"Calling Dick Tracy! Calling Dick Tracy!" It's hard to believe that it's been 20 long years to the day since these iconic words were first uttered on the screens of American cinemas. Yes, my friends and approximately 10 blog readers: June 15, 1990 is a day to be remembered and revered by movie-goers, comic book fans, and gigantic dorks the world over. The yellow trench-coated, square-jawed detective had finally arrived. Dick Tracy was here!
And he wasn't alone. With the launch of the first (and thus far only) Tracy flick on the silver screen, came an overabundance of movie tie-ins and merchandising deals that would be the envy of Hollywood producers even today. The comic book hero many had never previously heard of adorned lunchboxes, coloring books, school stationary, t-shirts, and just about anything else a marketing executive could plant the character's image on. There was a McDonald's promotion and you couldn't get through an episode of DuckTales without seeing a commercial for it. Mind control? The unscrupulous brainwashing of a nation of easily-influenced children? Nah, just really, really good marketing.
Little did I know at the time, but the firestorm of merchandising and blatant commercialism would trigger a lifelong unhealthy infatuation in me. I had spent the previous summer in a tizzy over Tim Burton's big budget Batman film, and like so many other kids at the time, I bought into the "Bat-craze" quite literally. But that was soooo last year, and a young man's mind can be a fickle, discerning thing. It was time to move on to the next obsession: Warren Beatty.
I don't recall what exactly ignited my overwhelming desire to see this movie. I remember hearing about it around the time school let out for the summer (I had just finished 4th grade) and I have some foggy recollections of a Johnny Carson interview with Charlie Korsmo, the young actor who played "The Kid." Wherever it came from and whatever the reason, I was hell-bent on getting to the theatre.
Now mind you, I'd never seen a Warren Beatty film before in my life. I had heard of Al Pacino and I of course knew who Madonna was. I was an '80s kid, after all. I recognized Dustin Hoffman, too, but the rest of the Hollywood who's who cast I couldn't have identified for the life of me. None of that matters when you're a kid. You see things you like and you just love them without any particular reason. My heart was set on seeing this movie even if it meant giving up vital organs. This was going to be the summer blockbuster to end all blockbusters - of that much I was sure. All that was left was to convince my Dad.
"No," he said.
"But, Daaaaaaaaad! It's playing at the drive-in, too! It's only $6. It starts at 7:30. If we leave now, we can still make it!"
"Nope. Too expensive."
"I'll do more chores!"
"You don't DO any chores."
"You can have my allowance."
"You spent it already."
"Next week's."
"You spent that, too."
"Stupid Video Connection and their stupid Nintendo games," I muttered under my breath. "Please!!!!!"
"No. Maybe next weekend. I just don't feel like going this time."
Well, Dad didn't feel like going next weekend…or the weekend after…or the weekend after that. I contented myself with buying the movie novelization, the comic book adaptation, nearly all of the action figures, the Topps movie card set, and enough Dick Tracy-themed Happy Meals to kill Morgan Spurlock. My mother even bought me a couple shirts, which I proudly wore all summer like some kind of psychotic, pre-teen groupie.
It was all just a tease. The summer wore on and on without a trip to Fort Wayne, Huntington, or anywhere else with a movie theatre. The green leaves turned to brown, school started back up, and the seeds of what will undoubtedly be a life spent under the close observation of a team of the world's greatest therapists were sown. I had missed it.
I covered up my devastation with the usual kid activities: baseball, videogames, hanging out with friends, visiting relatives, and adding to my mountain of movie merchandise on a weekly basis. It was a great summer, even without detective Dick . We went to Clifty Falls with my Aunt, Uncle, and cousins. We took a trip to Monticello, Indiana and we had a blast at Indiana Beach, a tiny little amusement park I love to this day. There were many, many great days at Grandma's house and the world was just a wonderful place, despite any disappointment I may have felt. After all, my movie would eventually be released on video. Maybe I could finally see it then.
Well, one very cold day the following January, Dad brought the newly-released Dick Tracy VHS tape home from the video store. The agonizing wait was over at last! I hurriedly popped the tape into the VCR and sat in awe and amazement for the next 90-odd minutes. It was everything I had hoped it would be, and I must have watched it at least three more times before we had to return it. Dad hated it and decided he'd rather have a colonoscopy than sit through it, but his opinion certainly didn't matter to me. It was cooler than Vanilla Ice and a box of neon snap bracelets combined.
Over the many years since, I would estimate I've watched Dick Tracy more than 50 times. I've also, much to even my own chagrin, hoarded and held onto nearly all the Dick Tracy stuff I acquired that summer. I'm not proud of this, just laying it all out there. New fads and childhood larks have come and gone, but this movie remains as dear to me as it was the first day I laid eyes on that movie poster.
I guess it reminds me of happy, simpler days, and great people from the long ago and far away. It's a time capsule of a summer that didn't go as planned, but wound up being pretty great all the same. Priceless memories. Now, there's some merchandise worth holding onto.
