Bulletproof (1988)

Many attribute Gary Busey's deranged public persona to his 1988 motorcycle accident. He is loud, abrasive, and nonchalant about his obvious mental issues. What Bulletproof teaches us is he never took himself too seriously. Shot just before his brain-altering collision, Bulletproof is what happens when an action film forgoes all pretense of sincerity.
When the top secret super tank THUNDERBLAST is stolen by a conglomeration of "Cubans, Nicaraguans, A-Rabs" and other 1980s strawmen enemies, the United States calls upon psychotic cop Frank "Bulletproof" McBain, who assumed the nickname not from an ability to dodge bullets, but his willingness to absorb every projectile with his pasty white frame. He keeps these bullets as trophies, placing them in a Mason jar under his sink.
Bulletproof begins on a stake-out with McBain and his middle-aged black parter Billy Dunbar (Thulmus Rasulala) who, as previous action films might suggest (some also featuring Busey), he is, in fact, too old for this shit.
Despite Dunbar's insistence that they call for backup, McBain jumps down from the rafters of a warehouse to break up an arms deal involving Mexican druglord Sharkey (played by the most Mexican of all actors, Danny Trejo). When Sharkey inquires as to who he is, McBain declares "your worst nightmare, buttorn!" This is an accurate statement, as I have frequently had nightmares in which Gary Busey jumped down from rafters to kill me. The gang escapes in an ice cream truck armed to the teeth, which McBain pursues.

After a dramatic chase scene, Sharkey lobs a grenade into the pursuing vehicle. McBain has enough time to register the existence of the grenade, freak out Dunbar, throw the grenade back out of the car, land in the back of the ice cream truck, freak out the drug lords, flip the ice cream truck, and finally explode. This gives the grenade about a 320 second fuse.
After the obligatory chewing out by his commanding officer, McBain retreats to his apartment to remove the bullet. He is met by all the amenities of an ideal bachelor pad: old magazines, juke box, and nude French woman (Lydie Denier).
Not long after, McBain is sent to retrieve THUNDERBLAST, which I assume is a Buseyism for Teaching Haphazard Undercover Narcotics Dealers Every Real Basis Left at Starting Totalitarianism. He is given a very brief briefing on the tank, complete with crude blueprint proving that it is a tank. When one of the government lackeys insults his ex-girlfriend (who was kidnapped during THUNDERBLAST's theft), McBain responds by sliding an ashtray across the table into his crotch.
The circumstances needed to achieve such an act--table height, lackey height, table and ashtray friction, wind resistance--make this one of the most wonderful violent happenstances ever conceived.

Once in Mexico, McBain meets up with some local help, assuring their loyalty by giving the password: THUNDERBLAST. Apparently "password" was already taken.

McBain is immediately betrayed, captured, and tied to a giant wheel. One might think the wheel is some elaborate spinning torture device, but alas, it's just a wheel. The villains instead offer vague threats such as "let's see how bulletproof you really are" and then proceed to not shoot him. This gives McBain the perfect opportunity to escape via the wonders of gravity and centrifugal force.
As this is a fine work of 1980s American jingoism, McBain does away with the multinational confederacy of foreign jerkwads, including a gravel-voiced Soviet commander who chose the Mexican desert to show off his ushanka.
As far as deranged American supercops go, Busey is the perfect fit. He is blonde, barrelchested, crazy-eyed, and never closes his mouth even when silent. Of course if he ever did shut his clap trap, his Chiclet teeth would sink halfway into his chin.
McBain even has his own signature catchphrase, calling people "butthorn" on three non-consecutive occassions. All in all Bulletproof is a masturful work of 80s schlock, and a reminder of a time when Gary Busey was considered a marginally bankable leading man. His roles have been subsequently replaced by his son Jake, who retains his big-teethed charm without any risk to the director's endocrine system.

What to drink:

A Butthorn: Pepto-Bismol spiked with bourbon.

Quotable quotes:

Dunbar: When's the last time you saw a guy take a limo to a deserted warehouse for a creamsicle?

Dunbar: Them AKs'll blow a hole through your underwear, not to mention my black ass!

McBain: To subdue or be subdued, that is the question.

Tracy: You may be bulletproof, but you're not love-proof.

Col. Cartiff: Do you find something amusing, Captain Shepard?
Devon Shepard: Yeah, your FACE!

Helicopter Pilot: There's nothing but desert down there.
McBain: And CACTUS!

Col. Cartiff: Take off your clothes.
Devon: Go fuck your camel.

McBain: Bird season's over, butthorn.

McBain: Now back off, Colonel Asshole, before I blow this whole place to Montezuma.

Arbitrary rating system:

(6 Buseyheads)

Village of the Giants (1965)

We all know teenagers are an unstoppable plight on civilized society. This belief was no more prevalent than in the 1960s. What better way to prove the point than a movie that makes the big teenager problem even bigger? B-Movie director Bert I. Gordon interpreted the culture war literally when he directed Village of the Giants, about a group of gargantuan young hooligans who take over a small town and demand complete subservience and comparatively small portions of fried chicken.

Bloodsport (1988)

Frank Dux (pronounced "Dukes") is a martial artist, fight choreographer, ninja-school opener, and in his spare time, if his pseudo-biography Bloodsport is to be believed, does the splits pretty much all the time.

Okay that's pretty cool.

Our story begins in a military base, where Dux (a young Jean-Claude Van Damme) makes his escape. He ends up at the house of his dying master, where seeing a sword prompts him to have a ten minute flashback. Years earlier, a possibly retarded Belgian in a Yankees cap and a couple of regular teens break into a Chinese guy's house for no reason. The Chinese guy's son shows up and scares off the non-Belgians, then whales on young Dux until his wise Chinese father stops him. Dux asks for training which generally involves being whaled on by a tiny Asian boy until he can't stand up any more. The Chinese boy shares his dream of being in the Kumite, a specific secret fighting tournament. Then the Chinese boy dies. Is this whole movie going to be told in flashback? Young Frank Dux agrees to replace the dead Chinese boy. He has to learn to actually fight, and the old man forces him to wear a blindfold and serve him tea for no reason. He also forces him to do the splits a lot.

This isn't part of training: he's just a mean guy.

The flashback finally ends, and the old man is dying, and Frank's his only hope. No sooner has Frank left than Forest Whitaker and a veteran character actor show up at the old man's house to tell Frank that under absolutely no circumstances is he to fight in any illegal Hong Kong fighting tournaments.

Finally, an American shows up!

In Hong Kong, Frank meets Ray Jackson, a big angry beer-swilling biker who immediately becomes Frank's best pal. The two find the Kumite at the end of a long and creepy tunnel. When Frank signs up he uses his trainer's name, which prompts the judges to scoff until he shatters a brick at the bottom of a row of bricks using the "death touch." Ray smashes a brick with his head. At a nearby bar, a nosey blonde reporter chats up some Kumite fighters who are predictably rude. Frank protects her by impressing the bad guys with a magic trick. Frank and Ray play video fighting games.

Bloodsport's play within a play: a fighting game within a fighting game

Forest and his co-agent follow Frank to Hong Kong, where apparently they have jurisdiction to take Frank back to the US? Frank forces them to chase him around Hong Kong until they fall into the ocean. Frank trains for the upcoming Kumite by doing the splits on top of a building.

Manhunt or Hong Kong Vacation?

The Kumite begins and we see quite a few front-runners for the finals: an Argentinian kickboxer, a big fat sumo, a black man with a "monkey" inspired fighting style, and perhaps most impressively, the current champion, a big Chinese dude named Chong Li (Bolo Yeung). There's also at least a dozen generic Bruce Lee clones. Frank catches Li's attention when he sets a new record by beating one Lee clone in a matter of seconds without even taking off his jacket. Presumably, shirtless Jean Claude is an unlockable attire that he's saving for a more important match.

Insert racist joke here.

During Kumite interludes, Frank does the splits in his hotel room, then stops doing the splits long enough to sleep with the intrepid reporter. We don't actually see anything except Jean Claude's butt and some red undies. Back at the fighting arena, she surprises him by showing up. Her distraction almost costs him a fight against the sumo guy, but by taking off his shirt and hitting a fat man in the balls he perserveres. Ray has a fight against Chong Li, and while he takes control early on he goes on a victory lap which gives Li the opportunity to beat the crap out of him. Ray ends up in a hospital and Frank swears to avenge his... injury? Weak.

Seriously this is a movie about doing the splits.

Ray makes his way to the final showdown but gets interrupted by Forest Whitaker and company who plead with him to stop. After he beats up some local police they decide to take some seats to watch some homo erotic violence. Frank beats up Li for awhile, but then Li temporarily blinds Frank to pummel him for awhile. Frank eventually remembers that he learned to fight while blindfolded, and forces Li to give up. He meets up with his bud in the hospital then goes off with the federales to do whatever it is Belgian men who can do the splits do in America's army.

Dux's training finally pays off as he hits a Sumo in the groin.

This was Jean-Claude's leading man debut, and it's questionable what qualifications he had to carry a feature film. He could barely speak English, has about three different expressions, and to this point had only been a glorified extra with parts like "Gay Karate Man" and "Spectator in First Dance Sequence." On the other hand, Jean-Claude looked like a video game character: he was ridiculously muscular, good-looking in a flamboyant way, and could do the splits. Somehow he parled that skill-set into being a third rate action hero. Jean-Claude is really the most flamboyant action star out there. He's just too "pretty" to be taken seriously. Stallone wouldn't prance around in red briefs or a low cut shirt. Guys like Arnold and Dolph Lundgren aren't "pretty," they are just square-jawed, hugely muscled dudes. Jean-Claude just seems to be trying too hard.

Jean-Claude reprises his role as "Gay Karate Man"

The most interesting part of the movie is the actual fight sequences, and they're reasonably well-done. I thought it was interesting that we never see any cliche "tournament brackets" to frame the story, just a bunch of fights. The last fight is pretty awful, transitioning into melodramatic slow-motion as Dux has to remember his training to overcome the bad guy's cheating ways. I also really liked the international flavor and contrasts in fighting styles that made the movie seem more like a fun videogame and less like an awful movie about karate.

What's gay about wearing low-cut muscle shirts? Or hanging out with hairy, burly men?

Bolo Yeung also deserves a shout-out as the villain. The Bruce Lee-trained former bodybuilder was closing in on fifty when Bloodsport was filmed, but he looks great and is perfect as the intimidating local that the good-hearted gaijin has to beat up.

What to Drink:

Smirnoff Ice

Quotable Quotes:

Ray Jackson: I ain't your pal, dickface.

Tanaka: (has just cut off brim of a child's hat while it was on his head) You didn't flinch! You have fighting spirit!

Chong Li: You break my record, now I break you, like I broke your friend.

Chong Li: Very good. But brick not hit back!
Ray Jackson: (about doing the splits) That hurts just lookin' at it.

Arbitrary Ranking System:
4 splits out of 5

Camp vs. Irony

I had a discussion with Dobson the other night about the difference between camp and irony. I was curious as to what separated the two. Was it possible to commit to both simultaneously? It's a thin line, and has little to do with the content itself but rather the way it is presented. Dobson said that "it's basically that moment when you look at the camera and drop character that you stop being camp."

Something can be 100% camp. Rocky Horror is camp. The Darkness is camp. Everything John Waters does is camp. Conversely, something can be entirely ironic. Threadless shirts are ironic. Last Action Hero is ironic. Alanis Morissette's "Ironic" is ironic for how unironic it is.

But this issue is not completely black and white. In order to clarify the distinction, Dobson and I contrasted music videos of the 80s and 90s.
Michael Jackson was camp. There's no doubt about it. It isn't just the presentation, but how seriously he took himself. He really was that weird. This commitment is why he is a cultural phenomenon, and not just an 80s sideshow. Look at the conviction he presents in "Beat It."


While "Beat It" was camp, "Bad" delved into irony territory. Jackson is committed, but it's a mediocre song and a mediocre video. Even the dancing is lackluster. Also, Martin Scorsese directed this video for some reason. The moment Scorsese directs your street dancing 80s pop video, it becomes ironic.



The Beastie Boys are also a good example. "Sabotage" is camp.


Of course they're all in fake mustaches and add silly cop stereotypes, but I still consider it more camp than ironic. They commit to the silliness. It's really the product of Spike Jonze listening to the song and going "it would be cool if this were the theme song for a 70s cop show!"

"Ch-Check It Out," however, is 100% ironic. It's all weak rehashes of their previous videos. There's no commitment. They're playing dress-up in front of a greenscreen.



The 90s are a bastion of ironic videos. Jonze and Gondry both made stuff that was visually stimulating and on the cusp of the sincerity dearth known as the hipster movement. Weezer's "Buddy Holly" is 100% ironic.



If you want to look for pure camp, however, you have to turn to the 1980s. It was the genesis of music videos. No one really knew what they were doing. And based on the finished product, it seems to be the only promotional material which they expected no one to see.

"Safety Dance" is pretty darn camp. Ren fest. Midgets. Maypoles. Cavorting.



But if you want the best, campiest music video of the 80s, go no further than Men at Work's "Land Down Under."



It combines campy elements to create something extremely endearing and rewatchable. All of the actions on screen match up perfectly to the lyrics. What do they do during an instrumental? Just add something crazy like dig dancing, or playing the flute to a koala plushie.

If they wanted to be ironic, they could have easily winked at the camera as if to say, "we know Australians aren't really like this." But they never do. They fully commit to the belief that all Australians are vegemite-sandwich eating, Foster's spraying, vomit spewing, fun-loving wackos.
"Land Down Under" is the music video that all music videos should strive to be.

I wish I were still 17 so I could enjoy stuff like this

Hey guys remember Tucker Max? That website full of nonfictional chest-puffing bro-boasting you read when you were bored at work? Five years ago? And then never read again? Turns out he wrote a book about his escapades, meaning he reprinted stories you already read for free.

Not sure whether to buy I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell? This snippet of the intro should help you out:

My name is Tucker Max, and I am an asshole. I get excessively drunk at inappropriate times, disregard social norms, indulge every whim, ignore the consequences of my actions, mock idiots and posers, sleep with more women than is safe or reasonable, and just generally act like a raging dickhead. But, I do contribute to humanity in one very important way: I share my adventures with the world.

Disregarding social norms? What a rebel! And it's on the Internet so you know it's true!

In any case, someone made a movie adaptation somewhere between now and The Hangover's second number one weekend. The trailer sucks.




Trying Too Hard: The Movie.