Whichever Way the Wind Blows

Last summer I was introduced to reruns of a show from the early 90s named Tropical Heat, or as it was known in the US, Sweating Bullets – a part of Crimetime After Primetime *.  It was a basic private detective TV show set in on a fictional Florida Key, kind of a Rockford Files updated for the 90s.  I had not previously heard of it.  It took me several episodes to warm to it.  The show was a low budget affair that recycled a lot of actors that are often cringe worthy.  It was clearly a vehicle for fist fighting action and bikini clad women and the shirtless hero, Nick Slaughter, in sunny tropical beach environs.  I became obsessed.  When I first heard the terrible, reggae-lite theme song, all of my sensibilities rejected it, but soon enough, I began watching the opening of the show regularly on YouTube just to listen to the song.

 

Strangely I began to feel wistful while watching these subpar episodes of a show that I couldn’t find anyone who had ever even heard of before.  It reminded me of my late high school years, when I had mostly given up sleep and would find myself getting weepy over a silly plot from The Patty Duke Show at 3AM.  I tried chalking it up to spending too much time alone, but this felt deeper.  I began to feel an emotional attachment to all of it – the main characters, the environment, that awful theme - rivalling long lost happy memories, as one might reflect on a summer fling from a teenage week spent at a fun away camp – déjà vu. 

 All of this felt wrong to me.  Why?  Why was this stupid show getting to me?  Eventually, it dawned on me that I have a history of highly rating superfluous TV shows and movies.  Like the aforementioned Patty Duke Show.  The movie I’ve seen more than any other is the late 70s Chevy Chase/Goldie Hawn vehicle Foul Play, though the original Fletch is a close second.  For years I have claimed that Ski School and its odd sequel, Ski School 2, are my favorite movies ever.  I’ve always said this with a sardonic tongue in my cheek, but knowing full well that I’d rather watch those than a universally acknowledged masterpieces. 

The answer I’ve come up with is that many of these characters, like the misfit ski school hero gang Section 8, Fletch, and Nick Slaughter are all wise cracking goofballs who say and do what they want – consequences be damned.  Of course they all have hearts of gold, but it’s the chaos they create with their honesty and combination of no bullshit and lack of concern for serious consequences that I find so appealing.  In Ski School, the thesis statement of the movie is: “in order to succeed you must lose your mind.”  Rumor has it that there may not have been a script, which would surprise no one who has seen the movie. 

I have lived my life following rules.  I’ve always been wound pretty tight.  One time my friend Wil convinced me to hop the commuter train for a few stops without paying the fare, and the entirety of the trip (<10 minutes), I was sweaty, itchy, and terrified.  Towards the end of our journey a pair of security guards boarded the train and my anxiety about being caught pushed me into a full on panic attack.  I didn’t get drunk or high growing up – not out of any kind of moral or health stance, but for fear of losing control.  This must be why characters who throw caution to the wind have such an appeal for me.  I’m not talking thrill seeking behavior, like skydiving or what not, I’m talking about those who challenge authority, when authority is in the way of justice - whatever that means. 

Don’t get me wrong, I am fully aware that these shows and movies I’m referencing are very of their time and incredibly unrealistic.  There can be an uncomfortable level of misogyny, lack of diversity, and of course a prevailing white male privilege – I mean, only a white guy could get away with being such a wise-ass malcontent to the police or any authority and avoid any consequences right?  Newspaper reporter Fletch broke all of the rules AND essentially gives the middle finger to the police chief, Nick Slaughter regularly mocks the local police, the mischief making misfits from Ski School constantly play cruel pranks on essentially everyone and when confronted with possible retribution, simply double down and intensify their wacky pranks and beer consumption.  The only threatened reprimand for their misdeeds is that their skiing privileges will be taken way, so the inevitable conclusion is: “They can’t stop us from partying, so they can’t stop us from skiing.”  I’m also aware that these ridiculous characters would be frustrating in real life.  Whatever charm they may have would burn away the instant that they get you involved in some kind of horrific street fight, or worse. 

After slowly working my way through watching the entirety of the show Tropical Heat, I learned that there had been a documentary made in 2012 named Slaughter Nick for President, which chronicles lead actor Rob Stewart’s visit to Serbia fifteen years after the show’s demise.  Apparently, this show had developed a cult popularity in Serbia during the 1990s civil war in the former Yugoslavia.  It seems that the sunny environs and freewheeling, yet doggedly loyal, lead character, Nick Slaughter, resonated with some of the populace in amongst that country’s darkest days.  I think I managed to tap into this strange idealism in some small way. 

 

Recognizing that I have had a buttoned up fascination with the idea of being more of a risk taker has been valuable.  At this stage of my life, I’ve grown to be content with who I am to a certain level.  I do not want to push the envelope too far and suffer very real consequences from stupid actions – I never have – but now I refuse to feel regret over risks not taken.  Perhaps I can simply enjoy watching these goofy shows, enjoy watching the freedom that these fictional characters exhibit, and do my best to take small leaps every once in a while. 

My refusal to stream movies and be involved with all of the high quality television available today frustrates a lot of people.  I clearly watch way too much TV, but I have little patience for getting involved with something that demands time and attention.  I like my rabbit ears sketchily picking up broadcast channels mostly airing old family friendly reruns and other formulaic shows.  If I can watch Tropical Heat reruns on channel 29.4 most evenings and daydream about being a reckless hero, then you know what?  I’m good with that. 

 

 

 

 

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·        In 1991, the CBS television network had abandoned their many failed attempts at competing with NBC’s late night talk show dominance against Johnny Carson’s The Tonight Show with similar talk shows hosted by a variety of celebrities.  Instead, they began filling that post late local news programming slot with a bunch of “edgy” hour long crime dramas that they advertised as Crimetime After Primetime.  Other than seeing the occasional promotion for these shows, I never bothered to watch any of them.  They were all unceremoniously canceled after a couple of years, as soon as CBS scored a deal with David Letterman to host a talk show against the Tonight Show.  The only show (I think) that survived was the colorful and titillating cop procedural Silk Stalkings, which moved to the cable channel USA and thrived throughout the entirety of the 90s.  At any rate, back then, I became obsessed with the idea of Crimetime After Primetime and would find any excuse to say it in my best gravelly  and deep announcer voice.  I have a strange memory of practicing the voice alone in a public restroom with especially interesting acoustics and emerging to a couple of mystified onlookers.