One of the premium movie channels, “Action” I think, was running a certain blast from the past the other night. Huh, I said, looking at the schedule at this memory-triggering title. I recall being fond of said program when I was like 13. Maybe I’ll check it out, see how well I remember it.
I didn’t have high hopes or anything for said program. It’s two decades old; I figured it would be pretty dated, with goofy hair, cheap effects, you know the drill. But I remembered it as being fun anyway, so I flipped to it midway through, just to see, and maybe get a little nostalgic thrill out of it.
And… damn. I mean, just, damn. Was I an idiot when I was 13? I mean, I know, we’re all idiots when we’re 13, but apparently I’ve been giving myself more credit for good taste than I deserved.
The show? “V: The Final Battle,” the miniseries. Aired by the “Action” channel without commercials in a six-hour block, back-to-back-to-back, as a three part movie.
And… well, not to repeat myself, but… damn.
Okay, we have the goofy hair. Check. Cheap effects, check. Bad 1980’s actors (Marc Singer, anyone?), check. That much I expected.
But horrible writing? Embarrassing dialogue? Ridiculous plot twists? I didn’t remember any of that. I had completely blocked out the humiliating scene where that poor actress is squeezed into a skintight white thingy and has to squeal and writhe in that small room while the Laserium folks project an orange squiggle on her face. I had no memory of the black-visored alien shock troops moving stupidly through the corridors of rebel headquarters, showing absolutely no advanced strategy or technology as they get mowed down by primitive projectile weapons and blunder into an obvious trap. And of course I hadn’t retained at all the whole basis for the alien invasion: stealing Earth’s water. One of the most common and easily obtained substances around. Lord, help me.
I stuck with it for as long as I could, and in fact much longer than I should have, hoping against hope it would get better. But no such luck. And after an hour of rolling my eyes, I gave up and switched away, feeling like a colossal dork for once having thought this pile of crap was even remotely watchable.
Oh, but Michael Ironside was cool. That I remembered, and that I was right about. So I wasn’t a complete dork, I guess.
Small comfort…