Let’s be honest about one thing right now. For the past two or three months, I’ve done pretty much nothing but watch political coverage and I’ve generally talked or thought about precious little besides Barack Obama. Now that this has all come to fruition, I literally don’t know what to do with myself.
I haven’t seen many new movies in the last two months (save for Saw 5, obviously, because as long as they keep making those shitshows, I will keep seeing them) and my Netflix queue is probably starting to feel a bit scared that they will never make it off the list and into my living room. I’d run out of my favorite tea weeks ago, but for reasons no longer clear to me, I could never make it to the tea shop at State and Division, most likely because I had to get home for Maddow. I was a woman consumed.
But now that it’s setting in, now that the Great Facebook Status War of 2008 has pretty much subsided, I’ve been able to look around at the three sad flaccid red and white Netflix envelopes that haven’t moved since September, at the empty tea pouches still sitting in my cupboard and at the hardwood floor that’s only received two sweeps with the Swiffer vacuum in the last month (and if you know me at all, you know that this is a worrying and terrifying fact). And I am proud to say, I am a woman reborn. As Barack Obama said “yes we can” and won his place in history, I shall say “yes I can” and leave my apartment for more than just spinach, vegan chili and Mint Milanos, which I’ve been living on for two months now and have actually gained weight (ten pounds of hope if you ask me). I’m going out in the world. I’m going to Anthropologie and buying myself a ridiculously expensive cardigan, I’m going to get a haircut and most importantly, I’m getting a new mission in life. And that mission, is Rick Moranis.
This past weekend, I watched Ghostbusters. I discovered a common phenomenon, surrounding this film and films like it; when a movie is so classic and so beloved and just regarded as one of your favorite movies of all time, then suddenly you realize you haven’t actually seen it in ten years. I personally hadn’t watched all of Ghostbusters in one sitting since my freshman year of high school (though, thanks to Comedy Central, I’ve watched its sequel maybe a hundred times). My friends and I followed it up with Spaceballs, a film which not unlike BASEketball, I can’t decide if I love it because of or in spite of how dumb it is. And in both of those viewings, one thing became incredibly apparent: Rick Moranis is a GOD (and I bet if Gozer asked him, he’d say YES, Ray).
The oeuvre of one Mr. Rick Moranis is, to put it rather esoterically, a magical romp through sunshine and lilies. Getting his start in SCTV and its recurring character spinoff movie Strange Brew, Moranis established himself, as critics have called him, one funny fucking Canuck, eh. He followed that up with a number of flicks, including those which so owned my childhood, the aforementioned Ghostbusters and Spaceballs and Little Shop of Horrors. I blame Little Shop for my longstanding geek fetish, which in a nice ironic turn stirs up jealousy and rage in my former frat boy football player boyfriend (score one in the geek column). These list of winners all culminated in the champion of my youth, the greatest sciencey-type film of all time, Honey, I Shrunk the Kids.
Oh that movie had everything. It had built-in future theme park potential (and mom and dad, I am still bitter that I never got to go), it had a nice teen love story, it had parent-child dynamics, it had possible divorce, which, not unlike the abortion plotline in Dirty Dancing, totally went right the hell over my head as a child, it had children nearly getting mutilated by a lawnmower, it had a sad ant death, EVERYTHING. It also had the sister’s really hot scrunched-socks-pulled-up-over-the-pants look that I rocked for years.
It also had a sequel, the sequel starred Keri Russell, she played Felicity, and last night I had a really graphic childbirth dream wherein I named the child Felicity. COINCIDENCE? I think not.
Rick Moranis has all but retired, following the death of his wife. Also, he has stated that he feels he has simply made enough money and doesn’t need to act anymore (if only half of Hollywood would follow suit). This is noble and all, and lord knows I’d love to have made enough money where I can just say “yeah, over it, I’m just going to hang out and ice fish” (and preferably I’d like to do this by 30). And I respect a man who gives it all up to be a full-time dad to his kids, occasionally writing an op-ed for NYT here and there. But Rick, buddy, we need you. The Ghostbusters videogame needs you. I’m pretty sure Zuul probably still needs you.
So people, it’s time to make this happen. Our previous efforts put Steve Guttenberg back in the public consciousness. If we can do that, we can do anything.
God bless us, everyone.
Courtney Enlow is a writer living in Chicago and working as a corporate shill to pay the bills. You can contact her at firstname.lastname@example.org.