Welcome to Late Night Retro Television Reviews, a feature where we review some of our favorite and least favorite shows of the past! On Tuesdays, I will be reviewing Pacific Blue, a cop show that aired from 1996 to 2000 on the USA Network! It’s currently streaming everywhere, though I’m watching it on Tubi.
This week, Jamie goes undercover …. again!
Episode 4.4 “Users”
(Dir by Michael Levine, originally aired on August 16th, 1998)
Pacific Blue started out as a show about bicycle cops. I always thought that was a stupid premise but, regardless of my opinion, the first two seasons pretty much focused on keeping the cops on the bikes. However, with the third and now the fourth season, the bikes have started to feel superfluous. Now, the bike cops are suddenly working murders and going undercover. This all seems like stuff that actual detective should be doing as opposed to a bunch of glorified traffic cops.
For instance, this episode features Jamie being sent undercover to befriend a teenage drug dealer named Brandon Jeter (future choreographer and Michael Jackson-accuser Wade Robson). Brandon, who has witnessed a murder, is being used as an informant by an intense narcotics detective named Perry Marcus (Roger Floyd). TC and Cory make a big deal about how they don’t like Perry’s tactics but why would Perry care? He’s not a bike cop and they’re not detectives.
This is only Jamie’s fourth episode as a regular character but it feels like the 100th time that she’s been told to work undercover. The problem is that we don’t know much about who Jamie is so there’s not really any emotional pay-off to seeing her pretending to be someone else. Jamie is upset when she sees how everyone — from Detective Marcus to drug lord Nick Lambros (Corey Pearson) — is manipulating Brandon but we don’t really know why. We know nothing about Jamie’s homelife. We know nothing about her past. We don’t know why she became a cop. She’s a character with no inner life. It’s not the fault of actress Amy Hunter that Jamie comes across as being boring. The scripts, so far, have given her nothing to work with.
Meanwhile, Moncia is having an affair with the recently promoted Commander McKinnon (Jeffrey Meek). The affair is often physically abusive but, when Bobby confronts McKinnon, McKinnon claims that Monica enjoys the pain. Eventually, Monica and Bobby get McKinnon being abusive on tape. The episode ends with Monica lustfully spying on TC in a neighboring apartment. Ugh. This show really annoys me with the way it portrays Monica. She’s literally the only character on the show who has a positive and largely guilt-free attitude about sex and the show always seems to be determined to either punish or villainize her for it. (What makes this especially annoying is that the show both judges and leers at Monica at the same time.)
As usual, this episode could have worked if the characters were more interesting. The idea that everyone on the show was using someone else had potential but the execution fell flat.
Welcome to Retro Television Reviews, a feature where we review some of our favorite and least favorite shows of the past! On Tuesdays, I will be reviewing Saved By The Bell: The New Class, which ran on NBC from 1993 to 2o00. The show is currently on Prime.
This week, we’re back at the country club.
Episode 2.3 “Let the Games Begin”
(Dir by Don Barnhart, originally aired on September 17th, 1994)
At Pacific Palisades Country Club, it’s time for the annual competition between the members of the club and the staff. If the staff wins, the members will wait on them for a week!
Really? I mean, is this a real thing? Why would any club member agree to that? If I’m paying good money to belong to a country club, the last thing that I’m ever going to do is wait on the staff. I don’t care who wins the stupid competition.
It turns out that Screech is a very good golf player, which becomes an important plot point when the games end in a tie. The tie-breaker is a golf game between country club owner Big Ed and Screech. Big Ed tells Screech to either take a dive or stop dating his daughter, Allison. In the end, Screech can’t betray his fellow workers but Allison doesn’t care. She decides who she dates, not Big Ed.
Also, Tommy D learns how to swim (yay, good for him!) and Rachel says she’s going to quit her job when she learns her boyfriend won’t be coming home for the summer. (Her boyfriend was a member of the club and Rachel only took the job so she could spend time with him.) Brian, not wanting Rachel to quit, starts to send her poems that she believes are being written by her boyfriend. Rachel eventually learns the truth but she’s not offended at all. Of course, she isn’t. Just look at Brian’s apologetic smile!
This episode …. listen, let’s give credit where credit is due. Christian Oliver and Sarah Lancaster? They were cute together. As far as fake Zacks go, Christian Oliver was one of the better ones. And Jonathan Angel gave a likably earnest performance in the scenes where Tommy learned to swim. Unfortunately, this episode featured way too much Screech. Though Dustin Diamond is nowhere near as bad during season 2 as he would be in later seasons, he’s still way too cartoonish to be taken seriously as anyone’s boyfriend.
Seriously, can you imagine buying a country club membership and then having to wait on Screech?
“I don’t care about winning or losing. I just want to see what’s beyond this…” — Takumi Fujiwara
If you’ve ever found yourself staring at a beat-up old Toyota AE86 and wondering why some people treat it like a holy relic, then you’ve already stumbled into the gravitational pull of Initial D. This late 90s anime, based on the manga by Shuichi Shigeno, is one of those classic series that any new fan of anime absolutely needs to have on their list. It’s raw, it’s ridiculous, and it’s somehow one of the most gripping sports anime ever made, despite half of its runtime being close-ups of a sweaty guy shifting gears. The premise is deceptively simple: Takumi Fujiwara, a high school kid who’s been delivering tofu in his dad’s panda-colored AE86 since before he could see over the steering wheel, accidentally discovers he’s the best downhill racer in the Gunma region. He’s not some hot-blooded hero—he’s tired, he works a gas station job, and he’d rather listen to Eurobeat than talk about his feelings. That’s the magic of Initial D. It takes a mundane, almost boring protagonist and turns him into a legend through sheer muscle memory and an encyclopedic knowledge of every gutter, hairpin, and blind corner on Mount Akina.
The anime originally ran from 1998 to 2000, and watching it now feels like cracking open a time capsule. The CGI cars have aged like milk left in the summer sun—clunky, blocky, and hilariously out of place against the beautifully painted 2D backgrounds. But you stop caring about ten minutes into the first episode because the soul is so undeniable. The soundtrack, a relentless barrage of Eurobeat tracks like “Deja Vu” and “Running in the 90s,” injects every race with a dose of pure, uncut adrenaline. You haven’t lived until you’ve watched a silent, unimpressed teenager drift through a tight corner while some Italian disco singer screams about gas gas gas. The manga, which ran from 1995 to 2013, is more detailed and technically sound, explaining the physics of weight transfer and braking points without losing that underdog charm. But the anime amplifies everything—the tension, the sheer speed, and the weird, lonely atmosphere of driving at 3 AM when nobody else is around.
What makes Initial D a classic that deserves a spot on any new fan’s watchlist isn’t just the racing. It’s the way it builds a world around mountain passes that might as well be battlefields. Every rival Takumi faces—Keisuke and Ryosuke Takahashi in their red RX-7, Mako Sato in her SilEighty, or the terrifyingly calm Kyoichi Sudo in his black Evo III—has their own backstory, their own obsession, and their own reason for pushing a car to the absolute limit. The show understands that street racing is about ego, youth, and that brief moment of perfection when you nail an impossible line. Takumi’s growth from a bored delivery boy to someone who genuinely loves driving is subtle but powerful. He doesn’t get a big speech about friendship; he just starts smiling a little more when he hits the apex.
Then there’s the film spinoff: Initial D Third Stage, released in 2001. It’s a movie, but calling it a movie feels generous since it’s only about 90 minutes and basically adapts the final arc of Takumi’s high school career. This is where things get serious. The animation improves—fewer PS1-looking cars—and the emotional stakes jump off a cliff. Takumi faces his toughest rival yet, a no-nonsense driver in an Evo IV named Kyoichi, but that’s not the real battle. The real battle is Takumi deciding whether he wants to drift forever or try to build a normal life. He also finally deals with his feelings for Natsuki Mogi, the girl who’s been his maybe-girlfriend for the whole series. I won’t spoil it, but the movie handles her subplot with a surprising amount of maturity, even if it’s heartbreaking to watch this stoic kid have his heart wrung out on the tarmac. The final race in Third Stage is arguably the most satisfying in the entire franchise, because it’s not just about winning—it’s about Takumi proving he’s ready to move on to the next level.
Now, here’s where Initial D’s legacy comes roaring into focus. You cannot talk about the first three Fast & Furious films without acknowledging the ghost of Mount Akina hovering behind every street race. Before Dom Toretto started grunting about family, the original The Fast and the Furious (2001) was basically a Hollywood translation of the Initial D formula: underground tuners, uphill/downhill respect, and a quiet hero who knows his machine better than he knows people. The sequels, 2 Fast 2 Furious and Tokyo Drift, leaned even harder into that DNA—Tokyo Drift especially, with its drift-obsessed plot, its foreign protagonist learning mountain passes from a local master, and its reverence for Japanese street racing culture. That movie’s entire vibe—the late-night touge battles, the Eurobeat-adjacent soundtrack, the focus on technique over raw horsepower—is Initial D with a Southern accent. Without Takumi Fujiwara’s sleepy-eyed drifts, there’s no Han Lue casually sliding an RX-7 through a parking garage.
Video game franchises owe an even louder debt. Gran Turismo literally included Mount Akina-inspired tracks in several entries, letting players reenact Takumi’s gutterslides with obsessive fidelity, and made the AE86 Sprinter Trueno a fan-favorite car despite its modest stats. Forza Horizon (the latest entry in the series happens to be set in Japan) took that influence and cranked it to eleven, with dedicated Initial D liveries, user-created touge events, and a community that still organizes “Akina downhill” time trials in every new installment. Need for Speed pivoted hard toward the Initial D template with Underground and Underground 2, ditching exotics for tuners and centering the plot on proving yourself against local kings, while Need for Speed: Carbon literally lifted the “crew vs. crew” mountain duel structure from Initial D’s Project D arc. The Crew series, with its massive open-world map and its obsession with car clubs and regional boss battles, practically begs you to recreate Takumi’s journey, even adding an official Initial D pack with the AE86 and an Akina-inspired track. Beyond direct references, Initial D normalized the idea that driving skill is a form of combat. Before its manga and anime, most racing media was about glamour or pure speed. After Initial D, you got Wangan Midnight, MF Ghost (its direct sequel), and a generation of car enthusiasts who argue about weight transfer the way sports fans argue about batting averages.
And here’s the observation that really separates Initial D from almost every other anime or manga out there: as popular as characters like Takumi, Keisuke, Ryosuke, and even side characters like Itsuki or Bunta have become, the series has never lost sight of the fact that it’s really about the cars. You won’t find long monologues about inner demons or tragic backstories resolved through the power of friendship. Instead, you get ten-minute sequences where two characters silently analyze the suspension geometry of a Nissan Skyline GT-R versus a Mazda RX-7, and somehow it’s riveting. The AE86 Trueno isn’t just Takumi’s car—it’s the co-protagonist. The same goes for Keisuke’s yellow FD3S, Nakazato’s R32 Godzilla, or Shingo’s absurdly loud Civic EG6. These machines have personalities, flaws, and growth arcs. An engine blow isn’t just a mechanical failure; it’s a dramatic turning point. A new carbon fiber hood or a swapped racing engine feels like a power-up in a shonen battle manga. That obsessive focus on the hardware—weight distribution, horsepower numbers, tire wear, the specific sound of a turbo spooling at 4 AM—is what makes Initial D feel less like a character drama with cars and more like a love letter written directly to the machinery itself.
That approach is exactly why Initial D single-handedly put Japanese street racing culture onto the global pop culture map. Before the manga launched in 1995 and the anime hit screens in ’98, the idea of “touge” (mountain pass racing) was a niche subculture known mostly to locals and hardcore gearheads in Japan. The rest of the world thought street racing was drag racing on empty American industrial strips. Initial D introduced millions of viewers to concepts like gutter drifting, the braking drift, the invisible line, and the terrifying art of a blind corner attack. It made the winding roads of Akina, Myogi, and Usui as famous as any racetrack in the world. Suddenly, teenagers in Europe, South America, Southeast Asia, and North America weren’t just dreaming of Ferraris and Lamborghinis—they wanted used Silvias, AE86s, and RX-7s. They started learning about Japanese domestic market (JDM) cars the way their parents learned about muscle cars. They argued over whether an Evo was better than an Impreza on a downhill section. They stayed up late watching pixelated fansubs of the anime just to hear the next Eurobeat track drop as a pair of headlights appeared in the rearview mirror.
Walk into any car meet today, and you’ll see AE86s with “Fujiwara Tofu Shop” decals on the doors. You’ll hear people unironically refer to the “Initial D tax” on vintage JDM parts. You’ll find YouTube channels dedicated entirely to recreating Initial D races in real life, with drivers narrating their line choices exactly like the characters in the show. The manga and anime didn’t just document Japanese street racing—they codified it, romanticized it, and exported it so effectively that the term “touge” is now understood by car enthusiasts on every continent.
Look, Initial D isn’t perfect. The dialogue can be wooden, the pacing drags during exposition about camshafts, and the less said about the weirdly horny gas station manager, the better. But none of that matters when the engine roars and the synth kicks in. For a new anime fan coming from modern shows with glossy animation and fast pacing, Initial D might feel like a relic. But that’s exactly why you need to watch it. It’ll teach you that passion can look like a sleepy teenager in a cheap track suit, that rivalries are built on mutual respect more than yelling, and that sometimes the best way to solve a problem is to take the inside line at 120 KPH with one hand on the wheel. Add the manga to your shelf too—it goes way deeper into Takumi’s professional career and is a masterclass in long-form storytelling. But start with the 90s anime. Let that clunky CG and those glorious Eurobeat hooks pull you in. Before you know it, you’ll be looking at every empty mountain road just a little differently, wondering if you’ve got what it takes to be the next ghost of Akina. Even the criticism that Initial D made the AE86 overpriced and overhyped is a testament to its power. A boring 1980s Corolla became a legend because a fictional teenager delivered tofu in it. That’s not just influence. That’s pop culture alchemy. So when you recommend Initial D to a new anime fan, tell them to pay attention to the characters, sure. But remind them to also listen for the roar of a four-cylinder engine bouncing off the limiter. Because that’s the real star of the show, and it always has been. And that, more than anything, is why Initial D will never be forgotten.
Today is Pete Townshend’s 79th birthday and today’s scene that I love features Pete Townshend (as a member of The Who) performing at Woodstock in 1969.
Roger Daltrey later said that this was the worst gig that they ever played and The Who did end up going on stage early in the morning, with the sun rising as they performed See Me, Feel Me. The majority of The Who’s performance was not included in the initial release of the Woodstockdocumentary but the noticeably grainy footage would later be included in various rereleases.
Unfortunately, no cameras recorded the moment when Pete Townshend became the hero that 1969 needed by kicking a ranting Abbie Hoffman off of the stage. But, audio of the incident survived.
4 Shots From 4 Films is just what it says it is, 4 shots from 4 of our favorite films. As opposed to the reviews and recaps that we usually post, 4 Shots From 4 Films lets the visuals do the talking!
Today, on what would have been his 73rd birthday, we celebrate filmmaker Albert Pyun!
It’s time for….
4 Shots From 4 Albert Pyun Films
The Sword and the Sorcerer (1982, dir by Albert Pyun, DP: Joseph Margine)
Cyborg (1989, dir by Albert Pyun, DP: Philip Alan Waters)
Captain America (1990, dir by Albert Pyun, DP: Philp Alan Waters)
Kickboxer 2 (1991, dir by Albert Pyun, DP: George Mooradian)
Welcome to Late Night Retro Television Reviews, a feature where we review some of our favorite and least favorite shows of the past! On Mondays, I will be reviewing CHiPs, which ran on NBC from 1977 to 1983. The entire show is currently streaming on Prime!
This week, Ponch is in trouble!
Episode 5.20 “Flare Up”
(Dir by John Florea, originally aired on March 7th, 1982)
While saving lives and being a badass at the sight of a highway crash, Baker accidentally inhales chlorine gas and has to go to the hospital. Meanwhile, an embittered young man named Eddie (Alan Stock) claims that Ponch roughed him up at a traffic stop and gave him a black eye. The truth of the matter is that Eddie hit his head on his steering wheel while he was trying to grab a beer can that had been thrown at him by a couple of obnoxious college students.
Baker survives the chemical attack but it looks like Ponch’s days of patrolling the highway might be over. Fear not, though. This is….
You can’t have The Ponch Show without Ponch! Seriously, if Ponch loses his job, who is going to smile in the face of danger? Who is going to disco dance? Who is going to have four women in his apartment, making dinner? CHiPs is a show of the disco age and it doesn’t get more disco than Erik Estrada.
By an amazing coincidence, another chemical spill produces a cloud of toxic gas that is heading straight for Eddie’s grandfather (Harry Carey, Jr.) Ponch risks his life to save the old man and a thankful Edddie drops the complaint. Actually, last week — didn’t someone drop a complaint against Baker after Baker saved someone’s life? Is CHiPs repeating itself?
Of course, it is! CHiPs always repeats itself. That’s kind of the appeal of the show. It’s predictable, it doesn’t require much thought to enjoy, and there’s always another dramatic car crash to which to look forward.
Welcome to Retro Television Reviews, a feature where we review some of our favorite and least favorite shows of the past! On Mondays, I will be reviewing Crime Story, which ran on NBC from 1986 to 1988. The entire show can be found on Tubi!
This week, everyone’s going to Missouri. Can you blame them?
Episode 1,4 “St. Louis Book of Blues”
(Dir by Leon Ichaso, originally aired on September 30th, 1986)
After Ray Luca discovers that his henchman, Frank Holman (Ted Levine), has been compromised by Torello, he decides to deal with the situation by sending Holman down to St. Louis. A gangster named Ganz (Raymond Serra) has a home in St. Louis and, according to Ganz’s associate Johnny Fosse (Michael Madsen, doing his slow-talking, cigarette-smoking Madsen thing), there is a book in Ganz’s shelf that contains the name of every bookie, coach, and sports-fixer in America. Ray, who is hoping to start up his own nationwide gambling syndicate, wants that book.
Far be it for me to question Ray Luca’s strategy but it does seem strange that his response to one of his people screwing up is to give that person an even more important job to do. I get that Ray is trying to be a manager now and, as a result, he no longer personally robs anyone but Frank really does seem like the last person he should trust to pull this off.
And, to no one’s surprise, Frank doesn’t pull it off. Torello and his men follow him all the way to St. Louis. They not only arrest him but they also get their hands on Ganz’s book. They do this despite the operation nearly being ruined by an ambitious and publicity-hungry sheriff named Hartman (Allen Swfit).
Unfortunately, when Frank offers to inform on the entire “St. Louis mob,” Hartman releases him from jail. Frank promptly flees town. When he calls Ray, Ray orders him to stay out of Chicago and instead to go to Cleveland. Frank replies that if he has to choose between Hell or Cleveland …. he’ll go to Cleveland. Good thinking, Frank!
(Actually, I’ve never been to Cleveland so I don’t know if it’s really good thinking. Wasn’t Dennis Kucinich from Cleveland?)
As this episode ends, Ganz is ready to declare war on Luca and it appears that Max Goldman might be the first victim. The funny thing about Max is that he’s played by a young Andrew Dice Clay and, in every scene in which he appears, Clay’s facial expressions are totally and completely over-the-top, as if Clay was determined to make sure that no one forgot he was in the scene. I hope that Max survives, just for the sake of entertainment,
This episode returned to the idea of Torelllo being dangerously and tightly wound. Before he followed Frank to St. Louis, he nearly firebombed a furniture store because the owner hadn’t delivered the table that he had ordered. Torello was talked out of doing so by his fellow cops but the store owner still got the message. The table arrived at Torello’s apartment. Of course, it was the wrong table. That made me laugh. People have no idea how close Torello is to snapping and killing everyone around him.
This was a good episode. It was interesting to see a young Ted Levine, not to mention a young Michael Madsen as well. The corrupt and incompetent sheriff was identified as being a Democrat. I appreciated that. I’m looking forward to seeing where this show is going.
Through the Shattered Lens 