Watchers 1988 Movie
Pirjo
An explosion occurs in a classified research laboratory, causing an intense fire. A mutated monster known as the OXCOM (Outside Experimental Combat Mammal) escapes and chases a golden retriever from the same lab, through the surrounding woods. The dog outruns it and the OXCOM hides in a barn. In the barn, Travis Cornell is with his girlfriend Tracey. Thinking it is her father, Travis leaves. Tracey discovers the beast and screams, summoning her father who is attacked. Meanwhile, Travis finds the dog in the back of his car and a military/police force is sweeping the area for the escapees. Travis starts to realize the dog is extraordinary and decides to keep it. Meanwhile, an NSO agent named Johnson is dispatched by the corporation to retrieve the animals.
The next morning, Travis's mother informs him that there has been an accident and that Tracey is in the hospital. Travis and his mother rush to the hospital, but Agent Johnson and his partner will not allow them to see her. Travis pushes past them into Tracey's room, only to find it completely empty. The men claim that she has been transferred to a better location. Travis is puzzled as to why the men were armed. At home, Travis' mother is displeased about the dog. She allows him to keep it when Travis shows the level of intelligence that the dog possesses. While bathing the dog, Travis sees GH3 tattooed on its ear, and concludes it is a research dog, which would explain its superior intellect.
Agent Johnson stops by Travis' house to ask questions and the dog hides. The dog tracks Travis down at school, where he types 'D ANG ER N S O' on a computer. Travis is given detention for bringing a pet to school. Meanwhile, three of Travis's friends are murdered by the OXCOM in the woods. The OXCOM then traces the dog to the school, where two staff members are killed. One is able to call the police. The now-suspicious sheriff and a policewoman arrive, and she is also killed. When the sheriff confronts Agent Johnson, he is forced to tell the sheriff the truth regarding the killer but asks that they move to a quieter location away from the press. He explains that it was a scientific project gone wrong and that the OXCOM is chasing the dog, which targets and kills anything it comes across or that has been in contact with the dog. He then abruptly murders the sheriff.
A family friend who is fixing the washing machine mentions that a man stopped by earlier asking if they owned a dog. Travis, realizing the NSO is after them, sneaks out of the house. His mother stops him before he can drive away, telling him that they are in it together. Back inside, they find their friend dead. They run upstairs with the dog, locking the bedroom door. The beast begins to break it down. The mother climbs onto the adjacent rooftop while Travis grabs a hunting gun. He tells her to start the truck and jumps out the window followed by the dog who is knocked down by the OXCOM. He fires, then picks up the injured dog, and the three drive to a veterinarian. Noticing the code on the dog's ear, the vet calls the authorities. Travis catches on and they leave the vet's office before the NSO agents can arrive. The next morning after the agents track them to the motel where they are staying, the mother creates a diversion, allowing Travis and the dog to escape the NSO agents. Travis takes the dog to his father's old cabin in the woods. His mother insists the NSO agents let her visit Tracey. Although Johnson claims the NSO is protecting her while she recovers, Travis's mother realizes that the sedated Tracey is unharmed and her room has no medical equipment and that the NSO is holding her as a prisoner.
The agents take the women to the cabin to use as hostages, but Travis throws a homemade Molotov cocktail at the NSO agents, allowing the two women to run into the cabin. Agent Johnson fires at them, but he is stopped by his partner who balks at murdering a woman and two kids. Johnson then reveals that he is the corporation's third experiment, a genetically engineered assassin with no conscience, and kills his partner. In a tussle with Johnson, Travis is stabbed in the leg with his own knife. The dog jumps through the window and onto Johnson, allowing Travis to stab him through the neck. Johnson, unfazed by the stab wound, claims that they will die anyway before being shot to death by Mrs Cornell. Armed with homemade weapons, the team readies themselves for the beast. When it arrives, Travis shoots at it and it throws the dog into the truck windshield. Travis follows it into the woods, where he finds it injured and sobbing. At first, he cannot bring himself to kill it. It then attacks him and he is forced to finish it off. Travis, his mother, Tracey and the dog regroup and leave in the beat-up truck as the farmhouse burns down.
The film was given a limited release in the United States by Universal Pictures in December 1988.[citation needed] It grossed $940,173 at the U.S. box office.[citation needed] It was released on VHS and LaserDisc by International Video Entertainment in 1989.[citation needed]
Critical reception for Watchers has been mostly negative. Film critic Leonard Maltin awarded the film one and a half out of a possible four stars, calling it "awful" and criticized the film's monster as being "ludicrous".[5]
Oprah's Weight Watchers commercials are everywhere. Last October Oprah bought a 10 percent stake in the company and joined its board. Now she's appearing in ads where she tells us that "inside every overweight woman is the woman she knows she can be."
If this were true, it would totally explain why overweight women are overweight; we have a whole extra woman inside of us! But I don't think it is true, because I believe that inside me is just more me. And I have my doubts that there's a better, happier, more acceptable woman inside of Oprah either.
I love Oprah. Longtime Oprah lover over here. Since my tweens, I've admired how she's made celebrities seem like regular people and turned regular people into celebrities. I read the books her Book Club boosted. Hell, I'm wearing a bra she recommended on her "Favorite Things" episode in 2003. I think she has earned every ounce of success she enjoys, so I am glad for her that she made $70 million on the first day of her deal with Weight Watchers. That amount of money will be heavy, and if she binds it together, she can use it to weigh down stacks of her other money so none of it blows away when she opens a window in one of her many beautiful homes.
But by the ninth or 10th time I heard Oprah talk about how we're gonna go on this weight loss journey together, I had an epiphany. I have put on my sneakers and jogged down this road with Oprah before! I cried with joy for her back in 1988 when she dragged a wagon of fat onstage, to represent the 67 pounds she'd lost on a liquid diet. Lord knows I have considered dragging a wagon of fat around to celebrate the three or four times I have lost 60 pounds. Then when it crept back on, just like it did with Oprah, I was glad I never did that. And Oprah has said she regrets that moment, which is probably why she never did it again either, even though we've watched her drop, then regain, a few more wagonloads over the years.
My epiphany was this: Oprah is one of the most accomplished, admired, able people in the world. She has an Oscar to keep all her Emmy Awards company. She creates magic for other people and herself on the regular. So if Oprah can't do permanent lifelong weight loss, maybe it can't be done. Oprah is also crazy rich. If Oprah can't buy permanent lifelong weight loss, maybe it can't be bought. And that sucks.
But it is also incredibly freeing if you, like me, have thought about your weight so many times throughout every day of your life that it becomes as maddening and distracting as if you'd stowed a beating telltale heart beneath your floorboards.
Ever since I wasn't little, I have thought about how much space I am taking up in the world as many times per day as men supposedly think about sex. I have wanted to be the girl who could playfully sit on a friend's lap, or be carried across a threshold on my wedding night. But I'm just not. I never have been.
At my pre-kindergarten physical my pediatrician asked me, "Do you like to eat?" and when I guilelessly said yes, he told me, "Well, you should like it less." In college, I was probably the thinnest I'd ever been in my life, and when I got up the nerve to tell an older classmate who ran with my group of friends that I didn't like it when he gave me unsolicited shoulder massages, especially in front of my boyfriend, he said, "Maybe you're just angry because your thighs are so huge." In front of my boyfriend.
These are just two of two million incidents where someone tried to make me feel small because I was bigger. And I guess it's made me the kind of person who would just stand on a 90-minute train commute every day rather than insinuate myself into an empty seat between two strangers who might sigh as they bring their own thighs marginally closer to make way for the entitled fat monster. But am I not entitled? To a seat? To civility?
As people, we all run into your odd crank every now and again, but I have seen a fat person turn the most decorous individual into an eye-rolling, tongue-clicking social contract breaker simply by daring to try to occupy the assigned seat on her plane ticket. I'm sure it's been a long time since Oprah's flown commercial, or since anyone's had the sack to roll their eyes in her face, but I'm sure she remembers, which is why I can't fault her for still wanting to change. But after trying to change so, so, so many times, I'm starting to realize it ain't me who needs to be different.
I'm not saying you should give up on your dreams of having the body you want. I'm just asking, if you never get that waist, will your life have been a waste? (I see what I did there.) Every day we are bombarded with media, content, and products. Special foods and drinks. Programs and plans. None of this shit has ever worked for Oprah, and it probably isn't gonna work for me or you. Not forever, anyway. Some science has said this.
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