If you're anything like me (and for Pete's sake, I oughta
know you are by now), you were glued to the TV the night this
unbelievably crappy movie featuring your favorite rock 'n' roll
gods was aired. Yeah, I'm another one of those dumb bastards I'm
sure you're already sick of hearing about--a full-on KISS army
mofo! As a kid, I spent a truly unfortunate amount of time leaping
and capering around my bedroom (I call it "dancing")
while cranking my KISS 8-tracks. I had one of those lame players
that came apart to create two separate speakers, and was constantly
snagging my feet on the skinny wire strung across the room. I
finally loaned those 8-tracks to a girl I was obsessed with, and
subsequently never saw the tapes again. I didn't learn anything,
however--I still tend to fall hard for girls who have no use for
me, and I'll loan 'em pretty much anything they want. I have
had a better retrieval rate in recent years, though, so I guess
that's a step up. ... Anyway, years later I went on to replace
the tapes with CDs; but while broke and starving in L.A. awhile
back, I was forced to sell my CD collection, and KISS went with
it. So far I've managed to replace only one album, the less-than-fabulous
Hotter than Hell.
Of course, I had all the standard stuff: the Marvel comics ("Printed
with KISS' own blood!"), the patches (one of which
currently adorns my computer), and God only knows what else. But
it doesn't end there. Oh no, my tortured friend. Y'see, when I
was 12 or 13 and too old for trick-or-treating, I decked myself
out Gene Simmons-style to answer the door one Halloween. Completely
wrecked a brand-new pair of my brother's combat boots by duct-taping
them to a bunch of wood in order to create platforms. Dribbled
vampire blood all over my chin, jerked a topknot into a fright
wig, and I was made for lovin' you, baby. The first bunch of trick-or-treaters
that came to the door refused to leave until I spread my arms
(to show off my swell cut-from-a-T-shirt batwings, of course)
and waggled my tongue. To this day, I still harbor untoward desires
for greasepaint. A few years back I did the Simmons thing for
Halloween once again, and even now, a complete Ace Frehley costume
(circa "Destroyer") adorns a corner of my apartment,
not too far from my purple-velvet Ace painting. And by God, have
you ever heard a song as obscenely-cheesy-yet-overwhelmingly cool
as "Rock Soldiers" by Frehley's Comet?! Gimme a call,
we'll listen to it while we play my "KISS on Tour" board
game.
So anyway, back to the movie. KISS Meets the Phantom of the
Park, directed by Gordon Hessler (Scream and Scream Again,
The Golden Voyage of Sinbad), follows our boys as they
prepare to play a big show at an amusement park. Unbeknownst to
the glamsters, however, an evil scientist (played by veteran baddie
Anthony Zerbe--remember him in The Omega Man?) is seeking
revenge on the park's owners, and KISS' big boots carry them right
into the middle of the horror. Now, even though this flick sucks
out loud, I've probably seen it a dozen times, 'cause let's face
it--it's an hour and a half of KISS walkin' around. And if that
weren't enough, Zerbe creates evil KISS replicas so we
actually experience the thrill of seeing KISS fight themselves!
There's enough truly weird stuff going on here to make it a hell
of a lot of fun. At one point, a bunch of goofy miniature Yetis
climb a rollercoaster while shooting laser beams from their eyes;
Ace does his strange, grating little laugh any number of times;
one KISS-ster (I think it was Paul) says "You're looking
for someone--and it's not KISS!"; the evil KISS replicas
sing "Rip, Rip, Rip and Destroy," much to the chagrin
of the faithful KISS army; and to top things off, we discover
the source of KISS' superpowers! Holy cats! The weirdest thing
about the movie is how damn obvious the stuntmen are--even
though they're completely covered with makeup and funky costumes!
In fact, the stuntmen actually look more like the KISS action
figures than they do the real guys.
It will have already happened by the time you read this, but you
know I'm all over KISS Off, the big tribute at the Dingo, and
I've got my ticket for the real thing Sunday night. I had a chance
to see 'em when I was a kid, but no one would go with me, and
I figured I'd catch a beatin' for sure if I went by myself. Now
older and wiser, however, I know what's worth getting my ass kicked
for. What all this boils down to is that I'm probably one of the
bigger idiots you're ever gonna meet. (Goodtimes Home Video)
--Scott Phillips
Film Vault Suggested Links
A Clockwork Orange 
Gamera 2 (Gamera vs. Legion) 
Godzilla vs. Spacegodzilla 
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