Movie Review: The Road Warrior

In 1981 Mel Gibson was not associated with Jesus or “sugar tits” because no one knew who he was and gas prices hit a high of $1.35 (”which, in today's dollars, comes out to $3.10.” according to CNN Money.com.) This was the year of “Mad Max 2: The Road Warrior.”

Enzian Theater couldn’t have picked a better Cult Classic for our fuel-flummoxed time than this movie. Set in a bleak future where global warming clearly has a chokehold on the planet (though it’s never mentioned), gasoline is so scarce that nobody can get hold of it except the gangs. And when they get it where do they go? To terrorize people and steal their gas.

See what happens when you don’t listen to Al Gore and invest in alternative fuel technologies? You end up getting hunted by homoerotic bikers in the dessert. Now go buy a Prius (and get me one while you’re up).

This was my first viewing of Road Warrior, which is largely about one of those bad-ass gangs trying to get a gas reserve away from a group of new wave hippies aided by Mel Gibson - did you catch that? The hippie-ish commune-dwellers are the guardians of the fossil fuel in this movie. Evidently riding your stupid bike everywhere doesn’t sound so great when it’s really hot and you’re getting shot at by guys with crossbows. So the good guys defend the fuel with their lives. You can tell they are the good guys because they wear lighter colors, honor their agreements and harbor a feral child, a little boy in a big Jessica Hahn wig who throws the meanest boomerang the world has ever seen.

The evil marauders, conversely, are conspicuous due to their bondage wear: leashes, leather masks and harnesses give their tribe the look of either a biker camp or the Mr. Australia Leather competition. The gangs’ leader is a prime example: from the neck brace up he’s Halloween’s Jason; from the neck down he’s kind of like King Leonidis from The 300, the most homoerotic film since “Harald and Koomar go to the Broadway Baths.”

The biker who hates Mel Gibson the most (and he never even saw The Passion of That One Guy) is a burley bastard in assless chaps, a Manic Panic mowhawk and more feathers than Phyllis Diller. His most striking accessory, though, is what appears to be his glam-rock rent boy, a glum blonde who shadows him everywhere. It seems pretty clear they’re an item, though it’s never stated, interesting, because 1981 also saw the debut of “Love, Sidney,” a sitcom notorious for having the first gay lead but never identifying him as gay. So it wasn’t a time of “Don’t ask, don’t tell,” - more a time of “Don’t tell but hint like you’re playing Olympic-level Charades.”

No doubt about it - between the crimped hair, stylish leather, the homoerotica and the dumpster-chic that prefigured grunge by 10 years and Kevin Federline by 25, this was one fashion-forward movie and I’m not the only one who noticed. Entertainment Weekly said that “film fashion would never be the same” after this; nor would our vision of the future. In the Logan’s Run / Sleeper / Jetsons vision of the 60’s and early 70’s, the future was spic-and-span, silver and white, sleek and shiny. Then along comes Alien (1979) and the Mad Max films. In a flash the future turned gritty, grotty, dirty, shabby, haphazard, mismatched, aggressive and dangerous no matter how young you were. The world of tomorrow was suddenly ugly and so was everyone in it.

And the coolest thing? After all that vision, progression and creative outerwear the whole damn movie is really about car chases.

But they’re great car chases! I don’t even like that kind of thing and when I left I wished I was driving a couple of Hummers glued together instead of my little Honda, just so I could feel butch. This is pre-CGI, too - you can watch the crashes, the guys getting squished between cars and sliding under trucks and think “how did they do that?” With CGI you know how they did it: they moved a mouse. With the Road Warrior it’s fun to wonder.

Anyway, if you’ve never seen it - or if you have and need a re-view - this is a perfect to watch the The Road Warrior and see how much wit, flair and cultural impact an action picture can have. And if our gas situation is ever going to get bad enough to involve crossbows.


Enzian is doing great with their Cult Classics and I think I know why - people are so broke these days they’re leery of spending money on new movies. With the Cult Classics a) they’re only $5 and b) people already know the movie is good and c) it's really, really fun to see old stuff, especially if it's new to you, on a big screen. So they’re ponying up like crazy. The theater has even extended the Cult Classics to twice a month. Next week - that’s June 3 - they’re showing Rock and Roll High School which means we’re probably in for another lesson in the history of style. C’mon -who didn’t learn something from the those Ramone’s haircuts? Where do you think Toni Tenille got the idea?

Swing Away

Some writers like putting words in combinations they’re sure no one has ever heard before. George Carlin is famous for stuff like “Hand me that piano.” Douglas Adams remarked that no language has produced the phrase “As beautiful as an airport.”

My new favorite unlikely set of words is “ornamental testicles.”

Testicles are many things to many people but on their list of their attributes “ornamental” would limp in at last place, or maybe next to last, just before “steely.” Some people think that penises are ugly - I think they’re quite strikingly beautiful. They are, however, like the cute guy who always arrives at the party trailed by his funny- looking sidekick - think Ricky Ricardo and Fred Mertz. I love men, some more frequently or avidly than others. I think they’re spectacular. But balls are only ornamental like a garnish is ornamental: the main reason anyone swallows up that sprig of endive is because it happens to be right next to the steak.

Balls are reproductively functional. They are euphemistically invaluable. They are a point of vulnerability as crucial as the exhaust port on the Death Star. But the only thing they should ever be found hanging off in an ornamental fashion is a man.

Which brings us to the latest in homegrown Florida idiocy: guys hanging replicas of balls from their trucks and other guys taking the legislative time to try to ban them.

Yes, there are things called Truck Nutz, plastic or metal replicas of testicles, with which some people, presumably blind ones, decorate their vehicles with in a festive manner. In the many stories I’ve read about this dumb phenomenon, not one addressed the obvious question: why? Who could think that a faux nut sack dangling off their bumper is attractive, alluring, instructive, witty, intriguing, suggestive, declarative, funny, pithy, challenging or ornamental? The only conclusion I can come up with is that these guys just love handling nuts that aren’t their own and will find any excuse to do so.

Not everyone loves decorative cobblers, though. In fact, Sen. Carey Baker, (R-Eustis) tried to get them off road, proposing a $60 fine for motorists who festoon their vehicles thus. Baker’s provision was attached to a highway safety bill but, as of May 1, the AP described the balls as being “snipped form legislation.”

And despite the fact that I think truck nuts are the ugliest thing this side of a gum disease pamphlet I’m glad they won’t be banned. Freedom of expression cannot be limited to the expressions we find tasteful and if some people think ersatz nads will perk up their ride, let ‘em have at it. As someone on NPR said this week, “Vive Vas Deferens.”

Besides, this particular freedom of expression might as well be a neon sign that says “Dork,” and such labels are helpful to the rest of us. Gotta love a set of balls that gives you a little extra kick.

(this photo came from a very funny post about Truck Nutz on Rabidmoderate.com)

A broad abroad

I’m very psyched to announce that I was interviewed by First City, New Dehli about Best Sex Writing 2008. First City is not on-line yet but am hoping to get a copy mailed to me so I can share the story. In the meantime, I’m just thrilled to be international. :)

Trussed Me

“The uncertain and frenetic nature of modern life has lead to the increasing popularity of mild bondage. When you’re tied to the bed at least you know where you’re going t be for the next few minutes.”
---- PJ O’Rourke, “Modern Manners”


There are four of us crammed in this photo booth, a fabulous party favor where you can get Happy Snaps of you and your fellow guests for fond and shameful memories of how tanked you were at a fancy event. The thing isn’t really built for more than two, so it’s a snug fit. A little less clothing and a can of butter-flavored Crisco and we’d have the start of a Penthouse letter.

Outside the curtain some drunk is shouting “Bondage! Bondage!” Luckily my last nerve is drowning in Peroni or this would be getting on it. How does she figure that crowding is bondage? I’m tempted to correct her and decide to let it pass, little knowing that one someone in the booth knows far more about it than I do. In fact, this guy probably knows more about knots than the Royal Navy.

Tony Cane-Honeysett is the director of “Mondo Bondo,” a spiffy new documentary about bondage - who does it, how they do it, and mostly why they do it. He was also a really good sport about my friend Brian and I butting into his photos at the final party of the Florida Film Festival. I had been looking forward to meeting Tony, partly because his name is so perfectly British that I wanted to see if P.G. Wodehouse made him up, and partly because “Mondo Bondo” had gotten wall-to-wall raves.

Tony was charming and generous, eager to offer some words for me to pass on to the audience at the final screening, which he unfortunately could not attend. “Everybody has a kink...but that doesn’t mean you’re kinky,” he said, putting a twist on the film’s tagline. In other words, whatever you’re into that you think is weird, like bondage, chances are you’re not alone....and if a lot of other people are into it, how is it kinky? To have kinky you have to define normal....and good luck with that.

As for the film itself Tony’s comic instincts and genuine curiosity about people’s desire to be restricted makes a bright, well-paced adventure out of a subject that could have been seriously sandbagged by earnestness. Most subcultures feel misunderstood, which can often result in a defensive posture, but that’s lithely sidestepped; there can be a light-hearted look at the joy of getting tied up like a rodeo calf, and this is it.

But there’s also a layer of pathos when a bondage photographer Tony features in the film is suddenly stricken ill. The correlation between his mandatory treatments and the voluntary servitude he records create the sort of symmetry you couldn’t make up if you tried.

The film’s big question is “Why?” Why does anyone want to be tied, restricted, subjugated? To get the answer we follow bondage models, enthusiasts and gear providers, plus celebrated sexologist Carol Queen and the beautiful bondage sensai Midori. Tony even tries a few things himself: most intense is his attempt to wear a heavy leather mask which made my own claustrophobic heart race with terrible empathy.

So....why? Who would want to be bound?

The answer -as I see it - is most of us....but maybe not sexually.

The kind of bondage featured in this film is just the sexualization of submission....on other levels we all submit all the time. It’s the job wherein you’re told when to eat, where to sit, how to dress (in suffocating ties and rubbery pantyhose) and are subject to random criticism - the life of a bottom without the hot wardrobe. It’s the bad relationship some people never leave, obviously getting off on being emotionally shackled. As for humiliation I doubt anything happens in a public dungeon that’s more degrading watching some drunk girl in tears because Bret Michaels - some rock star who doesn’t know her - doesn’t love her. Submission is often our bread; humiliation is often our circus. That’s not kinky; that’s culture.

Submission can even be seen as having a spiritual element. What else is go-with-the-flow, ‘Let go, let God,’ “Life is what happens while you’re making other plans,” but admitting that in the end Kismet has the keys to the cuffs? This is not an abdication of responsibility. It’s acknowledging that you do the best you can - and then along comes a hurricane, a job loss, a new lover, a dead car, the son you never knew you had, the lover you never knew your partner had or one of the infinite number of surprises life pulls out of its ass just for you. Letting Fate take the wheel sometimes can allow you to just sit back and ride. In other words, relinquishing control can bring full emotional release.

So what’s the difference between giving over in any of these ways versus sexually? Mostly, as I see it, the cost of the outfits.

Anyway, Mondo Bondo obviously gave me a lot to think about and which proved equally enjoyable to bondage enthusiasts as well as the uninitiated. I’m hoping for midnight screenings in which the ushers will tie the patrons to the chairs.

Does that make me kinky?

(pic of Midori's book from Amazon.com)

Creating Value in the Dog

I at Alice the Goon apologize for the long hiatus. It was a result of the writer’s strike. I wasn’t paying myself what I was worth, and when I tried to talk to myself about it I acted like I was crazy. So I flipped myself off, called myself a fascist and left. Finally I gave in to my demands (“No more 2% milk!”) and am back on the job.

Besides, it was imperative that the strike be broken so I could tell you this story.
My friend Susan was at the dog park talking to me on the phone when she suddenly got very upset. Someone was yelling at their dog, she said, and it really got to her, to the point where she wondered if they might be crazy. So I passed on this advice from Paige:
When you see something like this happening, you go up to the person and lavish love and attention on the dog - say how cute he is, how sweet, how smart, how you’d love to have a dog like this, pet him, ask his age, etcetera. Paige’s friends at Earth Pets Natural Pet Market in Gainseville call this “creating value in the dog” - if the owner sees someone else valuing the animal they will shift perspective and value the animal, too.
This really happens. It’s the exact same principal as when you’re about to break up with a lover and then see someone else flirting with him or her; immediately you change your mind and decide to keep them. Whether it’s our covetous nature or outside perspective “creating value in the dog,” works.
Sometimes you are the dog. You have to create some value in yourself, make yourself seen as adorable (or whatever impression you’re inventing) before other people see it. I suppose it’s also called “marketing,” but whatever it is.....woof. Go on and do it.

(adorable dog provided by Katie Ball)

One more for the road

Alice’s good friend Rich in Brooklyn sends us this from Asylum.com:

Three-Way on the Freeway
Feb 27th 2008
By Tom Radler
You've heard of the "Mile-High Club?" How about the "60-mile-per-hour club"?
A naked man and two naked women were stopped in British Columbia last week for alleged sex acts while driving on the Trans-Canada Highway.
Apparently, the amorous trio was making a point of showing off to other motorists while getting it on in the car. After several complaints, a cop followed the fingered car home.
Police took one of the women to a mental hospital, and it's likely that the guy will be charged with "driving without due care and attention."
Questions Raised: How do you position three people for carnality in a standard car? Was a stick-shift involved and/or charged with anything?

I’m impressed that the writer went the extra mile to provide discussion questions and have three of my own:

a) Why not just pull over? I could see doing this in Florida, where the highway scenery is so fucking dull you’d do anything to relieve the boredom. But the BC is so lovely.....why would anyone want to miss it just to see dank or wobbly things that can’t possible be as pretty as Victoria?

b) “Police took one of the women to a mental hospital.”? Why? Was the sex so good it made her insane? Were the other people involved so unattractive that the cops thought “She must be crazy,” and hauled her off in the cookie wagon?
A story on The Province says she was “taken to Royal Jubilee Hospital under the Mental Health Act.” I have never read this Mental Health Act and wonder if it thoughtfully includes help for anyone kookoo enough to get penetrated at high rates of speed with a driver who is probably smashed on endorphins.

c) What kind of car would best accommodate a three-way?
The likely choice would be “Hummer,” “Winnebago,” or some other vehicle larger than a NY apartment so folks have room to maneuver.
I’m not so sure. I’m going to go the other way and say Mazda Miata (1992), BMW convertible (2002) and Karmen Ghia (1968). In these cramped spaces you might be forced into hitherto undiscovered positions and find they rock! Who’da thought a knee cap would fit there! That an elbow could taste so good! There’s a reason clowns are always so chipper when they get outta those cars. Honk honk!


(the clown car artwork came from the racing blog Full Throttle)

Sadie Hawkins Day

(the above image was found on The Trademark Blog and is of Al Capp's Sadie Hawkins, who we think bears a remarkable likeness to Alice the Goon)




Sadie Hawkins Day.
The phrase itself has such a nostalgic tang, such a sweetly arcane feel, like variety shows, Ring Dings and being sure that God loves you. If you’ve forgotten the custom, Sadie Hawkins Day was the annual turnabout when - GASP!! - the girls got to ask the boys out on dates, often to a Sadie Hawkins Dance. It just happens to be today.
Now, of course, we grown girls have shellacked ourselves into such a state of sophistication we don’t need such contrivances. We do what we please without a backward glance, all Samantha Jones confidence, clacking heels and raw sexual power. Right?
Riiiiiiiiight.
We may not all be Samantha, but our culture has come far enough that Sadie Hawkins does seem like a charming antique. Women do routinely ask men out. Plus, the delightfully-named GaySocialities.com, brings up something folks in early 20th century never considered: “I'm not sure how this plays into gay relationships, maybe the 'bottom' should ask out the 'top' - I don't know!”
Good point. What does the lifting of social restrictions mean in an era when we’re only as restricted as our insecurities make us? Who you gonna ask to the big dance that you normally would be afraid to ask?
Answer: Just ask somebody.
Anybody. Anybody you’d like to go out with. How about that guy right there? How about that woman you met at the bar and never called? Whether it’s someone your friends just introduced you to or that crush you’ve been nursing for “two years, seven months, three days...” like Laura Linney in “Love Actually,” just ask. Get it over with. If you don’t do it today, vow to do it this week.
The world is so much better off when you’re happy.* You’re happy when you get what you need.
You get what you need, sometimes, if you ask.

* (and safe - thank you Jamie Lynn Spears for the reminder)



Next: Part 2 : It Didn’t Work, Big Mouth...Now What?
or
Handling Rejection