Skip to main content

Crap On Film: Night Of The Comet

I saw Night of the Comet in the theater during its initial release. Twice. I'm not sure how many people can make that claim. I'm not sure how many people want to make that claim. The movie was released upon an unsuspecting populace in November of 1984, a wonderfully weird year in the world of cinema. The preceding months had already borne witness to questionable classics like C.H.U.D., The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the Eighth Dimension, Red Dawn and Friday the 13th : The Final Chapter (sic). The hair was big. The spandex was tight. The girls were from the valley. It was a totally tubular time to be alive.

Night of the Comet revolves around two sisters named Regina and Samantha. Regina is a video game queen (partial to Tempest) who likes to make it in theater projection rooms and kick post-apocalyptic zombie ass. Samantha is a refugee from a Jane Fonda workout video who longs to make it with anyone and can't even kick the scrawny ass of her wicked stepmother. With our protagonists sporting properly antagonistic personalities, we can now move on to the science fiction romp.

But first a digression on the subject of “making it”. This is the phrase used habitually in Night of the Comet to refer to fucking, and I'm hereby lobbying for the phrase to make a comeback. “Let's make it.” “Looks like we made it.” “Sorry, I can't make it.” It gives the act of copulation an industrious air that it normally lacks, as if you've accomplished something worthwhile, rather than made yet another horrible mistake. It's the Martha Stewart of fucking phrases.

To return to the plot, a comet passes near our planet and reduces most people to a Tang-like dust. Of those who survive, many are transformed into bloodthirsty comet zombies. A few people are left unscathed, if you don't count the fact that they are now living in a world littered with mounds of Tang and bloodthirsty comet zombies. Something ensues.

The apex of the film occurs when the sisters find themselves in a seemingly abandoned department store. One second, they are cavorting dumbly as “Girls Just Want To Have Fun” rules the soundtrack. The next second, they are meeting Willy. If Jello Biafra and Elvis Costello had a baby, it would probably make the papers. It would also be Willy. He and his cohorts were once stock boys in the department store. Now, he is a comet-sickened stock boy with a sense of mission and a panoply of menacing phrases. Phrases spoken in a voice that apparently wasn't made for movies, since I've never heard another one quite like it. Legitimately creepy, crap lovers.

At the end of the day, most of us sleep. In the end, we're all going to die. To conclude, I'm not sure whether I love this movie for the nostalgia factor or because it's an authentically goofy work of schlock. But the fact that I had to wait 23 years for it to be released on DVD might be a clue.

Some quotes from Night of the Comet that you might want to use in casual conversation:

“You were born with an asshole, Doris. You don't need Chuck.”

“What are you going to do when your complexion freaks out? The dermatologist is dead, you know.”

“If bachelorette number one isn't out here in half a tick, I'm gonna ice bachelorette number two.”

“The MAC-10 submachine gun was practically designed for housewives.”



The whole shebang:



Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Journalism of Crap: Geraldo Edition

For the last 30 years, Geraldo Rivera’s career has been marked by one spectacularly lucrative failure after another.His incompetence is legendary. His lack of good judgment is astonishing.His ability to remain employed is miraculous.If failure was an Olympic event, Geraldo would probably find a way to lose that, too.The man is a veritable crap factory, producing journalistic excrement with the regularity of a malevolent metronome.Let us take a moment to reflect.





1986 – Al Capone’s Vault During the renovation of a Chicago hotel that Al Capone had once inhabited, a system of secret tunnels was discovered that led straight to Geraldo Rivera’s ego.A two-hour live special was constructed around the opening of a secret room in one of the secret tunnels, a room dubbed Al Capone’s vault.The hype leading up to this show was extraordinary.It was suggested that the opening of the vault might reveal anything from masses of money to bunches of bodies.In the end, the only things Geraldo found were so…

Holy Crap: Jack Van Impe Presents

Many of you probably aren't aware of the miraculous fun to be found on Christian television. You likely have three or four or more of these channels being beamed into your home free of charge, but you skim by them as quickly as your sinful fingers will carry you. I'm here to suggest that you pause a moment and revel in the horrifying display. I vow that you won't be sorry, because finding entertainment on Christian television is as easy as drowning in the river Jordan. Consider this a covenant.
Let's begin with Jack Van Impe. I quit believing in God when I was 14, and I started watching Jack Van Impe Presents at around the same time. For a kid hooked on the horror of The Omen, Jack was like manna from heaven. He would sit there and predict the end of the world every week. And, sonofabitch, he's still doing it over 20 years later.
The format of the show is delightfully unchanged after all these decades. Jack's chronically chipper wife, Rexella, reads brief excerpt…

Alcoholic Crap: Old Crow

There are many things in this mean old world of ours that I don't understand.  I don't understand why people want vampires that send them FTD bouquets.  I don't understand why people like music without melodies.  I don't understand Mandarin Chinese.  I could fill a book with all the things I don't understand.  And I think I'd have to dedicate a chapter of that book to the subject of alcohol snobs and their expensive follies.

Those of us who drink professionally understand that the goal of the entire imbibication process is inebriation, not another extraneous culinary experience.   Anything that gets in the way of that inebriation is the enemy, and there are several things that can get in the way.  Sugary, fruity, girly drinks, for example.  You can't drink very much of that stuff without losing your ethnic cuisine in the nearest alley, and puking is enough to dampen any sensible person's fun.  Some people never learn that lesson.  Those people a…