You know what makes a great movie snack? Glass. Severely sharp, pokey pieces of rainbow glass that taste like fruit.
Obviously, I’m talking about candy glass, but, man, can this stuff hurt you. And not just in the pancreas.
Also known as sugar glass, edible glass, and breakaway glass, this concoction has a long history as a Hollywood prop. I first heard about it on an episode of Beakman’s World during a “Cooking with Art Burn” segment. You know, the one where Beakman is playing a short-order cook in the foulest diner to pop out of health inspectors’ nightmares?
Although my preteen self was wowed by the idea of making candy that I could break over my enemies’ heads, I probably made it only once in my youth. Instead of using it as a weapon against my bullies, I ate it like a respectable child with a sweet tooth would.
Munching on fruity glass while watching a childhood favorite sounded like a great idea for this birthday post. It’s a treat made from pure sugar with some corn syrup for good measure. Don’t worry, it’s light corn syrup, so it’s only half as bad for you.
The recipe I like best comes from The Spruce Eats. Reading the instructions for the recipe, you’ll find a step about letting the mixture boil until the thermometer reads 300 degrees F/150 degrees C. That’s a scary temperature, especially when you’re dealing with melted sugar with the potential to burn.
But you don’t have to worry here. Every batch of candy glass I made never resulted in the pot splattering or popping, just the usual bubbling that happens at high temperatures. Unless you dip your digits into the boiling syrup—and I imagine that’s a new trend to get views on YouTube—you’ll be fine.
You may think about skipping the step where you dust the glass with powdered sugar. Don’t. Because of the corn syrup, this stuff likes to stick. There’s nothing less fun than reaching into a bag of candy glass and taking out a stack of pieces that refuse to peel apart. (Well, yeah, there are less fun things, but in this scenario, candy sticking together is appropriate.)
But don’t overdo the powdered sugar, either. It can build up on itself. Getting a mouthful of it isn’t pleasant. It’s like the sweet tooth version of the cinnamon challenge. Unless you want to take the time to dust off excess sugar with a basting brush, just pour in enough to coat the pieces when you shake the bag.
As for storing the candy, I keep it chilled. The powdered sugar doesn’t prevent heat from warping the candy. I’ve found that if I let a piece sit in my mouth for a while, it becomes pliable to the point where I can bend it in half with my tongue.
Flavoring is optional, but I do recommend it. It’s more fun that way. I used flavoring oils, not extracts. There’s a difference.
The difference being that oils will burn your taste buds. These potent liquids don’t mess around. One dram (1.25 fl oz/3.7 ml) is enough to flavor a halved version of this recipe, which is what I did for the five batches I made.
This was where I had the most fun. I used LorAnn brand oils to make the flavors I wanted. It’s my birthday and my candy, so if I wanted watermelon for red, blueberry for blue, green apple for green, banana creme for yellow, and apricot for orange, that’s what I was gonna do. Enough of this strawberry, blue raspberry, lemon, lime, and orange crap. (Who the hell thought of blue raspberry anyway?)
But why stop at flavors that traditionally match certain colors? I suppose if your inner prankster wanted to really let loose, you could mix the flavors and colors. How does purple apricot-flavored glass sound? How about coconut-flavored blue glass? If you want to be absolutely evil, you can have anise-flavored pink glass.
Another tip: Grease the cookie sheet. As soon as it hardens, this stuff sticks. For one batch, I made the mistake of skipping cooking spray on a sheet and ended up having to bend it so I could grab the glass at a corner.
As for breaking this stuff, be careful. Depending on how thick the syrup settles in some areas, it won’t break into smaller pieces. Little pieces may fly off, so be on the lookout for random sugary bits around your kitchen for the next few days. (Don’t try to break it apart in a plastic bag, as you’ll tear holes in it.) I used a wooden crepe spreader to lightly whack the glass. I guess you could use a hammer if you were feeling violent, but really, don’t overdo it.
With a bag of dusted sugar glass in our hands (or in bags, if we’re smart), let’s settle in and enjoy a graphically loaded tribute to Twice Upon A Time.
The 80s were a marvelous time for entertainment. Imaginations in the film industry were on fire, telling stories in many wondrous ways. Movies flooded TV and theaters. Children’s heads were loaded with colors, creatures, and countries they’d never dreamed of. Ideas mixed with abandon and melted into a glittering rainbow flood.
So many memories remain with me, floating to the surface of my own rainbow-flooded consciousness, making me relive the emotions of those years. The terror and sadness when Atreyu lost Artax in the Swamps of Sadness, the exhilaration when Marty McFly outchased Biff in the tunnel, the utter disappointment when the Popples sat on their fuzzy paws waiting to be rescued… wait, that happened recently.
Some memories are so vivid that I can recall movie scenes with perfect clarity. Others bob just below the surface, teasing me with the possibility that I’m experiencing a Candle Cove effect. One of these memories featured an orange dog-like animal with glasses and wings and his quiet Charlie Chaplin-looking friend. They were on an adventure, something to do with vultures and bombs, black and white Xerox pictures of real people, and a squat, gross little man wearing a tattered housecoat and a miter.
If this sounds vaguely familiar to you, don’t worry. We’re not sharing the Candle Cove effect. This wasn’t a dream. This was a real movie. Chances are, you’ve forgotten a great deal about it. Whether this is your first time hearing about it or you’re revisiting years later, this is going to be a movie you won’t soon forget. Again. Possibly.
As the movie begins, we’re treated to a rather interesting choice of opening music. And a credit you wouldn’t expect in an obscure film such as this.
Don’t get too excited. Other than giving it a green light, George Lucas had no hand in the production… at most, it was like the first joint of a thumb as he probably said, “Sounds fun, yeah, go for it.” (Best said in that slightly wimpy, nasally voice people tend to use for impersonations of him.)
If you’re feeling some dread watching these credits, thank the music. It’s a combination of gated reverb drums, a plunky xylophone, trumpets, and that awful “sharp edge of a knife scraping across metal” effect that sounds like it came from an apprehension engine. It should prepare you for some of the sights you’ll see later down the road.
And here’s one of those Rushers, not rushing around.
Okay, there’s actually kind of a purpose to this still shot. As the narrator sets up the story, we learn that the Rushers are humans living in a gray world. As they sleep, they receive sweet dreams from the cheerful and sugary Frivoli or nightmares from the grungy and dark Murkworks.
Disgusted with the status quo, the villain seeks to deliver non-stop nightmares to the Rushers. The ultimate tool to help him is a device called the Cosmic Clock. As shown in the screenshot, it’s located in a shop of some sort. Totally a safe place to store something with the implied ability to change time and/or space.
“Any kind of heroes.” This was the 80s. We accepted the clumsiest, geekiest, most inept underdogs. We… didn’t have real standards back then, and pretty much accepted what we were told to like. Today we have free will and opinions. For better or worse.
Immediately, the slow, determined music that accompanies the narrator gives way to the 80s-est song you can imagine. “Heartbreak Town” erupts with a bold, wailing guitar riff that leads up to Bruce Hornsby singing about… well… heartbreak and how he wants to be carried down to a place where they’ll understand and let him be.
It’s such an unfitting song for this fantasy movie. Well, I guess the third act woes could count as heartbreak, but even then, it’s kind of a stretch to make it match this song’s theme.
But I still love it. Every time I hear this song, I can’t help but think of this movie. I’ve only been able to find the song recently thanks to YouTube and my persistent searching habit, because it’s hard to find otherwise. In fact, the best copy you’ll find is a fan-edited version on YouTube.
You also want to know how hard this single is to find? It’s never mentioned in Bruce Hornsby’s discography. Even if it’s a “work for hire” piece, you’d think it would get a mention on his website. I guess that’s just the way it is.
Over the song, we get short animated bits of the dramatis personae. This gives you a preview of the Lumage style. If you’re not familiar with it, I’m not surprised. It’s also a shame, as this is one of the most involved but artistically satisfying methods of animation.
Invented and employed pretty much only by John Korty, this form of cutout animation involved the pieces being moved around on light tables. These “luminous images” had the appearance of moving stained glass. If you watched Sesame Street in the 1970s and 1980s, you may have seen it in action. Now you also understand why I chose candy glass for this post’s recipe. (I can be smart sometimes.)
If you want to learn more about the Lumage process, check out The Ward-O-Matic’s two-part review of Twice Upon A Time here and here, and a PBS documentary about Bay Area animators called The Animators (current link here; we know that YouTube likes to delete things on occasion).
Our first view of this world is a sign advertising Murkworks, bombs, and nightmares. Mountains of trash litter the landscape: Cars, submarines, giant dolls, and even Easter Island statues. Unsettling to be sure, but I have to wonder how these things came to rest in this wasteland. Does Synonamess Botch make regular trips to steal from junkyards and World Heritage Sites?
As we swoop into the grimy realm, Murkworks rises up from the desolation. It’s a cluster of water towers, smokestacks, and twisting roads that make up the factory-castle.
By the way, that trestle alone is a feat in this film. It was constructed entirely out of cardboard in Harley Jessup’s apartment. The motion control movement that matched the camera and the cutout background was accomplished by a barely grownup David Fincher. Yes, Fight Club and Zodiac director David Fincher. Barely in his twenties and the kid was a pro with Mitchell cameras—which was a mystery since Twice was his first-ever job in the industry. As for the Harley Jessup fellow I mentioned? He was the art director for this movie. Now he’s a production designer at Pixar.
In a roost, vultures grumble and gurgle in deep sleep. Suddenly, a spotlight sears the darkness. A microphone squeals as Synonamess Botch (voiced by Marshall Efron) fiddles with it. He gives a rousing speech.
Well, he gives two different speeches:
Family-friendly version:
BOTCH: I just want to say a few words to you minions before you go off on your mission. I know some of you have wives… and sweethearts… and all that malarkey… There’s a good chance some of you won’t be coming back. I can deal with that. And for those of you who are going to pay… with everything you have, rest assured, the world is going to be a little bit worse because of you. So let’s get out there… and give it to them!
PG-rated version:
BOTCH: I just want to say a few words to you scumbags before you deliver those nightmares. I know some of you have girlfriends and old ladies and all that kinda crap. And you’re probably expecting to get into their feathers tonight! Well, let me just say… tough shit! And for you jerkoffs who think you can hang around here on your fat asses, I have one last thing to say: Go suck an egg! So let’s get out there and kick some butt!
Confusion abounds. Two versions of the movie? Swearing and vulgarity? Was this really made for kids? Which is the real version?
Obviously, you’d expect the clean, swear-free version to be the Sesame Street animator’s original version. (Well, mostly swear-free, as I’ll show throughout.) As explained in the film’s commentary, this one was not only Korty’s original vision, it was also a legal obligation.
But Bill Couturie, the writer and producer, wanted the film to appeal to college-age kids. So he brought the actors back in to record an alternate, more vulgar version.
Guess which version made it into theaters to the surprise of unsuspecting families with young children.
Let’s just say that Korty and crew had a nightmare to deal with after that decision was made.
Grudgingly roused into action, the vultures take flight. Bombs clasped tightly in talons await detonation in the helpless, sleeping world beyond Murkworks’s borders.
In a post office, a small figure wakes up for the night shift. This short and bent fellow is Greensleeves (voiced by Hamilton Camp). He’s the ringleader of the Figmen of the imagination. (There will be other puns, so don’t start groaning now.) Together, these guys deliver sweet dreams to the Rushers of Din.
In the sky, a shooting star delivering the dreams from Frivoli explodes like a firework. Dust conveniently showers into the post office… through skylights?… into mailbags in the post office. The figmen give themselves quick dust baths, then bound off into the city.
So you may be wondering about how sentient, mobile fruits deliver dreams. Isn’t it obvious, you silly billy? They bounce on people’s heads! A few quick jumps on a noggin, the dust settles, and the recipient is living vicariously through dreams.
One figman gets confused between a sleeping girl and a decorative goose. Understandable mistake, I mean, humans and geese are genetic cousins. Try as it might, the little fig can’t dust the fake animal’s head.
The mistake leaves an opening. A vulture flies through the window and drops the nightmare bomb. Upon impact, it detonates in an inky cloud. The nightmares begin, and the poor girl begins tossing and turning.
The figman hops away, but the vulture is quicker. Within moments, the flock has captured the dream team. They tear through an abandoned building, warping right into Murkworks. The vultures deliver their prisoners to a barrel. As one of them corks the barrel, I wonder how fig wine would taste.
Botch, the fat devil, is just tickled. Admiring his minions’ numbers on a scoreboard (how exactly would he keep track of that?), he orders them to get Greensleeves.
Even a dastardly nightmare maestro needs to take care of his iddle widdle petikins. Botch gives his precious his daily serving of nuts and bolts. That armadillo rat monstrosity is Ratatooie. He’s creepy, but he’s helpful, what with his iron gut and goat-like talent of consuming metal. But anytime I watch him in motion, it’s like part of my brain is being pinched. Maybe it’s his flashy colors.
Back in Din, Greensleeves has had it with Murkworks meddling with the sanctity of good dreams.
GREENSLEEVES: It’s time to send another SOS to Frivoli, and they’d best be sending some help, and be quick about it! *coughs up a lung*
Wait, another SOS? How many pleas for help has Greensleeves sent? Talk about incompetence at the managerial level. If you ever feel frustrated about higher-up inaction in your workplace, just remember that dream deliveries are just as bad, if not worse.
Seconds after sending off his letter, one of the vultures snatches Greenie away. Din mustn’t be that far away from the land of nightmares since Greensleeves screams all the way there. He’s dropped unceremoniously into a tower, presumably leading to a dungeon of some sort. Botch really had this whole thing planned out.
Botch cackles with joy. His laugh echoes through the building. It bounces off the walls and floors, seeming to stain the grimy surfaces with more hate and ugliness. All the while, a lone henchman vacuums a carpet.
Meanwhile, all is colorful and light in the land of Frivoli, “Home of the Original Sweet Dream.” (Are there copycat Frivoli or knockoff sweet dreams?) Birds frolic in the air. Colors reminiscent of lollipops and cotton candy flood hills. Such a happy, wondrous place. Could anything bad ever happen in a world where such a sweet place exists?
It had better, or we don’t have a story.
In the factory where dreams are manufactured from confections, a young woman approaches a corpulent chef. This is Flora Fauna (voiced by Julie Payne) the… messenger?… courier?… For that matter, what is she? Her name makes me think of a plant-animal hybrid, and in some shots, you can see what appears to be a receptacle forming the back of her head, and her hair appears to be orange petals, but… I gotta stop overthinking kids’ media.
(Yes, the bulbous part of a flower under all the pretty parts is called a receptacle.)
FLORA: It is I, Flora Fauna! I bring tidings to the Chef of State! Another message from Din. Would you like to read this?
She waggles the envelope, expecting an answer. The Chef of State (voiced by Paul Frees) chuckles, taking the letter and fanning himself with it. There’s no rush, he tells her. He’s a jolly type, calling Flora “child” as is the custom fatherly or uncle-y older men. As he looks the letter over, he tells Flora that it’s good news. “What other kind of news is there?”
Flora has her doubts as she descends the ladder. Yeah, the Chef of State sits on a platform overlooking the factory. If the platform doesn’t have a ramp or an elevator, how does he get up there?
As the Chef of State folds the letter into an airplane and sends it into a trash chute, he chuckles the chuckle of a man pleased with his own happy ignorance.
CHEF: Sometime, I’m gonna have to learn to read! And write. And tie my shoes. Button my fly…
If literacy isn’t a platform in Frivolous politics, it should be. Now I wonder what all those papers on his desk were. Is debt collection a thing in this sugar-infested land?
Greensleeves’s desperate message lands in a bucket of discarded messages. Work goes on in the factory, and nobody is never the wiser to the brewing horror in the realm beyond.
But let’s not worry about all that. It’s a happy day in Frivoli! In fact, judging by all the singing, every day is a happy day here. Flowers dance, people join hands and kick up their heels, cows ride sky lifts into creameries. Gads, it’s so cheerful, you’ll vomit sprinkles.
In the creamery, we pan down a long list of happy dream makers. Georgie, Porgie, Sleezy, Kinky, and Baloney sure sound like interesting characters, but this isn’t their story. It’s the story of the two misfits with their names scribbled on scrap paper and sloppily taped to the board.
This is where our heroes, Ralph the All-Purpose Animal and Mumford, toil the day away. Ralph is in millipede form, carrying a load of ice cream on his back and somehow avoiding a mess, and Mum is carrying a pyramid of cherries. All the while, Ralph’s off-key singing sails through the air.
RALPH: It’s reeeaaalllly duuuuuummmb! Dumb, dumb, duuuuummb, dumb, dumb, dumb, duuuummb…
A worker after my own heart.
But all this vocal tomfoolery has the foreman steamed. “Stop it! Stop it! It’s not dumb! You’re dumb! You’re supposed to sing ‘la la la’!”
He backs Ralph and Mum onto a conveyor belt and into the tube of an open rocket. No, I don’t know its purpose. Unless this is how dreams are delivered to Din. Wondering aside, the rocket is capped, the fuse ignited, and hijinks ensue.
Well, if you count watching a rocket shooting through a factory to be hijinks. Some people are startled, but that’s about it. The rocket doesn’t even cause damage as it flies outside and crashes in a field. Tsk. We could have had an ice cream paintball fight or a cake avalanche.
Gads, all that pink. Smeared over every hill, mixed with dusty lavender, speckled in cherry patterns… I’d have a migraine every day. At least Murkworks offers variety. Granted, it’s in filth and mold, but you’d see more than the occasional blue or green.
The rocket landed in the field, but Ralph and Mum have landed themselves in the High Court of Frivoli. The Pantry of Pomp will see to it that the reckless duo pay for their crimes of… not singing along to cheerful factory tunes? Basic incompetence?
It’s never stated, but the foreman is all too happy to plead guilty for them.
FOREMAN: They’re misfits! And dumb, too! […] They look real funny! […] They can’t do anything right!
Cripes, if those are crimes, hardly anybody would have a job.
FOREMAN: I bet they can’t even take out the garbage!
RALPH: I’ll bet we can!
Listen to that voice. Ralph sure sounds familiar, doesn’t he?
Eighties kids who grew up on Saturday morning cartoons will immediately recognize the mellow voice of Lorenzo Music. He was one of those lucky “one voice, many characters” voice actors who found steady work. It was all in delivery. With a combination of attitude, tone, mood, and speed, he gave each character he played a distinct personality.
Listen to Garfield and The Real Ghostbusters‘ Peter Venkman. It’s the same voice, but Garfield is smug and lazy. Peter is laid back. Both use sarcasm, but Garfield’s comes from a place of misanthropic self-absorption. Peter’s sarcasm is more or less a barrier so the world won’t dig into a troubled past brought on by his absent crook of father.
Ralph himself sounds mellow and maybe a little shy, but he can give lip and give a damn about the world. He’s very much his own animal, as you’ll see.
Insulted by the idea that he and Mum can’t perform the simple task of taking out the garbage, he unwittingly volunteers themselves to the Garbagerie.
Even the trash here is candy-sickeningly bright. Flora has sneaked in to search for her uncle’s letter. Upon hearing Ralph and Mum enter, she jumps into a pail. Just crams her long, lean ballerina physique into a tiny, garbage-lined space. Brave woman.
Ready to start working, Ralph speaks to a… speaker… about how to perform their new task.
SPEAKER: Empty little buckets into big barrel. Put big barrel in cart. Push cart far away.
RALPH: Yeah, but where exactly?
SPEAKER: Far, far, far away.
RALPH: Yeah, I know, but how far? I mean, we could push it so far, and then we could be too far, or we could just push it a little—
SPEAKER: You’ll know when you get there.
RALPH: What?
SPEAKER: I said you’ll know when you get there.
RALPH: Oh. Thanks.
SPEAKER: Think nothing of it.
RALPH: *muttering* I know where to push it…
Ralph and Mum perform their tasks… or rather, Ralph performs the task and Mum loafs around. As he’s pushing the cart, Ralph gets the idea to change into a different animal. Something big to push the heavy cart. As he struggles to morph into an elephant, the cart, with Mum riding it, rolls far, far, far away.
Everyone falls off a cliff and trash spills everywhere. Flora emerges, sputtering, but none the worse for wear. Hey, look, it’s Greensleeves’s letter conveniently within reach.
Figs being kidnapped! Send help or all is lost! G.S.
Someone in peril? Why, this looks like a job for folks who’ve never done any kind of rescuing in their lives! Flora is rightly unsure about neophytes Ralph and Mum venturing into Din.
FLORA: Terrible things happen there!
RALPH: Really? Like what?
FLORA: Well, I’m not sure, but I know you’d have to be a real hero to save it.
The call of adventure is ringing loudly and Ralph is eager to answer it. But when you think about it, going on an adventure is the perfect job for these guys. No previous work experience necessary, lots of travel, possible danger, no references required. Hey, sign me up! It’s the perfect career to kickstart my mid-life crisis.
Meanwhile, Botch is enjoying a shower in his awful bathroom. From the looks of it, this place looks like it was converted from a tiled boiler room. My main question is why would someone need three latrines? In case two of them become unbearably disgusting? When he gets bored with trying to water down a urinal cake in one of them?
Something rolls past the fogged up windows. A hand wipes the glass from the outside…
This is Ibor, Botch’s at-home spy. He’s a collection of wires, a TV and antenna, and a fake gorilla pelt. At least I hope it’s fake.
In addition to being a living mechanical nightmare, Ibor speaks only in TV clips and live feeds, which is how he’s able to show Botch the conversation between Ralph and Flora. Do-gooders who want to go to Din? This is great news for the tubby villain.
(Yes, that’s a toilet scrubber he’s using to bathe himself. Yes, the dirty, itching sensation you feel all over your body after reading that is normal.)
Botch bellows for his henchman and screamwriter, Scuzzbopper (voiced by James Cranna). Scuzz spends his days literally pounding away at a typewriter. Through this rather laborious hunt-and-peck method with mallets, he’s able to write several nightmares at once. It’s an accomplishment since he doesn’t have arms. Oh, he has hands, but no arms. No, it’s never explained. (Just keep asking those questions. You’ll never get answers for them.)
He’s a productive worker, but writing nightmares has lost its sheen for the jester.
SCUZZBOPPER: I’m through with writing nightmare scripts! Pfah! I’m starting work on the great Amurkian novel! Pulitzer Prize, here I come! Steinbeck, Hemingway, Scuzzbopper!
Scuzzbopper. There’s a name that will grace literature syllabuses.
Botch screams for him again. In response, Scuzzbopper yells with all the rage and impatience an employee with irrevocable job security can muster.
SCUZZBOPPER: Just a minute, boss, I’m tryin’ to finish a page!
To which Botch replies…
Family-friendly:
BOTCH: Right, you finish the page. *long drag on a cigarette* And I’ll have Rudy and his friends finish you.
PG version:
BOTCH: Right, you finish the page! *long drag on a cigarette* And I’ll have your face ripped off and hurt you, too.
(The second version is typically what most managers say in their heads when confronted with employees possessing free will. I don’t have proof. I just know these things.)
Botch’s souped-up roadster tears down the spiraling road. Scuzz is the chauffeur, the wind blowing in his jester hat, which is quite the sight considering this is all paper. In seconds, they’re in the outskirts of Frivoli. Even more impressive, they come to a hard stop on a dime. Or rather, very nearly on top of Ralph.
RALPH: Hello.
Botch introduces himself and his “distinguished colleague,” Ratatooie. Scuzz doesn’t get an introduction, because Botch is that kind of boss.
He tells Ralph, Mum, and Flora that he couldn’t help but overhearing about their “mutual friend” and his “colleague” Greensleeves. Botch is so “concerned” about Greenie that he invites the trio back to his place so they can discuss a rescue plan.
Mum can clearly hear the quotation marks around Botch’s words. He desperately mimes to Ralph that they should avoid the offer. Ralph ignores him but politely declines the offer. You know, despite being so adamant about saving Greensleeves a few minutes ago. They have to take out the trash, after all.
Ratatooie has saved them the trouble of that awful task, and lets out a juicy, satisfied belch. Adorable.
Part One Part Two Part Three
