If you want to start a conversation with a Child of the '80s, just mention Showbiz Pizza. Before Chuck E. Cheese dominated the pizza/family entertainment industry, there was the (arguably) superior Showbiz. The subject matter of "The Rock-afire Explosion" holds personal appeal for me, because I spent many a Saturday afternoon at the local Showbiz in Columbus, OH during that fateful decade. Sitting here, with adult taste buds, I can only wonder what that pizza tasted like.
But who would ever have expected to see a documentary produced on the animatronic characters that formed the eponymous house band? It's a niche subject, if ever there was one. Come to find out, we can thank YouTube, for that.
"The Rock-afire Explosion" is about Chris Thrash and Aaron Fechter. Thrash, having spent his childhood at the pizza joint in the Phenix, Al, maintains a strong emotional hold on the animatronic band. Fechter is the brains behind the technology and manufacturing of the animatronics that were used in the restaurants. The seeds of this documentary were planted in 2006, when Thrash sought out Fechter's Orlando warehouse and purchased the necessary parts and equipment to build his own monument to the Rock-afire Explosion. He now keeps the fully-functioning band in a modular on his property, a source of amusement and fun for his neighbors (not to mention himself). A video of the "show" posted on YouTube unexpectedly went viral, a heretofore unknown fanbase unearthed, and here we are. Thrash's fandom, thourh fringe, is the kind that keeps such obscurities from becoming totally forgotten. And I can respect that.
The film charts the rise of both the pizza chain and Fechter's career, as well as the dimming of both as Showbiz folded into Chuck E. Cheese. It was nothing short of a rush of nostalgia to the head for me, seeing someone actually do a piece on something so ephemeral in our culture. Easily the film's high point, for me.
At its heart, "The Rock-afire Explosion" is a story of two people who can't let go. One dances on the edge of heartbreak, the other finds solace in the robotic entertainers of his youth. Thrash holds two jobs, and one wonders how much of that work goes into just his childhood obsession. Fechter still (as of filming) lingers in the factory that once produced the singing robots, even though production has been shut down for many years. It's just Fechter, tinkering in what's become an over-sized storage unit. Unexpected moments of poignancy surface from both men. For Thrash, it's the need for his dying father to see his son's prized possession one more time. For Fechter, it's the fond memories of his favorite accomplishment, and the stinging wounds of being let go once Showbiz faded away.
In an age where documentarians dwell on the BIG issues (war, healthcare, politics, terrorism, global warming), it's refreshing that someone can go out and make a film about something so seemingly inconsequential as an automated band of hair-covered robots, and make it interesting.
7/10
But who would ever have expected to see a documentary produced on the animatronic characters that formed the eponymous house band? It's a niche subject, if ever there was one. Come to find out, we can thank YouTube, for that.
"The Rock-afire Explosion" is about Chris Thrash and Aaron Fechter. Thrash, having spent his childhood at the pizza joint in the Phenix, Al, maintains a strong emotional hold on the animatronic band. Fechter is the brains behind the technology and manufacturing of the animatronics that were used in the restaurants. The seeds of this documentary were planted in 2006, when Thrash sought out Fechter's Orlando warehouse and purchased the necessary parts and equipment to build his own monument to the Rock-afire Explosion. He now keeps the fully-functioning band in a modular on his property, a source of amusement and fun for his neighbors (not to mention himself). A video of the "show" posted on YouTube unexpectedly went viral, a heretofore unknown fanbase unearthed, and here we are. Thrash's fandom, thourh fringe, is the kind that keeps such obscurities from becoming totally forgotten. And I can respect that.
The film charts the rise of both the pizza chain and Fechter's career, as well as the dimming of both as Showbiz folded into Chuck E. Cheese. It was nothing short of a rush of nostalgia to the head for me, seeing someone actually do a piece on something so ephemeral in our culture. Easily the film's high point, for me.
At its heart, "The Rock-afire Explosion" is a story of two people who can't let go. One dances on the edge of heartbreak, the other finds solace in the robotic entertainers of his youth. Thrash holds two jobs, and one wonders how much of that work goes into just his childhood obsession. Fechter still (as of filming) lingers in the factory that once produced the singing robots, even though production has been shut down for many years. It's just Fechter, tinkering in what's become an over-sized storage unit. Unexpected moments of poignancy surface from both men. For Thrash, it's the need for his dying father to see his son's prized possession one more time. For Fechter, it's the fond memories of his favorite accomplishment, and the stinging wounds of being let go once Showbiz faded away.
In an age where documentarians dwell on the BIG issues (war, healthcare, politics, terrorism, global warming), it's refreshing that someone can go out and make a film about something so seemingly inconsequential as an automated band of hair-covered robots, and make it interesting.
7/10