Bang Bang Baby comes on like a cross between Top Secret! And Psycho Beach Party at first. It treats its heroine’s dream to become a teen idol with absolutely sincerity while surrounding her with goofy stock characters: the drunken yet eloquent father, the creepy stalker intended to provide a counterpoint to the dreamy, perfect hero; the scenery-chewing aw-shucks movie hero stuck in a small town; even a folksy moonshine slinger.
Wednesday, December 21, 2016
I was fourteen years old by the time I went to my first pay per view. It was the Royal Rumble, and it opened a definitive year for some of the worst years the business would ever experience. The Undertaker was barely a babyface, Vince McMahon couldn’t decide between Bret Hart and Lex Luger for the next Face of the Company, and the steroid trials had barely vindicated the industry. These were the years I became a huge fan, the years that I spent, well – spending most of my tiny income on pro wrestling.
I wasn’t inside of course; not yet.
Sunday, May 29, 2016
“Would you like to watch WrestleMania?”
My cousin Kerry was about seven years old, I was just over ten. We were at her house, and the charm of playing with her tiny turtle and fish had worn off. The question left me wondering; I knew vaguely what pro wrestling was, having seen well-oiled men yelling from the screen during the business’ boom period during my childhood, but I never sat down to watch it myself.
Kerry had been a fan for much longer. “Why don’t we watch WrestleMania 6?” That sounded fine. She turned the TV on and The Ultimate Warrior was ranting about the skies and the heavens, and suddenly I was hooked.