Supergator. Produced in the land before time (2007, when SyFy still had “i”s). Like many Sci Fi/SyFy originals, Roger Corman is producer/executive producer (depending on which credits you check). I mention this because when B-movie nerds, usually male and of a certain age, speak dismissively of SyFy craptaculars, they usually point out that Corman was the master of the genre – he did it first and he did it better. It leaves them flapping their jaws a bit like carp when one points out that the Corman/SyFy dichotomy is a false one and thus their pronouncements are silly.
But I digress.
Supergator.
Kelly McGillis is de-extinticting a supergator. In Hawai’i. Like one does.
It’s a secret.
Since the project to bring Supergator back from extinction is a secret, no one except Kelly McGillis knows that Supergator has gotten loose on this very small, inhabited Hawai’ian resort island.
A plucky geology research team is there to study the impending volcanic eruption that isn’t a big concern to anyone else, even though it’s a very small, inhabited Hawai’ian resort island.
Even though at several points in the movies it’s emphasized that the volcano is dormant.
Except when it’s not.
Whatever.
The research team is lead by a pompous volcanology professor. Accompanied by his annoying grad assistant, a blond woman who is apparently a geologist, and a reporter/ex-geology student played by Bianca Lawson (whose resume is actually miles longer than anyone else in this movie and probably should have gotten top billing), he bravely investigates the dormant and/or active volcano by hiking 5 minutes into the deep and remote jungle on the uninhabited and/or densely populated island.
They arrive at a waterfall where they spot a rock covered in blood:
The pompous volcanologist explains that it’s probably a birthing stone. You know, a big pointy boulder that women perch on to give birth. The implication being that the native women-folk of the swanky tropical resort have no need for hospitals or flat surfaces or logic.
I don’t know what this weird bit of dialogue was supposed to reveal about these characters, but it failed on every level except the one wherein we began to actively root for Supergator.
The waterfall is Supergator’s Supersecret feeding ground where he’s been chowing down on people since the movie began.
By “people” I mean “actors you can’t wait to get rid of.”
Soon, the running and the screaming begin.
Go, Supergator, go!
Through the whole movie, a wannabee model in a hot-pink thong bikini runs around looking for help because her photographer and another model were eaten by Supergator at the beginning of the movie at that waterfall on the very small, inhabited Hawai’ian resort island that is sometimes very close to the resort and other times very far away.
None of it matters. It’s Supergator. Stop thinking so much.
As I mentioned at the beginning of the post, when you were still paying attention, Supergator was made in 2007. It was followed 3 years later by Dinocroc vs. Supergator (2010). I’m sure I watched that one when it aired but I think I’ve repressed most of the details. Luckily (?) our Tivo, Overlord II, recently recorded it for me. The heatwave has been highly conducive to staying indoors and watching crappy movies while I catch up on all the other household chores I’ve been putting off, so I’m sure I’ll get to it soon.
I choose to believe that Supergator battles Dinocroc to save humanity, because Supergator is the friend of all children.
Husband tells me that Gamera is actually the friend of all children.
When I was a small child, my parents adopted a kitten. A Siamese kitten who I loved dearly. Siamese kittens grow up to be Siamese cats, creatures who possess a very special kind of crazy.
This cat was very tolerant of family members, but had a tendency to bite other people – viciously, and with the intent to maim. But not until she’d thoroughly washed the location she was about to bite. You can tell people this, but they don’t listen.
“That cat is going to bite you.”
“Oh no, cats love me. Look, she’s licking me!”
“She’s preparing the surgical site.”
“Ha-ha. She’s adorable.”
“You’re going to be sorry.”
etc.
2 years later, we adopted a second kitten. The picture at the top of the post shows Kitten (left) and Cat (right). It looks like Cat is about to eat Kitten. They were probably actually sitting around trying to look harmless, biding their time until they could partake in their favorite Christmas-time activity: rocketing around the house and launching themselves up the middle of the tree to bring the whole thing crashing to the ground.
My brother and I thought this was hilarious.
My mom did not.
My mom did find it hilarious when our Pentecostal neighbor, tired of being bitten by Cat, decided that the only course of action was to pray the devil out of her. My father pointed out that she could avoid being bitten if she’d just leave Cat alone, but the Exorcist was determined to rid this cat of demons.
Kitten, she reasoned, was a good Christian, so surely it was possible to save Cat’s soul, as well.
She prayed and prayed for the demonic forces to release their grasp on this poor beast.
Then she prayed some more.
Then she pointed her finger in Cat’s face. “In the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, I command you not to bite me!”
I’m sure you know what happened next.
Then my mother laughed until tears ran down her face.
For years I could reduce my mom to hysterical hiccupy laughter by mentioned what a good Christian Kitten was. Her name, incidentally, was Angel.
That kitten was many things, but angelic wasn’t really one of them.
In retrospect, it’s astonishing we didn’t all find ourselves on the receiving end of an attempted exorcism, because this lady was not to be trifled with. (Neither, apparently, were my Cat’s demons).
This classic made-for-TV craptacular featured Bruce Boxleitner’s carefree feathered mane as the sheriff and supermodel-turned-actress Carol Alt as the wildlife biologist determined to save us all from the Terror Of Snakeheads.
Bonus: it was set in our neck of the woods.
Downside: we really have snakehead terror. That’s why it’s set in our neck of the woods.
Simon Fraser University, being in Canada, isn’t in our neck of the woods, but that photo is both awesome and available on flickr. Since this movie was clearly shot in Canada and not the Mid-Atlantic, and both it and this blog are low-budget enterprises, that seems appropriate. (Unlike syfy, this blog is not a profit-seeking entity and use of that photo doesn’t mean SFU condones anything in this post).
Trivia: 12 of the 15 actors credited on the Snakehead Terror IMDB page have appeared in an episode of Supernatural (even William B. Davis, the cigarette smoking man from the X-Files).
An interesting thing about this movie (no, really, this is interesting) is how much more strictly the old Saturday Night Craptaculars adhered to a (slightly) more sophisticated B movie aesthetic. The filmmakers could display a small bit of flare that suggested they do in fact possess a basic level of competence even if the budget doesn’t allow them the time or financing to truly display it. Decent editing. No extended day-for-night scenes. A few extra minutes clearly used to set the key and fill lights properly (and/or to actually use a 3 point lighting set up). Actors mostly hitting their marks. A modicum of wardrobe continuity.
B-movies have never been slick or glitzy (if they were they wouldn’t be B-movies), but Bruce Boxleitner’s hair doesn’t style itself and someone had to teach Carol Alt how to convincingly pronounce all those biologist words.
No, really, she’s convincing. As a biologist, maybe not as an action-movie actress.
Trivia: I’m fairly certain there is a jar of pickled snakehead in our refrigerator. I’m quite certain Husband should think carefully before he considers feeding it to me.
I was going to post more about the movie, but I’ve gotten distracted by the fact that Bad Company is back together and touring and they’re playing at the Calvert Marine Museum, which just seems weird on all kinds of levels. Maybe it’s a really nice venue. I understand the museum is nice, but it’s a small museum far outside any metropolitan area, so the announcement immediately brought this to mind:
But hey, since Bad Company has figured prominently on Supernatural a few times, it seems only appropriate to mention it here. I’m on my first cup of coffee so it makes perfect sense to me.
Last month, Husband took a day off and we spent some quality time together.
(With our Tivo, Overlord II).
A series of Florida swamp adventures slowed down my posting schedule, but here at last is what I wrote about the rest of Pop Culture Paleontology Day (low rent edition).
That the [Army] Corps had a T. rex to lend was news to many of its senior leaders. “They didn’t know we had a dinosaur,” said Sonny Trimble, who oversees curation and management of archaeological collections for the Corps. People transfer, he said. Many retired. So “the chief engineer doesn’t wake up in the morning saying, ‘How’s our dinosaur doing?’”
This movie is a classic, in that it was made in 2004 when SyFy was still SciFi.
The movie opens with a plane crash in the distant, grainy, faux-film effects past. Who was on the plane? What was on the plane? Why are you asking stupid questions like that?
The movie jumps ahead 40 years later, to Lorenzo Lamas and his CIA agent lady-friend and his team of Navy Seals hunting a terrorist in a jungle full of vicious dinosaurs.
Wait! What the hell? While I was looking up that last link, Lorenzo Lamas – Navy Seal, hair gel aficionado, and now, apparently, a dinosaur expert – informed his CIA lady friend that a plane carrying radioactive waste (or maybe weapons-grade plutonium, it’s not clear) mutated the regular animals that lived on this otherwise benign island in the South China Sea. Into dinosaurs! In only 40 years!
Of course it did!
After that brilliant exposition there was some nonsense with some explosives, a volcano erupted, some other military shit happened, and then the movie ended.
On to Pterodactyl (2005), which stars dinosaurs, a volcano, and Coolio.
Paleontology Professor/heartthrob Michael Lovecraft (Cameron Daddo) and his motley band of grad students pile into a jeep and head off into a forest in Turkey because an earthquake has opened a fissure in a dormant volcano and they plan to look inside! Little do they know, because they ignored the warning at the beginning of the movie, Coolio and his Special Forces team are hunting terrorists in this same forest.
The same forest! What are the odds!?!
Pterodactyl is nothing like Raptor Island.
In Raptor Island some terrorists and some terrorist-hunting military dudes all ran around in the forest (and occasionally in some caves), and they battled dinosaurs, and there was a huge nest of baby dinosaurs, and then a volcano erupted.
In Pterodactyl, some dinosaurs fly around and some terrorists and some terrorist-hunting military dudes run around in the forest (and, occasionally in some cave-like locations), and they battle dinosaurs, and there’s a huge nest of baby pterodactyles. It’s totally different than Raptor Island because in Pterodactyl the volcano erupts before any of the other stuff.
We thought that maybe if we were lucky, some raptors might show up and eat all of the characters.
(We weren’t that lucky).
(During parts of Rise of the Dinosaurs, and definitely through the whole middle section of Triassic Attack, we hoped that some raptors might show up and eat us).
At this point in the festivities we took a break so Husband could make chicken curry for dinner because pop culture paleontology day demands consumption of birds.
After some “dramatic” action and they escape in a helicopter. Like you do.
As they fly back to civilization, having forgotten that in the beginning of the movie the central conflict was that they were all infected with a bio-weapon that meant they would have to be killed or something and could never go back to civilization, two of the characters have this exchange:
“How do we explain all this?”
“We don’t!”
Fine. Whatever. The movie is over? I’ll take it.
Last, but not least: Triassic Attack, which stars Kristy Mitchell, star of Lake Placid 3. When I saw that I was sure that this was meant to be!
(Or, at that point, I’d reached the optimum blood-alcohol to achieve some sort of b-movie equanimity. Who can say, really?)
Triassic Attack has the annoying elements of Movie Archaeology combined with the annoying elements of Pop Culture Paleontology.
When we watched Lake Placid 3 this morning, I was confused because I remembered it as a bit of spoof of Eureka, starring Colin Ferguson.
It wasn’t.
That’s because I was confusing it with Triassic Attack, which is a bit of a spoof of Eureka, directed by Colin Ferguson.
This movie is aggravating on many levels. It confuses archaeology (humans and artifacts) with paleontology (dinosaurs).
In brief: the Chief leading the American Indian repatriation protest at the paleontology museum does a ceremony to re-animate the dinosaur skeletons and your brain rolls over and fakes a coma for 90 minutes and it’s best to just go with it.
If you’re a super-nerd, you might enjoy this Pterodactyl trivia. It’s the kind of thing we cared about before we watched 5 of these movies in one day and broke something in our insides.
Many of the characters are named after famous science-fiction and fantasy writers – Burroughs (Edgar Rice Burroughs), Clarke (Sir Arthur C. Clarke), Donaldson (Steven Donaldson), Heinlein (Robert A. Heinlein), Herbert (Frank Herbert), Lem (Stanislaw Lem), Lovecraft (H.P. Lovecraft), Serling (Rod Serling), Yolen (Jane Yolen) and Zelazny (Roger Zelazny).
As I finish editing this draft (6 weeks later), we’re watching Swamp Shark, which includes dramatic dialogue like, “If it breathes, it can be killed!”
Now that’s some quality writing. The acting is even better.
A Siamang, photo courtesy of JunglePete Corradino.
Technically, it wasn’t a monkey, it was an ape called a Siamang, but I wouldn’t learn that detail for many years. 30 years, to be precise(ish).
Back on that day in the late 1970s, dad and I stopped at Wendy’s.
I guess we were there for lunch. We definitely weren’t there for primates.
We chose a table and I sat down. Dad was about to go to the counter to order when I noticed there was a bag behind my chair, presumably left by the recently departed occupants of the next table.
(This isn’t the weird part of the story).
In my memory it was one of those canvas totes like they sell at LL Bean, but I honestly can’t recall much about the bag.
Other than the fact that the bag was moving.
The bag was moving because there was a monkey inside.
Long hairy arms reached up out of the bag and grabbed the back of my chair. A small furry head followed and the two of us had what seemed to me to be pretty meaningful moment.
The events that followed probably unfolded quickly, but in my memory they happened in slow-mo:
My dad matter-of-factly instructed me not to talk to strangers or feed the monkey, since it might have a special diet.
My dad was very practical.
My dad went to call a deputy to come and pick up the monkey, since dad figured mom would kill us both if we took it home. Plus, it’d be wrong to take a lost-and-found monkey home.
While dad was at the counter asking for the manager and I was chatting with my new simian friend, a Wendy’s employee began to wipe down the table, saw the monkey, and freaked the fuck out.
The memory may be slightly murky, but I’m pretty confident in the sequence of events because I thought the employee was screaming because she saw me.
Which was more than a little upsetting. I was wearing my favorite dress! I loved that dress! Why was the woman screaming at me? Didn’t I look adorable in my favorite dress?
A girl came running in from the parking lot, panicked because she’d left her sister in a bag.
I swear that’s what she said.
“I forgot my sister. She was in the bag.”
She grabbed the diaper-clad creature and the bag, and then she ran back out.
I immediately stopped caring about the Wendy’s employee who was still staring in my direction and screaming, for I had just had an epiphany.
Wow! My parents can trade my baby brother in for a monkey! I knew this had to be possible!
My parents didn’t trade in my brother, but I guess in the long run that worked out okay.
(Still not the weird part).
Now that I think about it, this incident probably precipitated both my lifelong love of primates and my lifelong wariness around fast food.
Fast-forward a few years.
I was at a new school and one of my classmates lived on a monkey sanctuary. I was at his birthday party or something. We’ll call him JunglePete, because that’s his name.
(Calling a kid JunglePete would be weird, but at the time he was still just plain “Pete,” so in the final analysis this isn’t the weird part, either).
I was talking to one of his sisters. This, I shit you not, is a pretty accurate approximation of the conversation she and I had:
Her: “My sister left a monkey in a Wendy’s one time!”
Me: “We found a monkey in a Wendy’s one time!”
Her: “No way!”
Me: “For real. A monkey!”
Her: “That’s crazy! I wonder if it happens a lot?”
For smart kids, we weren’t always very smart.
Fast-forward a whole lot more years, to last Saturday, June 15, 2013.
Husband and I were at the Central Florida Zoo with JunglePete, his wife and son, and his father and his father’s wife.
.
Our first stop was the Siamangs.
When we made plans to meet at the zoo, I didn’t understand there was a personal nature to our mission. I thought we were just too cheap to go to Sea World during the peak season and had chosen a more off-the-beaten track Father’s Day outing destination.
It turns out that in the 70s, the sanctuary had a rescued Siamang named Bridget. Eventually, Bridget went to live at the Central Florida Zoo, which had better facilities for apes and a mate for Bridget. Bridget had some babies over the years, but she rejected one of them. JunglePete’s parents took in the baby, who they named Topaz.
(We haven’t gotten to the moment of weirdness in the story yet, but we’re getting closer).
After we visited with the Siamangs, we wandered around the zoo for a few more hours.
JunglePete & I at the Central Florida Zoo, photo courtesy of Eric “Husband” Gordon.
(Whatever is happening in this photo may or may not be a little weird, but is otherwise unrelated to this post).
At some point, JunglePete and I ended up back at the Siamangs and I casually mentioned to Pete that my dad and I found a monkey one time in a Wendy’s in Venice, Florida.
JunglePete replied that his family once almost left someone behind in a Wendy’s in Venice, Florida. But they didn’t leave a monkey – they left Topaz! Fortunately, they remembered as soon as they got back to their van and JunglePete’s older sister dashed back into the restaurant to reclaim her.
Being older and a little bit wiser, we understood that we were remembering the same event.
Okay, to be honest, we didn’t realize it immediately.
We didn’t realize it until Husband started laughing at us for being idiots.
Then we realized it was the same incident. What. Ever.
The fact that our childhoods had intersected years before we met was, even to us, pretty weird.
Then I made JunglePete talk to the Siamang. (While I made a video so he couldn’t deny it later).
[embedded video: me forcing JunglePete to speak Siamang]
Then 6 full-grown adults crammed themselves into a 1951 1/5 size replica train operated by a dude in a conductor’s hat who probably didn’t even think it was weird to be wedging himself into a tiny car and driving grownass people around all day in a miniature steam train.
I bet you think I’m making that part up.
I’m not.
This post is full of hazy memories from the late 1970s and early 80s. JunglePete’s mom and my dad are both deceased, so you’re at the mercy of mine and JunglePete’s memories on some of the details (and may god have mercy on your souls) but we do have witnesses who can corroborate the important points.
While writing this post I realized that I still have a habit of automatically checking behind my chair whenever I sit down in a restaurant, hoping to find another monkey.
I haven’t ever found another one. It’s probably a rare occurrence, but if you ever find one, please let me know!
On Saturday, standing there watching the relatives of the gibbon I met at Wendy’s several decades ago (and a hundred miles away), with the people who left the ape – that was weird. I think the word surreal is overused and often abused, but I’d go so far as to label the moment surreal.
Back in the 70s none of this was newsworthy. Or if it was, it didn’t occur to anyone involved to contact the press. Very few things in Florida are particularly odd to native floridians (except the weird & crazy crap that snowbirds and transplants do, but that’s a subject for another day). While writing this post I did, however, do a bit of googling and turned up a picture of Pete’s mom and Topaz from an unrelated news article about the sanctuary:
As for that day way back when? After lunch, dad and I went about our usual errands. We probably went to Lido Beach so I could play on the swings or up to Jungle Gardens to visit with dad’s friends. They’d shoot the breeze while I watched them milk the cobras to make anti-venom.
You know, the usual father-daughter stuff.
—–
editor’s note: I just changed some of the dates because JunglePete informed me I was off by a year or two here and there.
Also:
Full disclosure: obviously, it wasn’t a monkey. It was a lesser ape, but monkeys make better headlines. Plus, from 1978 to 2013 I thought it was a monkey so I use the word monkey a lot in this post even though I am well aware of the difference. Get over it.
Spoilers? Sure. Maybe. I doubt it.
