By Dean Brierly

DETECTIVE BUREAU 2-3: GO TO HELL BASTARDS! (1963)

The early 1960s proved to be a transitional period for Japanese director Seijun Suzuki. After churning out numerous yakuza films for Nikkatsu throughout the 1950s, the director began to rebel against the creative limitations imposed by the studio. Fed up with clichéd scenarios and adherence to stylistic conventions, Suzuki began infiltrating subversive visual flourishes to make things more interesting for himself and his audiences. Nineteen-sixty-three is widely regarded as the year Suzuki fully became Suzuki, starting with Detective Bureau 2-3: Go to Hell Bastards! Although it doesn’t scale the delirious heights of the more famous Tokyo Drifter (1966) and Branded to Kill (1967)—whose visual and narrative anarchy got him fired from Nikkatsu—the film still turns the yakuza genre on its head through Suzuki’s hyperbolic approach.

Story

Jo Shisido stars as Tajima, a resourceful private eye who owns the Detective Bureau 2-3 of the title. For reasons never clearly explained, he manifests a deep-seated and simmering hate for the yakuza, an emotion that primes his motivational pump throughout the film. Following a munitions theft from an American military base, Tajima convinces the police to let him infiltrate one of two yakuza gangs battling for control of the local gun-running trade. Posing as an ex-con, he befriends a mid-level criminal named Manabe and gets close enough to the underworld hierarchy to identify the major players and the location of the guns. Even when his cover is blown, the quick-thinking detective improvises schemes to remain useful to the competing gangs—that is, until the bad guys lock him in an underground garage, pump gallons of motor oil into it and set it on fire. Tajima escapes the inferno with the aid of what has to be the world’s most powerful machinegun, then lights the fuse that ignites a battle royal between the rival gangs—a ferocious encounter fought with guns and samurai swords—that brings the film to a spectacularly convulsive conclusion.

Cinema Retro columnist Dean Brierly has a great article on his blog: classic quotes from legendary actors and supporting actors. Here's a good example from Bela Lugosi:

(On Dracula) “In playing the picture I found that there was a great deal that I had to unlearn. In the theater I was playing not only to those spectators in the front row but also to those in the last row of the gallery, and there was some exaggeration in everything I did, not only in the tonal pitch of my voice but in the changes of facial expression which accompanied various lines or situations, as was necessary. But for the screen, in which the actor’s distance from every member of the audience is equal only to his distance from the lens of the camera, I have found that a great deal of repression was absolutely necessary.”(1930 Hollywood Filmograph interview)

Click here to indulge in many more 

By Dean Brierly

The wait is over. The cult series It Takes a Thief (1968-1970), which starred Robert Wagner as Alexander Mundy, a world-class thief given a pardon by SIA director Noah Bain in return for plying his felonious trade on behalf of Uncle Sam, has finally arrived in a Region 1 DVD package. After years of DVD limbo marked by gray market bootlegs and an incomplete Region 2 release, multimedia company Entertainment One recently put out a deluxe, 18-disc box set featuring all 66 episodes from the entire three seasons.

The episodes have been digitally re-mastered, and while I haven’t looked at them all yet, the dozen or so I’ve watched are clear and sharp, with vibrant color and little video noise. Certain shots show their age more than others (these are typically stock shots), some nighttime scenes are a bit murky, and the amount of film grain is variable, especially in the season 3 episodes (which also exhibit some minor ghosting), but that’s understandable given the show’s age and the condition of the source material. I watched episodes from all three seasons on my 55-inch flat screen, albeit in the 4:3 ratio (which is how television series from the 1960s and ’70s should be watched), and was generally quite impressed with the picture quality. The audio is fine too, especially when I crank up the volume during the glorious title sequence.

Overall, the sound and video quality is a big upgrade from the 2010 Region 2 release from German company Polyband. (And Polyband only put out season 1 and half of season 2.) Even if Entertainment One had limited this to a bare-bones set, it would still be manna from TV heaven, but they’ve also stocked it with some terrific extras. Fans will be thrilled to learn that the set includes both the pilot episode, “A Thief is a Thief,” plus the long-unavailable, extended-length version of the pilot, which was released theatrically under the title “Magnificent Thief.”

In addition to that magnificent bonus, there is a 30-minute video interview with Wagner that touches on various aspects of the show’s production history, the creative team, the brilliant roster of guest stars, and his feelings about the character of Alexander Mundy. Wagner’s charisma remains as potent today as when he made the series, and he obviously retains a strong emotional connection to what was arguably his most famous role. The show’s abrupt and mystifying cancellation after season 3, despite solid ratings, took Wagner completely by surprise, and though he’s gracious about it, it’s clear he regrets the network’s decision. Listening to him wax reminiscent is pure gold.

As if that weren’t enough, there’s also a video interview with series writer and producer Glen A. Larson, who shares fascinating behind-the-scenes insights on the show’s inception, the differing styles of its producers, and the commitment to maintaining the scripts’ unique blend of narrative invention, suspense and sophisticated humor. Rounding out the extras are a collectible booklet with retrospective essay (full disclosure: penned by this Cinema Retro contributor), a limited-edition senitype (reproduced 35mm film frame) and 4-piece coaster set (for imbibing sophisticated cocktails while watching Mundy purloin secret documents and seduce beautiful girls).

The packaging is simple, functional and striking. The discs come packed in three sturdy foldout booklets (one for each season) that are liberally illustrated with rare publicity stills and cool screen grabs. The booklets themselves, plus the essay booklet, the senitype (which is set into a protective cardboard square) and the coasters, are kept in place in a cube-like box with an interior placeholder. It’s a bit unconventional, but works well enough.

Having already written extensively about the show on this site, I won’t dwell here on its creative DNA of action, espionage, humor and hedonism. Fans of It Takes of Thief are well aware of its ingenious premise, its jet set ambience, its swinging music, its urbane villains, and its smart and sexy women. They don’t need to be sold on its merits; they just want the opportunity to add it to their DVD collections. Suffice it to say that Entertainment One’s class treatment does justice to the legacy of this one-of-a-kind series and iconic star.

Click here to order discounted from Amazon

(Click here to read Dean Brierly's 2010 review of the German DVD edition and overview of the series)

By Dean Brierly 

There are all manner of spy cinema websites scattered about the Internet, but only one that is devoted exclusively to the source material for the many espionage films that have taken up permanent residence in our collective consciousness. Most filmgoers rarely give thought to the literary antecedents of their favorite silver screen spy, yet there would be no James Bond, Harry Palmer or George Smiley if Ian Fleming, Len Deighton and John Le Carre hadn’t created them. Fortunately, one man had the perception to recognize this oversight, plus the expertise and dedication to create “Spy Guys & Gals,” a cyber shrine to the numerous fictional agents — male and female — that have populated espionage fiction for the past five-plus decades. His name? Masteller. Randall Masteller.

A lifelong devotee of spy novels, Masteller began researching the topic for a possible book in 2001, but eventually decided that a website was a more realistic option, and launched the site in early 2006, dedicating it to “… the many, many men and women who, at least in fiction, have defended our freedoms against all forms of enemies, foreign and domestic. Well, granted, a few of them were just in it for the money and many were only after the excitement, and sex played a huge role in the motivation of more than a few. But still, their actions helped not only preserve our way of life (on paper), but also brought us, the readers, many hours of escapism and vicarious pleasure.”

RETRO-ACTIVE: THE BEST ARTICLES FROM CINEMA RETRO'S ARCHIVES

It's no secret that American actors have been making TV commercials for the Japanese market for decades. In years past, there was little chance these would be seen in English-speaking countries where it would have been considered tacky for stars of great magnitude to appear as pitchmen for various products. However, the age of the Internet has opened up a King Tut's tomb of buried video treasures including a real gem featuring Charles Bronson in a bizarre TV spot that looks like it was funded by the old gay erotic magazine Blueboy. That's right - the most macho of leading men appeared in an ad that looks like an outtake from William Friedkin's Cruising.

Cinema Retro's Dean Brierly plays Jimmy Olsen to investigate this rarity: but first check out the video by clicking here

 

 

 

The year 1970 was a hot one for Charles Bronson. After grinding away for decades as Hollywood’s toughest character actor, he was on the cusp of international superstardom thanks to a breakout performance in Sergio Leone’s Once Upon a Time in the West and several gritty Eurocrime films. 1970 was also the year that a Japanese corporation sought a Hollywood star to headline an ad campaign for its new line of “Mandom” men’s-care products. Whether through fate, serendipity or cocaine-fueled inspiration, Mandom and Bronson were brought together in a brilliant conflation of the actor’s self-aware hyper-masculinity and over-the-top Japanese film aesthetics. The result was the most mind-blowing television commercial to ever scorch the airwaves.

The spot begins with a close-up of a pianist feeling his way through a bluesy, cocktail lounge number oozing with after-hours ambience. The camera slowly pulls back to reveal a nattily attired Bronson sitting alone in a swank nightclub elegantly defined by heavy curtains, soft lighting and tables discreetly spaced for romantic tête-à-tête. Bronson isn’t seated at one of the tables, however, but at the piano, where he directs a disturbingly intimate smile at the piano player as his gravelly voiceover intones: “All the world loves a lover. All the world loves…Mandom!” The homoerotic emanations are already starting to thrum.

There’s a quick dissolve as Bronson strolls out of the club, where he’s greeted by bit-part actor Percy Helton playing Sam the doorman. (Helton was the obsequious pipsqueak in countless films, most famously Kiss Me Deadly, in which Ralph Meeker slams Helton’s hand in a drawer until he screams like a little girl.) Helton is at his slobbery, sycophantic best as he escorts the icon to his car, whereupon Bronson claps the little guy on the back in a gesture of masculine bonhomie and wishes him good night. “Thank you, Mr. Bronson,” Helton fawningly responds, his tongue practically up Bronson’s arse. “Goodnight, Mr. Bronson. Sleep tight!” Helton then cackles insanely as Chuck zooms off into the night to the swelling strains of a Love Boat-style chorus. Buñuel couldn’t have staged this scene any better.

Another dissolve shows Bronson dramatically entering his penthouse and immediately begin undoing his tie as a Jack Jones-type croons the Mandom theme song. After selecting his favorite pipe from his pipe rack, Bronson strips off his shirt and with a quick pirouette flings it into the air as if he’s auditioning for a road show of The Sound of Music. His pecs proudly displayed, Bronson struts over to his Mandom shrine, grabs a phallic-shaped can of aftershave and spins the top off to the sound of spaghetti western-style gunshots. If the ad had ended at this point, it would still be the defining moment of Bronson’s career. But there’s more. Oh, so much more.

As Bronson starts slathering on the Mandom like he’s taking a shower in it, there are several quick cutaways to shots of his inner cowboy—tricked out in fancy fringed buckskin—fanning the hammer of a Colt pistol in a flurry of manly action poses. As if that weren’t enough surrealism for thunderstruck television viewers, an off-screen stallion starts whinnying like he’s about to mount a filly. (Or maybe that’s just the sound Bronson makes during the physical act of love.) Having fully marinated himself in Mandom, Bronson leans back in his leather easy chair, pornstache impeccably groomed, and narcissistically caresses his face as he pours every ounce of his artistry into the ad’s tag line: “Ummm. Mandom!”

Even repeated viewings of this two-minute slice of television nirvana can’t diffuse the Mandom magic, something that can’t be said about all of Bronson’s subsequent cinematic endeavors. It’s sheer class on every level: from the A-game performances of Bronson and Helton to the overwhelming homoeroticism to the impeccable evocation of a superficial, sybaritic lifestyle. It’s impossible to single out a defining money shot, as every frame dazzles with a brilliance that Orson Welles could only dream of. Perhaps the best part is the ending, with Bronson sitting alone in his tastefully decorated apartment and nary a female in sight. The narrative implications are left intriguingly open-ended, but as far as I’m concerned, he’s saving his money shot for Sam and the piano player.

By Dean Brierly

The Briefing

“Let me get this straight, Noah. It Takes a Thief is finally out on DVD?”

“That’s right, Al. There’s just one catch — it’s available only in Germany. A company called Polyband just listed Season One on Amazon’s German affiliate.”

“Terrific.”

“Granted, you’ll need a region-free DVD player to watch the discs. But the good news is that the language options include English.”

“You sold me, Noah. Where’s my laptop?”

The Backstory

Yep, it’s finally happened. The coolest TV show never to be released on DVD has at long last entered the digital domain. Not in this country, of course. License holder Universal is still hedging its bets regarding the American market, for reasons known only to fools and madmen. It took the Germans, for crying out loud, to recognize the commercial DVD potential of It Takes a Thief, the action-adventure series that ran from 1968 to 1970 and starred Robert Wagner in his career-defining role as Alexander Mundy, master thief, international playboy and smooth cat extraordinaire.

Besides being must-see TV in the States, the series also proved a hit in Germany, where it debuted on November 18, 1969 under the title Ihr Auftritt, Al Mundy! (Rough translation: Your Appearance, Al Mundy!) One of the reasons for its popularity there was due to the dubbing, which made the lines funnier than they were actually written. This lighter approach was also reflected in some of the episode titles. “A Thief is a Thief” was Germanized to “A Chance for the Playboy,” and “A Spot of Trouble” became “More Champagne for the Ladies.”

The show’s premise was ingenious and irresistible: Mundy was cooling his heels in San Jobel Prison when Noah Bain, head of the secretive SIA spy agency, offered Al a get-out-of-jail card on the condition that he thieve for the government. Bain, played with gruff authority by Malachi Throne, regularly dispatched Al to glamorous European locales to steal secret formulas, defense papers, kidnapped scientists, and whatever else the SIA needed to appropriate in the interest of national security. Naturally, Mundy found time to purloin more than a few feminine hearts along the way. The result was a unique blend of crime and espionage that set the show apart from anything else on the television landscape.

Wagner’s charisma was, of course, integral to the show’s appeal. He was 38 when the series debuted (though he looked a decade younger), and had matured from the callow actor of the early 1950s into a versatile and sophisticated performer. Wagner’s physical grace allowed him to convincingly handle the show’s action imperatives — scrambling cat burglar fashion up and down buildings, throwing down with international spies and criminals, and sweeping an endless succession of nubile females off their lovely feet. Wagner maintained an unimpeachable cool in and out of trouble, and had few equals in the art of repartee. The show’s writers gave him plenty of opportunities to showcase the latter ability. Here’s a typical example from the Season One episode “When Thieves Fall In”:

Alexander Mundy: “What happened?”

Charlene Brown: “Chloroform with a vodka chaser.”

Mundy: “You’re not supposed to spray that stuff on yourself!”

Malachi Throne provided brilliant support as Noah Bain, a gruff, tough badass with no compunctions about sending Mundy into the most desperate and dangerous circumstances; yet who invariably had Al’s back when the chips were down. The series’ guest stars were the cream of the Hollywood crop, from seasoned veterans like Ida Lupino (“Turnabout”) to promising newcomers like Susan St. James (“It Takes One to Know One”) and Bill Bixby (“To Steal a Battleship”). The series’ creative DNA also boasted clever, literate scripts; inventive direction; quality production values; and Dave Grusin’s hipper-than-hip theme tune. Throughout its three-year run, It Takes a Thief effortlessly blended action, suspense, humor and style into a potent televisual cocktail that retains its intoxicating appeal four decades after its debut.

RETR0-ACTIVE: THE BEST FROM THE CINEMA RETRO ARCHIVES

Our Man Brierly turns his sights on a couple of key films in the career of director Anthony Mann

 

Anthony Mann’s filmmaking career lasted nearly three decades, during each of which he mastered a different genre. He came to prominence in the forties with a string of film noirs (1948’s Raw Deal and 1949’s Border Incident but two among many) that rivaled Hitchcock’s for style, suspense and hard-boiled atmosphere. In the fifties, Mann applied his noir sensibility to a series of lean, hard-bitten Westerns starring James Stewart, Winchester ’73 (1950) foremost among them. As the sixties dawned, Mann proved himself one of Hollywood’s most adept directors of big screen blockbusters with the likes of El Cid (1961) and The Fall of the Roman Empire (1964). Linking such disparate films and genres was Mann’s trademark blend of narrative-driven visuals and keen psychological insight.

Although never regarded as an auteur during his lifetime, his films were popular at the box office and generally well received by critics, his last two features being notable exceptions. Both The Heroes of Telemark (1965) and A Dandy in Aspic (1968) have long been considered failures. The former is a war film about Norwegian resistance fighters; the latter one of the bleak spy thrillers common during the sixties. Intriguingly, Mann invests both films with a paranoid tone reminiscent of the nail-biting noirs he cut his teeth on during his first Hollywood decade. A close reading of the films also reveals their stylistic and thematic consistency with his previous, more celebrated work. Now that both are available as Region 2 DVDs, it’s time for a long-overdue reappraisal.

By Dean Brierly

Actors in Western cinema may, if they’re lucky, achieve fame for a recurring role in a particular series of films. Basil Rathbone remains for many the definitive Sherlock Holmes. Sean Connery will always be Bond, James Bond. And Dirty Harry is still Clint Eastwood’s most indelible screen incarnation. But such career-defining roles generally come around only once in a Hollywood film actor’s career.

Not so in Japanese cinema, especially during the 1960s and 1970s, when it was common for an actor to be associated with multiple iconic screen characters. Indeed, for some performers, it was almost the norm. The amazingly prolific Shintaro Katsu not only played the blind swordsman-samaritan Zatoichi in 27 films and a long-running TV series, he also starred in the 16-film Akumyo (or Bad Reputation) series, as well as the Hanzo the Razor trilogy. Action stars Ken Takakura and Sonny Chiba were similarly renowned for playing more than one recurring character.

But this phenomena wasn’t limited to men. Matching her contemporary male peers in serial stardom was Japan’s greatest female action icon, Meiko Kaji, who starred in four Female Convict Scorpion films, two Lady Snowblood films, five Stray Cat Rock films, and two Wandering Ginza Butterfly films. Kaji’s screen persona was perfectly suited to such movies. Although not physically imposing, she projected a tensile inner strength that lent credibility to the strong, independent heroines she portrayed. She could dole out violent retribution with style and fury, but her characters were never overtly cruel—and they always adhered to a rigid moral code that included compassion for the weak and disadvantaged. Despite her astonishing beauty, Kaji (much like the French actor Alain Delon) never traded on her looks, exuding an emotional aloofness that seemed to preclude any interest in conventional notions of screen romance. This enigmatic reserve hinted at a dark sensibility, which, coupled with her unique combination of femininity and fearlessness, proved beguiling to film audiences during her heyday, and helps account for the widespread cult admiration she enjoys to this day. 

Wandering Ginza Butterfly (1971)

Kaji had already made a name for herself with several Stray Cat Rock movies for Nikkatsu, but when that studio shifted to soft-core production in 1971, she immediately switched to Toei. Her first film for her new studio was Wandering Ginza Butterfly (1971), in which she plays Nami, a beautiful gambler and ex-girl gang leader just out of prison after serving time for the murder of a yakuza kingpin. Back on the streets, she returns to her old haunts in Tokyo’s Ginza section, where she forms a fast friendship with a charismatic pimp named Ryuji, gets her a job as a hostess at a posh nightclub, and has a family reunion of sorts with her uncle, who agrees to let her live in his billiard hall. Nami is determined to go straight, but eventually finds her good intentions unraveling in Ginza’s decadent, crime-ridden milieu.

 

Note: This article previously appeared in the September 2008 issue of Black and White magazine. For purchase information on Zimbel’s Monroe pictures, contact John Cleary Gallery, Houston, TX. Phone: 713-524-5070; email: info@johnclearygallery.com

By Dean Brierly

The 1970s were defined by a mind-boggling array of cultural and political phenomena. Some were serious—the energy crisis, no-fault divorce, Margaret Thatcher. Others were silly—crop circles, Charlie’s Angels, disco. And some were simply sublime—the American Basketball Association, SCTV, the proliferation of oral contraceptives. Among the most popular, yet controversial, of the decade’s attention-grabbers was a series of German films that explored the sex life of schoolgirls. (Those easily offended by such movies should perhaps stop reading now.) Based upon a best-selling book by German psychologist Günther Hunold, the films were presented as cautionary tales filmed in a quasi-documentary style in hopes of giving them a veneer of social responsibility. The public service aspect took the form of on-camera interviews with teenage girls answering blunt questions about their sex lives. The series purported to inform the public (i.e., parents) about what their supposedly innocent daughters were getting up to behind closed doors, in public parks, in automobiles, in swimming pools…

What they were, when one came right down to it, were soft-core sex films featuring an ever-changing cast of nubile young German actresses (most of whom ironically appeared to be at least college-aged, if not older). While the films were undeniably erotic, they were written and directed with a light touch and imbued with an earthy, farcical humor (think Benny Hill at his sleaziest). Most of the actresses exhibited an unabashed attitude toward sex that somehow made all the shagging seem like the wonderfully natural act it is rather than something shameful and prurient. The formula evidently worked. The Schoolgirl Report series was an immediate and smash success in Germany, and proved equally popular as a filmic export. The 13 films made over a 10-year period were seen by millions worldwide, including here in the God-fearing yet pre-Moral Majority U.S.A.

Each film presented up to eight vignettes in which German schoolgirls encountered a variety of sexual situations, including first-time sex, interracial sex, promiscuous sex, voyeurism, masturbation, rape, incest, and that old standby, pupil-teacher encounters. The boffing and boinking was by turns erotic, humorous, disturbing and poignant. Each story had at least a modicum of subtext, variously centered on the girls’ search for self-affirmation, the freedom to act as they pleased, and a determination to be treated as adults. Seen in a larger context, the series can be read as a swinging sexual statement of revolt on the part of its youthful protagonists against their parents’ authoritarian, dare one say dictatorial, World War II-era generation. Achtung, baby!
As in the previous films, the fourth installment in the series, What Drives Parents to Despair (1972), begins with an unintentionally hilarious on-camera prologue, presumably delivered by Hunold himself. “Well, ladies and gentlemen, here we are again. You’ll remember us if you’re among the 30 million people who saw our first three Schoolgirl Reports in 28 countries and turned them into a global blockbuster,” he intones, assuming an air of seriousness that fails to completely camouflage his inner perve. “Still, no film has ever been attacked as ours. But almost everything you saw came from authentic sources. Life writes the most interesting scripts. Of course, we will not claim that all schoolgirls behave the way they are portrayed in our films. But it would also be foolish to close your eyes to the facts.” Or to the hot teen action about to unfold, he might have added.

The vignettes revolve around an 18-year-old who seduces her math teacher in order to ace her final, then blows him off with a curt auf Wiedersehen; a 16-year-old who talks her boyfriend into posing as a doctor and making a “house call” so they can get it on upstairs while her naive parents watch television downstairs; a group of high school girls and boys who set up a profitable prostitution ring to better partake of Germany’s economic miracle; and a quartet of oversexed young lovelies who get more than they bargain for when they prick-tease an Italian immigrant into proving his virility. In a much harder-hitting tale, an African girl adopted by a German couple is the target of crude racial insults from her Aryan schoolmates—in the locker room shower, naturally. Later, the Deutschland dollies arrange for her sexual violation by their equally racist boyfriends. There’s nothing titillating about this sequence, which comes across as a strong anti-rape statement.
Another edgy story depicts a sexually curious teen virgin who harbors incestuous fantasies about her older brother. After spying on him making love to an older woman at a party, she begs him to deflower her, with predictable results. (No surprise considering the girl is played by Swedish exploitation film star Christina Lindberg.) In keeping with the series’ non-judgmental tone, the coupling is presented as a one-time-only adolescent experiment. The filmmakers don’t condemn the siblings as much as the socio-economic conditions that can give rise to such misdirected sexual development. And in the final story, as if to somehow reassure parents that not all schoolgirls are completely depraved, an 18-year-old waits until she is certain that her boyfriend loves her before giving up her V card.

The actual sex scenes truthfully aren’t all that exciting, at least, not by today’s XXX-on-demand standards, yet for their time they obviously fulfilled the needs of audiences from Berlin to Baden-Baden and beyond. And the sincerity of these at times awkward couplings takes viewers back to their own fumbling first attempts at sexual expression. That alone makes these films worth revisiting. Additionally, viewing the Schoolgirl Report films today is like opening a time portal onto a genuinely stylish era, one filled with beautiful young people following their natural instincts against a cultural background of casual drug use, space-age pads, trippy cars and the Hammond-driven sounds of Gert Wilden’s stunning jazz-rock music. For those who aren’t afraid to confront their own secret desires, this is trash cinema at its most diverting.

(Impulse  Pictures has released the first three films in the series with letterbox transfers, original German language dialogue and English subtitles. For more info go to official web site)

By Dean Brierly

Alexander Mundy: “Let me get this straight…I can catch complete episodes of the entire first season of It Takes a Thief on hulu.com?”

Noah Bain: “Not quite, Al. But how does 14 out of the first 16 grab you?”

Alexander Mundy: “Terrific!”

Nobody could lay as hip an inflection on the word “terrific” as Robert Wagner when he starred as Alexander Mundy in the coolest adventure/espionage series of the late sixties, It Takes a Thief. During the show’s three-year run from 1968 to 1970, the suave and sophisticated Wagner was the hottest thing going, even edging James Coburn (temporarily, at least) in the hippest actor sweepstakes. As anyone among the Cinema Retro generation knows, Mundy was a world-class thief whose one mistake landed him in San Jobel Prison. The man who put him there? Noah Bain, head of a shadowy government spy agency known as the SIA. In the show’s pilot episode, Bain offered Mundy an expedient if unconventional way out: steal for the government in exchange for a full pardon. Along with the gig came a cover identity that appealed to every man’s inner hedonist: Mundy would pose as an international playboy replete with swank estate and a succession of beautiful SIA operatives to assist him. The catch was a Big Brother surveillance system inside the mansion and strict orders to keep hands off the girls. Needless to say, Mundy routinely circumvented the SIA cameras and subverted whatever scruples the ladies possessed.

When he wasn’t macking on Bain’s private reserve, Mundy kept busy pulling off a string of high wire capers in the world’s hottest jet set locations—all without breaking a sweat. Unlike the preening poseurs currently afflicting Hollywood, Wagner’s cool was organic and understated. As Alexander Mundy, he projected a breezy self-assurance untainted by arrogance or condescension, and maintained his sangfroid in the face of the most dangerous assignments Noah Bain threw his way, thanks to an unparalleled and seemingly inexhaustible skill set. Mundy could neutralize any security system, crack any safe, outwit any adversary and, not least, talk his way into the arms of just about any woman in sight. Little wonder he was the envy of every kid who came of age during the show’s original run.

As an actor, Wagner had been building up to this breakout role throughout the 1960s. The first intimation of his Al Mundy persona can be glimpsed in The Pink Panther (1963), in which he plays the smooth, womanizing nephew of jewel thief David Niven. When he discovers his uncle’s cat burglar kit midway through the film, one can almost sense the actor’s dawning realization of his future career path. Wagner followed up with strong performances in Harper (1966), How I Spent My Summer Vacation (1967) and Banning (1967), each role adding further gloss to his onscreen charisma. By the time Wagner did the pilot episode (titled Magnificent Thief), his combination of physical grace and urbane demeanor was smoother than a shaken-not-stirred vodka martini.

As great as Wagner was, however, It Takes a Thief wouldn’t have been half as effective without the powerful presence of Malachi Throne as Noah Bain. Who can forget Noah's immortal line during the scintillating split-screen credit sequence set to Dave Grusin’s badass theme tune: “Oh, look, Al, I’m not asking you to spy, just asking you to steal.” The stage-trained actor with the deep, distinctive voice was all over the cult TV map during the 1960s and ’70s. With his burly physique and stolid, slab-like face, Throne excelled at playing gruff authority figures, yet his keen intelligence and surprisingly wide emotional range added fascinating layers to his performances. The potent onscreen chemistry he and Wagner displayed gave a real edge to their characters' adversarial relationship. Bain was a hard ass with a ruthless streak and frequently threatened to ship Mundy back to prison if he stepped out line. Yet he also maintained a healthy respect for Mundy’s criminal talents, as well as a grudging affection for the master crook himself. And in his own conservative way, Noah Bain was kind of hip too, matching Mundy in glib repartee and delightedly quashing his amorous aspirations at every opportunity. In the episode “When Thieves Fall In,” Bain surprises Mundy and a female SIA operative in a forbidden clinch. “We were just playing chess,” the flustered agent explains. “You’re lucky I arrived in time,” Bain retorts. “One more move and he’d have had you mated.”

Throne’s complexity and grit were sorely missed when he left the series after the first two seasons. Edward Binns did a competent job as Mundy’s new boss Wally Powers, but he just couldn't match the Malachi Man. Ironically, it was Throne’s own rebellious streak that resulted in his leaving the show. “They had this idea of shooting the whole season in Italy, but they wanted me to stay behind and give Wagner’s character…orders over the phone. I told them if I didn’t go I’d quit, and I did. The show didn’t last another half a season.”

Unlike some programs that take time to dial in their formula, It Takes a Thief was perfect right out of the box. The show’s basic premise, fusing the heist and espionage genres, was a stroke of mad genius. Watching Mundy conduct his felonious pursuit of secret documents, jewels, missing scientists and whatever else the SIA needed stolen was fascinating in itself, but the spy tropes worked into the mix made things even more intriguing, giving the writers greater creative latitude to explore fresh narrative directions. As a result, Mundy could channel the larcenous vibe of Cary Grant in To Catch a Thief while simultaneously tapping into the Cold War dramatics of such contemporaneous shows as I Spy and Mission: Impossible. But no matter which way the scenarios swung, they were all invested with the kind of light touch that seems impossible to reproduce today. All three seasons maintained a nicely judged balance of humor and drama, never veering into camp (like The Man From U.N.C.L.E. did during its third season) or becoming overly serious.

Despite its iconic status and the respect it commands from legions of faithful fans, It Takes a Thief, for reasons known only to the Home Entertainment Gods, has yet to appear on DVD. When one considers that seemingly every other television show from that era has made it to DVD (including the most mindless retro rubbish imaginable), one has to wonder what license holder Universal Studios is waiting for. Fans looking to get their fill of Mundy’s adventures have had to make do with videotapes or gray market DVD-Rs of dubious quality—until now. The good folks at www.hulu.com, a free video streaming site founded by NBC Universal and News Corp., have stepped into the breach by making available 14 season one episodes in their entirety, with limited commercial interruptions.

Many fans consider the first season the best of the three. The stories were more inventive, the suspense was wound a little tighter, and the humor shaded a bit darker. (Here’s Mundy’s sardonic take on an East European security official: “The cat with the ball-bearing eyes is the man currently starring in the Baltic police department’s theater of cruelty.”) The Mundy-Bain interplay was also at its most contentious and compelling (although this aspect became slightly diluted when Mundy became a freelance operative in the second season). Even the faux European locales, courtesy of Universal’s back lot, don’t detract from the show’s sophisticated, escapist allure. Watching episodes like “Turnabout,” “The Radomir Miniature” and “Locked in the Cradle of the Keep” is to be reminded of a vanished entertainment era that privileged intelligence, wit and style.

The program’s celebrated guest stars also made memorable impressions during the 1968 season. In “To Steal a Battleship,” Bill Bixby plays a rival thief who muscles in on Al’s assignment, mistakenly believing they’re both after a priceless necklace, when in fact Mundy is interested only in recovering NATO defense documents. Bixby is excellent as the conniving competitor, adding some darker colors to his standard nice-guy persona. Season one also featured two of Susan Saint James’ five guest appearances as Charlene “Charlie” Brown, another fellow thief and Al’s occasional love interest. In the aforementioned “When Thieves Fall In,” Mundy must steal a sable coat with a map of I.C.B.M. missile sites sewn into the lining, and so enlists Charlie’s help to pull a double switch. St. James and Wagner spark off one another like erotic electrons in this episode while trading one-liners with the timing of a seasoned comedy team. Mundy: “What happened?” Charlene Brown: “Chloroform with a vodka chaser.” Mundy: “You’re not supposed to spray that stuff on yourself!”

Such exchanges are typical of the series’ unbeatable mix of action, suspense, humor and that elusive and seemingly out of fashion quality known as style. Short of Robert Wagner once again donning his cat burglar garb and breaking into Universal’s corporate black tower to liberate the original copies of It Takes a Thief, Hulu will likely remain the best place to indulge your fix of this television classic. Here’s hoping that seasons two and three will soon follow, so that Alexander Mundy fans everywhere will have further occasion to say, “Terrific!”

SERGE'S STIMULATING SLOGAN

As satisfying as any guilty pleasure, Slogan is known primarily as the film that brought together Serge Gainsbourg and Jane Birkin between the sheets, both on and off the screen. Yet it’s also a comic and bittersweet examination of the darker side of desire. Cinema Retro takes a look at the Cult Epics DVD release of this overlooked classic.

By Dean Brierly

“There is a trilogy in my life,” Serge Gainsbourg once said. “An equilateral triangle, shall we say, of Gitanes, alcoholism and girls.”

Of course, Gainsbourg wasn’t the first artist to embrace such a decadent dolce vita, but few have done so with the style and commitment of the French singer-songwriter, poet and provocateur. Fewer still have exploited it to such evocative effect in their art. Gainsbourg wore his hedonism on his well-tailored sleeve, and liked nothing better than upsetting mainstream sensibilities through his outrageous lifestyle and his sexually charged, often-scandalous lyrics. The explicit description of an erotic encounter in his 1969 song “Je t’aime…moi non plus” even earned him a public rebuke from the Vatican, doubtless much to his delight. But Gainsbourg’s lyrics had depth as well as shock value. Shot through with equal parts cynicism and romanticism, they proclaimed him the 20th century’s Baudelaire.

Gainsbourg also indulged his creativity in visual terms. He made pioneering music videos, directed several movies, and acted in nearly 50 film and television productions. He first appeared in front of the camera in low-budget potboilers (including the sword and sandal epic Samson) that consistently failed to exploit his unique louche persona. In 1969, however, the phenomenon that was Serge Gainsbourg finally achieved appropriate celluloid representation in the film Slogan, a fascinating romantic drama-cum-advertising satire. Gainsbourg called it “the first film where a director finally had me act as myself, just as I am.”

It could hardly have been otherwise, as the film’s narrative prophetically mirrored events in the performer’s real life. Gainsbourg plays Serge Fabergé, a director of hip advertising films who, at 40 years of age, is in the grip of a midlife crisis. While attending an awards festival in Venice, he begins an adulterous affair with a free-spirited English girl named Evelyne (played by England’s free-spirited Jane Birkin) in a vain attempt to recapture his youth. Behind the scenes, Slogan was the vehicle through which Gainsbourg and Birkin met and embarked upon one of the most celebrated love affairs of the seventies. Birkin had already achieved her own measure of notoriety as a sixties wild child: She was one of the models who cavort naked with David Hemmings in the film Blow-Up, and was married to James Bond composer John Barry from 1965-68. She would remain Gainsbourg’s lover, muse and creative partner until leaving him in 1980.

Ironically, the two did not initially strike sparks, and Birkin was put off by Gainsbourg’s indifference and arrogance. An evening out in Paris to break the ice ended with the two in bed, but with Gainsbourg too drunk to consummate their new union. Nonetheless, the couple soon became inseparable. Their off-screen passion is almost palpably rendered in Slogan, in which they make a memorable, if unconventional, screen couple, with Birkin’s naive yet smoldering sexuality matched against Gainsbourg’s narcissistic, deadpan cool. Director Pierre Grimblat, who also wrote the screenplay, effectively captures the physical hunger of the lovers in a series of brief, evocative vignettes—a naked Evelyne striding seductively towards Fabergé, who lies expectantly in bed; Fabergé’s hand unzipping Evelyne’s top as she throws her head back in ecstasy; an amorous embrace in front of a roaring fire.

Yet the characters' smugness and self-absorption make it hard to empathize with them. Fabergé is entirely indifferent to the effect his philandering has upon his wife. His excuse—“I hate choosing because I hate making sacrifices”—sums up the selfishness at the core of his character. He also boasts a nice line in cruelty. After leaving his wife, he throws a party for their mutual friends at which he introduces Evelyne as “my little home-breaker,” taking delight in scandalizing his guests and embarrassing his inamorata. Evelyne is no saint, either. Fundamentally shallow and manipulative, she’s not above threatening suicide to exact greater commitment from Fabergé. She’s entirely a slave to her whims and desires, pursuing her pleasure with nary a thought for the lovers who trail despondently in her wake.

The film’s only sympathetic character is Fabergé’s long-suffering wife Françoise, played with brittle strength by Andréa Parisy. Françoise understands her man all too well: “You look young, but you’re not young. I remind you of that, so you get another opinion.” Accustomed to Serge’s infidelities, she patiently waits for him to become bored with his latest conquest and return to the safe harbor of marriage and family. Only when it’s apparent that he’s committed to chasing his sexual fantasy to the end of the licentious night does she reluctantly begin divorce proceedings.

Cinema Retro's Dean Brierly serves up another fascinating, exclusive interview.

The Martin Woodhouse Interview

By Dean Brierly

PROLOGUE

Perhaps the most potent evocation of the 1960s was the book “Goodbye Baby and Amen,” with pictures by David Bailey and words by Peter Evans. Published in 1969, it paid stylish homage to the decade’s cultural icons and iconoclasts: from Jean Shrimpton to Terence Stamp, Christine Keeler to Marianne Faithfull, the Rolling Stones to the Brothers Kray. It’s a perfect tribute as well as a perfect time capsule. Well, nearly perfect. There is one glaring omission. Chap by the name of Martin Woodhouse.

If that name doesn’t immediately set bells of recognition pealing, it’s not because his CV is unworthy of inclusion in the decade’s creative pantheon. Woodhouse first drew notice in 1957-58 as a research scholar at Cambridge, where he built one of the world’s first pure logic computers. During the next two years, he did pioneering research on anti-aircraft missile-control systems while serving as a pilot in the Royal Air Force. Upon being demobilized, he joined his brother Hugh in writing all the first-season episodes of the Supermarionation TV series Supercar. (Who can forget such characters as Mike Mercury, Mitch the Monkey and Dr. Horatio Beaker, who was famous for taking forever to finish a sentence and spouting the catchphrase: “Satisfactory. Most satisfactory!”) Woodhouse subsequently graduated to writing for real actors, contributing a number of sparkling scripts for The Avengers that helped instill the show’s surreal, science fiction ambience and Cathy Gale’s fully liberated character. He penned a series of brilliant espionage thrillers between 1966 and 1976 featuring research scientist-turned reluctant spy Giles Yeoman (and his occasional CIA sidekick Yancy Brightwell). To top it off, mystery writer and critic Dorothy B. Hughes famously dubbed him “a swinger.”

Woodhouse certainly looked the part, projecting unflappable cool from behind Alfie-like eyeglasses in his early book-jacket photos. One can imagine Bailey and Evans slotting him into their book between, say, Michael Caine (who would have been perfect casting as Giles Yeoman) and Jonathan Miller (another multi-hyphenate writer with a taste for dead-on-target satire). Unlike some of his more famous sixties contemporaries, Woodhouse not only survived that tumultuous era, but continued to push past creative and cultural boundaries in succeeding decades. He co-wrote (with Robert Ross) a trilogy of mid-70s alternate history novels centering on Leonardo da Vinci as a kind of Renaissance James Bond. In the 1980s he invented the solar-powered Lightbook, the world’s first e-book reader (for which he’s been dubbed “The Father of Modern Electronic Publishing). Recently, his time has been spent setting up an ambitious, large-scale charitable organization to distribute e-books (and by extension, education) to countless children in impoverished Third World countries. Woodhouse now resides in sylvan contentment in Haslemere, Surrey, England. He recently took time out from his altruistic and creative endeavors to share some of his memories with Cinema Retro.

So, what’s it all about, Martin?

Come Spy With Me

Dean Brierly dons his Nehru jacket and straps on his Walther PPK as he explores the diabolically swinging espionage world of Dick Malloy, Agent 077.

The 1960s gave the world a new kind of cinematic hero, one who redefined conceptions of morality through his indulgence in casual violence and unrepressed carnality. He operated in a fantasy world of spy vs. counterspy, had a license to kill and carried out supercharged adventures in such Technicolor playgrounds as London, Paris, Rome and Istanbul. His adversaries were ingenious, formidable and frequently megalomaniac; his playmates were numerous, voluptuous and frequently duplicitous. He was known by many names. Among the most familiar and enduring were Bond, Solo, Drake, Palmer, Flint.

In addition to these celluloid titans, there was a vast contingent of second-tier spies, overlooked and unheralded by critics, but cheered on by audiences the world over who couldn’t get enough kiss kiss, bang bang. Literally hundreds of cheap but potent European spy films were churned out in the mid-to-late sixties to feed the demand. Like the contemporaneous spaghetti western genre, the Eurospy misses outweighed the hits, but not by as great a margin as is generally assumed. Unfortunately, many of these gems have yet to be rescued from the Siberia of cinema history.

A wave of the Beretta, therefore, to Dorado Films, which recently brought to DVD one of the most notable figures of the Eurospy genre, CIA agent Dick Malloy. Also known as Agent 077, he was played by cult film icon Ken Clark, whose screen persona was at once rugged and graceful, heroic and hedonistic. If Roger Moore and Peter Graves had somehow trumped the laws of nature and produced a love child, it probably would have looked a lot like Clark. Tall and muscular, he radiated manly mojo and looked like he could have kicked Sean Connery’s ass if the occasion ever arose. Even his chest hair looked tough. The athletic actor performed all of his often-dangerous stunts with rare enthusiasm and total commitment. Perhaps more important, Clark was the undisputed master of the action man stance. Nobody, but nobody, posed with such intensely stylish affect. With feet planted shoulder-width apart and torso angled slightly forward, his entire body radiated lethal prowess as he dispensed brutal punches and stylish karate chops. Clark looked equally convincing handling a wide variety of firearms and females, projected an engaging cockiness and, topping it off, looked pretty damn suave in a tuxedo.

Dean Brierly updates us on the activities of one of our favorite sex symbols

When the talented and beautiful star of such retro classics as The Nutty Professor, The Silencers and The Poseidon Adventure recently emailed me regarding an update to her website, I just had to share the good news with Cinema Retro’s readers. The more retentive among you may recall my interview with Stella in July 2007 (see Interviews section), during which she discussed her participation in the John Cassavettes cult classic Too Late Blues, including a memorable reaction she provoked from co-star Bobby Darin during a scorching love scene. A visit to her website provides ample proof that one of filmdom’s all-time sirens still has it going on. I mean, what other Hollywood star whose career spans five decades can still pull off glamour shots to this day?

For confirmation, look no further than a new section on her site titled “At Home with Stella,” which harks back to her early modeling career in its presentation of exclusive, brand-new fashion photos taken at her Beverly Hills home. Each of the glossy 8x10 color photos is for sale, and on October 1 (Stella’s birthday), the entire set will be offered as a box of 5x7 greeting cards. Why send boring old Christmas cards when you can express holiday greetings with Stella Stevens bedecked in furs, diamonds and eye-catching décolletage? (That’s a rhetorical question, by the way.)

Don’t neglect to check out her other photo galleries from the 1960s to the present, consisting of vintage pin-up shots and publicity stills, plus personalized commentary from Stella herself. Your life isn’t complete until you’ve laid eyes on her eye-popping ‘60s and ‘70s photos. (“Here’s Stella with ‘The King’ when he was young and gorgeous,” she writes about promotional shots taken in Honolulu for Girls! Girls! Girls! ) More essential imagery includes her “Motorcycle Mama” series from the 1980s, and most especially her “Black Lace Teddy” set from the ‘90s, for which her caption reads: “One bending forward, one teasing with a riding crop, and one simply sitting pretty, waiting for you.” To which I can only say, please don’t spare that crop.

As if that weren’t enough, the blonde icon also offers a set of his-and-her designer fragrances called (what else?) Sexy. Stella writes: “Gold Label is a whisper-soft traditional style fragrance, elegant, alluring, rich. It fades slowly to a pale aroma reminiscent of delicate baby powder. Fun for all ages.” And for the men: “SEXY Black Label is a powerful, spicy, long-lasting scent. Its fresh, clean aroma is adored by all! Although it’s made for men, many women prefer its dynamic appeal and wear SEXY Black Label. Warning: use it at your own risk!”

In addition to being completely at ease in her eternally seductive skin, Stevens comes across on her website as a smart, independent and down-to-earth woman who retains a refreshingly optimistic outlook as she nears her sixth decade in the spotlight. She also manifests a genuine appreciation for the fans that have followed her career throughout the years. So the next time you find yourself online, click on over to Stella’s cyber pad at www.stellastevens.biz. Once you’ve spent some quality time with the triple threat actress/writer/director, we’re pretty certain it will become one of your favorite Internet destinations. And don’t neglect to leave your comments in her Private Guestbook. Say the right things, and Stella might just leave a special response in your in box, too.

Cinema Retro's Dean Brierly takes a look at an offbeat Japanese film series new to DVD.

As film attendance in the United States declined dramatically in the 1950s due to television’s increasing popularity, the Hollywood Empire struck back with a wave of widescreen Technicolor spectaculars to lure audiences back into theaters. When a similar small vs. big screen scenario played out in Japan in the late sixties and early seventies, major studios like Nikkatsu, Daiei and Toei staved off financial disaster by co-opting the “pink film,” a type of softcore porn previously the domain of small, independent studios. The big outfits raised the pink film into the mainstream via higher production values, compelling narratives and superior direction, a formula that proved potent both from a commercial and critical perspective.

From the pink film was spawned a wild subgenre that came to be known as “pinky violence,” in which studios amped up the sex and violence quotient of the female swordplay, women in prison and girl gang film. All featured tough, independent heroines equally comfortable wielding their sexuality as meting out lethal retribution. These highly stylized films brilliantly walked a mind-bending tightrope between sleazy exploitation and female empowerment. There are few equivalents to these kinds of films in Western cinema, outside of such early seventies Pam Grier vehicles like Coffy and Foxy Brown. The pinky violence influence also lives on in such Quentin Tarantino epics as Kill Bill and Death Proof.

Toei’s late-sixties “Legends of the Poisonous Seductress” trilogy, recently brought to DVD by Synapse Films (in association with Panik House Entertainment), was in the vanguard of the pinky violence movement. Although not as sexually explicit as later films in the genre, they did boast a more intense eroticism than Japanese audiences were used to, along with head-turning doses of ultra-gory violence. And while most pinky violence films were set in contemporary Japan, the Poisonous Seductress trilogy unfolds during the Sengoku, or warring states period (between the 15th to 17th centuries), familiar to viewers of such Kurosawa epics as Seven Samurai. The period setting, with its political context of intrigue and upheaval, contributes to the films’ unique atmosphere and provides a down-to-earth contrast to their over-the-top visual aesthetic.

Lois Maxwell, the Canadian-born actress who passed away on September 29, made an indelible impression throughout the 007 film series in her signature role as Miss Moneypenny, personal secretary to “M.” Ian Fleming himself approved her casting, confiding to her after filming wrapped on Dr. No: “I envisioned a tall, elegant woman with the most kissable lips in the world. You are her!”

Moneypenny never applied those passionate lips to James Bond’s, yet she held his affections longer than any of his innumerable screen conquests. Maxwell sat in Moneypenny’s chair in 14 Bond films, sparking against the disparate charms of Sean Connery, George Lazenby and Roger Moore. She made the most of her limited screen time, exhibiting sophisticated comic flair in ongoing racy repartee with the world’s most libidinous secret agent.

With Connery, Maxwell enjoyed a palpable sexual rapport, especially in the first several films. There was an intriguing sense that, given the right circumstances, they just might give in to their mutual attraction. In Dr. No, Bond sits on the edge of her chair and seductively nuzzles her while holding her hand. And why not? She’s wearing a fetching sleeveless black dress that’s just begging to be ripped off. From Russia With Love finds them in another near-embrace, with Bond whispering, “Let me tell you the secret of the world” and Moneypenny about to come undone when M’s buzzer breaks their reverie. As Bond leaves for his assignment, he and Moneypenny exchange “ciaos” with the intimacy of would-be lovers.

Point Blank with Crime Novelist Ed Gorman

Interview by Dean Brierly

Ed Gorman is a writer of tough crime fiction that evokes in its relentless narrative drive and brooding atmospherics the classic crime and noir films of Hollywood’s golden era. Gorman’s outsider characters bear numerous affinities with the doomed protagonists of noir, and he frequently leads them on nerve-shredding journeys to the end of the savage night. Since the publication of his first novel in 1985, Gorman has written dozens of compulsively readable suspense, horror and science fiction books characterized by fascination (and empathy) with the dark side of human nature, with fear and loneliness, with transgression and redemption.

No surprise then that the man described as “the poet of dark suspense” turns out to be a lifelong devotee of dark cinema. What is surprising is that it took Hollywood so long to recognize this literary heavyweight’s knockout appeal. The Poker Club, the first Gorman book to be adapted for the screen, is currently in post-production. His latest novel, Fools Rush In (Pegasus Publishing), continues his obsession with characters who live and die on the wrong side of the tracks. In this exclusive Cinema Retro interview, Gorman talks about the seminal crime films that have long fascinated and inspired him.

"A DAY LATE AND A DOLLAR SHORT: A LOST CASSAVETES CLASSIC"

Cinema Retro columnist Dean Brierly examines a buried treasure from the early career of John Cassavetes

Too Late Blues (1962)
Directed by: John Cassavetes
Written by: Richard Carr, John Cassavetes
Starring: Bobby Darin, Stella Stevens, Everett Chambers

Fade In
There are lost films and then there are films so far gone it’s as if they never existed. At best, they make stealth appearances on late-night TV about as often as sightings of Halley’s Comet. Too Late Blues is such a film. This celluloid bastard child was born from the unlikely coupling of Paramount Pictures (i.e., the Hollywood establishment) and the anti-Hollywood actor/writer/director John Cassavetes. Yet while both parents swiftly disowned their jointly produced offspring, the film has tenaciously clung to a marginal life in the shadows of film history.

Nearly without exception, critics savaged Too Late Blues upon its release, labeling it mawkish, overwrought and ridiculous. At times, it is all of these things, yet its stylistic daring and the emotional depth charges set off by its lead actors transcend the film’s limitations. Indeed, its very awkwardness serves to underscore the instability of its ambitious yet emotionally stunted characters. The few souls lucky enough to have witnessed the minor miracle that is Too Late Blues find that it lodges in the memory with the persistence of a jilted lover.

GUNS, CAMERA, ACTION!

by Dean Brierly

I've just been given the keys to the Aston Martin.

At least, that's what it feels like to write this column for Cinema Retro's new and improved website. It's a responsibility I don't take lightly - unlike 007's flippant rejoinders to Q's lectures on the DB5's capabilities. Editor in chief Lee Pfeiffer has (perhaps unwisely) given me license to fill this space with whatever wayward and outrageous reflections strike my fancy, as long as I keep the steering wheel pointed more or less in the direction of cult film and television. I just hope he never feels the urge to trigger the ejector seat.