Not So Flash

So Dave-O has been dying to see Flash Gordon. For years, it was nearly impossible to find a copy of the 1980 version of the film unless you imported through Brazil. (Why Brazil? I have no idea.) A few months ago, Flash Gordon became available through Netflix. It's been steadily climbing up our queue since then. It finally made its way to our house two weeks ago. We watched it on Thursday night...and...yeah.

Can you say super campy? Seriously, folks. I guffawed through the entire film. My sides still ache. Melodramatic acting. Shat lines. Special effects a third grader could cook up with a roll of duct tape, a flash light, and some colored transparency sheets. A plot without a plot. The costumes were spiffy. I can give it that much praise.

Dave was really disappointed. Our conversation went something like this:

Dave: I'm so disillusioned. I know this movie was better.
Me: Dude, you were, like, seven when this film came out. Everything is cooler when you're seven.
Dave: God, did it really come out that long ago?
Me: Dave, this movie is so old my parents hadn't even been introduced yet! Technically, I was two haploid cells chilling out in two different states separated by thousands of miles, just waiting for my chance at the baby dance.
Dave: (After a long pause.) That's just wrong.
Me: It's not my fault you're--
Dave: Old. Yes. I know.

Then the last few lines of the movie's end credits rolled by and, as luck would have it, twisted the "Damn, You're Old!" knife a little deeper in Dave-O's belly. What were those lines, you ask?

Soundtrack Now Available on Record and Tapes.

Me: Dave, AND TAPES!!! (And then I fell off the couch laughing.)
Dave: I hate you. Really. I do.

He doesn't. We're so desperately, madly, foolishly in love with one another it's quite sickening. Or so I'm told from outside sources...