In the end, we were a bunch of borderline boomers knocking on Geezerhood’s door and grousing about nose-in-your-phone culture. Ten minutes in – maybe less – someone indignantly spat the words “this generation.”
But the difference between that Saturday night and the ones this group savored every weekend in 1986 was clear: We now had better booze.
Most importantly, we were damn happy to see each other. The mission – to discuss the movie “Johnny Dangerously” – became secondary, as we were much more interested in catching up after 40-plus years. Kids, jobs, pets, kidney stones, arthritis, aches, pains and effective ointments.
We jabbed a bit at teens and phones and the curious ways they consume media, but we celebrated our own children – many already grown and flown.
Then we cued up the DVD, much like we cued up the Blockbuster VHS tape each week, and watched “Johnny Dangerously,” the 1984 gangster spoof starring Michael Keaton as a lovable mob boss and, in a cameo of questionable taste, Dom Deluise as the pope.
You see, in the 1980s, six high school friends gathered nearly every weekend to rent “Johnny” on VHS. We knew every line, every gag.
With thick, Italian mobster accents, we called each other “bastages” and “iceholes” often and inappropriately. We found it endlessly hilarious, and it formed a strong, if not disturbing bond, among an already close group of band kids.
Why we picked “Johnny” as our go-to cult film, I do not know. I just know we had a helluva good time and the film, while not a masterpiece, stayed with us.
Recently, I did something stupid in my office that prompted me to utter “fargin bastage.” I stopped and realized that has been my go-to phrase of exasperation for four decades. I then wondered if the old VHS crew also found themselves saying the same stupid lines in 2025.
Indeed, “Johnny” still haunted their vocabulary, and a planned Zoom reunion morphed into an in-person celebration with two attendees from out of state. The cast: Jason, Kim, Phyllis, Mike, me and two patient spouses. We were missing Keith, whose message the following week was “Are we still on for this Saturday??”
Oh, Keith.
Everyone watched the DVD before the reunion, and then we watched it again that Saturday night. The questions at hand: How does the movie hold up after 41 years? Why did it consume us? Why THIS movie?
Observations:
We agreed the comedy held up well, but the script would not fly in 2025. There are ample boob jokes and extreme ethnic stereotypes.
We had forgotten about that marvelous theme song, Weird Al Yankovic’s “This Is the Life” – “I eat filet mignon seven times a day/My bathtub’s filled with Perrier. What can I say?/This is the life.”
While the movie was a little dirtier than we remembered, it retained a gentle innocence. This is a parody, a comedy made for the simple pleasure of simple laughs. Silly, fun and a little saucy.
Dom Deluise as the mob-loving pope is still kinda funny. Forgive us.
As fun as the movie is and as much as we still knew every line, the last two questions lingered: Why did it consume us? Why THIS movie?
I mean, the mid-1980s gave us, “Top Gun,” “Ghostbusters,” “Stand By Me,” “Beverly Hills Cop,” “Gremlins” and, for Heaven’s sake, “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.” (It should be noted here that Jason and I saw “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off” in the 1980s at the old Cinema and Pub in Ocala, where we strained to see the screen through the cigarette smoke. Different time.)
Deeper discussions surfaced that night — the state of entertainment today, teens, technology, tiny screens, the importance of the arts, the guts of good movies. We analyzed generational differences and bemoaned a lack of community among whippersnappers who prefer texting over visiting.
And in that, an answer surfaced.
Community.
“Why did we do that? Because we had a ritual of gathering,” Phyllis said.
A ritual of gathering. The movie did not really matter. Our presence mattered.
As for the power “Johnny” held — or, rather, holds — on us, that answer is not deep, either.
“It was just a movie we liked,” Jason said.
Indeed, the heart wants what the heart wants.
Yet this silly, throw-away film still had the power to reunite a community after 40 years. Weddings, illnesses, life changes, passings – none of those things brought all of us into the same room in that time.
Now, I’m hoping we will not miss those big moments in each other’s lives anymore.
When we – all in our mid-50s – realized it was after 10 p.m., everybody stood, stretched, yawned, divvied up the leftover booze and sandwiches and slowly made their way to the door. It had been too long, we agreed. Let’s not let another 40 years slip away again.
After all, I’ve missed those fargin bastages.
