Moron-athon Video Party

I, Eric Bass, love watching hooligan videos and I'm not afraid to admit it. There -- my political career is over, to hell with it. Then again, dressing up in day-glo spandex and a pink boa while rolling around a wrasslin' ring with sweaty, half-naked men on TV every week for twenty-odd years didn't stop Jesse Ventura from becoming Governor of Minnesota, so maybe my hat could still find its way into the gubernatorial ring someday. But within moto-cognoscenti circles, those who profess affection for stunt vids are looked upon with the kind of disdain typically reserved for a child-molesting priest. Unfortunately we don't have a tax-exempt, non-profit, Church of Hooliganism to shell out millions of "non-profited from" dollars to make people go away and leave us alone, so we're stuck defending ourselves.

So why, you might ask, would a 36 year old man with degrees in Psychology and Philosophy from George Washington University and a membership in MENSA squander his expensively educated and not insubstantial grey matter on the glorification of misogynist moto-pornography that simultaneously exploits and exalts pimple faced tyros with more balls than brains doing things that are illegal in all 50 states (and Puerto Rico) and stand a high likelihood of getting somebody maimed, killed or worse? Well, I suppose I might be overstating the case somewhat -- this stuff is probably legal in Puerto Rico. But I'm not trying to dodge the question here, and I'm going to give you a straight answer.

Granted, most of us have the good sense to suppress it (are you listening Kobe?) but for some reason we afford ourselves the moral loophole of watching others indulge themselves as a surrogate release of sorts. Hence all the sax and violins on TV, and the preponderance of saloon-style doors gracing the backrooms of video stores. So come down off that high horse ye who would be pompous pooh-poohers of the cinema verite that is the hooligan vid. Take off your codpiece and stay awhile. You know you love it. Find yourself a cozy spot on the divan and join me as I sautee my wetware in four non-stop hours of titillating moto-delinquency-- but before you do, can you make a munchy run to the kitchen and bring me some Sparks and pork rinds? Thanks Chauncey, you're a Bro'!

Tunes: Standard issue neo-metal such as Rob Zombie, Lords of Acid, and Saliva. Some goof-punk from Butthole Surfers and Dead Kennedys. As Ashley would say, if you like angry music, it has really good angry music -- if you like angry music. Score: 5

Production Values: Very high production values with lots of helmet cams, helicopter shots, MTV-style editing, and exotic locales. Bonus features such as cutting room floor clips and director's comments running over the length of the film. Sort of like hanging out with the film makers in the screening room, which is kinda neat even if they are moronic film makers. There was obviously more capital involved in this project than just what the featured stunters could steal from their Momma's purse. CD8 delivers the secret sauce on the hooligan tamale. Score: 8

Comic Relief: Goofiness aplenty a la Jackass. Juvenile delinquents acting stupid without seeming to have to act. The Dalai Lama and Elvis rob a casino. Dirtbike sheep herding. Mini-bike mayhem. The one comedy classic moment comes when this fool face plants after trying to abort a dirt jump. His PO'ed wife then shows up at the hospital, gets a peep at his chewed up face, and demands to know why he wasn't wearing a helmet, to which his buddy half-assedly covers for him by remarking that he had, "taken it off briefly to be cleaned". Score: 8

Carnage: Lots of aborted landings and some that should have been. The brief streetbike section features a poor knucklehead that loses it while wheelieing down a car-infested freeway and throws a high-side with a half-twist that musta scared the bejeezus out of the cagers all around him. Overall though, nothing too cringe-worthy. Score: 6

Stunts: All the MotoX Freestyle you can choke down, both in contests and out in the desert and other scenic locales. A nice mix of other vehicles as well, but for the most part nothing you haven't seen. I dug it, but I already knew the name of every move I saw. Score: 6

Summary: A hooligan video in the broadest sense, CD8 isn't limited to motorcycle mayhem. Guest appearances are made by snowmobiles, four wheeler baja badness, land launching jet skis, even a highsiding golf cart. But the focus is on Freestyle MotoX and the kamikazes that pilot their dirtbikes on suicide missions for our vicarious pleasure. A sense of fun and frolic pervades the film and there is no real hard-ass bravado to be found. Unfortunately the "Holy Crap, you gotta rewind that!" factor is sorely missing and despite recently winning an award at the X-Dance Film Festival, CD8 just comes off as a little too PG for my bitter and jaded sensibilities. Not bad as a Xmas stocking stuffer for your 8-18 year old. Add a point if you're looking for a Jackass style, feel-good, party video. Deduct a point if you're all about ultra-carnage or blow-your-mind level stunting. Score: 7

11:15 PM: "Underground Riders Volume 1" takes the stage as the New Jersey naughty boys bring a change of attitude to a more urban hip-hop flavor. I'm an East Coaster by birth, and so I'm curious to see what's happenin' back home on the mean streets. The DVD spins, the beats start bopping, Chauncey tries to escape but I've hidden his codpiece and won't let him have it back until the fat lady sings. "Make yourself useful and see if Dominoes still delivers, ya' prissy foo!".

Tunes: Rap and Hip-Hop from anonymous hoodlums. A bonus point for having their own rap theme songs about stunting. I wish I had a theme song written about me. Then I could get a Goldwing and pump it through the speakers while I do stoppies for the adoring middle-American housewives at the Honda Hoot. Wubbida, wubbida, wubbida! Score: 4

Babes: A ghetto-liscious booty shaking contest that had great potential if the booties in question weren't twice the size of mine. Granted there are those that worship at the alter of the double bubble so I'll leave it to y'all to decide if that's the flava ya sava, but it was making me burp pork rinds. Score: 2