Some romcoms are good, and Mystic Pizza is one of the good ones. This movie came out shortly after my twentieth birthday, but I somehow neglected to see it.
Mystic Pizza is about three Gen X working-class Portuguese women who are in their early 20s. (Since this movie came out in 1988, Gen X was still young, and still not widely referred to as Gen X.)
Structurally, the movie reminds me a little of Fast Times at Ridgemont High (1982), insofar as there is an ensemble cast (Julia Roberts, Lili Taylor, and Annabelle Gish), each working her way through a slightly different moral and emotional conundrum.
These dilemmas deal with issues of love, sex, socioeconomic class, and ethnicity. (I should make clear, though: Mystic Pizza is not a “message film”. It is simply an artifact from a time when even young adult date movies had artistic worth.)
Vintage 1988 theatrical release poster
The movie is set in the late 1980s in the fictional town of Mystic, Connecticut. All three of the young women work at “Mystic Pizza”, a mom-and-pop pizza restaurant run by a late middle-age Portuguese couple.
This was the movie that launched Julia Roberts’s career, more or less. Mystic Pizza also includes the then-unknown Matt Damon in a very minor, nonspeaking role.
Most impressive of all, though, is the performance of Vincent D’Onofrio, who plays the marriage-minded boyfriend of one of the young women. What is impressive is that the previous year, D’Onofrio starred in Full Metal Jacket as the bumbling but mentally disturbed Private Leonard ‘Gomer Pyle’ Lawrence. D’Onofrio displays an impressive range, moving easily from a psychotic villain role in a war movie, to a leading man role in a romcom.
Mystic Pizza is a must-see for all Gen Xers who may have missed it in 1988. Millennials will find some aspects of the movie they like. Gen Z viewers will probably not understand the relationship portions of the movie, but they will marvel at the payphones and Internet-free world of 1988.
The question “Where’s the beef?” was a common “meme” in American culture in the mid-1980s. (Nobody used the word “meme” back then, though.) “Where’s the beef?” implied that something lacked value or substance.
It all came from a series of Wendy’s commercials, starring Clara Peller (1902-1987). Pellar made this inquiry whenever she was confronted by a hamburger that was too much bun, not enough beef.
Wendy’s made the size of its beef patties a selling point. And while fast-food hamburgers were never among my favorite foods, the Wendy’s burgers were better than most, at least in the 1980s.
This commercial is pure genius. It is entertaining in itself, but it also conveys an effective marketing message.
I discovered pop/rock music in 1981-2, when I was still in junior high. Because of the longevity of contemporary rock bands, I sometimes come across new material from bands that I first discovered 40 years ago.
This is always a treat, and it always makes me feel younger. (If the rock bands of your youth are still making new music, you can’t be that old, right? That notion works for the Boomers, so why not for Gen X?)
38 Special is one such still-active band from my junior high years. I became a fan of 38 Special back when their 1982 album Special Forces was new, and reached the number 10 spot on the Billboard 200. This album includes several of the group’s classic songs, including, “Caught Up in You” and “You Keep Runnin’ Away”.
The band has just released a new song on YouTube, “All I Haven’t Said”.
There have been some personnel changes since 1982, of course. (I believe 38 Special has a new lead vocalist.) So the sound is a little different, but the same spirit is there.
I like the new song, and I am glad to see that 38 Special is still around and making music.
I’m not sure how 40 years went by without me seeing Commando (1985). But I finally caught it last night with my YouTube Premium subscription.
Commando stars Arnold Schwarzenegger as a retired military operative, who is called into action when a group of international bad guys take his daughter hostage.
It’s a very basic plot, with a lot left to assumption, or the viewer’s imagination. This is pure 80s escapism, and the film suffers somewhat from the production values of that era.
On the plus side, there are no boring moments in the 90 minutes that it will take you to watch Commando. The movie is a lot of fun, in the same way that the A-Team and Magnum P.I. were fun in the 1980s.
There is no romantic subplot in Commando. Rae Dawn Chong, however, provides a solid performance as Schwarzenegger’s sidekick (and, at one point in the movie, his pilot). The 12-year-old Alyssa Milano, who was decades away from becoming annoying and political, appears as Schwarzenegger’s daughter.
The X feed Super 70s Sports has the following to say about the late Merlin Olsen (1940 – 2010):
“I miss Merlin Olsen. A true renaissance man who could kick your ass, eloquently break down exactly how he did it, then send you a thoughtful bouquet of flowers as a gesture of goodwill.”
I miss Merlin Olsen. A true renaissance man who could kick your ass, eloquently break down exactly how he did it, then send you a thoughtful bouquet of flowers as a gesture of goodwill. pic.twitter.com/rLxImgSPtR
I don’t disagree with the sentiment, but most Gen Xers don’t remember Merlin Olsen as a professional football player. Olsen played his last game in the NFL in 1976. This Gen Xer was an 8-year-old third-grader then.
Most of us do, however, remember Merlin Olsen in his post-NFL acting career. Olsen portrayed Jonathan Garvey on Little House on the Prairie from 1977 to 1981. In this secondary role, he was the “male buddy” figure for Michael Landon’s starring role.
My childhood household had one television, and my mom loved Little House. So we of course tuned in every week. I didn’t love this show quite as much as my mom did, but I didn’t exactly hate it, either. It was pleasant enough television for that pre-cable era, when most TV shows were written to the broadest audience possible. Little House on the Prairie was written and billed as wholesome family fare, with all that label implies, both for better and for worse.
I recall watching Olsen on Little House on the Prairie for several years, perhaps, before my father mentioned, apropos of nothing, that Merlin Olsen had previously been a professional football player.
My research tells me that he had quite a career in that capacity. But I, like most Gen Xers, will always think of him as Jonathan Garvey.
This past week marked the 40-year anniversary of the release of Back to the Future on July 3, 1985.
I saw the movie when it was new. I enjoyed it; but I never thought that this was a film that would be remembered four decades later.
But hey, I was 17 years old in the summer of 1985. What did I know?
1985 theatrical release poster
One of the forgotten facts about the movie is that Disney originally rejected it. The dealbreaker was the subplot in which Marty McFly’s mother becomes infatuated with him during his time in 1955. Disney execs didn’t like the incestuous plot twist.
And it struck me as a little strange at the time. Never mind that this is not the sort of scenario that anyone is likely to encounter in real life.
Whether Disney was right to reject the film or not in the 1980s, herein lies a measure of how much Disney—and the movie business—has changed since then. As we all know, Disney is more than happy to let its freak flag fly nowadays.
Now let’s turn our attention to something really important: the future of the rock band AC/DC.
I’ve been a fan of AC/DC since the early 1980s, when Back in Black was the latest thing. AC/DC isn’t my favorite band. (That honor goes to Rush.) But AC/DC is definitely among my top ten.
The members of AC/DC, just like the rest of us, are getting older. Angus Young, the group’s iconic guitarist, is now 70. Lead vocalist Brian Johnson is now 77.
No, it isn’t 1981 anymore. (And oh, how I wish that it were, for any number of reasons.) But AC/DC still gives a pretty solid live performance, by my estimation.
The 1980s have acquired a reputation for being hopelessly conservative, fuddy-duddy times. On the contrary, many of the movies, songs, and jokes that were commonplace back then wouldn’t pass muster in today’s environment.
Consider Exhibit A: the Angel series of thriller films. The tagline of the initial 1984 movie was:
“High school honor student by day, Hollywood hooker by night.”
The movie starred Donna Wilkes (then in her twenties) as the 15-year-old Molly Stewart, a prep school honor student who, for whatever reason, moonlights as a sex worker each night. And of course, she solves a crime or two along the way, as well!
Now, I’m not saying this is a laudable film concept. But people barely batted an eye at it in the 1980s. If such a film were released today, social conservatives on the right would go ballistic. (Jesse Watters and the rest of the Fox News crew would have a field day.) On the dour, humorous left, meanwhile, there would be wailing and shrieking about “exploitation”.
To be sure, there was an element of exploitation in the movie. (This is why a twenty-something actress was cast in the lead role.) But in the 1980s, most folks seemed capable of realizing that a movie was just a movie.
I was fifteen when Angel came out. I never saw the movie, but it was heavily advertised. Many people did see the film, apparently. There were two sequels: Avenging Angel (1985) and Angel III: the Final Chapter (1988).
In the fall of 1984, I was a junior in high school. I had a passion for the novels and short stories of Stephen King.
My high school English teacher, not so much. He was a devotee of two twentieth-century writers: Ernest Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald. So I read a lot of Hemingway and a lot of Fitzgerald that year.
I was 16 years old, and really two young for either writer. Hemingway and Fitzgerald wrote about adult concerns, and concerns of what was already a long-ago, bygone era. As a teenager of the Reagan-era American suburbs, I had little interest in the social conventions of the Jazz Age, or the moody ramblings of World War I veterans.
As an adult, I’ve developed a new appreciation for both writers.
I’ve recently begun digging into The Short Stories of F. Scott Fitzgerald: A New Collection. This collection, edited by Matthew J. Bruccoli, contains all the Fitzgerald short stories I remember as a junior in high school: “Winter Dreams”,“A Diamond As Big As the Ritz”, “Babylon Revisited,” etc.—as well as many that my high school English teacher never assigned.
Fitzgerald wrote his short stories long. Not all of them can be read in a single sitting. Many of his short stories resemble compressed novels more than typical short stories, as they deal with events stretching out over many years, even decades.
Fitzgerald’s writing style is accessible to modern readers, but his subject matter is a hundred years removed from our time. It takes some effort to put oneself in the mindset of an adult living in 1925. (I am soon to turn 57 years old, and that is the era of my great-grandparents. The one great-grandparent I knew was born in 1895, one year before Fitzgerald.)
Still, there are some universal themes in Fitzgerald’s fiction. One of my favorite stories is the aforementioned “Winter Dreams”. This is the tale of a man who, between adolescence and early middle age, mistakenly projects all of his ideals onto a woman with whom he has a fleeting romantic relationship.
1922 magazine illustration for “Winter Dreams”
“Winter Dreams” is basically a story about the pedastalization of femininity. The theme is as relevant in 2025 as it was in 1922, when Fitzgerald wrote the story.
(Note: When I first read “Winter Dreams” in 1984, I “got” what Fitzgerald was trying to say. Some years would pass before I learned the real-life lesson.)
You might be hesitant to dive into a book of century-old stories. I would encourage you, though, to give Fitzgerald a try. Many of his tales, like The Great Gatsby and “The Curious Case of Benjamin Button”, have been adapted for film in the modern era.
There is a reason why Fitzgerald endures, when so many other writers have fallen by the wayside. Fitzgerald was a skilled and insightful storyteller.
So much was superior about the Gen X childhood. We had decent schools, conscientious teachers, no social media madness, no “AI” nonsense, and no smartphone obsessions.
We also had a thriving children’s book industry. And no—I’m not referring to Harry Potter. (Most Gen Xers were in our 30s when Harry Potter appeared.)
We had comics and storybooks, of course. But there were also plenty of children’s books that respected the intelligence of children. Many of these books were quite sophisticated by today’s standards, what might accurately be called “middlebrow”.
Among these was the How and Why Wonder Books series. Most of these were published in the early 1960s.
I owned this volume: The How and Why Wonder Book of The Moon.
Out of print! So no Amazon link!
This title, targeted at the casual juvenile reading market, went into considerable detail about the science of the moon and the history of lunar observation. Since this was published before the 1969 lunar landing, that event was not covered, but plenty else was.
In the 1960s and 1970s, it was still assumed that intelligent people would spend more time reading than staring at electronic screens. How and Why Wonder Books, though written for children in the 1960s, would be beyond the reading comprehension levels of many adults born after 1990. Make of that what you will.
This is a promotional ad that McDonald’s ran in 1980. Breakfast customers were given a free Bic razor with the purchase of any breakfast entree.
1980 McDonald’s print ad
I don’t specifically remember this promotion, and my guess is that it didn’t last long. This is also one that you’re unlikely to see repeated in the twenty-first century. Clearly the ad appeals to one specific gender. (And in 1980, no one disputed the notion that there were only two.) But as we all know, women eat pancakes, too. So what’s going on?
My mother worked outside the home in 1980; but that was the very beginning of the Boomer-led “working woman” trend of the 1980s. The McDonald’s marketing folks probably figured that men would comprise the main market for fast-food breakfasts, presumably on their way to work.
During the 1970s and throughout most of the 1980s, it was common to see full-page cigarette ads in glossy magazines. Advertisements for cancer sticks had already been banned from television, but print ads were still legal, and considered fair game.
Camel ad, circa 1978 to 1983
Much has been said about the “Marlboro Man” over the years. But the Camel Dude (shown above) got a lot more female attention. I remember seeing variations of the above ad in a number of magazines that ended up in my hands during the late 1970s and early 1980s, including Field & Stream, which I read with some regularity.
We can assume that the Camel Dude got lucky on the day presented in the above ad. But one wonders: is he still alive? Perhaps not, with that smoking habit of his.
I was a pre-adolescent and adolescent in those days; and I may have been slightly influenced by the marketing message. A “great-tasting blend of Turkish and domestic tobaccos”, and hot women on the beach? Count me in, said the adolescent version of me.
Speaking of which: I haven’t smoked cigarettes at all as an adult; but I did smoke them on occasion when I was 12 to 13 years old. Another thing about the 1970s/80s: cigarette vending machines were everywhere, and underage people had no difficulty accessing them.
I certainly tried Camels. The hot blonde, as I recall, was not included.
I am a resident of Cincinnati, Ohio, and a frequent visitor to Indiana. My father grew up in Indiana. I have many childhood memories of family holiday gatherings in Lawrenceburg and nearby rural Switzerland County.
I have always considered myself an “honorary” Hoosier (the nickname of a person from Indiana), because of my familial ties, and also because of my affection for the state.
Family reunion in Switzerland County, Indiana, 1987.
But there are famous Hoosiers, too.John Cougar Mellencamp was born in 1951 in Seymour, Indiana, and he grew up there. Mellencamp, now in his seventies, is a proud son of Indiana. He has long incorporated small-town Indiana into his musical brand.
Mellencamp was one of the most popular solo artists of my teenage years. He was also a frequent presence on MTV. (This was back when MTV actually played music videos, as every Gen Xer will remind you.)
Many of Mellencamp’s songs and MTV videos incorporated small-town themes. Whenever possible, he inserted an Indiana-related Easter egg or two. I have become aware of some of these only decades later.
Consider, for example, the MTV video for “Hurts So Good”. This song hit number 2 on the Billboard Hot 100 in 1982. In the summer and fall of that year, it was hard to turn on FM radio without hearing “Hurts So Good” within the hour.
The “Hurts So Good” MTV video was also popular on MTV. Little did I know, back then, that this video was filmed in the small town of Medora, Indiana. Medora is close to Seymour, where John Cougar Mellencamp grew up, and about ninety minutes from Lawrenceburg, where my father grew up.
The lesson here, for me, is that great art—and great artists—can come from anywhere. John Cougar Mellencamp would not have been the songwriter and musician he became, had he spent his formative years in Los Angeles or New York.
Many people grow up in small town or rural environments and do not find art, of course. But it is a mistake to assume that every denizen of LA is working on a screenplay, or that every NYC resident is an aspiring novelist.
In early April of 1974, I was but a wee lad in kindergarten. My dad worked in sales. My mother and I sometimes accompanied him on business trips.
And so it was that on April 3, 1974, my father, my mother, and I traveled to Louisville, Kentucky—just in time for that city’s historic 1974 F4 tornado, which was part of the equally historic “super outbreak” of that year.
Why was it called a “super outbreak”? Between April 3 and 4, at least 149 tornados were documented across 13 states. Over three hundred people lost their lives. It was a big news story, for anyone alive and sentient then.
My parents and I were staying in a one-story motel not far from the Louisville F4 tornado when it hit. I was not yet six years old, and so I had only the vaguest idea that something bad was happening. But I realized that all was not well.
For one thing, my parents were visibly alarmed. When you’re a young kid and your parents are nervous, that probably means that you should be concerned, too.
I remember the high winds and the freight train sound of the tornado. I did not see the tornado itself, but I certainly saw its aftermath. Louisville looked like a war zone. On our drive home to Cincinnati the next morning, I recall seeing a swing set thrown into the middle of the highway by the tornado. I particularly remember that.
So far as lasting traumas go, there were some minor ones. For a number of months, I had recurring dreams about a giant lifting off the roof of our house. And to this day, I don’t like violent spring and summer storms. I learned at an early age how quickly such storms can turn deadly.
It is difficult to believe that 5150, Van Halen’s seventh studio album, is now 39 years old. But this is indeed the case. 5150 was released on March 24, 1986. Has that much time really passed? I’m afraid so.
I can still remember when “Dreams” and “Why Can’t This Be Love” were new songs on FM radio. I immediately liked what I heard; and I became one of the thousands of people—mostly teenagers—who purchased the album in its early days. (More than 6 million copies of the album have been sold since then.)
This was the 1980s, and so we bought all of our music in record stores at the mall, of course. The album cover featured a muscle man holding up a metallic sphere, Atlas-like. This struck me as both interesting and strange, but I shrugged and went with it. (I was an avid reader of Muscle & Fitness in those days.)
The big news about this album was that Van Halen had a new lead singer. David Lee Roth was out, Sammy Hagar was in.
Sammy Hagar already had a following of his own as a solo artist. So this was rather like a merger between two companies with established brands. I was already a fan of Hagar, so I was predisposed to like the new, changed Van Halen.
Speaking of which: I had been a very lukewarm fan of Van Halen until then. Like everyone, I appreciated Eddie Van Halen’s unique guitar skills. But the Van Halen songs of the David Lee Roth era were banal in the extreme, even by the standards of a high school kid. The Roth-era songs were all about girls and parties, or they were about nothing at all.
I also suspected, even back then, that David Lee Roth was something of an egotistical jackass. These suspicions were confirmed for me decades later, when I read Runnin’ with the Devil: A Backstage Pass to the Wild Times, Loud Rock, and the Down and Dirty Truth Behind the Making of Van Halen. Written by former band manager Noel Monk, Runnin’ with the Devil describes Roth’s self-indulgent, often vindictive behavior in detail. I didn’t know any of these details then; but I was glad to see Sammy Hagar replace the compulsively peacocking Roth.
5150 was a different kind of Van Halen album. The songs on this album had a mystic, almost aspirational quality. And yet—5150 was still upbeat, fun, and accessible. It wasn’t one of those dreary, navel-gazing rock albums that people claim you have to smoke weed in order to appreciate.
Van Halen would never be its old self again. The new trend—of better songwriting—would peak over the next two VH albums: OU812 (1988) and For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge (1991).
Should Sammy Hagar be credited for these changes? Given the magnitude and the timing of the shift, it is difficult to conclude otherwise.
“Love Walks In”, the second song on Side 2 of the album, is one of 5150’s most interesting pieces. The song’s lyrics suggest time travel, fate, reincarnation….who knows?
Some years after 5150 was released, Sammy Hagar stated that “Love Walks In” was written about communication with extraterrestrial aliens. I took a very different meaning from the song at the time—which I’ll spare the reader. And I still do. But that is one of the hallmarks of successful art: each person can walk away from it with a slightly different interpretation. For decades now, millions of people have regarded the Beatles’ “Let It Be”, as a Catholic ballad about the Virgin Mary. Paul McCartney actually wrote the song about his deceased mother, who was also named Mary.
5150 is one of those albums that, for me, will always represent a specific time and place. The spring of 1986 is long gone. I will turn 57 this year, and I don’t try to pretend that I’m still a senior in high school…not even when I listen to my favorite music from that bygone era.
I still have my own interpretation of “Love Walks In”, though. And I still enjoy listening to this almost 40-year-old album. Its songs never get old. If only the same could be said for this particular listener.
