Wild and Crazy Kids

Sometimes you're watching a show and you can almost imagine what the network producers were thinking when they conceived of the inane idea. In the case of Wild and Crazy kids, I'm willing to venture that they were thinking, "What would be the easiest program to produce with universal appeal to children that costs us next to nothing?" The idea was marginally brilliant. A game show-esque format with a messiness factor guaranteed to lure in young viewers while concurrently forgoing any sort of prize or reward for the victors. It was more or less a case of take-everything-in-the-Nickelodeon-back-room-and-office-fridge-leftovers, arrange them haphazardly in a field, release a slew of cheaply t-shirted children, and let the games begin.

Wild and Crazy Kids seems like one of those one-in-the-morning ideas, the sort of which were particularly common to Nickelodeon during the 1990s. They simply planned some inconsequential events that were simultaneously sloppy and required little to no innate skill, handed out some t-shirts, and then completely snub the winners by offering no tangible goods in the means of congratulations. In days of consolatory Carmen Sandiego Gumshoe prize packs and all-expenses paid trips to Universal Studios, this was in somewhat bad form.They could have at least sent the winners packing with a Gak pack.

I always had a thing for Donny. Didn't you? Seriously. Look at him.

Luckily, the show was not particularly self-referential or self-examing. It never once alluded to the fact that hordes of children were covered in chocolate pudding and shaving cream with no foreseeable purpose or aim. It was, simply put, a chance for kids to be both Wild and Crazy. Oh, and they also got a free t-shirt, though inevitably they left the show with their trademark shirts covered in slime or pie.

Nickelodeon in the 90s was huge on slime and pie. There's no real discernible evidence as to why these were the prevailing super sloppy weapons of choice, but we just accepted that any misstep would lead to someone being doused in green slime or cream pied in the face. It was just sort of a given. Miss the baton pass in a relay? Slime and pie. Strike out at Dizzy Bat Home Run Derby? Slime and pie. Wipe out slip n' sliding? Well, you get the idea.

Each half-hour show featured three games of relatively equal insanity and inanity. The games usually went a little something like this:




As you can see, the production values on these shows were somewhat less than cinematic. The show looked more like a home movie of kids doing relay races at a school picnic than an actual show airing on a reputable children's network. As I said, it obviously wasn't costing them the big bucks, unless we're seriously underestimating the cost of spaghetti and tarps here.

Wild and Crazy Kids had three young hosts, with Omar Gooding and Donnie Jeffcoat emceeing both seasons and Annette Chavez and Jessica Gaynes each putting in one season. The hosts usually put on some sort of skit or teaser at the beginning of each show, which I once found hilarious but now believe to be potentially a bit grating. They also provided the commentary, taking very seriously elements like instant replays and play-by-plays. This sounds much more serious until you realize they were instantly replaying ketchup and mustard jousting.

The show was not without its gimmicks. They indulged in the occasional cheap cross-over inter-show challenge, such as in this episode with Marc Summers of Double Dare fame. Since the shows had a lot of shared underlying themes (read: slime and pie), it was not quite a stretch to envision the union of their Physical Challenge courses.



They also had a prime opportunity to hawk their very own Nickelodeon products, such as the oft-coveted Moon Shoes. After all, what's a cheaply produced aimless game show without a product placement thrown in now and again?



These guys were also sort of partial to making people spin around on a bat for dizzying impact. For some reason, all of these wild and/or crazy stunts seemed at least somewhat more humorous when the element of nausea and vertigo were in the picture. I doubt I'd make it through this segment without a Dramamine or one of those sea-band bracelets*.

Wild and Crazy Kids played it to the point. There was no moral of the story nor was there any remote educational value. The kids did not come away better people** by popping shaving cream-filled balloons while wearing moon-shoes. It was pure, guilty fun that never made any subtle attempt to market itself as anything other than just that. It may not have been the most affective shows of its time, but it's certainly a contender for one of the messiest***.




*I do not official endorse these products, but they do keep me from vomiting while deep-sea fishing or on glass bottom boats. I imagine a similar effect would have been had as a Wild and Crazy kid **To my knowledge. If you participated as a contestant, feel free to contradict this allegation ***Did I mention the slime and pie?

Super Mario Brothers

*Let me just offer this as a legitimate and all-excusing disclaimer: I am not, nor do I claim to be knowledgeable about video games in any way. Please don't take my word for it on any technical points by any means. I don't know the names of the versions and all of the release dates. Please accept my humble offering of Mario love. Thank you.

I like that we all just accept it as fact that a stubby little Italian guy with a face-consuming mustache battles obstacles and adversarial Koopas to rescue Princess Peach (nee Toadstool). Even as I'm typing it, a small part of me is still thinking, well, of course, it makes perfect sense. Mushrooms give you power and flowers give you fireballs and if you shimmy down a tube, you enter the mysterious minus world where the coins make that satisfying "ding" with each collection. Duh. Everyone knows that.

Mario and all of his spin-offs have become such a ubiquitous part of our culture that we're all willing to go along with that plot line and say, yeah, why not? That's just the way it is. Have you ever tried describing a video game to someone who had never played a video game? You'll find that this intricate gamer world that you navigate without question is probably the most bizarre thing they have ever heard. It's the delightful escapism of video games: they're not the real world, nor do they pretend to be grounded in it. In this world, anything goes, and you always get to play the hero. Where do I sign up?

I admit I was not much of a Nintendo aficionado growing up. Not for lack of want, but more for lack of brothers. My parents never saw fit to buy my sister and I our own video game system, though we were allowed to play Mario and Tetris on my mom's Gameboy. Before you pooh-pooh my shaky gamer credentials, let it be noted that my mom used to bring me to work and in order to escape the tedium I'd sneak of to play their giant arcade game of Super Mario Bros. Don't ask me why they had this in a nursing home. I don't know. It makes no sense, so the only explanation was that it existed solely for me to delight in the incredibly addictive world of Mario. I appreciate the gesture, but did you have to put it next to that weird aviary thing? The chirping is sort of distracting.

This was the version I played, though admittedly with less skill. I still love that music. It's so satisfying when you get to that flag. Such joyful beeping. Ah, the memories.

I have also spent the last 30 minutes playing Super Mario Bros online here. Under the guise of doing research, I found myself cursing aloud over missed coin opportunities, unintentional mushroom collisions, and failure to catch a falling star. It just isn't the kind of game you can play halfway. It's all or nothing, and in most cases, it was all.

In the 80s and 90s, video games had a far different look and feel than video games of today. The violence was more lighthearted, our aims more simplistic, and our graphics admittedly more pixelated. That's not to say the games weren't complicated. The Mario games alone were a world unto themselves. On the other hand, our hero was a stocky Italian-American plumber sporting flamboyant red overalls. I guess we'll just have to take Nintendo's word for it that he's fully qualified for such a hefty task.

Mario and his younger brother Luigi were residents of the Mushroom Kingdom. As the name implies, their homeland was indeed a monarchy, home of our beloved Princess Peach (or Toadstool, depending on which version you're looking at). I have to admit, I am such a girl. I always loved the Princess best. I always liked Super Mario Bros 2 because you had the option of playing as her, and she was a pretty awesome hoverer. In other versions, I was nowhere near adept enough at Nintendo gameplay to actually ever make a legitimate rescue (or, let's admit, even come close) but I did totally reach the Princess in Mario Teaches Typing. I kicked ass at that game.*

I like the way they claim this version (Super Mario World) is "more realistic". Do explain.

For some reason, when their beloved Princess is in peril the kingdom turns not to some sort of qualified combatant but rather to our little mustachioed plumber in overalls. You literally get to root for the little guy. Mario is tiny. Bite size. Pocket size. Fun size. You get the picture.

Mario was originally known as "jumpman", which is not particularly surprising when you observe his vertical bounce prowess. As a player, jumping became our major means of defending ourself and obtaining valuable powers and weaponry. Our journey is treacherous; weird creatures throwing crap at us, knocking us off of things, and generally standing in the way of our honest and decent quest. When those crazy turtle-bird dealies** started ricocheting back and forth and threatening to knock me off my little brick walkway, I was pretty much toast.

This is probably the coolest thing I've ever seen. I'm aware that this confirms my status as a huge nerd, but that does not in any way stop me from coveting this cake

We braved underwater levels, underground levels, sky levels, warp land, and all sorts of other exotic video game worlds to rescue our fair princess. For those of us caught time after time with a disappointingly premature death (read: me playing the flash version online right now), the game was endlessly frustrating. The sheer joy at beating a level was the ultimate triumph, while the crushing disappointment of being killed yet again by that same stupid fall was the ultimate defeat.

While most kids fought their way through and persevered, showing their hard-working earnestness and goodness of spirit, I was not among them. I was more the type to say, screw it. I'm going to play Duck Hunt. I get a gun in that game.***






*Yes, I recognize that a typing game is notably dorkier than a video game and achievements are thus far less admirable. Thank you for pointing that out.
**I'm aware that there's got to be some real name for these things
***Can you believe it? A gun!

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.