At the height of their popularity, the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles ruled the world. From cereals to video games to international musical stage tours to snack cakes, there was no medium those green bastards wouldn’t infiltrate.
Their most successful foray of all, however, was into the world of toys. Hundreds of different figures were produced and some of them were even re-released recently for another round of children and nostalgically-geeky adults like myself to snatch up and cradle in sublime solemnity.
Despite all of the interesting characters like the Rat King and Mondo Gecko, it was the playsets that really reigned supreme. There was the aptly-named Turtle Van, their dingy sewer hideout, the Turtle Blimp, and many others that littered the carpeted floors of many a kid’s bedroom in the 90s. We can only imagine the amount of these awesome toys that were found by school cleaning services, left behind by kids everywhere.
All of that aside, those figures and playsets had absolutely nothing on the epitome of amazing Ninja Turtle toys. This wasn’t just a playset, this was a dream come true. This was the toy that marked many people’s most memorable Christmas morning ever. This was the most magical, inspiring piece of colored plastic ever to grace the shelves of a local KB Toys, Kiddie City, or Toys R Us. This was the one toy to rule them all. This was THE TECHNODROME.
My home state of Pennsylvania is not featured terribly often as the setting for Hollywood films. However quaint, hick-ish, and boondocky the rest of the state may be, I hold much love for Philadelphia and the surrounding suburbs. Frankly, the rest of the state can go fuck itself with a rusty pair of toenail clippers.
Anyway, while Pennsylvania may not provide the most sought-after areas for exciting, hundred million dollar films, it gives filmmakers a humble, hometown feel that works well in certain contexts.
Set in Madison, Pennsylvania in the summer of 1972, My Girl is a film about growing up and coming to terms with death. Vada Sultenfuss is an atypical 11 year old girl. Her only friend is an allergic-to-everything geek named Thomas and her father, Harry, is a socially inept funeral director and widower.
Because the Sultenfuss residence doubles as a funeral parlor, Vada is faced with death and its mysteries from a very young age. On top of the funeral stuff, Vada is also dealing with the guilt of her mother’s death during her childbirth.
Unlike teenagers, children have the sometimes-annoying habit of waking up at the buttcrack of dawn, full of energy. While their parents slumber in the last few moments of darkness before daybreak, their children are wide-eyed and running around the house without supervision.
However, it wasn’t mischief that these kids were after in the wee hours of the morning. Besides a giant bowl of Trix and a glass of pasteurized OJ, the only thing that mattered was CARTOONS.
Saturday mornings, in particular, were filled with a lineup of unforgettable, whacky animated entertainment to rot brains and influence violent behavior. Any child who grew up in the 90s remembers creeping out of bed and sneaking downstairs to catch these shows, and I’m sure they could easily rattle off a few favorites.
These were mine:
Since the creation of 90s Movies.net, the goal of the site has been to entertain and elicit the sentiment associated with all things pop culture from the forgotten decade. It’s important to recapture that essence to combat the growing apathy and cynicism regarding our current state of existence.
The 90s always had an overwhelming feeling of intangible perfection. This was a decade of grunge rock, slick two-timing presidents, unforgettable sitcoms, colorful and nutritionally-devoid snack foods, and endless amounts of fun. Those days, before cell phones and social networking, were part of the last generation of children who discovered and appreciated life on their own terms.
When you heard a dirty word on the schoolyard, in movie theaters, or from your parents, you didn’t go home and google it to find out what it meant. You were forced to ask older kids, older siblings, or creepy homeless men outside of the local 7-11 what it meant. This overabundance of readily-available information is a detriment to society.
Kids don’t go outside anymore. As a child, I almost never spent the days indoors. Our summers were filled with neighborhood-wide games of manhunt and I knew every backyard on my street as if it were my own. Kids were allowed to be kids. I’d only come back inside for lunch, dinner, and when 9 o’clock rolled around.