Rowan-Morrison’s Guide To Home Video

(No, not that kind of video)

If you’re a fan of good movies, but you’re having more luck peddling used syringes to school children than finding a decent video, I’m here with some suggestions. When I say “good,” I’m referring to the quality of the dialogue and the story, and not to the number of scenes involving bobbing for apples in a bucket of semen. Rather than giving you my top ten picks, I’ve narrowed it down to five for this issue.

…And God Spoke. Landing somewhere between Spinal Tap and Waiting For Guffman is this subtly hilarious mockumentary on making a movie about the Bible. I would say it’s more fun than a trunk full of dead nuns and otters, but I already used that analogy during a poorly-received eulogy last year.

Heavenly Creatures. Although Peter Jackson’s semi-surreal tale of two girls walks awfully close to “chick flick”-ville, there are some really dark bits of humor and one memorable brick scene. It’s a great date flick, assuming your date paid.

Romper Stomper. Not since Suburbia (the ’83 version, dumbass) have skinheads been this amusing to watch. As cruel as they are, there are enough retaliation and bad luck scenarios to make it enjoyable for the whole family. Well, make that the Manson Family.

Freeway. This HBO movie spent a little time in the theater and then quickly landed on video. Reese Witherspoon is infectious as a gangsta girl in this grim serial killer comedy, which, coincidentally, can be just as enjoyable in slow motion when the wife’s asleep… shhhhhh.

Once Were Warriors. This film is evenly split between the break down of a family and the thuglike lifestyle of urban-assimilated Maori men. There are more tattoos than a Crash Worship concert, with a few brutal bar fights as extra incentive.

I know what you’re thinking, “why does a guy with such great taste in films spend so much time researching food tampering techniques“…oh, that’s not what you’re thinking? In any case, if you liked just one of these movies, then chances are you thought Air Force One stunk worse than a bathtub filled with raw eggs, a slab of roadkill with an onion in its mouth, and a pair of sweat-ravaged Converse sneakers from my breakdancing days.

Notes from Rowan-Morrison’s significant other: My similar taste in movies aside, I wish to not be held accountable for my husband’s “writing,” notably the bucket-o-semen allusion. And no, these columns are *not* why I married him, although they might be used as evidence in a future divorce hearing.