For most of us, this time of year is more about watching ski flicks and less about actually skiing.  I’m part of that aforementioned ‘most of us’, save an all too brief rendezvous with those infinitely more fortunate.  Amidst all the annual hyperbole of “The new (insert filmer) movie is the greatest ski film of all time”, it’s important to revisit certain bar setting classics of ski cinema.  I had the chance to do just that this past weekend.

When you live in a town as small as Taos, you pounce at every opportunity to do something that doesn’t involve drinking too much coffee and/or eating too much green chile.  With that in mind, I resolved myself to spend a few hours elbow to elbow with turquoise jewelry-clad Texas transplants in a dark auditorium for the Taos Mountain Film Festival. Saturday marked day two of the renowned (read: sarcasm) festival; expectations were low, ticket prices were high.  Imagine then my surprise when I learned that the film to be shown at 6pm was none other than Greg Stump’s 1988 masterpiece Blizzard of Aahhh’s.  As if that weren’t enough, word on the street was that Mr. Stump himself would be introducing the film along with an extended trailer of the highly anticipated, years in the making Legend of Aahhh’s.  Wow.

Now, I hadn’t seen Blizzard in years, and I’m pretty sure my last viewing was on late-night HBO…weird.  Anyway, I remembered very little, save probably Glen Plake’s life-saving back handspring over a wind-bridged crevasse.  I didn’t know then that it was so revered and influential, but after reading roughly 642 interviews with “pros” where it was cited as their bar-none favorite flick, I guess I blindly accepted it’s greatness.  Needless to say, I was psyched and happily coughed up the $12 for a ticket (I do, however, expect to be reimbursed, Jon).

Greg Stump.  Wow.  I didn’t know what to expect in meeting Mr. Stump, but let’s just say that his surname is accurate; almost cruelly so.  Because jokes are always funnier upon explanation, Greg Stump is short.  However, his personality is…uhh…”larger than life” (read: annoying).  I lurked on Mr. Stump while he was doing the whole meet and greet thing and I was simply dumbfounded.  He had a girl at least 20 years his junior on his arm, an expensive—although controversially tailored—suit, and bleached tips.  You would have been forgiven for mistaking him for the drummer of some nameless 80’s hair metal band. 

Andy Dick sighting? Nope, that's Greg Stump.

Frankly, it was weird.

It got weirder when Greg took the stage.

He made a half dozen inappropriate sexual jokes (highlights include: handcuffing his host for the weekend to a banister, his host being face down…as usual, and grabbing his privates on stage) that elicited uncomfortable laughter from the crowd.  He then cued the projectionist to roll the extended trailer for Legend of Aahhh’s, which he was careful to point out would be shown at Sundance…okkkk.  Well, the trailer also elicited uncomfortable (read: courtesy) laughter from the crowd.   Imagine the most horribly unfunny MSP “skit” ever, multiplied by ten, as executed by a bunch of guys in their fifties.  It was painful.  Legend is a ski film retrospective that looks at the earliest ski films (Greg noted that they were made by a female director who’s majority of other films were Nazi propaganda…okkk) all the way up until present day.  He interviewed a bunch of old guys I hadn’t ever heard of like Warren Miller and Dick Barrymore for the movie, ostensibly so they could talk about skiing as a metaphor for life.  The whole thing looked kind of boring, to be honest.

On to the main event. 

 Greg gave the most sheepish, apologetic introduction to a film imaginable.  “I guess we’re going to watch Blizzard, now” was about as positive as it got.  Greg apologized for his mispronunciation of “couloir” as “cool-wah” during the film’s narration just before the lights went down.  He continued to talk to the audience from his seat.

Too much has been written about the profundity of Blizzard for me to do much other than cosign what’s already been said.  Yes, it’s awesome, yes Glen Plake is the man, and yes you need to see it if you haven’t.  But, you see, there are other reasons to see it.

Let’s get this out of the way right now: The first scene is two guys rollerblading down the street.  I can’t figure out any reason why this was included other than that Rollerblade was a sponsor.  Maybe Mr. Stump knew that 20 years later we’d all be doing rollerblade grinds on skis whilst not using poles.  From here on out, Blizzard serves as the most poignant ribbing of ski films imaginable.  Every single ski film cliché imaginable makes an appearance.  Except, of course, that Greg was inventing them as he went along.

Immediately following the Rollerblade seggy, we’re treated to a—yup, you guessed it!—timelapse shot of clouds moving across mountains.  Things really heat up during the token “pow segment set to reggae” segment.  Here we meet who turns out to be the film’s most interesting character, Rasta Stevie.  Rasta Stevie rants about corporations, Babylon, the mountains, and emulates a culture other than his own to a degree that Tanner Hall would find laughable. Maybe.  All the old favorites turn up.  There’s a “crash segment”, ironic facial hair (that’s not ironic in ’88), a New-Wave/electro soundtrack, a “down day” snow accumulation shot, neon outerwear, Raybans, overwrought narration, lifestyle shots, and my personal favorite; the whole thing is about ten minutes too long.

Plake in the 2010 SAGA gear. Preorder now!

So, while we’re now stomping dub cork 12s and pretzel 630ing off of rails, ski movies really haven’t changed a bit.  The outerwear’s bigger (tighter in a few instances), the lines are gnarlier, and the spinny flippys are spinnier and flippier, but it’s the same formula.

The credits rolled, the crowd cheered, and Greg Stump made everyone uncomfortable again.  The lights went up, and I headed right for him as I had been promised an interview by one of the event organizers.  The “interview” turned into a story about how he (or his friend?  It was goddamn confusing) had a reoccurring nightmare about having to play drums with 70’s prog-rock legends Yes, without knowing how the song went.  He snatched my camera, and handed it to a six year old for him to take our picture…which of course didn’t work out.  He stood on tippie-toes as to not look so short next to me, and I did him a solid by slouching. 

I went home, feeling like I had just swallowed a handful of crazy pills.  In my opinion, it couldn’t have gone any better.

www.gregstumpproductions.com