By complete serendipity I revisited Heathers on the same weekend I saw Bobcat Goldthwait’s latest film: World’s Greatest Dad. It was downright eerie, because while watching the latter I couldn’t help but wonder if Goldthwait had purposefully set out to make a film that followed the Heathers mold. Both are dark comedies that use high school as a backdrop for story threads involving mean kids who die and become martyrs. Both films also fall into that strange wormhole where art mirrors an aspect of reality but then gets trumped by headlines that strip the art of its seeming innocuousness.

Heathers, pre-Columbine, was a cult-favorite and a harmless lark. Heathers, post-Columbine, now has a completely different edge to it; killing jocks and blowing up the school is no longer a totally outlandish Alice Cooper-like fantasy, but rather the coin of the realm. Similarly, World’s Greatest Dad pivots around a tragic death involving auto-erotic asphyxiation. Goldthwait’s film had its festival premiere on April 25th, 2009 and before it could enjoy a theatrical run, about a month later on June 5th, David Carridine made headlines when he was found dead in Thailand in what was later determined to be a botched attempt at auto-erotic asphyxiation. Suddenly, Goldthwait’s surprisingly affecting movie starring Robin Williams, who delivers a subdued and moving performance, gets scuttled with a very limited release around the end of August, only to lay dormant until making its DVD debut this month.

I was a huge fan of Heathers when it came out. I programmed it several times as part of the campus film series I ran at the time and it always got huge crowds. Revisiting it some 20-years-later I am surprised to find it very dated. Don’t get me wrong; it still has a quirky pep and engaging zaniness that’s fun and entertaining, not to mention being chock-full of wickedly funny quotables. What I think happened is that my nostalgic sense of it had placed its accomplishments on a rather high pedestal, and those expectations weren’t matched when seen with fresh eyes. Also, I hate to admit this, but — whoa! — all those 80′s colors, shoulder-pads, and hair-styles brought back a flood of cringe-inducing memories. I cannot say that “there but for the grace of God go I.” I can’t say that because there was no grace and there, in that sorry spectacle of various fashion disasters, I wasn’t just privy to it, I was front-and-center. I wish I could say there was no evidence of said times, but incriminating photos in several thousand high school yearbooks dispersed now across the land are out there somewhere and ensuring I never run for public office.

Speaking of the 80′s, that’s precisely when Bobcat Goldthwait first entered public consciousness with his high-pitched and grating comedic spiel, not to mention those unfortunate Police Academy films that at least paid the bills. Then came his directorial debut; the self-advertised “Citizen Kane of Alcoholic Clown Movies”: Shakes the Clown (1991), and I suddenly found myself staring at this man with a newfound appreciation. A veritable “who’s-who” of comedy, it included, to name just a few, Julie Brown, Adam Sandler, Tom Kenny, and Robin Williams (those last two being brought back for World’s Greatest Dad). I still have to laugh every time I think of the first time we see Shakes bring his car to a screeching halt to go beat-up a bunch of mimes with a war-cry of: “You silent motherf-ckers!” Unfortunately, I can’t find that scene on YouTube, but did come across this other memorably mime-tastic moment (skip the first 26 seconds someone else tacked on by way of intro, if you can). It features Robin Williams (listed in credits as Marty Fromage) as a mime class instructor:

Spoilers ahead:

Goldthwait, Kenny, and Williams clearly have fun going over-the-top in Shakes the Clown, a very un-p.c. and silly film that joyously reveled in a mythical Palukaville populated by a clown underground. But this trio take their jobs to a far more serious level in World’s Greatest Dad. Sure, like Heathers, a lot of strange laughs lurk in dark material. But comparing how a father grieves over his dead son in Heathers (“My son’s a homosexual, and I love him. I love my dead gay son!”) to how Williams grieves over his dead son in World’s Greatest Dad is a contrast in extremes because Goldthwait doesn’t go for a cheap laugh here; he plays it straight.

Once that heart-wrenching moment is over, however, the terrain mapped out by Heathers is very much there: high school counselors worrying about copycat suicides, the elevation of the deceased to martyrdom, and – most importantly – that higher calling that ultimately becomes the end coda for both films: be true to yourself. For Winona Ryder as Veronica in Heathers, that means hanging out with the unpopular and fat kid. For Robin Williams as Lance Clayton in World’s Greatest Dad, that means hanging out with fellow outcasts who also enjoy watching the original Night of the Living Dead on TV.

While Heathers may not impress me today as much as it did back upon its original release, I still give it credit for a wealth of heady zingers. Although I have to add that now that time has stripped certain bits of dialogue of their shock quotient some of Daniel Waters more oft-quoted lines (ie: “Well, f-ck me gently with a chainsaw. Do I look like Mother Theresa?”) come across as trying too hard. Bobcat Goldthwait’s material (he also wrote World’s Greatest Dad), on the other hand, goes for naturalistic dialogue that doesn’t provide anywhere near as many zingers, but does allow for thoughtful ruminations on why slow zombies are better than fast zombies… which, of course, tugged at my heart-strings even more than the closing epiphany that “The worst thing in life is ending up with people who make you feel all alone.”

Three years ago at Sundance I was excited to see that Goldthwait was back in action as a director with a film that at that time was called Stay. It was loosely based on a well known urban legend involving a different kind of auto-erotic act; this one involving dogs and peanut-butter. It went straight-to-dvd as Sleeping Dogs Lie. Sadly, few people saw past the raunchy premise to see the far more interesting story that was at the heart of that film, which dealt with our human limits on the subject of honesty. It was a surprisingly smart and sweet work shot digitally and on a shoestring. World’s Greatest Dad has a much bigger budget by comparison, was shot on 35mm, and has serious marquee recognition thanks to Williams. Is it a masterpiece? No. Goldthwait bludgeons too many scenes with the unwelcome intrusion of unnecessary and expository musical montages. But on all fronts, Goldthwait is getting better and smarter, plumbing new emotional depths while still keeping a keen sense of humor, and I highly recommend it.

Closing notes: As I think of the last image of Heathers, where Christian Slater’s character blows himself up with dynamite on the front steps of the highschool, I’m reminded of a personal story that relates to Goldthwait:

I saw Bobcat at a comedy club in Denver 12 years ago. He’s famous for his improv, able to take just about any subject shouted out at him and run with it. I was in the front row and easily caught his ear when I shouted out “Back to Back“! This was the title of a bad direct-to-TV film, aka: Back to Back: American Yakuza 2, in which he had a cameo. By doing this I did something I never thought I’d see: I had stunned Bobcat into a silence that would have had Marty Fromage (quietly) clapping with glee. The reason I’d caught him offguard was because the film hadn’t yet been released. Even he hadn’t seen it yet. The reason I’d been privy to it was because while working for a cable subscription service I’d been sent to the American Film Market for a private screening well in advance of its playing anywhere.

When Bobcat regained his footing he told the crowd the story of how in Back to Back he played an unhinged bank robber who was so desperate for cash that he tries to rob a bank using dynamite as his tool of extortion. Upon exiting the bank he is surrounded by the police and, engulfed in fear and desperation, he accidentally blows himself up. It was supposed to be a sad and tragic moment. But test audiences only saw Bobcat Goldthwait, and so they laughed instead.

I’m happy to report that Goldthwait is still blowing things up. And he’s still making us laugh. But, more importantly, he’s also finally found a way to make us cry.