FANS DON'T FORGET (NOR SHOULD THEY)

Trust me on this, folks. If you're an entertainer, you can ask your security staff to keep an eye on certain behavior that might irk you, or even let the audience know the deal before your event begins.

That's what should have been happened in the Miranda Lambert incident. I don't know if the scolded, young ladies were troubling others with their need to capture selfies and such during a gathering that they no doubt paid a hefty sum to experience, but for a celebrity to chastise fans in any way, shape or form is a big no-no (unless it's a situation where someone is about to be harmed, as when Mick Jagger expressed concern over a brewing scuffle at a particular Altamount Speedway concert in 1969).

Some say that the Lambert debacle will fade away given time, but they said the same about Bono's political, tour rant a few years back, and those who walked out still express their dislike over his statements. How could they not?

Being in the presence of high-echelon stars, let alone having that maybe-chance of meeting them, is a big deal to most people. When something goes awry in such instances, the stain never fades.

Case in point: Robert Englund. The Freddy Krueger actor is considered most congenial these days (and when meager phones can capture his every tick and tock, as in the Lambert anti-tradition, he damn well ought to be), but years ago, he didn't have such a keen reputation. There are reports, if one dares to dig deep enough (or simply asks around), of how he was cold to fans who approached him at conventions or how he'd ask for outrageous sums from those who desired autographs. (Brad Dourif took offense to him doing so at one convention, or so legend has it). 

I can't vouch for those alleged, negative incidents, since I wasn't present at them, but I was present at a 1991 Fangoria Weekend of Horrors/Creation Entertainment convention in New York City and saw first hand how the actor treated fans, refusing to respond to their kind words or even look them in the eye during at least two signing sessions. Englund even cut the Saturday night session short (a promised meet-and-greet we paid for) and heartlessly turned away the next person in line, this poor, enthusiastic kid who was all decked out in Krueger pins and related imagery. Englund got up from his table and walked right past the lad, as well as the rest of us, like we were lowly peasants. The moment was startling, to say the least. 

The Creation staff pretended that Englund's abrupt departure was due to him having to recommence filming on Freddy's Dead, which sure as hell wasn't being filmed in NY. Englund didn't take a train or plane anywhere to do so, because he was back Sunday morning (paid in advance per a Creations contract, mind you) and was just as derisive. 

My friend and I got our autographs, though without much of a peep from the man (not a glance or "How ya doin', fellas?"), and I often wonder why we even bothered. I guess it was just that his work meant that much to us, and we were hoping for a pleasant exchange to eclipse what we had witnessed. (For the record, Englund was equally frigid to this beautiful brunette who praised his noteworthy and unjustly underrated performance in The Phantom of the Opera. I'd have thought for certain she'd get ample attention, but nope. Even this knockout was unworthy of a trite exchange with the regal Robert Englund.)

The thing is, these unpleasantries occurred decades ago, but those who remember them still express their disdain, and though they've continued to watch Englund's movies, it's never been with quite the same vigor. They may even skip a few here and there, something that probably wouldn't have occurred otherwise. 

I suppose it's a cliché to say that fans make stars who they are, but it's true. For Christ sake, you'd think they'd have enough sense to come off their high horses and treat their cash-cow source with dignity. Even going through the hollow motions would be better than nothing. They're obliged to make that concert, that meet-and-greet, that chance encounter count for something, something that's shared with fondness with friends and family over the years, with glowing eyes and awestruck remembrance, and not what I'm doing now: deriding someone who derided those who thought he was somebody special, all because we made him special, damn it to hell.  

Monster Team-up Reflection #26: Lake Placid vs Anaconda

 

Like "Hellraiser" and "Howling", the "Anaconda" and "Lake Placid" franchises have crept onto the direct-to-home-viewing path. There's no shame in that. It just categorizes them as modern B-movie equivalents and as such, distinguishes them further from the pretentious dribble that Oscar-geared Hollywood markets. 

Directed by A.B. Stone and scripted by Berkeley Anderson, "Lake Placid vs Anaconda" is really a sequel to the third and fourth chapters of the former, having no direct connection to the crazed crocodile original. In the same vein, the new film's primary giant snake is a distant relative to the specimen introduced in the original, unofficial "Creature from the Black Lagoon" remake. (I know, some claim that the initial "Anaconda" is derivative of "Jaws", but structurally it's the Jack Arnold classic.)

Returning from "Lake Placid 3" and "...the Final Chapter" is Yancy Butler as Sheriff  Reba and from the later, Robert Englund as Jim Bickerman, who's happily sold his soul for monetary gain, leading a bad-guy brigade into the crocs' realm. (His presence amounts to an extended cameo at best, but his fan base will surely appreciate the rekindling of his crabby characterization.)

The immediate bad guys are led by the high-strung Mr. Beach (Stephen Billington), who oversees a scientific group intent on concocting a croc-snake hybrid, with a female anaconda being injected with croc DNA to create a Fountain of Youth formula (based on research founded in "Anacondas: Hunt for the Blood Orchid": the second in that slithering series). 

The anacondas (two males, plus the primary female) and an oversized croc are contained in a high-tech trailer before they escape, thus dumping more mayhem on the already carnage-prone area. Oddly, despite the constant croc threat, the escalating trouble isn't identified until the attacks are well underway: Reba doesn't appear too concerned about the matter, even when confronted by her edgy mayor (Nigel Barber) and relies on bumbling Deputy Ferguson (Oliver Walker) to scope the surroundings. 

In the meantime, Beach meets up with the mean Ms. Murdoch (Annabel Wright), a pharmaceutical head who decides to dispatch another monster-hunting team to capture the injected anaconda. This proves a daunting task, but the team is at least spared a quick demise, thanks to a group of sorority girls who act as more accessible bait. 

The main good girl is Bethany (Skye Lourie), whose father, William "Tully" Tull (Corin "Stargate SG-1" Nemec) is a conscientious, wildlife ranger. When he learns of the bloodshed, he wastes no time to confront it (particularly to protect his little girl) and to ensure the job gets done, teams with Reba. 

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The sorority villainess is Tiffani (Laura Dale), who behaves gestapo-like with the girls, forcing them into nonsensical tests with her assigned boyfriends. Perhaps even more than the militant Murdoch, Tiffani weaves an insidious (albeit sometimes silly) web throughout the harsh sojourn, making her ripe for a tasty comeuppance. 

In the end, it's the baddies against the monsters against the good guys. Who wins? Who loses? Well, you'll have to watch to find out, dear friends.

I will say this, "Lake Placid/Anaconda" is short and bitterly sweet, but its brevity may be perceived as a hindrance. Though we see the monsters frequently, there's little back story to them, let alone any real meat to their confrontations. The final melee is effective in a goofy sort of way, but also mirrors prior fights and seems too truncated for its own good. An all-out brawl, with trees knocked over and humans crushed and crunched, is what was needed to pump up the exploitative thrills, but instead, we only get teases of what could have been. (The initial croc rampage aboard the trailer, along with the anacondas' flight, is probably the film's best sequence, leaving an anticlimactic feel to much that follows.)

Thankfully, the human interaction never weighs down the pace, with the sorority girls playing up their unclothed charms to compensate for their trite banter. Butler is also her usual, intense self, bridging the sorority hi jinks and gruesome deaths with much needed seriousness. 

"Lake Placid/Anaconda" isn't the best monster team-up ever made (not by a damn long shot), but like an endearing old, drive-in flick or a direct-to-video Full Moon production, it still hits the spot. Take it for what it is; you may find there are far worse ways to kill ninety minutes of your time.