February 26, 1988. It was a cold night in central Wisconsin. A friend of mine, Mark, and myself decided to go see what was the first mainstream martial arts film in America since Kill or Be Killed. or perhaps Best of the Best. There was some bullshit marketing here of course, as Jean-Claude Van Damme was billed in the advertising as being a former competitive martial arts champion.
Yes, we were there to see Bloodsport.
Now, I guess there's some truth to the championship pedigrees, but it was some off the fringes association that he was the champ of, not any well known international or even American conglomerate. However, Mr. Van Damme was not only a snappy martial artist nonetheless, but had extensive ballet background as well, giving him flexibility that exceeded even many of the best martial arts purveyors.
So. Was he great? Probably not.
Did he make it look good? Hell yeah, he did. That ballet really helped.
It's legendary lore that after JCVD came to America, he appeared in a couple things here and there, but didn't stick. He eventually hung out in the Cannon Films waiting area, trying to get Menachem Golem to give him an acting job by displaying kicks and punches in the lobby, sort of an impromptu audition. (see the doc Electric Boogaloo or The Cannon Film Guide Vol. 1.).
One half of the go-go boys was impressed enough to greenlight Bloodsport, but hated it and buried the flick. Once Cannon began to struggle financially, it was resurrected and led to the brief stardom of JCVD, a guy I still have a soft spot for, not just for this film however. It was admittedly bad, and acted so awfully that it had to embarrass the legendary Roy Chiao. OK, Donald Gibb and Bolo Yeung carry their weight.
I was also a great admirer of Timecop, Universal Soldier, and the films he made as the first stateside actor (Yes, I know he's originally from Belgium) to work with the Hong Kong greats John Woo, Tsui Hark, and Ringo Lam. He also practiced pretty damn solid script selection once he fell into direct-to-video purgatory, as many of those films are much better than those of his fallen 80's contemporaries, and his series on Amazon, Jean Claude Van Johnson is a goddamn hoot to boot.
Anyway, I remember snow falling lightly on that quiet Friday night as Mark and I got out of our shared cab at the Rogers Cinema near the Wausau Center Mall. The snow-covered ground crunched on our approach, a bite of cold in the air stinging our cheeks as we entered the theatre, then descended to the basement screen, complete with a pole in the middle of the seating. It's an old building, still there, but no longer a cinema. I remember sitting there in the cheap upholstery, warming up in a seat not far from the pole.
There's something fascinating about a theatre with ceilings that low. There was barely enough clearance for the projected beam to reach the screen. (This was before digital after all, nothing but good old 35 mm in 1988). Being from the Milwaukee area originally, I was not unfamiliar with theaters like Kenosha's Lake 1 and 2, where I saw Bambi with my mom as a child, Star Trek: The Motion Picture with my ailing father, and Silent Rage with my Dad as teen. An old-ass building with ornate balconies, classy furnishings, and employees in full usher regalia. It was, after all, a former opera house.
There was also the monolithic United Artists Cinema 5, Kenosha's first true Multiplex, where I saw E.T. the Extra Terrestrial in 1982 (on a second try, the first attempt was sold out, Thanks, Mom!!), and Die Hard 2 in 1990. I was alone for that one. But the Lakes were a special situation.
By the way, if you're looking for a great place to see a movie in Wisconsin in a house that's been around forever and still flickers a pic to this day, try the Plaza in Burlington.
The Rogers, however, was a mini-multi-plex. An oxymoron if there ever was one. Mark and I sat there quietly waiting for the lights to dim for the trailers, hum of the heating system filling the air, me chewing my Dots as I was really taken aback by how just about any space can be turned into something else with creative engineering, elbow grease, and a lack of concern for aesthetics. If you click on the Rogers link a couple of paragraphs back, you can see its original intent was not as a movie theatre, let alone five of them.
I've mentioned this prior on this blog, but there was an even smaller screen in house upstairs, where I saw Good Morning Vietnam very late in its run, on a Rogers screen not much bigger than what's in most peoples living rooms these days. Why was that screening room so bright, anyway? Ridiculous experience, that one.
Anyhow, God rest the Rogers.
And the resident spirit, Bob. If he still dwells there, rattling things.
And long live the Plaza.
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