Troop Beverly Hills

It always frosts my cookies* a bit to find that my favorite films as a child were viciously and maliciously torn apart by critics. Here I'd been thinking this movie was on par with other representations of fine art, when more cognizant adults degraded my love for this movie with their scathing critiques. Indeed, Troop Beverly Hills, arguably one of my favorite childhood movies, boasts an impressive (okay, depressive) 8% fresh rating on Rotten Tomatoes. Not only that, but the only positive review is downright confusing to me as I had assumed myself the target audience for the film:

It's a treat (and necessity) not only for youngish gay boys, but for anyone who enjoys campy good fun with the added bonus of watching dominant cultural values self-destruct.

Right. Okay. At least they threw in that bonus. I was afraid I'd have to let dominant cultural values uphold their lofty position, but luckily they're on the verge of nuclear implosion. And all thanks to Troop Beverly Hills. Who knew?


Perhaps the problem with these reviews was not the movie itself but the jadedness of these adult critics. Yes, I understand that by nature assuming the title of critic allows you to criticize, but it also at times morphs you into too cynical a skeptic to just delight in something light and fluffy and substanceless. As a child, things like plot and nuance and character development are arbitrary. Why settle for a well-written script when there were cupcake dresses to be worn and cookie time songs to be sung. Am I right?

Troop Beverly hills is admittedly somewhere relative to cotton candy on the substance scale of movies. It confirms all of our lurking stereotyped suspicious about the wealthy and it's not exactly a feminist manifesto, but dammit, it's fun. There's even a light sprinkling of salt-of-the-earth values thrown in there for good measure. Well, sort of.

The movie showcases Shelley Long as Phyllis Neffler, a Beverly Hills socialite in the midst of a divorce from her new-moneyful husband. To prove herself as more than just the shallow social climber she probably is, Phyllis opts to become a troop leader for her daughter Hannah's troop of Wilderness Girls. You know, like the Girl Scouts, but with less copyright infringements.



You've got to admit, you've never seen anything campier, save for the troop's camping trip at the Beverly Hills Hotel. That's right, he totally said "khaki wishes and cookie dreams." You're only wishing you'd come up with it first.

So we get Phyllis, compulsive shopper and outrageous late-80s couture-wearer extraordinaire, boldly going where no trophy wife has tread before. Her daughter's troopmates are an eclectic cross section of the rich and famous: darling offspring of famous athletes, out-of-work actors, and foreign dictators round out their motley crew. Though Phyllis is certainly not an ideal troop leader, she's better than the alternative of nobody. Well, sort of.

There is one little fly in the bug spray, though. Rival troop Redfeathers' crazy leader Vesta Plendor, is out to expose Phyllis for what we all already know that she is: a fraud with a big checkbook. Vesta takes this whole thing way too seriously, resorting to some pretty dirty tricks to keep Troop Beverly Hills down. She even goes so far as to enlist her assistant Annie as a spy to infiltrate the Beverly Hills troop.

Initially unsuspecting of Vesta's distasteful scheming, Phyllis sets to work on bettering her troop. She is not such of fan of any existing badges, but she does go to town on the make-your-own-badge project. Literally. They go to town. There's a shopping badge. Jewelry appraisal. It's just so satisfyingly campy. They power through their cookie sales with over the top sales strategies and even a huge troop gala. All seems to be going swimmingly for the newly uplifted Troop Beverly Hills.

The culmination of their work, the Jamboree, is sabotaged by the vicious Vesta-led Redfeathers. Oh, and there are also some lovely trying moments of bonding between the girls. Aww.



The Redfeathers power on, even as Vesta is injured. Her daughter (played by Tori Spelling) and the rest of the troop abandon her in her usual spirit of winning. They finish first, but without a troop leader, their victory is hollow and the girls are disqualified. Just then, Troop Beverly Hills emerges from around the bend, dragging the washed-up Vesta. All's well that end's well. Phyllis and her husband reunite, Vesta gets some K-mart employee blue-smocked comeuppance, yada yada yada, we all live happily ever after.

Irony is notably lacking from this movie, which is fortunate as its major target demographic was the under-12 set. Troop Beverly Hills has no wry remarks on wealth in society, no biting social commentary, and little satirical value. But it does have this**:

The greatest cheesy girl scout cookie-themed movie song I know of, to date

And in the end, isn't that all that really counts?






*This is a line from the movie. Please tell me you caught this.
**It's entirely possible that when I purchased this DVD, some of my roommates and I may have watched this song on repeat. I'm not saying it happened, I'm just saying it's possible that we learned the full song and dance. Intoxication may have been involved.

Tiny Toon Adventures

With the classics, there's a general sense of "if-it-ain't-broke-don't-fix-it"-ness. While Warner Brothers animation studios had spent many years continually rehashing and re-spinning the adventures of their classic characters, by the 90s the ol' Looney Tunes gang was getting a bit tired. Under the guidance of Steven Spielberg, the studio was at last poised to create some younger, hipper characters.

Not everyone was particularly keen on disrupting the holy gospel of animated TV. Many adult who had grown up with the original characters were less than thrilled by their 90s incarnations. Regardless, Warner Brothers was finally ready to provide 90s children with some well-deserved original animation in the form of Tiny Toon Adventures, a new show that maintained a similar format to the original Looney Tunes program.

In the spirit of the day, classic cartoons (or near-miss versions of them) were getting a bit of an age downgrade with their 90s makeovers. While many of the shows that entertained our parents featured adult-age characters, animators saw fit to bring their 90s counterparts a bit further down to our level. Chronologically speaking, that is. Newer animated exploits like Flintstone Kids and Muppet Babies explored familiar territory and characters but featured younger versions of the characters we knew and loved.



Tiny Toons was somewhat exceptional in that it introduced (gasp!) new characters. I know, I know. I'll give you a minute to digest it. While most of us out here probably aren't real animation fiends, this was pretty big news from our friends at Warner Brothers. Though their original cartoons continued to air in rerun, they sought fit to shift to a new generation of Looney Tunes christened as Tiny Toons.

With some classic cartoon writers on board, Warner Brothers set out to create a junior class of Looney Tunes. Though not necessarily genetically tied to their predecessors, Tiny Toons were a sort of adolescent version of the originals. They were still pulling the same slapstick humor gags as their forebunnies and foreducks, but this time around they were kids. Students, to be precise. At the esteemed Acme Looniversity. Get it? Looniversity? You're laughing already.

They wrapped it all up in a well-animated colorful package and even threw in a catchy theme song to boot. You know, memory is a funny thing. I don't think I could tell you what a periodic table looks like or how to reduce fractions, but I can can flawlessly recall these lyrics without skipping a beat. Then again, I suppose an anvil never fell from the sky during any of my chemistry classes. It would certainly make it more memorable.



The new show didn't fully abandon our original Looney Tunes heroes. Indeed, they had a relatively respected cameo-level role as our young toons' trusty instructors.I suppose that's as literal a metaphor set-up as ever for passing the torch, but it worked. The show paid homage to the original greats without trying to hard to reinstate the Golden Years.

The characters were sort of junior spin-offs of the Looney Tunes, with similar species. Here were some of our new major animated players:


Buster Bunny

A clear take-off of Bugs, Buster is his forebearer's prized pupil at Acme Looniversity. Buster was the everyman (everybunny?) character and usually the leader of the group. Though Buster and Babs both share the last name "Bunny", they constantly remind the audience that there is indeed no relation between the two. Buster was initially voiced by Charlier Adler, who also gave us delightful characters such as Aaah! Real Monsters' Ickis and Ed and Bev Bighead from Rocko's Modern Life. In the words of the rival animation company that shall remain unnamed, it's a small (animated) world after all.

Though a tad more vulnerable than the infallibly cool Bugs, Buster was certainly in the realm of cool cartoon characters. Observe, his guide to goofing off:





Babs Bunny

Babs was always my favorite, not just because she was female but mainly because she was willing to sacrifice herself for a laugh. She was completely over-the-top. Babs also was queen of spot-on impressions, though it's not especially surprising when you find she was voiced by the talented Tress MacNeille. MacNeille voiced Chip of Chip n' Dale, Dot of Animaniacs, Lindsay Nagle of The Simpsons, and tyrannical Mom on Futurama, among countless others.





Hamton J. Pig

A Porky knockoff, Hamton J. was both studious and compulsively neat. Though you'd think him the straight man, the truth was Tiny Toons rarely played it straight. My favorite part was that there was a cute little menorah in the Pigs' house. For non-MOTs* out there, we're talking Jewish bacon. Hilarious. I promise. It is. Just go with it.

Hamton was voiced by Don Messick, and if you think for a second I'm going to get remotely tired of marveling over all these vocal talents then you've got another thing coming. Probably an anvil. Messick was a cartoon voice all-star, boasting credits as Scooby Doo, Papa Smurf, Bamm Bamm, and Boo Boo Bear.




Plucky Duck

Our Daffy lite, Plucky was a scheming little bill-face. He was Hamton's best friend, though he often took advantage of his kinder nature. I was always a big fan of Plucky's tank top. As far as animated clothing choices go, I always found it somewhat humorous. Plucky was voiced by Joe Alaskey, a guy who made a living impersonating the original Looney Tunes in more recent ventures. He did a mean Bugs, Tweety, Yosemite Sam, and most notable, Daffy.





Montana Max

Montana was our classic bully, and among the few humans to popular Acme Acres. A protege of Yosemite Sam, Montana was equally temperamental. His character is incredibly wealthy, making him the big bad rich villain. Montana Max's vocal talent is probably my favorite 90s connection. Montana was voiced by Danny Cooksey, none other than (wait for it) Bobby Budnick on Nickelodeon's Salute Your Shorts.





Elmyra Duff

Elmyra was presumably the female young version of Elmer Fudd, although her intent with animals is slightly off the Fudd path. Elmyra was completely and utterly obsessed with all things fluffy and cute, getting overexcited and unintentionally abusive with each outpouring of unquenchable love. She was famous for saying such frightening things as, "I'm gonna hug you and kiss you and love you forever" right before she nearly hugs the life out of something.

She was generally pretty dim-witted and spoke in baby talk, though she proved to be one of the most enduring Tiny Toons characters with follow-up roles in both Animaniacs and a Pinky and the Brain spin-off. Elmyra was voiced by Cree Summer, who's done a bunch of stuff but who I like to think of mainly as the voice of Suzie on Rugrats. I just love Suzie.




Certainly this doesn't even begin to cover the vast cast of characters that populated Acme Forest, but it's a start. Tiny Toon Adventures ran three full seasons, with a handful of specials thrown in for good measure. The show did however have a long foray into syndication, exposing a range of children throughout the 90s to their animated antics. That's about all, folks. Or in the ever-wise words of Gogo Dodo, it's been surreal! See you next time.



*Members of the tribe

Warheads

The 90s were the age of extreme. Extreme sports, extreme caffeinated beverages, and even extreme candy. That's right, extreme candy. Though it may seem counter-intuitive to assume a candy can possess daring, risk-takable qualities, the 90s made it happen. Sure, you had to endure a great deal of pain and discomfort, tooth enamel loss, and burned off taste buds...wait a minute. Where was I going with this?

Ah, yes. Extreme. The simple qualifier that made children and teenagers delight in torturing their taste buds, no questions asked. Children are a wonderfully flexible market demographic. If through marketing you can somehow manage to convince children that intentionally putting themselves in a great deal of tear-inducing pain is a means of proving themselves on the playground, then by all means do so. After all, convincing children that something is cool is a hell of a lot easier than adults, and takes far less logical explanations.

Hence was the case with Warheads. If measured on a quality scale devoid of context, these hard candies would have relatively little value. They were eye-poppingly sour, made possible by all sorts of unnatural acidic ingredients created in labs. Warheads contained very little in the way of anything found in nature. The experience of eating a Warhead in itself was not innately pleasurable. Rather, advertisers had managed to convince us that our endurance of their sour taste was in some way to scale with our general coolness reputation.


In retrospect the notion is completely ridiculous, but as children we swore by it. Playground peer pressure quickly swept the nation as kids inexplicably agreed that the ability to consume an unbearably sour candy was the hallmark of coolness. Never mind that these babies were named for a form of nuclear weaponry. Never mind that the packaging pictured a mushroom cloud erupting behind a struggling, miserable looking mascot with bulgy eyes and puckered lips. We wanted our sour candies and that was that.

Indeed, these suckers required a warning label. Though not found on original packaging, current Warhead wrappers sport the following caveat:

"Eating multiple pieces within a short time period may cause a temporary irritation to sensitive tongues and mouths."

Right. So what you're telling me is right there on the package, it indicates that this will be a horrifying unpleasurable experience certain to disrupt the normal balance of my natural mouth environment. Sounds like something I'd like to eat!

Warheads came in numerous varieties such as Mega and Atomic. In early days, the company even had the bright idea to manufacture a "hot" version of the candy. This experiment proved intensely disgusting, but remarkably did nothing to detract from the strength of the Warhead brand. You're telling me you're willing to continually put your trust in the people who arbitrarily believed that you as a child consumer would delight over "Hot Grape?" Give me a break. I've got a bottle of Dimetapp and a microwave at home, buddy. Nice try.

In the spirit of cough syrup, Warheads are now available in liquid form. There's nothing quite like eye-dropping some painfully sour substance onto your tongue, droplet by droplet. Yum!

The underlying principle behind the explosive popularity of Warheads lay largely in children's inherently competitive nature. A bitter and sour candy alone is not particularly desirable, but a bitter and sour candy that allows you to go head-to-head (well, Warhead to Warhead) with cocky classmates? Sign me up. It was peer pressure at its very finest. Warhead-eating contests became a common phenomenon, even boasting a widely-accepted list of universal rules for sour endurance.

The candies were also prime targets for absurd urban legends based on the questionably chemical candy components and tongue-burning taste. We heard rumors that children had burned off all of their taste buds or lost all sense of taste from overexposure to Warheads. You have to admit if you've ever managed to get through the sour coating of a Warhead that that seems vaguely plausible. These legends fell somewhere on the believability spectrum between pop-rocks-and-coke and sitting-too-close-to-the-tv-will-make-you-blind. It seemed possible. The idea that the mere passive act of eating a candy could be daring and dangerous and could cement your reputation was too good to pass up. Hey, I'd be willing to sacrifice a few taste buds if I could be Four Square King every day at recess. Just sayin'.



In reality, the only thing you were proving was that you were gullible enough to believe that enduring a disgusting sour coating for 30 seconds was in some way correlated to your social standing. Sure, it came with the added bonus of your overenthusiastic classmates cheering you on and the almighty title of Warhead conqueror, but it wasn't exactly a marketable skill. I have yet to go on a job interview where the boss has said, "Your resume looks great, everything seems to be in order. Oh, just one more thing--how are you with mega atomic Warheads?"

Regardless of its lack of application, this level of pain threshold was bound to make you at the very least a minor classroom celebrity. So embrace the lip-puckering sourness. It may not be particularly palatable, but it's still better than the alternative.