our new dog, Teika. 

Teika was a pug who was given to us earlier that year by my sister's boyfriend (and eventual brother-in-law). Of indeterminate age and background, the dog was consistently docile and friendly, but always found inventive ways of letting us know that he didn't like being left alone - this was one of the first such instances where that became apparent. I don't have any specific memories of my initial reaction to what happened to my Turtle Blimp, but it didn't really leave any scars so I assume I took it rather well. I kept all the plastic components and accessories as a consolation (that orange atom bomb labeled "ITCHY POWDER" would resurface in my toy box for years), but really the true consolation turned out to be Teika; that dog was perhaps the crown jewel in my brief little Normal Rockwell upbringing and was my unconditional best friend throughout my toughest times.

I also got Milton Bradley's "Guess Who?" game that morning and I guarantee that brought me more joy and entertainment and memories in the following months/years than some bulky toy airship that would've collected more dust than mileage. But for TMNT collector's bragging rights: I didn't have the Technodrome, I didn't have the Turtle Van, I didn't have the Footcruiser, I didn't have Krang's big naked robot body, but the original '88 Turtle Blimp? Fuck yeah, I had that. 

- Paul