Article: Radio Ga Ga - Pontypool

Grant Mazzy (Stephen McHattie) is a grouchy, wannabe shock jock who wishes he had Howard Stern’s numbers. The crabby presenter has been shipped out to Pontypool, Canada, to live out an audio exile of sorts for the rest of his broadcasting life. The probable reason might be Mazzy’s desire to stir the pot on small-time radio shows that wish for him to tell things straight. On the way to the isolated Pontypool radio station to host what should be another typical, sleepy morning show filled with school closures and snowy weather reports, he is jolted in his car by an unknown female standing outside. She calls something unintelligible to him before disappearing into the cold night. And so begins the lo-fi, high-concept of the movie Pontypool. A horror feature that had the marketing tagline “Shut up or die”.

To say too much about Pontypool effectively ruins its surprise. Released in 2008, amidst a boom period of Zombie horrors, the film stands out as the “thinking man’s Zombie film”. A movie which plays on the phrase “if words would kill”, Pontypool toys with the virility of speech. Its novel approach comes from the idea of a verbal virus.  Certain words in the English language have become stuck and corrupted within a victim in such a way that they quickly become mentally undone. The zombies in Pontypool aren’t “undead” but lean more towards the infected found in 28 Days Later.  The idea is far-fetched if thought about for too long. But isn’t that the way with horror movies? For some reason, we scrutinise them far more than other genres, even when they often have something interesting to say.

Tony Burgess, the author of the source novel Pontypool, purportedly hashed out the screen adaptation in 48 hours. Pontypool was also produced as a motion picture and radio play simultaneously, with the famous radio broadcast of War of the Worlds by Orson Welles utilised as the main inspiration. This is something which makes Pontypool stand out against the many Zombie iterations that have appeared since 2002. The use of airwave broadcast combined with the isolated location builds up a sense of paranoia. In the earlier half of the movie, Mazzy, his long-suffering producer Sydney (Lisa Houle), and their spirited technical assistant Laurel (Georgina Reilly) cannot be entirely sure of the audio reports that are coming back to them. One sequence involving our beloved BBC brings a sly commentary on how mainstream media condescends and twists the words of the little man. The trio know something is going on, and while they can’t be sure, they’re still more informed than the Journalist picked to report on what at the time could be a shaggy dog story. The reporter's ignorance plays well into Pontypool's idea of how poor communication can kill people. And with only the English language being contaminated, the film becomes a striking foreshadowing of how our brand of media virality is perhaps the most toxic.  

Mazzy, at the height of his grumpiness remarks that a pissed off listener is a wide-awake listener who isn’t going to change the channel. This comment, along with similar variations, can be found in all the films I’ve watched in this recent mini-series of articles. Such a statement felt damning in each entry. With each film suggesting that what a DJ says doesn't matter, as long as the audience is frothing at the mouth once it's said. In 2008, one could only dream of how bizarre and dangerous our misinformation would become. In 2025, five years after a global lockdown, Pontypool becomes an intriguing piece of foretelling fiction.

There’s something malicious about terms of endearment being a trigger for the virus, particularly as social media is becoming increasingly aggressive in almost all interactions. One only must look at how weaponised “therapy speak” and language around mental health have become to see that Pontypool was on to something.  It’s almost as if the film has cunningly forecasted that people will be quick to discard or disguise their words in favour of violence. It’s with this that Pontypool stands out as one of the stronger zombie features of the 00s. With seemingly more power to linger in the mind than the final entries that came from the lord of the genre, George A Romero. The world has never been more connected than it is now, and Pontypool’s concentrated effort in dismantling language is a disconcerting idea that penetrates more than the one found in Romero’s last affairs, which went for lofty themes but faltered in a way his first three ‘dead’ films thrived. Pontypool touches on something so primal that it doesn’t have to do too much to disturb. Film Critic Anton Bitel notes the film and its “paranoid way it portrays personal madness and social disintegration from the inside.” Many of Pontypool’s most unsettling moments stem from benign words that shift from being used to placate to becoming unknowing incubators of ailment.

All the wordplay is a good distraction from perhaps Pontypool’s weakest elements, such as the visuals. Granted, Pontypool's 2:35:1 ratio allows the type of cinematic close-ups that a grizzled character like Stephen McHattie doesn’t acquire often. The cinematography also has an ok eye for composition. However, as a film that is also a radio play, one can’t be too shocked by the lack of eye-catching imagery. There’s a crispy look to proceedings that earmarked many features of the early 00s and betrays its lower budget more than even its sparse, singular setting. Perhaps Pontypool’s biggest faux pas, though, is the entry of one Dr Mendez. A character briefly mentioned first in early radio reports, before squeezing through a window to become the type of info dump stock character that can derail proceedings. From a narrative perspective, Mendez makes sense. We see characters like this all the time, and he is the person who (should) fill in a few narrative blanks, drop off some exposition and prepare the audience for the second half of the film.  But Mendez’s appearance slows the film down considerably. Right at a time when the tension is beginning to build. Mendez is a character who’s too odd and vague to add anything of any true significance that couldn’t have been added in a far more entertaining way.

Despite this, Pontypool remains a fascinating creature. There’s something deeply primal about what’s at play in the film.  Negative reviews have focused on the absurdity of the film, yet Pontypool still works as a social metaphor for a social trauma we appear to be facing.  In Pontypool’s universe, words can kill you. And the person who may unlock the key to stopping such a pandemic is someone who needs to shut up the most. Shock Jocks like Mazzy have dinned out on their lack of accountability meal ticket. It is perhaps the most infuriating aspect of so much modern media. At the start, Mazzy is no different from the many broadcasters who utilise controversy as currency. Pontypool is daring enough to force such a character to pull his pants up and act. A pissed off listener may not change the channel, but Mazzy has the chance here to perform a far more considerable feat. Far removed from the cockamamie conspiracies that he often peddles. He can change the frequency.  Something I think many wish for when the world loses control.

ARTICLE: Radio Ga Ga - Private Parts

In his pomp, crude dude radio personality Howard Stern was a force to be reckoned with. In a twenty-year run with WXRK, his syndicated radio show drew in 20 million listeners at its peak. His crass antics would be a frequent source of juvenile myth and controversy. This was back when the media monoculture meant something, however. Now, in his seventies, Stern is still a decent draw on subscription-based satellite radio station, Sirius, a move made to avoid the ever-watching eye of the FCC and their broadcast regulations. Joe Rogan now rules the roost of somewhat problematic audio presenters, however, it’s difficult to see the existence of the latter without the presence of the former.

I became aware of Stern through pop culture osmosis. The DJ would turn up in shows like The Simpsons (1989 – present) and The Critic (1994-1995) without any real context of his radio controversies. His unconventional appearance and minor ridicule on certain American shows were all I knew of him at the time. Then came Private Parts. Betty Thomas’ 1997 comedy biopic of Howard Stern was one of the mid-level 90s oddities that occupied my brain space in my formative years.  Private Parts, alongside Serial Mom and The People versus Larry Flint, were movies I gleefully indulged in due to the advent of satellite TV entering the house. I watched Private Parts before I knew that Betty Thomas was the director of Stern’s quasi-fictional biography and The Brady Bunch Movie, the latter being a delightfully subversive and underappreciated comedy.  

As part of my mini-marathon of movies centred around radio, I watched Private Parts to see if it held up. Does something like a Howard Stern biopic fit into today’s fractured media era? Shock Jock Howard Stern was far more of a prominent entity back then than he is now. Then again, the idea of radio shock jocks a la Stern feels passe in an era of Andrew Tate and Joe Rogan. So, watching this nearly 30-year-old film gave me a feeling of discombobulation.

Private Parts is a product of its time of a character who now feels like a relic. Watching Stern descending from the rafters as "Fartman" during the MTV Music Awards doesn’t have the same allure as perhaps watching the scene as an adolescent. By the summer of 1997, South Park unleashed a different wave of vulgarness. Far more unrepentant in tone and by 1999 (with a movie in tow) having far more to say. Private Parts takes a lot of time to establish Stern as a far more sympathetic creature than considered by his detractors. This softening of Sterns's edges helps slot himself into a typical biopic plot. However, it feels odd, even possibly disingenuous at first, to see Stern exclaim that he’s a misunderstood artist. Particularly when considering this is a DJ who openly mocked pop star Selena, days after her fatal shooting, causing widespread controversy two years before.  

However, with history written by the winners and Stern, with his power of final script approval, Len Blum’s screenplay happily portrays him as a misunderstood loser. Narrating himself as a near-do-well that no one believed in. With his gangly frame and rockstar hairstyle doing much to hide a more vulnerable young man who almost stumbled upon his success while obtaining a very understanding wife at the same time. However, when reading articles about Stern and the making of this movie, many of the film’s key players have a particular view of the gangly shock jock. At first, they are indifferent and hostile due his personality on his radio show. However, after interacting with the man, their perspective is transformed, as they can now see him as a nice guy with a bad-boy persona.

Because of this, Stern’s sympathy angle gains a fair amount of weight, with the film’s more dramatic scenes having a good dose of compassion. One of the film’s stand-out scenes is Stern making jokes on air about his wife’s miscarriage. In the previous scene, the couple were happy to crack wise confidentially, as part of their private healing process. Stern’s need to turn his own life into content at that moment raises the conflict between the personal and the person that has travelled throughout my mini-marathon of movies involving radio. However, the swift quashing of that issue, along with the absence of Sterns's more contentious moments expressed on his show, reducing much of his antics to juvenile horniness, highlights that Stern, who rejected a multitude of scripts before settling on the one which got made, only wants to grapple with the battle of free speech on his terms.

But while Private Parts’ humanism of Stern feels more shocking than its protagonist’s profanities, this may be due to the outright psychopaths who try and ape people like Stern these days. Today’s media thrives even more on directing people towards some outrageous yet needless controversy. The scenes focusing on how Howard Stern's radio persona affects those close to him are fascinating, as they argue that Stern cares about those around him. This cannot always be said about the controversial industrial complex to the social media superhighway these days. When Stern states he is merely misunderstood, the film builds a case that there may be truth to the claim. 

Furthermore, Private Parts is still funny in a juvenile, nineties way.  Stern is a relic, but he and the film can set up a decent guffaw or giggle, partly because Private Parts is a looser comedy in terms of theme than the comedies released now. Where jokes nowadays are funnelled down even more narrow parameters than in the 90s. But much of this stems from Betty Thomas' decent comic directing chops, while Stern, for his worth, is a watchable comic leading man. Private Parts may have sanded some of Sterns's sharper edges, and the lesbian sequences go beyond sophomoric and more into the realms of Neanderthal. Yet the film captures that element of Stern that makes him an engaging figure.

Strangely, perhaps the most notable thing about Private Parts now is that it’s the breakout role for one Paul Giamatti who has a fantastic role as Kenny "Pig Vomit" Rushton. A composite of different network executives who encountered Stern during his life, including one real-life character he disliked immensely, Rushton is Private Parts’ unfortunate “Walter Peck” character. In hindsight, Rushton’s attempted mission to contain Stern is understandable. And when you consider what Stern has said on air in the past, it’s not surprising, but this biopic portrays Howard Stern as more morally righteous than on his actual radio show. Private Parts had already done the groundwork. Providing sympathy to Stern through Thomas' direction. Meanwhile, Giamatti’s performance has him oozing with smarminess, making him the perfect antagonist to get under the skin. What Pig Vomit wants to do makes sense, yet we call him Pig Vomit because he's mean to Howard.

 

Much like Talk Radio and Pump up the Volume, Private Parts’ lead argues for freedom of speech on the airwaves. But while Barry Champlain and Hard Harry used provocation to advocate something greater than themselves, Stern’s war of words with Pig Vomit seems to be for him to make dick and fart jokes with impunity. Partway through their dispute, Stern and his co-hosts Robin Quivers and Fred Norris (both played by their real counterparts) re-enact his “match game” skit: A sketch which has the team skirting around FCC rules on obscene language by using words which have double meanings implied through tone.  It's an amusing use of language, smartly utilised by the man whose alter ego is Fartman. Yet it’s interesting to look at this with a 2025 lens. Watching Stern bending the rules while avoiding accountability, wherein the film Robin, a Black woman is consequently fired after his antics, hits differently now. The internet is rife with copycat edgy podcast tryhards inadvertently doing their best Stern impressions with none of the wit but all the intention of punching down on their perceived opponents. All for the laugh and none of the accountability. In addition to this, Stern is also known for a car crash interview with Different Strokes star Dana Plato, who took her life a day later. Private Parts highlights its banter as merely the freedom for its misunderstood star to have some shits and giggles. For the most it is. However, this only enhances the erasure of the DJ's darker controversies, leaving a strange taste in the mouth.

But the modern-day flattening view of media doesn’t wholly upend what is an amusing feature. The Brady Bunch Movie leans more effectively into Thomas' sensibilities as a comic director, as its protagonists are chirpy, friendly cyphers, who are thrown into a then hyper-ironic, deeply cynical decade. There’s simply a lot of fun to be had there. But Private Parts holds its own as a comic trifle. It understands why Stern became successful, particularly in the 90s. Stern and Quivers are entertaining in playing tweaked versions of themselves, while Giamatti has a blast stealing scenes as if he had a starving orphanage to feed. There are plenty of gags, and the timing is solid. And yet, watching Stern (dressed as Fartman) in the film's opening, he walks backstage at an award ceremony while catching poisonous looks from a crowd of famous celebs. He looks around, somewhat confused as to why such a humble DJ would gain so much scorn. But this is Howard Stern, the self-proclaimed king of all media, a man whose persona has been buffed and shined for his Hollywood biopic. Private Parts showcases Stern as a goofy man who prides himself on saying what's on everyone's mind. However, it’s also a film that knows when its star should keep quiet.  

Private Parts can be found on various streaming platforms

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Article: Radio Ga Ga - Pump Up The Volume

Pump Up the Volume is Talk Radio (1988) for teenagers. Although a far more hopeful entity than Oliver Stone’s claustrophobic slice of media pessimism, the film orbits around similar themes. It touches on free speech and the intimate power of radio as a medium. However, despite holding a sizable amount of darkness, Pump Up the Volume is a cuter view on similar ideas highlighted in Talk Radio. Christian Slater plays Mark, a sullen loner who finds solace in performing outrageously on his short-wave radio show. Mark uses his radio to communicate with his friends back east after he and his parents move from New York to a quiet suburb in Phoenix, Arizona. However, his persona of ‘Hard Harry’ becomes a solitary voice that delivers truth bombs to isolated and lonely teenagers. A tragic accident occurs after Mark makes some unwittingly flippant comments, and soon the town's adults look to condemn and stifle the voice that is stirring up high school rebellion.

Director Allan Moyle adds a touch of futurism to Pump Up the Volume, which helps it become a companion piece with Talk Radio. Both movies draw attention to the idea of the virility of radio, along with its intimacy. During the opening credits, radio recordings of ‘Hard Harry’ are passed from pupil to pupil via tape recording. Late in the film, background graffiti broadly states, “The Truth is a virus”. But while there’s foreshadowing on the future of media circulation, the sensibilities of its director, and possibly the coming-of-age narrative, give Pump Up the Volume a sweeter taste in comparison to the bitter pill of Talk Radio. Amusingly, both films feature Ellen Green as a quiet voice of reason, who wishes to appeal to the empathy of the characters. Oliver Stone’s movie senses the growing sense of haplessness and frustration, helped by the encroaching capitalist system. Pump up the Volume, with its pirated tapes, rebellious rock music, and sometimes youthful idealism, walks a different path for the adolescent listeners of Hard Harry. One that suggests a sense of belonging. Mark’s Harry persona holds empathy that Talk Radio’s Barry no longer has. If he ever had time for it.

Despite the film having a strand about popularity, Pump Up the Volume was not popular itself. The film suffered a similar fate to Moyle’s Empire Records (1995) in that while it seemingly had all the ingredients to be a mainstream classic, it found itself roundly ignored by audiences upon release. It brought in a measly $11 million during its theatrical run.  Pump Up the Volume’s mainstream failure is another unfortunate chapter in the cinematic career of Moyles, who previously spent 10 years in self-imposed exile due to having a dreadful time on his New York set, punk-enthused, teenage lesbian story, Times Square (1980). For some reason, whenever Moyle wanted to tell stories about teenage lives, he was hampered by unseen cinematic overlords. It is a strange bug within Moyles' features. In 1980, more people were interested in The Blue Lagoon than Times Square, most likely for sleazy reasons. In 1995, Empire Records was overshadowed by Clueless and Kids. In 1990, Pump Up the Volume went against Whit Stillman’s Oscar-nominated Metropolitan and Reginald Hudlin’s House Party. Metropolitan gained a Criterion release in 2006 (DVD) and 2018 (Blu-Ray). House Party was selected for preservation in the United States National Film Registry by the Library of Congress as being "culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant" in 2022. Pump up the Volume, alas, garners no such plaudits.

When watching the film, it’s surprising that there isn’t more popularity behind it. Pump Up the Volume seemed primed for the mainstage. It appeared in the middle of what some may consider MTV's golden age. Coming out two years after Slater’s other pitch-black teen flick, Heathers (1988), PUTV’s teenage rebellion arrives just in time before the '90s went into alienation overdrive.  Its commentary on teenage angst sets the tone for the decade and feels so bleeding edge that it feels like the era takes a few years to catch up.  Smudges of John Hughes-like residue cling to the sides of the film. The sentimentality and acute teenage awkwardness are the key signatures.

However, the blending of growing pains, teenage kicks and sincerity delivers a fresh sense of optimism, which makes PUTV an interesting contrast to Talk Radio, which actively swims in its jadedness. Despite his loudmouth persona, what makes Mark/Harry interesting is that he knows he doesn’t have all the answers. His desire to bring a sense of community towards the very listeners he struggles to connect with in real life is compelling. The film's inciting incident, in which a suicidal teen calls Mark for help, is the film's best example.  Christian Slater considers his role in Pump Up the Volume his favourite, and it’s not hard to see why. When viewed next to his breakthrough role as JD in Heathers, Slater has much more to do here. He balances an immature yet charismatic audio persona with his more inward personality. At school, he is the proto-Milhouse, struggling to maintain eye contact with his love interest, Nora, spiritedly played by Samantha Mathis in her film debut. At night, Mark becomes a masturbating John Peel, charming his teenage audience with Alt-rock and hard truths. Slater does well here. The actor who was struggling with alcohol problems around the same time seems to have taken the weight of that battle and focused that energy into the role.  If the actor was channelling Jack Nicholson as the infamous JD in Heathers, then Hard Harry was summoning the burgeoning Howard Stern, along with a touch of the personal. Harry also becomes a prototype for our podcasting present, where the internet has taken over shortwave radio, and the regulated barriers of the airwaves are diminished even more. Ultimately, however, Harry is a less aggressive, more juvenile version of the darker, more Rebellious teenage psychopath. However, the performance in PUTV is wider in expression. There’s more to hang on to, and the character sees more in his peers than the nihilistic JD.

There’s a constant feeling that Pump Up the Volume is on the cusp of something. Throughout the film, Mark’s radio rants target the parents of his peers who are constantly disconnected from their kin. The raves at a society caving into conformity and drudgery slowly become something of substance. An early outburst feels telling, if only because it’s arriving earlier than scheduled:

“I don’t find it cheerful to be living in a totally exhausted decade with nothing to look forward to and nothing to look up to”

Mark may be aiming for the excess-fueled era of the 80s. However, many of the films which made their mark in the middle and end of the 90s had much to say about the malaise of dispassionate suburban ennui. The middle of the decade was full of portrayals of disaffected youth struggling to find their place in the world. At times, Pump Up the Volume feels like it’s crawling, so the likes of Ben Stiller, Kevin Smith and Richard Linklater could walk. This is probably not the case. Yet a persona like Hard Harry, despite his immaturity, slots in well with the pop culture parables of Randal from Clerks or next to the yammering of a beardy Ethan Hawke in some independent feature. The film doesn’t seem to be suggesting, but more yelling about the upcoming cultural anxiety.  In one exchange, Mark’s dad gives a telling statement: “You don’t rock the boat. Especially if you’re sitting in it.” Elsewhere, we’re given shots of Mark, previously a resident of the unpredictable city of New York, wandering down streets of indistinguishable suburban housing. The film’s message seems clear. If only the stars had aligned with the mainstream advent of grunge three years later.

A core strength of Pump Up the Volume resides in its idea that the youth are being denied their voice. The film’s distribution of illicit material resonates strongly in Jason Bailey’s piece about the film, predicting a media untethered by regulated gatekeeping. These kids are finding a way to be heard. While their parents and teacher scratch their heads, all gaining collective amnesia at the fact that Mark’s brash and juvenile discourse is the exact sort of behaviour kids of that age gravitate to. Bailey is more dismissive of the film’s self-importance. It’s an understandable criticism. Teenage films like this are full of kids who are heavily burdened with dissatisfaction so huge that they cannot look past their noses. However, moments such as the inciting suicidal incident or the freak out from popular student Paige raging against oblivious adults at a parental meeting still resonate, due to their sincerity.

The film’s prophetic ending highlights how these teens, nay, all of us, will soon be heard. In the film's final moments, Mark loudly advises his fan base to “talk hard” and be heard. The climax has dozens of teens start their own talk radio stations, unburdened by parental control or adult regulation. It’s quaint to consider this now that everyone broadcasts themselves. Pump up the Volume provides a sense of optimism with the idea that everyone having a voice may point toward some harmony cutting through the discourse. Be it podcasts, YouTube, or TikTok, our multimedia platforms have allowed many to have the means to “talk hard”. Of course, what’s happened can feel more like a jaded amalgamated victory for Oliver Stone’s Talk Radio. Despite Pump Up the Volume's more optimistic tone, once everyone had the means to do their own broadcasts in real life, they turned their media on themselves and now get by on a wild mix of fear, consumerism and narcissism. Scarily, Pump Up the Volume could have been talking about this decade in which its youth are staring into the abyss. Living in a totally exhausted decade with little to look forward to and nothing to look up to. However, as a now jaded parent, my words should be taken with a pinch of salt. As an amusing aside, however, in the 1990s, Hard Harry wanted his listeners to talk hard. Now in the year 2025, the internet content subscription service OnlyFans holds over 3 million creators and 220 million subscribers, all getting “hard” in a different way. But perhaps Mark would be sleeping well knowing that they are all happily indulging in his favourite pastime.

Despite its struggles with music rights in the past, Pump Up the Volume can be found on various streaming platforms.

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