In this episode of The 80s Movie Podcast, host Edward Havens continues his series on the films of Susan Seidelman with a deep dive into Desperately Seeking Susan (1985). The film became Seidelman's biggest commercial success and helped capture the energy of mid-1980s New York City. At the same time, it transformed Madonna from a music sensation into a movie star and introduced audiences to one of the decade's most distinctive comedies.

Along the way, we explore Seidelman's direction, the performances of Rosanna Arquette and Madonna, and the film's unique blend of romance, comedy, mystery, and mistaken identity. In addition, we examine how the story uses New York City's downtown culture, fashion, and music scene to create a vivid portrait of the era. The result remains one of the most recognizable and influential films of the decade.

At the same time, we discuss why Desperately Seeking Susan continues to resonate with audiences nearly forty years later. Furthermore, we look at its cultural legacy, its impact on independent filmmaking, and its place within Susan Seidelman's body of work. Whether you're a longtime fan or discovering it for the first time, this episode revisits a defining film of 1980s cinema and one of the most important movies of Seidelman's career.

In this episode of The 80s Movie Podcast, host Edward Havens examines Brats (2024), Andrew McCarthy's deeply personal documentary about the lasting impact of the "Brat Pack" label. Nearly forty years after a single magazine article transformed a group of young actors into a cultural phenomenon, McCarthy revisits the people, films, and relationships that defined an era of 1980s cinema. However, the documentary asks a larger question: was the label a career-making opportunity or a burden that never disappeared?

Along the way, we explore the origins of the Brat Pack and the media frenzy that surrounded stars such as Emilio Estevez, Rob Lowe, Demi Moore, Ally Sheedy, Judd Nelson, Anthony Michael Hall, and Molly Ringwald. In addition, we discuss McCarthy's conversations with many of his former contemporaries as he investigates how the label shaped their careers, public identities, and personal lives. The documentary offers a candid look at fame, friendship, and the unintended consequences of Hollywood branding.

At the same time, we examine why the Brat Pack continues to fascinate audiences decades later. Furthermore, we consider how films such as The Breakfast Club, St. Elmo's Fire, Pretty in Pink, and Sixteen Candles helped define a generation of moviegoers. Whether you grew up with these films or discovered them later, this episode revisits the legacy of a cultural phenomenon that still shapes conversations about 1980s movies and the stars who came to represent them.

In this episode of The 80s Movie Podcast, host Edward Havens returns to the ongoing Orphans series. This time, he examines three films released by distributors that never handled another theatrical release. The spotlight falls on Heartbreaker (1983), Hells Angels Forever (1983), and Mother Lode (1982). Together, they reveal a forgotten corner of 1980s movie history.

Along the way, we explore how these companies entered the film business and quickly disappeared. In addition, we look at the unique challenges each film faced in reaching audiences. From street-level romance to documentary filmmaking and adventure storytelling, these releases showcase the variety found among overlooked 1980s productions. Each film tells its own story, while also highlighting the risks of independent distribution.

At the same time, we consider why these forgotten distributors still matter today. Furthermore, we examine how their brief existence reflects the opportunities and pitfalls of the decade's changing film marketplace. Whether you enjoy cult discoveries, industry history, or obscure cinema, this episode uncovers three fascinating examples of movies that survived long after the companies behind them vanished.

In this episode of The 80s Movie Podcast, host Edward Havens begins a new miniseries on David Puttnam’s tenure at Columbia Pictures by introducing the man and the mission behind his arrival in Hollywood. Before the internal conflicts and corporate backlash took hold, Puttnam entered the studio system with a clear vision for reshaping how a major studio could operate in the mid-1980s.

Along the way, we trace his journey from respected independent producer to Columbia Pictures chairman. In addition, we explore the philosophy he brought with him, which prioritized filmmaker-driven projects over high-volume studio output. This approach quickly set him apart from the prevailing Hollywood model, which favored franchises, predictable returns, and broad commercial strategy.

At the same time, we establish the foundation for the broader series that follows. Furthermore, we set up the growing tension between creative ambition and corporate expectation that would soon define his time at Columbia. This episode opens the door to one of the most closely watched studio experiments of the 1980s, with Part 2 of David Puttnam at Columbia Pictures moving deeper into the mounting pressure and shifting studio slate.

Continue the series in Part 2: David Puttnam at Columbia Pictures, Part 2: The Films Taking Shape Inside a Changing Studio

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David Puttnam receives the Academy Award for Best Picture for producing Chariots of Fire from Hollywood legend Loretta Young, March 29, 1982

Producer David Puttnam with film cans listing some of the titles he produced during his career.

In 1981, KISS made a decision few fans saw coming. Instead of returning to the straightforward hard rock that made them famous, the band released Music From “The Elder”, an ambitious fantasy concept album filled with orchestration, mythology, and a story designed to accompany a film that never materialized. In this episode of The 80s Movie Podcast, we unpack one of the most unusual creative pivots in rock history and examine why The Elder remains one of the most debated releases in the KISS catalog.

We explore the album’s troubled creation, including producer Bob Ezrin’s influence after his work on Destroyer and Pink Floyd's The Wall, the growing tensions inside the band, and the creative divide that pushed KISS into unfamiliar territory. Along the way, we revisit standout tracks like “The Oath,” “A World Without Heroes,” “Under the Rose,” and “Dark Light,” while looking at how the album’s original story and track sequencing became part of its complicated legacy.

Time has changed how listeners view The Elder. Dismissed by much of the KISS fanbase upon release, the album has gradually developed a loyal following among fans who see it as an underrated experiment rather than a failure. Join us as we revisit the risks, ambition, and strange history of the KISS album that refused to play by anyone’s expectations.

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The Cover of "Music from 'The Elder'"

Who is that unmasked man?

This was supposed to help listeners understand this nonsense better? 

Today's episode talks about the Management Company Entertainment Group, or MCEG, who would only release four films over the course of nineteen months, while also producing one of the biggest hits of 1989.

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The movies discussed during this episode: Boris and Natasha (1992, Charles Martin Smith) Breaking the Rules (1992, Neal Israel) Catch Me If You Can (1989, Stephen Sommers) Chains of Gold (1991, Rob Holcolm) The Chocolate War (1988, Keith Gordon) C.H.U.D. 2: Bud the Chud (1990, John Irving) Cold Heaven (1992, Nicolas Roeg) Convicts (1990, Peter Masterson) Fatal Charm (1992, Fritz Kiersch [as Alan Smithee]) The Fourth War (1990, John Frankenheimer) Getting It Right (1989, Randal Kleiser) Home Movies (1980, Brian De Palma) Limit Up (1990, Richard Martini) Look Who's Talking (1989, Amy Heckerling) Look Who's Talking Too (1990, Amy Heckerling) Slipping Into Darkness (1988, Eleanor Gaver) Without You, I'm Nothing (1990, John Boskovich)

On this third and final part of a three part series, host Edward Havens continues to discuss favorite 80s movies, the state of streaming services today, religion, books, movie theatres, wrestling and so much more with his brother-in-law, Ph. D. student Michael Hourigan.

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Man Facing Southeast (FilmDallas, 1988)

Amongst the movies discussed during this episode:

Birdy (1984, Alan Parker) The Breakfast Club (1985, John Hughes) The Chocolate War (1988, Keith Gordon) Ferris Bueller's Day Off (1986, John Hughes) Home Alone (1990, Chris Columbus) Man Facing Southeast (1986, Eliseo Subiela) Out of Bounds (1986, Richard Tuggle) The Princess Bride (1987, Rob Reiner) Popeye (1980, Robert Altman) Saved! (2004, Brian Dannelly) Sixteen Candles (1984, John Hughes) Starman (1984, John Carpenter) Uncle Buck (1989, John Hughes) Used Cars (1980, Robert Zemeckis)

On this second part of a three part series, host Edward Havens continues to discuss favorite 80s movies, the state of streaming services today, religion, books, movie theatres, wrestling and so much more with his brother-in-law, Ph. D. student Michael Hourigan.

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Amongst the movies discussed during this episode:

Blade Runner (1982, Ridley Scott) Blade Runner 2049 (2017, Denis Villeneuve) The Breakfast Club (1985, John Hughes) Bull Durham (1988, Ron Shelton) The Color of Money (1986, Martin Scorsese) Diner (1982, Barry Levinson) The Empire Strikes Back (1980, Irvin Kershner) Ferris Bueller's Day Off (1986, John Hughes) Garden State (2004, Zack Braff) Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull (2008, Steven Spielberg) Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (1984, Steven Spielberg) Mad Max: Fury Road (2015, George Miller) Mission: Impossible 2 (2000, John Woo) Pineapple Express (2008, David Gordon Green) Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981, Steven Spielberg) St. Elmo's Fire (1985, Joel Schumacher) Star Wars (1977, George Lucas) Untitled Furiosa Prequel (2023, George Miller) Used Cars (1980, Robert Zemeckis)

On this first part of a three part series, host Edward Havens discusses favorite 80s movies, the state of streaming services today, religion, books, movie theatres and so much more with his brother-in-law, Ph. D. student Michael Hourigan.

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Amongst the movies discussed during this episodes are:

Aloha (2016, Cameron Crowe) Back to the Future (1985, Robert Zemeckis) Back to the Future 2 (1989, Robert Zemeckis) Back to the Future 3 (1990, Robert Zemeckis) The Blues Brothers (1980, John Landis) Brazil (1985, Terry Gilliam) Death Becomes Her (1992, Robert Zemeckis) Dune (1984, David Lynch) Field of Dreams (1989, Phil Alden Robinson) Forrest Gump (1994, Robert Zemeckis) Fury Road (2015, George Miller) The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus (2009, Terry Gilliam) The Irishman (2019, Martin Scorsese) The Last Temptation of Christ (1988, Martin Scorsese) Local Hero (1983, Bill Forsyth) The Natural (1984, Barry Levinson) My Neighbor Totoro (1988, Hayao Miyazaki) Raider of the Lost Ark (1981, Steven Spielberg) Raging Bull (1980, Martin Scorsese) Romancing the Stone (1984, Robert Zemeckis) The Road Warrior (1982, George Miller) The Right Stuff (1983, Philip Kaufman) Say Anything... (1989, Cameron Crowe) Silence (2016, Martin Scorsese) TRON (1982, Steven Lisberger) The Untouchables (1987, Brian De Palma) Wings of Desire (1988, Wim Wenders)

Most 1980s teen movies focused on romance, parties, and rebellion. Three O’Clock High took a very different approach. In this episode of The 80s Movie Podcast, we revisit the 1987 cult favorite directed by Phil Joanou, a tense, darkly funny high school comedy built around one simple premise: survive the school day. After an awkward encounter with the terrifying new transfer student Buddy Revell, mild-mannered Jerry Mitchell spends an increasingly chaotic day trying to avoid a fight scheduled for exactly three o’clock.

We explore what makes Three O’Clock High feel so distinct from other teen films of the era, from its relentless ticking-clock structure and exaggerated sense of anxiety to Barry Sonnenfeld’s inventive cinematography and Tangerine Dream’s propulsive electronic score. We also discuss why the film struggled at the box office despite offering something far stranger and more visually inventive than many of its better-known contemporaries and why Steven Spielberg produced the film and took his name off it just before its theatrical release. Over time, audiences have increasingly embraced it as an overlooked gem of 1980s cinema.

For many fans, Three O’Clock High feels like the high school nightmare version of High Noon, filtered through late-1980s suburban panic and dark comedy. Join us as we revisit a movie that somehow slipped through the cracks during its original release yet continues to earn admiration from viewers who consider it one of the sharpest, funniest, and most original teen films of the decade.

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Original 1987 Theatrical One-Sheet for Three O'Clock High

By 1985, director William Friedkin had already changed movie history with The French Connection and The Exorcist, but To Live and Die in L.A. may be his most overlooked achievement. In this episode of The 80s Movie Podcast, we examine the hard-edged crime thriller that turned Los Angeles into a sunbaked maze of corruption, obsession, and moral compromise. Starring William Petersen and Willem Dafoe, the film follows a reckless Secret Service agent whose pursuit of a brilliant counterfeiter slowly erodes every boundary between lawman and criminal.

We discuss what makes To Live and Die in L.A. feel so different from other 1980s action films: Robby Müller’s striking cinematography, Wang Chung’s unforgettable electronic score, Friedkin’s willingness to embrace moral ambiguity, and one of the most jaw-dropping freeway chase sequences ever put on film. The movie has steadily grown in reputation over the years, with critics and fans frequently pointing to its gritty atmosphere, unpredictable storytelling, and uniquely authentic vision of Los Angeles crime.

For many movie fans, To Live and Die in L.A. feels like a hidden gem hiding in plain sight, a film that somehow slipped past mainstream recognition despite its style and influence. Join us as we revisit one of the sharpest crime thrillers of the 1980s, unpack its lasting reputation, and explore why so many viewers now consider it one of Friedkin’s strongest films.

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This episode takes a look at the 1980s theatrical releases for New York City-based independent production company and distributor Troma Films, including the 1980s horror-comedy classic The Toxic Avenger.

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The movies discussed during this episode: Class of Nuke Em High (Lloyd Kaufman [as Samuel Weil] and Richard W. Haines, December 1986)

Fat Guy Goes Nutzoid! (John Golden, September 1986)

The First Turn-On (Michael Herz and Lloyd Kaufman [as Samuel Weil], October 1984)

Lust for Freedom (Eric Louzil, February 1988)

Monster in the Closet (Bob Dahlin, January 1987)

Mother's Day (Charles Kaufman, September 1980)

Splatter University (Richard W. Haines, July 1984)

Squeeze Play (Michael Herz and Lloyd Kaufman [as Samuel Weil], May 1981)

Stuck on You!! (Michael Herz and Lloyd Kaufman [as Samuel Weil], October 1983)

Student Confidential (Richard Horian, December 1987)

Surf Nazis Must Die (Peter George, July 1987)

The Toxic Avenger (Michael Herz and Lloyd Kaufman [as Samuel Weil], April 1986)

The Toxic Avenger Part II (Michael Herz and Lloyd Kaufman, February 1989)

The Toxic Avenger Part III: The Last Temptation of Toxie (Michael Herz and Lloyd Kaufman, November 1989)

Troma's War ((Michael Herz and Lloyd Kaufman [as Samuel Weil], December 1987)

Waitress! (Michael Herz and Lloyd Kaufman [as Samuel Weil], September 1982)

When Nature Calls (Charles Kaufman, September 1985)

This episode takes a look at the Chiodo Brothers' 1988 cult horror-comedy classic Killer Klowns from Outer Space, featuring a remembrance from my best friend and former FilmJerk contributor Dick Hollywood on his one day as a Killer Klown during shooting.

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Original 1988 KKFOS Theatrical Poster

Bronco (left) and Dick Hollywood (right) as Killer Klowns

The 80s Movie Podcast returns to The Orphans series, which spotlights films whose distributors released exactly one theatrical feature before closing their doors. In Part 5, host Edward Havens examines three films with almost nothing in common except that shared fate. The Last Fight (1983) stars Fred Williamson as his signature character Jesse Crowder, alongside Ruben Blades and Darlanne Fluegel, distributed by Best Film and Video, a company that ceased operations immediately after the film's release. The Howling III (1987) took the werewolf franchise to Australia under director Philippe Mora, picked up by Square Pictures, a distributor so obscure it left behind no business filings and no further releases. However, the episode's most surprising entry is Sullivan's Pavilion (1987), a personal documentary by upstate New York filmmaker Fred G. Sullivan that won a Special Jury Prize at Sundance and still almost nobody saw.

Each of these films tells a different story about what it meant to make and release movies outside the Hollywood studio system in the 1980s. Along the way, Edward traces Best Film and Video's brief and troubled attempt to build a distribution business on the back of a Fred Williamson action picture, the mysterious origins of Square Pictures, and Mora's decision to self-finance The Howling III as a kind of apology to fans of the original. Furthermore, the episode follows Sullivan's remarkable persistence in self-distributing his film city by city, eventually retitling it The Beer Drinker's Guide to Fitness and Filmmaking and finding genuine audiences in Burlington, Vermont and at the Bleecker Street Cinemas in New York. Consequently, Sullivan's story stands apart from the others as something closer to a quiet triumph than a cautionary tale.

In addition to the individual release histories, this episode builds a portrait of independent cinema infrastructure that was simultaneously ambitious and deeply fragile. At the same time, it recovers three filmmakers who operated entirely on their own terms, with wildly different results. The Beer Drinker's Guide to Fitness and Filmmaking is available to watch free on Vimeo, and this episode makes a strong case for why it deserves to be found.

The Orphans series is an ongoing exploration of one-off distribution company films as part of The 80s Movie Podcast.

In today's episode, we take a look at the debut films of five filmmakers who got their start as musicians.

----more---- Forbidden Zone (Richard Elfman, March 1982) Home of the Brave (Laurie Anderson, April 1986)

True Stories (David Byrne, October 1986)

Under the Cherry Moon (Prince, July 1986)

Yentl (Barbra Streisand, December 1983)

The 1980s gave audiences blockbuster franchises, prestige dramas, and more than a few cinematic oddities. Sitting somewhere in the middle of all three was De Laurentiis Entertainment Group, the short-lived studio created by producer Dino De Laurentiis. In this episode of The 80s Movie Podcast, we examine how DEG became home to some of the decade’s most distinctive films while attempting to compete in an increasingly crowded Hollywood marketplace.

From stylish thrillers and offbeat horror to animation, comedy, and science fiction, DEG assembled one of the most unusual film libraries of the era. We discuss titles like Blue Velvet, Manhunter, Maximum Overdrive, The Transformers: The Movie, Near Dark, Evil Dead II, Pumpkinhead, and Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure, exploring how one company became associated with so many films that later found loyal audiences through VHS, cable television, and cult movie fandom.

The story of De Laurentiis Entertainment Group is also a snapshot of how unpredictable the movie business could be in the 1980s. Ambitious expansion plans, costly productions, and shifting audience tastes created enormous pressure on independent studios trying to survive outside the major system. Join us as we revisit the films, business decisions, and creative risks that turned DEG into one of the most fascinating names in 1980s cinema.

Some cult movies slowly find an audience. Others arrive completely out of sync with their time and spend years waiting to be rediscovered. In this episode of The 80s Movie Podcast, we dive into Tapeheads (1988), the wildly chaotic music industry satire directed by Bill Fishman and starring John Cusack and Tim Robbins. Equal parts comedy, music video fever dream, and media-industry parody, Tapeheads remains one of the strangest and most overlooked comedies of the late 1980s.

We revisit the film’s bizarre story, unforgettable supporting cast, and nonstop stream of music-industry jokes, celebrity cameos, and MTV-era absurdity. Featuring appearances by artists and personalities including John Cusack, Tim Robbins, Bobcat Goldthwait, and Martha Quinn, the movie captures the weird energy of late-1980s pop culture in a way few films ever attempted. Despite struggling at the box office, Tapeheads gradually earned cult status among fans who appreciate offbeat comedy and music-driven chaos.

Whether you discovered Tapeheads on VHS, cable television, or have somehow never encountered its wonderfully strange world, this episode revisits one of the most delightfully eccentric forgotten films of the decade. Join us as we explore why Tapeheads failed to connect with mainstream audiences in 1988, why it deserves another look today, and how it became one of the great hidden gems of 1980s cult cinema.

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Some movie studios slowly build success. Others arrive with enormous ambition, massive financing, and dreams of changing Hollywood overnight. In this episode of The 80s Movie Podcast, we explore the fascinating rise and dramatic fall of Weintraub Entertainment Group, the independent mini-major studio founded by legendary producer Jerry Weintraub. Launched in the late 1980s with hundreds of millions in backing and major Hollywood partnerships, WEG looked poised to become one of the biggest new players in the movie business before everything unraveled.

We take a deep dive into the films, financial gambles, and behind-the-scenes decisions that defined Weintraub Entertainment Group’s short but unforgettable run. From releases like The Big Blue, Troop Beverly Hills, My Stepmother Is an Alien, Fresh Horses, and The Gods Must Be Crazy II to the company’s acquisition of the massive Thorn EMI film library, we explore how bold ambition collided with disappointing box office results and growing debt. Despite major investment from companies connected to Columbia Pictures and a distribution strategy built for success, WEG struggled to find the blockbuster hits it desperately needed.

Whether you remember spotting the Weintraub Entertainment Group logo before a favorite 1980s film or are discovering the company for the first time, this episode revisits one of Hollywood’s great cautionary tales. Join us as we uncover the movies, risks, successes, and spectacular collapse of a studio that aimed to compete with the majors and instead became one of the most fascinating “what if” stories of 1980s cinema.

Every great summer eventually comes to an end, but the summer of 1986 saved some incredible movies for the final stretch. In Part Three of this special series, The 80s Movie Podcast concludes an occasionally personal journey through one of the strongest movie seasons of the 1980s, revisiting the films released during the closing months of a summer packed with unforgettable entertainment. Part Three covers a remarkable late-summer lineup that included films such as The Fly, Stand by Me, Manhunter, Friday the 13th Part VI: Jason Lives, Night of the Creeps, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2, One Crazy Summer, and The Transformers: The Movie.

We explore how the final weeks of summer delivered everything from horror and science fiction to heartfelt coming-of-age drama, cult comedy, and overlooked gems. While many summers burn bright and fade quickly, 1986 kept delivering memorable films all the way through August, cementing its reputation as one of the most exciting periods in movie history.

Whether you lived through the summer of 1986 or are discovering its movies for the first time, Part Three celebrates the final wave of films that helped define an era. Join us as we close out this journey through one of the greatest summers the movies ever gave us.

The summer movie season of 1986 only got bigger as the temperatures rose. In Part Two of this special series, The 80s Movie Podcast continues its deep dive into one of the most exciting stretches in 1980s cinema, revisiting the films that dominated theaters, inspired repeat viewings, and turned weekends at the multiplex into unforgettable experiences.

We explore the movies that defined the middle of the summer, from massive crowd-pleasers and sequels to genre films that would later become beloved cult classics. Along the way, we discuss how 1986 balanced blockbuster spectacle with creative risks, delivering one of the most varied and rewarding summers movie fans have ever experienced. For many audiences, this was peak 1980s moviegoing, when every week seemed to bring another future classic.

Whether you remember standing in line at the theater or discovering these movies years later, Part Two revisits the excitement, surprises, and cinematic highs that kept the summer of 1986 firing on all cylinders. Join us as we continue exploring one of the most legendary movie seasons ever assembled.

Was the summer of 1986 the greatest movie season of the entire 1980s? In Part One of this special three-part series, The 80s Movie Podcast begins an occasionally personal journey through one of the most unforgettable summers in movie history. From blockbuster hits and teen classics to cult favorites and overlooked gems, the summer of 1986 delivered an astonishing mix of films that helped define a generation of moviegoers.

We revisit the early weeks of the summer movie season, which officially began with the Memorial Day weekend release of Top Gun, exploring the films that filled multiplexes, drove pop culture conversations, and shaped the memories of audiences in real time. From action spectacles and comedies to science fiction, fantasy, and coming-of-age classics, we examine what made 1986 such an extraordinary year for cinema and why so many of its films still resonate decades later.

Whether you were there for the original theatrical releases or discovered these films years later on VHS and cable television, Part One celebrates the excitement, nostalgia, and moviegoing magic of one of the greatest summers in film history. Join us as we begin revisiting the movies, moments, and memories that made the summer of 1986 unforgettable.

Every great movie studio has a story, and Orion Pictures remains one of the most fascinating in Hollywood history. In Part Five of this special series, The 80s Movie Podcast concludes its deep dive into the studio that helped shape 1980s cinema through creative risks, filmmaker-driven projects, and unforgettable films.

We explore Orion’s later years, the mounting financial struggles that threatened the company, and the remarkable legacy it left behind. From cult classics and award-winning dramas to science fiction, comedy, and crime films, Orion’s catalog remains one of the richest and most distinctive of the decade.

Whether you grew up watching Orion films or are only now discovering the studio’s remarkable history, Part Five celebrates the movies, risks, successes, and lasting impact of one of the most influential studios of the 1980s. Join us as we close out our journey through the rise and fall of a true Hollywood original.

What if one single weekend changed movie history forever? In this episode of The 80s Movie Podcast, we travel back to May 23, 1980, one of the most extraordinary weekends in cinema history, when two undeniable classics arrived in theaters at the exact same moment. It was a snapshot of a changing film landscape, where blockbuster spectacle, groundbreaking horror, prestige dramas, and cult favorites all competed for audiences on the same marquees. This episode takes a fascinating look at the films playing in theaters during one unforgettable weekend in American moviegoing history.

We dive into the cultural impact and theatrical context surrounding landmark releases like The Empire Strikes Back and The Shining, while also revisiting an incredible lineup of films moviegoers could choose from that weekend, including Being There, Friday the 13th, Fame, Coal Miner’s Daughter, American Gigolo, and more. It was a moment when audiences could experience science fiction, horror, drama, comedy, and prestige filmmaking all at once, creating a moviegoing experience that feels almost impossible to imagine today.

Whether you were standing in line at the multiplex in May 1980 or discovering these classics decades later on cable and VHS, this episode revisits one of the greatest weekends in film history. Join us as we explore the movies, surprises, and cinematic magic of a weekend that helped launch the decade we now celebrate as the golden age of 1980s cinema.

As Orion Pictures reached new heights, new challenges began to emerge. In Part Four of this special series, The 80s Movie Podcast continues exploring the remarkable story of one of the most ambitious studios of the 1980s. Orion’s growing success came with bigger risks, larger productions, and mounting financial pressures that would eventually shape the company’s future.

We revisit the films, business decisions, and creative gambles that defined this important period in Orion’s history. While many studios chased predictable blockbuster formulas, Orion remained committed to distinctive storytelling, supporting projects that ranged from commercial hits to unconventional passion projects.

Whether you remember these films from their original release or are discovering Orion’s story for the first time, Part Four reveals how one studio tried to balance creativity and commerce during one of the most competitive eras in Hollywood history.

This week on The 80s Movie Podcast, host Edward Havens explores Motion Picture Marketing, an early 1980s independent distributor that built its business by aggressively rebranding and retitling 1970s European horror films for the American market. Rather than releasing these films as originally presented, the company reshaped them through new titles, redesigned poster campaigns, and targeted marketing strategies designed to make foreign genre cinema more commercially viable to U.S. audiences.

In this episode, Edward breaks down how Motion Picture Marketing identified overlooked international horror titles and repositioned them through graphic-driven advertising and strategic packaging. He also examines how this approach allowed the company to move beyond simple distribution and eventually step into producing its own films, using marketing success as a foundation for expansion within a rapidly evolving independent film landscape.

Finally, Edward looks at what this short-lived company reveals about early 1980s film distribution, particularly how smaller distributors competed with limited resources by prioritizing creativity in presentation over production scale. The episode also connects these strategies to broader trends in exploitation cinema, where marketing often shaped audience perception as much as the films themselves.

By the middle of the 1980s, Orion Pictures had become one of Hollywood’s most unpredictable and exciting studios. In Part Three of this continuing series, The 80s Movie Podcast explores the films, creative partnerships, and growing reputation that made Orion one of the defining movie companies of the decade.

We take a closer look at the studio’s evolving identity, discussing how Orion balanced commercial success with artistic credibility. From genre films and overlooked gems to critical favorites and emerging classics, Orion’s willingness to take chances helped shape some of the most memorable moviegoing experiences of the era.

Whether you’re revisiting old favorites or discovering Orion’s history for the first time, Part Three uncovers another fascinating chapter in the story of a studio that helped define 1980s cinema through ambition, creativity, and risk-taking.

The story of Orion Pictures continues in Part Two of this special series from The 80s Movie Podcast. As the studio expanded during the 1980s, Orion developed a reputation for producing and distributing films that balanced artistic ambition with mainstream appeal. From dramas and thrillers to action films, comedy, and science fiction, Orion quickly became one of the most exciting names in Hollywood.

We revisit the films, filmmakers, and creative decisions that shaped Orion during a period of rapid growth, examining how the company built a catalog unlike any other studio of the era. While larger competitors focused on blockbuster formulas, Orion often embraced unusual stories, distinctive directors, and films that were willing to take creative chances.

Whether you remember these movies from theaters, cable television, or the VHS rental shelf, Part Two continues the story of a studio whose influence on 1980s cinema remains impossible to ignore. Join us as we revisit another chapter in Orion’s remarkable rise.

Before streaming, franchises, and cinematic universes, one studio quietly built one of the most impressive libraries in modern film history. In Part One of this special series, The 80s Movie Podcast begins an in-depth look at Orion Pictures, the independent studio that became one of the most important creative forces of the 1980s. Founded by former United Artists executives, Orion carved out a unique identity by backing ambitious filmmakers, prestige dramas, cult classics, and commercial hits that often stood apart from traditional Hollywood fare.

We explore Orion’s early years, the risks that came with launching an independent studio, and the films that helped establish its reputation during the late 1970s and early 1980s. Along the way, we discuss how Orion became home to filmmakers willing to take chances, creating a legacy that would eventually include some of the decade’s most beloved and influential movies.

Whether you remember the Orion logo lighting up movie screens or are discovering the studio for the first time, Part One revisits the beginnings of one of the most fascinating success stories in 1980s cinema. Join us as we begin exploring the rise of a studio that dared to do things differently.

Some of the greatest films of the 1980s came from a studio many movie fans barely remember. In this episode of The 80s Movie Podcast, we explore the fascinating story of Hemdale Films, the ambitious independent production company that quietly helped shape one of the most exciting decades in movie history. Founded by John Daly and actor David Hemmings, Hemdale evolved from a British entertainment company into a Hollywood force responsible for some of the most acclaimed and influential films of the 1980s.

We take a deep dive into Hemdale’s incredible run of films, including The Terminator, The Return of the Living Dead, Hoosiers, River’s Edge, Salvador, Platoon, and The Last Emperor. From gritty independent dramas and groundbreaking science fiction to Academy Award-winning prestige films, we examine how Hemdale balanced artistic ambition with commercial filmmaking and became one of the most unlikely success stories of the decade. Remarkably, the company produced back-to-back Best Picture winners with Platoon and The Last Emperor while also helping launch some of the most enduring cult classics of the VHS era.

Whether you remember Hemdale from the logo before The Terminator or are discovering the company for the first time, this episode revisits the movies, risks, and behind-the-scenes stories of a studio that punched far above its weight. Join us as we uncover the rise, success, and eventual collapse of one of the most fascinating independent film companies of the 1980s.

Before alternative music broke into the mainstream, IRS Records was already helping shape its foundation. In this episode of The 80s Movie Podcast, we explore the rise of IRS Records and its role in documenting and promoting the emerging post-punk and new wave movements of the early 1980s. We also take a closer look at the cult concert film Urgh! A Music War (1982), a time capsule of raw, experimental performances that captured the energy of a scene on the verge of breaking wide open.

We dive into how IRS Records helped bring underground and college radio artists into wider recognition, featuring acts connected to the same creative wave showcased in Urgh! A Music War. The episode discusses the label’s influence on artists such as R.E.M., The Go-Go's, The Bangles, and others who helped define the sound of the decade. We also look at how Urgh! A Music War captured live performances from a wide range of post-punk and new wave artists, preserving a pivotal moment in music history.

Whether you discovered these bands through MTV, college radio, or cult music documentaries, this episode revisits a moment when alternative music was still underground but rapidly gaining momentum. Join us as we connect IRS Records and Urgh! A Music War to the larger story of how 1980s alternative music was born and how it continues to influence music today.

The original 1982 theatrical one-sheet for Urgh! A Music War

The cover for the movie's 1981 double LP soundtrack

Klaus Nomi in a scene from the movie

The Go-Go's pose after performing for the cameras

Some movie studios quietly disappear. Others crash and burn in spectacular fashion. In this episode of The 80s Movie Podcast, we explore the fascinating story of Associated Film Distribution, the ambitious company created by entertainment moguls Sir Lew Grade and Bernard Delfont to challenge Hollywood’s distribution system in the early 1980s. Backed by major investments and enormous expectations, AFD set out to bring prestige films, blockbusters, and crowd-pleasers to American audiences, only to become one of the decade’s most infamous cautionary tales in the movie business.

We take a deep dive into the eclectic lineup of films released through Associated Film Distribution, including The Muppet Movie, Raise the Titanic, The Changeling, Saturn 3, Can’t Stop the Music, The Jazz Singer, and more. Along the way, we examine how huge financial gambles, inconsistent box office returns, and a wildly unpredictable slate of releases contributed to the company’s rapid collapse, despite producing several films that would later gain cult status among 1980s movie fans.

Whether you remember spotting the AFD logo before a favorite movie or are discovering this forgotten distributor for the first time, this episode revisits one of the strangest and most ambitious stories in 1980s film history. Join us as we uncover the movies, risks, successes, and spectacular failures behind a studio that aimed to compete with Hollywood and instead became part of movie legend.

If the 1980s blockbuster had a face behind the camera, it might have been Don Simpson. In this episode of The 80s Movie Podcast, we dive into the remarkable, chaotic, and larger-than-life story of the Hollywood producer who helped redefine popular entertainment in the decade of excess. Alongside longtime creative partner Jerry Bruckheimer, Simpson helped shape the modern blockbuster through spectacle, attitude, music, and unforgettable high-concept storytelling. His films became some of the biggest cultural events of the 1980s.

We revisit the making and impact of iconic hits including Flashdance, Beverly Hills Cop, Top Gun, and Beverly Hills Cop II, exploring how Simpson’s instincts for audience appeal transformed action movies, comedy, and Hollywood marketing. We also examine his rise through the studio system, his influence on the high-concept filmmaking boom of the 1980s, and the creative partnership that helped define a generation of blockbuster cinema.

But Don Simpson’s story is also one of ambition, excess, and the darker side of Hollywood success. Whether you remember these films from their original theatrical runs or discovered them later on cable and VHS, this episode revisits the complicated legacy of one of the most influential and controversial producers of the 1980s. Join us as we explore the movies, mythology, and impact of the man who helped make the modern blockbuster what it is today.

Steven Spielberg’s impact on the 1980s extended far beyond the director’s chair. In this episode of The 80s Movie Podcast, we explore Spielberg’s remarkable work as a producer and writer during one of the most creative decades in Hollywood history. Through companies like Amblin, Spielberg helped bring some of the decade’s most beloved and influential films to life, shaping the sound, style, and imagination of 1980s pop culture. His producing and writing credits included films such as Poltergeist, Gremlins, The Goonies, Back to the Future, Young Sherlock Holmes, An American Tail, Who Framed Roger Rabbit, and The Land Before Time.

We take a closer look at Spielberg’s role behind the scenes as a creative force, storyteller, and champion of emerging filmmakers. From family adventure and fantasy to horror and science fiction, his fingerprints can be found across some of the most iconic films of the decade. We also discuss Spielberg’s writing contributions to projects like Poltergeist and television ventures such as Amazing Stories, showing how his influence reached well beyond the films he personally directed.

Whether you know these movies by heart or are discovering Spielberg’s behind-the-scenes influence for the first time, this episode uncovers the extraordinary creative reach of one of Hollywood’s most important filmmakers. Join us as we revisit the productions, collaborations, and hidden legacy that helped make Steven Spielberg one of the defining creative forces of the 1980s.

Was 1982 the greatest movie year of the entire 1980s? In this special episode of The 80s Movie Podcast, we revisit a year that delivered an unbelievable lineup of classics, cult favorites, groundbreaking science fiction, unforgettable horror, family blockbusters, and iconic comedies. From massive box office hits to films that found their audiences years later on cable and VHS, 1982 remains one of the most important years in modern movie history.

We take a deep dive into the incredible range of films released during 1982, including E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial, Blade Runner, Poltergeist, The Thing, Fast Times at Ridgemont High, Rocky III, Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, Conan the Barbarian, Tootsie, Tron, and many more. The episode explores how these films reflected the changing landscape of Hollywood while helping define the style, imagination, and cultural identity of the 1980s. We also discuss why so many movies from 1982 continue to influence filmmakers, audiences, and pop culture decades later.

Whether you experienced these films during their original theatrical run or discovered them through late-night television and video stores, this episode celebrates the year that many movie fans consider unmatched in terms of creativity, variety, and lasting impact. Join us as we revisit the unforgettable films, iconic performances, and cinematic legacy that made 1982 one of the greatest years in movie history.

Few filmmakers had a bigger impact on the 1980s than Steven Spielberg. In this episode of The 80s Movie Podcast, we explore Spielberg’s incredible run as a director during one of the most influential decades in movie history. From blockbuster adventures and science fiction classics to emotional dramas and fantasy epics, Spielberg helped shape what audiences expected from modern entertainment throughout the 1980s. Spielberg’s directing output during the decade included landmark films like Raiders of the Lost Ark, E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial, Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, The Color Purple, Empire of the Sun, Always, and Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.

We take a closer look at how Spielberg blended spectacle, heart, suspense, and visual storytelling to create some of the decade’s most unforgettable cinematic experiences. From the wonder of E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial to the globe-trotting thrills of Raiders of the Lost Ark, we discuss the recurring themes, creative risks, and filmmaking techniques that made Spielberg one of Hollywood’s defining voices of the era. Steven Spielberg’s influence stretched far beyond the box office, helping redefine the blockbuster for a new generation.

Whether you grew up watching Spielberg’s films in theaters or discovered them years later on cable and VHS, this episode revisits the movies, moments, and legacy of the director who helped define 1980s cinema. Join us as we celebrate one of the most influential filmmakers in movie history and the remarkable decade that cemented his legacy.

This week on The 80s Movie Podcast, host Edward Havens concludes his exploration of Miramax Films in the 1980s by focusing on the company’s 1989 releases, a year that brought increased visibility, stronger positioning, and signs that Miramax had moved beyond survival into sustained influence. After a decade of gradual growth, the company entered the final years of the 1980s with a clearer identity and growing confidence in the films it championed.

In this episode, Edward explores the movies Miramax released during 1989 while tracing how the company expanded its reach within independent cinema. Along the way, he examines the filmmakers, acquisitions, and industry conditions that helped Miramax strengthen its reputation. At the same time, the episode considers how the distributor’s successes reflected larger shifts happening within specialty film distribution as audiences increasingly embraced alternatives to major studio filmmaking.

As the series concludes, Edward reflects on how Miramax evolved throughout the 1980s and why its growth mattered to the future of independent cinema. By the end of the decade, the company had established itself as a meaningful presence within the film industry and set the stage for even greater influence in the years ahead.

The 1980s were filled with major movie studios, but few independent companies had a catalog as strange, unpredictable, and unforgettable as Jensen Farley Pictures. In this episode of The 80s Movie Podcast, we dive into the fascinating story of the short-lived independent distributor that carved out a unique place in 1980s cinema by releasing everything from teen comedies and cult horror to fantasy adventures and exploitation films. Founded in 1980 by former executives from Sunn Classic Pictures, Jensen Farley quickly became one of the more unusual players in independent film before disappearing just a few years later.

We explore the eclectic lineup of films that made Jensen Farley Pictures a cult favorite among movie fans, including The Last Unicorn, Joysticks, Madman, Private Lessons, Curtains, and other overlooked gems that helped define late-night cable and video store culture in the 1980s. The episode also looks at how a company run by Mormon businessmen somehow became known for horror films, teen sex comedies, and offbeat genre releases that stood apart from the Hollywood mainstream.

Whether you remember discovering these films at the local video store or are hearing about Jensen Farley Pictures for the first time, this episode revisits one of the most unusual studios of the decade and the lasting cult legacy it left behind. Join us as we uncover the bizarre, ambitious, and surprisingly influential story of a forgotten name in 1980s movie history.

Few filmmakers captured the heart, humor, and awkward reality of growing up in the 1980s quite like John Hughes. In this episode of The 80s Movie Podcast, we take a deep dive into the legendary writer, director, and producer whose films helped define an entire generation. From teenage angst and first love to family dysfunction and unforgettable comedy, Hughes created stories that still resonate decades later.

We explore the lasting impact of classics like The Breakfast Club, Sixteen Candles, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, Pretty in Pink, Weird Science, and Planes, Trains and Automobiles, discussing what made these films so relatable, quotable, and culturally influential. We also examine Hughes’ signature storytelling style, his unforgettable characters, and the emotional honesty that made his movies stand apart from typical Hollywood fare.

Whether you grew up watching John Hughes movies in the 1980s or are discovering them for the first time, this episode celebrates the filmmaker whose work shaped teen movies, comedy, and pop culture for generations. Join us as we revisit the films, themes, and legacy of one of the most influential voices in 1980s cinema.

This week on The 80s Movie Podcast, host Edward Havens continues his exploration of Miramax Films by revisiting the company’s 1988 releases, a period when the distributor expanded both its reach and reputation. As independent cinema gained greater visibility during the late 1980s, Miramax increasingly positioned itself as a company capable of bringing challenging, international, and unconventional films to wider audiences.

In this episode, Edward examines the films Miramax released during 1988 while also exploring how the company refined its distribution model and strengthened its place within the specialty film market. Along the way, he looks at the filmmakers, acquisitions, and industry developments that helped Miramax attract greater critical attention. At the same time, the episode considers how independent film distribution itself was changing as audiences sought alternatives to mainstream studio releases.

As Miramax moved closer to becoming a recognizable industry name, the company entered a period of growing confidence and ambition. This installment follows the next stage of a distributor steadily reshaping its place in American film culture.

Rampage is one of the most fascinating and overlooked films of the 1980s. In this episode of The 80s Movie Podcast, we dive into the troubled production, disturbing subject matter, and complicated legacy of William Friedkin’s 1987 crime thriller. Written, directed, and produced by Friedkin, the film tells the story of a chilling serial killer case that pushes the justice system, morality, and the death penalty debate to their limits.

We explore how Rampage was originally intended as a hard-edged courtroom and psychological drama inspired by real-life crimes, and how its production became entangled with the collapse of De Laurentiis Entertainment Group. The film’s fate was sealed when the studio went bankrupt, delaying its release for years and leaving it largely unseen by audiences at the time. Despite being completed in the late 1980s, the film did not receive proper distribution until the early 1990s, contributing to its reputation as one of Friedkin’s most misunderstood works.

Whether you’re a fan of William Friedkin’s filmmaking or discovering Rampage for the first time, this episode revisits a dark, challenging, and often forgotten corner of 1980s cinema. We break down why the film still feels unsettling today, how it fits into Friedkin’s career, and why some of the most interesting films of the decade are the ones that nearly disappeared entirely.

This week on The 80s Movie Podcast, host Edward Havens continues his Miramax Films series by focusing on 1987, a year that marked an important turning point in the company’s growth. Although Miramax remained a relatively small independent distributor, its slate increasingly reflected larger ambitions, broader visibility, and stronger positioning within the independent film landscape.

In this episode, Edward explores the films Miramax released throughout 1987 while examining how the company strengthened relationships with emerging filmmakers and expanded its presence in specialty distribution. Along the way, he looks at the creative voices behind these projects and the challenges of building momentum in an industry still dominated by major studios. At the same time, the episode traces how Miramax gradually moved from survival mode toward sustained growth.

By 1987, the company had begun positioning itself for a much larger role in independent film. This chapter of the series explores the releases and decisions that helped move Miramax closer to mainstream recognition.

This week on The 80s Movie Podcast, host Edward Havens falls down a research rabbit hole and uncovers one of the strangest forgotten films of the 1980s: Oklahoma Smugglers, a little-seen 1987 action-comedy that seemingly vanished from existence after a limited Southern theatrical release and a lone VHS release in 1988. What happened to this lost movie — and why couldn’t anyone see it for decades?

Along the way, we explore the growing problem of disappearing films, from silent-era lost cinema to modern streaming removals, and how obscure independent movies can slip through the cracks of film history. Featuring discussion of film preservation, regional theatrical distribution, forgotten VHS releases, and the bizarre history behind one of the rarest 80s movies ever discussed on the podcast.

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TRANSCRIPT

From Los Angeles, California, the Entertainment Capital of the World, it’s The 80s Movies Podcast. I am your host, Edward Havens. Thank you for listening today.

You were probably expecting the third part of the Miramax Films in the 1980s series, and we will get to that one the next episode. But as often happens while I’m researching, I’ll fall down a rabbit hole that piques my interest, and this time, it was not only discovering a film I had never heard of, but it fits within a larger discussion about disappearing media.

But before we get started, I need to send out a thank you to Matthew Martin, who contacted me via email after our previous episode. I had mentioned I couldn’t find any American playdates for the Brian Trenchard-Smith movie The Quest around the time of its supposed release date of May 1st, 1986. Matthew sent me an ad from the local Spokane newspaper The Spokesman-Review dated July 18th, 1986, which shows the movie playing on two screens in Spokane, including a drive-in where it shared a screen with “co-hit” Young Sherlock Holmes. With that help, I was also able to find The Quest playing on five screens in the Seattle/Tacoma area and two in Spokane on July 11th, where it grossed a not very impressive $14,200. In its second week in the region, it would drop down to just three screens, and the gross would fall to just $2800, before disappearing at the end of that second week. Thank you to Matthew for that find, which gave me an idea.

On a lark, I tried searching for the movie again, this time using the director’s last name and any day in 1986, and ended up finding 35 playdates for The Quest in Los Angeles, matinees only on Saturday, October 25th and Sunday, October 26th, one to three shows each day on just those two days.

Miramax did not report grosses.

And this is probably the most anyone has talked about The Quest and its lack of American box office. And with that, we’re done with it. For now.

On this episode, we’re going to talk about one of the many movies from the 1980s that has literally disappeared from the landscape. What I mean by that is that it was an independently made film that was given a Southern regional release in the South in 1987, has never been released on video since its sole VHS release in 1988, and isn’t available on any currently widely used video platform, physical or streaming.

I’ll try to talk about this movie, Oklahoma Smugglers, as much as I can in a moment, but this problem of disappearing movies has been a problem for nearly a century. I highlight this as there has been a number of announcements recently about streaming-only shows and movies being removed from their exclusive streaming platform, some just seven weeks after their premieres.

This is a problem.

Let me throw some statistics at you.

Film Foundation, a non-profit organization co-founded by Martin Scorsese in 1990 that is dedicated to film preservation and the exhibition of restored and classic cinema, has estimated that half of all the films ever made before 1950 no longer exist in any form, and that only 10% of the films produced before the dawn of the sound era of films are gone forever. The Deutsche Kinemathek, a major film archive founded in Berlin in 1963, also estimates that 80-90% of all silent films ever have been lost, a number that’s a bit higher than the US Library of Congress’s estimation that 75% of all silent film are gone. That includes more than 300 of Georges Méliès’ 500 movies, a 1926 film, The Mountain Eagle, that was the second film directed by Alfred Hitchcock, and London After Midnight, considered by many film historians to be “the holy grail” of lost films. A number of films from directors like Michael Curtiz, Allan Dwan, and Leo McCarey are gone. And The Betrayal, the final film from pioneering Black filmmaker Oscar Micheaux, is no longer with us. 

There are a number of reasons why many of these early movies are gone. Until the early 1950s, movies were often shot and printed on nitrate film, a highly flammable substance that can continue to burn even if completely submersed in water. During the earlier years of Hollywood, there were a number of fires on studio lots and in film vaults were original negatives of films were stored. Sometimes, studios would purposely incinerate old prints of films to salvage the silver particles within the nitrate film. Occasionally, a studio would destroy an older film when they remade that film with a new cast and director. And sometimes films, like Orson Welles’ original cut of The Magnificent Ambersons, would be dumped into the ocean off the Southern California coast, when studios no longer wanted to pay to store these elements.

Except Oklahoma Smugglers does not fit into any of those scenarios. It’s less than forty years old, in color, with a synchronized soundtrack. It’s crime was being a small budgeted independently distributed movie from an independent production company that was only released in a small section of the United States, and never got any traction outside of that region.

Not that this alone is why it disappeared.

You may recall hearing about David Zaslav, the head of the mega entertainment conglomerate Warner Brothers Discovery, cancelling the release of two completed films, a Batgirl movie that would have featured Michael Keaton’s return as Batman a full year before The Flash, and a sequel to a fairly successful Scooby Doo animated movie. Warner Brothers had spent more than $200m between the two films. They were shot, edited and scored, and ready for release. Then Zaslav decided these were of the quality he expected for Warner Brothers movies, and wrote them off for the tax break. Unless someone at Warners somewhere down the line decides to pay back the tax incentive to the Fed, these two movies will never legally be allowed to be shown, effectively making them lost films.

Again, there are many ways for a film to become lost.

In our case, it seems that Oklahoma Smugglers is an unfortunate victim of being the one and only film to be produced by Cambridge Entertainment Corporation, based in Needham MA. The company was founded on September 10th, 1986 and went into involuntary dissolution on December 31st, 1990, so it’s very likely that the company went bankrupt and no company was interested in picking up the assets of a small independent production company with only one tangible asset, this movie.

So here is what I could find about Oklahoma Smugglers.

The film was produced and directed by Ota Richter, whose only previous film work was writing, producing a directing a horror comedy called Skullduggery in 1982. The film has its fans, but they are few and far between. Three years later, in 1985, Richter would work with a first time screenwriter named Sven Simon to come up with the story for Oklahoma Smugglers. When the script was completed, Richter would raise the money he would need to shoot the movie in Toronto with a no-name cast lead by George Buzz and John Novak, and a four week production schedule between February 24th and March 21st, 1986. One can presume the film was locked before September 10th, 1986, when Cambridge Entertainment Corporation was founded, with Ota Rickter as its treasurer. The other two members of the Cambridge board, company President Neil T. Evans, and company Secretary Robert G. Parks, appear to have not had any involvement with the making of the movie, and according to the Open Corporates database, the men had never worked together before and never worked together again after this company.

But what Neil Evans did have, amongst the six companies he was operating in and around the Boston area at the time, was a independent distribution company called Sharp Features, which he had founded in April of 1981, and had already distributed five other movies, including the Dick Shawn comedy Good-bye Cruel World, which apparently only played in Nashville TN in September 1982, and a 1985 documentary about The Beach Boys.

So after a year of shopping the film around the major studios and bigger independent distributors, the Cambridge team decided to just release it themselves through Sharp Features. They would place an ad in the September 16th, 1987 issue of Variety, announcing the film, quote unquote, opens the Southeast on September 18th, just two days later.

Now, you’ll notice I was able to find a lot of information about the people behind the film. About the companies they created or had already created to push the film out into the market. The dates it filmed, and where it filmed. I have a lot of sources both online and in my office with more data about almost every film ever released. But what I can’t tell you is if the film actually did open on September 18th, 1987. Or how many theatres it played in. Or how much it grossed that first weekend. Or if any theatres retained it for a second week. Or any reviews of the movie from any contemporary newspaper or magazine. Outside of the same one single sentence synopsis of the movie, I had to turn to a Finnish VHS release of the film for a more detailed synopsis, which roughly translates back into English as such:

“Former Marines Hugo and Skip are living the best days of their lives. Hugo is a real country boy and Skip again from a "better family." Together they are a perfect pair: where Skip throws, Hugo hurls his fists. Mr. Milk, who offers security services, takes them on. Mr. Milk's biggest dream is to get hold of his nemesis "Oklahoma Smuggler" Taip's most cherished asset - a lucrative casino. Mr. Taip is not only a casino owner, but he handles everything possible, from arms smuggling to drugs. The fight for the ownership of the Oklahoma Smuggler casino is a humorous mix of fistfights, intrigues and dynamite where Hugo and Skip get the hero's part. What happens to the casino is another matter.”

Okay, that sounds like absolute crap.

But here’s the thing.

I actually enjoy checking out low budget movies that might not be very good but are at least trying to be something.

I would be very interested in seeing a movie like Oklahoma Smugglers. But I can’t the darn thing anywhere. It’s not posted to YouTube or Vimeo or any video sharing service I know of. It’s not on The Internet Archive. It’s not on any of the Russian video sites that I occasionally find otherwise hard to find movies.

There’s no entry for the film on Wikipedia or on Rotten Tomatoes. There is an IMDb page for the film, with a grand total of one user rating and one user review, both from the same person. There’s also only one rating and mini-review of it on Letterboxd, also from the same person. There is a page for the film on the Plex website, but no one has the actual film.

This film has, for all intents and purposes, vanished.

Is that a good thing?

Absolutely not.

While it’s highly likely Oklahoma Smugglers is not a very good movie, there’s also a chance it might actually be stupid, goofy fun, and even if its a low quality dupe off a VHS tape, it should be available for viewing. There should be some kind of movie repository that has every movie still around that is in the public domain be available for viewing. Or if the owners of a movie with a still enforceable copyright have basically abandoned said copyright by not making the film available for consumption after a certain amount of time or for a certain amount of time, it also become available. This would not only help films like Oklahoma Smugglers be discovered, but it would also give film lovers the chance to see many movies they’ve heard about but have never had the opportunity to see. Even the original theatrical version of the first three Star Wars movies are no longer available commercially. Outside of a transfer of the early 1990s laserdisc to DVD in 2004, no one has been able to see the original versions in nearly twenty years. The closest one can get now are fan created “Despecialized” editions on the internet.

Film fans tend to think of film as a forever medium, but it’s becoming ever increasingly clear that it far from that. And we’re not just talking about American movies either. When I said it is estimated that half the films ever made are considered lost, that includes movies from all corners of the globe, across several generations. From Angola and Australia to the former Yugoslavia and Zambia. Gone forever.

But every once in a while, a forgotten film can come back to life. Case in point, The Exiles, a 1958 film written, produced and directed by Kent Mackenzie, about a group of Native Americans who have left their reservation in search of a new life in Los Angeles’ Bunker Hill neighborhood. After premiering at the 1961 Venice Film Festival, the film was never picked up for theatrical distribution, and for many years, the only way to see it was the occasional screening of the film as some college film society screening of the one 16mm print of the film that was still around. Cinephiles were aware of the film, but it wouldn’t be until the exceptional 2004 video essay Los Angeles Plays Itself by Thom Anderson that many, including myself, even learned of the film’s existence. It would take another four years of legal maneuvering for Milestone Films to finally give The Exiles a proper theatrical and home video release. The following year, in 2009, with new public exposure to the film, the Library of Congress included The Exiles on their National Film Registry, for being of culturally, historically or aesthetically" significance. In the case of The Exiles, much of Bunker Hill was torn down shortly after the making of the film, so in many ways, The Exiles is a living visual history of an area of Los Angeles that no longer exists in that way. It’s a good film regardless, but as a native Angelino, I find The Exiles to be fascinating for all these places that disappeared in just a few short years before my own birth.

So, that’s the episode for this week.

Thank you for joining us. We’ll talk again next week, when we continue our miniseries on Miramax Films in the 1980s.

Remember to visit this episode’s page on our website, The80sMoviePodcast.com, for extra materials about Oklahoma Smugglers.

The 80s Movies Podcast has been researched, written, narrated and edited by Edward Havens for Idiosyncratic Entertainment.

Thank you again.

Good night.

This week on The 80s Movie Podcast, host Edward Havens continues his look at Miramax Films by exploring the company’s releases from 1984 through 1986, a period when the distributor began refining its identity within the growing independent film market. Although Miramax still operated far outside the studio system, the company increasingly sought films that could distinguish it from competitors and attract audiences interested in international, unconventional, and filmmaker-driven stories.

In this episode, Edward examines the films that shaped Miramax during these transitional years while also exploring the business realities facing independent distributors in the mid-1980s. Along the way, he considers how release strategies, marketing limitations, and critical reception influenced the company’s growth, even as Hollywood studios continued to dominate theatrical exhibition. At the same time, the episode highlights the filmmakers and projects that helped establish Miramax’s emerging reputation.

As Miramax slowly expanded its reach, the company began laying the groundwork for a larger breakthrough later in the decade. This episode continues the story of how an independent distributor learned to compete in a changing film industry.

This week on The 80s Movie Podcast, host Edward Havens begins a multi-part exploration of Miramax Films and its rise during the 1980s. Starting with the company’s earliest years between 1979 and 1983, Edward traces how a small independent distributor entered a marketplace dominated by major studios by acquiring, promoting, and releasing films that larger companies often ignored. Before Miramax became associated with awards campaigns and prestige cinema, it operated as an outsider trying to establish a foothold in a competitive business.

In this episode, Edward explores the company’s earliest releases while examining the practical realities of independent film distribution during the period. Along the way, he looks at how Miramax built relationships with filmmakers, pursued niche audiences, and developed strategies that would eventually help define the modern independent film marketplace. At the same time, the episode considers the risks involved in launching a film company during a decade increasingly shaped by blockbuster economics.

As the first chapter in an ongoing series, this episode establishes the foundation for understanding how Miramax grew from a small distributor into a recognizable force within American cinema. By revisiting these early releases, Edward begins tracing the decisions and turning points that shaped the company’s future.

Our regular spotlight on influential female filmmakers returns with one of the most important independent films of the 1980s. In this episode of The 80s Movie Podcast, host Edward Havens launches a retrospective of director Susan Seidelman by examining her groundbreaking debut feature, Smithereens (1982). Long before she found mainstream success with Desperately Seeking Susan, Seidelman captured the grit, ambition, and uncertainty of downtown Manhattan through the story of Wren, a restless young woman determined to become somebody in New York’s fading punk scene.

Along the way, we explore how Seidelman created an authentic portrait of early-1980s New York on a shoestring budget, filming on location amid the city's post-punk culture and urban decay. We also discuss the film's memorable performances, including punk icon Richard Hell, and examine why Smithereens remains such a valuable time capsule of a New York that has largely disappeared. Furthermore, we look at the film's themes of identity, self-invention, and the pursuit of fame, ideas that would later reappear throughout Seidelman's career.

At the same time, Smithereens occupies a significant place in independent film history. Not only did it help establish Seidelman as a major new voice in American cinema, but it also became the first American independent film selected to compete for the Palme d'Or at the Cannes Film Festival. Looking back, the film feels both deeply rooted in its era and surprisingly contemporary, especially in its exploration of image-making, self-promotion, and the desire to be noticed. Whether you're discovering Smithereens for the first time or revisiting a cult favorite, this episode examines the film that launched one of the most distinctive directing careers of the decade.

This week on The 80s Movie Podcast, host Edward Havens wraps up his miniseries on director Martha Coolidge with a look back at her overlooked 1988 comedy Plain Clothes. Starring Arliss Howard as an undercover police officer posing as a high school student to investigate the suspicious death of his younger brother, Plain Clothes blends teen comedy, murder mystery, and fish-out-of-water humor into one of the stranger studio comedies of the late 1980s.

Along the way, Edward explores how the film followed Coolidge’s cult favorite Real Genius, why Plain Clothes struggled to find an audience despite a cast that included Suzy Amis, George Wendt, and Max Perlich, and how the movie became one of those forgotten 80s cable and video-store discoveries that audiences still occasionally rediscover today.

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TRANSCRIPT

From Los Angeles, California, the Entertainment Capital of the World, it’s The 80s Movies Podcast. I am your host, Edward Havens. Thank you for listening today.

On this episode, we’re going to complete our miniseries on the 1980s films of director Martha Coolidge with her little seen 1988 movie Plain Clothes.

When we last left Ms. Coolidge, she had just seen her 1985 film Real Genius get lost in the mix between a number of similarly themed movies, although it would eventually find its audience through home video and repeated cable airings throughout the rest of the decade.

Shortly after the release of Real Genius, she would pick out her next project, a comedy mystery called Glory Days. Written by Dan Vining, Glory Days was one of a number of television and movie scripts floating around Hollywood that featured a supposedly young looking cop who goes undercover as a student at a high school. Whatever Coolidge saw in it, she would quickly get to work making it her own, hiring a young writer working at Paramount Studios named A. Scott Frank to help her rewrite the script. Coolidge had been impressed by one of his screenplays, a Neo-noir romantic mystery thriller called Dead Again, and felt Frank was the right person to help her add some extra mystery to the Glory Days screenplay.

While Frank and Coolidge would keep some elements of the original Glory Days script, including having the undercover cop’s high school identity, Nick Springsteen, be a distant relative of the famous rock star from whose song the script had taken its title. But Coolidge would have Frank add a younger brother for the cop, and add a murdered teacher, who the younger brother is accused of killing, to give the film something extra to work towards.

For the cast, Coolidge would go with a mix of newcomers in the main roles, with some industry veterans to fill out the supporting cast.

When casting began in early 1987, Coolidge looked at dozens of actors for the lead role of Nick Dunbar, but she was particularly struck by thirty-two year old Arliss Howard, whose film work had been limited to supporting roles in two movies, but was expected to become a star once his role in Stanley Kubrick’s next project, Full Metal Jacket, opened later in the summer.

Twenty-five year old Suzy Amis, a former model who, like Arlisss, had limited film work in supporting roles, would be cast as Robin, a teacher at the school who Nick develops a crush on while undercover.

The supporting cast would include George Wendt from Cheers, Laura Dern’s mother Diane Ladd, an Oscar nominee for her role as Flo in Martin Scorsese’s Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore, veteran character actor Seymour Cassel, an Oscar nominee himself for John Cassavetes’ Faces, Robert Stack, the original Elliot Ness who was yet another former Oscar nominee, Harry Shearer, and the great Abe Vigoda.

The $7.5m film would begin production in the Seattle metro area on May 6th, 1987 and would last for seven weeks, ending on June 30th. 

Plain Clothes would open in 193 theatres on April 15th, 1988, including 59 theatres in New York City and eight in Seattle. The reviews would be vicious on the film, with many critics pointing out how ludicrous the plot was, and how distracting it was the filmmakers were trying to pass a thirty two year old actor off as a twenty four year old police officer going undercover as an eighteen year old high school student. Audiences would stay away in droves, with only about 57k people buying a ticket to see the film during the opening three days. A performance so bad, Paramount would end up pulling the film from theatres after seven days at a $289k ticket gross, replacing every screen with another high school-set movie, the similarly-titled Permanent Record, featuring Keanu Reeves, Jennifer Rubin and Kathy Baker, which would also be the final film for Martha Coolidge’s regular co-star Michelle Meyrink, who would quit acting the following year and develop an affinity in Zen Buddhism. She would eventually open her own acting studio in her hometown of Vancouver, British Columbia. Not so coincidentally, Martha Coolidge is one of advisory board members of the school.

There would be one more movie for Martha Coolidge in the 1980s, a made for television mystery called Trenchcoat in Paradise, featuring Dirk Benedict from Battlestar Galactica and The A-Team, Catherine Oxenberg from Dynasty, and Bruce Dern, but it’s not very good and not really work talking about.

As the 80s moved into the 90s, Coolidge would continue to work both in television and in motion pictures. 

In 1991, she would direct her Plain Clothes co-star Diane Ladd alongside Ladd’s daughter, Laura Dern, in the Depression-era drama Rambling Rose. But despite unanimous critical consent and Oscar nominations for both Ladd and Dern, the first and only mother-daughter duo to be nominated for the same movie or in the same year, the $7.5m movie would only gross $6.3m.

1993’s Lost in Yonkers would be the 23rd film written by Neil Simon, an adaptation of his 1991 Pulitzer Prize-winning play. Actors Irene Worth and Mercedes Ruehl would reprise their Broadway roles for the film, although Richard Dreyfuss would replace Kevin Spacey in the pivotal role as the gangster uncle of two teenage boys who go to live with their aunt after their mother dies. Despite good reviews, the $15m Lost in Yonkers would only gross about $9m.

Originally written as a starring vehicle for Madonna, the 1994 romantic-comedy Angie would instead star Geena Davis as an office worker in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, who sets her neighborhood upside-down when she decides to become a single mother. Coolidge’s highest budgeted film at $26m, Angie would gross just $9.4m, but would in the years to come become famous for being the first film of James Gandolfini, Michael Rispoli and Aida Turturro, who would all go on to star in five years later.

1995’s Three Wishes is a bizarre fantasy drama with Patrick Swayze and Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio, about two young boys whose mother starts to fall for a mysterious stranger after their father is reported missing during the Korean War. The $10m film would be the worst reviewed movie of Coolidge’s career, and would barely gross $7m when it was released.

Things would turn around for Coolidge on her next film, Out to Sea. The penultimate film for both Jack Lemmon and Walter Matthau, this weak but genial romp, according to Janet Maslin of the New York Times, finds the regular co-stars on a Mexico-bound cruise ship, where they must work as dance hosts in order to pay for their trip. Also featuring Golden Girls co-stars Estelle Harris and Rue McClanahan alongside Dyan Cannon and Donald O’Connor, Out to Sea would become her highest grossing film to date, bringing in $29m worth of ticket sales.

While she would make a couple more movies, 2004’s The Prince and Me and 2006’s Material Girls, Coolidge would spend 1999 and the 2000s making her mark on television, directing episodes of CSI, Madame Secretary, Psych and Weeds, amongst dozens of shows, as well as the 1999 HBO film Introducing Dorothy Dandridge, which would not only win its lead star Halle Berry a number of awards including the Emmy, the Golden Globe and the Screen Actors Guild Award, it would be the first screenplay to be produced by a young writer named Shonda Rhimes. Coolidge herself would be nominated for an Emmy and a Golden Globe for Outstanding Directing of a Movie Made for Television.

But her biggest achievement in Hollywood would come in 2002, when Coolidge would become the first female President of the Directors Guild of America. And in addition to being an advisor to Michelle Meyrink’s acting school, she is also a professor of film studies at Chapman University in Southern California.

Thank you for joining us. We’ll talk again soon.

Remember to visit this episode’s page on our website, The80sMoviePodcast.com, for extra materials about the movies we covered this episode.

The 80s Movies Podcast has been researched, written, narrated and edited by Edward Havens for Idiosyncratic Entertainment.

Thank you again.

Good night.

This week on The 80s Movie Podcast, host Edward Havens continues his informal miniseries on director Martha Coolidge with a look back at her 1985 cult favorite Real Genius. Starring Val Kilmer in one of his earliest iconic roles, this smart sci-fi comedy follows a teenage prodigy and his brilliant classmates as they unknowingly develop laser technology for a dangerous military project at a Caltech-inspired university.

Edward explores the making of Real Genius, from Coolidge’s extensive research with real science students and laser experts to the film’s unusual blend of college comedy, Cold War anxiety, and razor-sharp humor. Plus: why the movie struggled at the box office in 1985 despite its originality, how it became a beloved cable and VHS favorite, and why many fans now consider it one of the smartest and most underrated movies of the decade.

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TRANSCRIPT

From Los Angeles, California, the Entertainment Capital of the World, it’s The 80s Movies Podcast. I am your host, Edward Havens. Thank you for listening today.

Before we hop in to today’s episode, I want to thank every person listening, from whatever part of the planet you’re at. Over the nearly four years I’ve been doing this podcast, we’ve had listeners from 171 of the 197 countries, and occasionally it’s very surreal for this California kid who didn’t amount to much of anything growing to think there are people in Myanmar and the Ukraine and other countries dealing with war within their borders who still find time to listen to new episodes of a podcast about 33 plus year old mostly American movies when they’re released. I don’t take your listenership lightly, and I just want you to know that I truly appreciate it. Thank you.

Okay, with that, I would like to welcome you all to Part Three of our informal miniseries on the 1980s movies of director Martha Coolidge.

When we left Ms. Coolidge on our previous episode, her movie Joy of Sex had bombed, miserably. But, lucky for her, she had already been hired to work on Real Genius before Joy of Sex had been released.

The script for Real Genius, co-written by Neal Israel and Pat Proft, the writers of Bachelor Party, had been floating around Hollywood for a few years. It would tell the story of a highly intelligent high school kid named Mitch who would be recruited to attend a prestigious CalTech-like college called Pacific Tech, where he would be teamed with another genius, Chris, to build a special laser with their professor, not knowing the laser is to be used as a weapon to take out enemy combatants from a drone-like plane 30,000 feet above the Earth.

ABC Motion Pictures, a theatrical subsidy of the American television network geared towards creating movies that could be successful in theatres before playing on television, would acquire the screenplay in the early 1980s, but after the relative failure of a number of their initial projects, including National Lampoon’s Class Reunion and Young Doctors in Love, would sell the project off to Columbia Pictures, who would make the film one of the first slate of films to be produced by their sister company Tri-Star Pictures, a joint venture between Columbia, the cable network Home Box Office, and, ironically, the CBS television network, which was also created towards creating movies that could be successful in theatres before playing on television. Tri-Star would assign Brian Grazer, a television producer at Paramount who had segued to movies after meeting with Ron Howard during the actor’s last years on Happy Days, producing Howard’s 1982 film Night Shift and 1984 film Splash, to develop the film.

One of Grazer’s first moves would be to hire Lowell Ganz and Babaloo Mandel, writers on Happy Days who helped to create Laverne and Shirley and Joanie Loves Chachi, to rewrite the script to attract a director. Ganz and Mandel had also written Night Shift and rewrote the script for Splash, and Grazer considered them his lucky charm. After trying to convince Ron Howard to board the project instead of Cocoon, Grazer would create a list of up and coming filmmakers he would want to work with. And toward the top of that list was Martha Coolidge.

Coolidge would naturally gravitate towards Real Genius, and she would have an advantage that no other filmmaker on Grazer’s list would have: her fiancee, Michael Backes, was himself an egghead, a genius in physics and biochemistry who in the years to come would become good friends with the writer and filmmaker Michael Crichton, working as a graphics supervisor on the movie version of Chricton’s book Jurassic Park, a co-writer of the screenplay based on Chricton’s book Rising Sun, and an associate producer on the movie version of Chricton’s book Congo.

Once Coolidge was signed on to direct Real Genius in the spring of 1984, she and Backes would work with former SCTV writer and performer PJ Torokvei as they would spend time talking to dozens of science students at CalTech and USC, researching laser technology, and the policies of the CIA. They would shape the project to something closer to what Grazer said he loved most about its possibility, the possibility of genius. "To me,” Grazer would tell an interviewer around the time of the film’s release, “a genius is someone who can do something magical, like solve a complex problem in his head while I'm still trying to figure out the question. I don't pretend to understand it, but the results are everywhere around us. We work, travel, amuse ourselves and enhance the quality of life through technology, all of which traces back to what was once an abstract idea in the mind of some genius.”

When their revised screenplay got the green light from the studio with an $8m budget, Grazer and Coolidge got to the task of casting the film. While the young genius Mitch was ostensibly the lead character in the film, his roommate Chris would need a star to balance out the relative obscurity of his co-star. A number of young actors in Hollywood would be seen, but their choice would be 25 year old Val Kilmer, whose first movie, Top Secret!, had not yet opened in theatres but had hot buzz going for it as the followup film for the Airplane! writing/directing team of Zucker, Abrahams and Zucker.

Fourteen year old Gabe Jarret, whose only previous film work had been in a minor role in the 1981 Tony Danza/Danny DeVito comedy Going Ape!, would land the coveted role of Mitch, while supporting roles would go to Coolidge’s former costars Michelle Meyrink, Deborah Foreman and Robert Prescott, as well as William Atherton, who at the time was on movie screens as Walter Peck, the main human antagonist to the Ghostbusters, as Chris and Mitch’s duplicitous professor, Jerry Hathaway, and Patti D’Arbanville, who had made a splash on screens in 1981 as Chevy Chase’s long-suffering girlfriend in Modern Problems.

Shooting would begin on Real Genius in Southern California on November 12th, 1984. Most of the film would be shot on sets built at the Hollywood Center Studios, just a few blocks west of the Paramount Studios lot, while several major set pieces, including the memorable finale involving Professor Hathaway’s house, a space laser and 190,000 pounds of popcorn, were shot in the then quiet suburban area of Sand Canyon, a few miles east of Magic Mountain, a popular theme park and filming area about 45mins north of Hollywood Center Studios. Outdoor scenes standing in for the Pacific Tech campus would be filmed at Occidental College in Eagle Rock and Pomona College in Claremont, while some scenes would be filmed at General Atomics outside San Diego, standing in for an Air Force base in the film’s climax. Shooting on the film would finish after the first of the year, giving Coolidge and her editor, Richard Chew, about seven months to get the film in shape for a planned August 7th, 1985, release.

Going in to the Summer 1985 movie season, Real Genius was positioned to be one of the hit films of the summer. They had a hot up and coming star in Val Kilmer, a hot director in Martha Coolidge, and a fairly solid release date in early August. But then, there ended up being an unusual glut of science fiction and sci-fi comedy movies in the marketplace at the same time. In March, Disney released the dinosaur-themed Baby: Secret of the Lost Legend, which was not a good film and bombed pretty bad. In June, there was the artificial intelligence film D.A.R.Y.L., which was not a good film and bombed pretty bad. In July, there was Back to the Future, which was a very good film and became one of the biggest successes of the year, and there was Explorers, Joe Dante’s followup to Gremlins, which featured Ethan Hawke and River Phoenix as teenage boys who build their own spacecraft to explore outer space, and although it was one of the best movies released in the summer of 1985, it too bombed pretty bad. 

But then, in a seven day period in early August, we had Weird Science, which was not very good and not very successful, Real Genius, and My Science Project, another Disney movie about a glowing orb thing from outer space that causes a lot of problems for a lazy high school student looking for something to use for his science class final, which is one of the worst movies of the year, and bombed worse than any of the other movies mentioned.

Weird Science, John Hughes’ followup to his surprise hit The Breakfast Club, released only six months earlier, would open on August 1st, and come in fourth place with $4.9m from 1158 theatres. In its second weekend of release, Weird Science would lose 40% of its opening weekend audience, coming in fifth with $2.97m. But that would still be better than Real Genius, which opened on Wednesday, August 5th, which would come in sixth in its opening weekend, with $2.56m from 990 locations. My Science Project, opening on August 7th, could only manage to open in 13th place with $1.5m from 1003 theatres. That would be worse than a reissue of E.T. in its fourth weekend of release.

In its second weekend, Real Genius would only drop 14% of its opening weekend audience, coming in with $2.2m from 956 locations, but after a third weekend, losing a third of its screens and 46% of its second week audience, Real Genius would be shuttled off to the dollar houses, where it would spend another seventeen weeks before exiting theatres with only $12.95m worth of tickets sold.

However, it is my personal opinion is that the film failed to find an audience because it was perceived as being too smart for a simple audience. Real Genius celebrates intelligence. It doesn’t pander to its audience. In many ways, it belittles stupidity, especially Mitch’s moronic parents. Revenge is dished out in the most ingenious ways, especially at the end with Professor Hathaway’s house, to the point where the science behind how Chris and Mitch did what the did is still actively debated thirty-eight years later. Caltech students served as consultants on the film, and played students in the background, while Dr. Martha Gunderson, a physics professor at USC whose vast knowledge about lasers informed the writers during the development stage, played a math professor on screen. Finally, to help promote the film, Martha Coolidge and producer Brian Grazer held the first-ever online press conference through the CompuServe online service, even though there were less than 125,000 on the entire planet who had CompuServe access in August 1985.

Today, the film is rightfully regardless as a classic, but it wouldn’t make Val Kilmer a star quite yet. That, of course, would happen in 1986, when he co-starred as Tom Cruise’s frenemy in Tony Scott’s Top Gun. Gabe Jarret would eventually become Gabriel Jarret, appearing in such movies as Karate Kid 3, Apollo 13 and The American President, and he continues to work in movies and on television to this day. Sadly, the same cannot be said for Michelle Meyrink, who would quit acting three years after making Real Genius, but we’ll talk about that on our next episode. And, of course, William Atherton would cement his reputation as the chucklenut Gen Xers love to hate when he played the cocky television reporter Dick Thornburg in the first two Die Hard movies.

And with that, we come to the end of this episode. Thank you for joining us. 

We’ll talk again next week, when Episode 111, on Coolidge’s 1988 comedy Plain Clothes, is released.

Remember to visit this episode’s page on our website, The80sMoviePodcast.com, for extra materials about the movies we covered this episode.

The 80s Movies Podcast has been researched, written, narrated and edited by Edward Havens for Idiosyncratic Entertainment.

Thank you again.

Good night.

This week on The 80s Movie Podcast, host Edward Havens continues his unofficial Martha Coolidge miniseries with a look back at her 1984 comedy Joy of Sex, arguably the strangest and most troubled film of her career. Released by Paramount Pictures and loosely inspired by the bestselling sex manual by Alex Comfort, the movie attempted to turn a controversial cultural phenomenon into a mainstream teen comedy… with mixed results.

Edward dives into the bizarre production history behind Joy of Sex, including abandoned versions involving Dudley Moore, Monty Python, John Hughes, John Belushi, and director Penny Marshall, before Martha Coolidge finally stepped in under intense studio pressure. Plus: why the film struggled to connect with audiences, its ties to National Lampoon-style comedies, and how a cast featuring Michelle Meyrink, Christopher Lloyd, and Ernie Hudson became trapped in one of the oddest forgotten movies of the 1980s.

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TRANSCRIPT

From Los Angeles, California, the Entertainment Capital of the World, it’s The 80s Movies Podcast. I am your host, Edward Havens. Thank you for listening today.

Last week, we talked about Martha Coolidge and her 1983 comedy Valley Girl, which celebrated the fortieth anniversary of its release this past Saturday.

Today, we’re going to continue talking about Martha Coolidge’s 1980s movies with her follow up effort, Joy of Sex.

And, as always, before we get to the main story, there’s some back story to the story we need to visit first.

In 1972, British scientist Alex Comfort published the titillatingly titled The Joy of Sex. If you know the book, you know it’s just a bunch of artful drawings of a man and a woman performing various sexual acts, a “how to” manual for the curious and adventurous. Set up to mimic cooking books like Joy of Cooking, Joy of Sex covered the gamut of sexual acts, and would spend more than a year on the New York Times bestseller list, including three months at the top of the list. It wasn’t the kind of book anyone could possibly conceive a major Hollywood studio might ever be interested in making into a movie. 

And you’d be right.

Sort of. 

When a producer named Tom Moore bought the movie rights to the book in 1975, for $100,000 and 20% of the film’s profit, Moore really only wanted the title, because he thought a movie called “Joy of Sex” would be a highly commercial prospect to the millions of people who had purchased the book over the years, especially since porn chic was still kind of “in” at the time.

In 1976, Moore would team with Paramount Pictures to further develop the project. They would hire British comedian, actor and writer Dudley Moore to structure the movie as a series of short vignettes not unlike Woody Allen’s Everything You Wanted to Know About Sex But We’re Afraid to Ask. Moore was more interested in writing a single story, about someone not unlike himself in his early 40s coming to grips with being sexually hung up during the era of free love. Moore and the studio could not come to an agreement over the direction of the story, and Moore would, maybe not so ironically, sign on the play a character not unlike himself, in his early 40s, coming to grips with being sexually hung up during the era of free love, in Blake Edwards’ 10.

Still wanting to pursue the idea of the movie as a series of short vignettes not unlike Woody Allen’s Everything You Wanted to Know About Sex But We’re Afraid to Ask, Paramount next approached the British comedy troupe Monty Python to work on it, since that’s basically what they did for 45 episodes of their BBC show between 1969 and 1974. But since they had just found success with their first movie, Monty Python and the Holy Grail, they decided to concentrate their efforts on their next movie project.

In 1978, Paramount hired actor and comedian Charles Grodin to write the script, telling him it could literally be about anything. Grodin, one of the stealthiest funny people to ever walk the Earth, had written a movie before, an adaptation of the Gerald A. Browne novel 11 Harrowhouse, but he found himself unable to think of anything, finding the ability to write anything he wanted as long as it could somehow be tied to the title to be an albatross around his neck. When Grodin finally turned in a script a few months later, Paramount was horrified to discover he had written a movie about a screenwriter who was having trouble writing a Hollywood movie based on a sex manual. The studio passed and released Grodin from his contract. In 1985, Grodin was able to get that screenplay made into a movie called Movers and Shakers, but despite having a cast that included Grodin, Walter Matthew, Gilda Radner, Bill Macy, and Vincent Gardenia, as well as cameos from Steve Martin and Penny Marshall, the film bombed badly.

After the success of The Blues Brothers, John Belushi was hired to star in Joy of Sex, to be directed by Penny Marshall in what was supposed to be her directing debut, produced by Matty Simmons, the publisher of National Lampoon who was looking for another potential hit film to put its name on after their success with Animal House, from a script written by National Lampoon writer John Hughes, which would have been his first produced screenplay. Hughes’ screenplay still would be structured as a series of short vignettes not unlike Woody Allen’s Everything You Wanted to Know About Sex But We’re Afraid to Ask, but Belushi would pass away before filming could begin. Penny Marshall would make her directing debut four years later with the Whoopi Goldberg movie Jumpin’ Jack Flash, while Hughes’ first produced screenplay, National Lampoon’s Class Reunion, would actually begin production four weeks before Belushi died. Belushi kept getting the production start date for Joy of Sex pushed back because of he was working on a screenplay for a movie he really wanted to make, a diamond smuggling caper called Noble Rot, which Paramount had agreed to make if Belushi would make Joy of Sex first.

After that, Paramount would hire the unlikely team of screenwriting teacher Syd Field and shock jock Don Imus to try their hand at it, before going back to Hughes, who at one point turned in a draft that was 148 pages long.

After the success of Porky’s around this time, Paramount would have the script rewritten again, this time by The Outsiders’ screenwriter Kathleen Rowell, trying to make it into a raunchy comedy. Amy Heckerling, the director of Fast Times, was approached to direct, but she would turn it down because she didn’t want to get pigeonholed as a raunchy sex comedy director.

The studio needed to get the film in production by the end of May 1983, or the rights to the book and the title would revert back to its author. After Valley Girl started to get some good buzz just before release, Paramount would approach Coolidge to direct. Although the budget for the film would only be around $5m, Coolidge would earn far more than the $5,000 she made for Valley Girl. So even if she wasn’t too thrilled with the script, it was good money.

Maybe she should have waited.

The film would begin production in Los Angeles and Santa Monica beginning on May 31st, 1983, literally the day before the movie rights would have reverted back to the author, and Coolidge would only be given twenty-six days to film it. It also didn’t help that the production was working under Paramount’s television division, and the producer, Frank Konigsberg, had never produced a feature film before. This final version of the script she would be working with, credited to Kathleen Rowell and first-time screenwriter, J.J. Salter, would be the nineteenth draft written over the course of eight years, and wouldn’t quite be the raunchfest Paramount was hoping for, but they were literally out of time.

To try and make things as comfortable for herself as possible, Coolidge would hire a number of actors and crew members from Valley Girl, and tried to shoot the film, as straight as possible, even with the studio’s request for lots of gratuitous nudity. Michelle Meyrink, one of Julie’s valley girl friends in Coolidge’s previous film, would star as Leslie, a high school senior who tries to lose her virginity when she mistakenly believes she only has six weeks to live, alongside her Valley Girl co-stars Cameron Dye, Colleen Camp and Heidi Holicker. Also on board would be Ernie Hudson, who would go straight from making this film into making Ghostbusters, and Christopher Lloyd, who was still a couple years away from starring as Doc Brown, as Leslie’s dad, a coach at her school. Coolidge’s saving grace was that, despite the pressure to have scenes of nubile young co-eds running naked down the school halls for no good reason, the core of the story was about two teenagers who, while trying to learn about sex, would discover and fall in love with each other.

Paramount would set the film for an April 13th, 1984 release, even before Coolidge turned in her first cut of the film. But when she did, that’s when the proverbial poop hit the proverbial fan. Coolidge made the movie she wanted to make, a sweet love story, even with some scenes of gratuitous and unnecessary nudity. Which is not the movie Paramount wanted, even if it was the script they approved. Her relationship with the studio further soured when the first test screening of the film turned out to be a disaster, especially with teenage girls and women, who loved the love story at the center of the film but hated the completely gratuitous and unnecessary nudity.

Coolidge would be fired off the film, the television and film departments at Paramount would get into vicious finger pointing arguments about who was to blame for this mess and how they were going to fix it, and Matty Simmons would pay Paramount $250,000 to have National Lampoon’s name removed from the film, claiming the film did not represent what the magazine had originally signed up for.

Paramount would cancel the April 1984 release date, while hiring two new editors to try and salvage the mess they felt they were given. The Directors Guild offered to allow Coolidge to take her name off the film and have it credited to Alan Smithee, but she would decide to leave her name on it. Even if the film bombed, it was another directing credit to her name, which could still help her get future jobs.

When the new editors finished their work on the film, they had whittled down Coolidge’s original version that ran 115 minutes into a barely cohesive 93 minute mess, and the studio decided to release the film on August 3rd. In the 80s, the entire month of August was pretty much considered a dumping ground for movies, as families were often eschewing going to the movies for their last moments of summer fun before the kids had to go back to school.

Opening on 804 screens, Joy of Sex would open in ninth place, grossing an anemic $1.9m in its first three days. Ghostbusters, in its ninth week of release, was still in first place with $6.5m, and it would also get outgrossed by Gremlins, Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom and The Karate Kid, all three having been released in May or June. After a second weekend where the film would lose nearly 20% of its theatres and 55% of its first week audience, Paramount would stop tracking the film. It’s final reported ticket sales total would be just $3.69m.

Because I am cursed with the ability to remember the most mundane things from nearly forty years ago while being unable to remember where I left a screwdriver yesterday, I still remember seeing Joy of Sex. It was on the #1 screen at the Skyview Drive-in in Santa Cruz. It was the A-title, playing a double bill with Cheech and Chong Still Smokin’, which had not done very well when it had been released the previous May. My friends and I would head out to the theatre, Dick and some friends piled in his Impala, me and some friends in my AMC Pacer, with lawn chairs and frosty beverages in the trunks, ready to completely rip apart this film we heard was really bad.

And rip it apart we did.

I think there were maybe ten cars on our side of the drive-in, plenty of room for a bunch of drunken teenagers to be far away from everyone else and be obnoxious jerks.

In 1984, we didn’t have the internet. We didn’t have easy access to the industry newspapers where we may have heard about all the troubles with the production. We just knew the film stunk something foul, and we had one of our most fun evenings at the movies destroying it in our own inimitable way. Not that I was going to give the movie another chance. It stunk. There’s just no two ways about it, but I am now more forgiving of Martha Coolidge now that I know just how impossible a situation she was put in.

Ironically, the debacle that was Joy of Sex would be part of the reason I so enjoyed Coolidge’s next film, 1985’s Real Genius so much, because Joy of Sex was still fresher in my mind than Valley Girl.

But we’ll talk more about Real Genius on our next episode.

Thank you for joining us.

Remember to visit this episode’s page on our website, The80sMoviePodcast.com, for extra materials about Joy of Sex.

The 80s Movies Podcast has been researched, written, narrated and edited by Edward Havens for Idiosyncratic Entertainment.

Thank you again.

Good night.

This week on The 80s Movie Podcast, host Edward Havens looks back at Valley Girl (1983), the beloved teen romance that helped launch the career of Nicolas Cage and established director Martha Coolidge as one of the most exciting filmmakers of the early 1980s. Loosely inspired by Romeo and Juliet and fueled by the Southern California “Valley Girl” phenomenon, the film follows rebellious Hollywood punk Randy and San Fernando Valley teen Julie as they fall for each other despite pressure from friends, expectations, and social divides.

Edward explores the fascinating production history behind the movie, from the influence of Frank Zappa and Moon Unit Zappa’s hit song “Valley Girl” to the film’s famously chaotic soundtrack rights issues and how a tiny independent production unexpectedly became one of the defining teen movies of the decade. Plus: why Deborah Foreman deserved a bigger career, how Valley Girl transformed Nicolas Cage into a rising star, and why fans still consider it one of the most iconic and endlessly quotable 80s movies ever made.

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TRANSCRIPT

From Los Angeles, California, the Entertainment Capital of the World, it’s The 80s Movies Podcast. I am your host, Edward Havens. Thank you for listening today.

On this episode, we’re going to be looking back at a movie that will be celebrating the fortieth anniversary of its original theatrical release. A movie that would turn one of its leads into a star, and thrust its director into the mainstream, at least for a short time.

We’re talking about the 1983 Martha Coolidge film Valley Girl, which is celebrating the 40th anniversary of its release this Saturday, with a special screening tonight, Thursday, April 27th 2023, at the Chinese Theatre in Hollywood with its director, doing a Q&A session after the show.

But, as always, before we get to Valley Girl, we head back in time. 

A whole eleven months, in fact. To May 1982.

That month, the avant-garde musical genius known as Frank Zappa released his 35th album, Ship Arriving Too Late to Save a Drowning Witch. Released on Zappa’s own Barking Pumpkin record label, Drowning Witch would feature a song he co-wrote with his fourteen year old daughter Moon Unit Zappa. Frank would regularly hear his daughter make fun of the young female mallrats she would encounter throughout her days, and one night, Frank would be noodling around in his home recording studio when inspiration struck. He would head up to Moon’s room, wake her up and bring her down to the studio, asking her to just repeat in that silly Valspeak voice she did all the crazy things she heard being said at parties, bar mitzvahs and the Sherman Oaks Galleria shopping center, which would become famous just a couple months later as the mall where many of the kids from Ridgemont High worked in Amy Heckerling’s breakthrough movie, Fast Times at Ridgemont High. For about an hour, Frank would record Moon spouting off typical valley girl phrases, before he sent her back up to her room to go back to sleep.

In a couple days, Frank Zappa would bring his band, which at the time included guitar virtuoso Steve Vai in his first major musical gig, into the home studio to lay down the music to this weird little song he wrote around his daughter’s vocals.

“Valley Girl” wold not be a celebration of the San Fernando Valley, an area Zappa described as “a most depressing place,” or the way these young ladies presented themselves. Zappa in general hated boring generic repetitive music, but “Valley Girl” would be one of the few songs Zappa would ever write or record that followed a traditional 4/4 time signature.

In the spring of 1982, the influential Los Angeles radio station KROQ would obtain an acetate disc of the song, several weeks before Drowning Witch was to be released on an unsuspecting public. Zappa himself thought it was a hoot the station that had broken such bands as The Cars, Duran Duran, The Police, Talking Heads and U2 was even considering playing his song, but KROQ was his daughter’s favorite radio station, and she was able to persuade the station to play the song during an on-air interview with her.

The kids at home went nuts for the song, demanding the station play it again. And again. And again. Other radio stations across the country started to get calls from their listeners, wanting to hear this song that hadn’t been officially released yet, and Zappa’s record label would rush to get copies out to any radio station that asked for it.

The song would prove to be very popular, become the only single of the forty plus he released during his recording career to become a Top 40 radio hit, peaking at number 32. Ironically, the song would popularize the very cadence it was mocking with teenagers around the country, and the next time Zappa and his band The Mothers of Invention would tour, he would apologize to the Zappa faithful for having created a hit record. "The sad truth,” he would say before going into the song, “is that if one continues to make music year after year, eventually something will be popular. I spent my career fighting against creating marketable art, but this one slipped through the cracks. I promise to do my best never to have this happen again."

As the song was becoming popular in Los Angeles, actor Wayne Crawford and producer Andrew Lane had been working on a screenplay about star-crossed lovers that was meant to be a cheap quickie exploitation film not unlike Zapped! or Porky’s. But after hearing Zappa’s song, the pair would quickly rewrite the lead character, Julie, into a valley girl, and retitle their screenplay, Bad Boyz… yes, Boyz, with a Z… as Valley Girl.

Atlantic Entertainment Company, an independent film production company, had recently started their own distribution company, and were looking for movies that could be made quickly, cheaply, and might be able to become some kind of small hit. One of the scripts that would cross their desk were Crawford and Lane’s Valley Girl. Within a week, Atlantic would already have a $350,000 budget set aside to make the film.

The first thing they needed was a director.

Enter Martha Coolidge.

A graduate of the same New York University film program that would give us Joel Coen, Amy Heckerling, Ang Lee, Spike Lee and Todd Phillips, Coolidge had been working under the tutelage of Academy Award-winner Francis Ford Coppola at the filmmaker’s Zoetrope Studios. She had made her directorial debut, Not a Pretty Picture in 1976, but the film, a docu-drama based on Coolidge’s own date rape she suffered at the age of 16, would not find a big audience. She had made another movie, City Girl, with Peter Riegert and Colleen Camp, in 1982, with Peter Bogdanovich as a producer, but the film’s potential release was cancelled when Bogdanovich’s company Moon Pictures went bankrupt after the release of his 1981 movie They All Laughed, which we covered last year. She knew she needed to get on a film with a good chance of getting released, and with Coppola’s encouragement, Coolidge would throw her proverbial hat into the ring, and she would get the job, in part because she had some directing experience, but also because she was willing to accept the $5,000 Atlantic was offering for the position.

Now that she had the job, it was time for Coolidge to get to casting. It was her goal to show an authentic teenage experience in Los Angeles in the early 1980s, absent of stereotypes. As someone whose background was in documentary filmmaking, Coolidge wanted Valley Girl to feel as real as possible.

Her first choice for the role of Randy, the proto-punk Romeo to Julie’s… well, Juliet… Coolidge was keen on a twenty-three year old unknown who had not yet acted in anything in movies, on television, or even a music video. Judd Nelson had been studying with Stella Adler in New York City, and there was something about his look that Coolidge really liked. But when she offered the role to Nelson, he had just booked an acting gig that would make him unavailable when the film would be shooting. So it was back to the pile of headshots that had been sent to the production office. And in that pile, she would find the headshot of eighteen year old Nicolas Cage, who at the time only had one movie credit, as one of Judge Reinhold’s co-workers in Fast Times. Coolidge would show the photo to her casting director, telling them they needed to find someone like him, someone who wasn’t a conventionally handsome movie actor.

So the casting director did just that. Went out and got someone like Nicolas Cage. Specifically, Nicolas Cage.

What Coolidge didn’t know was that Cage’s real name was Nicolas Coppola, and that his uncle was Coolidge’s boss. She would only learn this when she called the actor to offer him the role, and he mentioned he would need to check his schedule on the Coppola movie he was about to start shooting on, Rumble Fish. Francis Coppola made sure the shooting schedule was re-arranged so his nephew could accept his first leading role.

For Julie, Coolidge wanted only one person: Deborah Foreman, a twenty-year-old former model who had only done commercials for McDonalds at this point in her career. Although she was born in Montebello CA, mere miles from the epicenter of the San Fernando Valley, Foreman had spent her formative years in Texas, and knew nothing about the whole Valley Girl phenomenon until she was cast in the film.

Supporting roles would be filled by a number of up and coming young actors, including Elizabeth Daily and Michelle Mayrink as Julie’s friends, Cameron Dye as Randy’s best friend, and Michael Bowen as Julie’s ex-boyfriend, while Julie’s parents would be played by Frederic Forrest and Colleen Camp, two industry veterans who had briefly worked together on Apocalypse Now.

As the scheduled start date of October 25th, 1982, rolled closer, Martha Coolidge would be the first director to really learn just how far Nicolas Cage was willing to go for a role. He would start sleeping in his car, to better understand Randy, and he would, as Randy, write Foreman’s character Julie a poem that, according to a May 2020 New York Times oral history about the film, Foreman still has to this day. In a 2018 IMDb talk with director Kevin Smith, Cage would say that it was easy for his performance to happen in the film because he had a massive crush on Foreman during the making of the film.

Because of the film’s extremely low budget, the filmmakers would often shoot on locations throughout Los Angeles they did not have permits for, stealing shots wherever they could. But one place they would spend money on was the movie’s soundtrack, punctuated by live performances by Los Angeles band The Plimsouls and singer Josie Cotton, which were filmed at the Sunset Strip club now known as The Viper Room.

The film would only have a twenty day shooting schedule, which meant scenes would have to be shot quickly and efficiently, with as few hiccups as possible. But this wouldn’t stop Cage from occasionally improvising little bits that Coolidge loved so much, she would keep them in the film, such as Randy spitting his gum at Julie’s ex, and the breakup scene, where Randy digs into Julie by using Valspeak.

In early January 1983, while the film was still being edited, Frank Zappa would file a lawsuit against the film, seeking $100,000 in damages and an injunction to stop the film from being released, saying the film would unfairly dilute the trademark of his song. The lawsuit would force Coolidge to have a cut of her movie ready to screen for the judge before she was fully done with it. But when Coolidge screened this rushed cut to Atlantic and its lawyers, the distributor was pleasantly surprised to see the director hadn’t just made a quickie exploitation film but something with genuine heart and soul that could probably have a much longer lifespan. They were originally planning on releasing the film during the later part of the summer movie season, but now knowing what they had on their hands, Atlantic would set an April 29th release date… pending, of course, on the outcome of the Zappa lawsuit.

In March, the judge would issue their ruling, in favor of the film, saying there would be no confusion in the public’s mind between the song and the film, and Atlantic would continue to prepare for the late April release.

One of the things Coolidge really fought for was to have a wall of great new wave songs throughout the film, something Atlantic was hesitant to pay for, until they saw Coolidge’s cut. They would spend another $250k on top of the $350k production budget to secure songs from The Psychedelic Furs, The Payolas, Men at Work, Toni Basil, The Flirts and Sparks, on top of the songs played by The Plimsouls and Josie Cotton in the film.

Valley Girl would be one of three new movies opening on April 29th, alongside Disney’s adaptation of the Ray Bradbury story Something Wicked This Way Comes, and The Hunger, the directorial debut of filmmaker Tony Scott. Opening on only 442 screens, Valley Girl would come in fourth place for the weekend, grossing $1.86m in its first three days. However, its $4200 per screen average would be better than every movie in the top 15, including the #1 film in the nation that weekend, Flashdance. Not bad for a film that was only playing in one third of the country.

In its second weekend, Valley Girl would fall to seventh place, with $1.33m worth of ticket sold, but its per screen average would be second only to the new Cheech and Chong movie, Still Smokin’. Over the next three months, the film would continue to perform well, never playing in more screens than it did in its opening weekend, but never falling out of the top 15 while Atlantic was tracking it. When all was said and done, Valley Girl would have grossed $17.34m in the United States, not a bad return on a $600k production and music clearance budget.

There was supposed to be an accompanying soundtrack album for the film that, according to the movie’s poster, would be released on Epic Records, a subsidiary of Columbia Records whose eclectic roster of artists included Michael Jackson, The Clash and Liza Minnelli, but it turns out the filmmakers only ended up only getting music clearances for the movie, so that release would get cancelled and a six-song mini-LP would be created through a label Atlantic Pictures created called Roadshow Records. But then that album got cancelled, even though some copies had been printed, so it wouldn’t be until 1994 that an actual soundtrack for the film would be released by Rhino Records. That release would do so well, Rhino released a second soundtrack album the following year.

The lawsuit from Zappa would not be the only court proceeding concerning the film. In July 1984, Martha Coolidge, her cinematographer, Frederick Elmes, and two of the actresses, Colleen Camp and Lee Purcell, sued Atlantic Releasing for $5m, saying they were owed a portion of the film’s profits based on agreements in their contracts. The two sides would later settle out of court.

Nicolas Cage would, of course, becomes one of the biggest movie stars in the world, winning an Oscar in 1996 for his portrayal of an alcoholic Hollywood screenwriter who goes to Las Vegas to drink himself to death.

Deborah Foreman would not have as successful a career. After Valley Girl, it would be another two years before she was seen on screen again, in what basically amounts to an extended cameo in a movie I’ll get to in a moment. She would have a decent 1986, starring in two semi-successful films, the sexy comedy My Chauffeur and the black comedy April Fool’s Day, but after that, the roles would be less frequent and, often, not the lead. By 1991, she would retire from acting, appearing only in a 2011 music video for the She Wants Revenge song Must Be the One, and a cameo in the 2020 remake of Valley Girl starring Jessica Rothe of the Happy Death Day movies.

After Valley Girl, Martha Coolidge would go on a tear, directing four more movies over the next seven years. And we’ll talk about that first movie, Joy of Sex, on our next episode.

Thank you for joining us.

Remember to visit this episode’s page on our website, The80sMoviePodcast.com, for extra materials about Valley Girl.

The 80s Movies Podcast has been researched, written, narrated and edited by Edward Havens for Idiosyncratic Entertainment.

Thank you again.

Good night.

This week on The 80s Movie Podcast, host Edward Havens takes a deep dive into the filmography of John Landis with a look back at his strange, stylish, and often overlooked 1985 thriller-comedy Into the Night. Starring Jeff Goldblum as an insomniac aerospace engineer and Michelle Pfeiffer as a mysterious smuggler on the run, the film turns one sleepless night in Los Angeles into a surreal odyssey of hitmen, stolen jewels, celebrity cameos, and unexpected romance.

Edward explores the complicated legacy of John Landis in the wake of the Twilight Zone helicopter accident, the unusual production history behind Into the Night, and why a stacked cast featuring David Bowie, Dan Aykroyd, and dozens of blink-and-you’ll-miss-them cameos couldn’t turn the film into a major hit.

Plus: how the movie helped connect future collaborators like David Cronenberg and Jonathan Demme with their future stars, and why this quirky late-night Los Angeles noir still deserves rediscovery.

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TRANSCRIPT

From Los Angeles, California, the Entertainment Capital of the World, it’s The 80s Movies Podcast. I am your host, Edward Havens. Thank you for listening today.

Long time listeners to this show know that I am not the biggest fan of John Landis, the person. I’ve spoken about Landis, and especially about his irresponsibility and seeming callousness when it comes to the helicopter accident on the set of his segment for the 1983 film The Twilight Zone which took the lives of actors Vic Morrow, Myca Dinh Le and Renee Shin-Yi Chen, enough where I don’t wish to rehash it once again.

But when one does a podcast that celebrates the movies of the 1980s, every once in a while, one is going to have to talk about John Landis and his movies. He did direct eight movies, one documentary and a segment in an anthology film during the decade, and several of them, both before and after the 1982 helicopter accident, are actually pretty good films.

For this episode, we’re going to talk about one of his lesser known and celebrated films from the decade, despite its stacked cast.

We’re talking about 1985’s Into the Night.

But, as always, before we get to Into the Night, some backstory.

John David Landis was born in Chicago in 1950, but his family moved to Los Angeles when he was four months old. While he grew up in the City of Angels, he still considers himself a Chicagoan, which is an important factoid to point out a little later in his life.

After graduating from high school in 1968, Landis got his first job in the film industry the way many a young man and woman did in those days: through the mail room at a major studio, his being Twentieth Century-Fox. He wasn’t all that fond of the mail room. Even since he had seen The  7th Voyage of Sinbad at the age of eight, he knew he wanted to be a filmmaker, and you’re not going to become a filmmaker in the mail room. By chance, he would get a job as a production assistant on the Clint Eastwood/Telly Savalas World War II comedy/drama Kelly’s Heroes, despite the fact that the film would be shooting in Yugoslavia. During the shoot, he would become friendly with the film’s co-stars Don Rickles and Donald Sutherland. When the assistant director on the film got sick and had to go back to the United States, Landis positioned himself to be the logical, and readily available, replacement. Once Kelly’s Heroes finished shooting, Landis would spend his time working on other films that were shooting in Italy and the United Kingdom. It is said he was a stuntman on Sergio Leone’s The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly, but I’m going to call shenanigans on that one, as the film was made in 1966, when Landis was only sixteen years old and not yet working in the film industry. I’m also going to call shenanigans on his working as a stunt performer on Leone’s 1968 film Once Upon a Time in the West, and Tony Richardson’s 1968 film The Charge of the Light Brigade, and Peter Collinson’s 1969 film The Italian Job, which also were all filmed and released into theatres before Landis made his way to Europe the first time around.

In 1971, Landis would write and direct his first film, a low-budget horror comedy called Schlock, which would star Landis as the title character, in an ape suit designed by master makeup creator Rick Baker. The $60k film was Landis’s homage to the monster movies he grew up watching, and his crew would spend 12 days in production, stealing shots wherever they could  because they could not afford filming permits. For more than a year, Landis would show the completed film to any distributor that would give him the time of day, but no one was interested in a very quirky comedy featuring a guy in a gorilla suit playing it very very straight.

Somehow, Johnny Carson was able to screen a print of the film sometime in the fall of 1972, and the powerful talk show host loved it. On November 2nd, 1972, Carson would have Landis on The Tonight Show to talk about his movie. Landis was only 22 at the time, and the exposure on Carson would drive great interest in the film from a number of smaller independent distributors would wouldn’t take his calls even a week earlier. Jack H. Harris Enterprises would be the victor, and they would first release Schlock on twenty screens in Los Angeles on December 12th, 1973, the top of a double bill alongside the truly schlocky Son of The Blob. The film would get a very good reception from the local press, including positive reviews from the notoriously prickly Los Angeles Times critic Kevin Thomas, and an unnamed critic in the pages of the industry trade publication Daily Variety. The film would move from market to market every few weeks, and the film would make a tidy little profit for everyone involved. But it would be four more years until Landis would make his follow-up film.

The Kentucky Fried Movie originated not with Landis but with three guys from Madison, Wisconsin who started their own theatre troop while attending the University of Wisconsin before moving it to West Los Angeles in 1971. Those guys, brothers David and Jerry Zucker, and their high school friend Jim Abrahams, had written a number of sketches for their stage shows over a four year period, and felt a number of them could translate well to film, as long as they could come up with a way to link them all together. Although they would be aware of Ken Shapiro’s 1974 comedy anthology movie The Groove Tube, a series of sketches shot on videotape shown in movie theatres on the East Coast at midnight on Saturday nights, it would finally hit them in 1976, when Neal Israel’s anthology sketch comedy movie TunnelVision became a small hit in theatres. That movie featured Chevy Chase and Laraine Newman, two of the stars of NBC’s hit show Saturday Night Live, which was the real reason the film was a hit, but that didn’t matter to Zucker, Abrahams and Zucker.

The Zucker/Abrahams/Zucker team decided they needed to not just tell potential backers about the film but show them what they would be getting. They would raise $35,000 to film a ten minute segment, but none of them had ever directed anything for film before, so they would start looking for an experienced director who would be willing to work on a movie like theirs for little to no money.

Through mutual friend Bob Weiss, the trio would meet and get to know John Landis, who would come aboard to direct the presentation reel, if not the entire film should it get funded. That segment, if you’ve seen Kentucky Fried Movie, included the fake trailer for Cleopatra Schwartz, a parody of blaxploitation movies. The guys would screen the presentation reel first to Kim Jorgensen, the owner of the famed arthouse theatre the Nuart here in Los Angeles, and Jorgensen loved it. He would put up part of the $650k budget himself, and he would show the reel to his friends who also ran theatres, not just in Los Angeles, whenever they were in town, and it would be through a consortium of independent movie theatre owners that Kentucky Fried Movie would get financed.

The movie would be released on August 10th, 1977, ironically the same day as another independent sketch comedy movie, Can I Do It Till I Need Glasses?, was released. But Kentucky Fried Movie would have the powerful United Artists Theatres behind them, as they would make the movie the very first release through their own distribution company, United Film Distribution. I did a three part series on UFDC back in 2021, if you’d like to learn more about them. Featuring such name actors as Bill Bixby, Henry Gibson, George Lazenby and Donald Sutherland, Kentucky Fried Movie would earn more than $7m in theatres, and would not only give John Landis the hit he needed to move up the ranks, but it would give Zucker, Abrahams and Zucker the opportunity to make their own movie. But we’ll talk about Airplane! sometime in the future.

Shortly after the release of Kentuck Fried Movie, Landis would get hired to direct Animal House, which would become the surprise success of 1978 and lead Landis into directing The Blues Brothers, which is probably the most John Landis movie that will ever be made. Big, loud, schizophrenic, a little too long for its own good, and filled with a load of in-jokes and cameos that are built only for film fanatics and/or John Landis fanatics. The success of The Blues Brothers would give Landis the chance to make his dream project, a horror comedy he had written more than a decade before.

An American Werewolf in London was the right mix of comedy and horror, in-jokes and great needle drops, with some of the best practical makeup effects ever created for a movie. Makeup effects so good that, in fact, the Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences would make the occasionally given Best Makeup Effects Oscar a permanent category, and Werewolf would win that category’s first competitive Oscar.

In 1982, Landis would direct Coming Soon, one of the first direct-to-home video movies ever released. Narrated by Jamie Lee Curtis, Coming Soon was, essentially, edited clips from 34 old horror and thriller trailers for movies owned by Universal, from Frankenstein and Dracula to Psycho and The Birds. It’s only 55 minutes long, but the video did help younger burgeoning cineasts learn more about the history of Universal’s monster movies.

And then, as previously mentioned, there was the accident during the filming of The Twilight Zone.

Landis was able to recover enough emotionally from the tragedy to direct Trading Places with Eddie Murphy and Dan Aykroyd in the winter of 1982/83, another hit that maybe showed Hollywood the public wasn’t as concerned about the Twilight Zone accident as they worried it would. The Twilight Zone movie would be released three weeks after Trading Places, and while it was not that big a hit, it wasn’t quite the bomb it was expected to be because of the accident.

Which brings us to Into the Night.

While Landis was working on the final edit of Trading Places, the President of Universal Pictures, Sean Daniels, contacted Landis about what his next project might be. Universal was where Landis had made Animal House, The Blues Brothers and American Werewolf, so it would not be unusual for a studio head to check up on a filmmaker who had made three recent successful films for them. Specifically, Daniels wanted to pitch Landis on a screenplay the studio had in development called Into the Night. Ron Koslow, the writer of the 1976 Sam Elliott drama Lifeguard, had written the script on spec which the studio had picked up, about an average, ordinary guy who, upon discovering his wife is having an affair, who finds himself in the middle of an international incident involving jewel smuggling out of Iran. Maybe this might be something he would be interested in working on, as it would be both right up his alley, a comedy, and something he’d never done before, a romantic action thriller.

Landis would agree to make the film, if he were allowed some leeway in casting.

For the role of Ed Okin, an aerospace engineer whose insomnia leads him to the Los Angeles International Airport in search of some rest, Landis wanted Jeff Goldblum, who had made more than 15 films over the past decade, including Annie Hall, Invasion of the Body Snatchers, The Big Chill and The Right Stuff, but had never been the lead in a movie to this point. For Diana, the jewel smuggler who enlists the unwitting Ed into her strange world, Landis wanted Michelle Pfeiffer, the gorgeous star of Grease 2 and Scarface. But mostly, Landis wanted to fill as many of supporting roles with either actors he had worked with before, like Dan Aykroyd and Bruce McGill, or filmmakers who were either contemporaries of Landis and/or were filmmakers he had admired. Amongst those he would get would be Jack Arnold, Paul Bartel, David Cronenberg, Jonathan Demme, Richard Franklin, Amy Heckerling, Colin Higgins, Jim Henson, Lawrence Kasdan, Jonathan Lynn, Paul Mazursky, Don Siegel, and Roger Vadim, as well as Jaws screenwriter Carl Gottlieb, Midnight Cowboy writer Waldo Salt, personal trainer to the stars Jake Steinfeld, music legends David Bowie and Carl Perkins, and several recent Playboy Playmates. Landis himself would be featured as one of the four Iranian agents chasing Pfeiffer’s character.

While neither Perkins nor Bowie would appear on the soundtrack to the film, Landis was able to get blues legend B.B. King to perform three songs, two brand new songs as well as a cover of the Wilson Pickett classic In the Midnight Hour.

Originally scheduled to be produced by Joel Douglas, brother of Michael and son of Kirk, Into the Night would go into production on April 2nd, 1984, under the leadership of first-time producer Ron Koslow and Landis’s producing partner George Folsey, Jr.

The movie would make great use of dozens of iconic Los Angeles locations, including the Beverly Wilshire Hotel, the Shubert Theatre in Century City, the Ships Coffee Shot on La Cienega, the flagship Tiffanys and Company in Beverly Hills, Randy’s Donuts, and the aforementioned airport. But on Monday, April 23rd, the start of the fourth week of shooting, the director was ordered to stand trial on charges of involuntary manslaughter due to the accident on the Twilight Zone set. But the trial would not start until months after Into the Night was scheduled to complete its shoot. In an article about the indictment printed in the Los Angeles Times two days later, Universal Studios head Sean Daniels was insistent the studio had made no special plans in the event of Landis’ possible conviction. Had he been found guilty of involuntary manslaughter, Landis was looking at up to six years in prison.

The film would wrap production in early June, and Landis would spend the rest of the year in an editing bay on the Universal lot with his editor, Malcolm Campbell, who had also cut An American Werewolf in London, Trading Places, the Michael Jackson Thriller short film, and Landis’s segment and the Landis-shot prologue to The Twilight Zone.

During this time, Universal would set a February 22nd, 1985 release date for the film, an unusual move, as every movie Landis had made since Kentucky Fried Movie had been released during the summer movie season, and there was nothing about Into the Night that screamed late Winter.

I’ve long been a proponent of certain movies having a right time to be released, and late February never felt like the right time to release a morbid comedy, especially one that takes place in sunny Los Angeles. When Into the Night opened in New York City, at the Loews New York Twin at Second Avenue and 66th Street, the high in the city was 43 degrees, after an overnight low of 25 degrees. What New Yorker wants to freeze his or her butt off to see Jeff Goldblum run around Los Angeles with Michelle Pfeiffer in a light red leather jacket and a thin white t-shirt, if she’s wearing anything at all? Well, actually, that last part wasn’t so bad. But still, a $40,000 opening weekend gross at the 525 seat New York Twin would be one of the better grosses for all of the city. In Los Angeles, where the weather was in the 60s all weekend, the film would gross $65,500 between the 424 seat Avco Cinema 2 in Westwood and the 915 seat Cinerama Dome in Hollywood.

The reviews, like with many of Landis’s films, were mixed.

Richard Corliss of Time Magazine would find the film irresistible and a sparkling thriller, calling Goldblum and Pfeiffer two of the most engaging young actors working. Peter Travers, writing for People Magazine at the time, would anoint the film with a rarely used noun in film criticism, calling it a “pip.” Travers would also call Pfeiffer a knockout of the first order, with a newly uncovered flair for comedy. Guess he hadn’t seen her in the 1979 ABC spin-off of Animal House, called Delta House, in which she played The Bombshell, or in Floyd Mutrix’s 1980 comedy The Hollywood Knights. 

But the majority of critics would find plenty to fault with the film. The general critical feeling for the film was that it was too inside baseball for most people, as typified by Vincent Canby in his review for the New York Times. Canby would dismiss the film as having an insidey, which is not a word, manner of a movie made not for the rest of us but for the moviemakers on the Bel Air circuit who watch each other’s films in their own screening room.

After two weeks of exclusive engagements in New York and Los Angeles, Universal would expand the film to 1096 screens on March 8th, where the film would gross $2.57m, putting it in fifth place for the weekend, nearly a million dollars less than fellow Universal Pictures film The Breakfast Club, which was in its fourth week of release and in ninety fewer theatres. After a fourth weekend of release, where the film would come in fifth place again with $1.95m, now nearly a million and a half behind The Breakfast Club, Universal would start to migrate the film out of first run theatres and into dollar houses, in order to make room for another film of theirs, Peter Bogdanovich’s comeback film Mask, which would be itself expanding from limited release to wide release on March 22nd. Into the Night would continue to play at the second-run theatres for months, but its final gross of $7.56m wouldn’t even cover the film’s $8m production budget.

Despite the fact that it has both Jeff Goldblum and Michelle Pfeiffer as its leads, Into the Night would not become a cult film on home video the way that many films neglected by audiences in theatres would find a second life.

I thought the film was good when I saw it opening night at the Aptos Twin. I enjoyed the obvious chemistry between the two leads, and I enjoyed the insidey manner in which there were so many famous filmmakers doing cameos in the film. I remember wishing there was more of David Bowie, since there were very few people, actors or musicians, who would fill the screen with so much charm and charisma, even when playing a bad guy. And I enjoyed listening to B.B. King on the soundtrack, as I had just started to get into the blues during my senior year of high school.

I revisited the film, which you can rent or buy on Apple TV, Amazon and several other major streaming services, for the podcast, and although I didn’t enjoy the film as much as I remember doing so in 1985, it was clear that these two actors were going to become big stars somewhere down the road. Goldblum, of course, would become a star the following year, thanks to his incredible work in David Cronenberg’s The Fly. Incidentally, Goldblum and Cronenberg would meet for the first time on the set of Into the Night. And, of course, Michelle Pfeiffer would explode in 1987, thanks to her work with Susan Sarandon, Cher and Jack Nicholson in The Witches of Eastwick, which she would follow up with not one, not two but three powerhouse performances of completely different natures in 1988, in Jonathan Demme’s Married to the Mob, Robert Towne’s Tequila Sunrise, and her Oscar-nominated work in Stephen Frears’ Dangerous Liaisons. Incidentally, Pfeiffer and Jonathan Demme would also meet for the first time on the set of Into the Night, so maybe it was kismet that all these things happened in part because of the unusual casting desires of John Landis.

Thank you for joining us. We’ll talk again soon, when Episode 108, on Martha Coolidge’s Valley Girl, is released.

Remember to visit this episode’s page on our website, The80sMoviePodcast.com, for extra materials about Into the Night.

The 80s Movies Podcast has been researched, written, narrated and edited by Edward Havens for Idiosyncratic Entertainment.

Thank you again.

Good night.