It struck me one day. Like a shot of tiger blood with an Adonis DNA chaser. “I must watch Congo.” I couldn’t explain it. It just hit me. Not just hit me; this gut reaction wrapped a flaming chain around it’s lead fist, dipped it in glass and punched the shit out of me. I was almost sick from NOT watching Congo. I knew that if I didn’t remedy the problem quickly, it would infect my daily life. Soon, obtaining this piece of 90’s cinematic detritus would become an all-consuming flame.
Allow me to backtrack: I saw Congo during it’s initial theatrical release. Twice. Willingly. I LOVED it. This was 1995, and as a not-yet-pop-culture-infused 13 year old, this flick had everything: talking gorillas, killer hippos and lasers chopping killer apes to bits. It was breakfast cereal: everything a growing boy needs. Plus: Winston Zeddemore as Brit.
Years passed, and every now and then, we’d dig up the corpse of Congo for easy mockery. Then, one day, it was gone. You couldn’t find it in video stores, at retail establishments, anywhere. Once VHS was autoerotically strangled by DVD, Congo ceased to exist. They say you don’t know what you got till it’s gone. Well, Congo was gone and I didn’t give a shit.
Until last year.
I cannot pretend to remember the exact moment the hunger began. I don’t even know what brought it up. I think it stemmed from my sister and I watching dungtastic movies at the time, and laughing about how we needed to watch Congo. Ha ha. Big laugh. "Remember how bad it was!?" Big joke! That is, until the joke was on me, and the aforementioned shit punching occurred. I started simple: checked my local big boxes (Best Buy, Target, gulp...Wal Mart) and every Blockbuster in the immediate area. All two of them. No luck. I even tried F.Y.E., who, despite severe overpricing, was known to have weird and/or out of print DVD’s for sale. Nada. I checked used CD stores and pawn shops. Garage sales. I even went to a succession of dollar stores, hoping to snag at least a VHS copy. Nothing.
My wife tried to convince me to just order it online, where it was readily available. But the hunt was part of my Congo lust. It was all for naught. I was just as exhausted as the supply of Congo DVD’s. Then, one night, on a whim, I searched Blockbusters outside of my normal radius, and lo, a great light shined upon me. Congo was available to rent, and only 20 miles away. It was 11 PM and I didn’t care. I had to Congo, and Congo I did. I paid $5.99 to erase a month of searing, shaking, uncontrollable Congo withdrawal. Upon viewing, it was like smoking a cigarette after quitting for a week. It made me light headed, a little unsteady, and greatly euphoric.
The next day, my local Target was selling it for five bucks. I bought it. In total, in my life, I estimate spending around $100 dollars in pursuit of Congo, including: movie tickets, rentals, gas, and finally purchase. But why do I love it so? Well, for starters, nobody calls Tim Curry a bag of shit like Delroy Lindo. It’s only one scene, and it has so little to do with the rest of the film, but Lindo tears it up. He’s a beast. He showed up fifteen minutes before filming, covered the entire set in bechamel sauce, dehydrated it into set jerky and chewed the shit out of it. Don’t believe me?
That’s some tasty ass set.
Now, look at the cast: Bruce Campbell, Joey Pants, Joe Don Baker. It’s a roster of cult awesomeness. Look deeper: Dylan Walsh, Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje, John Hawkes. All future TV stars. On to the next layer of the delicious CongoCake: Laura Linney and Grant Heslov are both Oscar nominees. Ernie Hudson was a Ghostbuster dammit! Plus, the previously mentioned Delroy “Sesame Cake” Lindo and Tim “Bag of Shit” Curry. It’s filled to the brim with ringers, and yet, it’s a pretty terrible film. And further yet, I love it unconditionally. It appeals to the 13 year old inside of me, which is not nearly as disgusting as it sounds. Sometimes a poorly adapted, slowly paced, not-particularly-filled-with-action action movie is exctly what you need.
Now please stop eating my sesame cake, lest I call you a bag of shit.
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