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Sorry; got carried away there. While all of the above may be true, I'm not gonna waste your time and mine writing about it. What I will do is share with you the last secret I possess about my soon-to-be Alma Mater: the secret of ``Zombie High.''
I know what you're thinking; this is one of those rhetorical moments when I can actually read your mind. ``What do you mean, Matt?'' you're asking yourself. ``Are you saying that students here at Marist are actually the walking dead?''
No, although on a warm day in Mr. Meyers' class some students have been known to actually slip into clinical death before the bell. What I'm speaking of is a little-known, poorly-made thriller released in 1987 and starring Virginia Madsen, Richard Cox, and Sherilyn ``Twin Peaks'' Fenn. To quote the back of the video box:
``When the going gets preppy, the preppies turn into zombies!''
The plot itself isn't important. Suffice it to say that it ain't no ``Schindler's List.'' Anyway, it was pointed out to me by Youth Conference `94 coordinator and Extra Effort boy Eric LeCompte that several scenes in this movie actually feature one of the lead characters, Barry (played with DeNiro-esque skill by James Wilder), wearing a Marist jacket.
That's right, a genuine Marist jacket. Our colors on the video screen, for the whole world to see. It looks brand new, but has a `79 numeral on its side. When I heard of this and sat through all of the movie I could stand to actually see for myself, I couldn't figure out what series of conspiracies between the cinematic fates had put a jacket similar to one I wear to school into a semi-major Hollywood production. And I felt a steely determination to discover just how that jacket had gotten there before I left Marist's hallowed, gourd-ridden halls. Had the lead star gone to Marist? Had one of his relatives gone here? Had it been pilfered from under Brother Nick's very nose by a band of costume-hunting thieves? I did not know. But I felt it a duty passed down from Blessed Marcellin himself to uncover the secret of ``Zombie High.''
So I began by a thorough search through Marist yearbooks for either one of the actors or production staff from the film. None of the `79 or later yearbooks yielded any clues. I felt stymied very early in my search; checkmated before I had even moved my queen. In frustration, I decided to place a call to my colleague in newsprint at the Sun-Times, Mr. Roger Ebert, in the hopes that he might be able to guide my search, or at the least recommend a good spot for lunch.
Mr. Ebert was ``at the movies'' (where else?) when I called, so I spoke to his secretary, Marlene Gelfond. She was quite helpful.
``I know what he'd tell you,'' she said. ``Call the production company.''
I raced to scan the box and find out who had produced the movie, a Cinema Group Pictures out of Los Angeles. I called the information line in California, but they listed no number for that name. Not knowing where to turn next, I called Variety magazine's offices in L.A., only to face another dead end.
I knew that the jacket probably had passed through the costume designers of the movie at some point, so I had to find a way to get in touch with them. I deduced that there might be some form of union for costume designers (probably formed by Jimmy Hoffa's brother, Blake). So I called Buena Vista's offices in Chicago to try and track down this union. I spoke to a secretary who put me on hold (listening to music from ``Beauty and the Beast'') and then transferred me to Mike, a gentleman in advertising, who said:
``I don't have a clue.''
But when I explained my situation and asked for his last name, he refused to allow me to quote him. I began to get suspicious. What forces were I fighting here? How far did the cover- up reach, that some moron ad representative for Buena Vista refused to be quoted and claimed to know nothing about it? I realized that no one had exactly been willing to discuss this subject, as though they all knew some gory secret I could never know unless I didn't value my life much. Sensing a scoop, I moved on to the next call.
MGM's offices in California had a busy line, but Kat Donner at 20th Century Fox hooked me up with Local 705 of the Costumers' Union (can you picture a bunch of weird men and ladies sitting around in berets and scarves, smoking cigars and swapping horror stories about Madonna?). A spokesman for the union couldn't trace the two costumers.
``Could be they were non-Union,'' she said.
Next, a book called the Video Hound's Golden Movie Retriever sent me toward a company called Simitar Entertainment out of Plymouth, Minnesota, that may have distributed the film. But Diane from Simitar crushed that lead as well.
``I asked everyone around here, and they all say that we didn't distribute it and no one knows anyone who did,'' she said.
Having suffered through part of the film, I could understand why no one would want to admit unleashing ``Zombie High'' onto an unsuspecting public, but I was starting to get frustrated. I called Roger Ebert again, only to find he was still ``at the movies'' (I bet he never leaves). I called Mike Menchel, Virginia Madsen's agent, in the hopes that the jacket had come from her. I called anywhere I could think of, but to no avail.
I felt like I had failed my journalistic roots. I couldn't pin anyone down! I had no leads, I had no hard information; I was being dodged at every turn! Then I got a call late one night that chilled my very blood. It was a deep, gravelly voice, and it simply said,
``If you want to finish your senior year, you'll drop the jacket issue, sir.''
And he hung up. But I had a hunch. After performing a bizarre ritual I designed in which I burn copies of the columns of Irv ``Kup'' Kupcinet for journalistic luck and skill, I went to see the credits of ``Zombie High'' once again, this time looking for a specific name. And I found it...Al Brazen, producer. I had heard rumors in the past about his brief foray into independent filmmaking during the late eighties (in fact, I had thought he was responsible for the Coreys Haim and Feldman vehicle ``Licence to Drive,'' given his affection for driver's ed), but didn't know they were true. Now I was sure.
I asked him, and he told me what I had suspected since I saw his name in the movie's credits: that he had put the jacket in as his own quiet homage to his favorite high school. The answer had been before my eyes the entire time, and I hadn't even seen it.
So if there's anything I can impress upon you as I finish this final column, it's the things I learned from my last journalistic adventure: independent movies are usually bad, Mr. Brazen has many secrets he hasn't shared with his students, and Roger Ebert will always be ``at the movies'' (I wish I was so lucky).