I never knew a poor man’s blender could bring me so much entertainment value. Yes, it doesn’t air as much as it used to, but during the glorious year 2006, this kept many a wee-smalls from being boring. You assemble a group of lovable underactors, a product that glamorizes individual servings, and traditional pie-in-the-sky infomercial logic, you have a golden nugget. Dare I say, this harmless ad placement outperforms most reality television shows.
How successful has the whole endeavor been? Well, they’ve spawned two sequels, countless imitators, and a legion of loyal followers (I eagerly await Magic Bullet: The Animated Series). If it sounds like a movie, you’d be put on the floor as to how eerily close the Bullet would rival a theatrical release. $250 million worldwide in sales, three million of the devices shipped, and an intensely re-watchable infomercial. Bullet Madness still appears to grip the nation, and there was nothing like where it all began.
After the melodramatic singing of Homeland Housewares logo, we innocently open on a kitchen where a group of yuppies begins to gather. It appears to be morning, but you’d never figure it considering the smorgasbord about to be presented. First to appear are the ever-grinnin’ Mick and Mimi, two loving entertainers who probably haven’t slept all night in giddy anticipation of dazzling their weekend guests with their new contraption. They welcome the incomparable Berman, a teeteringly hungover pudge who ambles his way to the countertop. He apparently tied one on pretty good the night previous, as he struggles to get his eyelids to operate.
Mick and Mimi, either unfazed or Mormon, show no after effects of their own party, and offer Berman a freezing cold smoothie as a sobering device. He sips, nods in agreement, and parks himself at the breakfast bar. We’re then introduced to — no joke here — Fred and Wilma, a typical couple in their late 40s, who also are no worse for the wear. Mick, in his oh so charming Australian dialect, offers Fred the same smoothie concoction and he’s completely on board. Ike, seemingly the young buck of the group, perks up about getting a “real breakfast”. Mimi conveniently happens to have every single omelette ingredient known to man right in front of her, and gets right to work. Popping in small onion balls, cheese and ham cubes, and ,of course, eggs into her streamlined machine, grinds up a yellow mess for the frying pan.
Mick proceeds to entice everyone with coffee, wherein Ike’s unnamed wife (who must be from Mimi’s bloodline based on their outfits and hair) attempts to help find the bean grinder. Mick tells her to park it and dazzles everyone with his grinding skills via the Bullet. Mick has apparently has been oblivious to Krups for the last 25 years. Regardless, upon plopping down Ike’s sixty-second eggy delight, Mimi hears a “ding” and mentions that her muffins are ready. She extracts the tray from the oven, sets ’em down for a look-see, all fine and good. But for whatever reason, proceeds to make an entirely new batch with help from Mick. I guess they felt short-changed in everyone “waking up” to their muffins, rather than revelling at their creation.
As this is happening, entering into the background is an absolute shambles of a woman named Hazel. Decked out in a Mrs. Roper-inspired mumu, prop cigarette stuck to her lower lip, gravel-throating a stupor-filled “Did sooomebody saaay muffffins?” At long last it’s revealed that Berman didn’t have to drink alone, I guess. Mimi then times her statement about everybody getting the kind of muffin they want…with each pour….of her…bullet cup…into…the muffin pan. Her unofficial little sis’ marvels at all of the items made so quickly and effortlessly right in front of her. She also fails to mention that Mick and Mimi have a whole back order of Bullets sitting on the counter to make such a feat possible.
We’re finally treated to the name of this handy gadget: The Magic Bullet. Why “magic”? Because it’s personal, it’s versatile, and a countertop magician. Hence, “it works like magic!” Mimi purports that the device will be used everyday (to Berman’s chagrin), and will complete any task in less than ten seconds. Longtime MB infomercial viewers will observe that these are the longest seconds known to man. “In one……………….two…..ttthhhhhhh…….rrrrrrrr……eeeeee seconds, you have fresh — ” blah, blah, claims Mick. Mimi is also under the impression that nearly every meal begins with chopping garlic. When really reflecting back just now, I couldn’t tell you the last time I saw a garlic — outside of a pizza commercial, anyway.
Following a quick onion and salsa demo, Mimi gathers leftovers to show the Bullet’s ability to turn these bygone foodstuffs into something extraordinary. She spontaneously whips parts mayo, raisins, apple, and chicken chunks into “gourmet” chicken salad, although it uncannily resembles something my grandmother feeds her cats. We’re given a chance to catch our breath from the madness with what, I guess, resembles an intermission. This prompts a voice-over to basically re-state all the facts about the Bullet we had already been made aware of.
Re-joining the gang in the kitchen, things begin to take a turn toward the unusual. Muffins and smoothies and omelettes are all longtime accepted breakfast foods. But then the gauntlet gets thrown down. Hazel — her prop cigarette’s ash changing constant length — grinds through clenched teeth that “dinner is always a production. Mimi, incredulous to this accusation, throws together a quickie alfredo sauce (that is then microwaved, uhhh), Mick a pesto offering, that both of which are poured over rubbery bowtie pastas that have probably been sitting out since the night before. Mick, quite impressed with himself, declares “made from scratch, in less than ten seconds”. Only flaw: he’s contradicted by the on-screen graphic that says five seconds.
Fettucini Alfredo and pesto dishes dropped in front of morning guests? Oh, well, you just wait, Lucille. Wilma — apparently a chronically inept pizza orderer — feels these fast foods will rid her of scrambling for Domino’s number any longer. As some sort of unannounced reward, Mick dives for his whipping cream and Hershey-obscured bottle of choco syrup, and heads to one of the many Bullets. Peering from under his eyebrows, he senses the group’s sweet-tooth, and blends up what he alleges is a chocolate mousse. Now, when this particular item is poured into its attractive goblet, one can only define its appearance as….well…ah, what the hell, it looks like poo.
Mick is then chided about his ever expanding waistline (I mean the stringy, spindly lardbucket could stand to lost a pound and a half) and is prepared a fat-free red sorbet that looks like….well, red poo. This falls on deaf tastebuds as Mick, completely ignoring the Fort Dix spread in front of him, insists on making dips! First he must once more praise all the Bullets abilities and have Mimi again grinningly remind everyone “all without dirtying a single pot or pan!” (what about the pots and pans used to make the omelette and pastas? Phhht.)
Mick must provide a showstopper next, and he spares no expense. Pumping his fist to the heavens, head craned back, crying out to the ceiling, he bellows that the Bullet is “The ULTIMATE party machine!!!” He reels himself back in long enough to chew up a block of cheese in the ol’ MB, and stick the container in the mic for quick meltin’. Mimi builds a mighty tempting quesadilla, charmingly pronouncing “halla-peen-yo”, “halla-peen-oh” (Mick, though an Australian national, actually bested Mimi by getting it right earlier). Mick’s mock-Cheez Whiz is completed for nacho pouring, which a ravenous Fred snaps up.
Forget the caloric intake; imagine what eating this slop so early does to your bowels all day! The Mickster must be feeling generous, as he creates just enough guacamole for two chips seconds later. My only real quibble with him is this unsettling “style over substance” attitude he displays. As again he’s more proud of the Bullet’s speed, rather than serving up anything that’s remotely filling.
This leads us to the kicker that’s sure to wake up your household as you watch this thing at four in the morning. Straight out of an 80s tv theme song, Mick, arm around Mimi, both simultaneously leaning in together to announce that the best part of the Bullet is….”Frozen drinks!” Their timing of the lean forward while grinning was beyond impeccable. You thought the Buffet From Hell wasn’t enough, watch how enthusiacally this pack of AM winos exploit the poor Bullet’s powers to lap up more sauce.
Mick must’ve had a nip or two before the guests awoke, as he stupifyingly states, “Look at the ingredients going directly into the mug…look at that!” Of course they’re going “directly” into the mug, ya silly Ozzi! You’re pouring it directly into the mug! Where else are they gonna go?? Further evidence of Mick’s inebriation are exhibited in his belief that people can’t tell their alcoholic mugs from someone else’s at parties. He invites them to screw on “comfort lips” of varying colors so they can be distinguished. Like this wouldn’t create a “Now, what color was mine?” snafu of cataclysmic proportions. Though I must admit this could come in handy if you’re at a party where everybody’s hammered beyond comprehension.
Ok, guilty-pleasure time (food-wise). Just when we thought the Bullet’s capabilities were limited to one serving at a time, Mimi, from underneath the countertop, prodcues the Bullet Blender. A slightly larger “family” size attachment good for mincing larger quantities. And, boy, does Mimi put it to delicious use. Ever so generously sharing her “secret” ingredient with us, she throws peppermint candies, a chocolate bar, more obscured Hershey’s syrup, milk, and a big ol’ fat pile of vanilla ice cream on into the MB. What results is the one legitimately appetizing thing out of this whole deal: a chocolate, chocolate chip, peppermint milkshake. I actually ransacked my cupboards for my blender from the 90s to make this thing, and is it a winner.
To wind things up, the producers conscience must’ve been flicking at their ears, and we’re exposed to a (gasp!) healthy mixture from the Bullet Blender. Mimi tries to instruct everyone about their daily required intake for fruits and veggies, which is met by Berman’s third-grade whine, “Yuck! I hate broccoli!” Perhaps he can affix some to the lip of his margarita glass. I was half- expecting him to follow it up with, “Ewww! Girls are gross!” Anywho, M&M; just unmercifully stuff the Bullet full of produce, causing it to wheez and groan (often times throughout the show, comments are dubbed, with the grind having knocked out the original line readings). The MB spits out a fruit-punch looking beverage, which is instantly tested on The Big Guy. Perking up his eyebrows, he declares that it ain’t so bad after all! He likes it, Berman likes it!
Thus we’ve arrived at the conclusion to this wild opus, with the voiceover once again encouraging us to welcome the MB into our homes. Much conjecture has been bandied about involving the party goers and what actually went on during that night of debauchery the evening prior. Who are Mick and Mimi really? Are they an imalgam of our culinary anxieties? Are Ike, Berman, Hazel, Fred, Wilma, and the Girl With No Name their Stepford houseguest guinea pigs? Not one item placed under their nose did they take a disliking to, and most showed no ill-effects of the night before.
Or is it something more sinister, more foreboding.
Are Mick and Mimi unconscienable swingers, with the Magic Bullet’s phallic shape a perverse representation of their lifestyle? Is “curry powder on everything” a carnal euphamism? Would anyone really have made love to Hazel? Drunk or sober? And enjoyed it? If there was food at the party the night before, why was the Bullet not used then?
These questions are amusing, but perfunctory. Bottom line, Mick Hastie has come a long way from hawking omelette makers and grills, and has finally put his pulse on what America wants. Is it a handheld buzzsaw to puree food? No. You know all those Bullets sold from the power of one little thing: a catchy infomercial.
See you at Magic Bullet 2: The Search For More Money.
