In fourth grade, a police officer came to our class to teach us about drugs. They’re illegal! They’re dangerous! They’re addictive! They will absolutely, without a doubt kill you! Just one puff and you’re dead! It was a ridiculous week-long workshop, which culminated in skits where we played pushers and victims and role-played “just saying no.” Obviously, I played the pusher, and it was an Oscar-caliber performance so riveting and convincing that to this day I wonder if I’ve missed my true calling. I could probably be pushing drugs right now and having a better work-life balance, but instead, I make internet for a living. At any rate, this workshop is literally where I learned about cocaine and how to do it. Up until that moment, I hadn’t given cocaine a moment’s thought. And then I discover that there’s this stuff you snort up your nose, and it makes you feel good?! Sign my ass up. This is also where I learned about barbiturates. I’m not sure if I’ve ever taken barbiturates, but I probably have? All this to say that this workshop really opened my eyes to what I’d been missing, and it’s also where I learned that “cheeba” is a nickname for cannabis and even then I knew that no one ever called it that.
Oh, what a time to be a kid during the era of D.A.R.E (Drug Abuse Resistance Education)! The best part, other than learning just how to snort cocaine (with a rolled up hundred dollar bill because you’re classy like that), was the wave of straight-to-video anti-drug propaganda. Welcome to A Nightmare on Drug Street. Sweet dreams, bitch!
Three kids are dressed in white gowns in a dark room.
“Hi, I’m Jill. I’m dead.”
Felipe and Eddie are also dead. They don’t like being dead. As any dead person will tell you, it’s a real drag.
“No hamburgers, no pizza, no movies, no television. Forget about MTV—no music!”
“No homework. I used to hate homework but I’d love some homework now.”
You and I both know that no homework is the best part of being dead and maybe even a reason to die. But, these kids are dead for a reason. And that reason is dope. Evil, evil dope.
In the first story, Felipe and his friends play basketball, throw back some beers, smoke some weed, and then BOOM! Car crash. Felipe’s bright, college-bound future is over in just a second. If only he hadn’t smoked that cheeba. He only had, like, two hits of a poorly rolled joint filled with absolute garbage grass and an oregano filler. You and I both know that won’t do shit. But anyway, he’s dead now.
The lesson here is that “Dope can make you feel silly and act stupid.” Sure. But it can also make you feel good and act chill. You won’t know it until you try it. Trust.
In the second story, Jill meets Craig at a party. He’s the new kid in school. And like all of the best new kids in school, he busts out with some drugs.
“What is that, Craig?”
“It’s toot. Cocaine.”
Fast-forward and now Jill is buying coke, doing coke, stealing to buy coke, and selling her grandmother’s heirloom necklace to buy coke. She’s snorting rails left and right. She even toots from the girls’ bathroom out in the open like an amateur. Go into the stall like a real cokehead, Jill. Get a grip. But the weirdest part of all this is that Jill’s dealer has a really nice house and lovely matching furnishings. You wonder where this guy lives. Coke got you all of this? I missed my calling.
The lesson here is “Never trust a fourteen-year-old who wears cologne.” Fair.
In the final story, we follow Eddie, who goes over to his friend’s house after school. Eddie is the smartest kid in class and wants to build a solar-powered rocket for the science fair. This is an excellent science project. But instead of learning about solar cells, he learns about smoking crack from his friend. Eddie dies. Crack is one hell of a drug.
The lesson here is “Drugs…make you change.” Which, yeah, kind of the point.
A Nightmare on Drug Street is a truly fantastic piece of anti-drug propaganda that will fill you with absolute joy and give you a craving for some “fresh LSD” (note: LSD does not have to be fresh, take it from an expert). And just in case you need another reason to watch: Felipe is played by a young Raymond Cruz aka Tuco Salamanca from Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul. You know, the tough meth cartel boss with the platinum grill. Tough motherfucker. But sadly even he is no match for dope. Like all propaganda, A Nightmare on Drug Street takes itself incredibly seriously, but there’s also bits of humor here—you know, to relate to the fellow kids. You have to be on drugs to think programs like this would actually prevent substance abuse. This film just shows you exactly why the War on Drugs is and has been an utter failure. The director, Traci Wald Donat, never directed anything else again, which is a shame because there’s certainly ambition here. I particularly love the day-glow lighting and effects, which feel like you’re on shrooms, which you should definitely not take because it’s totally illegal, somewhere, probably. I would’ve liked to have seen what Donat did next; there’s certainly potential here. What if she cornered the market on anti-drug programs? What if she became the Errol Morris of just saying no? Yet another female filmmaker with a bright future is gone.
There’s a line where Craig, the cologne-wearing, fourteen-year-old coke enthusiast, states confidently that “one day they’re gonna legalize it.” And I actually cheered. The lesson here is just watch this with your trusty vape and a sense of nostalgia.
