The Lost Skeleton Returns Again

Note: I am writing this entry without the use of expletives as a tip-of-the-hat to the writer of the film. Believe me, it’s tough as…well, you know...some four-letter word.

Anyways, I usually don’t write about movies that I think are simply “flat-out awesome” for good reason. To be honest, I'm pretty bad at heaping praise. I tend to lean more towards ridicule and finger-pointing than flat-out adoration.

The fact remains, though, that there are movies that deserve the latter. This film is one such film that deserves it's own deserving. And then some.

So, The Lost Skeleton Returns Again is a send-up of 1950’s jungle-adventure films. It is consistent flashes of brilliant dialogue in-between astonishingly hilarious set-pieces (Monsters!) that sew together a plot that is only barely more tightly knit than the dialogue.

That's the freakin' point numb-skull (haha, see what I did there?).

The disjointed conversations and “bad” acting are all part of the deal. I’m hoping I don’t have to tell you that. Just in case, it is and has to be appreciated for what it is. It’s parody! (I know, most of us are relatively unfamiliar with the concept. Take a refresher course.) Believe me, you’ll get the funny the second time around if not the first. It'll settle into your bones (see, there it is again!) and then suddenly you'll hear yourself uttering the words, "The jungle gets into your blood and builds tiny little houses of pain and you don't wanna be there when the rent's due because the anaconda, funny thing; they don't know how to read a lease." And if you don’t, well, go back to watching Meet the Spartans and Vampires Suck. Those are easy enough on your simple little brain. Adam Sandler probably has a movie coming out in a couple of months too.

Enough of that.

Bottom line(s): this movie is hilarious. It is hilarious because the actors know what they’re doing:



It is hilarious because the lines are hilarious:



And it is hilarious because because because:



Buy it. And others. And other others.



FLemING…fleMINg…FleMinG…FLEMing....fLEmINg....

Zardoz

I could posit some theory about how this movie is actually a very long metaphor for filmmaking and/or the creative process and then support that theory by saying the floating head is the director or narrator and the mustacheo-ed Sean Connery is the wild idea of the story personified, taking on a life of its own but without a director the story just falls into craziness. But I won’t do that. The point is this: either this film is a genius, satirical, metafictional examination of some seriousness on the track of 8 ½ or it’s some crap that a couple of people on some really weird acid trips made to have most of the budget to support their habit.

One very important talking point of this film is the fact that the designer of the outfit that Sean Connery’s character “Zed” wears must have been doing some serious drugs. The idea that at least one person (the costume director) wanted to see this man wear red drapes wrapped around him (and especially how he wears them around his “junk”) is especially disheartening to me. I’m mean, I’m fairly misanthropic, but this reaches a low for society that even I can’t fathom. And this person is out there. Walking amongst you. You probably walk right past him all the time. Maybe he’s even your husband. Your child. I’m disappointed in all of you by association.

Anyhow! “Zed” gets into a giant head and takes a little flight in it. He ends up almost, but not quite, in Barbarella-land heaven where he is an instant hit with the locals because he exudes the kind of machismo that only Burt Reynolds is allowed to talk about. But mostly because of his erection. You see, the people in heaven can’t get them – or something. And they’re also immortal. Can’t forget that. So, these immortals keep trying to kill “Zed” because they know he can die and that’s what they’d want if they were actually able to die.

This movie is definitely on my list of “Need to Be Re-Made By An Artsy Director” films. Then again, this may have already been handled by the Wachowski's. There are some serious hints of The Matrix going on here.

One last thing: if you’re ever asked to name a movie where the main hero is a rapist, you’ve got one in your pocket now!

Letter to ThisTv

Dear ThisTV,

Alright. So a lot of your movies are flaunting around town with the crown of “Cult Film” proudly displayed. Honestly, that’s why I love your network. While you split time between the run-of-the-mill cult movies like Foxy Brown, Convoy, and Dr. Phibes, some of the films that you show are without exaggeration, cult-of-the-cult-of-the-cult films. I mean, who in their right mind would sit and say to themselves, “You know, there was this great TV-movie that I saw in 1983 that I just really needed to remember and then seek to watch again.” But there they are!

Don’t get me wrong here; I love the shit out of it. The sheer amount of Oscar-worthy cheese on your channel satiates my desire to watch Godzilla films on a daily basis, and I love that I don’t have to return to that drug of choice so regularly because of it.

With that said, I would simply suggest a bit more ownership of this aspect of your programming. I mean, you really label your stuff on Saturday night with exactly what it is. The rest of it seems to just be aired with a straight face as if it’s completely normal for a third-rate B-movie (like Species 3) to be broadcast twice on a Friday during prime-time.

My advice is play to the “quirky” angle and reel in the crowd that Elvira or Grandpa Munster might have drawn with little snippets of bumpers to play with these films. Kitschy, hipster shit will catch on like Adult Swim. You get me, I’m sure.

Again, I can’t express how much I enjoy your network. Thank you for the work that you do to keep my regular interest, and I hope you’ll take my recommendation into account as you move forward. I appreciate your attention to this letter.

Sincerely,

GR3G0R