The Lost Boys Part 2: The Running Diary w/ Stizzle

Stizzle & Mike Apathy sitting down to watch The Lost Boys


It finally happened. We finally did it. Stizzle and I actually sat down together over the weekend, at his place, and watched The Lost Boys. See folks, I do follow through on promises…like any other red-blooded American, I procrastinate from time to time, and sometimes it just takes me a while to get on top of things (well…that is…everything but my wife! ZING!!!!), but we did it. How long did it take me to finally clean out the garage? How long did it take me to finally take out the trash last week? How long did it take me to finally fill my diabetic kid-brother’s* insulin prescription? None of your fucking business, that’s how long.

*I’m actually an only-child…it’s pretty obvious actually…and while I’m running off topic here, a funny thing happened over the weekend. The Chief Domestic Officer and I went to the Orange County Fair on Sunday afternoon. I suck at basketball by the way…that replica Kobe jersey would’ve looked sexy as all hell on my wife with her wearing nothing else but it. But I digress… It turns out that it was her intention, the whole time, to go see the Gypsy palm-reader/fortune-teller/Pikey scam-artist and get insight into her (our) future. After explaining to her for 10 minutes what a grift the whole thing is (to no avail), we stroll up to their booth. Within seconds, and smelling of cabbage and desperation, the head-Gypsy takes her away to her table.

While I’m waiting there like an idiot, another Gypsy comes up to me and says, “How would you like a $10 personality assessment?”

I told her, “No…that’s cool…I already know I’m an asshole.”

As she proceeds to give me a dirty look, I tell her, “And you know what else? I know for a FACT that you phoneys aren’t psychic at all.”

She replies, “Oh yeah, well what makes you say that?”

I look her straight in the eye, and with the most serious look I can muster, I tell her, “The other Gypsy, the one with my wife…she took my check. HA!”

If she had looked more like this, I would have gladly showed her my crystal balls, but in reality, she looked more like that old hag from "Drag Me To Hell." Lamia be damned.

So now that that’s out-of-the-way, let’s get down to brass tacks. Click here to read the original piece I wrote about the Lost Boys, and my idea for this project in case you missed it the first time around.

Long story short, I had originally wondered if it would be possible for someone my age who had never seen the Lost Boys during their youth, to watch it now, in 2011, with the same untainted innocence that I did when I was a kid in 1987. I have what I assume will be some SHOCKING news for you (that was sarcasm):

The short answer, is not so much. Not so much at all actually. Stizzle’s overall reaction was kind of like this:

Bill Simmons ( style, here is the running diary of Stizzle’s reactions to The Lost Boys. I’ll preface this by letting you all know that his home entertainment set-up is fantastic. 50 inch plasma TV, surround sound, cozy couches, you get the idea. Since I don’t have the whole movie available here for you in an embedded media format, we’ll go by the time that I checked on my wrist-watch, while watching. The movie is roughly an hour and a half long and we started it at approximately 4:17pm.

4:17 – Opening scenes on the boardwalk: Stizzle says, “Is that fucking Keiffer Southerland? And that other guy…wasn’t he in Encino Man?” (yes Stizzle, that is Keiffer Southerland…well-played buddy)

4:20 – The first kill: “So Keiffer Southerland, or Encino Man, just flew down and pulled that security guard out of his car, while he was still holding onto the door handle for dear life, and ripping it completely off? Is that vampire strength, or security guard strength? This movie is about vampires, right?”

4:22 – Stizzle’s basic first impression during the intro montage: “Dude I want to move to Santa Carla, it looks badass. Looks very diverse, interracial…fashionable people.” (cool…cool…)

4:24 – The main family rolls up to Grandpa’s house: “Dope house.” (we get inside, the crew starts moving in, we really see the place) “Nevermind.”

4:22 – You guys were waiting for it…I was waiting for it…Greased-Up Saxaphone Guy on the Boardwalk scene: “HAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!! HO-LEE-SHIT!!!! Is that guy a pro-wrestler?! This had better be a precursor to tits, because if it’s not, I sure as hell don’t know what would be (huh???). Dude, that’s Shawn Michaels…I swear to you, that’s totally the Heartbreak Kid. Is Undertaker going to appear from under the stage, with a steel chair, and hit him over the back? Look, now he’s riding the pony! How do you even explain this shit?! And what’s with the fucking saxophone by the way?? They should’ve given him something more manly…like a trombone or a French horn.” (this last line absolutely had me in stitches…can you imagine that dude gyrating on stage with a French horn? classic.)

4:30 – A realization on the “Guy From Encino Man’s” identity: “I got it! That’s Bill S. Preston Esquire! Wild Stallions baby (I’m not actually sure if this actor was in Encino Man, by the way…). Hey, the main kid’s Corey Haim right? He kind of looks like Red Sonja in this movie.”

4:35 – On Haim’s wardrobe: “Wow…great shirt. I think your mom used to have a shirt like that, Mike.” (thanks Stizzle)

4:39 – Stizzle predicts that Jason Patrick’s character, Michael, will become a vampire. (how astute of him)

4:46 – Haim’s settling into his room, reading comics: “You gotta be kidding me. This kid has a half-naked poster of either Rob Lowe or Uncle Jesse on his wall.” (pretty sure it was Rob Lowe)

4:59 – We get a breakthrough into his true feelings: “Mike, this movie is fucking horrible. I can honestly say that I really don’t like this at all. I mean look…Corey Haim, or whatever his name is supposed to be in this movie, is taking a bubble-bath. First off, he’s way too old to be taking bubble-baths. Second of all, he’s singing into a bottle of shampoo like it’s a microphone and he’s one of the Supremes. That poster of Uncle Jesse (Rob Lowe) in his room is starting to make a ton of sense. His dog looks pretty sweet, though.”

5:04 – Michael, while in his early transition into Nosferatu, starts levitating in his bed: “There is no Dana, only Zoul.” (this, too, had me in stitches)

Dude, Sigourney Weaver in Zoul mode was straight up hot. I's be her keymaster any day, right Fellas?

Okay, so here’s what happened next. Please forgive me for what I am about to tell you.

With about 50 minutes left in the movie, we got bored, said forget it and turned it off. If the loyal readers of the Hamstring might recall, I had theorized in the last article that is was possible I could get turned off on this movie by engaging in this project. I’m not saying that I dislike The Lost Boys now, or that it’s impact in my life is somehow now null and void. But I can say, however, that it has NOT aged well. AT ALL. In the back of my mind I kind of knew it was going to turn out like this. People are just too cynical these days, and Stizzle and I are apparently no different. I realized, during this little exercise, that the 80’s were just more optimistic and naive. This movie would never work if released today. I’ve mentioned this before, but irony and self-awareness were definitely not in play back then…at least not in the sense that it is now in 2011. Keiffer Southerland, Bill S. Preston Esq. and their band of Ratt/Motley Crue/Dokken looking vampire bikers took themselves completely seriously (actually considering when this movie came out, in a certain context, they weren’t that different from Twilight’s Emo-Edward), as did Shawn Michaels with his cod-piece and his saxophone.

Another thing that bothered me about this movie…Jason Patric’s character, Michael…why in the hell was he so enamoured with this “Star” chick in the first place? I mean she’s a 7 tops, amirite?

I mean....she's okay?

What was so alluring about her? Sure, she was do-able, but she’s no Mila Kunis in a handbra. Was she amazing enough to justify racing motorcycles through the fog, hanging off of and jumping off of bridges, eating strange Chinese food (“You’re eating Maggot’s Michael…How are your worms Michael?”) and dealing with what could have only been assumed her half-retarded son from a previous relationship?

Kids are shitty enough, but look at this little turd.

After thoroughly enjoying Stizzle’s fresh take on this film I came to the conclusion that this movie can still be appreciated…albeit in a different context. From now on I’ll watch it like I would “The Room”, “Howard the Duck” or “Plan 9 From Outer Space.” It can only be consumed through the filtered irony of a Pabst Blue Ribbon swilling hipster.

What a bummer. Now excuse me while I ride my fixed-gear to Urban Outfitters to buy the limited pressing of Animal Collective’s new vinyl.

For Stizzle, Tyler, Uncle Jesse and the Greased-Up Sax Guy,

This is Mike Apathy signing off.