STATIC SHOTS

Hot Legs (1979)

It Came From STARLOG : Number 88, December 1984

It's taken me most of my life to come to terms with a very hard fact: I don't really like Science Fiction. I've subjected myself to a lot of otherwise good Cinema that left me feeling cold and dissatisfied due to some disconnect regarding the subject matter. So I've done the math and determined that the genre in its purest form is somewhat of a snooze. And so, because of this, I've hung onto only about a dozen-or-so issues of Fangoria's mothership publication: Starlog. 

Started in 1976, it was mostly a Star Trek magazine. Then Star Wars came along and suddenly there was room for all the inevitable rip-offs and homages - as well as some entirely original works of art as the categories began to blend and suddenly we had Romantic Action Melodramas involving aliens with machetes. Or whatever. The point is that the late 70s and early 80s were just as fun and crazy as they get credit for, and this and Fango were sharing a lotta the same real estate. 

This issue features articles on Dune, Dreamscape, The Terminator, 1984, 2010, and V (as well as the most heartwarming interview with Hoyt Axton), along with the predictable but provocative advertisements (most of which involved Dr. Who). 

But the real astounding things in this issue (and the reason I chose it) are the film reviews. Like Fangoria, Starlog was scrupulous when it came to disecting the mainstream megahits that decorated their covers (and ultimately sold copies). And they weren't tough on just the popular things - they weighed every element based on some very strict criteria; the subject matter is so rich with details that it demands a lot to consider. But at the same time, it's hard to determine if some of these movies were ahead of their time, or if "nostalgia glasses" are actually a thing. Or, Option C, a lotta these critics were a bit set in their ways and weren't quite ready for some of this stuff yet. (But your kids are gonna love it.)

Amongst the films they covered were Gremlins, reviewed by Robert Bloch (he liked it), Temple of Doom, reviewed by Alan Dean Foster (he did not like it), The Right Stuff, reviewed by Ben Bova (written so poorly that it's hard to say), and the notorious Ghostbusters review by Ron Goulart - the most articulate roasting since the Shubs and Zuuls found themselves in the depths of a giant Sloar. 

Everything about this damning dissertation fascinates me, and it's the main reason I've brought you here. Please, click or tap or zoom and read it for yourself, but I will point out some of the pertinent parts that gave me pause and prompted me to appreciate (and reevaluate) some important stuff.

So yes, it's come to this: some strange-ass metaverse in which I find myself writing reviews of reviews. But that brings me to my first point: in our current climate, it's a miracle to be confronted with film criticism that's articulate and modest and manages to be funny without being condescending -- and yet still a conflicting point of view. This is the kinda counterpoint I lust for in my life; I can pour my heart out on a global platform with every intention of engaging in all the serious points I've perfected over many late nights, and the best I'll get is, "Dark Knight Rises sucks ass tho." Goulart starts off by pointing out that not only is Ghostbusters a financial success, but that just about every other pro critic on the planet has recognized it as the triumph that it is. And while he sardonically feigns some moral or intellectual superiority, he makes it clear that he can't help but feel left out -- though not before he cuts into it from every angle. 

It's perfectly acceptable to go into a movie with expectations, but it is dangerous. I wasn't old enough to remember exactly how they sold Ghostbusters to audiences prior to its release, but I assume its SNL/SCTV roots were visible enough to sell it as the high-concept comedy sketch that it is. Apparently, Goulart was fully prepared for something more grounded in reality (which I've found is an excuse people use when they can't adequately articulate why they don't like something). He couldn't understand why or how Pete Venkman was so nonchalant about the mounting mass hysteria surrounding the characters, or even why someone like Dana would agree to go on a date with him. He also felt let down that these scientists never "sit down and discuss what they're up to and why they're going to try a certain approach to a certain problem." Imagine, for a moment, a long scene of scientific exposition prior to chasing a glowing green blob puppet through the halls of a hotel. Typically, before the end credits roll, one can get a sense of the entire mood of a movie -- exactly what it's supposed to be. Clearly this reviewer never tapped into the true intent of this big budget Action Comedy. 

He didn't like the film, that much is clear - not for any sensationalistic purposes, he just didn't get it: he didn't get the plot, he didn't get the characters, he didn't get the humor. A film that he did like was the 1940 Bob Hope vehicle The Ghost Breakers - a much more low-key approach to the ghost-thwarting subgenre (and a favorite from his childhood). Does this set off any alarms for anyone? Alan Dean Foster's review of Indiana Jones and The Temple of Doom features a lengthy paragraph about his love of 1939's Gunga Din and how superior it is to this Speilberg sequel. Alas, it appears that Cinema of a bygone era simply can't be beat. But seriously, what's really being conveyed here? Can these two otherwise rational men not see the forest for the trees and get wise to the Big 80s? Or, are they right? This is the kinda sociological stuff I like - because in the loosest sense of the word, they are right. The same way every activist, every journalist, every critic, every blogger is right... Except when they're wrong, because we're right. It's easy to sit and watch Ghostbusters: Afterlife and say, "Nope. That ain't right." Whether we liked it or not, we have an internal barometer that informs us as to exactly what a movie is supposed to be even before we see it. (Too heavy on the irony?) My son loves Afterlife because he loves Muncher and "the baby marshmallow men" as much as he loves Slimer, Vigo, et al. And y'know, he's not wrong; he's responding to Cinema in its simplest form: he likes the light and the sound and the color and the movement. If he's aware of the dramatic shift in tone or the lazy script, he hasn't been vocal about it; he didn't walk into it with his list of comparisons on deck, knowing it would be derivative and lesser than. He digested it as the next chapter in the franchise about catching cartoon ghosts with laser guns. There's a careless freedom in simply enjoying whatever comes your way. It takes real effort to intellectualize why you think something is bad or wrong, and if somebody's willing to go through that kinda trouble, I'll give them my attention. 

- Paul

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