Bad Dreams

While any combination of Jonestown, The Manson Family, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, and A Nightmare on Elm St. 3 is likely to give you sleepless nights, they also resulted in Bad Dreams. This late '80s guilty pleasure was a byproduct of the success producer Gale Anne Hurd had with The Terminator and Aliens, the first two hits directed by her then husband James Cameron (she later married Brian De Palma and Jonathan Hensleigh, director of The Punisher). While Cameron was busy writing and preparing The Abyss, Hurd decided to kill time producing a low budget horror movie. Impressed by 23 year-old NYU film school grad Andrew Fleming -- who went on to direct Threesome, The Craft, Dick, and The In-Laws re-make -- Hurd produced this modest, respectable, and occasionally quite memorable horror oddity.

Although Bad Dreams suffers from several dull, conventional stretches, it also features some terrific acting -- Richard Lynch gives a particularly strong, Rutger Hauer-like performance -- and a welcome dose of dark humor that distinguishes it from many of its lightweight, low budget peers. For a rookie effort, Bad Dreams has more admirable qualities than expected, even if Fleming himself struggles to see this.

Which brings me to the disc's greatest asset: Andrew Fleming's wry, self-deprecating, and extremely charming commentary. Although I'm not really interested in re-visiting Fleming's hit-and-miss filmography, this track made me anxious to go back and check out his previous commentaries (he also recorded tracks for the four post-Bad Dreams efforts mentioned above).

Unfortunately, directors almost never let their guard down and explain the process of making a film in a really personal way. Not only does Fleming manage to do this, but he also manages to take shots at those who failed him without being mean-spirited or sparing himself. In fact, his self-deprecation is so extreme that, at one point, he actually has to backpedal and say "I don't want to portray myself as a total idiot."

A few highlights: his mom had to drive him to the Fox lot for his first meeting with Hurd (she even waited for her son in the car), James Cameron kindly mentored him through the filmmaking process, and he adamantly fought to get a song by X in the end credits, but ultimately lost out to his music supervisor, who desperately wanted to introduce an unknown band called Guns N' Roses. The song ("Sweet Child O' Mine"), which plays over the end credits, went on to become one of the defining power ballads of the '80s.

Additional features include some trailers, a PDF of the script, a vintage featurette, and some intriguing, seemingly unedited B-roll footage from the set. More importantly, if you're looking for an entertaining and informative commentary, Fleming's is as good as they come. -- Jonathan Doyle