The most noteworthy aspect of this mid-'80s kiddie oddity is the presence of Teutonic director Roland Emmerich - who, along with creative chum Dean Devlin, would soon come barreling his way into Hollywood and your local megaplex with bazillion-dollar cinematic fireworks displays like "Independence Day" and "Godzilla." Armed with this knowledge, I saw the first inkling of the talent which would become Emmerich's trademark: stealing the hell out of other people's movies.

The hell, I say? Let's just say Emmerich's lucky his movie premiered in Germany, or Spielberg would have eaten his ass alive for stealing entire chunks of plot, character and cinematography from "Close Encounters," "E.T." and "Poltergeist."

In the interest of fairness (and as you can tell, I'm usually not interested in fairness), I've decided to put aside my feelings regarding this cinematic plagiarism - not to mention the atrocities the director would later vomit on the moviegoing public (except "Stargate," which was pretty cool) - and weigh "Making Contact" on its own merits.

Our hero, Joey Collins, is your typical '80s Spielbergian nine-year-old: he's a nice kid, albeit moody and misunderstood; his room is overflowing with Kenner Star Wars toys (not to mention a remarkably sentient robot named Charlie who squeaks and chirps a la R2D2); he has very few friends, a virtually endless roster of cruel enemies, and a rather attractive mom who worries about him in an attractive movie-mom kind of way. Also true to form, he's haunted by a recent family trauma - quite literally, in this case, as his recently deceased father seems to have found a way to contact him via toy telephone. We don't hear a voice, so the nature of the calls is left pretty vague. My theory is Dad wants Joey to snag him some donuts, since each call is precipitated by a shot of pay-phones ringing outside the local Krispy Kreme. He must be in Hell.

This ringy-dingy from beyond is the first of many oddball paranormal events, triggered not by a poltergeist, but by Joey's own latent telekinetic abilities. As the calls from Dad increase in frequency, Joey's psychic powers become more pronounced - and attract some unwanted attention. Sure, Mom seems fairly level-headed when Joey levitates his Cap'n Crunch, but his special treatment by the Standard Issue Sensitive Schoolteacher triggers the wrath of some hilariously merciless bullies, whose numbers seem to include nearly every kid in the school. Oh, and did I mention there's a demonically-possessed ventriloquist dummy who wants to capture Joey's soul? Yeah, well, he's in there too, he looks like Tiny Eric von Stroheim, and he's one vicious bastard.

Joey's predicament intensifies as an army of government paranormal investigators swarm upon the Collins' abode, shrink-wrap everything in sight and hook up lots of pseudo- scientific crap that goes "ping." To make matters worse, the ever-growing armada of bullies (I swear, there's at least 73 bullies to each victim in this school!) don full battle regalia (basically last year's Halloween costumes) to orchestrate a massive, Normandy-scale assault on Joey - apparently for no other reason than "He's gotta pay his dues." What he's paying for, though, is never made clear. Jesus, shouldn't these kids all be playing Galaga at the Tasty Freez or something?

Anyway, the inevitable confrontation results in Joey unleashing his full teleknetic fury - as much fury as a moody kid can muster, anyway. Amid the ensuing chaos, the evil puppet escapes, traps Joey and the rest of the kids in an inter-dimensional spookhouse full of vague, goofy apparitions (the fat kid is menaced by a giant cheeseburger), and the entire final act goes straight to acid-land. I won't reveal the climax here - not because it would spoil the surprise, but because I just don't want to picture it in my head again as long as I live.

The DVD gods at Anchor Bay (praise be their holy name) have come through with their usual panache, bestowing great care on this quaint little wack-job of a film. Not only do they offer the 79-minute American theatrical cut (distributed by New World in '86) in its original 2.35:1 ratio and enhanced with glorious, ear-busting Dolby EX; the 2-disc set also includes Emmerich's 98-minute German cut (simply titled "Joey") in the same format.

That's where things get interesting. Apparently, Emmerich and his mostly German crew shot the dialogue in English, which was later post-dubbed for German audiences. Aside from the language difference (and the fact that every cast member looks like they stepped out of a Herzog movie), the film is purely American in flavor - which makes the goings-on incredibly surreal. Hearing a radio announcer giving the weather forecast in German during a shot of the local Arby's is more than a little freaky, but not as bizarre as hearing one boy refer to a certain iconic space villain as "Doff Wader."

Most of these discs' entertainment value comes from comparing the many differences between them. Scenes in the German original distinguished themselves more by their omission, or alteration, from New World's chop-shop version. Dialogue is slightly different, scenes in the climax are cut together in radically different order, and the evil dummy's guttural growls are replaced with actual dialogue, in which he details his evil plans to Joey like a James Bond villain.

I also suspect some scenes were trimmed to avoid legal entanglements. In the German cut, Emmerich fills Joey's world with a nearly endless supply of Star Wars toys - many of which come to supernatural life and fly around the house - and Darth Vader himself even appears to threaten one of the bullies. (Hell, there are less Star Wars references in the actual Star Wars movies!) In the American cut, these scenes are drastically cut, and the kid's declaration that he saw "Doff Wader" is replaced with the words "My Hero."

Also notable in the American version is a superior sound mix, including a new John Williams-esque orchestral score by Paul Gilread, which, though derivative, is far superior to the original's horrendous electronic score, which sounds like Wagner arranged for timpani and CasioTone. New World also had the decency to ditch the horrifyingly bad end- title song from the original. I find that this song is useful in short bursts as an effective ipecac, but please consult your physician to determine the most effective dosage for your own needs.

Visually, both prints are pristine, and the brilliant colors will knock the socks off anyone who first saw this on New World's badly-cropped VHS version. There's an amazing depth of contrast, considering how dark things get in the final reel, and the trippy optical effects (though often very sloppily matted) pop out so brilliantly against the dark backgrounds that they almost seem 3-D. Anchor Bay rounds out the package with theatrical trailers for both versions. All in all, it's brain-damaging fun for the whole family - unless they speak German, of course.