Not the One With Jewish Gary Oldman

If there’s one thing the woman in me finds frightening, it’s pregnancy.

Think about it.

There’s something GROWING INSIDE YOU. EATING what you eat. INHALING what you breathe. FEELING what you feel. It’s just SITTING there like some couch surfing broke friend, giving you nothing in return for nine months but morning sickness, bodily restrictions, and, if you’re taking your prenatal vitamins, outstanding hair.

(Based on observing friends and family carrying children, my understanding is that the only benefits one reaps during pregnancy are an increased chance of getting a seat on the subway and truly outstanding hair.)

Yeah yeah yeah, I know. The horrors of stretch marks and labor pains are eradicated by the birth of your beautiful perfect baby and all that jazz. Sure. I believe you. But what if said offspring is…

Not. Quite. Right.

Quick Plot: Brooke Adams plays Virginia Marshall, a children’s book author happily married to a successful lawyer and living the white collar dream of any American in the 1980s. The only thing missing is a baby, something Virginia and hubby Brad have been trying to make for several years but have hit roadblocks with both infertility and the nagging specter of Virginia’s occasional bouts with depression.

Enter James Karen as a wait-list-worthy gynecology superstar known for his stunning success with in vitro treatment. Past beneficiaries include Virginia’s annoyingly proud pal Cindy and a young Kathy Griffin’s New Age man-hating girlfriend. Never mind the fact that Cindy’s supposedly genius toddler drowned her older brother or that Kathy Griffin’s wife has turned violent. The baby seems fine so all must be in order…right?

The Unborn comes 17 long years after the better known mutated killer baby film It’s Alive but still follows in its tiny footsteps. Both films are interested in the oddness of the childbirth process, though The Unborn focuses most of its attention on the actual period of pregnancy. Where Larry Cohen’s wonderful It’s Alive trilogy was ultimately about a reluctant man coming to terms with fatherhood, The Unborn is more a scientifically minded Rosemary’s Baby exploring a hesitant mother-to-be learning her reservations might have been more justified than common cold feet.

As Virginia, Brooke Adams is the real strength of The Unborn. She’s a hard-working professional woman with a sarcastic sense of humor, someone who has to fight the urge to roll her eyes every time fellow women speak of the glow of motherhood and wonders of their perfect children. Both the writing and performance are impressively sharp for Virginia, making her come off as an actual person that you or I could certainly know (or even, in some cases, actually be). It’s a shame then that the ending ultimately betrays her.

I’m not going to spoil The Unborn, but if you’ve seen almost any My Child Is Evil film, there’s a good chance you’ll see the final shot coming. Well, I doubt your imagination will be that specific since once we meet the baby, it’s quite a unique little work of puppetry, but still: the outcome is obvious, and yet, quite unearned.

Directed by Rodman Leprechaun 2 Flender, The Unborn is a far better film than its VHS-only reputation might lead you to believe. Because Adams and the character-based writing (by “Henry Dominic, which is apparently a pseudonym for the Catwoman team of John D. Brancato and Michael Ferris) is so good, the audience is led to believe we’re watching an ambitious thriller about parenthood, the medical industry, and what it means to carry a child. Virginia’s past with clinical depression is a fascinating story thread that goes far in establishing her fears even before the mysterious rashes and cat-killing fetus shows its true colors. Much like how It’s Alive began with parents who almost terminated their pregnancy at its first signs, The Unborn starts with a self-aware woman unsure if she has what it takes to be a good mother. Sure, the film ultimately resolves that, but it seems like there was a more interesting answer to that question.

“Dominic’s” script also flirts with some amusing satire on the general culture of pregnancy and parenthood. Virginia’s yuppie friends set the bar for having obnoxious pride in their kids, something dashed rather horribly when one of them commits fratricide. The lighter touch is Griffin and her girlfriend espousing crystal energy and placenta power to a group of dubious non-lesbians. It’s still funny 21 years later.

So what doesn’t work about The Unborn? Sadly, the actual horror movie portion. Once we meet Mini Marshall, all the carefully wrought tension evaporates into bad puppetry and a rushed conclusion. At just 80 minutes long, The Unborn could certainly have taken more time in its resolution, though any more time spent showing the actual monster would have only hurt all the work building it up.

Ah well. The baby still looks better than Bijou Philips’ monster kid in the It’s Alive remake.

As does the crayon drawing made by my cat.

High Points

With the help of a surprisingly smart (when dealing with character) script, Brooke Adams absolutely nails the role of Virginia. Like Mia Farrow’s Rosemary, Virginia is pretty much onscreen for the film’s entire running length, making it vital that Adams registers with the audience. She does.

Low Points

Blargh

Lessons Learned

A dozen or so children still read in this country

There is something called placenta recipes and they are apparently delicious

The best venue to reveal the horror of expensive fertility clinics is generally not a lightweight morning talkshow

Look! It’s…

A young dark-haired Lisa Kudrow as James Karen’s assistant

Rent/Bury/Buy

The Unborn is currently streaming on Netflix and anyone with a passing interest in pregnancy horror will certainly get something out of it. My disappointment comes from the film’s squandered potential, but thanks to Adams’ performance and the occasionally very clever script, the film is still more than worthy of a watch. Especially if, like me, you just want the world to acknowledge how weird the act of pregnancy truly is.

Rollerpocalypse (sans bras)

1986 was a pretty amazing year. In a triumphant season of homeruns, rapping, and Ivory soap ads, the New York Mets won the World Series. A little animation studio named Pixar was formed. Halley’s Comet appeared for freezing cold East Coast early birds to view and Geraldo Rivera discovered the most anticipated bottle of moonshine ever.

And perhaps most importantly, a post-apocalyptic film about roller skating was made by Donald G. Hell Comes to Frogtown Jackson. 

Quick Plot: In the second dark age in the city of lost angels (according to the title cards), an all-female cult clad in red phallic headdresses protects a magical crystal from an evil luchador-esque masked (over a pink winter ski mask) man and his borscht belt comic hand puppet.

I know right? Been there, done that!

I should specify that the ‘cult’ I speak of is none other than the Cosmic Order of the Roller Blades, the self-proclaimed ‘only force on earth where all weapons and battle techniques are converted into tools of love.’ Because, you see, in the second dark age of humanity, the world has been overrun by folks on roller skates. Yes, four-wheeled skates, as the invention we now know as the ‘roller blade’ was still some years from widespread popularity. As my knowledge of things on wheels is composed entirely of what I’ve learned from the movies, we’ll assume the modern roller blade was born in 1991, since that’s when it appears in Silent Night Deadly Night 5: The Toymaker.

Back on track--or rink, roller pun zap!--the evil Dr. Saticoy and his puppet right-hand-man (literally) enlist the skills of a blond rollergirl to infiltrate the Roller Blades and steal the crystal. It’s a lot of work, considering he could probably have found an even nicer one in any 50 cent gum ball machine. Still, we don’t get to see a lot of roller nuns naked unless this plot unfolds, so unfold away, ye madness!

The good get a sapphic nude bathtub baptism; the bad get a sapphic nude wrestling match. All speak with the occasional sprinkling of ye olde English and sport hip high wedgie-making undies. None wear bras.

Seriously, for any modern woman who enjoys comfort, this IS the dark ages.

Roller Blade, as you might now realize, is not the easiest film to recap in terms of what you commonly call ‘story.’ I think there was one, as evidenced by the important subplot of the Roller Marshall (you read that right)’s son being kidnapped by the bad guy. There’s the matter of the crystal, which will bring about an even darker age (maybe?) where I can only assume roller skates are replaced by something even more nefarious, like unicycles or pogo sticks or that impossible ‘80s toy that looked like Saturn and was designed for you to stand around a bouncing ball and not break your ankle. Primarily, there are a lot of boobs and an almost comparable amount of camel toe.

That’s about as ringing an endorsement as I can make for Roller Blade. It’s as ridiculous and insane as its cover art suggests, plus a little more. By a little, I mean the mother superior of the Cosmic Order of the Roller Blades is a wheelchair bound woman named Mother Speed who laments about the olden days, “when we skated for fun. Now we skate or die.” This is a heartfelt memory, and kind of all you need to know in order to judge whether Roller Blade will rock your world.

High Points

You can’t argue with the imagination of the film, right?

Low Points

I know this is besides the point, but I find it pretty impossible to believe that some of those roller superstar females would go bralass based on their bust size. There is back pain to consider folks!

Lessons Learned

Recycled Saticoy brand batteries have very short lifespans

Tears will cause thy wheels to rust

If one can only venture outside on roller skates, it’s probably a good idea to learn how to, you know, roller skate when as soon as you’re able to walk

Skin-melting acid will not harm your body if you immediately remove all clothing as soon as it touches you

The future will mean the rise of mohawks and death to bras

Rent/Bury/Buy

I scored my copy of Roller Blades at last year’s Chiller Theater convention along with the new Doll’s House classic The Refrigerator and the soon-to-be-watched Slashdance. It’s a VHS transfer, and one that you can probably find lurking on youtube or at your local gray market dealer. It’s pure 80s cheese in the most delightfully ridiculous of ways. The film won’t change your life like, say, The Stabilizer, but it will most definitely entertain your pals at the local roller rink!

There Will Be Defrosting

At this past spring’s Chiller Theater, events happened that may have forever changed the world I live in for the better. 

1- I met Grant Cramer, the once and forever Mike Tobacco of a little great film called Killer Klowns From Outer Space

2-I learned that there may indeed be a sequel to that little great film premiering in my lifetime

3-I purchased a movie I had previously never known existed, 1991’s VHS only The Refrigerator

Numbers 1 & 2 need no further explanation in terms of importance. Number 3, however, may seem exciting only to the few who happen to know that my line of work (the kind I get paid for) involves household appliances. 45 hours or so a week, I’m immersed inside crispers and condensers, celebrating the easy cleanability of adjustable glass shelves while struggling to find something equally exciting to say about the more common wired. 

And now, let us never talk about that part of my life again.

Quick Plot: Two awfully unattractive people excitedly navigate their trashy Brooklyn apartment to make sweet pigly love on the floor, fuzzy back hair dripping with sweat and (thankfully) clothed anatomy never really aligning in ways that would produce orgasms or babies. Perhaps because it’s just as disgusted as we are, the vintage refrigerator watching over our lovers begins to stir and in the name of evil or eugenics, gulps them down like a Death Bed to a bucket of chicken.

Prologue over, we move to “Somewhere in Ohio” where a pair of bright-eyed newlyweds are excitedly planning a move to the Big Apple. Wife Eileen (Julia McNeal) dreams of being a Broadway star while husband Stephen (Dave Simonds) is eager to climb the corporate ladder. Before they can take the city by a storm, the Batemans need a place to stay which proves to be way easier than it should when a sprawling one bedroom (complete with some familiar antique appliances) is bargained down by the landlord at $200 a month. 

I'd be this happy too!

How great is this quaint little walkup? There’s a complimentary plate of brie smiling inside the fridge! Who WOULDN’T sign this lease?

Because nothing that’s ever too good to be true is, bad things start to happen with fairly obvious sources. Eileen misses an audition when the refrigerator cheekily hides her keyes. Stephen loses some work points when he gets a flat (though any man that would drive to midtown from Brooklyn in rush hour every day deserves some form of punishment). Eileen’s only solace comes from the apartment’s kindly super Juan, a sweet-natured Bolivian flamenco dancer who should totally come with every security deposit.

Naturally, Stephen grows jealous and seems to conclude the best medicine for a failing marriage is sex in front of your refrigerator’s open door.

And that’s not even half the plot of The Refrigerator. I’ve yet to mention the Batemans' psychic neighbor or Eileen’s Debbie Harried banged suicidal mother. 

There’s Stephen’s creepy passive aggressive attempts to start a family and a montage of Eileen taking Manhattan.

Between all these threads, the apartment refrigerator kills (naturally, just by closing back and forth) the super’s assistant and, we learn in a somewhat predictable yet still ironic reveal, that the titular chilly villain is a gateway to hell.

Let me start with fact: The Refrigerator is about 971.333 (repeating decimal) times better than Death Bed: The Bed That Eats . That doesn’t say too much, since that home video of your little brother’s first tuba concert is about 892x better than Death Bed but still: considering The Refrigerator has never had a DVD release, I was surprised at how decent this film turned out to be. With a tone akin to Basket Case,  director Nicholas Jabos creates and a light-hearted and fairly self-aware spirit that meshes well with the rather ridiculous premise of...you know, a refrigerator collecting human souls for something something.

High Points

Though it doesn’t get a payoff, the subplot regarding Eileen’s reluctance to start a family with her eager husband feels true to a young couple struggling with different ideas about their future timeline

Just a small touch but one I loved: the opening credits featuring vintage ads for overly exciting refrigeration

It’s a shame that McNeal and Angel Caban didn’t work more with these kinds of genre films. Both have genuinely likable presences and seem to really click with the quirky tone of The Refrigerator, making us actually care about their characters’ fate

Um. This:

Low Points

No man should ever use “my little kissing fish” as a term of endearment

I shouldn’t really complain about unresolved subplots in a movie about a killer refrigerator, but it would have been nice to learn a little more about (yes, I’m really about to say this) the history and nature of said menacing appliance, plus the result of the Batemans coupling in its frosty glow

Lessons Learned

Making soup that would be ready twenty minutes after you’re scheduled to leave the apartment isn’t the best idea you’re pretty blond head has ever had, is it dear?

Getting something in writing is usually the best way to secure a deal (surprisingly sound advice from Hector the slumlord)

You should know your refrigerator is working for the devil (aka El Diablo) by the mere fact that it’s hanging out next to your stove (a dumb move that decreases the energy efficiency of your unit because higher ambient heat means your refrigerator is constantly working harder to maintain its cold after you open the door and wow I should stop talking about this already)

Rent negotiation was ridiculously easy and wonderful in the early ‘90s

Satanic refrigerators especially hate humans with poor fashion sense in headware (observe the late Paco’s silly pastel cap and Mom’s weird choice in geometric bangage)

Winning Ling

I am the wafflemaker!

SInce a character triumphantly announces this upon waking up, I’m willing to declare The Refrigerator a worthy followup to Dream Warriors for inheriting the title of ‘best nerd self-titling ever.’ This line may very well be more exciting than “In my dreams, I am the wizard master.” Time will tell. 

Rent/Bury/Buy

At this point in time, The Refrigerator (to my knowledge) is only viewable on VHS or fuzzy transfers. Is it worth the price tag? Probably not, but darn it did I have a good time with this film. Putting aside my own bias as an employee of a refrigeration company, The Refrigerator is rather charming. The characters are enjoyable, the plot appropriately ridiculous, and the filmmaking low budget for cuteness yet slick and competent in execution. $10 on a grainy transfer may be a tad steep depending on your taste in goofy, good-natured cheese, but those who enjoy these kinds of films (i.e., me) may be sated and hey: anything to spread the word around the genre community. After all, if Death Bed: The Bed That Eats has its own special edition DVD, surely a cheery lil gem like The Refrigerator at least deserves a warranty.