The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension

Wow, that title is a mouth full. And so is everything about this mid-eighties movie. Let's take a look at a description of the film:

Adventurer/surgeon/rock musician Buckaroo Banzai and his band of men, the Hong Kong Cavaliers, take on evil alien invaders from the 8th dimension.

You know you're in for a ride, and I was certainly aware of the film for a while because of its cult following,
but nothing could prepare me for what I was about to see. To say that Buckaroo is a movie ahead of its time may be a bit misleading, as everything about this film seems to be a product of its era. The eighties are screaming through on this one, although I will admit - perhaps with all the throwbacks to the last half century of sci-fi and action - that there is a certain timeless quality to it. Apparently famed film critic Gene Siskel noted upon release that this would become a cult classic, and he was completely right. The story of Buckaroo Banzai is an interesting one.

Buckaroo starts off explosively, and doesn't really let up throughout the run time. As the opening credits come up, I recognize many of the actors. My friend notes that the movie is well stacked, and he's right: Peter Weller, John Lithgow, Jeff Goldblum, Christopher Lloyd and Clancy Brown were some of the most recognizable names. Once the movie gets going you'll see many familiar faces, including Mike from Breaking Bad and the late, great character actor Vincent Schiavelli. From the description of the movie, we know Buckaroo is a renown surgeon, so why not just jump right into that for the opening scene? He's a neurosurgeon operating on somebody, and just as quickly as we enter that scene, we move on to Buckaroo piloting a vehicle on the salt flats in a speed run. It's not any normal speed run though, as he goes off course (after breaking the speed of sound) and with the help of a little device called the "oscillation overthruster" he is able to travel through the side of a mountain and into the titled 8th dimension, which catches the attention of aliens (presumably from the 8th dimension) who just so happen to be orbiting the planet keeping tabs on Team Banzai - I mean, if aliens were to keep tabs on anybody on Earth, it would have to be this group of multi-talented adventurers, right? Right after breaking into the 8th dimension, Buckaroo treats us to his other talent as a rock musician, where he meets the love interest of the film.

It's a bit of a rollercoaster ride from the beginning, where nothing seems to make sense but at the same time, everything makes sense. You take things for granted: Goldblum's character is wearing a bright red cowboy outfit the entire duration of the movie, for no apparent reason. But it's not questioned in world, and we continue to roll on. This happens a lot, as we jump from scene to scene, with bits of action and ominous villain speeches spread throughout. Lithgow is a genius of evil, deranged expressions. He takes on an Italian accent (most of the time) and could very well be overacting, but it fits in here perfectly, and is a nice opposite to Peter Weller's cool, calm and collected hero. We get a bit of a They Live (1988) situation where the aliens - once exposed - seem to be visible to some but not visible to others. I wasn't entirely clear on their motivations, aside from protecting their dimension - although there are good aliens and bad aliens and...yeah. I won't try to explain things because it doesn't necessarily make sense as it's going on. The movie borders on the absurd most of the time, and you can't help but go along for the enjoyable ride.

Halfway through the film we paused and I made mention that I thought this movie was directed at children back in mid eighties. The thought was questioned, but my line of reasoning would appeal to the fantastical nature of the film. Picture yourself as Buckaroo: you're a super multifaceted guy who everyone adores, everybody wants to work with and women love, who has a direct line to the President's office and YOU tell him what's going on. You're not charged with saving the world, no, it's your job and you're doing it with some of your best friends. You live in a mansion with mad laboratories, you have a samurai sword and an endless supply of gadgets, in addition to your own tour bus and friends with helicopters. You play it cool all the time, and when you don't want to talk about something, the scene ends. You get to make the tough decisions, and sometimes your friends are going to fall but you remain stoic and charge forward: the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. Your friends rely on you, but you can rely on them as well: they remain loyal and talented on their own.

What it all amounts to is an ideal fantasy for any child, as Buckaroo displays qualities that anyone can aspire to. In that, the character, and the movie, become incredibly accessible and intriguing as you'll have no problem placing yourself in the lead role, or even any of his friends. As you watch the film, you can envision your own friends filling out all the roles, and even an enemy or two for good measure. Imagine the more active imagination of a child viewing the movie and forming their own adventures, formed on the structure of the universe that this movie paints. When the end credits come up, proudly displayed is a promised return of Buckaroo versus the World Crime League, but alas, it was never meant to be. I can't help but think how disheartening this would have been for a child at the time, and yes, how I actually want to see more of these wacky adventures myself. And if it wasn't for the children, then perhaps more for the coming of age teenager, especially for those with "geeky" fascinations and interests. I think, in retrospect, the movie can and does appeal to all, as I was reminded of simpler times when I was younger and would enact with friends bizarre worlds and creations from our imaginations.

The movie came out in 1984 and bombed at the box office, causing it's studio, Sherwood Productions, to go out of business. They reportedly had a budget of $12 million and ended up with $6 million at the box office even with fairly positive reviews. I can imagine the film would be very profitable in the following 30 years, with DVD special editions coming about. But at the time, the sequel would be shelved, and apparently attempts from other studios to go on to make it (or any other film) were unsuccessful due to complex licensing and rights issues. It also came out around a time where other, larger movies were dominating a the box office, including Star Trek III, Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, and Ghostbusters. Stiff competition for sure, and with a complete lack of traditional advertising, the writing was on the wall from the very beginning. It's actually quite nice to read quotes from the likes of Lithgow talking about how much fun the character was to play, and his fondness for the film after all these years. A bit disappointed that it has taken me so long to get around to watching this cult film, but on the 30th anniversary, I'm glad to have done it.

For further reading, I recommend Wikipedia, of course.

Galaxy of Terror

It was a cold night in early January, when we forewent the regular cheap Tuesday theater trip to focus instead on the selection of movies at home, awaiting some proper care. We weren't in the mood for anything smart or attention heavy, but when Galaxy of Terror got started, we couldn't divert our attention.

There was no information on this movie before watching - none of us had really heard of it - except a vague notion that it was a knock off of Alien. It starts harmless enough and exactly as advertised: a space crew take off to an unknown planet where they seek out a distress signal and to rescue another crew. The similarities are high: they land, disembark in their space suits and explore the seemingly abandoned ship, only to run into trouble, as one of the crew is mangled by a comically terrifying space monster. But something is off: none of the other crew seem concerned.

That is, they don't seem to acknowledge the monster, as the crewman's cause of death remains mysterious. The crew discover a mysterious pyramid and decide to go take a look, disregarding all signs of danger. The efficiency at which this crew moves into action is amazing, as they all seem pretty incompetent. The pace is appreciated if for nothing else than it differentiates itself from other movies. It doesn't waste time developing character: let the actions speak for themselves. Surprisingly, it works, and we get a pretty clear (well, mostly) picture of each of our crew, although their motivations will always remain a mystery.

This is b-movie gold. The sets are clever and the effects are practical. We bumble along with these misfits and put reason aside. I let myself go and became lost in the fantasy. We've barely spoken a word as we're all entranced with the movie. Then the infamous scene hit us:

Giant alien worm rape scene.

It began innocently enough: one of our crew, a bosomy blonde, is being attacked by some kind of giant maggot (of which is pretty decent quality, all things considered). We think it's just going to eat her, as she becomes covered in slime and her clothes disappear in a scream of agony. It seems to end as abruptly as it begins, and we turn to one another with the same dumbfounded look. What just happened?

You can read various articles on the history of this scene and how it came to be. It seems to be a case of appeasing the audience and giving them what they want: in order to obtain funding for the film, Roger Corman agreed to a certain amount of nudity to appear on screen. Which puts movie making into another light, and firmly concretes the fact that sex sells. It's the only reason this movie exists, really. But if you came for the nudity then you got a whole lot more, as the movie ramps up into big ideas that are just big enough that this film can't quite contain them. This element of grand design adds to the other variables, including: kooky characters, thin plot and comical special effects - to name just a few - to create a cult film and a must watch for its genre.

As our crew delves further into the pyramid mountain, we are fully entranced with the mystery of what is killing everyone as they continue their hunt to determine the exact same thing. Spoiler alert for those that care! We quickly discover (the movie is short, after all) that all the horrors our bumbling crew encounter are manifestations of their worst fears. This leads us to some great moments where crew members are killed in most spectacular fashion, even having to fight oneself. The pyramid is explained as a toy for a greater or long extinct race. I like to believe that our crew is being observed, just as we are observing the film. It's an experiment or form of entertainment and perhaps a bit of both: we can analyse the actions of the victims or just revel in the entertainment alone. The pyramid could also explain the origin of the titular sphere in the Michael Crichton's novel, Sphere. It may be worth rewatching Galaxy just to catch a glimpse of the sphere itself in a background somewhere. In the movie Sphere - one of my favourites - we don't learn where the sphere comes from or what its purpose was save for the notion that it comes from another time and is extra-planetary. Galaxy could give a bit of background on it and join the movies together, which delves entirely too much into the world of "fan theories" that are fun to explore, especially in the science fiction realm. It's also a reminder of what great sci-fi can do: borrow from one another and while not necessarily make a better a product but create a different interpretation. The cult following for Galaxy of Terror is well deserved and worth a watch for for any fan of the genre, be it science fiction or campy b movies.


Recommended Reading: TCM Article

The King of Kong

A fistful of quarters. I remember the days well: I went to the bank, armed with loonies and a five dollar bill, and requested, literally, a fistful of quarters. Ten dollars worth, in fact. The next step was going to the mall, where a multiplayer X-Men arcade cabinet sat, and by all means, I was going to beat that game. Unfortunately, I don't recall what happened next, aside that the dream never came true. I played the game a few more times, but there was no marathon. This was when I was around twelve or thirteen years old, where the industry was in a state of decline. There were a couple of arcades around, but they weren't proper places for kids - at least, in my town.

One thing that I never tried to do was get high scores, and I think this is in due part to me not being overly competitive (or at least, trying to avoid competition) and that arcade games in the early nineties weren't focused on scores. The majority of titles were fighters, like Virtua Fighter, Mortal Kombat and of course, the Street Fighter II series. Arcade games in the eighties were focused on scores, and difficulties. Donkey Kong is noted as being one of the toughest ever made, and only a few get to see the final screen. The King of Kong documentary focuses on two players who are, arguebly, the best there is at the game. Billy Mitchell would set the record (in the eighties) that would stand for decades, only to be beaten (in a way) by Steve Wiebe. It's a story of these two, locked in eternal competition in a game that's over thirty years old.

The film focuses on the celebrity that these two achieved, which seems crazy and foreign. These days, the only gaming competition you hear about are the big Starcraft tournaments and professional players in Korea. But there does exist competition here, although this film doesn't exactly depict it in a great light. It's very amateur - the world of gaming competition - and somewhat unofficial. But it is, and we move on. The film also focuses on Billy and Steve, and basically paints Billy as an arrogant jerk who is deathly afraid of losing. He doesn't show up to competitions, and controversially mails in his winning videos at convenient times. Steve, on the other hand is the hero, who goes out of his way to play in public, and is generally the all-round nice guy.

It's almost unbelievable how fierce their competition is for one another, and how they basically hate the other. Apparently the movie is skewed, which makes sense, and that they are not entirely on unfriendly terms. Which is nice to hear, because in the end, it's just a game. I wish they had focused on the game itself a bit more; they make comments about the mechanics and certain strategies, but I don't think "Nintendo" is said even once. It's really saying something that these titles are still being played - and I'm not just referring to Donkey Kong either - and that people are improving upon one another's scores still. These games are timeless; they are difficult, and they are purely score driven. This movie acts as a good introduction to the competitive game world, and frankly, I want to see more of it. Billy and Steve are characters upon themselves, as are many of the supporting players - most notably the official referee of competitive games.

The documentary takes some dramatic license, which adds to the story of these two points champions. But I would recommend checking out the trivia section of the IMDB for this movie. They mention another player who set the record, and gives you the most up to date scores and who holds them. Who knew such an old game could be so intriguing.

Sonic CD

A short while ago (we're talking weeks here, perhaps) Sonic CD was released all over the place. Often touted as one of the best Sonic games, it also seems be one of the more rare titles. You have to understand that any Sonic game on the Genesis has been released on every conceivable platform numerous times, while Sonic CD, for the Sega CD system, has not seen release very often. The only time I can think of off-hand is in the Sonic Gems Collection for the Gamecube and PS2. The previous Mega Collection Plus consisted of about a dozen games but was sorely lacking CD, while the Gems Collection included the fabled game and a few more.  Earlier this year I stumbled across the Gems version, so I had to buy it immediately. The purchase was fueled entirely by nostalgia, as are any other Sonic purchases, for that matter.

Back in 1992 or so, I was getting a Genesis for Christmas, with Sonic packed in. I played it like crazy: who didn't? I never did go on to own any other Sonic Genesis title, but I rented fairly often (my primary way of playing games in the early nineties). I must have rented Sonic CD at one point, as I did make that purchase. The memory is clear though: my friend Paul and I were scouting about town in the middle of summer, with not much to do. We walked downtown Belleville and went into a used CD shop - which also dealt in games - and we saw Sonic CD standing there on the shelf. In those days, the jewel cases were large: thick and tall, and about twice the depth of a standard CD case. The price tag read $40. I must have had around $30 or $35, as we walked out of the store and to Paul's bank. For some reason he remembered one of his bank accounts has being somewhat defunct. I can't make this stuff up: he closed his account that day, extracting seven dollars and change. I never did ask what happened there, because there was one thing on our mind that day: acquiring Sonic CD. And we did; walking back to the store and plunking down our cash.

The deal between us was never discussed: it was my game, but he paid for a percentage of it. Perhaps I paid him back, but that seems unlikely. He came over quite often and we would play it - along with other games - frequently. Perhaps it was bit of a friend tax. Whenever a friend comes over often and drinks a lot of your soda, don't ever feel bad about not returning seven dollars you borrowed from him, as chances are he owes you much more. Regardless of how it went down, it was clearly not the focus. We loved playing Sonic CD. It really is the best 2D Sonic out there; with brilliant music, sharp graphics and tight controls. You could time travel, there was no Tails following you around constantly, and did I mention the music? It was a blast, really.

Years later I would sell all my Sega stuff, and I'm sure Sonic CD was a casualty of a cheap yard sale death.

When I picked up the Gems Collection, I went through the hassle of getting it going. It really was a hassle: get the Wavebird connected to the Wii, find a Gamecube memory card and slap that in. Find out the Wavebird needs batteries, and of course all mine are dead. Sacrifice a remote for it. Get the Wii going because it hasn't been turned on in eight months, and find out it's not even connected to the new television set (which is barely new anymore as half a year has past). It's finally on screen and I'm exhausted; I play for a few minutes and validate the facts of my childhood experience, but I can't relive them. I turn the system off and shelve my collectible.

Fast forward to a few weeks ago, and I find myself spending extra Microsoft Credits on Sonic CD (only 400 points, right?) for the Xbox 360. The actions are practically autonomous, with no memory of my experience just a few months before on the Wii. Do I really need to buy this? No. Why is it happening? To relive that summer memory, laughing to myself as I think about the expression on the teller's face at the bank, the excitement of putting the disc into the system back in ~1994 and watching the animated, FMV intro. I quickly relive those again, but not with the same wonderment that I expect; I'm all alone and too much time has passed. I begin playing the game and immediately dig the music, but now I find myself playing it for the sake of playing it. None of the levels are familiar; the time travelling is loose and happening too often. The game only lasts a half hour before I die, and with that death, goes my interest. Don't get me wrong: the game is still solid, a tightly controlled side scrolling game that deserves the credit. But my time is past; more than 15 years, in fact, and I think that I've emotionally moved on. Those times are behind me now, and I'm a different kind of gamer, for better or worse. I may never play this particular title again, but it's not leaving a bitter taste as it goes. It's amicable; two friends who haven't met in ages passing by one another casually, each understanding the passage of time and how relationships work. We'll continue to miss one another, but not in the same way. This replay of Sonic CD was the exact closure I needed.