
(Contrary to the poster art, and fortunately for him, John Cusack is not in this movie.)
Originally aired: 1986
Watched by kerri anne: 12.16.07
Courtesy Of: On Demand free! movies.
Because: Sundays are for bad movies. Especially when you are not feeling particularly germ-free.
Starring: Charlie Sheen, Nick Cassavetes, Sherilyn Fenn, Randy Quaid, and what turned out to be The Middle Of Nowhere, Arizona.
Sci-fi factor: A car that can explode and then reappear moments later unscathed.
Bit Of Nostalgia: Green and white police cars with stick-on flashing lights and an inability to ever catch the faster, more modern(ly 80′s) cars.
Musical High Note: “Rebel Yell,” by Billy Idol.
Protagonist’s name and story: Jake Kesey, who is really a reincarnated silver body suit wearing, Delorean-esque car driving soul of Jaime, who was apparently murdered years ago by the evil and surprisingly tall bad guy named, wait for it: PACKARD.
I know, right? Shaking in your boots? I’ll give you a moment to finish shivering at the sheer fear that is invoked by the name “Packard.” If it helps, here’s a visual of the toughness (Packard is the one on the right, although I am arguably more frightened of his comrade’s hair):

It’s not clear if Charlie Sheen is “The Wraith,” or if his car is “The Wraith,” or if they are both electric balls of energy that just happened to materialize at the beginning of the movie from what looked like big lightning bugs that zipped around the desert highway until they formed a motorcycle riding Charlie Sheen.
Either way, they are both indestructible, and they’ve come from Elsewhere to avenge Jaime’s (who is now Jake, remember?) death that we don’t really get to see, and isn’t really explained, beyond the fact that Packard apparently has a devastating jealous streak. Also, he wears a leather jacket with a flaming cow’s skull on the back of it. (Packard, not Jake. Still with me here?)
Randy Quaid plays town Sheriff Loomis, who has an affinity for scratching his head in confusion, spouting cop-like cliched phrases, and making headless paper puppets. (Don’t ask.)
Sherilyn Fenn plays The Girl of the movie, whose name happens to be Keri Johnson, and while she is surely pretty, she isn’t exactly convincing as a strong and memorable character, probably because she works at Big Kay’s Burgers as a roller girl, and wears white cowboy boots in every scene. But then, I remembered her, so perhaps the reverse fashion psychology works.
This movie isn’t scary, at all, but apparently it’s supposed to be. What IS scary is the aforementioned hair, the acting, and the copious amounts of blue-eye-shadowed goons with names like “Skank, “Rughead,” and “Gutterboy.”
SPOILER ALERT (but not really because anyone who watches it will know how it ends five minutes after starting it): The movie ends with Jake/Jaime riding off into the sunset Middle of Nowhere toward a full moon after gifting his indestructible car to his brother Billy.
Memorable Quotes:
“You want a race? Cuz I’ll give you a race!”
“Yeah, you can kill me, too, Packard. But you can never make me love you.”
“Wait a minute! Come back. Come back, bro!”
“I seen his eyes; I seen his eyes, Loomis! I got a real weird feeling.”
“Turbo Interceptor. The only one in existence.”
The Turbo Interceptor: that’s the car’s name, apparently. Behold:

“You don’t stop something that can’t be stopped.” “Loomis, what are you saying?”
“Jake! Jake! Jaimeeeeeeeee!”
The Verdict: I hereby rate this movie: The best worst movie I’ve seen in ages. You should watch it. You know, for free.
Stories I said I had. Tangential stories and life-changing ones.
Until today I haven’t known where, exactly, to begin. And so quiet this space has mostly been because some beginnings are tricky. Sometimes it’s quite impossible to denote where something ended and something else entirely began.
I’m not going to be able to tell you everything, but then the best stories never really do, do they?
(That’s not a trick question. I promise they don’t.)
(Unless the story was penned by Henry James, in → Read more...
This week I’ve been finding pieces of writing long lost and forgotten. Unearthing words belonging to me, and words penned by some of my favorite of all literary voices, collected and saved and scrawled excitedly on pages littered with foggy memories of past lives, obscured now in light of all that was and is and is to come.
Of the words not belonging to me, Lucille Clifton’s were the ones I found most often, recounted in notebook after notebook, or inked → Read more...
They say water changes stone, carving it over time to angles and dimensions in harmony with water’s need to reach the sea; but sometimes, stones change the watercourse instead.
-The lovely and eclectic Shari
I’m collecting my favorite corners, like the one with the stunning oak tree on display for an entire neighborhood to see, its limbs shading a bustling crosswalk shooting confidence into pedestrians like electric currents of white light, fresh graffiti on a nearby curb: an infinity symbol, black and simple.
I’m collecting stories about the apartment window filled with small elephant figurines along one of my favorite walking routes. So many trunks standing side-by-side and none of them alive.
I’m collecting the surprisingly → Read more...