Published by Drugstore Indian Press (imprint
of PS Publishing)
May 2023
512 pages
Paperback
ISBN: 9781786368997
RRP: £15.99
Review by Adrian Smith
If, like me, you love old movies, the chances are high
that a love for the thrilling pulp magazines of the 1950s can’t be far behind.
Robert Silverberg, now an award-winning science fiction author, was one of the
most prolific writers (allegedly averaging around 1 million words a year) for
dozens of magazines throughout that decade including Super-Science Fiction,
Monster Parade, Fantastic and Monsters and Things, amongst
many more. Capable of seemingly churning out stories in any genre he turned his
hand to (including pornography when required), these short tales were designed
to be read once and then forgotten once the next issue came along. Of course,
what was once disposable is now highly sought-after and original copies of many
of these short-lived magazines are out of reach to us mere mortals. Thankfully
the almost equally prolific writer and editor Stephen Jones has compiled a representative
sample of Silverberg’s horror and sci-fi stories published between 1957 and
1959 for this excellent new collection published by Drugstore Indian Press,
accompanied by suitably retro illustrations from American artist Randy Broeker.
Most of the stories are just a few pages long, so no time
is wasted before the thrills and chills set in. From premature burials, mad
doctors, demons, werewolves, vampires and ghouls to aliens, global conspiracies,
sinister cults and outer space adventures, the stories pack a pulp punch and
are all very enjoyable, especially the ones with twist endings that would not
be out of place in an episode of The Twilight Zone. With titles
including ‘Secrets of the Torture Cult,’ ‘Beasts of Nightmare Horror’ and ‘Vampires
from Outer Space’ (a precursor to Colin Wilson’s The Space Vampires
perhaps?), Silverberg's imagination was extraordinary, producing a continual
stream of stories, often published under pseudonyms so that it didn’t look like
he’d written the entire magazine. In his introduction to this collection (he’s
still with us, at the ripe old age of 89!), he discusses his early career and
his need to keep the [were]wolf from the door by writing anything he could get
paid for, and it was clearly good preparation for the highly-respected novels
which would earn him fame later on.
Given the sheer number of short stories Silverberg
produced, one can only hope that another collection from Drugstore Indian Press
is on its way. These are really fun, pulpy stories that remind us of all of another
era; when guys called Skip drove hot rods, when Big Jack hosted late-night talk
shows about the occult on stations like WYXD, and when teenage librarians like
Marty could accidentally raise the old gods using a stolen copy of the
Necronomicon. Robert Silverberg’s Monsters and Things belongs on the
shelf of any discerning 1950s nostalgia junkie.
One of the UK’s most beloved film franchises
has been somewhat neglected of late. Despite decades of television reruns,
since the DVD boxset release over a decade ago there has been no sign of any
sort of upgrade of the ‘Carry On ‘films, which, if there were any justice,
would have been raised to Criterion levels by now. Remarkably this is still the
case in the UK, so thankfully Australian company Via Vision Entertainment have
taken a firm grip of the baton and begun releasing the ‘Carry On’ films in
series order, four at a time. The first eight films in the series were mostly shot
in black and white and based around everyday life, such as military service,
the healthcare system, schools, the police, cruise holidays, and the beginnings
of second-wave feminism (Carry On Cabby (1963), if you’re wondering). But
then Peter Rogers, the producer and brains behind the series, had the fabulous
idea to begin making period dramas and spoofs of current hits. Carry On Jack
(1964), about pirates, was the first of these, and with that move, in my
opinion, the ‘Carry On’ films really hit their creative and comedic peak.
This means that ‘Carry On... Collection 3’
contains arguably the four best films in the entire franchise (although I know some
fans would beg to differ): Carry On Spying (1964), Carry On Cleo
(1964), Carry On Cowboy (1965) and Carry
On Screaming (1966).
Carry On Spying
(1964), the last one shot in black-and-white and the first to directly spoof
genre conventions, has perhaps been forgotten in favour of the more smutty ‘Carry
On’ films that followed later. Starring regulars Bernard Cribbins, Kenneth
Williams, Charles Hawtrey, and introducing newcomer Barbara Windsor as Daphne
Honeybutt, a name even Ian Fleming would have been proud of. Far from being the
giggling saucepot she would later be known for, Windsor’s character here is
brave, intelligent and forthright, more than once saving the mission and her
hopeless compatriots. Hot on the heels of From Russia with Love (1963), the
film is a hilarious and almost spot-on spoof of the budding James Bond
franchise (Cubby Broccoli objected to one character being called Agent 009½ so they
were reluctantly renamed 000), coming before the flood of Eurospy films that
would take all sorts of liberties with Bond a couple of years later. Shot at
Pinewood Studios, already the home of Bond, it is unsurprising that the sets here
are very close to Ken Adam’s designs, especially the secret underground
headquarters of STENCH, led by the evil Doctor Crow, and were probably built
and lit by many of the same technicians. The cast, with Kenneth Wiliams taking
a rare lead role, are a joy. Williams, who would often be cast as pompous,
arrogant authority types in later films, plays here his idiotic character made
famous in Hancock’s Half Hour, complete with his catchphrase “Stop
messing about!” The comedy is hilarious,
and as a Bond spoof it works very well as a standalone film for those who may
be unfamiliar with the charms of the ‘Carry On’ franchise. Naturally, given
that it is now sixty years old, some of the humour is a little painful,
reflecting some of the post-colonial attitudes of the time. But the odds are
that if you are Cinema Retro regular, you can probably handle it.
Carry On Cleo is
probably the franchise’s most lavish and high budget production, thanks to the
genius decision of Peter Rogers to move in on the abandoned Cleopatra sets
left behind at Pinewood when the disastrous Elizabeth Taylor production was
shipped off to Cinecittà in Rome to start again. With full access to sets,
props and costumes, Carry On Cleo looks a million dollars, and is also a
million times more entertaining than Joseph L. Mankiewicz’s Cleopatra. The
cast are fabulous, with Kenneth Williams in full arrogant mode as Caesar, Sid
James as the lecherous Mark Anthony, Jim Dale as an escaped English slave, but
most importantly with Amanda Barrie, who had an important role in Carry On
Cabby, as the beautiful and mesmerising Cleopatra. Whether in costumes
originally created for Liz Taylor, or bathing naked in ass's milk, she's simply
stunning. It has always been my favourite ‘Carry On’ film, packed with sight
gags, brilliant nods to the original film (20th Century Fox were
particularly furious at the original Carry On Cleo poster design which
mercilessly spoofed theirs) and wonderful sets and matte paintings. This was
the heyday of Pinewood Studios, and the skill and expertise on show here sets
it apart from the later, cheaper ‘Carry On ‘films shot mainly in muddy fields.
Carry On Cowboy
arrived just as the Spaghetti Westerns were getting started in Italy but owes
more to the prevalence of American western films and TV shows (Bonanza, Gunsmoke,
etc.), and is another clear spoof in the Carry On Spying mode. Genre
conventions are milked for all their comic potential, and the cast are
uniformly excellent, from Jim Dale’s accidental sheriff, Sid James as the
villainous Rumpo Kid, Charles Hawtrey as the whisky-addled Big Chief Heap, Joan
Sims as a prostitute with a heart of gold, Kenneth Williams as a cowardly mayor
and, in a reference to actual history, Angela Douglas as the first-rate shot
Annie Oakley. This is great fun, and not far removed from what Mel Brooks would
do less than ten years later, but without the fourth wall breaking.
The last film in the set is possibly the most
well known outside of the UK – Carry On Screaming. This time they had
Hammer Films firmly in their sights, with references to Frankenstein, Jekyll
and Hyde, spooky mansions and the sexiest of sexy vamps, all mixed together
with plenty of gags and a plot which borrows heavily from House of Wax
(1953), meaning Vincent Price gets a bit of a nod as well. In the lead role as Police
Sargeant Bung is Harry H. Corbett, making his only ‘Carry On’ appearance, but
he was an extremely popular comedy actor in the UK at the time thanks to his
starring role in the sitcom Steptoe and Son. Kenneth Williams plays the
undead Dr Watt (his name allowing for some “Who’s on first?”-type comedy confusion),
alongside Jim Dale, Angela Douglas, Joan Sims, Charles Hawtrey and the stunning
Fenella Fielding, who vamps for all she’s worth in a red dress so tight fitting
that she was unable to sit down between takes.
Across the films are appearances from other
‘Carry On’ favourites including Bernard Bresslaw, Kenneth Connor, Peter
Butterworth and a pre-Doctor Who Jon Pertwee, who in the early 1960s was
probably best known for doing funny voices on radio comedy shows like The
Navy Lark.
It’s wonderful to see these films restored
and available in HD at last. They look fantastic and remind us of what great
craftsmanship there was in British cinema in the 1960s, even at the cheaper end
of the production scale. This boxset also comes with a lovely booklet which
reproduces in full colour the original pressbooks for the first twelve ‘Carry
On’ films. They’re fascinating to look at, although you might need a magnifying
glass if you want to read some of them! Bonus features-wise, the sets are a bit
light, simply including original trailers for each film and the commentary
tracks which were recorded for the original DVD releases more than a decade
ago. Whilst it’s great to have these, and they are very entertaining (Fenella
Fielding has the kind of voice you could listen to all day), it would be great
to see some of the archival documentaries and interviews that have been shown
on TV over the years included too, or even commission the official ‘Carry On’
historian Robert Ross, whose new co-authored book Carry On Girls is also
excellent, to produce some new documentary material.
However, we physical media collectors are
spoiled these days and often expect too much! For the price, this boxset
delivers what we really want, which is excellent restorations of much-loved
British comedy gems. These really are the best of the series, and if you don’t
agree, in the immortal words of Sid James: “Knickers!”
You can order ‘Carry On Collection 3’ direct
from Via Vision here:
Director
Billy Wilder was on an incredible streak during the decade of the 1950s. Some
of his most notable works were made between 1950-1959, and his 1957 courtroom
drama, Witness for the Prosecution, is one of the high points.
Based
on the 1953 stage play by Agatha Christie (which, in turn, was based on one of
her short stories), Wilder’s film version actually improves a bit on the
already engaging theatrical work. (By the way, the stage play is currently
enjoying a long and successful run in London at County Hall’s old courthouse
and actual courtroom, and this reviewer can attest that it is a magnificent
production, definitely worth seeing in those authentic environs.)
Tyrone
Power received top billing as Leonard Vole, the accused (Power, an American,
plays the role as one as well). The fabulous Marlene Dietrich is Christine, the
“witness for the prosecution.” But make no mistake—this movie belongs to
Charles Laughton, who received third billing. Laughton plays barrister Sir
Wilfrid Robarts, who is the senior counsel for Vole. As his private nurse, Miss
Plimsoll (Elsa Lanchester) declares during the trial when Wilfrid makes a
slam-dunk move, “Wilfrid the Fox! That’s what they call him, and that’s what he
is!”
The
nurse character is something that screenwriters Wilder and Harry Kurnitz
(adapted for the screen by Larry Marcus) added to the story, as well as turning
Sir Wilfrid’s character to be more of a protagonist. Seeing that Laughton and
Lanchester were married in real life, their chemistry and constant bantering
together is priceless, providing the film with comedic elements that the play
never had.
Vole
is accused of murdering a wealthy widow that he befriended. She had become
besotted with him and made him a beneficiary of her will. Vole is married to
German immigrant Christine, who at first provides an alibi for Vole. Sir
Wilfrid, despite recovering from a heart attack and is not in the best shape
for a highly publicized trial, takes the case of defending Vole. It’s a shock
to Wilfrid when the prosecution calls Christine to testify against her husband—because
she is actually married to someone else back in East Germany, dodging the law
that a wife can’t testify against a spouse. To reveal any more of the twists
and turns—and especially the surprise ending—would spoil the fun. (In fact, a
voiceover announces at the end of the movie that the “management of this
theater” suggests that the secret of the ending not be revealed to friends!)
All
three of the leads are particularly outstanding, and they are strongly
supported by not only Lanchester, but also John Williams, Henry Daniell, Torin
Thatcher, Una O’Connor, and Ian Wolfe. Wilder’s direction is a lesson in
pacing, the rise and fall of tempo and suspense, and his guidance of the
actors. Dietrich, in fact, would not agree to do the picture unless Wilder was
hired as director.
The
film was popular in 1957. It received Academy Award nominations for Best
Picture, Best Director, Best Actor (Laughton), Best Supporting Actress
(Lanchester), Best Editing, and Best Sound. Curiously, the screenplay wasn’t
nominated. Lanchester did receive the Golden Globe award for her stellar
performance.
Kino
Lorber Studio Classics has issued a Special Edition Blu-ray that replaces their
earlier 2014 release. The contents are exactly the same except an audio
commentary by film historian Joseph McBride (author of Billy Wilder: Dancing
on the Edge) has been added. Previous supplements included are a short
piece of Wilder discussing the film with director Volker Schlöndorff,
and the theatrical trailer. The restoration itself looks marvelous in glorious
black and white.
Witness
for the Prosecution is
a must-have for fans of Billy Wilder, Charles Laughton, Marlene Dietrich,
Agatha Christie, and courtroom thrillers. Great fun all around.
(A
previous edition of this film was released in 2017 by Classic Flix and was
reviewed on Cinema Retro in 2020. The film has been re-issued as a
“Special Edition” from Kino Lorber Studio Classics in 2024. Much of the
following review is repeated, but updated, from the earlier piece.)
A
sub-genre of film noir is that of the so-called “docu-noir,” a
crime drama usually based on a true story and told as a Dragnet-style
procedural. Most likely there is an omniscient voiceover narrator, a focus on
the lawmen who are investigating the case, and all the other stylistic and
thematic elements associated with film noir in general: starkly
contrasting black and white photography, urban locations, shadows, gritty
realism, angst and cynicism, and sometimes brutal violence.
Eagle-Lion
Films was a British/American production company that existed for only a few
years in the late 40s, disbanding in the early 50s. There was some talent
involved, and they produced a variety of genres and pictures of varying quality
(Powell and Pressburger’s The Red Shoes was a rare Best Picture
nominee). Many of the studio’s pictures were films noir that were shot
as B-movies with low budgets and barebones casts and crews. Anthony Mann
directed a couple of their classic crime movies—T-Men and Raw Deal,
both of which fall into the “docu-noir” category. Unfortunately, due to bad
management or negligence, many of Eagle-Lion’s titles fell out of copyright and
currently reside in the public domain. Hence, one can often find bargain bin,
cheap knock-off DVDs and Blu-rays of these films.
He
Walked by Night
is a prime example of a quality presentation of an equally impressive little
movie. Made in 1948, Walked is a true story loosely based on the crime
spree by Erwin “Machine Gun” Walker, who shot cops and committed burglaries and
armed robberies in Los Angeles in the mid-40s. In real life, Walker was
arrested and sentenced to prison, but he was paroled in the 70s. This is not the
ending to the story that is depicted in the film.
A
young Richard Basehart portrays disturbed war veteran Roy Morgan, a habitual
burglar and armed robber. An off-duty cop on the street suspects Roy of being a
burglar. Roy shoots and kills him. The POV switches to the police, especially
Lt. Marty Brennan (Scott Brady), who is based on the investigator of the true
case. He is assisted by Captain Breen (Roy Roberts), and forensics man Lee
Whitey (Jack Webb, in an early screen appearance). The story follows the police
investigation juxtaposed with Morgan’s eccentric and lonely existence, and the
criminal’s increasingly violent crimes. The big break comes when a stolen item
is recovered by an electronics pawn dealer (Whit Bissell), who has been
unwittingly fencing for Morgan.
It’s
all engaging stuff, and Basehart delivers an outstanding, creepy performance as
Morgan. The police procedural sequences are done well, such as when a composite
drawing of the suspect is created by all the witnesses to the crimes. The
climactic set piece of a chase in LA’s sewer system is exciting, atmospheric,
and pure noir. Oddly, it is similar to the ending of The Third Man,
which was released a year later.
Even
though Alfred Werker is credited as director, audio commentary speculates that
Anthony Mann stepped in to helm some of the movie. Is it one of those Christian
Nyby/Howard Hawks (The Thing) or Tobe Hooper/Steven Spielberg (Poltergeist)
controversies? No one seems to know. He Walked by Night, however, does
contain several sequences—including the final sewer chase—that are stylistic
stamps of Mann. That said, much of the credit for the picture’s success goes to
celebrated noir cinematographer John Alton.
Another
sidebar related to the picture is Jack Webb’s meeting and further networking
with the picture’s technical adviser Detective Sergeant Marty Wynn. This led to
the ultimate creation of Dragnet as a radio and television show.
Kino
Lorber’s new Special Edition Blu-ray presents a 16-bit 4K scan of the 35mm fine
grain, and it looks quite wonderful, a remarkable step-up from other public
domain transfers that are out there. It comes with English subtitles for the
hearing impaired, as well as an audio commentary by biographer and producer
Alan K. Rode and writer/film historian Julie Kirgo. New to this Special Edition
is a second audio commentary by film historian Imogen Sara Smith.
Unfortunately, the Kino Lorber edition does not contain other supplements that
the previous Classic Flix edition did, nor the 24-page booklet that accompanied
that packaging.
For
fans of film noir, police procedurals, and gritty crime dramas, He
Walked by Night is a good time at the movies.
Woody Allen’s Chekhovian-titled Hannah and Her Sisters
(1986) is reportedly only twenty percent of what he actually wrote for the film
on his Olympia SM-3 typewriter, which he has owned for decades and written all
of his films on. Given how extraordinary this outing is, one can only wonder what
the remaining projected film would have looked like. Conceived of as his answer
to Ingmar Bergman’s Fanny and Alexander (1982) which ran three hours
theatrically and nearly five-and-a-half hours on Swedish television as a
mini-series, Hannah is considered by many to be Mr. Allen’s finest hour,
although I am in the minority as I view Another Woman (1988) as his best
film, with Hannah coming in at a very close second.
Hannah is a sumptuous film, the first Woody Allen outing to be
photographed by the late great cinematographer Carlo
Di Palma who would go on to work on eleven more films with Mr. Allen. He
captures the visual splendor of New York and all its beauty and ugliness over a
two-year period between Thanksgiving holidays. It is also a family affair. Hannah
is a housewife/actress and is played wonderfully by Mia Farrow. Her parents are
her real-life mother, Maureen O’Sullivan, and actor Lloyd Nolan, who used to be
actors as well. Hannah is married to businessman Elliot (Michael Caine) and
they have a good number of children who are all played by Ms. Farrow’s and Mr.
Allen’s real-life adopted offspring. Hannah’s sisters consist of the
emotionally adrift Lee (Barbara Hershey), who is in a relationship of sorts
with the hermetic painter Frederick (Max von Sydow) and the actress-wanna-be Holly
(Dianne Weist) who always appears to be on the verge of a breakdown between
bouts of ingesting nicotine and alcohol following auditions. As with previous
Allen outings, especially his 1979 film Manhattan, Hannah revolves
around myriad romantic entanglements, but it is not all fun and games. Elliot
is intensely attracted to Lee who is a lost soul and is pulled to him thanks to
Frederick’s older age and insouciance. Holly and her actress friend April
(Carrie Fisher), with whom she runs a catering company to make ends meet, battle
it out for the affections of David (Sam Waterston), an erudite architect who
uses opera and fine wine as his tools of choice to woo them both.
As if this were not enough, Mickey (Woody Allen) is a television
producer/hypochondriac and is Hannah’s ex. He has a near-death experience when
he becomes convinced that he has a brain tumor and ponders the meaning of life,
questioning his parents and his co-worker played by Julie Kavner while also
looking to religion for answers, but stopping short after speaking with a Hare
Krishna, confirming the absurdity of shaving his head, wearing long robes, and
dancing around at airports. Though most of the action is that of a serious
theme (Crimes and Misdemeanors would take this to even further horrific
heights in 1989), the film also balances it with outright hilarity. The ending
is perhaps one of the most hopeful and positive in all the Woody Allen
filmography.
Hannah boasts two celebrated cinematic moments. The first occurs in a
restaurant among the sisters as Lee tries desperately to hide her affair from
Hannah who simultaneously attempts to talk Holly off the ledge when she announces
her decision to take off a year to try and find herself. The camera circles the
triumvirate in a 360-degree maneuver that illustrates Lee’s increasing
discomfort with the situation at hand as the tension mounts.
The second comes near the film’s end when Mickey notices Holly
perusing titles in Tower Records and engages in a humorous and heartfelt exchange
with her. The scene is done in one take and is a highlight.
Among Woody Allen fans the question has usually been which do they
prefer: Annie Hall (1977) or Manhattan (1979). They can add Hannah
to the mix. This was Ms. Farrow’s fifth outing with Mr. Allen and she does a
wonderful balancing act of being the confused wife of an adulterer and the
sister of a neurotic.
After being lensed in the fall of 1984, Hannah opened
nationwide on Friday, February 7, 1986 to near universal acclaim, leaving Mr.
Allen wondering how had he failed, the idea being that if you make something
that just about everyone loves, you must be making something that fails to be interesting
or challenging!
Hannah won Oscars for Best Original Screenplay for Woody Allen, Best
Supporting Actor for Michael Caine (who will never live down his unavailability
to accept the Oscar in person as he was away filming Jaws IV), and Best
Supporting Actress for Dianne Weist. It is one of his best-scored films,
boasting a soundtrack of both upbeat and melancholic tunes.
The film is available in a Region B Blu-ray from Fabulous Films, the
fine company that released Manhattan. The
source material is terrific and the film’s warmth shines through.
Click here to purchase this from Amazon’s UK site.
(A
previous 50th Anniversary edition of this film was released in 2018
by Kino Lorber and was reviewed on Cinema Retro in 2020. The film has
been re-issued on Blu-ray as a “Special Edition” in 2024. Much of the following
review is repeated, but updated, from the earlier piece.)
The
late director Norman Jewison, who passed away on January 20, 2024, was on a
roll in the late 1960s. After a handful of well-received small romantic
comedies, he directed The Cincinnati Kid (1965) featuring Steve McQueen as
a Depression-era poker player, followed by the Oscar Best Picture-nominated The
Russians are Coming, the Russians are Coming (1966), and then the brilliant
In the Heat of the Night (1967), which did win the Best Picture
Oscar and landed Jewison a Director nomination.
His
next project became a heist picture/romance, the story of which was pitched to
him by Alan R. Trustman, a lawyer with no screenwriting experience. Jewison was
intrigued, so, according to the excellent interview with the director that
appears as a supplement on Kino Lorber’s new Blu-ray edition of The Thomas
Crown Affair, he gave Trustman a crash course in how to write a movie
script. When it was completed, Jewison got the film green-lit.
When
Jewison’s agent—who also represented Steve McQueen—read the screenplay, he
suggested McQueen for the part. Even though the actor and director had gotten
along on Cincinnati Kid, Jewison admits that he didn’t think McQueen was
right for the role because the actor never wore suits. McQueen then met with
the director—wearing a suit—and convinced him that he could be Thomas Crown.
The
Thomas Crown Affair is
a stylish, twisty-turny, clever piece of 1968 pizazz. It emphasizes the
ultra-cool cosmopolitan and fancy lifestyle of the rich during the Mad Men era
when it was actually happening. The flashy camerawork and then-innovative
split-screen/multi-screen display of simultaneous action scenes was snappy and
unique. The brilliant main title designer, the late Pablo Ferro, is credited
for much of this work, and it is this visual technique that gives the movie its
pulse.
Crown
is a former banker in Boston, a happily wealthy playboy-sportsman who decides
to pull off a complicated bank heist simply because he can. He puts together a
team of individuals (including getaway driver Jack Weston) who don’t know each
other or him, and the gang meets only at the time of the robbery inside the
bank. Crown himself isn’t there. The heist is successful, and the mastermind
gets away with $2.6 million. Detective Malone (Paul Burke) is determined to
catch whoever was responsible, but the crime was too well thought out. No evidence
or clues were left behind. An insurance investigator, Vicki Anderson (Faye
Dunaway, in her first role post-Bonnie and Clyde), is brought in and she
immediately takes control of the operation, much to Malone’s chagrin. It
doesn’t take long for Crown to come under Vicki’s suspicions—so she sets out to
entrap him by, well, having an affair with him.
That’s
the plot in a nutshell. While much of it is seemingly improbable, the story is
told with conviction and such technical prowess that it’s hard not to go along
for the ride. Jewison’s handling of the heist itself and the romantic sequences
between the dual eye candy, McQueen and Dunaway, is masterful. Both actors are
fine in their roles; McQueen especially continues to exude the 60s cool that
was his trademark.
Kino
Lorber’s brand new 4K restoration looks quite good, and it comes with two audio
commentaries—one by Jewison himself, and the other by film historians Lem Dobbs
and the late Nick Redman. Supplements
include the previously mentioned interview with an aging Jewison, who was still
sharp and talkative, an interview with title designer and split-screen maestro
Ferro, and a vintage on-the-set featurette from 1967 with the cast and crew.
The original theatrical trailer, along with other Kino Lorber releases,
complete the disk.
The
Thomas Crown Affair was
remade by John McTiernan in 1999 with Pierce Brosnan and Rene Russo. Was it
better than the original? Maybe yes, maybe no. Only you can decide; but
consider this—the 1968 version has Steve McQueen, a young Faye Dunaway, a
variety of really hot and nifty sports cars, and an Oscar-winning title song,
“The Windmills of Your Mind” (remember that?)! Recommended.
I
have never understood religious cults, and I still don’t. How someone can
permit themselves to be brainwashed into following a self-appointed “religious
leader” and hang on their every word represents, to me, a soul searching for acceptance
or love that they believe has been denied them. My initiation into the existence
of cults was in the December 4, 1978 issues of both Time Magazine and Newsweek
Magazine. Their reports about the Jonestown murders in Guyana, which completely
shocked my sensibilities with images of dead adults and children lying face
down in filth, were the stuff of nightmares. This horrific event has spawned
books, documentaries, and jokes about “drinking the Kool Aid” when referencing one’s
blind commitment to a ridiculous situation. An article two months later in my
local newspaper about “witches,” pagan practices, bowls of blood and animal
ribcages in the woods less than ten miles from where I lived did little to assuage
my fears about them. David Koresh, the leader of the religious sect
referred to as the Branch Davidians, led his followers into the Mount Carmel
Center, a compound in Waco, Texas, which culminated in a standoff with law
enforcement in April 1993 with most of them dying in a storm of bullets and
fire. NXIVM, the organization founded by Keith Raniere five years later
masquerading as a self-help and personal development program group, came under
fire for being a cult following reports of sex trafficking of branded women.
Hollywood is no stranger to films about such
subjects. Most of them are cut from the cloth of genre and horror films. Split
Image (1982) is a bit of a different take on this terrifying subject as
seen through the eyes of suburbanites and therefore is far more relatable. Directed
by Ted Kotcheff between April and June in 1981 just before he unleashed John
Rambo on the world with his phenomenal First Blood, also released in
1982. Split Image was originally reported on under the title of Captured
when it was featured in the wonderful but short-lived bi-monthly movie magazine
published in 1982 called “Coming Attractions.” I saw the film on CED Videodisc nearly
40 years ago and was amazed at how little I recalled of it.
Danny Stetson (Michael O’Keefe of Lewis John
Carlino’s 1978 film The Great Santini) is a parallel bars athlete eyeing
college. He lives with his parents Kevin and Diane (Brian Dennehy and Elisabeth
Ashley) and younger brother Sean (Ronnie Scribner of Tobe Hooper’s 1979 TV-Movie
Salem’s Lot) in a sprawling house like the killer’s in Dario Argento’s Tenebrae
(1982), complete with large see-through windows and a built-in pool. By chance
he meets a beautiful young woman named Rebecca (Karen Allen of Steven
Spielberg’s Raiders of the Lost Ark in 1981) who engages in small talk about
big subjects. Accompanying her to a weekend outing, he is introduced to scores
of people at a retreat called Homeland who welcome him with open arms –
literally – and who all chant and engage in reciting positive affirmations while
discussing Jungian archetypes such as the duality of man. The happy and joyous
atmosphere completely rubs him the wrong way when he meets the group’s leader,
Neil Kirklander (played wonderfully by Peter Fonda), but he stays and sleeps on
the premises and one night makes a break for freedom. Bill Conti’s score here
is recognizable as the precursor to his wonderful score to Robert Mandell’s
thriller F/X (1986). Confronted by Kirklander, he eventually falls under
his spell and informs his mother that he will not be coming home. He undergoes
a ritual whereby he renounces his identity as Danny and is reborn as “Joshua,”
prompting a visit from his parents that results in a near donnybrook
precipitated by his temperamental father.
Split Image, which opened in New York on Friday, November 5,
1982, does a decent job of exploring the practice of capturing and “deprogramming”
an individual who has fallen under the spell of a cult and this is done by
Charles Pratt (played by the incomparable James Woods) who, somehow, makes his
living “deprogramming” people. After kidnapping “Joshua” with his parents’
permission, he forces him to undergo “treatment” to bring “Danny” back to life.
Many of these scenes look as though they came out of a horror film, and it
makes one wonder how much of this was imagined by the writers and how much is
based on factual circumstances such as this. The film looks at the ethics of “interventions”
and how it can alter a person’s free will and their ability to make their own
choices. Like Irwin Winkler’s At First Sight (1992), it waivers between
being compelling and occasionally feels a little “TV Movie of the Week”-ish by
today’s standards.
The film is now available from Kino Lorber on
standard Blu-ray. Some of the shots within the house appear to be a little
darker than they should be, but it is probably just how the film was shot. Mr.
Kotcheff does an expert job of framing the film for 2.35:1 anamorphic
photography, which is a huge step up from the pan-and-scan transfer of the
early 1980’s.
This is a sparse disc in the way of extras, however
the major one is the feature length audio commentary by film historian and filmmaker Daniel Kremer who
mentions his own movie, Raise Your Kids on Seltzer (2015), which is
about retired “deprogrammers”. When I was in middle school, Ralph L. Thomas’s
1981 film Ticket to Heaven appeared in my Weekly Reader issue and
I had a much different idea of what that film was about. It turns out that
deprogramming is the theme, and Mr. Kremer also mentions Blinded by the
Light, which was released in 1980, and starred both Kristy and Jimmy
McNichol, directed by cinematographer John A. Alonzo. This is a very
entertaining and informative commentary which also touches on Mr. Kotcheff’s
other films and placing him into the auteur category.
The
Blu-ray also comes with the following trailers: Split Image, Gorky
Park, 52 Pick-Up, The Bedroom Window, The Wanderers,
and The Hard Way.
(A previous edition of this Blu-ray title from Kino Lorber was reviewed at Cinema Retro in 2020. This review covers a new edition released in 2024, repeating much of the previous writeup but with new material.)
The late Carl Reiner received top billing in this magnificent comedy that was released in the middle of the 1960s, when relations between the United States and the Soviet Union were tentative at best. Détente was at play, but there wasn’t much trust between the two countries. Two years after Kubrick’s Cold War black comedy, Dr. Strangelove, Norman Jewison tried his hand at a picture with a similar theme, only it was one that was much lighter in tone.
Reiner shares the movie with another acting master who recently left us. Alan Arkin made his feature film debut with his portrayal of a Russian submarine political officer. He and Reiner are joined by a marvelous supporting cast of character actors who all have comedic turns. Penned by Oscar-nominated William Rose (who had written or co-written The Ladykillers and It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World, and would win the Oscar the following year for Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner), The Russians are Coming, the Russians are Coming focuses on the conflict between a group of misplaced Soviet submariners and the panicky townsfolk of a New England island off the coast of Massachusetts after the summer tourists have left. What it’s really about, though, is communication, or rather, the lack of it, and how a series of incidents that are lost in translation might lead to misunderstandings. Director Jewison delivers that message to the audience wrapped neatly in a barrel of laughs.
Reiner is Walt Whittaker, a playwright who has spent the summer on the island with his wife (Eva Marie Saint) and two children, and the family is ready to depart. His rented house on the coast happens to be near where the Russians’ submarine accidentally runs aground. The captain (Theodore Bikel) sends Lt. Rozanov (Arkin), officer Alexei Kolchin (John Phillip Law), and seven other men to go find a boat, commandeer it, and bring it back so they can tow the sub away from the island. Things begin promisingly, and then all hell breaks loose as one mishap after another foils the Russians’ scheme. Police Chief Mattocks (Brian Keith), his deputy Norman Jonas (Jonathan Winters), and, ultimately, war veteran and head of the citizens militia, Hawkins (Paul Ford), receive conflicting reports of the “invasion” and set about investigating it in their own misguided ways (although Mattocks is indeed the sensible one). Throw in a sudden romantic attraction between Alexei and the Whittaker’s babysitter, Alison (Andrea Dromm), the antics of phone operator Alice (the splendid Tessie O’Shea), and Luther, a drunk “Paul Revere” who spends the entire film trying to catch his horse (Ben Blue), and you’ve got a recipe for a comedy classic. The climax, however, is surprisingly suspenseful when the Russians and Americans finally reach a standoff at the harbor—until an unrelated crisis occurs that shakes everyone out of the mob mentality.
The straight man role was something Carl Reiner could do well; he always brought a heightened intensity to his parts that was simultaneously boisterous and believable, and yet amusing, too. Arkin, whose dialogue is 85% authentic Russian throughout the picture, immediately proved to the world what an amazing actor he is (he received an Oscar nomination for his performance and won a Golden Globe). Winters and Ford both provide much of the insane humor. O’Shea is hilarious, especially in the scene in which she and Reiner are gagged and tied together and attempt to escape. Law, a newcomer at the time, is a striking and likeable presence, and he masters the Russian language and the accented English with aplomb.
It’s all great stuff, punctuated by Johnny Mandel’s score of American patriotic music mixed with Russian folk songs. Along with Arkin’s nomination, The Russians are Coming… was also nominated for Best Picture, Best Adapted Screenplay (Rose), and Best Editing (Hal Ashby was co-editor).
Kino Lorber’s high definition restoration looks good enough, despite some washing out of color in some places, as well as blemishes and artifacts that can be seen in many of the images. This new 2024 edition has added an audio commentary by film historians Michael Schlesinger and Mark Evanier, who complement the onscreen action with informed background. The earlier supplements of an informative and entertaining “making of” featurette with an interview with Jewison and the theatrical trailer remain on the disk.
In short, The Russians are Coming, The Russians are Coming is grand fun, and it’s a fitting showcase for the late, great Carl Reiner and Alan Arkin.
So… a novel by Émile Zola published in 1890 has been made into a movie no less than five times. La Bête humaine(“The Human Beast” or “The Beast Within”) is a gritty psychological crime thriller centered in the world of railway yards and train engineer life, and nearly every character, including the protagonist, Jacques Lantier, is someone with a dark soul. It wasnoir before that term was used to describe art.
A film adaptation was first made in Germany in 1920 by Ludwig Wolff. A more celebrated remake by Jean Renoir and starring the great Jean Gabin as Lantier was released in 1938. The Hollywood version, retitled Human Desire andreviewed here, was made in 1954 by Fritz Lang, the brilliant filmmaker who had fled Nazi Germany in the 30s and resumed what was already a stellar career in Tinsel Town. Two more pictures, a 1957 Argentinian version and a more well known British television reworking in 1995 entitled Cruel Train(directed by Malcolm McKay), also revisited the well-worn tale.
While Renoir’s 1938 rendition of La Bête humaineis generally considered the definitive depiction of Zola’s novel, Lang’s Human Desire is an excellent example of the kind of rough-and-ready films noir that Hollywood had been churning out through the 1940s and 50s. Lang himself had already made several that fit within the trend and style of these often cheap, always black and white, mostly cynical thrillers—Ministry of Fear (1944), The Woman in the Window (1944), Scarlet Street (1945), Secret Beyond the Door (1947), and The Big Heat (1953), among others. The hallmarks of film noir are there—cinematography patterned after German expressionism, contrasting light and dark, shadows, nighttime, smoking, drinking, violence, and, most assuredly, a femme fatale.
This time the Lantier character, now called Jeff Warren (Glenn Ford), is a much nicer fellow. The violence and rage that existed in earlier versions of the protagonist are not here.He’s a train engineer, recently discharged from the Korean War and back at his old job in the railway yards somewhere not unlike Pennsylvania. He’srather sweet on the daughter of a colleague, a “good” girl andperhaps the only innocent and squeaky clean character in the story. Carl Buckley (Broderick Crawford) also works for the railroad, but he’s a mean drunk and is fired. He has a younger wife, Vicki (Gloria Grahame), who has a questionable past. Carl gets Vicki to visit a wealthy railway customer, Owens (Grandon Rhodes), to try and get him to influence the railway boss to rehire her husband. Carl doesn’t realize Vicki has some history with Owens. Carl gets his job back, but now he’s terribly jealous. He forces Vicki to help him murder Owens during a train ride. They don’t count on Jeff also being on the train and unwittingly becoming involved in the scheme. Jeff falls for Vicki and begins an affair with her, even though he knows she’s likely “no good.” And then Vicki has plans of her own for Jeff to do something about Carl. She believes that if Jeff had killed in the war, then he could do it again. But that, as he says, is “a different kind of killing.”
Yes, it’s quite a typical adultery-murder plot that floats around films noir. We can predict the events of the story before they occur, but we don’t care. Why? Because Fritz Lang’s direction is tight, interesting, full of striking imagery, and straddles the right balance between campy and heightened melodrama. The performances, especially by Grahame, are quite good. The only problem is an ending that might be considered unresolved.
Kino Lorber Studio Classics’ new Blu-ray release of Human Desire is top-notch with a gorgeous restoration that accents the cinematography by Burnett Guffey (who had won an Academy Award for From Here to Eternity and would win another for Bonnie and Clyde). The only supplements on the disk are a nine minute video discussion about the film by, curiously, actress Emily Mortimer, the theatrical trailer, and trailers for other Kino Lorber releases.
Human Desire is for fans of film noir, Fritz Lang, and the trio of stars—Ford, Grahame, and Crawford. Oh, and if you happen to like trains, there are a lot of those in the movie, too!