The name’s Duncan. Your not-so-friendly neighborhood D. V. Detective, calming down from being pissed off at modern technology. Yeah, I know, I know. Which is it this time? See, despite all my other faults, I can read minds. Or at least the minds that are bored enough to read my rambling. Now back to the 21st century junk, I mean, the eighth wonder of the world better known as my damn iPod Touch. It conked out worse than one of my sturdy 20th century Walkman. I only had the thing for five months. I was watching one of the King of Pop’s legendary videos “Beat It,” when the “smart” device took the song to heart and stopped working. But that’s not sucks most. What sucks most about modern technology is the modern price it takes to fix it. The cost makes me want to wait for the next generation junk with more bells and whistles that may probably last twice as long. Thank God I wasn’t stupid enough to believe I didn’t need to make back up copies. It comes in handy, particularly whenever I need one in my hand to put in my DVD player. It certainly came in handy for a case I dubbed: The Case of the Unfulfilled Wish.

I was in the middle of choosing which CD was the best out-of-business bargain Virgin Megastore could bare when I saw a caramel coated beauty frantically combing through two DVD bins like she was unearthing a historical artifact. Monique Pinkney soon after slumped her curvaceous figure, hoping to not let her delectable almond shaped eyes fill with tears. I couldn’t help but butt into her business and see if I could help. Her sob story began like any other. Her nephew’s frequent visits to her apartment were as routine as watching a mystery unravel five minutes before the end of a TV episode. The 11-year-old barely needed to step into the place for her to instantly know what he wanted. Her aged Thriller videotape was set to play like always… until last week. The reliable tape popped in the middle of its fourth viewing that day. Monique reassured her distraught nephew, knowing she was a mere mouse click away from finally buying the Thriller DVD… until none was found, anywhere. Her best bet was buying a hand me down on Ebay for about a thousand dollars. She couldn’t understand how a legendary music video could be out of print, but the Jonas Brothers can release a concert movie in 3D. Monique was too distraught to put her gushing emotions into where it counts. She wanted to take action, but didn’t know what action to take. She settled on what I offered: to write a persuasive proposal she could present to a high powered music executive. Unfortunately, it was her boyfriend. I had to write words that could persuade the most anal pencil pusher to do anything that’ll justify his inflated salary. Monique needed me to ensure this improbability result in the DVD release the greatest music video of all time.

When I got home, I tried my best to ignore the latest round of stomping and yelling above the plaster I hoped would stay on my ceiling. Then I popped in my Thriller DVD. Now, before classifying this as a WTF moment, let me rephrase. I popped in my burned, homemade Thriller DVD I copied from the original VHS tape I had originally bought over twenty years ago. That nagging refrain, “backup, backup, backup” ain’t just for saving computer files. It’s applies to preserving anything of value. Even though I should’ve told Monique this earlier, accusing a client of falling into the female technophobe stereotype was not healthy for my anorexic bank account. After re-watching the video and the “making of” documentary, I opened my laptop and jolted down the following:

You know, wearing a Jeri Curl in this scene may not have been a good idea.

At first glance, a person might read this and wonder why is a detective trained to sniff out movie plot points and character flaws wasting his time picking apart a twenty-five-year-old music video? For starters, Thriller isn’t just a music video; it’s technically a film short. A thirteen minute film short that revolutionized and legitimized the young art of music video. While many were content with their makeshift visual promos on MTV, Michael Jackson thought it would be a good thing to test the boundaries and not just lip sync his way to superstardom. Even his two earlier videos, “Billie Jean” and “Beat It,” used strong visual and story concepts that enhanced the lyrics fans would only hear on the radio. Yet, I’m not surprised Mike went all out for Thriller. The song itself was out there. Getting a song to hit number one on the Billboard chart is hard enough. Try doing that with lyrics best suited for a Little Shop of Horrors soundtrack. There was no way a conventional four minute music video could contain the magnitude of creepy metaphors or the baritone creepiness of Vincent Price.

But first, like all films what Thriller needed was a director. One who could mix Horror, Comedy and Music as good as a juggler who could balance three dates in one evening without getting caught. The filmmaker who fit the bill turned An American Werewolf in London and Animal House into classics. Mike asked John Landis to venture into the unknown: direct a film tame enough to bypass all parental advisories. With the help of master mask maker, Rick Baker; master choreographer, Michael Peters; a masterful update of The Night of the Living Dead, and… of course, Michael Jackson, Landis crafted the music video that personified Generation X. It was a little strange, a little goofy, extremely savvy and incredibly imaginative. Think I’m wrong? What other example can claim greatness on the back of its lackluster acting? Let’s face it, Mike and Ola Ray weren’t on the Oscar fast track, especially Ola. Other than her follow-up guest starring role in an episode of “Cheers,” her Thriller appearance will have to remain her pinnacle role as a thespian. But make no mistake. Every woman in 1983 would’ve gladly pushed her out of the way to be Michael’s on-screen girlfriend anytime, anyplace, anywhere.

What was genius about the film was how it stuck to the skeleton of the song’s premise. The lyrics illustrated a scenario about a guy reassuring his frightened girlfriend from a horror movie they were watching. The video took that premise and made it larger than life, what a film is supposed to do. It was done twofold. Michael tried and failed to calm Ola down inside the movie theatre and when he “tapped” her out of her nightmare after they were at his place, at least I assume that was the place she ran into.

Another great element was the layer upon layer of surprises. When the film started, we assumed it was a period piece. A time where letter jackets, poddle skirts, and the seriousness of “pinning” a girl made us remember why (“Happy Days”) Richie Cunningham barely got to sing “I Found My Thrill on Blueberry Hill” in front of his father. We even overlooked the cheesiness of the predictable out-of-gas plot and Ola screaming for her life while watching Michael’s werewolf transformation, rather than running. Looking back, it wasn’t the plot that was important. In fact, it was done because of its cheesiness. A loving throwback to the 1950s Monster flicks, which served as the video’s first surprise. Just as Werewolf Mike set to sink his foot-long fingertips into his latest victim, screaming moviegoers, minus a giddy Michael, fill the screen. The video wasn’t a period piece after all. It was set in the (then) modern times.

“I found my thrill, on Blueberry Hill…”

The real video began the moment Ola walked out of the movie theatre. Now, I’d bet top dollar that when Michael teased Ola all the way down the street was the scene women wanted to be Ola. It was the ultimate fan service, Mary Sue moment. Only the hottest singer in the nation could get away with having women think singing, smiling and skipping along hand-in-hand were more than enough to satisfy them on a date. It was a perfect prelude to surprise number two. As they skipped through the graveyard, they left a few undead people behind. Either those zombies were light sleepers or those lovebirds were too careless to quiet their footsteps. Either way, their shoes must’ve had a helluva connection to the underworld. That being said, the plausible police could point to another violation that featured Mike and Ola taking in the 360-degree scenic view of zombies slooowly coming at them and not hauling ass right then and there. Okay, I, a stickler for logic in movies, have to let this illogical moment slide simply to enjoy the benefits of surprise number three. I don’t know which was more 80s, practicing to get every step of the Thriller dance or practicing to get every key of “Axel-F’s Theme” from Beverly Hills Cop on a Casio keyboard? Watching Michael suddenly turn into a zombie and leading them all into that dance was one of the coolest moments in music video history. Those crisp, precise, intricate steps surpassed anything attempted on “Soul Train.” There wasn’t anyone, myself included, who didn’t attempt to memorize every step as if passing onto next grade depended on it.

Michael: Remember, if no one steps on my toes, I’ll give everyone a huge discount on my new jacket.

Ola’s hope of escaping those zombies was as hopeless as Clarice hoped Hannibal would suddenly turn into a vegetarian. All that dancing, marching and popping must’ve made their hunger even worse. Not even the run-down, abandoned house Ola hid into quelled their centuries old appetites.  Her zombified boyfriend led the assimilation brigade, eager to show her all the benefits the undead lifestyle. With one touch of the shoulder… surprise number four flashed in front of our eyes. When Mike pleasantly asked, “What’s the Problem?” We were as puzzled as Ola was. What was more puzzling was how “Dallas” had swipe the “it’s all a dream” concept years later and expected their viewers to not feel stupid for seeing the entire season slip down drain faster than the soap suds in Bobby Ewing’s shower. Maybe what “Dallas” failed to deliver was that question mark essential to any cliffhanger. You know, Thriller surprise number five. When Michael offered to take Ola home, he turned to the camera, revealing his yellow, Werewolf eyes. Coupled with Vincent Price’s sinister laughter, the joke was definitely on us. Were Mike’s transformations real? Were they fake? Was Ola still in danger? Did anybody care after the credits rolled? I guess no one will ever know.

Zombie on Michael’s shoulder: Now, Mike. That discount on that jacket better be worth it.

Thriller rippled numerous chain reactions throughout pop culture. So much so, other recording artists were forced to scramble for better music video ideas. Ideas that could move video cassettes off store shelves. Video cassettes? Store shelves? Enter surprise number six. MTV couldn’t maintain the enormous demand. So, what happens when demand is high in a capitalistic society? Sell millions of VHS tapes and make butt loads of money! Thriller was not only the first video fans were able to buy, it was the first video fans wanted to buy. They literally bought the privilege of re-playing the tape as many times as they wanted and were treated to an equally entertaining “The Making of Thriller” documentary. The combination of behind-the-scenes footage, rare Jackson videos and the “coming out” solo performance Mike did during the Motown 25th Anniversary special, made it the perfect keepsake.

This next surprise didn’t occur in the video. It happened years later. It’s the kind of surprise that distinguishes hits from classics. It all hinges on a simple four-letter word: Time. After twenty-five years, after Betamax, after the beeper, after the boombox fell by the wayside, the Thriller dance lives on. Don’t believe me? Rent 13 Going on 30 and check out Jennifer Garner lead a group of partygoers. How ‘bout something more recent. The Zac Efron movie 17 Again showed that being like Mike didn’t mean buying expensive sneakers. It meant buying expensive pleather jackets inspired by the one Michael Jackson wore in Thrillier. Hell, watch the 90s Backstreet Boys video where they tailored “Everybody (Backstreet’s Back)” on the Thriller dance. But its greatest tribute is a YouTube video featuring several hundred Filipino prison inmates re-enacting Michael and Ola’s parts before, during and after the dance.

Ola: Fess up, ladies. You wish you are me right now, aren’t you?

With all that has been mentioned, the most disturbing surprise is still coming from the music industry’s incredibly moronic negligence in not converting the Thriller VHS onto DVD. What the hell are they thinking? Instead of merging every recording label in sight and suing every eight-year-old for illegal downloads, the “geniuses” could’ve gone a different direction and, I don’t know, respect those who shell out their dough as needlessly as those who buy water packaged inside plastic bottles. I would’ve given a lot of slack, maybe broke down and admitted it made sense for people to wait until the DVD release coincided with the 25th anniversary of the “Thriller” album.  The anniversary came and went. No Thriller DVD. Wouldn’t it have been cool to hear Michael’s, John Landis’ or even Ola Ray’s audio commentary? Watch special documentaries detailing the video’s overwhelming impact throughout the years? Gape at the rare deleted scenes and bloopers? No. It requires an industry that actually gives a damn about its product. Makes you think iTunes’ current stranglehold on music distribution ain’t much of a cowinkidink. But a better way to tell how a business model is heading into the crapper is how it mimics Fine Art galleries to turn a hefty profit. What’s more ghoulish? Waiting for artists with lengthy catalogues to kick off or salivating after grieving fans bumrush every music outlet that’s not tied down? Yet, due to recent events, its our best chance at motivating an old, crusty industry to dust off its lazy ass and finally provide the Thriller DVD to the public. A DVD that should’ve been a no-brainer to release years ago.

We’re outta here…until we’re released on DVD.

While re-reading my work, I noticed a few of the harsh tones I sprinkled throughout my report, the same report Monique planned to show her music industry boyfriend. Hey, she paid for my take on the situation. It’ll be her call if she wanted to sugarcoat it. That would have to be on her. I don’t do revisions. After proofreading and spell-checking the thing, I emailed her my uncut, raw version.

Since Monique paid the entire fee upfront, I assumed the case and all chatter about it was over. Her phone call a day later proved what people say about assuming anything. She gave me the heads up on her boyfriend’s reaction to the colorfully opinionated proposal I pinned… on keyboard. The words “thrilled” and “impressed” never made it to my ears, nor had I expected them to. What I did hear was fairly surprising. The report gave the  suit evidence he needed to develop some sort of presentation to Sony, or whomever owns the video at this point, to release the greatest music video of all time on DVD. Although it might not make a difference, at least someone thought it was worth a try.

Monique also thanked me for letting an extra burned DVD of Thriller slip through the mail. I figured spreading joy to an unsuspecting eleven-year-old in July didn’t violate any trademark issues with Santa. Hey, what can I say? Couldn’t help it. Kids are our future and what would that future be without each of them owning a Thriller DVD?

Now, the case of the Unfulfilled Wish is over. Thanks for hangin’ out. Hope you’ll return to read my next case. Til then, I’m Devin V. Duncan, the D.V. Detective, logging off.