Why can't I have a rocket as big as Dirk's?

RiffTrax' "Missile to the Moon" . . . Finally, a science fiction film that asks, “Why can’t you have a rocket as big as Dirk’s?”

For years, I gazed longingly at the satellite dishes in my neighbors' yards. Why? Certainly not out of aesthetic jealousy over those NORAD-inspired monstrosities. This was in the day when a dish required about a quarter-hectare of land and looked like Godzilla's spaghetti bowl.

And yet, I longed for one so that I could view Mystery Science Theatre 3000 (MST3K, as it's called by MISTies). The few Joel episodes I did manage to view, through friends' VHS tapes, were gems, his understated (some would say, Romilar-influenced) delivery still the benchmark for effective MISTing. Unwilling as I was to plant Paul Bunyon's soup bowl in my front lawn, we eschewed satellite TV during the MST3K years.

Fate is never so cruel as cable providers, as I became aware when our cable finally picked up a station carrying MST3K. It was during the last gasp, when licensing the original films they were ribbing was running out, so a dwindling handfull of episodes repeated, until ... nothing.

Since the demise of MST3K, the various of the staff and cast have gone on to similar wisecracking projects. RiffTrax, the latest, is centered around Michael J. Nelson, Joel Hodgson's (subpar, some would say) replacement on the original movie heckling series. Now, in addition to their online commmentaries, available for purchase as MP3s, RiffTrax is issuing DVDs of them doing the MST-thing, only minus robots and skits.

Does it seem odd to anyone else that RiffTrax can get us to pay for something that annoys most people? Back in the days when Missile to the Moon was first-run material, in 1958, talking during the showing of a movie could get you tossed out of the theater, or at least harshly shushed by an indignant usher. (Nowadays, of course, this behavior is more likely to get you shot, and if an usher walks the aisles at all, it’s either to find the source of the pot smoke or whoever’s bootlegging the film with their cell phones.)

Yes, Missile to the Moon is the product of a very different time, back when, as the RiffTrax commentary reminds us, “the Government used to come over to your house and give you some good-natured ribbing.”

RiffTrax also hearkens back to an earlier time, when the crew of the Satellite of Love were subjects of an evil science project, forced to view dreadful movies while orbiting in space. That was the high concept for Mystery Science Theater 3000 (a.k.a. MST3K), the lamented TV series that introduced audience commentary as entertainment. On MST3K, one human astronaut and his two robot crew members cut up over screenings of such infamous stinkers as Manos, Hands of Fate and Monster A-Go-Go, and public domain shorts like A Case of Spring Fever.

Other than the MST3K’s original songs and skits, RiffTrax is identical, down to cast members Mike Nelson (who originated RiffTrax on the Web), Kevin (Tom Servo) Murphy, and Bill (Crow T. Robot) Corbett. And likewise, relies on unearthing appropriate subjects for their ridicule, their quick wit, and their facility with cultural and popular references. Missile to the Moon is a stereotypical '50s sci-fi cheapie, its cheap sets, broad acting, and ludicrous dialog making it ideal for the riffers. It’s the kind of movie where the moon has a breathable atmosphere, is populated by beauty queens, and looks a lot like the American southwest.

MST3K is often imitated and rarely equaled, leaving RiffTrax an imposing legacy to live up to. The early going on Missile is not promising, with original movie credits (“Art Direction: Sham Unlimited”) more entertaining than the riffs about them. And then, after a long, awkward set-up, a play on “missile/missal” falls flat.
Thankfully, Missile is only a slow starter, not a total failure to launch. Once they’ve compared two escaped cons to the Everly Brothers, promised “neutering followed by vivisection,” name-checked Fluffernutters, and suggested a cop scuff up his new nightstick on someone’s skull, it’s evident the RiffTrax gang is back in top MST3K form.

The film, a near-remake of the 1953 Sonny Tufts vehicle, Cat-Women of the Moon, gives them plenty of ridicule-ready material to work with. Running gags throughout the film play on scientist-astronaut Dirk, be it his desk with a gun in every drawer or his “ten-pound can of Dirk-flavored whup-ass.” True to form, the RiffTraxers pounce on unfortunate dialog, like which of the escapees is the “shrewd one” and which is “smart, too smart.” With cultural references as varied as Harvey the pookah, The Honeymooners, Rick Astley, ALF, and the Baconator, the riffers allow very few slack moments during Missile’s brisk 77 minute runtime.

One disappointment is the change in cast from the Web version of RiffTrax Missile to the Moon, which featured Nelson with Fred Willard. Willard’s low-key delivery was reminiscent of MST3K alum Joel Hodgson’s, and perfect for many of this film’s riffs. Still, for anyone suffering MST3K withdrawal, this disc comes highly recommended.

"You Kids, Get Off My Lawn!" How Woodstock Looks to Me Now

One thing I've learned about HDTV (and large screens) is just how telegenic most humans truly are. That is, not very. Facial pores at that size . . . well, "lunar baedeker" isn't just a poem to me anymore.
At least I feel better about the prominent, throbbing veins in my temple now that I've seen Steve Carell sporting a couple.

Recently, I watched the Woodstock film again, only the second time I'd seen it since the original theatrical run. (Even I was struck by the fact that virtually none of the tech I was using--a laptop, using a wireless router to access work files on a remote office computer; HDTV; satellite receiver--existed when the concert took place.) The Woodstock Experience CDs I've encountered (Sly, Janis, Airplane), which pair the artists' contemporary albums with their 'stock performances, take advantage of tech advances to offer better sound, and are presented in vastly superior packages than any previous releases.

Now that I've heard some of the music in enhanced editions, seeing the film again makes me wonder, why haven't they upgraded it?
As I said, I saw the movie on its first run (yeah, that pegs me as an antiquity) and, at the time, watching the vast numbers of music- and scene-lovers assemble, space out, groove to the tunes, and generally refuse to go Lord of the Flies, was a novelty. It could even be uplifting. In all the spectacle and "bad brown acid" announcements and "wow, man, that cat is wasted" (and prototype twirly dancing), the music is often treated as secondary.

While I'm not suggesting Woodstock is deficient as a documentary film, it sure ain't an exemplary concert film. Of its contemporaries, perhaps only Gimme Shelter* employs worse camera angles of the performers. (* That would be the film that features a performance by The Flying Burrito Brothers that manages to, not once, show more than a glimpse of Gram Parsons. From the back.)
It was maybe five minutes into looking up at Alvin Lee's rubber-lipped facial contortions that I wanted to ask the filmmakers, would it have killed you to, oh I don't know, put a camera on the same level as the band? I mean, if I want to look up a lead singer's nose, I'll buy festival seating tickets and risk my life in front of the stage at a live show. Why bother filming a view no better than the one from the mosh pit?
And why am I looking at Lee's face through maybe nine minutes out of ten during "I'm Going Home"*? It was a star-making performance not for facial expressions so grotesque they must have inspired the career of Jim Carrey. Why don't we get more than a few glimpses of how he's throwing off several thousand notes per minutes from that guitar?
* As a lifelong superfluous keyboard player, I had to laugh in sympathy at poor Chick Churchill, Ten Years After's fifth wheel on this performance, whose B-3 chording is audible only briefly, and appropriate in this song, not at all.

Concert presentation has made leaps as incredible as the one from VHS to Blu-Ray.
What Woodstock deserves is a new cut as a concert film. Lose everything but the performances, use performances that didn't make the cut, in favor of mud slide shots. There were some peak performances (Sly & the Family Stone were reportedly never better; Hendrix and Janis were debuting new bands; Santana introduced their fresh take on Latin-flavored rock and roll) by several of the defining performers of the past forty years. There has to be more, and better footage lying in the vault.

Maybe the quantity and quality of modern concert films, and hearing the remastered discs, have made the existing Woodstock film a frustrating viewing experience for me. Maybe the "oh, wow, man" hippietude" wafting over it like patchouli in a head shop brings out the fist-shaking old man in me now. Maybe I could never relate to most of the concertgoers, and can even less forty years on.

Whatever the reason, just about every second of Woodstock that isn't spent on the music is like an eternity in line for a Port-A-Potty for me.

[Just to show I'm not a total crank, I do think it's wonderful that the couple pictured on the cover of the original Woodstock OST were recently featured on CBS Sunday Morning, still together.]