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Habitat (1997)
This hasn't aged well
It's crazy to think that in 1997, the year of Titanic, Gattaca and the Fith Element, someone out there thought that this film was worth spending money on. Watching a VHS rip on Youtube now, you could be forgiven for thinking this was 10 years older still - and yet, even the Running Man makes more sense.
Nonetheless, if you like your films amusingly bad, this will hit the spot. Every character is a two dimensional stereotype (the sadistic PE teacher is a perfect cliché creation), the story makes no sense except to serve the special effects, there is slime literally everywhere, a pseudo-scientific script is jazzed up with a few f-bombs (they draw the line at motherf---er though. This is a family film!), and - of course - boobs. I counted 6 female characters that get a speaking part (of whom: one does no more than complain about slime on the carpets, another only gets to say "but he's so hot!", and another, despite TWO men warning her not to manages to cause a catastrophic explosion), and three of them have exposed breasts. That's a 50-50 getting to at least say something out loud : objectification ratio. Dear oh dear.
One great idea to come out of this though: use of pollen as a weapon. Autocratic regimes of the world, stop wasting your money on water cannons and tear gas - this is the future!
Vibrations (1996)
Do you know anything about TECHNO??
James Marshall (our erstwhile hero) slumps into a chair in a black-lit, glow in the dark bedroom. For a second, this could be something in 'Flatliners'. But no. What transpires is far more frightening. Scott Cohen (Max Medina from the Gilmore Girls playing basically the same character but with 808 State instead of Proust, plus a backwards cap) leaps behind a keyboard. A synth sax solo follows. A glissando. "Do you know anything about techno" asks Max. James Marshall stares back, dead eyed. "See, the idea is to get the vibe going". Dead eyes. "Then you maintain the vibe with a transducing bass" (sic). Dead eyes. "We're primal, heading for cosmic". Dead eyes. "And just when you think we're in galactic ecstasy... We go... ACIIIEEEEDDDD!". In walks Christina Applegate. "This is hardcore nutronic mutilation!!" exclaims Max Medina. Yet still, dead eyes. "We're going on a psychotically calibrated, electronically executed, digitally compressed, pus excreting, journey to sonic grooviness!". Finally, those dead eyes light up! James Marshall smiles. He is no longer a drunk deadbeat with no hands. He's a sober hard worker with robot hands and in just a moment he's going to snog Christina Applegate. Things are looking up. That's worth a grin, right?
Or perhaps he's just excited about the pus.
This film is a utopian vision of all we have lost as a society. They serve mango juice at free parties, for goodness sake. You could afford a spacious NYC apartment just by working in 'marketing' (read: sellotaping fluorescent posters to lampposts and selling t-shirts at parties). If you were behind on your rent you could just sexually abuse your landlady. Wholewheat bread was apparently a novelty. You could wear a white t shirt with a black leather waistcoat and look moderately cool. I wish I was about 15 years older. And the music is actually really good, throughout. Really.
There's a moment when they all sit around eating dinner discussing their generation. "We're generation x" says Appleby, "the generation with no name". "Yes" says Max Medina "there's nothing left to invent, no frontiers left to cross. The boomers did all that, we just get to enjoy it". "Actually" says the geeky character (whom they just call 'geek' all the way through) "there is one frontier left. Cyberspace. The space inside a computer. It's the last great unknown". Man. He had his revenge alright.