Hocus Pocus

In the spirit of Halloween, it seems worthwhile to hearken back to a time when the holiday was less about wearing lingerie and animal ear-handbands and more about giving ourselves movie-induced nightmares. Sure, we're trading one vice for another, but that's really just splitting hairs. You know, to put in our bubbling cauldrons and to bring forth from which a magical potion.

While there was no shortage of horror movies in the 90s, we also got some family friendlier fare thrown in the mix. 1993's Hocus Pocus gave us a little bit of spookiness with a better measure of humor to soften the impact. So what if I still have an insatiable urge to hide under the bed whenever I hear Sarah Jessica Parker singing "Come Little Children?" It's still totally worth it.



See what I mean? That is seriously creepy. Also, is it just me or does is she showing an inordinate amount of cleavage for this being a children's movie? I wouldn't have noticed at the time, of course, being far too traumatized by that haunting song, but now it seems marginally suspect.

Hocus Pocus is the story of three witches, sisters who are seeking to circumvent the aging process by giving themselves eternal youth. As we all know, the only means of doing this is by sucking the life out of a living, breathing, vital child. Now that sounds like a movie I want to take my children to. Hey kids! Guess what? Remember that time you forgot to make your bed? Well, do it one more time, and three terrifying witches will swoop into your room unannounced, extract your lifebreath, and leave your useless corpse strewn across the bed. I don't know about you, but I'd be fluffing the pillows and resetting the duvet the instant I heard that one.

The three Sanderson sisters, Winnifred (Bette Midler), Mary (Kathy Najimy), and Sarah (Sarah Jessica Parker) find their unsuspecting juvenile victim in Emily Binx. Her brother Thackery (because, hey, this is the 1600s and people were partial to the name Thackery) tries to intervene but is forced to watch as they drain the last drop of life from his innocent sister. Again, there's a way to start a children's movie.

Resisting the allure of Thackery's youth, the Sanderson sisters opt instead to doom him to eternal life in the body of a black cat. Conveniently, they give him the gift of speech, which I can't imagine is relevant in any other way than setting up a plot line for the present day story. After I saw it here and then later in Sabrina the Teenage Witch I just pretty much assumed it was a common practice to turn people in wittily quipping English-speaking black cats with eternal life.



If this weren't already a traumatizing enough beginning for a children's movie, the three sisters are subsequently arrested under suspicion of practicing witchcraft and hanged for their alleged crimes. There's nothing quite like a good hanging to get a children's movie going. It's that secret ingredient that really gives it that extra kick.*



Before their executions, the Sandersons thought fit to cast a spell that would bring them back to life if an innocent virgin just happened to enter their historic home and light their ominous black-flamed candle. This of course begs the question of if they could imbue that much foresight into their deaths, why couldn't they just witch themselves alive in the first place? Lucky for Disney, kids aren't especially adept at plot investigation, so we all just sort of went with it.

The cat version of Thackery Binx makes it his unending life mission to stop the curse from being fulfilled, but it wouldn't be much of a story if he was just really really good at it. To his credit, he kept it pretty safe for oh, say, 300 years, and we would all get a bit sloppy after working the same gig for that long. Some pesky local modern-day kids come across the house and of course feel compelled to light the black flame candle. Because that's what teenagers do to be rebellious: go around from haunted museum to haunted museum unobtrusively lighting lights.

So we've got our witches back and the unavoidable hi-jinks ensue. They gather up some of their undead friends and make a night of it, as they've only got until sunrise to suck some serious lifeblood. It's Halloween, of course, meaning lifeblood-filled children are frolicking about carefreely through the streets blinded by their love of free candy. I have to say, it's not looking too promising for their sticky-fingered futures.

Somehow our villains end up at a Halloween party, where they're mistaken for well-costumed entertainment. Bette Midler performs her requisite over-the-top musical number ("I'll Put a Spell on You") and entrances the town's partying adults into an endless night of dancing. Really, endless. The witches leave them to die from dance-induced exhaustion. Sounds like a good party.



A few more plot twists and we've got our singing enchantress Sarah summoning the town's innocent and undoubtedly delicious children. Soon the witches have our heroes and their young companions in their grasp and everything seems pretty doomed. Of course, this is Disney, so we get our all-important last minute rah-rah the-kids-win moment, and it's a happy ending after all. Binx turns back into a human, which is super, of course, because he's 300-something years old and I'm sure all he wants is to be a teenager forever, Twilight style. Okay, fine, that didn't happen, instead he sort of creepily passes through to the afterlife to chill with his dead sister. How...sweet.

The movie was panned by critics, who obviously couldn't see it for what it was: a silly, over-the-top, campy film filled with gimmicks and cliches. In other words, a Disney movie. Over the years, however, the movie's developed quite a loyal cult fan base who delight in its ridiculousness and pure camp. It's morphed into a sort of Halloween classic, the type of movie that gets yearly TV play and is somehow designated a classic despite the fact that it didn't perform especially well in theaters. Regardless of its route to becoming a Halloween staple, Hocus Pocus has all the makings of a good children's movie. Well, except for the witchcraft, hangings, and de-lifeblooding. We'll just overlook that.





*By kick I mean nightmares, nightmares, nightmares

90s Fitness: Exercise Fads and Ridiculous Infomercials

Riding the crest of 80s aerobic fitness trends, many entrepreneurial-minded exercise gurus took to the airwaves with the goal of convincing us to buy their complicated contraptions. Through the use of TV ads, particularly informercials, these buff business-minded bodybuilders managed to persuade us into believing that we could not live without these exercise appliances. Watching the near-immediate transformations of the testimonial hawkers on our screens, our resistance weakened and we felt increasingly compelled to rush to the nearest phone with the toll-free number and a valid credit card. In short, we were all looking for a quick fix and television ads had a unique way of making the process of getting fit seem simple and instantaneous.

Of course, getting fit is not simple or instantaneous, but we didn't know that yet. Watching these skilled salespeople describe the results possible with their product made us believe that this was indeed the fitness panacea we had been looking for. It rarely occurred to any of us that we might actually have to use the item in question. Based on the infomercials, it seemed enough to simply shell out the bills for it. It was almost as if we believed our act of exercise goodwill would immediately transform us from crumb-laden couch potatoes into tan, oiled, muscular wonders. That is to say, we were completely deluded.

So many of us fell under the spell of the fitness trends, it's no wonder many of these products made their endorsers a nice chunk of cash. Everyone's looking for that magic bullet (no infomercial pun intended*) to transform us from flab to fab, and somehow watching these 30 minute ads at 2 in the morning made these machines and videos seem like the wisest solution. As many of us were wee children during the rise and fall of these trends, we had the unique perspective of watching the infomercials, coveting the products, and having no means whatsoever to obtain them.



I don't know about you, but when I got a television in my own room it certainly didn't have cable on it. There are only so many programming options late at night, and most of them involve show-length commercials brimming with overzealous enthusiasm. Even as a kid, I was blown away by the seemingly incredible results these programs offered. If I had been 18 or older to order, I certainly would have done so. Until then, though, I'd have to settle for sitting back and enjoying the informercials.


Tony Little's Gazelle

Just when I was here thinking Richard Simmons was the king of excessive exercisical energy, Tony Little burst onto the infomercial scene gave Richard a run for his aerobics-earned money. To his credit, Little did have an adequately inspirational backstory to give him some credibility in pushing others to their physical limits. Little was a former bodybuilder who suffered a serious car crash, leaving him injured and subsequently overweight. Tired of wallowing in cheeto-tinted misery, he petitioned a small television to let him create his own personal trainer style fitness program. Not long after, he struck a deal with the Home Shopping Network and all seemed pretty peachy.

As his personal website objectively and not-at-all-awkwardly informs us, "Life couldn't have been better for the blond haired, lean, mean, energized, personal training machine." That is, until he suffered yet another car accident. Little did the whole overcoming adversity thing a second time around and came out with his signature Gazelle fitness equipment:



See? Even at 11 seconds, that clip manages to draw you in. Like a train wreck. Or car crash. Too soon? Sorry, Tony. I admire your work, I really do.


Tae Bo

Developed by Tae kwan do instructor Billy Blanks, Tae Bo combined martial arts and kickboxing to create an infomercial-driven phenomenon. In the 90s, you could catch one of Blanks's infomercials airing pretty much anytime. In 1999, they were airing 2000 times a day on cable. Now that's good exposure. And I'm not just talking about those spandex pants.

The infomercial gave us many compelling testimonials from regular people and celebrities alike, all of whom praised its "spirit" and "Truth". Selling at 60 bucks a pop, Blanks made a pretty penny of his kickboxing hybrid routine. People flooded local gyms to partake in new Tae Bo-inspired cardio kickboxing classes, and seemingly overnight a fitness fad was born. It makes sense, really. We get to punch and kick and let out aggression in the comfort of our own homes. What's not to like?

If you want to try it for yourself, here's a little 8 minute taste:



8 Minute Video series

Speaking of 8 minutes, the "8 minute" video series was a serious money-maker in the 90s, particularly its "8 Minute Abs" routine. The idea was that in just 8 minutes a day, you too could be as ripped and skimpy-pantsed as the instructor. Any rational person can tell you this is pretty much impossible if you're overweight in any way; sure, you may have rock-hard abs, but thousands of crunches won't do a thing about that beer belly.

The videos feature a cheery host, bland meandering music, and two seemingly mute demonstrators who smile with such conviction you've almost got to question their sobriety. The host constantly refers to his audience as, "gang", which I suppose is supposed to be encouraging and not indicative of any east side/west side distinction. Just to clarify.



The videos caught a bit of free publicity in There's Something About Mary, in a scene in which a lone hitchhiker details his plans to create a "7 Minute Abs" program and crush his overlong competition:



Abdomenizer

There are so many reasons to love this commercial. For one, that struggling sitter-upper in the No Pain, No Gain t shirt. Usually when I work out, I like to wear clothing emblazoned with slogans that represent my current fitness mindset. I've got to change at the gym every time I hop on a new machine.

Also, I find that doing concurrent ab exercises with a partner in tandem synchronized motion without speaking or looking at one another is usually the most effective method. And of course, we've got our requisite doctor testimonial claiming this thing is pelvically tilted in some miraculous way. That's it, I'm sold.




Buns of Steel

On the edge of the 80s aerobics craze, "Buns of Steel" gave us a means of filling out leotards or bike shorts respectively by gender. In the late 80s and early 90s, workout videos were becoming all the rage. Just think, you could get fit all from the comfort of your own home. Of course, many people overlooked the fact that you actually had to do the workout, but if you did it no doubt led to the betterment of your overall physique. At least that's what Cher told me in Clueless.




Suzanne Somers for Thighmaster

Ah, here we've got both our doctor testimonial and celebrity endorsement. Talk about your classic infomercial one-two punch. There is definitely a little something...inappropriate about it. Didn't your mother ever tell you to keep your legs closed? It's just a tad obscene. I can see why the infomercial was so popular, though.




The 90s fitness scene may have been slightly toned down from the over-the-top marketing of the 80s, but it had its own unique charm and appeal. There's a reason these items sold thousands of units worldwide. Rather than the effectiveness of the product, though, that reason was probably more about how easily swayed the public was by infomercials. Alright, I'm off to go cut up some shoes with my Ginsu knives. What? They're good knives.

*Okay, okay, a little infomercial pun intended

Jurassic Park

There are certain movies that have the unique ability to both terrify and entertain us at the same time. Especially as impressionable young children, special effects can have a marvelously resonant impact on our easily rattled imaginations. The images that frighten us as children have the power to stay with us for life. I mean, I'm still afraid of being eaten by dinosaurs while innocently settling a velociraptor in its isolated caged environment during a promising career stint as a genetic engineer on a Costa Rican Island. Still.

While we may be unfazed by dazzling computer generated visual effects today, we were incredibly impressed when it was still a fledgling enterprise. Before computer animation, visual effects in movies were less than convincing to say the least. Yes, the movie industry had had years to come up with all sorts of perspective and angle-based trickery, but it just wasn't as thrilling to see a spacecraft careening through the galaxy with little strings attached to its sides.

Jurassic Park was incredibly pioneering in the field of visual effects, unleashing upon audience such a series of incredibly realistic-looking prehistoric creatures that they had never seen before. In previous films with dinosaurs in the plot, the beasts themselves had been laughably unconvincing. In Jurassic Park, however, the close interaction of the computer animated dinosaurs and the human actors was enough to have all of us trembling in our movie seats. While it may not be up to snuff by today's standards, in the early 90s it was terrifyingly realistic and unlike anything any of us had ever seen.

Based on the late Michael Crichton's science fiction novel of the same name, Jurassic Park explores the dangerous outcomes of tampering with prehistorical science. Crichton actually began work on the project as a screenplay, but it later grew into a book which would later grow back into a movie under the guidance of Steven Spielberg. Despite its twisted path to production, it was an interesting and chilling story that ultimately drew millions of moviegoers to the theater.




While the plot is certainly farfetched, it's also an interesting and well-conceived premise. The short version of the way-too-complicated-for-me-to-understand-as-a-child set up is that a genetic engineering firm is in the midst of creating a theme park featuring real dinosaurs. Why anyone ever, ever thought this might be a good idea is completely beyond me, but I'm just going to go with it. I mean, me: five foot five. T-Rex: 20 feet. I'm no mathlete, but I'm pretty sure the odds are stacked against me.

The scientists working on the project used prehistoric mosquitoes preserved in amber and extracted from them the years-old dinosaur blood that constituted their last supper. They craftily combined the genetic material with some leftover frog DNA they had laying around and presto change-o, we've got ourselves some dinosaurs. Again, this seems like a totally marvelous and harmless idea that will in no way erupt in the faces of all invested in the project.

Following some complications in getting things off the ground, a team of inspectors arrives to give the park the go-ahead. The CEO of the whole operation invites some prominent and relevant scientists with titles I'm not going to even attempt to spell out for you here. Oh, and he's got his grandkids with him, you know, just in case the dinosaurs have a hankering for a light snack.

A tropical storm and some mild inconveniences later, computer geek Dennis Nedry (You know, Newman from Seinfeld) is left to tend to the park. Unluckily for the park, Nedry has accepted a substantial bribe from the firm's competitors to provide them with embryos. In order to do so and get away with it, he needs to shut down the park's security system. Yes, the one that controls all the electric fences that keep the dinosaurs in. I think we can all see where this is headed.



It's about at this point in the movie that everyone either starts dying vicious and gory deaths or running for their lives. Obviously Nedry's got to bite it, after all he started it, so it's really only fair that he gets eaten alive by dinosaurs. Our lawyer pal doesn't fare too well, either. To be fair, I guess that's probably what you get for voluntarily isolating yourselves with ferocious prehistoric beasts.

As if things weren't bad enough, the survivors come across a nest of freshly hatched eggs, which was totally not in the plan. All of the dinosaurs were supposed to be females, but conveniently for the twisting plot these frogs they used have some sort of gender mutation. That can't be good. Thanks a lot B.D. Wong, you played the scientist who was supposed to have taken care of that. To think I trusted you as Franc's assistant in Father of the Bride.

A park engineer (Samuel L Jackson, because it just wouldn't be a movie without him) attempts to break into the now-deceased Nedry's computer, but to no avail. Of course the only way to get into the files is to shut everything down, which seems like a pretty ominous sign when we've already got man-eating dinosaurs abounding. There's a fair amount of bloodshed during this part, and by fair I mean more than enough fodder to give a kid nightmares for months. Believe me, I know.

Finally they get connected with their crappy modem and manage to call for help, requesting a helicopter to retrieve them from the mounting wreckage they've unleashed on the island. I don't want to give too many spoilers (i.e. the memories are still to traumatic to recount) but suffice it to say the survivors make a narrow escape and leave us with a vague enough ending to warrant not just a sequel but a legitimate franchise.

In case that synopsis just didn't do it for you memory-wise, here's a handy condensed version:



When the movie was released, it soon became the highest-grossing film of all-time. Sure, it got knocked off its top spot by Titanic, but it's still definitely up there. Even watching the movie today after all I know about advances in animatronic modeling and computer imaging, it's still pretty terrifying. I suppose that's testament to its staying power. If you'll excuse me now, I'm going to go hide under the bed.