The name "Maxx Steele" became synonymous with another action figure hero in recent years, but to me, he'll always be that kickass white robot with bendy-straw arms from "Robo Force." The mechanical warriors, as seen in the logo above, were around six inches tall and charmingly blocky, with suction cup asses that allowed for incredible stickability onto any hard surface. For reasons I could never understand, the line never took off. "Robo Force" didn't have too many fans, but anyone who owned these toys remembers them fondly.
Of course, Maxx himself was the starring hero, and his appearances in the material world weren't limited to mere action figures. You probably won't remember the giant-sized Maxx Steele Robot -- its immense retail price precluded all but the very rich kids from owning the beast -- but it was easily one of the decade's most deserving wishlist toppers. More available to the general public, if a little less extravagant, is what we're going to be taking a look at today: the Maxx Steele Erector Set. Children who usually balked at toys that took a substantial amount of effort to put together would've put aside their misgivings for this guy -- he was just way too cool to resist. Made by Ideal in 1983, the construction set didn't just let you build a robot; it let you build a robot that really did roboty things!
Instead of just talking about the toy, I'm going to show you how it worked. At least, that's the hope. I picked this bad boy up several months ago, and I wasn't quite sure if all the parts were present. Making matters worse is the lack of Maxx's original instruction manual, and considering that I can barely use toothpaste correctly without first reading the tube, we're probably going to lend new form to the term "wing it" in this article. That's right. We're going to lend new forms to terms. And they said it wasn't possible.
Anyway, I was never much into these Erector sets personally. I would've been had they'd arrived preassembled, but you know, that's kinda the opposite of the POINT. These were the thinking child's playthings, and I, sadly, was no thinking child. The Maxx Steele Erector Set may be a thing of the past, but the legacy of his intricacy lives on in the many super-involved Lego sets littering toy stores across the globe. You know, when I had Legos, it was just a bucket full of 'em, and all I made were little houses for figurines made of Play-Doh. Go check out the stores nowadays -- I'm pretty sure there's a Lego kit specifically designed to let kids build a human baby.
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There's the assorted parts -- seemed complete enough to me. You get all of the cosmetic robot pieces, plus a few motors, a remote control, and an amount of disconnected wires so large and tangled that I was tempted to just close the box and pretend this article was never on deck. Maxx's previous owner was even nice enough to include a series of acid-drenched "D" batteries; I assume it's an important commentary on something, but the meaning was meant for interpretation by minds bigger than my own. And oh, hey! There's dead bugs, too!
I rightfully began doubting Maxx's chances at a bold new life. His parts were scattered, some were perhaps missing, and as the final arrow through the soul...I had no instruction manual. While my usual method of "looking at the picture on the box" works great in most cases, an Erector set probably requires a little more precision. I'm terrible at precision. Look at my toilet seat, the fork marks on the side of my mouth, the endless pile of pretzel nuggets lining the floor by our garbage pail because I was so sure I could make the shot. Regardless, I refused to quit. I just didn't have anything better to do.
Though primarily promoted by lovely photos in mail-order and store catalogs, Maxx also hit the television sets back in the early 80s for his very own commercial spot. The setting is unfamiliar at least in as far as today's advertising schemes -- it's just thirty seconds of Grandpa helping Sonny Boy with his stupid Erector set. Grandfathers don't do that in real life. They just get old and spread lots of "perfect chicken" recipes. I smell a ringer.
The child is, of course, thrilled to have the only grandfather in the world willing to lend a hand in the creation of a man-eating, killer robot with piercing claws and a secret storage chamber to transport the hearts of its victims. He's one of those "cool" grandpas, like Al Lewis or that guy from "The Lost Boys" who collected pieces of cattle. Together they build, and build, and build some more. After lots of building and lots of buildings somes mores, we're finally given our first look at Maxx Steele: The Finished Product.
FISH! SALMON! SUSHI!
Maxx didn't necessarily have to do anything to be a hit with kids -- we loved robots, and Maxx Steele was the best looking robot since Bernadette Peters in "Heartbeeps." Course, as a motorized electric technographic supersonic troglodynomitiacious Erector set, he could do a Hell of a lot.
Well, maybe not a Hell of a lot, but Maxx could roll around the room by way of the included remote control. (which, incidentally, weighs as much as a sopping wet dead moose) Maxx could go forward, backward, sideways -- he'd even spin around in circles without falling apart if you remembered to really tighten his screws. As a robot, Maxx was enabled to circumvent the pedestrian normality of hands, instead opting for a much cooler manually operated plastic claw, and on the other arm, a series of metal rods and magnets. Guess which arm he was more proud of.
The kit itself is no bullshit activity, either -- you got real tools, and you really had to work at putting this guy together to get him anywhere near a presentable level. It may seem like a bitch, but kids who actually went through with constructing this beast themselves likely regarded Maxx on a much higher level than their other toys. We were sort of like Maxx's father. Only real differences were that we didn't get fucked, and no social workers would come knocking after we grew bored with our kid locked it inside a trunk. Yeah, great morals you're teaching there, Grandpa.
The commercial takes a few creative liberties in explaining how important this Erector set was. From Grandpa's own mouth: "This one's called the Maxx Steele Construction System. Heh...I call it the future!" Seriously, you'll hear it in the video clip down below. Yet, twenty years have past, and I see no proof that the Maxx Steele Erector Set was indeed the future. Grandpa just said that because he knew he'd be dead by the time we learned the truth.
Without the instruction manual shown above, there's just no way for me to put Maxx together. I can only seethe with envy watching Grandpa and Grandson do it. And believe me, seethe I did. Seethed all over the room.
I took one last look at the box, preparing to banish the Erector set to a lifetime in our crowded closet. I didn't stand a chance at giving him life, and looking at his poor parts only served as a constant reminder of my failure. You don't put "F" tests and pictures of your dick in cold water on the refrigerator, and you certainly don't leave your half-assembled son-bot out in the open. If you're not proud of something, hide it and pretend it never happened. That's another quote from Grandpa, by the way.
But...wait a second here. As I stared at the photos on the box, something hit me. Maxx's shape! I knew I'd seen it somewhere before. On a hunch, I checked the fruit aisle at our local grocer. Isn't that where all missions begin?
Yes, a pineapple. Look at it. Really look at it. If Maxx's body was made of fruit, that's what it'd be. A pineapple. Granted, this wasn't the road I intended on taking, but for the sake of being a total failure and not no quitter, I knew what I had to do. I had to merge my Maxx Steele Erector Set parts...with that pineapple.
I studied the box and watched the commercial a few more times, trying to stamp everything that is Maxx Steele into my memory. Few outside of the island-trapped Professor have dared tried creating a robot out of a pineapple, and the Professor I iz nawt. This was going to take patience and a whole lotta luck. The saving grace was that, even in failure, I'd at least get to eat the remains.
Some say that there cannot be life without death; in this case it's never been more accurate. The death of my pineapple could -- could -- give life to a mechanical wonder that, if old filthy Grandpa was to be believed, would invariably shape and mold the path of the future in ways only a robot made from fruit could. I began sensing a greater importance in the task I had involved myself with. No longer was I just finding an excuse to finally buy one of those wacky looking pineapples -- now I was desperately trying to make the future a better place. Some protest against pollution, others fight eternally for equal rights. I make robots out of fruit.
Amazingly, Maxxapple was coming together perfectly. I'd even suggest that he looks better with the fruit middle. At least he's nailing a trait no other robots have. Maxxapple might not be able to shoot lightning out of his eyes or lift giant boulders, but dammit, he's the only robot composed primarily of...a pineapple.
And there's the grand finale. He doesn't work of course, but Maxxapple retains pretty much everything that was cool about the original. He's still got the claw, he's still got the metal rod arm -- even the guy's wheels fit right on without much trouble. Come on, admit it...you were expecting worse. I guess it's a matter of preference. The big question you've gotta ask yourselves: what's better? Having a robot that drives around the floor and makes pleasant beeping sounds, or having a robot you can eat? Both have their benefits, but Maxxapple is the only robot you can carry around in your stomach.
Well, in most cases.
As a final touch, I brough the pineapple's enchanted forestal mega-stem back into the mix. Looks great. Maxxapple has gone from a mutant to one of those robots that sporadically appeared on "The Jetsons" to compete for Rosie's job in housework functionality contests. Oh, who am I kidding? Maxxapple sucks. I can't even keep him for more than a day or two...he'll start to stink. I can't play with him even in the interim, because the only things holding his body together are toothpicks and the kind of screws usually reserved for keeping pharmacy-brand eyeglasses together. I'm living a lie here. Maxxapple doesn't rock. Maxxapple rots. Why couldn't this thing have come with the instructions? Why?
Have fun, Sonny Boy. Have fun, Grannndpa. Have fun with your stupid little electronic robot pal. I hope you're all very happy together. I hope the bricks of your house gain sentience, turn evil, pull themselves apart, and build little trampolines so they have extra velocity while lunging their bodies at your heads. I hope the evil, living bricks kill you all. Yes, even you, Maxx Steele.
But especially you, Grandpa. You started all of this. You talked up that robot to a level where failing to build him has made me feel like I've doomed the next fifty years of technological progress. And you made me waste a pineapple.
Ugh, just the sight of him makes me sick. Then again, it made me sick even before all the newfound rage. Now it's just amplified. Amplified and gratingly unresolved.
Why is that? Why do all my conflicts involving fruit robots go unresolved?
