This week, the Dads dive into Fast Times at Ridgemont High (1982), Cameron Crowe's undercover-journalism-turned-screenplay debut brought to life by first-time director Amy Heckerling. Both Steve and Nic trace their history with the film back to high school sleepovers and VHS rewatches, and the rewatch hits different through 2026 eyes. The killer soundtrack gets immediate love, with Jackson Browne's "Somebody's Baby" and the Cars' "Moving in Stereo" earning their permanent spots in the cultural memory bank. The Dads walk through the Sherman Oaks Galleria opening with genuine nostalgia for a time when malls were thriving ecosystems, not just an abandoned Sears and a DMV, and spend a solid chunk reminiscing about their own local mall in Pleasanton and the lost art of getting dropped off at 10 and picked up at 4.

The conversation zeroes in on the film's surprisingly nuanced handling of its teenage characters. Steve highlights Amy Heckerling's direction of Stacy's first sexual experience as deliberately non-exploitative, noting the dissociative camera work that centers Stacy's discomfort rather than serving up male-gaze titillation. Both Dads appreciate that the film treats abortion matter-of-factly, especially given how close it was to Roe v. Wade. They dissect Mike Damone's "proto-pickup artist" advice to Mark Ratner, agreeing some of it is genuinely useful while the rest is manipulative garbage. Nic coins Damone's vibe as "unshakable dork confidence," and both Dads land on a nuanced read of his betrayal of Rat: Stacy has her own autonomy and chose Damone, but Damone still crossed the line by inviting himself inside. Nic pulls out the film's best hidden joke, Damone's handwritten expense ledger listing "abortion, $75" alongside a tentative Rod Stewart ticket purchase.

Sean Penn's Spicoli remains the film's secret weapon, from "no shirt, no shoes, no dice" to ordering pizza directly to Mr. Hand's classroom. The Dads marvel at how Penn's performance walks the line between stoner savant and genuine comedic genius, wondering if 1982 audiences could have predicted the Oscar-caliber career ahead. Steve and Nic both land in similar territory on the film overall: Steve calls it a solid 80s time capsule that moves fast and still feels relevant in the underlying teenage chaos, while Nic admits the characters are more interesting than the plot, noting the comedy doesn't land quite as hard as memory suggests. Both agree it's a breezy, enjoyable rewatch, even if neither is rushing back for another round anytime soon.

This week, the Dads fire up the cutting torch on Thief (1981), Michael Mann's gritty directorial debut that launched a career and divided a podcast booth. Steve came in completely blind, having never even heard of this Chicago-set crime noir, while Nic had been curious about it for years without ever actually watching. Fresh eyes all around, which makes the resulting conversation all the more combustible.

From the jump, the Dads lock onto what makes this movie tick: it's a vibe. Nic falls hard for the Tangerine Dream synth score and moody nighttime visuals, calling it essential to the film's atmosphere. Steve? He's ready to throw the score out a window. He compares it unfavorably to Vangelis's work on Blade Runner, finding Tangerine Dream's sound harsh and intrusive where Vangelis brought texture and depth. The music sits on top of the movie rather than underneath it, he argues, actively pulling him out of scenes. Meanwhile, James Caan's Chicago accent becomes a flashpoint. Steve hears pure cartoon, something out of a Bill Swerski sketch, while Nic mounts a defense: maybe a guy raised in the foster system and incarcerated most of his life just emerges with a generic tough guy voice. The Dads also spend considerable time marveling at Caan's character pulling out a literal vision board during a diner scene to woo Tuesday Weld, a collage so pristine they can't figure out how it was physically produced in 1981.

The running jokes pile up: diamonds stored in loose paper wraps instead of proper envelopes, money measured in inches, and the film's complete failure to signal when Frank has traveled from Chicago to Los Angeles. Nic appreciates the professional heist details and Frank's meticulous code, while Steve remains unmoved by a protagonist who, by the big job, is basically having his welding helmet put on for him like a princess. When Frank torches his own life in the final act, the Dads wrestle with whether the movie earns that moment or just speeds through it. Either way, Thief proves there's always something to dig into, even when the Dads aren't seeing eye to eye.

This week, the Dads kick off their new 2 Dads 2 Decades series with 1980's Airplane!, and Steve arrives with the ultimate childhood credential: he first watched this movie at two years old on laserdisc. His parents reconsidered their parenting choices when three-year-old Steve looked up at them and said, "What a pisser." Nic's introduction came via TV broadcast around age eight, and both Dads credit this Zucker-Abrahams-Zucker classic with shaping their sense of humor. Steve went deep on the research, watching the 1957 disaster film Zero Hour! that Airplane! spoofs nearly shot-for-shot, and spends much of the episode pointing out how many "serious" lines are lifted verbatim from that film, including "I picked a bad week to quit smoking."

The Dads marvel at the stunt casting that put four dramatic actors into their first-ever comedic roles: Leslie Nielsen, Robert Stack, Lloyd Bridges (whose sons Jeff and Beau talked him into it), and Peter Graves. They dig into the gags that still land perfectly, from the white zone/red zone airport announcement bickering (performed by the actual married couple who did LAX announcements) to the Mayo Clinic doctor with mayonnaise jars behind him and a beating heart bouncing around his desk. The smoking ticket bit, the drinking problem visual gag, the line of passengers waiting to slap the hysterical woman with increasingly dangerous weapons, "We have clearance, Clarence. Roger, Roger. What's our vector, Victor?"—all rock solid forty-five years later. They also appreciate the details, like how the actress being slapped suggested making that line of attackers longer, which turned a good joke into an iconic one.

But the Dads also wrestle with what hasn't aged well, from Captain Oveur's deeply uncomfortable cockpit conversation with young Joey to the Peace Corps basketball sequence that lands with a thud in 2026. Steve frames it this way: 1934's It Happened One Night is as far from Airplane! as Airplane! is from today, which helps explain why some jokes feel like artifacts from another era. Still, this is a movie where the sum of its parts outweighs the whole, a gag-a-second comedy that launched Leslie Nielsen's second act and taught a generation that deadpan delivery of absurd lines is an art form.