This is one of the most underrated holiday movies ever made. I think it might also be one of my favorite Steve Martin films. It’s also one of the few Nora Ephron movies that doesn’t make me feel like I need an insulin injection or a barf bag halfway through.

The story centers on Martin, who runs a suicide prevention hotline staffed by Rita Wilson and Madeline Kahn. He receives an eviction notice on Christmas Eve…and hilarity ensues. It’s probably too quirky for its own good most of the time, but it’s also highly dysfunctional. I love dysfunction. How can you not? Look at it…it’s got “fun” right in the middle of it!

Let’s start with the cast. Yes, it’s one of those overwhelming ensemble casts. Check the litany:Steve Martin, Madeline Kahn, Rita Wilson, Robert Klein, Anthony LaPaglia, Juliette Lewis, Rob Reiner, Gary Shandling, Adam Sandler, Liev Schreiber, Parker Posey, Jon Stewart, Joely Fisher…plus a very little Haley Joel Osment.

Standouts from the group are Madeline Kahn, whom I have adored since I first saw her as Mrs. White in Clue, and Liev Schreiber, who…well, let’s just say that this was the best introduction to any actor I could have ever wished for. No matter what I see him in, he will always ALWAYS be Chris…

Who knew Sabretooth could rock lace so fiercely?

Adam Sandler irritates me, but he usually does. Otherwise, the rest of the cast fits together like the gears of a Swiss movement watch. Okay, maybe not that precise, but they all make a great hodgepodge of characters.

And then there’s the soundtrack. Oh what a fun playlist this makes! Plus, this was the very first time I heard Eartha Kitt’s “Santa Baby.” This is the only version of this song that should be allowed to exist. All others fail in every way that Eartha’s succeeds. Madonna’s version should be burned out of existence. And the Pussycat Dolls should all die slow, horribly painful deaths for the abortive mess they made of this classic holiday standard. I only watched 5 seconds of that clip and I thought my eyes and ears were going to start bleeding.

No, it’s gotta be Eartha.

The only thing that disappoints me about this movie is the fact that they have never released it in widescreen format on DVD. I do not understand the point of releasing anything less than the original theatrical aspect ratio on DVD, and I refuse to buy anything less. So, sadly, I don’t own this one. I also don’t own a DVD copy of Death Becomes Her for the same reason. And I’m equally pissed off about both of these gaps in my movie collection.

The good news, however, is that you can watch Mixed Nuts online, in its entirety. In widescreen! Go figure.

If you haven’t seen it yet, check it out. Even if you don’t like it, it’s free. My gift to you 🙂

Twisted Sister + Christmas Carols = Immeasurably Tacky Awesomeness

No sentimental story here, denizens. I don’t particularly like most “traditional” Christmas music. I do, however, loves me some crankin’ guitar solos and dudes with crimped hair and makeup.

Truth be told, I should have just called this “Oh Come All Ye Faithful,” since that’s really the only song from A Twisted Christmas that I really enjoy. And that’s really because I loved when the video would finally start playing on MTV and VH1.

So here’s the video below. Rock out to how they combine riffs from “We’re Not Gonna Take It” with a traditional Christmas hymn. I believe they even sneak a little “Hava Nagila” in there around the 5:36 mark. See? Twisted Sister, on the cutting edge of holiday inclusion!

And if you like the song, head on over to TwistedSister.com. They’re giving this MP3 away for this rockin’ holiday season.

Of all the Charlie Browns in the world, you’re the Charlie Browniest.

Yes, yet again I have decided to dedicate another month to themed Flashback Fridays. Of course, this month will be dedicated to flashbacks of my favorite Christmas traditions. Again, I say Christmas. Though I do spin a mean dreidel and I love receiving Solstice greetings from the goddess, Christmas is my designated December holiday.

So this month will be dedicated to those things that make me happiest at this time of the year. And how better to start this holiday party than with the greatest Christmas cartoon, with the greatest Christmas soundtrack? A Charlie Brown Christmas is quite literally the first thing I think of whenever I think of Christmas. I have seen this cartoon innumerable times throughout my life (I say “innumerable” because A) I’m not telling you how old I am, and B) I’ve actually watched it several times since I purchased it on DVD, perhaps even during non-Christmas times of the year).

Even more, I remember one of the first purchases I made after I became a full-time employee at my first “big girl” job was the soundtrack to this cartoon. Composed by Vince Guaraldi and performed by his trio of awesome jazz musicians, this is the best Christmas soundtrack EVAR. Case in point: I’m on yet another Southern Sabbatical, and I queued up this as the only holiday music I wanted to listen to during the drive.

I don’t necessarily consider myself an overly religious person (I’m sure you find this to be a shocking declaration), but I love the simple, true-to-the-point message of this cartoon…especially now, considering how materialistic this holiday has become in recent years. It’s so wonderful in its simplicity, in its sparse animation and its beautiful music.

That’s what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.

They tried to do a new Peanuts Christmas special in the early 90s, but that’s something akin to trying to remake Michelangelo’s David or Van Gogh’s Starry Night. You don’t mess with perfection.

I can’t wait to fire this up for my first viewing of the season. If you’ve never seen it, I strongly urge you to do so. And even if you have seen it before, whether one or one thousand times, I urge even you to check it out one more time. And here’s a small clip to entice you 🙂

This is a bit of an odd choice, since I never owned an AG Bear. I also didn’t own his competition, Teddy Ruxpin. Furry tape decks just weren’t my thing, man.

Instead, this is more of a flashback to very happy memories for me that involve an AG Bear. My grandmother received one of these bears, I believe as a Christmas present. It was the brown AG with the blue corduroy shirt, like the one in this photo, from the AG Bear Wikipedia page.

For those unfamiliar with this toy, AG Bear had a voice box inside that was programmed to respond to human voices with sing-song nonsensical vocalizations that were sort of mimics of what the person speaking to it had just said, only slightly distorted. So I guess they weren’t direct competition with Teddy Ruxpin, which actually “spoke,” its little servos making its mouth and eyes open and close in rhythm with whatever tape was playing in its player at that moment. Personally, I think AG Bears were cooler because they allowed for more imagination from the person interacting with it.

[Personal tangent: I love that AG Bears were manufactured by the company started by Nolan Bushnell, who started Chuck E. Cheese, a previous Flashback entry (and the second most popular Flashback, right behind the Crayola Caddy).]

I can still see my grandmother sitting in a chair with AG Bear on her lap, talking to it and listening to its “responses.” My grandmother was an extremely intelligent woman, but she had a strong streak of whimsy and the ability to allow herself the joy of letting that whimsy run free now and again. Plus, she had one of the most beautiful speaking voices imaginable. I wish I had a voice that pure, that wonderful to hear. I also wish I had things as eloquent to say as she did.

Sometimes I would see my grandmother sitting by the windows in my grandparents’ living room, staring out into the distance while holding AG Bear in her arms. Looking back with the hindsight of adulthood, I wonder what was going through her mind that she felt perhaps only AG Bear could understand. I know now that there was so much going on in her mind that none of us could know or understand. But as a child, I saw a woman I admired with all my heart but was too shy to tell, doing something to which I could absolutely relate…cuddling a beloved stuffed animal, sharing with it those thoughts and inklings that we thought only that toy could truly understand. I wish for only a moment I could know what that AG knew.

I’ve no idea what became of my grandmother’s AG Bear. I hope he’s somewhere safe, somewhere where he’s just as loved as he was when he was in my grandmother’s arms.

Damn that new Retro TV channel. It’s reminded me of one of my deepest and still burning television loves: Knight Rider.

How do I love thee, Knight Industries Two Thousand? Let me count the ways.

The only lunchbox that I saved from my childhood is my Knight Rider lunchbox:

Look at that sexy “mullet-fro” on Michael Knight! And Bonnie! Apparently, even with a horrible case of jaundice, Dr. Barstow was still the best mechanic to call when K.I.T.T. needed maintenance work (take that, April Curtis!). Amazingly enough, I even still have the accompanying thermos. I did not, however, have the courage to open said thermos. Prophets only know if I had the forethought to clean it before I packed this away in my geekanalia collection (and I used to always drink milk with lunch…that’s a mess of potential nasty I didn’t want to subject myself to).

I also had to have any toy replica of K.I.T.T. that I could find (and that my parents would buy for me). I’m a sucker for a shiny, sexy car (ask me about my Corvette fetish sometime). And, let’s face it, K.I.T.T. was damn sexy. Sleek, dark, and shiny, with a “come hither” sparkle in his ruby scanner that was simply irresistible.

I still have most of the K.I.T.T. cars that my parents bought me, including a Burnin’ Key Car version that I used to shoot at my dog when she was asleep. Yes, I’m sure those instances are extra bricks in the wide and twisting path to my personal circle of hell.

My prized toy, however, is the talking K.I.T.T. that was the best birthday present EVAR when I was a kid. Manufactured by Kenner, this was a large-scale model of that gorgeous black Trans Am that came with an admittedly inferior Michael Knight action figure (but, really, it wasn’t about Michael, was it?). The awesome feature of this car was the fact that, when you depressed the “KNIGHT” license plate on the back, K.I.T.T. talked to you! I wish I could remember what he said, but unfortunately my K.I.T.T.’s voice died not long after I received him. I’ve taken him apart several times through the years, trying to figure out what’s wrong with him. I’m mechanically inclined, but apparently I’m no Bonnie Barstow.

When I was a kid, I spent a disgusting amount of time polishing my K.I.T.T. With Pledge furniture polish and Q-Tips. My OCD issues have been a keystone of my personality for a very long time, thank you. As you can see in this photo, he hasn’t been polished in a while. But he’s still shiny and sleek and not bad looking at all for a nearly 30-year-old toy.

What else? The first ring tone I ever bought was the Knight Rider theme. I love this theme. It has the same wonderfully Pavlovian hold on me as those brassy, bawdy TNG tones. And, no, I’ve never bought the TNG theme for any of my phones. Only Knight Rider. Okay, and maybe the Pink Panther theme…but that’s for a completely different blog entry.

I have a remix version on my iPod that I play often while driving. Probably not the best thing to listen to while driving Sammy, but it’s probably better than listening to the soundtrack to Carmageddon 3, no? Here, though, is the theme as it appeared at the beginning of the show, including the wonderful voiceover work about “a shadowy flight into the dangerous world of a man who does not exist.”

Mmm. Give me a moment…

Yeah, what more can I say? I loved this show. And Retro TV is teaching me that I still love it. How do you not love a show about a car that can talk to you, has ejector seats, a turbo boost, “super pursuit mode,” bullet-proof exterior, “silent mode,” a grappling hook, oil jets, a flame thrower, scanners, scopes, a “passive laser restraint system,” and a whole bunch of other groovy additions that I know I’m forgetting? K.I.T.T. was the S.H.I.Z.N.I.T.

More evidence of this? You know you’ve made it into the lexicon of cinema cool when the Mythbusters take you on:

I didn’t watch the Knight Rider 2000 movie they made in the early 90s. I read about it later, and I’m glad I spared myself that trauma. I did try to watch the Team Knight Rider series later that decade…but I think it’s a fair assessment to say that watching clothes tumbling around in a dryer is more exciting and entertaining. Same with the recent attempt to remake the original show. As much as I love Mustangs, the newer models look a bit craptacular. And the awkward position of Val K.I.T.T.mer’s scanner made him look to me like he had light-up nostrils. NOT sexy.

I know there’s a theatrical version now in the works. I’m not really holding my breath there either. No, as long as I’ve got my classic car and the Knighty awesomeness of David Hasslehoff’s mullet-fro, I’m good as gold.

Now excuse me…I’ve got to go measure Sammy’s front bumper. Gotta make sure there’s room up there for that turbo boost component and ruby red scanner I ordered for him…

Please note that names and associations have been disguised to protect those who still don’t believe me 😉

So I’d like to think I’m a fairly level-headed individual, regardless of how much time I spend indulging my more fantastical pastimes. However, I also acknowledge that my imagination can sometimes get a bit carried away. Whether this incident is such an occasion or not, I’m still not sure. All I do know is that it still sends shivery currents through me whenever I think about it.

One summer during my misspent youth, I stayed with relatives in their always lovely house that made lots of lovely noises. Things were always…settling. Floorboards would pop and shift with the cycling of the HVAC unit, keeping up an almost steady symphony of creaking. This creeped me out the first few days of my stay, but after a while I got used to it and I learned to tell the difference between this temperature-induced shifting and the more substantial creak caused by physical weight.

So on this particular day, I was in the kitchen unloading the dishwasher. As I remember, it was around 1 or 2 in the afternoon, and I was the only person inside the house at the time. I could see the two others who were home with me outside in the backyard.

At the time, the house was outfitted with an alarm system that ran sensors to the doors and windows so that whenever one was opened, it would activate an electronic chime. I heard one of these chimes, coming from the region of the basement where one of the doors that led to the yard and the door for the garage were located. I looked up and saw that both people were still outside. Since they were in the yard near the back door, I figured they would have noticed someone coming in that way, so I assumed the chime was to the garage door.

A few seconds later, I heard the creak of someone walking up the stairs, with a pause on the split foyer before continuing up to the floor where I was. Again, I knew that the stairs sounded a particular way when someone walked up them, and this was definitely that sound. I also recognized the pause before continuing upstairs as similar to the daily ritual of, let’s call this person AB, coming in from work and stopping on the split foyer to hang up her bag and keys before continuing upstairs.

Logically, therefore, I assumed that what I was hearing was AB coming home early. I also assumed that she must have heard the others outside and thought that I was with them, which was why she wasn’t saying anything. I remember calling out her name and saying, “You’re home early.”

Rather than a response, I heard the creaking continue down the hall toward the bedrooms. Again, though, this was what AB always did: came home, dropped off her stuff, and went to the back to change. She must not have heard me, so I just continued putting away dishes.

When I finished about 10 minutes later, the others were still outside, so I decided that I’d join them. I looked down the hall, thinking that I would shout that I was heading outside, but I noticed that the bedroom door was open. I called out AB’s name. Nothing. So I walked down, thinking maybe she was in the bathroom or the en suite.

I don’t think I can properly explain the feeling when I got to the end of the hall and realized that no one was down there…not even the family dog, which was outside with the others. I remember the physical sensation was a sudden sweatiness combined with chills. Plus, there was the flip-floppy feeling of riding a roller coaster going on inside, but without the intermingled fun feeling. This most definitely was not what I would deem fun. Still, I persisted in believing that I wasn’t hearing things. I called out for AB one more time. Still nothing. I went into the room, looked into the en suite and bathroom. Empty. I checked the other bedrooms, but I already knew I wasn’t going to find anyone.

Needless to say, I hauled ass outside as quickly as I could. I went out through the front door and circled around the long way so that I could pass the garage. The door was down and when I looked inside, there were no cars.

I didn’t go back inside by myself the rest of that day.

I’ve always wondered about the extent of our mental abilities, what the untapped regions of our brains are actually capable of conjuring. Could I have subconsciously picked up on a noise that made me think AB was home, and my brain just continued filling in the noises that I expected to hear?

Or maybe AB was at work wishing she was at home, and that somehow triggered these phantom noises in the house, mimicking what she wished she was actually doing? Or was I simply imagining it all? Letting slip loose the reins on my imagination and conjuring a scene that plays out all the time in the scary movies that I love so much?

I still don’t know. Not long after this incident, I had another unsettling experience in this house. Again, I was alone. This time I was sitting in the living room. I had just put in a VHS recording of Dune. From my position on the couch, the previously mentioned hallway was to my left. It was a dull, drizzly day, so the house was darker than usual. I had on one of the table lamps, but there were no other lights on upstairs.

About 10 minutes into the movie, I noticed a flicker of something to my left. I didn’t pay it much attention, though, until I noticed it again a few minutes later. I looked down the hall. Nothing but darkness. Maybe another 10 minutes went by and I noticed the flicker again. I looked down the hall…and now there was light coming from the first bedroom.

Again the sweaty chills. The first encounter still unnervingly fresh in my mind, I decided I wasn’t going to pay attention to this little “issue.” I went back to watching the movie, but I noted the flicker of the light going out a few minutes later.

When it clicked on again, I decide that I needed to figure out what was going on (if this was actually a horror movie, I’d obviously not be the character who survives to the end). I walked into the room, which was of course empty, and saw that the light was coming from a nightlight next to the bed. I checked the plug, thinking that it was maybe loose. Nope, didn’t seem to be. So I turned off the light by its switch…and then unplugged it. Just to be on the safe side.

I went back out into the living room, where the dog was still sleeping on the love seat like she’d been ever since I started the movie. Aren’t dogs supposed to get excited in the presence of something paranormal? She barely registered my return, so I decided that I was just letting my imagination get the better of me again. I moved to the end of the couch closest to the loveseat and sat angled so that I could see the hallway and the stairs that were right next to the living room. I watched the rest of the movie, but I think I was watching the hall more. To this day, when I think of Dune, I think of that afternoon. However, I can’t tell you a damn thing about the movie itself.

Later, I told AB that I thought the plug on that nightlight might be faulty and explained what had happened. They checked it out, it seemed to work fine. Never flickered on and off again as far as I know.

I’ve been in this house many, many times since that summer. I’ve even stayed there alone a few times since then. The settling noises can still leave me feeling unsettled every now and then, but nothing like these two experiences has ever happened to me since.

AB still scoffs at me when I talk about these incidents. But it’s that kind of scoff that leaves me with the impression that she’s seen or heard things there that she wasn’t quite certain of either. Isn’t that right? 😉

Have you ever seen a movie that makes you squirm from the sheer wrongness of its existence? No? Then you have obviously never seen Takashi Miike’s 1999 movie Audition.

This was my first taste of real Japanese horror. I had already seen the American remakes of Ju-on and Ringu, but not their original counterparts. The Grudge was mediocre, but The Ring rattled my bones enough that I wanted to see something more, something original to Japanese horror that we hadn’t attempted to copy yet. Netflix recommended this and another movie, Ichi the Killer. I chose this.

All I can say is that if you can watch this movie in its entirety without feeling the tendrils of abject terror and nausea grip you at least once, then you are made of a constitution far steelier than any I could imagine. Removing the fact that the story separate from the horror elements is highly disturbing, this is one effed-up movie, its horror smashing into you in wave after wave of stomach-churning imagery. The burlap bag. The bowl. The acupuncture needles. The final 15 minutes alone were enough to leave me far paler than my usual Irish pallor.

Shiver.

Will I ever watch this movie again? To paraphrase the great Whitney Houston, “Oh, hell to the no.” I didn’t even want to re-watch the trailer for this posting. Will I ever watch Ichi the Killer? I’m thinking that’s a big no as well. Then why on earth am I writing about Audition? Think of it as Loba’s personal version of The Ring: By passing along the terror and the nausea to you all, I’m cleansing my soul of some seriously deranged karmic damage.

Sorry about that. But, to be honest, I’d rather find Samara Morgan hiding out in my closet any day of the week over ever having a run-in with Asami Yamazaki and her burlap bag or her bowl full of…well…you’ll have to watch the movie to find that one out…

Looking back, I’m a bit disappointed in my last Flashback Friday. I was a bit off my game that evening, and what I ended up posting was nowhere near what I was hoping it would be. True, it was fun to reminisce about these books, but since most people are never going to be able to get their hands on any of them, it was a bit pointless to tell you about them, eh?

So here is a supplemental offering: An article from Strange Magazine, “The Haunted Boy of Cottage City,” about the true story that inspired William Peter Blatty to pen The Exorcist, one of the greatest horror novels ever written that would later be turned into one of the greatest horror movies ever filmed.

Blatty is even more legendary in the D.C. area since he discovered the inspiration for The Exorcist while studying at Georgetown University, which you will note plays a prominent role in the book and the movie. In fact, any self-respecting horror fan in this area has made the mandatory pilgrimage to the infamous Exorcist Steps at least once. Yes, I count myself as one of these happy horror pilgrims. So, of course I would be interested in learning more about the true story that inspired one of my all-time favorite fictional accounts of demonic possession.

Whether or not you find either the fictional account or the true version scary is up to your own personal tolerance levels for this type of story. However, I think the investigative depths of this article are to be commended. I’d always wondered about the young boy who was supposedly the inspiration for Regan MacNeil, but truth be told, I couldn’t be bothered to do the investigation myself. Thank goodness for Strange Magazine!

Anyway, I hope you enjoy the article and forgive me for my less-than-stellar Flashback Friday from last week. Mea culpa, denizens.

Remember those groovy Time Life book series from the 80s and 90s? I know they had several different series, such as woodworking and DIY fix-it-all books, but my absolute favorite was the Mysteries of the Unknown series. And while I was never allowed to order them (try though I did to convince my dad that there was a supernatural conspiracy underfoot in this country that needed to be revealed!), one of my very groovy aunts did purchase several of these books.

I remember the first time I discovered the books in her collection. I picked out several titles that I simply had to read: Hauntings, Mysterious Creatures, Phantom Encounters, and Witches and Witchcraft. I read each book in one sitting. I was vaguely aware that people were around me, trying at various points throughout the evening to communicate with me. However, I was way too deep in “true” stories about vampires, succubi, hauntings, possessions, demons, and all things that were guaranteed to build within my mind and freak the crap out of me.

When I was finally finished reading all the books, my brain was so crammed with creepy stories and imagery that even walking to our car for the ride home freaked me out. Every snap, crackle, and pop made me jump. I was certain that something was waiting for us, in the night…in the dark. I’m also sure that I spent a long time that night checking closets and under beds. Behind the couch. Behind the shower curtain. In the attic. You name it, I probably checked it.

Why anyone would let a kid with an overactive imagination lay hands on these books is beyond me. What were my relatives thinking? 😉

Every now and then on visits to my aunt’s place, I would return to these books, pulling them from the shelf and perusing them yet again, reliving all those phantasmagorical stories and illustrations. Also, these books taught me actual facts, like the role of Vlad the Impaler in the Dracula legend. Who knew these books would actually teach anyone anything real?

I loved those books. So, when my aunt decided to pare down her library during a move, guess who got her Mysteries of the Unknown collection? Oh yeah, betches, it was Loba B. I still have those books. I was hoping to snap a photo of them since I am right now at my parents’ house, where the collection now resides. However, I seem to have done too good a job reorganizing all my stuff here…and now I can’t find the books. Ironically enough, while looking for them, I found the TI-99/4A computer.

Anyway, since I don’t have a decent photo, here’s the original commercial that used to air all the time on television, usually during those late, late, late horror movies playing on the syndicated channels like Fox 5 and WDCA-TV 20, before they became inundated with reality television shows.

Side note: I actually had planned on making this entry about Dario Argento’s 1987 movie Opera. The only memory that I carried around in my mind regarding this movie centered on those effing needles taped underneath Cristina Marsillach’s eyes during the murder scenes. That image still makes my eyes water just to think about it. Then I went back and watched some clips on YouTube and remembered what complete torture porn this movie was. I couldn’t in good conscience link to any of the clips showing the killings from this movie, simply because they’re so over-the-top horrible, but not in the delightfully campy style of Freddy or Jason. This was just creepy, too realistic over-the-top. So I changed my mind and went with these books, which successfully scared the Holy Trinity out of me on several occasions. However, here’s the cover art for Opera, just so you can see the needles under the eyes. Tell me that isn’t Clockwork Orange one step worse?