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Nerding Day: Honda Presents A Very Special Supergirl 🌭

Meet the ultimate team-up: Honda, the Department of Transportation, and death. Supergirl watches.

Feels right. Still, I should check my guidelines.

Hot. We’re clear for liftoff. This propaganda is Supergirl’s best car content, short of chucking Fords at Superman for Darkseid/Luthor/kicks. Fast times—she’s usually calmer, only not at all. But you’ve met Supergirl.

Maybe propaganda sounds loaded for “wear this to live.” But it’s a neutral concept. A genre, really. Propaganda isn’t instantly wrong any more than satire’s instantly right. Sucking shit doesn’t make The Babylon Bee a cookbook. Today’s plea for spine preservation is elite propaganda.

These alien animals don’t respect our freedom. This screed shows what happens when you let the nanny-starship tell you how to die. I regret only having one skull to give blurry Instagram clips. If you’ll trade your rights for brain fluid, you deserve blimble florp funnel cake.

Counterpoint: Bizarro no need coward hat! Bizarro do mob heelflip and tag Thrasher! All public park moms clap for Bizarro!

But who cares what I think? The transportation secretary’s here with star power. Like her boss Reagan, Elizabeth cares about povvos dying on her watch:

Double the odds! Based on my bestselling Math Protocols, that’s six times less death. I’m convinced. Though I preferred Doomsday’s pitch:

That’s a recolored Hulk joke. Like Doomsday.

Kara’s day opens with a little apocalypse. An earthquake ravages the West Coast, and she has heat vision trickshots to try out:

It’s a fun sequence. I could fret about deep fried truckers, but I’m only a Level 3 unpleasable fuck. Advantage: Kara.

Still, her messiah act is no excuse for standing up Steve. Infrastructure implodes every day. Where will she find a new Steve? Also, this is Steve:

He’s just like you! You can date Supergirl, followed by whatever else happens to Steve. Maybe a love square with Donna Troy and Nightwing? Pick Nightwing. It’s not just the face, he tends to get through reboots intact. If nothing else, avoid lesser Green Lanterns. They die at X-Men rates with half the style.

With Super-Math, Kara finds Steve’s love is only worth a few dozen lives. Work comes first. I’ve been there, only work was Googling synonyms for “horror.” And then Googling replacements for Google. Bing was born dead, and Presearch is starting to piss me off.

Steve spirals. By sidekick standards, he’s been left at the altar.

Ellen’s his little sister. PSA world is half superheroes, half perfect children, and half drug dealers. No substance abuse in sight yet, so my Super-Math works out. Unlike Steve’s dreams.

Poor Steve. He thinks Supergirl’s out of his league instead of his species. A classic, enduring dilemma. You might remember Steve from American Honda Presents DC Comics’ Supergirl. Particularly his confidence:

The resolve of a hero. With nothing tying him down, Steve soars to his destiny.

Kara doesn’t know what she’s missing. Slates this blank turn into gods at least twice a year. Superman’s watched Pa Kent get powers more often than he’s peed in Luthor’s coffee from orbit. Steve’s one crossover event from the Throne of Light.

Of course, first he has to get to heaven.

Again: it looks bad, but this could be an origin. Most Static Shock episodes opened with incidents like this. The victims were robbing banks and pitching spin-offs by the first break.

The banks are safe today.

It’s a drunk driving PSA too! Two birds, one Corona. I dig that efficiency, though Honda won’t. We’ve killed a free sequel by aiming high, and marketers hate that shit. Brands prefer forty versions of one line, plastered across every subway in civilization.

He’s off to the Phantom Drunk Tank.

If I were a shadow wearing human skin, I’d laugh. I’m not. This is very sad. I’m frowning. I hate this tragedy, and wish it were different. Nothing’s funny about escalating to DUIs faster than a speeding bullet. My empathy’s more powerful than a locomotive. We’ve leapt dull pacing in a single bound.

At this point, PSAs have a choice. Ten pages of hugs and funeral planning, or blooming into insanity.

Comics are everything love promised.

But really, smart choice. I prefer Kryptonians to most people. But they’ve got intense baggage for a safety PSA: they’re all fucking invincible. It’s like Tony Stark telling me to drink carefully, pay taxes, and retire from film with dignity. Or to avoid enslaving supervillains for a national freak-hunt. What the fuck, Tony? Were the demo Sentinels red?

The chase above unfolds in Steve’s coma. Battle for Neptune seems to be Furiosa in snow shoes, which justifies itself. But there’s a reason: seatbelts.

Steve suffers survivor’s guilt:

Inaccurate survivor’s guilt. A good therapist will tell you that’s all survivor’s guilt. Nah. Some people earn their seat at Noir Happy Hour. The paid leave, less so.

Supergirl, broken by secondhand false grief, announces her retirement. She’s a teenage immortal, so it’s unclear how she’ll spend eternity. But without Steve, the good fight’s over.

So it goes.

Hopefully the chain reaction stops here. If Superman gives up because Supergirl gave up because Steve gave up, this’ll be history’s darkest DUI. Does LexCorp have a brewery?

Clark suggests an alternative.

I’m in.

No, really. I’ll always indulge the Fortress of Plot. There’s a whiff of metafiction to Superman hoarding unsorted cancer cures. Think of all the bullshit you accrue in one mortal year. I’ll go to hell with half my games unplayed, half my books unread, and all my nudes set free. Superman chucks Excalibur onto The Pile and promises to try pulling later.

That said, I came fully loaded to mock this plan. But I don’t have a better one. Kara’s 19 with a braindead boyfriend. Not joining a cult’s a win. We almost got a preview of her stint as Apokalips’ bouncer.

In fact, I’d point the alien armory at trifles. Why stand in line? Everyone between me and a blueberry bagel can hang with Zod. And everyone glaring when I add bacon cheddar cream cheese. Phantom Zone. With lox. Phantom Zone! You think I can’t feel your hate? You think I don’t know?! Phantom Zone for you ALL.

Media’s crazy. If this panel didn’t exist, I’d still assume the Inception Booth worked that way. It’s an unquestioned rule in my head. Don’t point guns at yourself, try not to die in the dream machine, and stay far away from your parents during time travel. Unless you want hemophilia.

Supergirl enters the cleanest teen psyche on Earth. Maybe that’s Steve’s appeal: it should be a horrorshow. Instead, he imagines life as a title character. A ronin of the wasteland. A hero of the people, with goggles no one laughs at.

A hero still holding the line against seatbelts. This might be art.

It’s art.

In Steve’s defense, this is essentially his afterlife. Imagine getting infotainment after a lifetime of theater toil. I’d be murderous, if I weren’t clearly in hell for t-boning an innocent drunk driver.

While the kids enter a torture loop, Clark supervises.

What the fucking what? Darkling get off your ass, stop the ten ongoing genocides, and then help Kara. At least Batman’s downtown when Robins explode. Superman would empathize from a lawn chair.

Honestly, this is where Evil Superman riffs fall short. Sure, there’s money in genocidal Superman, pervert Superman, or whatever Snyder tried. But consider TV binge Superman. Week-long lunch break Superman. “My train was late” Superman. A Kal-El knockoff whose adventures are League of Legends, a nap, DOTA 2 (he plays both, for peace), and posting “Luthor’s out of control,” on LexChat.

After all, isn’t your only real beef with Superman that he wasn’t there for you?

The torture-loop loads the next level, wherein Steve’s a whipless Indiana Jones. Whips resemble buckles, and Steve’s faith is strong. He can’t reach a higher plane if he’s tied to this one.

I’m torn. This scene has a sane, correct point. It’s also arguing against no one. The standard line against seat belts isn’t “the road is made of marshmallows.” It’s “fuck off.” This is the first PSA to need a dumber, ruder strawman. Steve should’ve been melted for saying “kiss my human ass” four too many times. But that’s a different PSA.

Scratch that. Forget the PSA we could read. We have Supergirl vs. Final Destination.

Where did the latest truck come from? Look inside. There’s a light untouched by hate, pain, or my usual tone. An unmarred seed of joy. That’s where Steve’s trucks come from. Santa might be driving.

Fighting death would be easier. DC death’s punchable, just faster than Mayweather. Instead, Kara’s trying to make her boyfriend smarter. That’s beyond Supergirl. Based on Milton, that’s beyond God.

The deathloop shifts to crime noir, a lane with more pastiches than entries. Meet detective Steve. He’s doing alright, if you ignore the dying.

It’s hard to read. Guilt’s eating him alive.

He trips over Chandler prose for a spell before returning to his muse: speeding. Steve never wakes up without a plan. Mornings are for hitting on aliens, and the rest is introducing cars to walls.

So far, Honda’s taught me to change for no one. Steve’s partying across hell. Or, I daresay, moron Valhalla. Pleas from his sister, space girlfriend, and dying brain bounce off him. He’s free. And like all free creatures, he gives it away on a whim.

Just in time for his afternoon death.

The collision’s for show/hilarity. Clipping the holy belt wakes Steve up. Forget all that shit about guilt, we’re all about adherence. Steve needed to get with the program. Kara, naturally, is relieved by her new Save/Death ratio.

Honda’s done, so I’ll fill in the denouement. Kara thanks God for saving Steve. While flattered, Superman admits Kara did all the work. All of it. With Steve’s one trait fully tamed, Kara dumps him for a flying centaur.

Take it or leave it. Either way, we never see Steve again. And Supergirl dies a year later.

Good times. Yet I don’t feel 100% safety-washed yet.

Guess that’s all. Fun recap, everyone. I hope you enjoyed the lighter mood: next week we’re sprinting beyond hell.

P-pretty strong. I have a thriving, intact shoulder.

Alright, I was wrong about Kryptonian PSAs. “Do you even lift planets?” is a golden public safety angle. Megalomania goes down smoother than pretending Supergirl fears anything that’s not green or bald. Sure, you might feel insulted. But does the Department of Transportation really give a shit? They’re just here to stop you from becoming roadkill.

My bad, Supergirl doesn’t think you’re a pussy. She thinks you’re a slow pussy.

This approach makes me grin like a balanced person. If anything, this section’s too soft. Lean in to Galadriel mocking hobbits. “Can you melt trucks? How many gods have you maimed? If we high-fived, would anything be left to bury?” It writes itself.

Deathloops are fun, but I really wanted you to know Supergirl thinks you’re a bitch. And cares. Wear a seatbelt, or watch your glass bones shatter.

DC’s taken on a few other causes over the years.

This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme:Alex Knollenberg, who never wraps the cord to the blinds around his neck since that very special issue of Spider-Man with Gwen Stacy.

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Nerding Day: PFC

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Nerding Day: The Slayer’s Guide to Female Gamers

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Nerding Day: The Complete Austin Powers for Gameboy Strategy Guide 🌭

Does Austin Powers make you horny, baby? Yeah, baby, yeah! Well, you better (oh) behave, because there’s now two incredible games based on the hit Austin Powers: International Man Of Mystery franchise. And, I know what you’re thinking, and yes, they are actually both parodies of Windows 95 (well, technically Windows 2000) for the Game Boy Color. It’s time to wake up, sweetheart, because the games of your dreams are here in real life. And those games are Austin Powers: Oh, Behave! and Austin Powers: Welcome To My Underground Lair!.

Developed by Rockstar games, the company behind the pretty-similar-in-quality Grand Theft Auto 5, Austin Powers: Oh, Behave! and Austin Powers: Welcome To My Underground Lair! are both packed with Easter eggs for fans of the series and/or Microsoft operating system history up to that point. If you’re a fan of either Mike Myers or Steve Ballmer, you’re going to find a lot to love here!

But “find” is the keyword! Without this guide, you might not see everything these games have to offer without spending minutes of time searching. True, a lot of the fun is discovering that you can access the same three or four features the same three or four confusingly different ways! But why not cut to the chase and have the time of your life with, one more time, Austin Powers: Oh, Behave! and Austin Powers: Welcome To My Underground Lair!

First up in the Austin Powers Windows 95 parody series is “Oh, Behave!” Although, technically, neither game is the “first” game. Think of the two Austin Powers Game Boy Color games as a bit like Pokémon, except there is barely any difference between versions and the only thing you can catch by owning them both is looks of pity from family and friends. Still, since this one is themed after the hero of the game, let’s go first!

Next up is Dr. Evil’s game, Austin Powers: Welcome To My Underground Lair! As you know, this is also a Windows 95 parody. We really liked Windows 95 at the time. There was a whole video with some of the cast of friends explaining why Windows 95 was so great. Although, I guess when this came out, Windows 2000 was already a thing. The two didn’t have a big difference as far as I remember, but I was a child. Okay, I have to write about the game now. I’m sorry to do this to you. Can I call you back later? Great. Love you, bye. Shit, I didn’t mean to say “love you.”

Anyway, this game starts like the other with the words and the booting and the jokes and the references and whatnot. I want to be critical, but there were actually one or two gags in there that I liked and that just made me feel bad about myself and the future ahead.

This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Nick Ralston, who has generous iFrames while shagging but is weak to Scottish impressions.

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Nerding Day: Batman Ninja

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Nerding Day: Star Crystal 🌭

In the 1980s, Alien ripoffs were a genre in their own right. The Italians, having honed their budget genre chops with westerns, cranked out flicks like Contamination and Alien 2: On Earth, the latter being an extremely unofficial sequel to Alien made before 20th Century Fox could register the trademark. The Japanese, protected by loose copyright law, created anime and games “inspired” by Alien like Lily C.A.T. and Contra. And plenty of Americans got in on the action, too, with, of course, Roger Corman, Charles Band, and Fred Olen Ray’s names figuring prominently.

Among these was Star Crystal, a film written and directed by a man named Lance Lindsay, whose IMDB page is as brief as that shot in Aliens that says that Lambert was a “Despin Convert at birth.” (Look it up.) Other than Star Crystal, he wrote a film called Real Bullets and appeared in Quiet Fire, a straight-to-video action movie from 1991 that was one of twenty-seven such pictures Robert Z’Dar appeared in during that year.

As best I can tell, Lance Lindsay got out of the movie business in the early ’90s, opened a shipping business in Colorado, and vanished, much like Robert Z’Dar’s pronounced jaw disappearing behind his handsome beard in Quiet Fire.

But let us not judge Lance Lindsay — and we must always refer to him by his full, alliterative, porn star-esque name — based on his dearth of artistic output. After all, Charles Laughton only directed one film and it was Night of the Hunter. Herk Harvey’s solo directorial effort was the classic Carnival of Souls. Meanwhile, Uwe Boll was allowed to direct over 20 different films and also roam the earth unmolested after the release of Alone in the Dark.

The universe is not a fair place and success frequently has no relationship whatsoever to talent. And hey, it’s bad luck to release your Alien ripoff the same year that Aliens came out. Maybe Star Crystal is a hidden gem. In space. Because it’s a star crystal. STAR CRYSTAL!

Alien opened with a journey into a surreal landscape filled with eerie architecture, a gigantic alien corpse, and a field of mysterious eggs which provide the inciting action of the film. Star Crystal runs with the egg idea but leaves everything else, instead going with the red action of the red planet. Mars is red, right? So red you can’t really see anything?

Alien took place in 2186. Anyone watching it when it was released would have been long dead by the time that date actually rolled around. Star Crystal, meanwhile, opts for 2032, a date that was only 46 years away when it came out. It’s like the movie is daring you to remember it exists fifty years later. And, well, I guess I’m the asshole here because 2032 isn’t that far off anymore and here I am, writing about Star Crystal.

Two astronauts find a rock on Mars that they bring back onto their ship with them. They talk about being the first people to play football on Mars ever, which clearly means a lot to them.

This is a great detail, because it sets up the bleakness of the cinematic world we’re entering into. These guys are so indebted to Star Crystal‘s equivalent of Weyland-Yutani that they can only find joy by goofing off during routine missions. They’ll tell their grandchildren that they were the first people to play football on Mars and, hold on — is that a futuristic Coca-Cola bottle?

It fucking is! Did Coca-Cola give them money for that shot or was this a freebie? Did Coke even know they were going to show up in Star Crystal? And what’s the deal with those bottles? Will people eight years from now drink soda out of violent shape accidents? This looks like a year 2032 Pepsi attack ad. “Stop drinking cola like you’re a fucking hamster glitching out of reality. Pepsi.”

There’s no time for the hijinks of these space jocks, though. An ’80s Italian space babe informs them the captain wants to speak to them immediately. I can’t wait to see how these characters are going to deal with the threat they’ve inadvertently brought aboard their spacecraft in the form of an apparently innocuous rock, which begins leaking semen as soon as they leave the room.

Again, Alien had an egg splitting open to disgorge a monster that grabbed onto someone’s face then eventually had a little guy burst out of his stomach. Star Crystal has an egg that starts dripping sperm and then plops out a glowing crystal and what looks like an alien abortion.

Not exactly a menacing start, but maybe it’ll grow into something horrific. I bet that Italian lady is going to be the final girl, and maybe she’ll get semi-naked like Ripley while fighting the horrible thing that pile of mucus grows into. It’s the ’80s, right?

Or, we could just have everyone we’ve met so far die off-screen because their ship’s oxygen supply shut down. That works too, I guess. See, Lance Lindsay is a crafty guy. He’ll zag on you. That crew we spend the first ten minutes of the movie with? They’re not our guys. They don’t even get names. They’re all dead, and two months later the shuttle is docking with a space station where a meeting is being held regarding the malfunction of the “nuetron reactors.”

Why bother briefly introducing a crew just to kill them off and make the rest of the movie have nothing to do with them? Maybe to create tension and mystery, or the sense that anyone could die at any time in this movie — just like in real life! But it’s already a fucking horror movie. We know that 90% of the named characters are going to be killed off by alien afterbirth.

So here’s my theory: Lance Lindsay was working backward from the conditions he needed later in the script. “Well, I have the crew stuck on a shuttlecraft making a long trip without enough supplies… but it doesn’t make sense that a short-range ship would be traveling such a long distance. So what if I have the first crew die, send the shuttle to dock with a space station where they’re going to discuss what happened, then have the space station explode and a handful of people escape aboard the shuttle!”

It’s convoluted nonsense and none of it was necessary. It’s not like we’re going to solve the mystery of what happened to the first crew — we know the alien turned the oxygen off and they died peacefully in their sleep. Sometimes, I wish an alien would do that to me. Whoa, that came out of nowhere.

So here’s our actual crew, the only five people who made it off the space station and onto the shuttle that still holds the eponymous star crystal and the alien sludge. We’ve got technician Roger “Rog” Campbell, stand-in captain by dint of being white, male, and present.

There’s “Cal”, his buddy who does not receive a last name and is not what we might today call “good representation.”

And then there are the womenfolk: Sherrie Stevens, your classic blonde space ditz:

Dr. Adrian Kimberly, your classic level-headed brunette space doctor:

And Lt. Billi Lynn, who looks like a cross between Liz Lemon and Carla from Cheers, spends all of her screen time acting like appearing in this movie was a huge favor for a not particularly close friend, and is implied to be a lesbian. She is my favorite character in Star Crystal and also the first to die.

The five of them have narrowly avoided exploding, but now they’re stuck on a short-haul spaceship without much food, and it’ll take them over a year to get to Earth. But hold on — this is the same shuttle that went from Mars to the space station in two months, right? We launched an unmanned spacecraft that did a flyby of Mars in 1964, which took about eight months to get there. Even if the exploded space station was on the other side of Mars from Earth, we should have been able to make that trip in less than a year twenty years before Star Crystal came out. This isn’t getting a prediction about the future cutely wrong, it’s plain old sloppy screenwriting, Lance Lindsay!

Regardless, being stranded in space is the least of this crew’s worries. They soon discover that their “captain” is an incompetent asshole who immediately begins tearing into the ship’s liquor supplies and telling everybody to take it easy despite the fact that they all just narrowly escaped death and likely lost a number of friends and family — or at least co-workers — in the station explosion. He’s even reprogrammed the ship’s computer to respond to his voice alone, which we learn when Cal tries to talk to it and it doesn’t answer.

“Racist,” Cal says. “No, she just has good taste,” Campbell replies. “Master, do you wish to continue our erotic Centurions roleplay Y/N?” Bernice the computer asks.

On top of Campbell’s hijinks, the crew is being stalked by an alien creature that’s pulsating wetly and killing them off one by one. The first to go, as I mentioned before, is Billi. That’s fine by her. She’s had enough of being in this movie anyway.

Her death, and those that come after, are all shot really vaguely. The alien’s M.O. seems to be:

1. Trip clumsy hu-man legs with tentacles.

2. ???

3. They’re dead now!

I guess it’s maybe like, squeezing all of their blood out, or something? Again, it’s all pretty vague. Lance Lindsay somehow discovered the secret space between “don’t show the monster” and “gory kills” where we see parts of the monster killing people but it’s not at all clear exactly how.

Sherrie is the next to go, immediately after Campbell and Cal tell her they’re not going to let anything happen to her, leaving off the part about how it’s because she’s the only female crew member who seems receptive to their advances, in that she isn’t actively hostile, only oblivious. Sherrie was just too dumb to live — she finds some mysterious goop and sticks her hand directly in it.

Even if there wasn’t a killer alien around, this is just bad workplace safety. You don’t know what that is, Sherrie! Why is your first instinct to reach out and grab a handful? Alas, after discovering Billi’s desiccated corpse, Sherrie suffers the same fate despite a heroic attempt to defend herself with a vial of acid.

They’re dropping like flies now. Cal runs off to try and save the already-melted Sherrie with the world’s most pathetic laser gun, and we all know how that’s going to go.

Actually, “runs” isn’t quite right. See, while the rooms on board the shuttle are sensibly human-sized, they’re all connected by tunnels that require getting down on your hands and knees to crawl through.

You can see the thought process at work here: Lance Lindsay saw the part of Alien where Dallas is wriggling around in the air ducts and thought, hey, that’s pretty neat, but what if we made the whole ship out of air ducts? STAR CRYSTAL!

And while we’re doing things from Alien but more, let’s have Campbell and Adrian watch the whole scene on a version of the motion tracker from Alien that seems to be built into the ship’s computer for some reason.

If nothing else, this sets Campbell up for the incredible line “that’s not Cal’s dot” when the alien kills him.

And then there were two. We finally get a look at the alien here and it’s utterly disgusting, but not how you’re picturing. No, it looks like you cracked an egg open and there was a glistening, half-developed baby chicken inside.

In an effort to learn more about the monster, Campbell and Adrienne find and review the old crew’s recordings. They’re awestruck by their findings — that a couple of months ago, two men played football on Mars.

You didn’t think that was coming back, did you?

The alien tries to kill them some more by cutting off the oxygen, they turn it back on. They’re hailed by another ship, the alien prevents them from responding. They run into a meteor storm, and the alien throws up a force field around the ship to protect itself. Campbell comes across the blackened skull of his dead friend Cal and later does an overly long bit about being related to the Campbells of Campbell’s Soup.

But wait a second, Cal wasn’t burned to death! Why is his skull black? Oh no, did Lance Lindsay believe that black people also have black bones? It doesn’t matter, Campbell — just leave his corpse in the tube where you found it.

Thus far, Star Crystal has merely been an incompetently made science fiction movie with bad acting and middling special effects for the time. That would have been enough for some cheap laughs, but surely not for this level of scrutiny. It’s a shitty Alien ripoff from the ’80s — what do you expect, right? But here, Lance Lindsay’s script makes a hard turn off the highway of predictable sci-fi horror, swerving across three lanes of traffic to take the exit marked “insane twist ending.”

The alien uses its magic crystal to review the ship’s archives. It pulls up files labeled “Evolution of Human Race Parts 1-20.” So this shuttle is slower than the spacecraft we had at the time Star Crystal came out, but it at least has a full download of Wikipedia in case anyone gets bored on those long trips to and from Mars.

What does the alien glean from these files? It zeroes in on “Mid-East,” “Religion,” and then “Christianity.” Notice something strange about the list of major human religions in the Middle East there?

No, not the fact that they spelled it “Judisum” or “Buddism,” forgivable errors in the late ’80s where it would have taken a team of computer programmers several days to correct the issue. I’m talking about the total absence of Islam. Sorry, Muslims, you’re lumped into “Others” along with Scientology, Thee Temple ov Psychick Youth, and Nuwaubianism.

What happens next is so staggeringly stupid that I’m impressed by Lance Lindsay’s audacity. It’s the cinematic equivalent of a serial killer sitting in an interrogation room, wearing his most recent victim’s skin and telling the cops that he couldn’t have done it because he was doing an unrelated murder at the time. Lance Lindsay has the alien read the Bible and learn about loving your enemies while it pulsates wetly, this time in a Christ-respecting manner.

 

Gosh, it’s lucky it hit on those particular verses! Not to get all euphoric atheist on you, but even in the New Testament (the ship doesn’t seem to carry the OT) there’s a lot of weird stuff. How about Galatians 5:12, “Would that those who are upsetting you might also castrate themselves!” That would be a hell of a thing for a telekinetic goop monster to read out of context.

Meanwhile, Campbell is crawling towards the engine room with Baby’s First Flamethrower. Alien had a flamethrower, so Star Crystal is duty bound by the law of movie ripoffs to have one as well, even if they could only afford one that looks like a piece of dental equipment.

To recap, things this ship has: flamethrower, dot-based movement tracker, entire history of human civilization. Things this ship doesn’t have: security cameras, human-sized corridors. It’s almost like the whole thing was built by an incompetent designer to get the crew killed off by a space monster and then allow said space monster to learn about humanity’s beliefs and history!

Campbell makes it to the engine room and sees the alien for the first time. The acting up to this point has more or less been what you’d expect from a cast best known for a movie called Star Crystal, but I think this is the perfect expression for encountering a melting, inside-out E.T.

The alien, whose name is inexplicably “GAR” moves and speaks like its existence is agony. Imagine encountering this thing, this rotten bird fetus of an alien, and knowing that it was what killed your friends. If GAR was what got you, you’d be looking down from heaven thinking, “I hope they tell my family and friends I was killed by a threateningly phallic insectoid monster designed by a Swiss maniac.” Then you’d have to ask God if all or indeed any GARs go to Heaven.

GAR needs the ship to go back to his home planet. Campbell demands to know if it’s going to kill him and Adrian like it killed the rest of the crew. In a masterful display of “no u,” GAR tells them that they would have done the same in its position. “You try to kill anything that is unfamiliar… like you, I was afraid,” GAR says. “Fuck off,” I say. “BACKSTAB SURPRISE!” Adrian says.

GAR defuses the situation with its mind powers. It gives a big speech about how it didn’t know what killing was until its magic crystal computer accessed the ship’s files on the subject. It’s been acting in self-defense the whole time! Humanity is the real monster!

Only, hold on. Sure, Sherrie threw acid at it, Cal tried to shoot it, and Billi kind of hit it with a wrench or something, but it also blew up that entire space station. This is the Bush doctrine of first contact. But like nominally liberal pundits in the wake of 9/11, Campbell and Adrian immediately accept GAR’s logic.

What’s more, GAR has cucked Campbell in his relationship with the computer Bernice. The movie’s made a point thus far of repeating that Bernice only responds to Campbell’s voice, but now it’s answering to GAR. Adrian, too, makes nice with the glowing freak with extreme negative canthal tilt far quicker than she did with Campbell, immediately disproving incel bone law. “I feel that I can trust you,” she says to the mutant sludge creature who brutally murdered three of her crew mates in the very recent past.

The remaining cast then skips straight past uneasy alliance to BFF status. Campbell asks GAR if it is ever afraid, and GAR, whose voice is becoming more like an impression of Frank Oz as dying Yoda in Return of the Jedi by the second, responds, “yes, but the crystal helps me understand.” Coincidentally, I once had a conversation just like this with someone smoking meth at a party in a vacant Brooklyn apartment.

We have left the sci-fi horror movie called Star Crystal behind. Lance Lindsay is now directing the pilot for Star Crystal, a sitcom starring an odd couple and their friend, a wacky space alien who learned about the concept of violent death from humanity. We get a full-on montage with uplifting music and scenes like “Campbell, Adrian, and GAR have a little space picnic together.”

And who could forget “Campbell looks for a wrench and GAR levitates it to him with his powers, then Campbell gives him a look like ‘GAR, you rascal!'”

The sequence culminates in GAR and Campbell playing what could be Go or is possibly some kind of space version of Go. GAR starts to make a move and Campbell protests that he hasn’t placed his piece yet. Gar responds that he released his hand, and Campbell argues that he didn’t.

They probably haven’t even jettisoned the carcasses of their fellow space station explosion survivors into space and their relationship with the space monster that killed them as well as everyone aboard said station has become that of a long-time married couple. “Why is he such a jerk,” GAR asks. Adrian laughs. The souls of hundreds or thousands of pointlessly-exploded space station crew members look on in disbelief.

And then Star Crystal just kind of ends. You weren’t expecting this to go anywhere after that twist, were you? GAR leaves on another ship to go back to his home planet, telling Campbell and Adrian “I value your friendship more than you know.” Roll the haunting Star Crystal theme over the credits, sung by the first, but not the iconic, voice actor of Daphne from Scooby-Doo, and let’s get the fuck out of here.

Alright Lance Lindsay, you won me back with Don Weed. Hold on, filmed entirely where?

Fuck you, pal. I’m glad Lawrence Hilton-Jacobs exploded you in Quiet Fire.

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