by Hank Brockett
The sound set my spine off like a spring.
“Hey, whatcha doing?”
The attempt at an answer came quicker than a hiccup and was just as unexpected.
“Oh, um, I-I-I don’t know, watching a movie or something. I mean, nothing ...”
The lame retort didn’t throw him off.
“Don’t give me that. Hey ... no, it can’t be ... is that Teen Wolf? Oh, my God. I can’t believe you’re watching Teen Wolf! Isn’t that Alex P. Keaton? Ha ha!”
By this point, my palms are sweating, my face has reddened and sandpaper would yield more moisture than my tongue.
“Oh, ha ha .. eh, I was just flipping through the channels ...”
But all perps know when their cover is blown.
“Wait, isn’t that your DVD player that’s turned on?”
The preceding was a dramatization of a condition suffered throughout our country’s homes. Although pop culture doctors (Dr. Feelgood and Dr. Pepper among them) don’t have exact figures, early estimates have the affliction at levels that would scare the bubonic plague.
Our new menace? Guilty pleasures.
Some of us will deny the guilty pleasure’s very existence. Our music and movie tastes are refined, meeting all qualifications for Perfectly Acceptable Culture. We have a few platinum albums and boffo box office superstars to balance out the Oscar winners and lesser known acts.
A guilty pleasure defies classification, though. For years, it may have flown under the radar. These pleasures breed in the far recesses of the video store and used CD bins. In some cases, they lie dormant on VHS tapes used long ago.
But a guilty pleasure cannot die. With whispers and secret giggles, a guilty pleasure thrives outside the harsh light of everyday conversation.
Well, it’s about time someone spoke up.
In the interest of full disclosure, that initial story was only mostly a dramatization. Teen Wolf takes its place alongside Rushmore and The Virgin Suicides in my DVD collection ... and I’m sick of being ashamed of it.
May this story encourage you to say it loud and say it proud.
Teen Wolf appears to be an everyday “confused boy-somehow turns into werewolf and gets popular” story you’re liable to see twice a day on television. But really, isn’t it about so much more?
No, no, there won’t be a dissection of werewolfism as a symbol for hormonal adolescence here. In fact, when my brothers and I wore out our initial VHS copy of the movie, the teenage years were more than a full moon away.
So what drew us to Michael J. Fox and his hairy situation? A few things:
• In the late 1980s, many sports movies were tailored to an older audience (Bull Durham, Major League) Besides A.C. Slater’s football games on Saved By the Bell, there weren’t many athletic talents on display.
And Fox’s spindly legs and short shorts fall under only the broadest definition of talent. His two-handed lay-ups went out with Rick Barry and who knows how many takes the director needed for those dribbling scenes. In other words: This guy played like people we knew.
• We didn’t know it at the time, but the teen comedy stylings would help cement the foundation Freddie Prinze Jr. would exploit so many years later. Although Fox’s character likes the trashy blonde bombshell, he ends up with the friendly girl-next-door Boof (one of the best names in all of film history). This is a video vanguard.
• Looking back, he looks like a clear rip-off of just about every character in Fast Times at Ridgemont High, but Fox’s friend Styles defined cool for kids who didn’t know any better. He surfed on vans, he specialized in get-rich-quick schemes and he wore great ’80s sunglasses. Never underestimate the power of cheap sunglasses.
• And the best part of all? They never explain how or why he turns into a hairy werewolf when provoked. Kids love unanswered questions, because that means disagreements eventually lead into a wrestling match.
And while reminded of these things recently, a strange thing happened. My nails grew longer. My ears grew pointy. Hair ...
No, no. As the embarrassingly great soundtrack helped string together the victory scene, I peeked out from under my blanket and smiled. All of the magic held up.
I’d love to hear from any readers with a special love for the less respected. Your contributions could make for a fun collection in a later column. Just send Word of Mouth an e-mail: wilfrepres@colint.com.
Don’t be afraid. Well, unless you love Teen Wolf 2, that is. I can’t help you with your problems there.
The Northern Star Home Page
The Internet Movie Database
What other critics think - The Rotten Tomatoes Site