Bad Movies, Bad Jokes, and Good Eggs

Today we had a brunch for the old Bad Movie Monday clan. The BMM posse is one I’ve been a proud part of since, well, the lion’s share of the 14 years I’ve lived in SF.

Through the years the core contingent has been whittled down due to members selfishly moving to other coasts and cities for reasons like “jobs” and “family” (harrumph), but we’ve never lost anyone out of dissipated interest. And as much as we’ve toyed with the idea of getting some fresh blood when our numbers dwindled, of the “funny friends” that one or the other of us has invited at times no one has really stuck to form a next gen. We operate now, when we do operate that is, as a lean machine. Generally a quorum is required in order for a screening.

At any rate, Hlinko, one of the BMM posse who now lives in DC (which, were it on the big screen would be it’s own bad movie) was in town with his new-to-us wife. So we brunched.

I was supposed to be on early Kate-up duty, but Mark graciously offered to jump in, and made a fruit salad, the fruit of which was all perfectly, uniformly diced (as he does), a bunch of bacon, and a huge delicious frittata. Everyone arrived late and stayed late, and silly gifts were exchanged. (I got a Styrofoam wig form and a plastic rain bonnet, and Sue got some garlic shampoo.)

It’s amazing to think there was a time when we all had the ability and the discipline to meet nearly every Monday. One person would host at their house, which required them to rent a movie and provide food for everyone. (One needs strength for heckling.) In the early days when we’d order pizza we’d all chip in $5 or whatever so the host didn’t have to pick up the tab, but over the years our intermittent inspirations to cook for each other became more the norm. No gourmet meals, mind you. More like pasta shaped like Santa Clauses (seasonally, of course) and bottled sauce with salad and a cheap red. After a long day at the office, there was nothing like it.

The movies we’ve seen have ran the gamut from the classic B movies like Strip Tease, to the more rarified Mac and Me (a MacDonald’s branded spin-off of ET), to Can’t Stop the Music (the story of The Village People). Add to that some creepy twisted movies with rapist midgets, village-swallowing pancake batter, and Italian Romeos who used olive oil in their seductions.

Movies featuring a now-respected actor or actress who’s likely mortified by the film today, are especially delightful. Grease 2 (Michelle Pfeiffer), The Island of Dr. Moreau (Marlon Brando), Popeye (Robin Williams), and Evel Kenievel (George Hamilton), to name a few. Okay, so maybe George Hamilton isn’t the best example of a respected actor, but you get my point. We’ve also enjoyed some quality made for TV movies about people like Amy Fisher, or with really any actor playing someone with mental retardation. (I know, I know. We should burn in hell.)

The Politos were the first of the group to procreate making Gianni the premier BMM baby. They made a strong showing of still attending even in his wee months. Then Tony had the twins–or did Sue have Georgia first? At any rate, babies took their toll on our time and energy and bad movies fell low on our priority lists. Damn those kids.

It’s still a hoot to get together when we do though. Thankfully becoming a parent doesn’t totally eat away at your sense of humor. In fact, these days I think we all appreciate more than ever how indulgent it is to waste time with a truly terrible movie.

Of course, seeing everyone today has renewed my desire to get together more often, which means I need to start racking my brains to come up with a really good bad movie.