In early November of 1969 Box Office reported Robert M. Weitman, former first vice-president of
studio productions for Columbia Pictures, was striking out on his own.In a sense, anyway.Weitman was to embark on his new career as “independent”
producer, albeit one still tethered to Columbia, the company for which we worked
for some four decades.For his first indie
project, Weitman was interested in optioning novelist Lawrence Sanders’ crime-suspense
thriller The Anderson Tapes.
Interestingly, Sanders’ The Anderson Tapes, though already hyped, was not yet formally published.Putnam & Sons of New York set publication
for 27 February 1970.But with the
forthcoming thriller already in industry preview, the all-important
Book-of-the-Month-Club already selected Sander’s debut novel as an exciting, primary
read.Dell Books too were excited over
the book’s prospects, reportedly offering a figure of six-figures for paperback
rights.On the film industry front, Box Office reported there had been
“intensive bidding” for motion-picture rights to the novel, with Weitman’s
offer managing to nudge out those of “several other major producers.”
It certainly didn’t hurt that best-selling author Mario
Puzo, basking in the success of his mafia novel The Godfather, would bless Sanders’ novel with a generous
plug.Puzo mused The Anderson Tapes was, “the best
novel of its kind I’ve read since the early Graham Greene novels, a gripping
story impossible to put down.The
central character, Duke Anderson, is a classic character of tragic
dimensions.Brilliant and
unforgettable.”By April of 1970,
the rave reviews of critics and literary peers would help push The Anderson Tapes to rest comfortably
alongside The Godfather on Top Ten
book lists for Fictional Works.The timing
and stage was set for Weitman’s film version.The only question now was whom would be cast to effectively breathe life
into the central character of Duke Anderson?
Following his completion of work on You Only Live Twice in 1967, Sean Connery – in his earnest (perhaps
desperate) desire to break free of the typecast shackles of his James Bond
image – chose to seek out a number of eccentric roles in modest continental productions.He was cast as a post-Civil War cavalry
officer in the Edward Dmytryk’s western Shalako
(1968), as a doomed Norwegian polar ice cap explorer (Mikhail Kalatozov’s The Red Tent, 1969) and as a radical
coal miner in Martin Ritt’s The Molly
Maguires (1970).
These were all very good films, without doubt.But none would affirm Connery’s status as a
box-office magnet outside of his James Bond persona.Though he remained a celebrity of acclaim and
international renown, Connery was acutely aware he needed a post-Bond movie to
score big with the public-at-large.Much
of his audience still mostly thought of him as the one-and-only James Bond.It was a time of transition.Connery was also in the midst of his transformation
from actor to canny businessman.He was aware
that to make any real money in the entertainment
industry he needed to extend his business interests into producing and optioning
rights to various creative properties.
With that intent in mind in the mid-summer of 1970
Connery and his publicist-management representative, Glenn Rose, announced the
formation of Conn-Rose Productions. Their partnership was to shepherd and
safeguard the business ends of such varied enterprises as feature film
productions, television packages and theatrical events.The company had recently entered into the music
business as well, choosing to publish several compositions by Richard Harris, Connery’s
recent co-star of The Molly Maguires.Conn-Rose were also planning Harris to direct
and assume the title role of Hamlet
in a new staging of Shakespeare’s tragic play.Connery was hinting he might assume the role of Claudius, murderer of Hamlet’s
father.But Connery’s revived interest
in theatre was not confined to time-worn classics.
One of Conn-Rose’s first acquisitions was the stage
production of Click by playwright
Stan Hart.Hart’s one-act play was first
staged in October 1968 at the Mark Taper Forum in Los Angeles, one of several
“experimental” theatre projects offered that autumn.Connery was intrigued by the original scenario
and hoped to develop the property as a feature film.Connery explained his excitement to a
correspondent of the San Francisco Examiner,
“This story Click reads like it was
written by Neil Simon and Edward Albee in collaboration.”
“It’s about a successful man so worried about his image
he has even his friends ‘bugged’ and taped to find out what they really think
of him,” Connery continued..“He ruins
his marriage, wrecks his world.This
fellow is ridiculous and sad at the same time.I can hardly wait to get at him…”In September of 1970, Connery promised to another journalist that Click was next on his schedule.Click
was to be filmed in New York City, he offered, cameras likely to roll on the
picture in April of 1971.Sadly, that
project would not be realized.The production
of Click was derailed by a surprising
and unexpected turn-of-events that would take place in March of 1971 – one in which
we’ll get to in a moment.In the
interim, there was another film project needing Connery’s attention.
In July of 1970 the trades were reporting that Connery
had struck a deal with Columbia to appear as John “Duke” Anderson in The Anderson Tapes, Sidney Lumet already
signed on to direct.Connery had worked
with Lumet previously: he had appeared as a renegade British military officer
in the 1965 prison drama The Hill.Connery regarded The Hill as the best motion-picture of his 1960s filmography and,
as such, was happy to work with Lumet again.Shooting on The Anderson Tapes
for Columbia was scheduled to commence on August 24, 1970, one day prior to
Connery’s fortieth birthday, with production to wrap by October’s end.
That October, with The
Anderson Tapes nearing completion, Connery’s enthusiasm for working in a
theatrical setting seemed to have slackened a bit.The actor was cornered on set by journalist
Bernard Drew.Drew asked of Connery’s
ambition to re-engage in theater work.“You never like to close the door completely,” Connery answered
non-committedly, “But I have no great desire, though I do like to direct in the
theatre.What I really want is to direct
a film, and I have a four-picture contract with Columbia.I’m going to direct one, produce one, and act
in two, but nothing is set.These days,
it’s awfully hard to set anything.There’s a crisis in films.All
the companies are in trouble – except Columbia, but still…”
Only two of the prognostications Connery made to Drew that
day would be realized, and even then only in part.If he had
been extended a four-pic contract with Columbia, his second pic for the company,
Robin and Marian, would not be
released until 1976.Likewise, Connery would
not get any chance to direct, but would serve as co-executive producer – and
star - in still another Sidney Lumet helmed feature, The Offence (1973), which was released by United Artists.Regardless, The Anderson Tapes would serve as the undeniable kick-off to
Connery’s second coming as a box-office figure of standing.
Screenwriter Frank R. Pierson (Cat Ballou, Cool Hand Luke)
had been assigned to adapt and re-work Sanders’ eccentrically-composed novel as
a motion picture.This would prove to be
no easy task.Sanders’ novel was not
written in a conventional narrative form: the book details the lineage of burglar
Anderson’s prospective heist through a collection of police reports, court records,
transcriptions and recordings made, illegally, through the use of governmental electronic
surveillance methods: phone wire-taps, antennas, lip-reads, secreted 16mm film
cartridge spools, reel-to-reel and video recordings.The reader is left, essentially, a voyeur,
following the storyline through the reading of police procedurals and transcripts
of wire-taps.
In crafting his screenplay, Pierson exchanges Sanders’
unorthodox and workmanlike gathering of documentary information for a more cinematic
cops-vs-robbers scenario.His script
also incorporates an uneasy measure of light-hearted humor among other scenario
changes.One contemporary review
acknowledged the resulting film offered “a dash of pretentious social
significance” in its commentary.‘Tis
true both Sanders’ book and Lumet’s film somberly reflected a new encroaching era
of real-life, secreted policing methods: FBI, Treasury Department, and police electronic
surveillance techniques were now procedural – if technically illegal - norms.
The scenario of The
Anderson Tapes - at its most basic:the safe-cracking burglar Duke Anderson is released from prison after
serving a ten-year stretch.He’s hardly
repentant and intends almost from his day-of-release to mastermind a grand
burglary of a swanky East 91st Street apartment house in
Manhattan.What Anderson doesn’t
understand is the world has changed during his decade of incarceration.There are now hidden cameras and recording
devices monitoring his every move.Undeterred, he organizes a rag-tag team of ex-convicts, a mob boss who
owes a favor, and various other ne’er-do-wells to assist in his grandiose
scheme.
Among those co-conspirators is Martin Balsam who chews
the scenery in an amusing, over-the-top performance as “Haskins,” a mincing,
homosexual antiques dealer. (It’s a sort of pre-woke interpretation one would
think twice about attempting today).The
comedian/satirist Alan King appears in the role as “Pat Angelo,” the mobbed-up
son of a syndicate figure whom owes Anderson a debt.King had recently appeared in another film of
Lumet’s, the 1968 comedy Bye Bye
Braverman and had previously
co-starred with Connery in the pre-Bond British military comedy On the Fiddle (released in the U.S. during the Bond craze as Operation Snafu.).King is very good in these
films, though he’d later jest he was offended by a good notice received from a critic for his “Pat Angelo”
performance.The critic had mused King’s
acting in The Anderson Tapes was
“surprisingly good,” a comment the comedian couldn’t help but find at least partly insulting.“What’s surprising,” King asked, “about me
being good?”
Sadly, Dylan Cannon, a good actress, isn’t really given
much of a character role to play off as “Ingrid,” a sexy but extortion-prone kept
mistress and an ex-paramour of Connery’s.The Anderson Tapes is also
noteworthy as the first feature film of importance to introduce a tousled-
haired twenty-seven year-old actor named Christopher Walken (“The Kid”) to the
big screen.Walken isn’t given many
lines of dialogue, but is quietly omnipresent throughout.(During the next fifteen-years, of course, Walken
would not only win an Oscar as Best Supporting Actor for his role in The Deer Hunter, but also served as the
last super-villain to be vanquished by Roger Moore’s James Bond in A View to a Kill (1985).One needn’t look too close to notice there
are plenty of familiar faces mixed throughout the cast:Margaret Hamilton, pre-Saturday Night Live Garrett Morris, Conrad Bain and Ralph Meeker
among them.
There’s little doubt that some of the surprisingly brisk,
earliest box office earnings of The
Anderson Tapes had been buoyed by the tsunami of press attention given to a
tangential event.In early March 1971,
it was announced that Connery, following a one film absence, agreed to return
as James Bond in the seventh 007 thriller Diamonds
are Forever.Shortly following the
breaking of that big news, the gossips reported producer Weitman was soon to
test-preview a rough cut of The Anderson
Tapes at a cinema near Kings Point, not far from the Valley Stream, Long
Island home of Alan King.King would later
chuckle that Lumet took advantage of his kindness - and residential proximity
to New York City.“They were so happy to
have me in it,” he explained of his casting. “No wonder.I lent them my house, my car, my pool.”
Lumet, as was his style, took full advantage of the New
York City locations, incorporating some twenty-three location shoots into his
film.These would include the city’s
Port Authority Bus Terminal, the prison on Riker’s Island, the Convent of the
Sacred Heart on the Lower East Side, the 19th Police Precinct
Station House, Alan King’s home, the Supreme Macaroni Factory restaurant on
Ninth Ave. and 38th Street, at the Korvettes Department Store and even
the steam room of Luxor Health Club on West 46th. In December of 1970, Weitman
brought on Grammy-winning producer Quincy Jones to score the film.His soundtrack, which accentuates the film’s urban,
hip-modern setting, features a lot of jazzy, electronic keyboard figures and
twangy, stand-up bass slides.
The timing and success of The Anderson Tapes was fortuitous for Sean Connery.The general popcorn-chewing cinema audiences
– to one degree or another – had largely ignored Connery’s three most recent film
projects 1968-1970.It escaped no one’s notice
that this odd trio of feature films were decidedly retro/historical in vision
and scope:Shalako was set in the year 1880, The Red Tent in 1928 and The
Molly Maguires in 1876.The Anderson Tapes, on the other hand,
was a more accessible film for moviegoers to engage.The film was a very latter-day
suspense-thriller, staged in modern times.
The result is that The
Anderson Tapes, release in June of 1971, allowed fickle movie audiences the
opportunity to preview what a circa 1971 Sean Connery James Bond might look
like.The relationship between the actor
and his audience was largely estranged following his four-year absence as
Bond.To be sure, The Anderson Tapes made plain that Connery’s hair was thinner and
graying.It was also obvious he was
carrying a few more pounds on his frame.Regardless, most would agree Connery appears a bit more athletic and
lean in The Anderson Tapes than he
would even six-months later when Diamonds
are Forever went into wide release.
For all of its intermittent charms, The Anderson Tapes is not
director Lumet’s best film by any measure.The film is a slow burn and even the film’s climatic “action” scene offers
little more than a weak pay-off in the waiting.On one hand Connery’s “Duke Anderson” captures the spirited zeitgeist of the early 1970s anti-hero.His racially intergraded criminal cabal of
ex-convicts is a pre-Rainbow Coalition of sorts: an African-American driver who
lives above a local Black Panther Party chapter (Dick Anthony), an elderly, institutionalized
ex-con more-than-happy to return to prison (Stan Gottlieb), a young
whipper-snapper (Walken), a psychotic mobster (Val Avery), and an alt-lifestyle
burglar (Balsam): all working under the command of Connery who chatters
throughout in an out-of-character Scots brogue.
To their credit, this unusual band of criminals collude
to rip-off the jewelry, artwork treasures and pricey, swanky accoutrements of
the snobbishly wealthy.Their victims
would be the very folks that many resent: moneyed elites who inhabit the poshest
apartment house on Manhattan’s Upper East Side.So while Connery’s endgame is hardly Robin Hood in design, you’re sort
of rooting for this motley band of bad guys to get away with their crazy caper,
no matter how impractical and far-fetched the plan seems.
On the other hand, this is a suspense film sans any real suspense.Just as the film, at long last, begins to
build a modicum of tension as the burglars take command of the apartment house,
Lumet seemingly disrupts any sense of rising suspense with intercuts of what Village Voice critic Andrew Sarris
lamented as “pointless flashforwards.”Sarris
has a point.Perhaps the intent of such scenes
were Lumet’s homages to the jigsaw-like time-jump constructions of Sanders’ original
novel: but as such these interjected moments – almost all played lightly - don’t
work and only diminish any sense of suspenseful tension.
Though flawed, The
Anderson Tapes actually did very well in early release, opening as a
limited showcase in only two New York City cinemas.The initial rush of mostly favorable reviews
and impressive box office receipts caused Columbia Pictures to take out a
celebratory full-page advertisement in the trades.The ad crowed that Lumet’s film had already taken
in some $87, 476, the “Biggest 4-Day Gross for 2-Theatre Opening in Columbia
History!”The film would gradually soften
and lose some of its initial box-office momentum, but would nonetheless generate
a healthful $5,000,000 in rentals through the end of 1975. I personally own copies of The Anderson Tapes in three different
home video formats, including the beautifully packaged Laserdisc version of
1996 (featuring a mind-boggling forty-one chapter stops!).So, yeah, I guess I’m a fan.
This Kino Lorber Studio Classics Blu-ray edition of The Anderson Tapes is presented in 1920
x 1080p, with a ratio of 1.85:1, dts sound and removable English
sub-titles.Bonus features on the set
include the film’s original theatrical trailer and a single TV spot.There are also an additional eight trailers
offered in bonus, two of Connery’s (The
Great Train Robbery and Cuba)
along with six other crime-dramas offered by Kino.The Blu-ray comes with a slip case and the disc packaging has reversible sleeve artwork. There’s also an audio
commentary courtesy of film critic and journalist Glenn Kenny.Kenny’s commentary is interesting and revealing
in spots, often taking pains to explain the era of encroaching surveillance era
in which the film is set.But I imagine Kenny
is reading from notes rather than a proper script as his spoken-word commentary
suffers a bit from an endless stream of inter-sentence pauses riddled with hesitant
bridging “ums” and “ahs.” It gets to be a bit much at times, but Kenny’s
commentary is still a worthwhile listen for those wishing to learn a bit about
the film’s backstory.
We
first had a VHS machine in our house in 1985. It was an exciting day, and to
celebrate, my parents rented a cartoon for us all to enjoy. It turned out to be
Watership Down (1978). I was nine years old, and its jarring combination
of cute rabbits and graphic violence was a suitably scary introduction to the
dangerous world of home video. Within a few months both horror films and
illegally distributed pornography would be playing in my living room alongside
the episodes of ThunderCats (1985-1989) I was taping on Saturday
mornings. The video recorder really did change the landscape of the 1980s, and
although I was not really old enough to fully appreciate what was going on, I
did occasionally get glimpses of things that were not meant for me; whether it
was seeing a man getting lowered into a mincing machine from behind the sofa at
a babysitter’s house (a classic moment from The Exterminator (1980)), or
being egged on to play one of my dad’s dodgy tapes by my mates when we were the
only ones home (which very quickly caused a horrified reaction and a mad
scramble for the eject button). So, although VHS had made a personal impact, I
was unaware that my mind and soul had become a battleground for moral
campaigners obsessed with the wild, wild world of unregulated videos in the
early 1980s.
Davids
Kerekes and Slater, who’s Cannibal Error is an updating of their in-depth
study of the ‘video nasty’ panic See No Evil (2000), were the right age
to be smack in the middle of the furore, where independent distributors were
trying to make quick money selling imported horror films from Europe and the
USA and collectors were suddenly turned into potential criminals thanks to the
efforts of campaigners like Mary Whitehouse and Tory MP Graham Bright who
managed to get the right-wing press whipped up into a frenzy which helped rush
through the Video Recordings Act, granting legal powers to the British Board of
Film Classification, amidst claims that children were in danger from films like
SS Experiment Camp (1976), The Driller Killer (1979) and Zombie
Flesh Eaters (1979). The press frequently connected real life crimes with
films as if to suggest that access to violent videos were encouraging copycat
behaviour, which came to a pinnacle in 1987 when Michael Ryan shot and killed
sixteen people in Hungerford, Wiltshire, and the press tried to pin this on his
being obsessed with the character of Rambo, played by Sylvester Stallone in two
films by then (1982 & 1985). It was never proved that he’d even seen the
films, but that did not stop the press continuing to blame films for real-life
tragedies such as this and many others.
The
authors present a huge amount of research here into what was going on during
the 1980s and into the 1990s, both from the legislative side to the effect it
was having on film collectors. There are fascinating interviews with people
whose homes were raided by police or Customs and Excise because they were suspected
of owning pornography or copies of Cannibal Holocaust (1980), and the
impact it made on their lives. Being collectors themselves, Cannibal Error
is not a balanced, dispassionate view of the ‘video nasties’ debates and those
concerned. This is worth bearing in mind when reading. Personally, having been
a child exposed to things I shouldn’t have seen back in the 1980s, I have some
sympathy with Mary Whitehouse and her fellow campaigners. I think there was
merit in trying to ensure that films were not easily available to those who
were underage, and that home video ought to be regulated and controlled in much
the same way as films were for cinemas. However, as this book makes clear,
things went much too far and so much police time was wasted rummaging through teenagers'
bedrooms looking for third-generation copies of I Spit on Your Grave
(1978). The great irony now is that many of these long-considered-dangerous
films are now available restored and uncut with BBFC certificates on Blu-ray
and UHD, and the whole idea of films being dangerous seems rather quaint.
This
new expanded edition of their earlier work features a detailed examination and review
of each film that was considered illegal according to the UK government, known
as the DPP39, alongside lengthy interviews with film collectors and BBFC
examiners, the latter providing some balance to the discussion. Covering
European horror, pornography, film collecting, censorship, moral panics and the
intersection between cinema and politics, Cannibal Error is an important
contribution to our understanding of the ‘video nasty’ debacle.
From a 1974 issue of Boxoffice magazine, though the photos are from at least a couple of years previous to this issue with the exception of the depiction of the Colorado 4 Cinemas in Denver, which was an artist's concept drawing. The Alameda Theatre in San Francisco is showing "Pete 'n Tille" with Carol Burnett and Walter Matthau, while the Americana 5 multiplex in Panorama City, California is showing "The Graduate", "Doctor Zhivago", "The Dunwich Horror", "The Brain" and "Take the Money and Run". The photos were from an advertisement promoting theater chains.
For
international audiences, the words “Australian comedy” probably conjures up
images of Dame Edna Everage, or the sexual adventures of Alvin Purple. What may
be less familiar is the work of the comedy group Double Take, led by former
child actor Des Mangan, who began performing live in the mid-eighties in
cinemas, screening the schlock horror classic Astro Zombies (Ted V.
Mikels, 1968) whilst lip-syncing an entirely new script. What had begun as a
group of friends throwing funny lines at the TV during late might screenings of
B movies developed into a successful series of live screenings that spread in
popularity throughout the country, and eventually overseas with an appearance
in 1987 at the Edinburgh Fringe. In 1989 they began a new show using the
relatively obscure Italian peplum film Ercole, Sansone, Maciste e Ursus gli
invincibili (Samson and the Mighty Challenge, Giorgio Capitani,
1964). This was coming from the tail end of the sword and sandal boom that had
begun with Le fatiche di Ercole (Hercules, Pietro Francisci,
1958) a few years and hundreds of films earlier, and as such was already almost
spoofing the conventions, particularly in having mythological heroes from
different backgrounds (Greece, Israel and Rome) fight each other. Double Take,
by this time consisting of just Mangan and comedian Sally Patience, took this
already amusing film and drastically rewrote the story so that Hercules, a
Sinatra-style crooner, falls in love with the beautiful Labia, whose mother runs
the Pink Parthenon nightclub in Climidia, and, well, you get the point. It’s
smutty, politically incorrect and hilarious.
The
success of the ‘Double Take Meets Hercules’ live show encouraged an American
business and wannabee film producer to provide funding to turn the whole thing
into a movie, so Mangan wrote a wraparound story about Brad (David Argue), a
disillusioned cinema executive who quits his job with one of the major
distribution franchises to restore and open his own reparatory cinema. With
publicist Lisa (Mary Coustas) and projectionist Sprocket (the legendary Bruce
Spence, a man so tall he probably wouldn’t fit in a real projection booth),
they plan a gala black tie event opening screening featuring the last film to
be screened at the venue before it closed down – Hercules. It is not
until the guests arrive that they realise the print they have been sent is in
Italian, so Brad and the gang must dub the film live, much the great delight of
the audience. This set-up is obviously just the excuse needed to be able to
present large sections of the original Hercules film with the new dubbing, and
it works very well. Unfortunately, despite successful film festival appearances
around the world, Hercules Returns did not stick around in cinemas for
very long and was largely forgotten. The Double Take team went back on the road
with shows based around, among others, Morgan the Pirate, (André De Toth
& Primo Zeglio, 1960) and Starcrash (Luigi Cozzi, 1978), and later
Mangan became a well-known face on Australian television through presenting
film screenings and Eurovision coverage.
This
new, fantastic blu ray release from Umbrella Entertainment features not only
the restored Hercules Returns, but also the full English-language
version of the original film, Samson and the Mighty Challenge. This is a
very entertaining and funny film in itself; a sort of Italian Carry On
film. However, the jewel in the crown of this release is the full original
recording of ‘Double Take Meets Hercules’. Whilst much of the script was used
in the rerecorded version for Hercules Returns, in my opinion this version
is purer and funnier, uninterrupted by the new narrative segments required to
make the Hercules Returns story work. It is witty and frequently
outrageous, and it’s easy to forget that there are only two people doing all
the voices. There is also a new audio commentary for Hercules Returns
with the cast and crew, which raises the slightly meta prospect of watching the
film, which is mainly a commentary, with another commentary over the top. This
deluxe, limited-edition package also comes a book which tells the complete
story of Double Take, the making of the film and the critical reaction, as well
as a copy of the wraparound story script. Housed in a hardbox with fantastic
new artwork, it also contains a complete set of lobby cards and a reversible
poster.
This
Collector’s Edition of Hercules Returns is only available from the
Umbrella Entertainment webstore, and is highly recommended.
The
problem with McVicar (1980) as a
biopic is that the part of its subject’s life I most wanted to know about is
covered in a brief caption at the very end. A closing intertitle informs us, if
we didn’t already know, that John McVicar (1940-2022), a career criminal handed
consecutive prison sentences totalling 23 years, eventually left behind his
life of crime to gain a first-class honours degree while still behind bars and
become a successful journalist and author. Indeed, he co-wrote the screenplay,
based on his published memoir. But this fascinating turnabout is not part of
the film’s story, which ends in 1970 after he is put back inside following a
prison break and violent bank robbery.
What
we have instead is a conventional tale of porridge and solitary on the inside,
awkward family life on the outside. Although McVicar is competently played by
The Who front man Roger Daltrey (who co-produced the film and also performs
some songs on the soundtrack), there is little here to suggest that beneath the
hard-man surface lay an articulate intelligence with a sharp understanding of
the social causes of criminality. The script prefers to revel in the aggressive
bravado with which he taunts prison officers, instigates riots, tunnels out of
the shower block and risks re-arrest after escape. McVicar’s attempts to bond
with his young son are sentimental rather than sensitive, all the film’s energy
coming from its criminal elements.
Directed
by Tom Clegg, a specialist in TV crime shows who also made Sweeney 2 (1978), it has a surface authenticity slightly belied by
the high-definition transfer on Fabulous Films’ Region B Blu-ray, which makes
the photography look more glossy than it probably did on first release in
cinemas (where it achieved substantial commercial success, placing twelfth
among UK general releases of 1980). In the scenes set in Durham Prison, the
actors playing the screws try slightly too hard with their Geordie accents (all
‘bonnie lads’ and ‘kiddas’) but this makes for an effective clash with the
mainly cockney prisoners. Cheryl Campbell’s role as McVicar’s wife is
predictably thankless but Adam Faith (another pop star turned capable actor),
Billy Murray, Steven Berkoff and Ian Hendry all fulfil their generic
requirements admirably.
(Photo: Fabulous Films)
The
extras, on what has been dubbed ‘Break-out Edition’, are an informative
making-of, with contributions from the genial Daltrey, co-producer Bill
Curbishley and music composer-arranger Jeff Wayne, and a short interview by
actor Keith Allen (who is not in the film) with the real McVicar, recorded late
in his life. He tells a sad and fascinating tale, more interesting than
anything in the main feature.
(Sheldon Hall is the Copy Editor of Cinema Retro magazine.)
There were passing
moments when watching this gorgeously curated Blu-ray of Phil Tucker’s cult 3-D
masterwork Robot Monster (1953) that
I mulled its reputation as cinema’s most fabled wreck was undeserved.Surely, I thought, I’ve cringingly sat
through worse sci-fi films produced before and since.But then some particularly awful line of dialogue
(delivered woodenly, of course), or a bizarre plot turn, or a not-so-special
effect, or an inexplicable episode of dinosaur wrangling would interrupt my
musings, causing a return to sober reality.Phil Tucker’s low-low-low
budget monster-piece is a crazed vision, to be sure.But acknowledging that, Robot Monster is most certainly not
one of the world’s worst films: it’s too entertaining to be dismissed as such.On the same token, it’s undeniably one of the
most desperate and unhinged cinematic artifacts lensed by an indie Hollywood film-outfit
of the ‘50s.
The sullied reputation of Robot Monster is the result, no doubt, due to the merciless
flailing of the production by the smirking Medved brothers - Michael and Harry –
who infamously skewered the film in their pop-culture, eminently readable and
caustic tomes The Fifty Worst Films of
All Time (1978) and The Golden Turkey
Awards (1980).Still the film’s space
helmet and gorilla-suit sporting “Ro-man” (as listed in the film’s end credits)
– has somehow managed to become as
visually iconic a totem of 1950s sci-fi as the gigantic robot Gort in The Day the Earth Stood Still (2oth
Century Fox, 1951) or the Metaluna monster in This Island Earth (Universal-International, 1955).
As is so often the case, the backstory to the creation of
Robot Monster is perhaps more
interesting than the artifact produced.The
screenplay was written by Wyott “Barney” Ordung.The Californian was trying desperately to
break into the film business, initially as an acting student working
occasionally in walk-on roles, often uncredited.In a 1983 interview with the late film and
3-D historian Ray Zone, Ordung recalled it was in 1952 when he was approached
by Tucker – who he’d known casually from working on a previous picture – to write
the script for Robot Monster.Ordung recalled he was originally tasked to
play the role of the “Ro-Man” – at least in earliest test footage photography.
Ordung’s script for Robot
Monster would serve as his springboard into the world of professional
filmmaking.Following that film’s
release, the Californian would script the war film Combat Squad (1953) as well as another sci-fi guilty pleasure Target Earth (1954).Still (mercifully) unproduced is the script Ordung
wrote directly following the release of Robot
Monster.That prospective film was,
according to Sun Valley’s Valley Times,
to feature Ordung’s “3-D comedy” scenario based on “Mildred Seamster’s
Hollywood beauty salon.”The plot would
“deal with the varied individuals who patronize a beauty salon and their
interesting escapades.”Oy.
That film would not materialize, but it was of little
matter as Ordung would soon receive his first directing credit when Roger
Corman tapped him to helm Monster from
the Ocean Floor (1954).Though Ordung
had not previously helmed any sort of film production, it was an offer and
partnership of economic necessity.Corman agreed to allow Ordung to direct on the condition he contribute
$2,000 of his Robot Monster earnings
to the new film’s budget and work for “a piece of the picture.”Hey, a break’s a break.
First-time director Phil Tucker too was looking for his first
big break in the film industry and was of the mind that Robot Monster just might be the ticket.But his experience working on Robot Monster was, alas, bittersweet.Less than two months following the release of
that film, Tucker was found in Fairbanks, Alaska – of all places - shooting his
non-union follow-up epic: the seventy-five minute Venusian “science-fiction
thriller” Space Jockey – a film never
released and now thought lost.Tucker grudgingly
told a journalist in Fairbanks that with only Robot Monster to his credit, he had already soured on the politics
of Tinseltown.
“The movie industry is stifled in Hollywood,” he director
complained.“They tell you what to
write, how to produce it, when to direct it, who [to] put in it and when to try
to sell it.It’s a tight little island of rulers and it’s
a hard place in which to breathe free.”Tucker did confess he wasn’t trying to be a true auteur in any sense of the word: “I’m not trying to create
art.I’m trying to make money,” he
offered plainly.
The primary stumbling block to Tucker’s earning any
monies was New York-born Al Zimbalist, the executive producer and guiding hand
of Robot Monster.The movie was the first of the films Zimbalist
would oversee as producer – and occasionally as “writer,” though that was mostly
as concoctor of “original stories” and little more.Throughout the 1950s and a bit beyond,
Zimbalist delivered such bargain-basement fare as Cat-Women of the Moon (1953), Miss
Robin Crusoe (1953), King Dinosaur
(1955) and Monster from Green Hell
(1957) to the pleasures of a mostly undiscerning cinema-going audience.It was also Zimbalist who steered Robot Monster to go the then popular 3-D
filming route.It was an unusual decision
for an indie film to be shot on a shoestring budget.
It made some sense.Hollywood’s production of 3-D films was at its zenith in 1953.Box
Office would note in April of 1953 that no fewer than sixty-two films to
offer the 3-D treatment were either completed, in production or in the planning
stages.Practically every major studio
was readying a slate of 3-D cinematic fare: Columbia, Paramount, RKO Radio,
United Artists and Warner Bros. among them.By far, 20th Century Fox was leading the way with a scheduled
twenty-two 3-D films on the drawing
board.There were only a couple of
independents in the mix, having chosen to dip their toe in the 3-D pool.Al Zimbalist and Phil Tucker’s “newly
organized” Third Dimension Pictures was one of them.
The trades reported on March 21, 1953 that Zimbalist was to
employ a unique “Tru-Depth system of 3-D” photography for his in-the-works Robot Monster project. Then, a mere week
following the start of the film’s
production, Box Office noted that Robot Monster had completed shooting… though no release date had yet been set.Zimbalist was so pleased with the results of
the “Tru-Depth” system, that in April of ’53 the Hollywood maverick announced
the formation of his “Tru-Stereo Corporation.”The company would “make available a stereoscopic 3-D system to
independent producers.” “Tru-Stereo” would serve as an affordable,
budget-conscious alternative to the more expensive 3-D systems used by the
Hollywood majors.
In fact, there were no fewer than twenty-two competing 3-D systems being used by filmmakers by late
spring of 1953.(“Tru-Depth” had since been
rechristened as “Tru-Stereo.)”The
Tru-Stereo 3-D was proffered as being similar to the others: it too employed
two cameras to create the three-dimensional effect.But the system also boasted “an authentic
interlocking control which is said to insure against faulty
synchronization.”Robot Monster had also boastingly employed “a newly developed
stereophonic sound system devised by the Master-Tone Sound Corporation.”
The first casting notices for Robot Monster were announced in March of 1953.Handsome leading man George Nader was reportedly
hired to play the role of “Roy” following his appearance in the still
unreleased pic Miss Robin Crusoe.Nader’s performance in that film impressed
Zimbalist who worked on the same as associate producer.Roy’s love interest, Alice (Claudia Barrett)
hadn’t much big-screen experience, but had been steadily working on any number
of early television series.The film’s
egghead professor would be played by the long-working Ukrainian actor John
Mylong, his children, Johnny and Carla, by stage-kids Gregory Moffett and
Pamela Paulson, respectively.
The role of the professor’s wife went to Selena Royle, an
actress with a familiar face due to her long run as a dependable player at MGM.Royle was happy to get the role – any role –
as she had recently been blacklisted in the pages of Red Channels, “the American Legion’s list of 200 motion picture
workers suspected of communist leanings.”Her crime was the organizing and serving of free meals to the
un-and-under employed actors in and around New York City during the throes of
the Depression.Royle vowed to fight the
accusations, telling journalist her post-blacklist acting income had dropped
from six figures to a mere three figures by mid-summer of 1952. Robot
Monster would be one of her two final feature film appearances, Royle and
her husband choosing to immigrate to Mexico in 1957.
Where
does a book begin? In my case, with Cleopatra
it came when my dear late mother found out that Elizabeth Taylor had been
recently seen in the pub in South East London where we used to go to celebrate
family occasions.
This
would have been in 1963/64, when the very idea of a screen goddess, a genuine film
star, a bona-fide legend likeElizabeth Taylor would inhabit the same
universe as us!
Thirty
years later and I am Film Editor of Vox,
a monthly UK music and film magazine. I wrote a feature for the 30th
anniversary of Cleopatra, and tried
pitching it as a BBC radio documentary. So over the years I accrued a filing
cabinet drawer and shelf full of material about that legendary 1963 film.
Few
of the film’s stars survived into the 21st century, so I had to rely
on cuttings, biographies and film histories. As you might expect for a film on
the scale of Cleopatra, that in
itself was quite a challenge. But the more I dipped into it the more amazed I
became: stars signed up for 10 weeks hanging round for 18 months in Rome. The
battles Darryl F. Zanuck fought to gain control of 20th Century Fox.
The Burton family’s determination to keep Richard’s marriage together…
I
suspect that my inspiration for a book was based on Steven Bach and Julie
Salamon’s books on Heavens Gate and Bonfire Of The Vanities – brilliant
books about terrible films. And for all its grandeur, Cleopatrais a terrible
film. But what a story in how it made it to the cinema screen.
It
was a five year journey: 20th Century Fox were keen to cash-in on
the success of MGMs Ben-Hur, and so dusted
down a 1917 script about the Queen of the Nile. It was intended as a $2,000,000
vehicle for Fox contract player Joan Collins with a 64-day shoot.
The
fact that the Theda Bara Cleo was a
silent film didn’t seem to worry the studio unduly. Five years later, and at a budget twenty times the original estimate, Cleopatra premiered.
Elizabeth
Taylor accounted for $1,000,000 of that budget, the first star to ask for – and
get! – that legendary seven figure sum. There was no finished script, but the
UK offered generous tax breaks, so Fox decided to construct a massive set of
the ancient port of Alexandria at Pinewood Studios. Shooting began in September
1961, the beginning of the English autumn. Some days it rained so heavily you
couldn’t see the other side of the set. Other days it was so cold, vapour was
coming out of the extras’ mouths. The imported pine tress had to be constantly
replaced because of the wind. The enormous sea tank containing a million
gallons was overflowing because of the rain.
The
original cast of Peter Finch (Caesar) and Stephen Boyd (Marc Antony) had to
quit due to existing commitments. The sky remained grey and gloomy.Trying to conjure up Mediterranean grandeur
was proving problematic. Ancient Alexandria in rural Buckinghamshire suddenly
seemed not such a good idea.
Eventually,
after two months the decision was made to pull the plug on the UK shoot. Eight
minutes of film ended up in the finished film, at a cost of nearly $8,000,000.
The question was: to write off such a sum (half of what Ben-Hur cost!) Or get a new director, script and stars and relocate
to begin filming again in Rome. At least in Italy you could be guaranteed good
weather, besides, what else could possibly go wrong?
As
Cinema Retro readers will know it all
went horribly wrong. Once in Rome, Cleopatra was far removed from the
Hollywood studio. In those pre-fax, email and text days, it was a cumbersome
business to arrange phone calls and telexes. The story of the romance between
Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor was only one of the factors whichdelayed the production of Cleopatra. Poor writer/director Joseph L. Mankiewicz was shooting
by day and writing the script by night. His original vision for the film was
two films, but the studio wanted something – anything – out to cash in on the Burton/ Taylor romance.
On
its release, Cleopatra was the most
successful film of 1963, but it took years to claw back its costs, and 20th
Century Fox was only saved by a modest little musical, The Sound Of Music, which came in at a sixth the cost of Cleopatra!
Like
many, I was of an age to be beguiled by the big-screen releases of the early
1960s. It's a cliché, but with only two UK black & white TV channels,
colour was a big deal. Especially in all its Todd-AO, stereophonic majesty. I’d
already lapped upThe Alamo,
Barabbas, King Of Kings, Ben-Hur, El Cid, How the West Was Won, The Guns of
Navarone, It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World, Lawrence of Arabia, PT109, The Longest
Day, Mutiny on the Bounty, Spartacus, and Taras Bulba. Then came The Great Escape, Fall Of The Roman Empire,
55 Days At Peking, 633 Squadron… The glory days.
Finally seeing Cleopatra was a disappointment. It has spectacle, but
is somehow just not… spectacular. And
beware the Ides of March, because once Rex Harrison is gone, the film dips. Over
the years when I began reviewing and writing about films professionally, I kept
coming back to Cleopatra. How could
they have got it so wrong? And didn’t
they learn from their mistakes? Obviously not as flops like Dr Dolittle, Star! and Hello Dolly were overtaken by the likes
of The Graduate, Bonnie & Clyde, Easy
Rider…
You’d
think by now, the studios would have learned from their mistakes, but no, only
last year Warners announced that they’d written off their $100,00,000 Cat Woman. There is something rather
magnificent in the folly of Cleopatra.
But it is a hard watch. Far more enjoyable was The VIPs, made to cash-in
on the infamy of the Burtons.
For
those of a certain age, those epic films were emblematic. They were school
holiday treats at the London Astoria, the Dominion, the Metropole… Souvenir
brochures and Kia-Ora in hand as we sat open-mouthed as the screen was filled
with thousands and thousands of costumed extras, besieging the Alamo or Peking.
Even rewatching them on CD or Blu-Ray, the scale of those productions is jaw
dropping – and those were all humans occupying those Roman forums and besieged
cities, not generated by a computer. And here’s
a thought… a profile of that maverick producer Samuel L. Bronston is long
overdue.
Cleopatra all
but finished the career of J.L. Mankiewicz, it took the studio to the cleaners,
and was a body blow from which the old Hollywood never really recovered. It is
hard to be fond of it as a film, but what happened offscreen gave me a
fantastic opportunity to recall those extravagant days. When even a film as
flawed as Cleopatra was made on a
scale which had to be witnessed with an audience. At a cinema near you…
There is little left to marvel at in
the Marvel Comic Universe.
There just aren’t stars like Burton and Taylor today. For all its manifold flaws,
there is something compelling about the legend of Cleopatra. Not so much in the finished film, but my memories of
cinema-going when a film like that was an event.For all its follies, a film like Cleopatra could almost be said to end an
era of cinematic innocence. My research into what went on off the screen, and
what it took to get it into cinemas was fascinating. They have done it with The Godfather, so maybe a TV series
about the making of Cleopatra. Now that would make a great movie.
Photo: Courtesy of Patrick Humphries.
"Cleopatra & The Undoing Of
Hollywood" is published by The History Press, £20.00, ISBN 9781803990187
The
Asphyx Will Rip You Apart…The Asphyx
Will Invade Your Mind… The Asphyx Will Destroy Your Soul… If It Were In Your
Power… Would You Sacrifice Your Wife… Your Children For Immortality?
The answers to the questions posed above by the
advertising campaign for Peter Newbrook’s The
Asphyx (1972) was a resounding “yes.”As the gifted but obsessed psychic-research scientist Hugo Cunningham, celebrated
British actor Robert Stephens puts everyone in his family through the
proverbial ringer by film’s end.Such
single-minded research on his part is not accomplished without a measure of
personal guilt, mind you.But as a
curious man of science – and one obsessed with paranormal exploration -
Cunningham pushes forward determinedly with increasingly morbid experimentations.
Such “experiments” include the exhuming of his dead son
for some post-mortem testing, the photographing of a condemned man at a public
hanging, a self-administered electrocution, putting his daughter’s head through
a guillotine pillory and even willfully torturing a tubercular pauper.Hey, the last guy, a poorhouse resident, had
only forty-eight hours to live anyway… so he was fair game.
Like Shelley’s Dr. Frankenstein, Cunningham is a man driven
by obsession.Appearing before members
of the Psychic Research Society, the scientist presents to colleagues a series
of slides depicting a trio of unfortunates photographed at the precise moment
of their deaths.Each photograph has a
“smudge” present, a sort of phantasmagorical protoplasmic image hovering
nearby.It’s Cunningham’s theory that
the image is an Asphyx, a creature of Greek mythology.The Asphyx is a visual manifestation of one’s
tortured “soul the moment it departs the body.”It’s the scientists’ belief that if one could pre-emptively isolate and
imprison the Asphyx prior to expiration, that person might carry on as an
immortal.This appears to be
Cunningham’s endgame interest.
Though adopted son Giles (Robert Powell) is wary of his
father’s dark experiments (“This isn’t science!” he warns), he begrudgingly
becomes one-half of Cunningham’s research team – to disastrous results as one
might expect.Since Cunningham, to his
credit I guess, puts his own life on
the line in pursuit of science and immortality, it seems only fair to him that
members of the family do the same - and without complaint.Which certainly makes the case that, on some occasions,
father doesn’t know best.
Cameras began rolling on the The Asphyx on Monday, February 7, 1972, at Surrey, England’s Shepperton
Studios.Shooting wrapped a mere five
weeks following first photography. The film was to be helmed by first time
director Peter Newbrook, a former cameraman and cinematographer who boasted a filmography
dating back to the early 1940s.The film
certainly looks great, even if the
pacing of Newbrook’s direction is somewhat suspect.The Academy Award-winning Cinematographer
Freddie Young (B.S.C.) - of Lawrence of
Arabia, Dr. Zhivago, The Battle of Britain and You Only Live Twice fame - would use the newish Todd-AO 35mm
anamorphic system to great effect.In
many respects, Newbrook’s The Asphyx
is of similar construct to such British parlour-horror films being churned out
by Hammer and Amicus in the late 1960s/early 1970s.
The question now was whether or not a Victorian-era set horror
picture would make any money in 1972?The horror biz was already moving away from stately, moody gothic films to
more exploitative blood-splattered fare. Nevertheless, upon the film’s completion,
it was announced The Asphyx was to be
distributed in the British market by Scotia-Barber.On week later, Variety reported that Martin Grasgreen, President of Paragon
Pictures, had managed a deal with Glendale Film Productions (London) to handle
distribution of The Asphyx in both the
U.S. and Canada.In early winter of
1972, Paragon already had a number of exploitative horror-thrillers in release,
including Blood Suckers, Blood Thirst and Death by Invitation.
In August of 1972 the Independent
Film Journal announced that The
Asphyx, described as a “science-fiction suspense thriller,” would be
released the following month, the first of twenty-two films that Paragon had
waiting in the queue.Box Office promised the film would be
the recipient of “an extensive national advertising and promotion campaign,”
with “key theater” roll-outs in Dallas, New Orleans, New York City,
Philadelphia and Washington D.C.
Upon its September release, Variety noted The Asphyx
was – welcomingly - bucking the recent trend of blood and gore horrors:
Newbrook had intentionally delivered a more “cerebral” or “thinking man’s
horror film.”Acknowledging the film was
well cast and beautifully photographed, the trade review did rue that Brian Comport’s
verbiage-laden screenplay was slow going and riddled with historical
improbabilities. Other critics noted Robert Stephen’s mad scientist was one
seemingly gifted with precognitive invention.
It was true.As The Asphyx is set in the year 1875, scientist
Cunningham had somehow managed to prefigure such mechanical appliances as the
first motion picture camera (not actually developed until 1888) and an electric
chair (not developed into the early 1880s).To the credit of Box Office,
the trade paper cautiously suggested that, “Selling the film as a monster movie
would not be to its advantage: a more intelligent approach to sci-fi fans is
indicated.”I imagine “less-intelligent”
monster movie fans might have shifted restlessly in their seats back in ’72, awaiting
even the mildest of jump-scares.
The
Asphyx was the fourth and final of writer Brian Comport’s
screenplays to be produced.His first screenwriting
effort, Mumsy, Nanny, Sonny and Girly
(Cinerama Releasing Corp., 1970), was an out-and-out freaky and grisly
exploitation film.Technically speaking,
Girly wasn’t a completely original
invention of Comport’s.The original
story was loosely based on the stage play Happy
Family (aka All Fall Down) by the
novelist and BBC radio playwright Maisie Mosco.His second screen credit was a co-authorship with director Pete Walker
on Man of Violence (later re-titled The Sex Racketeers).That film was a convoluted and overly talky
international-gold smuggling-racketeer-caper-thriller with a pronounced sixties
swagger.
In one of those local-lad-makes-good-type newspaper
items, journalist Anthony Cardew of the Surrey
Mirror and County Post, shared an hour with Comport, then basking in the
success of his industry breakthrough with Mumsy,
Nanny, Sonny and Girly.“I was
offered a script which a producer wanted lived up,” the writer told
Cardew.“He wanted a bit more action or
something.I took the script apart and
rewrote it completely.I added new
characters, took some out and changed the thing entirely.I wrote it in note form, just suggesting the
way I thought it should go.”
The producer was pleased with Comport’s revised scenario
and formally commissioned him to draft a new screenplay, in the scripters own
words, “from the beginning, according to my own ideas.”With the film in production, Comport was also
approached by a representative from London’s Sphere books to turn his
screenplay into a novelization, a six-week effort bringing in a bit of extra
cash.
Many film critics found Mumsy, Nanny, Sonny and Girly – later retitled simply as Girly –aggressively unpleasant in its
lurid, sexually suggestive subject matter - and decidedly distasteful in its depiction
of depravity and violence.One critic would
unflatteringly suggest Comport as a leading “candidate for sickest mind of the
year award.” Another nonplussed reviewer thought the film as “Theater of the
absurd… absurdly vicious.”
Scolding reviews aside, Comport’s star seemed to be on
the rise.In October of 1970, only shortly
following the release of Mumsy, Nanny,
Sonny and Girly, production had already started on Robert Hartford-Davis’
thriller Beware My Brethren (Cinerama
Releasing Corp., 1972) also from a Comport script.Things then cooled for an interim but, following
a year or so of film-work drought, Comport was back with The Asphyx.
Though Comport’s script – adapted from a story provided
by Christina and Laurence Beers – would appropriate more than a few elements from
Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, the Independent Film Journal interestinglysuggested The Asphyx was of similar construct to William Castle’s B-movie
classic The Tingler (1959):“There
too a visible spirit of sorts popped up; but that one was of fear rather than
death.” Though some wondered why a
classically-trained actor of Robert Stephens’s caliber would agree to appear in
a film clearly beneath his station, the former board-trotter of the Royal
National Theatre thought The Asphyx “rather
good.”He told journalist Neville Nisse
of Staffordshire’s Evening Sentinel, “I
really enjoyed making it because I liked the script and the people
involved.”
The Asphyx performed
reasonably well at the box office – not boffo perhaps, but reasonably well.So much so
that in January of 1973, Paragon announced they were going to enter into a
co-production deal with Glendale for two additional features.Paragon would, of course, retain all U.S.
distribution rights, but would now also share in a generous slice of a film’s
international profit.When U.S. box
office receipts measurably dipped following the film’s initial run, The Asphyx was often paired on the
secondary market with other indie horrors:Night of the Living Dead, Son of Blob and Blood Suckers among them.
(Variety trade advertisement)
In Australia, The
Asphyx was given the more compelling title Spirit of the Dead, the adverts teasing an audience confrontation
with “The Horror That Lurks Halfway Between Heaven and Hell!” The campaign
posters for Spirit of the Dead featured
accompanying artwork promising a more ghoulish monster than the film would deliver.The Asphyx
would also enjoy a sustained life in the United Kingdom.Exploitatively re-titled The Horror of Death on its re-release, the film would play in cinemas
throughout the 1970s.It was often
incongruously paired on multi-bills with such chop-socky fare as Kung Fu Virgins and The Angry Dragon.
This 2023 Kino Lorber Studio Classics edition of The Asphyx replaces the Kino/Redemption
Films co-issue of 2012.The only really new
“Special Features” offered is the commentary track provided by film historians
Kim Newman and Stephen Jones and six trailers promoting other Kino
Product.This new edition is also
packaged in a protective slipcase that mimics the artwork of the case
insert.Both the 86 minute U.K.
theatrical cut and 99 minute U.S. expanded cut are made available to view.But, as the package warns, the
“reconstruction of the extended version blends HD footage mastered from the
35mm negative with SD footage mastered from the U.S. release print.” The
changes in visual quality are very significant as forewarned.
For the record, I watched the extended version.Though the inclusion of an additional
thirteen minutes is welcome, these extra fragments are of no great
interest.In fact, it’s possible the added
running time further slows down a film already in desperate need of judicious
editing.Newbrook’s direction is
competent, but Comport’s screenplay is weighed down by too many sermons: the
film’s main characters continually perseverate on the moral misguiding’s of
Cunningham’s tampering with spiritual and life-and-death issues.Such hand-wringing tires after a while.Having said all this, The Asphyx is an interesting film, if far from a forgotten classic.While aficionados of British horror should
certainly add the title to their watch list, it might be best to screen the
film with muted expectation.
It’s
quite possible that there are more podcasts about cinema these days than there
are cinemas. Given such saturation, podcast creators have to work hard to make
their movie shows stand out from the competition. It is to film critic John Bleasdale’s
credit then that he’s managed to find a singular cinematic theme to concentrate
on, yet one with a vastly broad range of potential subjects and guests.
Writers
On Film is the only podcast dedicated to books on cinema and it is only a few
film-chats away from its 100th episode. Readers of Cinema Retro will no doubt
have at least one Movie section within their bookshelves. Search the authors’ names
on the spines of some of your most recent purchases and there’s a very good
chance you’ll find one of the many guests on Writers on Film.
Bleasdale,
a respected critic who has written for The Times, The Guardian, The
Independent, Sight and Sound and many others was, like so many creatives
looking for something to get him through the lockdown. ‘Because of Covid there
were no releases,’ he says, ‘so I was scrabbling around for things to write
that didn’t require being topical; I didn’t want to do a review podcast or
anything like that. I knew a few people who had written books that I’d met in
film festivals: former editor of Premiere Glenn Kenny was one. My brother had
sent me over a couple of beautiful books for Christmas, the Scorsese book by
Tom Shone and Ian Nathan’s book on Ridley Scott, so I originally thought I’d
just interview a few of these authors.
‘I
noticed that a lot of film writers were promoting their work on Twitter so I
reached out to them and eventually, I had enough of a response to realise this
was a podcast. Initially, the idea was to do about 10 episodes, because I
thought my guest list would have dried up by then, but here we are now crossing
the hundred mark.’
The
guest list has now blossomed into a who’s who of the cinema literature genre.
Scroll back through the episodes and you’ll find Sam Wasson talking about his
Chinatown book The Big Goodbye, Gabriel Byrne discussing his memoir, and Julie
Salamon revisiting her landmark book The Devil’s Candy. In between, there’s
everything from Spike Lee to Buster Keaton via Michael Cimino, Biblical epics,
women vs Hollywood, and George Stevens Jr reminiscing about about Hollywood’s
Golden Age.
Bleasdale
has a convivial, conversational style and the loose format allows space for the
guests to open up about their work, rather than just give quick soundbites.
Occasionally you can hear a guest, perhaps a little tentative at first, relax
and unwind once they realise they’re talking with someone who knows of which he
speaks and isn’t there to trap them.
(Photo:John Bleasdale)
His
love of film books goes back to his youth in Barrow in Furness. ‘The very first
ones were novelisations by writers like Alan Dean Foster, who I was lucky to
have on the podcast. It’s such a legendary name that I was actually surprised
that he was a person!Books and film
really cross over for me. When I couldn’t sneak in to see Blade Runner at the
cinema, because I was ten when it came out and it was an ‘A,’ I bought the
Philip K Dick book with Harrison Ford on the cover and lived in that book as
though it was the movie.’
‘My
auntie was a librarian so I would get all these cinema books out and run up
terrible fines because I was useless at returning them. There was The Cinema of
Loneliness by Robert P. Kolker, with Travis Bickle on the cover, and other one
was the Kubrick book by Michel Ciment (another Writers on Film guest), which
was stunning and so deep and fascinating, and of course this was when we couldn’t
actually see A Clockwork Orange. I became fascinated not just by his films but
by understanding that there was a mind behind these films which was separately
fascinating: if he’d never made a single film, an interview with Kubrick would
have been extraordinary in itself.’
What
the disparate list of guests and themes investigated on Writers on Film
demonstrates is the enormous breadth of subjects that can be categorised under
the Cinema Literature umbrella. ‘It’s pretty much limitless,’ says Bleasdale. ‘If
you want to write a book on cinema, good luck because the hardest thing to find
is a subject that hasn’t been covered, which is good for me because I can find
lots of things to talk about and it’s always different.’
It’s
refreshing to hear that Movie Books are still thriving, despite the potentially
smothering factor of the internet. Bleasdale thinks they have survived by
evolving in the face of competition online. ‘There are cinema books on
bestseller lists these days. The ‘90s were a heyday for a very specific kind of
cinema book. The Faber books were great and some of those authors have been on
the podcast, but they did tend to be interview books. Nowadays, if I want to
find out what Martin Scorsese once said about so-and-so, with YouTube and
Google and even DVD commentaries, that information is now so much more
accessible than it was back then.
‘Today,
there’s more engagement with putting films into a historical context: Peter
Biskind was one of the first writers who launched this idea with Easy Riders,
Raging Bulls and Down and Dirty Pictures. Nowadays people like Sam Wasson and
Glenn Frankel are really running with that. Glenn Frankel’s books are just so
deep and interesting and go so far beyond cinema into history, politics and
society and culture generally. Mark Harris is another: calling Scenes from A
Revolution a ‘film book’ is quite limiting. You learn so much not just about
Hollywood but about everything that went on in 1967.Coffee table books have never been more
varied in terms of subject matter or looked better. The recent one on Sofia
Coppola by Hannah Strong looks stunning.’
Writers
on Film is an ear-feast for cinema fans but don’t get too carried away with the
recommendations or, to paraphrase Chief Martin Brody, you’re gonna need a
bigger bookshelf.
(Search
for Writers on Film wherever you find your podcasts. Click here to visit official web site.)
1972 was a busy year
for the vice squad of the Metropolitan Police. Having only seized 140,000
obscene items from London’s sex shops the previous year, this time they managed
to grab over one million items, raiding sex shops, private cinemas and the
occasional warehouse. Obscenity generally meant pornography, and this could
take the guise of magazines, photos and films. This was the year when America
saw the release of Deep Throat
(Gerard Damiano), but there was no such porno
chic revolution in the UK. Hardcore pornography was illegal and produced secretly
on low budgets by daring, enterprising filmmakers whose work could land them in
jail, much like the American stag film producers of the 1930s and 1940s.
Britain had always been years behind, not only the States but Europe as well.
The early 1970s saw a boom in the production of pornography across the Western
world, with censorship laws either being relaxed or abolished in many
countries, something which the lawmakers and moral guardians of the UK watched
with great unease.
Despite its illegal
status there was still money to be made, and in this new book from academic
Benjamin Halligan we get some fascinating insight into the history of British
pornography and its connection to politics and the campaigning against it of
groups such as the Festival of Light. One filmmaker who seemed to have little
regard for the laws was the Scottish entrepreneur John Lindsay, who was known
for producing films frequently depicting schoolgirls or nuns. The films were
made for European distribution, but also found British customers through mail
order as well as being screened secretly in the sex cinemas of Soho.
As Halligan points
out in this fascinating study, as with many aspects of British culture, the
pornography of this time was often about class, with fantasies being played out
from sophisticated erotica in country houses and gentlemen’s clubs to
frustrated housewives and chambermaids encountering guests in their hotel rooms.
Individual filmmakers developed an almost auteur status in the industry and
became celebrities themselves, publishing autobiographies and documentaries on
the sex film industry. It wasn’t all just hardcore of course, with Britain’s
most famous sex film star Mary Millington moving away from hardcore to appear
in softcore sex comedies such as Come
Play With Me (George Harrison Marks, 1977), whose director was a true
pioneer in British glamour film and photography, producing dozens of books, 8mm
loops and feature films from the late 1950s.
Halligan has
uncovered a new canon of British filmmakers who for the most part have been
ignored in previous histories, who played an important role in this secretive,
frequently controversial world. He has watched hundreds of these “joyless
erotic films” which blurred into “one underlit and dingy tale of sexual
frustration… across housing estates, rainy holiday resorts and chintzy hotels”
as part of the research (being a historian is a tough job sometimes!) and as
such is able to give us a great overview of the films, their directors and
producers (generally those in front of the camera are uncredited and anonymous
so it is very difficult to identify who they might be). He explores the
difficulty the British government had in defining precisely what obscenity and
pornography were, which helped to create the grey areas that allowed those
involved to flourish despite the risks.
The book is divided
into three sections, exploring the notion of “The Permissive Society” and the
campaigners both for and against pornography and immoral behaviour, the
hardcore films of John Lindsay, George Harrison Marks and Russell Gay, and the
softcore (and therefore more commercially acceptable) worlds of Derek Ford and
David Hamilton Grant. As a coda, he explores the post-Thatcherite notions of
hardcore pornography, focusing on films set on council estates, which again
brings us back to class. In British film, as pointed out in the introduction
here, everything is really about class.
For anyone interested
in this occasionally murky aspect of British film industry, this is an
essential addition to a library which should also include the work of Simon Sheridan
and David McGillivray. As has been pointed out before, don’t let that high
price for the hardback put you off: this is an academic publication, which
means that a more affordable paperback should be along soon. If you can’t wait
that long, simply request a copy of Hotbeds
of Licentiousness from your local library. Perhaps they can supply it in a
plain brown wrapper.
Back in the early 1990s, when I was around seventeen
years-old, a friend and I took a train down to London to see a musical on
Shaftesbury Avenue. It was our first time in the big city. We got there early, so we decided to go for a
walk around the area. This meant that within minutes we found ourselves
wandering the streets of Soho. It was about 10 AM, and we walked down its
streets and alleys slightly goggle-eyed at the sex shops and clubs. As we
walked past one venue a man asked us, “Do you want to see some girls?”, and we
panicked and ran back to the relative safety of Shaftesbury Avenue, deciding we
would get into less trouble whiling away the time in McDonalds.
Soho seems to have always had a reputation for sex and
vice. From the Windmill Theatre to the Raymond Revue Bar, and from private
members cinemas to the phone boxes plastered with calling cards offering
personal services, entering the alleyways of Soho was like stepping into another
world free from the moralising judgment of conventional society. But it wasn’t
just about sex. The film industry had also set up shop, with all the major, and
many minor, film companies establishing their UK base in offices around Soho
Square and on Wardour Street. Even the British Board of Film Classification
(originally the British Board of Film Censors) can be found there. Soho’s pubs,
clubs and restaurants attracted artists, musicians, politicians, journalists
and celebrities, as well as prostitutes, gangsters and corrupt cops. It’s no
wonder that this vibrant, Bohemian and occasionally dangerous atmosphere became
the source of so many stories. The film producers of Soho only had to look out
of their windows for inspiration.
In Soho on Screen, screenwriter and journalist
Jingan Young delves into the origins of Soho and its function as a refuge for
migrants. After the Second World War additional migration saw the rise of coffee
bars and restaurants offering food from a dazzling array of countries,
cementing this notion of a cosmopolitan oasis in the centre of London. There is
interesting discussion on a number of films set in Soho during this designated
time period of 1948-1963, perhaps the golden age before the shine started to
wear off towards the end of the 1960s. Many British films were set in Soho,
from the Val Guest mystery Murder at the Windmill (1949) through to the
new youth-oriented films like Expresso Bongo (1960, also by Val Guest
and starring a young Cliff Richard) and Beat Girl (1960). Sometimes the
streets of Soho themselves were used as locations, but often parts of Soho were
completely recreated in studios, such as the lavish Miracle in Soho
(1957). On the latter film Young explores the way the movie attempted to
reflect the migrant experience in Soho, sadly to a poor box office performance.
Films that played on Soho’s more notorious reputation for sleaze and glamour
tended to be more successful, such as the strip club settings of the Jayne
Mansfield-starring Too Hot to Handle (1960) or The Small World of
Sammy Lee (1963).
Young’s writing is engaging and well-researched, and, as
with many of these types of books, will leave the reader seeking out many of
the films analysed. It’s a fascinating period in British cinema history, and
focusing on films connected to this one square mile of London is a great way to
really dig into that history. Soho on Screen is highly recommended.
During the writing process Jingan Young also started a
podcast called Soho Bites, which is still going (now with a different
presenter) and has a great back catalogue of discussions on all sorts of
interesting films and topics. It can be found here: https://www.sohobitespodcast.com/
Before you roll your
eyes at the thought of yet another film review book, hear me out: Nick Cato,
author, podcaster and columnist, is not simply offering us his opinion on
dozens of forgotten 1970s and 1980s exploitation films including Hitch Hike
to Hell, Goin’ All the Way, Horror Planet (aka Inseminoid),
Lunch Wagon Girls, The Loch Ness Horror and Psychos in Love,
but he is also recalling the experience of watching those films in cinemas in
and around the New York area. This is a series of flashbacks to a time in the
early 1980s when, as a teenage boy, he and his friends were interested primarily
in two things; horror and nudity, and the lengths that they would go to in
order to gain admission to the cinemas where these films were showing. He
discusses the enticing ad campaigns, clearly aimed at him and people like him,
and how frequently they were disappointed by the films themselves. He also
recalls the viewing experience, where often the worse the film got, the louder
and more entertaining the audience became. There was even a time a friend’s
ex-girlfriend dumped a milkshake all over them. These digressions and
descriptions of noisy, howling audiences really paint a vivid picture of that
grindhouse experience that has become so mythologised of late thanks to the
likes of Tarantino. For those of us who never attended such a venue,
recollections like these here are akin to a dispatch from the front line.
Originating as a
column on the Cinema Knife Fight site, Cato wrote about dozens of films
and cinema-going experiences, and he also took the opportunity to occasionally
discuss more recent films and speak to filmmakers and actors. Interviewed in
this book is, amongst others, Peaches Christ, the director of 2010’s All
About Evil, and grindhouse royalty in the form of director Frank
Henenlotter.
Suburban
Grindhouse is a nostalgic and entertaining look back at
the cinema experience in the early 1980s, when a thirteen-year-old boy with a
moustache could gain entrance to R-rated films and be either titillated or
terrified, sometimes by the films and at other times by the audience.
(The following press release pertains to the U.K. release)
STUDIOCANAL have announced the brand new 4K restoration of John Guillermin’s (Blazing Inferno, Death on the Nile)
Academy Award® Winning remake of iconic Hollywood classic, KING KONG (1976).
Starring Jeff
Bridges (The
Big Lebowski, Crazy Heart, True Grit) and Jessica Lange (Tootsie, American Horror Story),
and produced by Hollywood legend Dino
de Laurentiis (Flash
Gordon, Nights of Cabiria, Barbarella), this retelling of the
classic monster adventure film went on to jointly win the Academy Award® for
Best Visual Effects (Carlo Rambaldi, Glen Robinson and Frank Van der Veer), as
well as receiving Academy Award® nominations for Best Cinematography (Richard
H. Kline) and Best Sound (Harry W. Tetrick, William McCaughey, Aaron Rochin and
Jack Solomon). Jessica Lange was also honoured as Best new Actress for her role
at the Golden Globes that same year.
Now restored in 4K for the first time, STUDIOCANAL will re-release
the film across 4K
UHD Blu-ray, Blu-ray, DVD and Digital as well as a 4K UHD Steelbook from December 5.
New artworks have been created for the Home Entertainment releases
by graphic designer Sophie
Bland, and for the 4K UHD Steelbook release by Francesco Francavilla.
The 4K UHD will include a limited-edition poster of Sophie Bland’s artwork.
SYNOPSIS
Fred Wilson (Charles
Grodin), an employee of a large American oil company, has been
charged with a mission to find new oil wells. With a chartered boat, he sets
off on a journey to an uninhabited island in the South Pacific. On board is
also a stowaway: the palaeontologist Jack Prescott (Jeff Bridges) has
smuggled himself onto the ship, as he hopes to examine a rare species of monkey
on this island. On the way, after a violent storm, the expedition also takes on
board the shipwrecked Dawn (Jessica
Lange), who is floating in a lifeboat at sea. When the ship
anchors off the island, however, it turns out not to be as uninhabited as
everyone once thought. The natives of the island perform a strange ritual to
worship a larger-than-life ape named "Kong". As soon as they
catch sight of the blonde Dawn, they decide they have found their perfect offering.
ABOUT THE RESTORATION
This 2022 restoration is presented by STUDIOCANAL and Paramount
Pictures. The 35mm original negative was scanned in 4K and colour graded by
Paramount. The restoration and mastering was then carried out at L'Immagine
Ritrovata, under the supervision of STUDIOCANAL. The purpose of this
restoration was to give a new lease of life to the film for audiences to enjoy
on the big screen, and eventually on the smaller screen. A 4K DCP was created,
as well as a UHD HDR Dolby Vision master, to enhance the sharpness and
brightness in cinemas which is not usually possible with a standard HD master.
In addition there is a new, improved and cleaned up 5.1 audio.
STUDIOCANAL owns one of the largest film
libraries in the world, boasting nearly 7000
titles from 60 countries. Spanning 100 years of film history.
20 million euros has been invested into the restoration of 700 classic films
over the past 5 years.
SPECIAL FEATURES
· Extended TV
broadcast cut (unrestored)
· Audio commentary
with film historian Ray Morton
· Audio commentary
with actor and makeup artist Rick Baker
· Interview with
Barry Nolan
· Interview with
Bill Kronick
· Interview with
Scott Thaler and Jeffrey Chernov
· Interview with
David McGiffert and Brian E. Frankish
Just as the school holidays were about
to start, way back in the December of 1982, ITV began previewing their upcoming
festive slate. In amongst the sleigh-bell soundtracked shots of Morecambe &
Wise, Ted Rogers and Mike Yarwood et al, Richard Kiel grabbed a thick metal
cable and bit into it with his silver dentures. This little tit-bit was all any
of us kids could talk about in school the next day. ‘Did you see it? Moonraker’s
going to be on TV on Boxing Day!’
I can’t remember anything else about
that Christmas, only the desperate excitement in the run-up to watching the
biggest, best James Bond film ever made! And back then, it was both of those
things because we were, y’know, kids.
Moonraker was (and remains) the entry-level
kids’ Bond movie. Once you realise that the concept of a space shuttle full of
American marines armed with laser guns being fired into space is as
intelligence-insultingly absurd as the idea of a double-taking pigeon, the
lustre wears off rapidly.
And so it came to pass that over the
years, the most successful Bond movie yet released saw its reputation take an
almighty plummet, hovering at the bottom of most Bond popularity charts; an
overblown, camp nadir that even Cubby Broccoli recognised as ‘a bit too much’ (by
contrast, the next Bond adventure, For Your Eyes Only was a pointedly
earth-bound gadget-free caper based on the retrieval of what looked like a ZX
Spectrum keyboard).
Admitting that Moonraker was
one of your favourite Bond movies in the company of cineastes was a faux pas
akin to suggesting that the best Star Trek movie was the fifth one, or
that Robert De Niro never did it for you as an actor until he started making
those hilarious Meet The Parents movies.
The Daniel Craig years - in which Bond
was transformed from a smooth, quip-spouting, all-action Lothario into a
tortured, reluctant assassin, as bruised and broken on the inside as he is on
the surface - made the comic nonsense of Moonraker seem even more
ludicrous, unforgivably so.
Yet all of a sudden, Bond’s misbegotten
Star Wars cash-in has recently started to find voices of support piping
up in its defence. Quentin Tarantino and Roger Avary could have chosen from
hundreds of thousands of other movies to launch their new Video Archives
podcast, but for episode 1, out of every movie ever made they went for Moonraker.
Of the two film-makers, Avary is the
one pleading the case forthe
defence.In time-honoured tradition, he
considered it beneath his contempt when it was first released in 1979. “I was
absolutely dubious of it. I hated it.
“I’ve noticed that when I see films
that I dismissed quickly back in the day; I sometimes look at them now and I am
seeing things and appreciating things that I just wasn’t prepared for back
then.” Among those things that Avary now appreciated were Ken Adams’s beautiful
sets, John Barry’s lush score, the still-impressive special effects, Michael
Lonsdale’s cold dismissive performance, and the opening skydiving stunt, which
Avary & Tarantino both cite as one of their favourite pre-titles sequence
in the series: ‘Real people are doing this!’
Avary continued, ‘It’s a spy film, it’s
an action movie, it’s a romance, it’s a travelogue, it’s a sci-fi…it’s also a
horror film. It switches its tone constantly. It becomes whatever it needs to be
in the moment. It’s a comedy, it’s even a western at one point.’ He even
confesses to crying at the end when Jaws finally speaks.
Tarantino’s enjoyment is more
circumspect. He has little enthusiasm for Lewis Gilbert’s handling of action
scenes, especially the gondola chase. At one point he bellows, ‘Any movie that
cuts to a reaction shot of animals doing comic double-takes can never be taken
seriously under any circumstances!’
The Video Archives Moonraker reevaluation
followed on the heels of its surprise appearance in the 2021 Marvel movie Black
Widow, in which Scarlett Johansson’s superhero assassin enjoys some
much-needed downtime by watching Moonraker - a film she’s seen so often
she can recite the dialogue from memory.
Moonraker was, to Johansson’s character, what
it is to so many of us: a comfort watch (it also serves as a witty foretaste of
the rest of Black Widow; a film that ends up set aboard a colossal
airborne sky-station which our hero destroys in mid-flight).
It has also taken on an unlikely
contemporary resonance, thanks to the intergalactic antics of a new breed of
super-billionaires like Jeff Bezos, Richard Branson and - especially - Elon
Musk, who have recently been playing with their little rocket ships and all,
like Drax, clearly obsessed by the conquest of space.
Watching these space-fixated moguls,
all of them rich beyond the wealth of nations, seemingly sharing Drax’s casual
disdain for the trite pauper-concerns of mere earthlings, Moonraker’s
plot suddenly becomes targeted future-satire from the least-likely source.
Then again, it could just be something
far simpler. This new warmth towards Moonraker might well have stemmed
from the loss of Roger Moore, who became the first Bond to head to the great
casino in the sky in 2017. There has rarely been a more beloved actor, and the
shock of suddenly not having him around any more may have led many to
reconsider the legacy of someone we have now lost forever.
Moore’s Bond movies - built around his
unique presentation of the character - were unabashed entertainment. They were
designed at an eye-wateringly huge cost by some of the most talented and
dedicated artists in the industry for one simple, noble purpose: to give family
audiences a thrill ride and make them happy.
Produced for a then-staggering
$34million, Moonraker was released at a time of economic stagnation,
constant strikes, international unrest and unremitting gloom. No wonder
audiences rushed into cinemas to bask in its technicolor glamour, warm humour
and impossible silliness. No wonder its charms seem so suddenly appealing once
again.
Cinema Memories: A People's History of Cinema-going in
1960s Britain
Melvyn Stokes, Matthew Jones & Emma Pett
Bloomsbury/
British Film Institute
Published:
March 2022
Hardback
237
pages
10
b&w illustrations
ISBN:
9781911239888
RRP:
£76
One evening in June
2016 at the Picturehouse on Piccadilly Circus, cinemagoers were transported
back fifty years, where a uniformed commissionaire made them queue outside for a
screening of One Million Years B.C. Once inside there were usherettes, a
cinema manager chain-smoking and shouting at the staff, dozens of people sporting
the best Sixties fashion, cavemen and cavewomen (cavepeople?) dragging
unwitting participants into some neanderthal roleplay (including this writer),
and even a film producer with a dollybird on his arm. After witnessing a
competition to find the next Hammer glamour star, which was interrupted by
placard-wielding feminists, the public were finally able to enter the cinema
screen. The experience did not end there though: during the film there was
constant disturbance from usherettes with torches and people fighting or
sneaking in and out of the fire exit. Once it was all over the audience stood
for the national anthem (or ran out in mock disgust). This was no ordinary
evening at the cinema, this was a fantastic event organised by Dr. Matthew
Jones of De Montfort University (the cinema manager himself, whose performance
was so convincing that the Picturehouse received complaints from the public
about his behaviour towards the usherettes), with the aim of bringing to life the
fantastic research project ‘Cultural Memory and British Cinema-going of the
1960s’.
Through
questionnaires and interviews with hundreds of people over a three-year period,
the project gathered memories of what it was like to go to the cinema in the
1960s. Given the age of participants this meant that most of the memories were
connected to recollections of childhood and adolescence, of first dates and
first sexual experiences, of happiness and occasional danger, and of community
and political awareness. This of course makes sense. When one considers cinemagoing,
in particular those favourite cinemas of one’s youth, it is the whole
experience that is thought of fondly, not just the film itself; there are the
posters outside and in the foyer, the elaborate décor, the cinema manager, the
box office, the concessions and then the screen itself, where often one came in
after the film had started. There were usherettes in uniforms armed with
torches to make sure no one was getting too carried away on the back row, or to
police single men moving too close to younger audience members. There was a
thick smoky haze, which was not affected by attempts to have a separate
non-smoking section of the auditorium, and some cinemas were art deco palaces whilst
others were literal fleapits.
This terrific book
brings together the results of this research in a non-immersive experience which
is sure to bring back memories of the reader’s own cinema memories. The book is
organised into topics, with the memories of the ‘Swinging Sixties’ both
conforming to established cultural history as well as questioning it. After
all, the Sixties were not swinging for everyone, and it often depended on
whether you lived in the north or the south. Some people do remember the films
of course, and the stars, many of whom were role models and fashion icons. In
the chapter on post-colonial audiences, such as the ‘Windrush Generation’, some
participants recall learning about English culture and behaviour by attending
the cinema. Audience memories of Hollywood are also discussed, as are those who
recalled attending European and world cinema, often in a more arthouse-type
cinema than the usual family cinema or fleapit.
This research is an
excellent reminder of the importance of the cinema experience in that
culturally-significant decade (political changes and their impacts on the
public, such as the legalisation of both abortion and homosexuality in 1967 are
discussed in reference to films such as Alfie and Victim), and it
also serves to point out just how much has changed over the last fifty years:
intermissions are rare, the smoking has thankfully gone, and popcorn has
replaced the choc ice as the snack of choice. Cinema Memories: A People's
History of Cinema-going in 1960s Britain may provoke nostalgia in some
older readers, whilst for younger readers it’s a fascinating window into an
almost lost world. Admittedly it’s not quite the same as that night out at the
cinema in 2016, but at least you are less likely to have to pretend to be a
caveman.
Film
director Paul W.S. Anderson, not to be confused with film directors Paul Thomas
Anderson or Wes Anderson, hails from Wallsend, North Tyneside, England and,
like so many of his contemporaries, began shooting movies on Super-8mm in his
youth. In his mid-twenties, he enjoyed professional success as a writer on the British
series El C.I.D. Following the end of the show, he and producer Jeremy
Bolt founded their own company, Impact Pictures and, after much toil, financed Shopping,
which was released in the United Kingdom in 1994 and in the States in 1996. This
put them on the map and brought him Mortal Kombat in 1995, a film based
upon the popular video game of the same name. This led to the sci-fi/horror
film Event Horizon, which is now available on 4K UHD Blu-ray, and it’s
this film that I discussed with Mr. Anderson recently while he was promoting
the release.
Todd Garbarini: I want to thank you for taking the
time to speak with me and thank you also for the Resident Evil films. I
enjoy those very much.
Paul W.S. Anderson: Me, too!
TG: How did you first see Ridley Scott’s Alien and what
was the effect that it had on you?
PWSA: I saw
[Sir] Ridley’s Alien when I was at school, and I saw it when I was far
too young, and it terrified the living daylights out of me. I also had a real
crush on Sigourney Weaver. So, it was a big, big impact. I had never seen a
movie like it. I mean it was amazing, and the look of the alien and the alien
spaceship, which I later realized was the work of [Swiss artist H.R.] Giger,
was just spectacular. It was really like nothing I’d ever seen in cinemas
before.
TG: I feel
the exact same way. I was ten and-a-half years-old when Alien was
released here in the States, two years to the day that Star Wars was
released here…in fact, the financial success of Star Wars bankrolled Alien…and
I was shocked to see that it was restricted to just adults! My parents would not
take me to see it. Kenner had produced toys, games and puzzles in the stores
based on the film. It took me another four years to see it on home video, but
the power of that movie came through tremendously, even on a six-year-old 13” Sylvania
television.
PWSA: I didn’t
see it with my parents either. Like you, I had loved Star Wars and I
thought, Wow, another space movie! Boy, was I wrong! (laughs)
TG: Was there one
particular film that, or filmmaker who, compelled you to become a director?
PWSA: I can
tell you that certain filmmakers have had a huge influence on me. Ridley Scott and
Tony Scott in particular because I love their movies. I love the look of their
movies and what their movies are about and how they are put together. They came
from the same part of the Northeast of England as I did. I never knew anyone in
the film industry, and no one made movies in the North of England. So, wanting
to be a film director when I was growing up seemed like an impossible dream. But
there were these two brothers who somehow managed to do it and they were very
inspiring to me because of that. They didn’t know anyone in the film industry
either. They built themselves from the ground up. I felt like I could do it as
well.
TG: You
derived inspiration from them.
PWSA: Exactly. Now, in terms of
wanting to become a filmmaker, I used to watch a lot of westerns when I was a little
kid. They used to have these things called “Saturday morning pictures” wherein
your parents would drop you off at a cinema that was full of about 350 kids without
any parental supervision. This would never happen today, and you would be there
for about four hours to basically run riot while your parents went and did some
shopping or went and had sex or did whatever they did on a Saturday afternoon without
the kids around. Most of the kids were running around throwing popcorn at one
another and beating each other up. I think I was one of the few kids who just
sat and watched the movies. They showed a couple of Laurel and Hardy shorts because
they were cheap and then some old westerns. I must have seen every John Ford western.
John Wayne was my favorite actor because I watched all these westerns with him
in them. I recall at the end of either The Searchers or Rio Bravo,
I saw his name in the credits as they rolled and I suddenly made the link that
he wasn’t a real cowboy, but rather an actor pretending to be a cowboy. Once I
realized that movies were not reality and just recorded by a cameraman, that
they were artifice, they were awesome and that’s what I wanted to do with my
life. I had no idea how I was going to achieve that. I just knew that that’s
what I wanted to do after seeing those amazing images on the big screen. That
was the inception of me wanting to make movies.
TG: Do you consider yourself to be a genre director?
PWSA: Yes, I
have worked almost exclusively in the sci-fi/horror genre. But like every
director in the world, I want to direct a western. No studio wants to make a
western, unfortunately, because they are just so uncommercial nowadays. I’m
about to make a movie called In the Lost Lands based on a story by author
George R.R. Martin [of Game of Thrones fame]. At its heart, it’s very
much a western as it has all the iconography that one would associate with a
western. It’s set in a post-apocalyptic land, so on the surface it’s not a
western, but at its heart it is most definitely a western. It deals with a lot
of western tropes and storytelling and imagery, so I am very excited to be
doing that.
TG: I
interviewed John Carpenter in 2010 and he is a big fan of westerns like yourself.
When he came out of film school in the early 1970s, he really wanted to make one,
but nobody was doing them in this country at the time. So, needless to say, he
was very disappointed.
PWSA: Yes,
but if you take a look at Assault on Precinct 13, the obvious influence
of westerns is in that film.
TG: Yes, absolutely. I love how that film was edited by “John
T. Chance” [the name of the sheriff that John Wayne plays in Rio Bravo]!
PWSG: Exactly! (laughs) And also people like Walter Hill, who was a big influence on me. I absolutely loved, loved The Driver
and 48 Hours. But specifically, what I really liked about Walter Hill
was when he was basically redoing the kind of Jean-Pierre Melville vibe of
those French gangster movies. So, they had imported the American movies, and
they did the French twist on them making them very existential, and then Walter
Hill kind of reimported them back into America and didn’t bother giving the
characters any names, which I absolutely love. So, for me Walter Hill is
somebody who pretty much, with every movie he makes, is a western. Ironically,
the films that work the least are actual westerns, but the ones that tend to
work the best are these urban movies that are really westerns in disguise. So,
I’m sort of hoping that it’s a “lightning strikes” moment for me when I do In
the Lost Lands. It’s basically my western, but nobody will realize it!
TG: Event Horizon pits
a lot of terrific actors in an ensemble piece, among them Sam Neill, Lawrence
Fishburne, Jason Isaacs, and Kathleen Quinlan. Were they your first choices for
their respective roles?
PWSA: Yes, it was a movie where I was
very lucky that the studio was kind of willing to go with my personal choices.
They never insisted that we absolutely had to have somebody who was a movie
star who carried very big movies before. They were on board for doing the ensemble
casting. I was very, very happy about it. It allowed me to get some really
terrific actors together, playing roles that they didn’t traditionally play as
well. Sam Neill at that point was very much in the minds of audiences as the heroic
guy who saved the children from the dinosaurs in Jurassic Park. He was
up there with Tom Hanks as probably the actor whom the audience could trust the
most.
TG: Yes. I recall seeing Michael
Mann’s Collateral wherein Tom Cruise completely plays against type.
PWSA: Exactly. Sam Neill was still
sort of the guy who could look after your kids. So, the idea that he would be
the one who goes insane and tears his own eyes out, at that point in time it’s
probably the type of role that you would have expected Laurence Fishburne to
play. And then Fishburne playing sort of the heroic Captain as well, that was
not really a role that he had played before. So, both of them are amazing
performances but both of them were kind of stretching, but in a good way.
TG: Have
you ever seen Sam Neill in a film by Andrzej Zulawski called Possession?
PWSG: No, I
haven’t.
TG: It was shot
in the summer of 1980 in Germany and was released the following year
internationally. It made its way here to the States in a highly butchered
version in 1983, but it’s one of the most bizarre, cinematic experiences that I’ve
ever seen. You should catch up with it if you can. The uncut version is readily
available now.
PWSA: I will!
TG: What
are some of the challenges that you encountered in making Event Horizon
that you hadn’t foreseen?
PWSA: It was
just the compacted time that we had to actually make the film. That was a big
challenge. You know, I was young, and I hadn’t made many movies so I didn’t
really know what I was doing. I was up for a challenge at the time, but
nowadays I would probably say, “Hey, wait a second, I don’t know if that’s really
a good idea.” I had another movie to make right after Event Horizon and
it was with Kurt Russell [Soldier (1998)] with Warner Brothers, so I had
to finish Event Horizon on a certain date, so we had to start shooting
early. So, for such an elaborate movie with so many big builds, and really
complicated things, like the third containment being a real spinning, gyroscope
that was thirty-five feet high, I mean, this was really complicated stuff to do
in the time frame allotted. Then the production got even more compressed when Titanic
fell out of the summer and Paramount announced that Event Horizon would
be taking its place, and then suddenly I had only three to four weeks to
actually do my first cut of the movie before we started testing it. Those were
the logistical challenges. The actual making of the movie was just a delight. I
loved being with those actors on those sets. I didn’t even mind the challenges,
to be honest. Like I said, now I would think twice about doing certain things
in the movie, but back then I was just up for it.
TG: Thank
you for your time and best of luck to you with In the Lost Lands!
PWSA: Thank
you!
(Thanks to Deborah Annakin Peters for her help in arranging this interview.)
RRP: £86 (a more
reasonably-priced paperback will be available soon)
Review by Adrian
Smith
In a world where
every possible sexual proclivity and desire can be sated at the click of a mouse
button, the idea of pornography only being available at an illicit party in a
hired hall, where the gathered men watch black and white amateur footage
projected onto a wall whilst half-expecting to be raided by local law
enforcement, seems difficult to imagine. Yet according to this fascinating
study by historian Dan Erdman, this was indeed the situation for decades, from
the early days of cinema through to the 1950s when home projector ownership
finally meant that people could receive illegal pornography through the mail
and watch it in the privacy of their own homes. As things began to change in
the 1960s, individual film-viewing booths became available, where for a dime a
customer could get access to a few minutes of hardcore pornography. Ultimately
by the 1970s hardcore went mainstream and husbands and wives could go to the cinema
together for screenings of Deep Throat or Behind the Green Door
and the stag film fell out of fashion.
But just what is a
stag film, I hear you cry innocently? Erdman, drawing on his own research as
well as the writing of others, explains that they were short films, often made
by amateurs and usually shot on 8mm or 16mm film, in which hardcore sex acts
took place, they were anonymously made and presented, and undated. One would
have no idea whether the film you were watching was made last year or thirty
years ago. They were effectively “orphaned films”, in that no records were
kept, and no information was provided about who was in the films, who directed
and produced them, and who was even making all the prints. They were screened
at private parties, or “smokers” as they were sometimes described, which would
often be accompanied by live performances, but those in attendance were
constantly in fear of a police bust. As home projection became more
commercially available thousands of copies of stag films criss-crossed America
in the postal service, with enterprising distributors using carefully compiled
mailing lists and anonymous return addresses to target customers whilst
avoiding both the police and the FBI.
Here, in this
US-focused book, Dan Erdman attempts to chart the origins of the stag film, its
growth in popularity, the people behind the production and distribution, and the
many legal attempts to shut it all down. Given that the production,
distribution and screening of these short pornographic films was illegal, and
the films were generally considered ephemeral with no historical or cultural
value, it’s no surprise to learn that the people involved in this underground
world were not really keeping records or even copies of the films. The Kinsey
Institute appears to be the main archive currently available for seeing copies
of stag films but given that even if a film did have credits the names would
inevitably be fake, the job of trying to piece together a history is a
difficult one.
It is a surprise to
discover that the other main archive is the FBI, who kept thousands of seized
films and attempted to keep records of names, dates, and places, but sadly,
again given that the films had no perceived historical value, the films were
all destroyed long ago to save archival space. Luckily the written records
remain, and through drawing on these records, alongside the Kinsey Institute,
the President’s Commission on Obscenity and Pornography (funded in the late
1960s in an attempt to provide legislation, which ultimately concluded that the
constitution’s guarantee of freedom of speech trumped charges of obscenity and
paved the way for porn’s golden age), private archives and newspaper reports,
Erdman has managed to piece together what is surely the definitive history of
this elusive subject. He also provides an excellent case study in how one can
attempt to write a history of a subject when access to both primary and
secondary sources is severely limited, and as such it should be compulsory
reading for any serious historian researching in the margins of popular
culture.
This book gives
fascinating and non-judgemental insight into the secret world of the twentieth
century American male (the audience was always male) and may also provide some
nostalgia for a simpler time before pornography became a global billion-dollar
business, and modern mainstream culture became increasingly pornified.
Real-life crime and corruption seemed to grow
in the United States during the late 1960s and victims felt that, in certain
cases, the law couldn’t always protect them. Thus, by the early 70s, American
cinemas saw the rise of the vigilante/revenge film. Amazingly entertaining and
hard-hitting classics such as Tom Laughlin’s Billy Jack (1971) Don Siegel’s Dirty
Harry (1971), Phil Karlson’s Walking
Tall (1973)and Jack Hill’s Coffy (1973) blazed across movie
screens. These films featured lone, individualistic heroes who, after seeing
the innocent people of their communities (and sometimes their loved ones)
either robbed, beaten, raped or killed, and the law either powerless to help or
itself part of the problem, decide that enough is enough and proceed to take
the imperfect law into their own hands. As entertaining as these movies were,
they were also an outcry against the real-life crime and corruption that was
polluting the streets at the time; not to mention the imperfect legal system.
Also, by viewing the tough, but well-meaning heroes of these fantasy films ridding
their communities of this dangerous and undesired element, audiences
experienced a real catharsis.
Although many more vigilante/revenge movies
would hit theater screens throughout the rest of the decade, the genre reached
its height with the release of Michael Winner’s masterful, if controversial, Death Wish (1974) which starred the
legendary Charles Bronson as a passive architect/family man who, after his wife
and daughter are raped by muggers (which also causes his wife’s death), and the
authorities are powerless to help, decides to hunt criminals by night on the
dangerous urban streets of New York. Death
Wish proved to be highly influential and, in the 1980s, the genre showed no
signs of slowing down as urban-based vigilante/revenge films such as 1980’s
underrated The Exterminator, 1982’s Fighting Back and 1983’s Vigilante exploded into theaters along
with, among many others, three entertaining, but inferior Death Wish sequels. Smack dab in the middle of these two decades, a
modest, solid little urban vigilante/revenge film called Defiance was released.
Directed by John Flynn (Rolling Thunder), Defiance,
which was written by Thomas Michael Donnelly (Quicksilver), produced by Jerry Bruckheimer (Beverly Hills Cop, Top Gun) and released by American International
Pictures, concerns a merchant seaman named Tommy (Jan-Michael Vincent, The Mechanic, Big Wednesday, Airwolf)
who, while waiting for his next ship to sail, takes up residence on New York’s
Lower East Side. While there, he romances pretty, young Marsha (Raging Bull’s Theresa Saldana) and
befriends a boy (Fernando Lopez from Frankie
and Johnny) and an old grocery shop owner named Abe (Academy Award winner
(for Harry and Tonto) Art Carney). He
also discovers that a violent street gang called the Souls is terrorizing the
neighborhood and the entire police force’s hands are tied. After a series of
brutal muggings, beatings and murders, Tommy decides to put a stop to the
violence by taking on the gang himself. But does Tommy alone have what it takes
to put an end to the madness?
Although a very well-done addition to the
urban vigilante genre, Defiance differs
somewhat from films like Death Wish and The Exterminator in that the main hero
doesn’t kill any of the villains. He just fights back and, hopefully, brings
them to justice. Director Flynn delivers a well-balanced combo of drama and
suspense-thriller while giving the film a gritty, realistic feel which is
helped along by the stark cinematography of the talented Ric Waite (48 Hrs.).
Jan-Michael Vincent is extremely convincing as
Tommy. He plays the well-written character as quiet, but tough and also isn’t
afraid to show that, at times, Tommy is scared. He also shows traits such as
humor and heart which further humanizes the character. Overall, it’s an understated
and very believable performance. The
extremely likeable Theresa Saldana brings a nice touch of humor to her role and
the late, great Art Carney is wholly convincing as an aging, kind, but fed up
grocery store owner. We also have a terrific performance by Fernando Lopez as
the kid; not to mention Rudy Ramos (The
Enforcer) exuding icy evil as gang leader Angel Cruz who utters the
immortal line, “Now, we’re gonna make the new dude slow bleed.”
The entertaining and engaging film is loaded
with even more top-notch acting talent; mostly made up of familiar East Coast/Italian-American
faces such as Academy Award nominee Danny Aiello (Do the Right Thing), former AWA Tag Team champion wrestler turned
actor Lenny “Luca Brasi” Montana (The
Godfather), legendary film and television actor Joseph Campanella (The St. Valentine's Day Massacre), The Sopranos’ Tony “Paulie Walnuts”
Sirico and the highly recognizable Frank Pesce (Vigilante). What a freakin’ cast! My only question is where the
hell was Joe Spinell? The movie also features well-known faces like Ernie F.
Orsatti (The Car), Chino “Fats”
Williams (Weird Science) and Santos
Morales (Scarface) as well asvery brief appearances by Fred Lincoln
(The Last House on the Left) and Tony
DiBenedetto (The Exterminator), and
quite a few others whose faces are more familiar than their names.
Defiance has been released on
a region one Blu-ray by Kino Lorber and is presented in its original 1.85:1
aspect ratio. As is usually the case with KL, the beautiful HD transfer boasts
sharp, crystal clear and colorful images as well as perfect sound. The disc
also contains the original theatrical trailer along with the trailer for the
1976, Jan-Michael Vincent actioner Vigilante
Force which is also available on Blu-ray from Kino Lorber. If you’re looking
for a solid entry from the vigilante film heyday, the extremely underrated Defiance won’t disappoint.
This
is a little-known gem of a film from producer Louis de Rochemont, the man best
known for introducing The March of Time documentary newsreels to cinemas
that ran from the 1930s until the early 1950s. He also produced several
mainstream pictures, and one of these from 1951, The Whistle at Eaton Falls,
is an underdog-battles-severe-odds tale of the highest caliber.
Directed
by Robert Siodmak and starring Lloyd Bridges, Whistle might be described
as Thornton Wilder’s Our Town, only with unions. Yes, this is a union
drama along the lines of On the Waterfront or, much later, Norma Rae.
In
a tight 96 minutes, Siodmak brings us a riveting story—the kind that gets an
audience riled up against the injustices thrown at a protagonist. The suspense
builds to a breaking point as we wonder how it’s all going to play out.
The
writing credits are a bit complicated. J. Sterling Livingston wrote the
original story, but then a story treatment was developed by Lawrence Dugan and
Laurence Heath. This was next turned into a screenplay by Lemist Esler and
Virginia Shaler (de Rochemont’s wife), with additional dialogue by Leo Rosten!
Whatever it took, the movie is well-written and engaging.
Supporting
Lloyd Bridges in the cast is a host of young, future character actors such as Murray
Hamilton, Ernest Borgnine, Arthur O’Connell, James Westerfield, Parker
Fennelly, and Anne Francis. Second billed, though, is Dorothy Gish (actually in
a small role). Carleton Carpenter, a crooner/actor of the period, has a showy
role as a younger union member who sings a number with Francis (“Ev’ry Other
Day”). Each cast member displays a down-home small town persona that works very
well with the location filming in New Hampshire, where the story takes place.
In
the hamlet of Eaton Falls, a whistle signals the beginning and end of the work
day. But there’s trouble. A shoe factory had to close down, laying off its
workers. Now, the Doubleday Plastic Factory is losing money and must cut costs
to stay in business. Brad Adams (Bridges) is the head of the union, and he is
determined to make sure no one gets laid off; and yet, Mr. Doubleday may be
forced to cut some workers as more modern machinery is purchased to pave the
way for the future. When Doubleday dies in an accident, his wife and now-owner
of the plant (Gish), appoints Brad the new president. This doesn’t sit well
with some of the crankier union members, like Al Webster (Hamilton, in one of
his typical “hothead” roles). To make things worse, the slimy production
manager, Hawkins (Russell Hardie) and his cohort, the company’s treasurer (Helen
Shields), plot to ruin Brad and convince Mrs. Doubleday to sell the company.
This would, of course, be a disaster for the town. Brad soon finds himself at
odds with his loyalties to the union and his responsibility as “management.”
Eventually, the plant must temporarily close while Brad and his few allies
scramble to find solutions to keep the company running while the malcontents
threaten upheaval and violence.
This
is potent stuff and while it doesn’t have the depth and grit that On the
Waterfront brought to the subject three years later, Whistle is
still a serious and tension-inducing winner. The cast is marvelous and the
black and white cinematography by Joseph C. Brun is striking.
Flicker
Alley/Flicker Fusion presents an impressive product. Great care was made to
restore the little-seen film to a 2K master, undertaken by the de Rochemont
estate and spearheaded by Tom H. March and David Strohmaier, the same team that
brought us the Flicker releases of the Cinerama and Cinemiracle films. There is
an audio commentary by author and film historian Alan K. Rode.
Supplements
include a short remembrance of de Rochemont from his grandson, L. Pierre de
Rochemont; a featurette on the restoration of the picture; an isolated score
track (music by Louis Applebaum); archival single recordings of Carleton
Carpenter’s “Ev’ry Other Day” and (presumably) the B-side, “It’s a Million to
One You’re in Love,” and the theatrical trailer. A nice insert contains an essay
excerpt from Richard Koszarski’s Keep ‘em in the East—Kazan, Kubrick and the
Post-War New York Film Renaissance.
The
Whistle at Eaton Falls is a surprise treasure from Flicker. For fans of
Hollywood post-war social problem dramas, and of the spectacular cast.
Recommended.
Just following Christmas of 1940, Box Office reported Paramount’s new thriller The Mad Doctor would hit cinemas on Valentine’s Day of 1941.The actual sneak-preview – and accompanying
publicity push - of the film would take place ten days prior, February 4, at Los
Angeles’s Paramount Theater.Then, on
Saturday night, February 6, the studio would pull out all the stops, offering a
proper premiere for their “blood-chilling drama.”The studio would celebrate the double-bill of
The Mad Doctor and The Monster and the Girl as central to a
“Spook Week” celebration.Saturday’s
“hair-raising” program would not only feature the films but also a magician and
Andy Kirk and his Harlem Orchestra… the latter performing their swinging
“Spooks and Boogie Woogie” stage show.
The general release of The Mad Doctor, more fittingly described a “drama” than a horror film
in industry trades, was pushed to February 20.Perhaps issuing a blood-letting, wife-offing film on Valentine’s Day was
considered poor taste, or maybe not.In
any event, The Mad Doctor opened to
mixed reviews, ranging from “pretty good” to “poor entertainment.”There were certainly no raves, most critics finding
the film lackluster and derivative.The scenario
was a basic one, they reminded, mildly reminiscent of Charles Perrault’s 1697
fabled folktale Bluebeard.(PRC’s Bluebeard
(1944), starring John Carradine as the titular murderer, was still more than
years away from hitting screens).There
were also suggestions The Mad Doctor
was very similar to Rowland V. Lee’s 1937 British chiller Love from a Stranger.”The comparison
to this latter film was not unfair.That
film, partly based on an Agatha Christie mystery, also featured Basil Rathbone
as a charming womanizer who murders paramours for their dowries.
In the first few minutes of director Tim Whelan’s The Mad Doctor, Basil Rathbone’s Dr.
George Sebastien, an eminent psychiatrist, has already left a trail of formerly
betrothed bodies behind in Vienna, Savannah, and in the village of Midbury,
NY.He has been abetted in his scheming by
murderous accomplice Maurice (Martin Kosleck).Maurice may, or may not, have sexual feelings for Sebastien.This inference of a homosexual relationship between
these two ne’er-do-wells hangs awkwardly in subtle dialogue parries
and glancing looks between the two.But,
this being 1941, one can only assume why this element is not explored further.
Shortly following his bumping off of wife number three,
Sebastien decides to moves his head-shrinking practice to midtown
Manhattan.It’s there that he’s asked by
Louise Watkins (Barbara Jo Allen), the wife of a wealthy newspaper publisher Lawrence
Watkins (Hugh O’Connell), to address the melancholic behavior of a sister Linda
Boothe (Ellen Drew).Though she’s beautiful
and lacks for nothing, the grim but glamorous Linda routinely suffers dreams
where she stands at the “edge of the grave looking down.”Her morbid visions drives her to suicidal
attempts.We watch as she prepares to
jump from the parapet of a high-rise skyscraper.But the girl’s plunge is foiled by the quick intervention
of would-be suitor Gil Sawyer (John Howard).
The girl clearly is in need of mental health counseling.Though concerned about Linda’s “suicide
complex,” Sawyer more selfishly, if correctly, sizes up handsome
psycho-therapist Sebastien as a romantic rival.He disparages Sebastien as a “half-baked soul meddler,” assuring Linda (in
ignorance) she suffers from nothing greater than “ordinary hypochondria.”Sawyer cunningly uses his platform as a
newspaperman to publish a series of unflattering articles on the practice of psychotherapy
in the New York Sun.He hopes to expose Sebastien as the biggest
quack of the profession.But his
research into the doctor’s past leads him to suspect the therapist might very
well be a homicidal maniac.So when a
half-hypnotized Linda agrees to accept Dr. Sebastien’s proposal of marriage, there’s
reason to worry.
Though eight decades have passed since The Mad Doctor hit theaters, it’s hard
not to agree with the original critical assessments published upon release. Personally,
I’m a soft touch for old, creaky and gloomy celluloid mysteries of the 1930s
and 1940s, but what critics moaned as true eighty years ago remains true today.
The cast is good, the New York City penthouse atmosphere elegant and classy,
but the film, alas, is a slow drag.Technically, the film is not even a mystery.It’s no spoiler to reveal Rathbone’s
character as the de facto serial wife-killer and misogynist.This revelation is made plain in the film’s
first few minutes.The only mystery here
is how and when this will be revealed to fellow cast members.
Box
Office dismissed The Mad
Doctor as” not good enough to grace the upper half of the bill save in the
most unimportant program arrangements.”Variety was in agreement sighing,
“Pictures are supposed to move, but ‘Mad Doctor’ has a difficult time getting
anywhere.”The review continued, “This
cumbersome film, running 90 minutes could have been cut to 60 and still there
would have been little meat.”It’s unfortunate
but true. The Mad Doctor is, at best, a middling B picture masquerading as a
something better.There’s very little
suspense, hardly any action nor mystery present to keep moviegoers on the edge
of their seat.A full-page Paramount in-production
announcement published in June 1940 promised, “Basil plays a ‘Jekyll’ and
‘Hyde’ role in the heart chiller!”But
the resulting film is unable to deliver any of the promised thrills.
The Mad Doctor is neither a great film nor, to be
fair, a terribly poor one. Despite its elegant trappings, it’s merely
another B programmer, the sort of thing Monogram or PRC might have knocked out
with less polish or window dressing. The film is mostly doomed by its
ninety-minute running time. There’s enough on screen to suggest The
Mad Doctor might have been a more exciting offering if condensed by a
modicum of judicious editing. But, truthfully, there are other dooming issues
aside from the film’s length.Howard J.
Green’s screenplay is odd in construction; so much so that his paint-by-numbers
scenario offers cinemagoers few moments of audience engagement.
To be fair, Green was brought on to rework an already troubled
script (The Monster) that had been knocking
about the Paramount lot for years.Screenwriters Ben Hecht and Charles MacArthur had been trying to get
their script of The Monster into
production as early as 1935. Variety
reported in January 1936 the pair was even bringing aboard Charles Lederer,
visiting Hollywood from New York, to assist in the film’s scripting.The problem was Paramount was simply not
interested in it.
This caused the writers to - unsuccessfully - try and
finagle a deal for The Monster with
the British arm of the Gaumont Film Company in the summer of 1936.Gaumont too would pass, the project remaining
in limbo until September 1939 when Paramount finally opted to purchase story
rights.On October 28, 1939, Box Office reported the studio had
engaged Green to write the script, with neither Hecht, MacArthur nor Lederer receiving
screen credit for their contributions.Perhaps this was a case of too many cooks spoiling the broth: the resulting
patchwork script is demonstrably less the sum of its parts.
The original supporting feature of this double-bill from
Paramount was Stuart Heisler’s The Monster and the Girl, another B film that
also would feature Ellen Drew as the damsel-in -distress. Though not a
classic by any stretch, at least that film (working title, The
Avenging Brain) is a bit of fun: Drew fights off a gorilla whose simian
cerebellum has been replaced by that of a vengeful gangster.At least The
Monster and the Girl half-delivers on what it promises.Something that, sadly, cannot be said of The Mad Doctor.
This Kino Lorber Studio Classics Blu ray of The Mad Doctor is presented herein an aspect ratio of 1.37:1 in 1920p x 1080p
with removable English subs and DTS monaural sound.The set also features an audio commentary
track supplied by film historian David Del Valle, as well as the film’s
theatrical trailer.Visually, I suspect
this film is going to look as good as it ever will.It’s doubtful this title will ever receive a
meticulous and expensive restoration; that would be an effort this film would arguably
not merit. The print used for transfer is not immaculate, but only God - and
a few film techs - would know the condition of the surviving elements used.
Medium shots tend to appear a bit soft-focused, but close-up photography
appears sharp with clarity. There are passing sprinkles of visual debris
and evidence of minor base and emulsion scratches, but these are minor issues
that do not distract.
When they say "They don't make 'em like that anymore", it might well be in reference to Bernardo Bertolucci's "Last Tango in Paris", one of the most controversial films of all time. Released by United Artists, the movie was basically an art house niche market production that became a major sensation thanks to the presence of Marlon Brando, who had just made one of the great Hollywood comebacks of all-time with his towering performance in "The Godfather". However, it was the raw sexual content of the movie that resulted in people standing in line for hours to obtain tickets to what was, in reality, anything but a populist film. Prior to the movie's American release in 1973, the Italian government issued arrest warrants for Bertolucci, Brando and female lead Maria Schneider on charges of obscenity- which, of course, only increased the public's desire to see it. United Artists' head of production David V. Picker wisely mandated that the movie initially only played at a limited number of small cinemas, therefore ensuring media coverage of frustrated movie-goers who complained they couldn't obtain a ticket for love or money. Some critics called the movie a masterpiece while others derided it as pretentious, high class pornography disguised as a "message" movie. One aspect all critics agreed on was that Brando gave one of the great performances of his career as a middle-aged American ex-pat living in Paris who tries to cope with his wife's suicide by initiating a series of kinky and anonymous sexual encounters with a young woman. Brando earned a well-deserved Oscar nomination for Best Actor despite having insulted the Academy by refusing to pick up his "Godfather" Oscar due to his disgust with how Hollywood portrayed Native Americans in films.
"Last Tango" has had its reputation damaged due to the late Maria Schneider's accusations that both Brando and Bertolucci took advantage of her naivete when she starred in the film at the age of 19. Much of the movie was improvised including some last minute scenes of a sexual nature that caught her off guard and which she said she would later regret having filmed. One thing is certain, however, the movie is unique in concept and execution. With today's sterilized film productions, adult sexual situations and nudity have generally gone the way of the dodo bird. Love or loathe "Tango", it represents a time when a major studio could release an "X"-rated title and have it find critical acclaim.
In the early spring of 1961, shortly following the
completion of his work on A.I.P.’s Master
of the World - and following a series of lectures regarding “The Enjoyment
of Great Art†– Renaissance man Vincent Price was to jet off mid-April for two acting
assignments in Rome, Italy.The two
productions he had signed onto for producer-writer Ottavio Poggi were Gordon, il Pirata Nero (Gordon, the Black
Pirate) and Nefertiti, Regina Del
Nile (Nefertiti, Queen of the Nile).The former film – arguably the better of the two - was belatedly released
in the U.S. in June 1963 under the title Rage
of the Buccaneers.The film was distributed
regionally in the U.S. with neither fanfare nor critical attention.
Rage
of the Buccaneers would first appear on the drive-in circuit as
the odd undercard to such films as Broccoli and Saltzman’s Bob Hope/Anita
Ekberg comedy Call Me Bwana.Rage was later paired, a bit more
sensibly, with The Playgirls and the
Vampire, an Italian-horror production mostly recalled by old-school monster
movie fans and admirers of voluptuous continental on-screen beauties.The weak-tea newspaper campaign in the U.S. for
Rage of the Buccaneers could have
hardly been helpful in exciting foot traffic into neighborhood cinemas.Though the posters for the U.S. release
promised Furious Action!Passionate Love!, the accompanying
newspaper adverts offered the far less sensational promise of Excitement plus… Emotional Turbulence.Emotional Turbulence?Meh.
In truth, Rage of
the Buccaneers would be dimly recalled, if at all, by U.S. movie fans due
to it popping up on television as 1964 drew to a close.In early November of 1964 it was announced -
with some degree of ballyhoo - that the NBC network had acquired no fewer than eight
post-1960 “first-run†films for television distribution.But even the network’s big newspaper
announcement was late out of the starting block.Rage of
the Buccaneers had already been televised by several NBC affiliates as
early as September 1964.
Several essays and film books would note that Price’s latter
ill-fated Italian film, Nefertiti, Queen
of the Nile would not actually see a theatrical release in the U.S. market.This is actually untrue.The film had the briefest of runs – as a second
feature in support of the Buddy Ebsen comedy Mail Order Bride - at a drive-in theater outside of Phoenix, AZ in
March 1964.The film then seemingly disappeared
from movie screens - both big and small - until it was picked up as a
late-night television programmer in 1966.Shortly thereafter, Nefertiti
too fell pretty much off the face of the planet, at least as far as U.S.
audiences were concerned.
Then, in 1985, with the home video boom in the ascendant,
Nefertiti, Queen of the Nile was briefly
resurrected as a “big box†VHS cassette release in the U.S. on the Force Video
label.In the UK, there were at least
two video cassette releases of Gordon, il
Pirata Nero, first as The Black
Pirate (Apex Video) and later as Gordon,
The Black Pirate (Midas Video).As
far as I’m aware, these are the only three editions of these two obscure
Vincent Price films to be officially
released on the English-speaking home video market, though there are bootlegs
circulating of both films.I only dredge
up this old history in the, perhaps, overly optimistic hope that Kino Lorber
might make note of these glaring deficiencies in their own burgeoning catalog
of Vincent Price home video offerings.
In any case, Price’s second professional visit to Italy
would prove to be more successful.In
January of 1963, Hollywood scene gossip columnists reported that Price would
celebrate the New Year by preparing a return to Italy for a “Halloween release
of his next horror movie, The Last Man on
Earth.â€The film was to be based on
the novel I am Legend by Richard
Matheson.Matheson’s novel, the author’s
first, was published in August of 1954 by Fawcett Gold Medal books.It was a slim paperback of one-hundred and
sixty pages, but Matheson was no amateur writer, having previously published a
score of science-fiction-based short stories in magazines and anthologies.
Matheson’s novel was optioned by Britain’s Hammer Films
in 1957, that studio even commissioning the author to write a screenplay for a
proposed production.The problem was
that the British censor board found Matheson’s screenplay unrelentingly grim
and violent, warning should any production be mounted, there was little chance
that the film would pass code.So a wary
Anthony Hinds at Hammer chose to sell the rights of Matheson’s screenplay to American
producer and cinema theater chain owner Robert L. Lippert (Curse of the Fly).Lippert
subsequently engaged Price to star in the project, traveling to Rome in late
summer of 1962 to arrange crew and casting of the film’s Italian supporting
players.
Matheson’s I am
Legend recounts the final years of Robert Neville, one of the few survivors
of a pandemic turned plague that killed off most of the earth’s population.The rub is that while those afflicted
remained technically dead, they retained
mobility.Neville goes to great lengths
to investigate why the “undead†have transformed into bacillus vampires of a sort:they drink blood and avoid the rays of the sun much as did the Gothic
and folkloric vampires of yore did.But
otherwise they remained mostly human in appearance save for a decided graveyard
pallor.
Neville (renamed Robert Morgan in the film) is a reluctant,
modern day, post-apocalyptic Van Helsing. He has chosen to actively seek out and
confront the vampire hordes.He really
has no other choice as, much to his disdain, he’s under near-constant assault
by them.Matheson’s book is an
undeniably grim one with an equally fatalistic ending, but his slim volume
would go on to influence countless filmmakers and aspiring science-fiction
writers in years following publication.In manner of tone and presentation, it’s reasonable to say that George
Romero’s Night of the Living Dead was
highly and undeniably influenced by The
Last Man on Earth.
Price wasn’t terribly excited to travel to Italy in the grim
winter season of 1963, but the offer to visit Rome would give the actor the
opportunity to canvas galleries and antique stores in search of artworks.In June of 1962 it was announced that Price had
entered into his semi-famous partnership with the Sears, Roebuck & Co. to
search out art that could be consigned and sold as lithographs through the
department store chain.This interest in
art was a lifelong passion of the actor’s and he had already been collecting
artworks for Sears a month prior to the official press release of their
collaboration.The actor told columnist
Bob Thomas that his searching out the Vincent
Price Collection for Sears had already resulted in a “whirl†of activity,
and that he’d already “bought 1,700 paintings and etchings: I’ve got to have
2,500 before the sale starts.â€
By Mid-January of 1963 Price was already in Europe, first
visiting Paris before traveling on to Rome to begin filming. In the space of three days and visits to the galleries
and artist studios of the City of Lights, Price offered that he had already
purchased one hundred and fifty paintings that he thought Sears could sell for
$300 or less back in the U.S.Columnist
Doris Sanders noted that Price had already admitted dropping four thousand U.S.
dollars on the very first day of his Parisian shopping spree.It was also noted that the artists Price
approached were appreciably happy as the actor – funded by his corporate
sponsor - always chose to pay cash up-front.
Scottish
filmmaker Lynne Ramsay burst onto the scene in the late 1990s with the striking
independent picture, Ratcatcher, which may or may not have been somewhat
of an autobiographical meditation on being a young child in early 1970s
Glasgow.
Ratcatcher brought Ramsay the
Carl Foreman Award for Newcomer in British Film at the BAFTA Awards, as well as
other prizes from various film festivals. It is indeed an art film of high
quality that is filled with haunting imagery, melancholic moods, and wonderful
performances by a host of young child actors (as well as adults).
The
year is 1973 or thereabouts, and ghetto-like sections of Glasgow, Scotland, are
on track to be demolished. The residents have been promised new housing in more
modern structures that are being built. Life on these tenement-like streets is
harsh. Often there are no utilities, a stagnant and dangerous canal runs along
the street, and currently there is a garbage strike. Trash is piled on the
sidewalks, creating a massive health hazard and an attractive gathering spot
for rats. The children run around and play in this environment. Our
protagonist, James (William Eadie), is a rather lonely, unhappy kid with few
real friends. He is the middle child with two sisters (one older and one
younger). James is often the target of bullies (a gang of slightly older boys
who roam the streets causing trouble). His father (Tommy Flanagan) is a drunk
and wife-beater, and his well-meaning mother (Mandy Matthews) does what she can
to keep the family together and fed. After accidentally causing the unwitnessed
drowning of one of his only friends in the canal, James buries the guilt and
lives with it as he navigates the horrid conditions of his life. At one point,
James befriends a slightly older girl, Margaret Anne (Leanne Mullen), who is
unwillingly the community tart for the boy-gang. Ultimately, James must come to
terms with what accounts for his existence, such as it is, while the family
waits to be called to their new home.
The
film is a slice of life, a combination of street scenes and life in tiny,
decrepit flats. The squalor is tangible, and one can almost smell the stench. Director
Ramsay has presented a visceral and yet poetic, impressionistic look at
poverty. Her approach might remind one of the works of Terrence Malick, as
there is much more visual storytelling than dialogue (and, in fact, one of the
pieces of music heard in the film is what Malick used as the main title song
for his Badlands, the Orff-Keetman piece Gassenhauer).
The
dialogue is heavy Scottish, which may be unintelligible to North American
audiences. When Ratcatcher was released in cinemas in the U.S., English
subtitles accompanied the film. It is highly recommended to those outside of
the U.K. to turn on the subtitle function of this superb Blu-ray disk produced
by The Criterion Collection.
Upgraded
from an earlier Criterion DVD edition, Ratcatcher comes in a new 4K
digital restoration, supervised by Ramsay and cinematographer Alwin Küchler
(Ramsay and Küchler attended film school together). The
movie is in 2.0 surround DTS-HD Master Audio.
Supplements
on the original DVD are ported over: a 2002 interview with Ramsay, and three of
her early shorts (Small Deaths, Kill the Day, and Gasman),
and the trailer.New to the Blu-ray supplements are an updated 2021
interview with Ramsay, and a 2020 audio interview with Küchler.
The booklet comes with essays by film critic Girish Shambu and filmmaker Barry
Jenkins.
Ratcatcher
is
for fans of international cinema, modern Scottish culture and history, and
independent filmmaking.
As a promotional vehicle, the trailer for director Roger
Corman’s The Raven was clearly deceptive
in its construction.Cinemagoers were
promised that AIP’s newest Poe film would offer three of the “Screen’s Titans
of Terror,†the trailer flashing short, moody scenes of torch-lit chambers,
menacing stares, and the odd clutching hand. Intertitle cards and a voice-over narration
promised “A tempest of thrilling horror,†The
Raven to allow brave moviegoers to go “Careening through the darkest of
dangers into the ominous mystery of a master magician’s evil castle… witnessing
the mysterious powers of black magic.â€
On the eve of the film’s release, the newspaper promotionals
– entirely gleaned from the studio’s own duplicitous pressbook - promised much
of the same, “a thrilling mixture of the most powerful terror ingredients ever
assembled.â€There was a reason for the
filmmakers to cautiously hold the actual cards they were playing close to their
chests.Producers James H. Nicholson and
Samuel Z. Arkoff were aware that through their series of Edgar Allan Poe
pictures they were holding a true tiger by the tail.It was certainly helpful to the notoriously
frugal producers that Poe’s work had long fallen into public domain status and was
therefore royalty-free in use.The box
office returns on the first of their four Poe films were pleasing, and
expectations were high that The Raven
would do as well if not better.
So it was only mildly surprising when, in March 1963, the
producers announced that no fewer than ten more Poe pictures would be slated
for production by AIP.The next one
planned, The Masque of the Red Death,
was announced to begin shooting in April of ’63… although a springtime shooting
wouldn’t actually commence as proclaimed.Other titles announced were to include, The Haunted Palace, Murders in the Rue Morgue, The Gold Bug, A Descent
into the Maelstrom, Ligeia, The Thousand and Second Tale of Scheherazade, The
Angel of the Odd, The Four Beast in One, and The City by the Sea. It was an ambitious plan, but with the
exception of Masque (with a delayed
November ’63 start) only four of the other projected titles would actually see
production.
Such breakneck speed mining of Poe’s Gothic horror materials
might be considered market over-saturation by contemporary standards, but upon
its release in January of 1963, The Raven
was the fifth Poe film released by AIP in a span of two years. In September of
1962, Samuel Z. Arkoff sat down for an interesting chinwag with Stanley
Eichelbaum, the theater and film critic of the San Francisco Examiner.That
interview touched briefly on AIP’s shoe-string beginnings: the days when such efforts
as The Day the World Ended, The Phantom from 10,000 Leagues, and I Was a Teenage Age Werewolf – not to
mention the sixty or so films featuring Hot Rods and monsters in “Indian-rubberâ€
masks - were knocked out quickly and cheaply by the indie.
It was true that AIP had certainly come a long way since
its incorporation in 1955.And while the
producers continued to hold tight to the company’s purse strings, Arkoff
acknowledged that they were presently allowing for budgets as high as $500,000
a picture on many of their recent color Panavision releases.This was a notable mention since such budgets
were five times the amount AIP had put up to fund their teen-market pictures of
the late 1950s.
The Poe films were bringing in more than a teenager
audience into the cinemas, and the producers recognized the trend.Since monster and horror films had played such
an important role in the AIP’s success, it was surprising to hear Arkoff sum up
part of the audience who loved macabre cinematic fare in less than charitable
terms.“The horror crowd falls into
three groups,†he told Eichelbaum, “the young people; the adult morons; and the
intelligent adults. It’s pretty difficult to cater to all of them in one
movie.But that’s what we try to do.â€
The company had certainly achieved an enviable level of
success since incorporation.As their
production budgets grew more generous, Arkoff and Nicholson were able to bring
into the fold some horror picture veterans who still held sway with fans of the
genre.Since the first Poe film House of Usher (1960), the producers
managed to secure the talents of such luminaries as Boris Karloff, Basil
Rathbone, Peter Lorre, Barbara Steele, Vincent Price, Ray Milland and Hazel
Court, with Lon Chaney Jr. waiting in the wings for his second act.
In his usual blunt manner, Arkoff partly attributed the
actors’ willingness to work with AIP on the series due to the fact, “Actors
like Poe.He has snob appeal.â€That may have been a consideration of the
talent conscripted, but it’s also true that it was a welcome payday for these
(mostly) aging and typecast thespians.Many gathered had heydays dating back to Hollywood of the 1930s and 40s.It’s also true that due to the “Monster Boomâ€
of the late 1950s and early 1960s, these actors were thought highly and fondly of
by a generation who knew them primarily through Shock package TV screenings and such horror-film fan magazines as Famous Monsters of Filmland, Shock Monsters,
and Fantastic Monsters of the Films.
Of course, should anyone have misgivings that Arkoff was more
interested in the bottom line than in art, such suspicion would soon be
confirmed.The producer was, of course,
certainly correct in his assessment that “picture-making has to be a business.â€
He insisted that the business of filmmaking was simply “not a cheap individual
art, like painting or sculpting.â€Fair
enough.But Arkoff, then a forty-three
year old former lawyer, went further, suggesting he didn’t care whether a film
was good or bad following release.He
was only interested if it clicked at the box office.He also wasn’t concerned if the films
produced by AIP would stand the test of time or be held in high regard in the
distant future.“We can’t let a movie
sit on a vine for thirty years waiting for recognition.If we can’t get a return, where will we get
the money for the next one?â€
Co-producer James H. Nicholson was somewhat more prosaic
in assessing the popularity of the horror pictures that AIP churned out with
regularity over the past seven years.He
offered the move-going public’s dimming fascination with horror films was
curiously reignited following World War II.Choosing to take the historical long-view, Nicholson offered there had always been a market for scary stories,
noting “Greek myths were horror subjects†in style and content.When questioned by a UPI correspondent if the
1960s horror film craze was just that – a passing fad – the producer insisted mythological
stories were as popular in 1964 as they had been during ancient times.“There are only three emotions,†Nicholson opined.“Deep sorrow, laughter and just plain
thrills, and our movies are filled with the last.â€
It's going to be Double-0-Heaven for James Bond films with announcements coming fast and furious in the lead-up to the release of "No Time to Die". Here is the latest announcement:
Leica Announces Bond Partnership
007
Edition camera and exhibition to celebrate new film
Leica Camera has
announced a new Leica Q2 ‘007 Edition’ to celebrate the release of No Time
To Die. Limited to 250 pieces only, the special edition Leica Q2 features
the iconic 007 logo on the top plate and the famous Bond gun barrel design on
the lens cap. Each limited-edition camera will be individually numbered and
comes in a customised and handcrafted case designed by the British luxury
suitcase brand Globe-Trotter.
The concept of a
Leica x 007 partnership began with producer Michael G. Wilson. Wilson is a
leading expert on 19th century photography and founded The Wilson Centre for
Photography, his passion for photography provided the natural spark for the
collaboration. In No Time To Die, Leica worked with the 007 production
team to display Leica cameras on the sets of Bond’s Jamaican home, and
fittingly the ‘Leica Q2’ in Q’s home in London. Off-screen, Michael G. Wilson
has curated an exclusive photography exhibition featuring behind-the-scenes
photographs shot on Leica cameras by Michael G. Wilson, Daniel Craig, and No
Time To Die photographers Nicola Dove and Greg Williams.
The Leica Q2 ‘007
Edition’ will launch on September 9, 2021 at the official opening of Leica
Gallery London’s exhibition: No Time To Die – Behind the Scenes.
The Leica Q2 ‘007
Edition’ will be available to purchase online and in-store.
Cinema Retro has received the following press release:
Celebrate
the 25th Anniversary of the Iconic Thriller,
Newly Remastered on 4K Ultra HD & Blu-rayâ„¢
Subversive
Fan-Favorite Arrives October 19, 2021
with an All-New Look at the Film’s Impact and Legacy
In celebration of its 25th
anniversary and just in time for Halloween, SCREAM will be
released for the first time on 4K Ultra HD and in a newly remastered Blu-ray on
October 19, 2021 from Paramount Home Entertainment.
25 years after its
theatrical debut, SCREAM remains a wildly entertaining and
terrifically terrifying cinematic experience. Directed by Wes Craven and
written by Kevin Williamson, the film is a brilliant deconstruction of the
horror genre that pays homage to the conventions of slasher films while
upending them with clever twists and witty dialogue.
The new SCREAM
4K Ultra HD, Limited-Edition 4K Ultra HD SteelBook, and Blu-ray include a
brand-new look back at the film and director Wes Craven, featuring archival
behind-the-scenes footage and new interviews with stars Neve Campbell,
Courteney Cox, and David Arquette, as well as screenwriter Kevin Williamson and
the directors and other cast members from the new installment in the franchise
scheduled to premiere in theaters in 2022 from Paramount Pictures and Spyglass
Media Group. The discs also include access to a Digital copy of the film
and the legacy bonus content detailed below:
·A Bloody Legacy: Scream
25 Years Later— NEW!
·Audio commentary by
director Wes Craven and writer Kevin Williamson
·Production featurette
·Behind the Scenes
On the Scream Set
Drew Barrymore
·Q&A with Cast and
Crew
What’s Your Favorite Scary Movie?
Why are People so Fascinated by Horror Films?
Synopsis
After a series of
mysterious deaths befalls their small town, an offbeat group of friends led by
Sidney Prescott (Neve Campbell) becomes the target of a masked killer. As the
body count rises, Sidney and her friends turn to the “rules†of horror films to
help navigate the real-life terror they’re living in. The film also stars
Courteney Cox, David Arquette, Skeet Ulrich, Matthew Lillard, Jamie Kennedy,
Rose McGowan, and Drew Barrymore.
Fathom Events
In celebration of the 25th anniversary, Fathom
Events and Paramount Pictures will bring SCREAM back to select
cinemas for a special two-day event on October 10 and 11. Additional
details will be announced separately.
CLICK HERE TO ORDER 4K HD & DIGITAL EDITION FROM AMAZON
CLICK HERE TO ORDER BLU-RAY AND DIGITAL EDITION FROM AMAZON
Cinema Retro has received the following press release:
Celebrate
the 55th Anniversary of the Star Trek Franchise with the
Debut of the First Four Films on 4K Ultra HD Blu-rayâ„¢
Newly
Remastered Films will also be Available Individually on Blu-rayâ„¢
New
Releases Arrive September 7, 2021
Just in
time to commemorate the 55th anniversary of the September 8, 1966
airing of the very first Star Trek episode, Paramount Home Entertainment
will debut the following new releases for every fan’s collection on September
7, 2021:
STAR
TREK: THE ORIGINAL 4 MOVIES 4K ULTRA HD/BLU-RAY COLLECTION
For the
first time ever, experience the original four Star Trek films in
stunning 4K Ultra HD. Newly remastered from original elements for optimal
picture quality, each film is presented with Dolby Vision® and HDR-10.*
This exceptional collection includes four Ultra HD discs, as well as four
remastered Blu-ray discs with hours of previously released bonus content.
Star Trek: The Motion Picture, Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan (both the
theatrical and director’s cut), Star Trek III: The Search for Spock, and
Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home are presented on both the 4K Ultra HD and
Blu-ray Discs, along with access to digital copies of the theatrical version of
each film. A detailed list of the disc contents follows:
Star Trek: The Motion Picture 4K Ultra HD
·Isolated score in Dolby 2.0—NEW!
·Commentary by Michael & Denise Okuda, Judith & Garfield
Reeves-Stevens and Daren Dochterman
Star Trek: The Motion Picture Blu-ray
·Isolated score in Dolby 2.0—NEW!
·Commentary by Michael & Denise Okuda, Judith & Garfield
Reeves-Stevens and Daren Dochterman
·Library Computer (HD)
·Production
oThe Longest Trek: Writing the Motion Picture (HD)
·The Star Trek Universe
oSpecial Star Trek Reunion (HD)
oStarfleet Academy SCISEC Brief 001: The Mystery Behind V’ger
·Deleted Scenes
·Storyboards
·Trailers (HD)
·TV Spots
Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan 4K Ultra HD
·Commentary by Director Nicholas Meyer (Director's Cut and
Theatrical Version)
·Commentary by Director Nicholas Meyer and Manny Coto (Theatrical
Version)
Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan Blu-ray
·Commentary by Director Nicholas Meyer (Director's Cut and
Theatrical Version)
·Commentary by Director Nicholas Meyer and Manny Coto (Theatrical
Version)
·Text Commentary by Michael and Denise Okuda (Director’s Cut)
·Library Computer (HD)
·The Genesis Effect: Engineering The Wrath of Khan
·Production
oCaptain’s Log
oDesigning Khan
oOriginal Interviews with William Shatner, Leonard Nimoy, DeForest
Kelley, and Ricardo Montalbán
oWhere No Man Has Gone Before: The Visual Effects of Star Trek
II: The Wrath of Khan
oJames Horner: Composing Genesis (HD)
·The Star Trek Universe
oCollecting Star Trek’s Movie Relics (HD)
oA Novel Approach
oStarfleet Academy SCISEC Brief 002: Mystery Behind Ceti Alpha VI
(HD)
·Farewell
oA Tribute to Ricardo Montalbán (HD)
·Storyboards
·Theatrical Trailer (HD)
Star Trek III: The Search for Spock 4K Ultra HD
·Commentary by director Leonard Nimoy, writer/producer Harve
Bennett, director of photography Charles Correll and Robin
Curtis
·Commentary by Ronald D. Moore and Michael Taylor
Star Trek III: The Search for Spock Blu-ray
·Commentary by director Leonard Nimoy, writer/producer Harve
Bennett, director of photography Charles Correll and Robin
Curtis
·Commentary by Ronald D. Moore and Michael Taylor
·Library Computer (HD)
·Production
oCaptain’s Log
oTerraforming and the Prime Directive
oIndustry Light & Magic: The Visual Effects of Star Trek
oSpock: The Early Years (HD)
·The Star Trek Universe
oSpace Docks and Birds of Prey
oSpeaking Klingon
oKlingon and Vulcan Costumes
oStar Trek and the Science Fiction Museum and Hall of Fame (HD)
oStarfleet Academy SCISEC Brief 003: Mystery Behind the Vulcan
Katra Transfer
·Photo Gallery
oProduction
oThe Movie
·Storyboards
·Theatrical Trailer (HD)
Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home 4K Ultra HD
·
Commentary by William Shatner and Leonard Nimoy
·
Commentary by Roberto Orci and Alex Kurtzman
Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home Blu-ray
·
Commentary by William Shatner and Leonard Nimoy
·
Commentary by Roberto Orci and Alex Kurtzman
·
Library Computer (HD)
·
Production
Future’s Past: A Look Back
On Location
Dailies Deconstruction
Below-the-Line: Sound Design
Pavel Chekov’s Screen Moments
(HD)
The Star Trek Universe
Time Travel: The Art of the
Possible
The Language of Whales
A Vulcan Primer
Kirk’s Women
The Three-Picture Saga (HD)
Star Trek for a Cause (HD)
Starfleet Academy SCISEC Brief
004: The Whale Probe (HD)
Visual Effects
From Outer Space to the Ocean
The Bird of Prey
Original Interviews
Leonard Nimoy
William Shatner
DeForest Kelley
Tributes
Roddenberry Scrapbook
Featured Artist: Mark Lenard
Production Gallery
Storyboards
Theatrical Trailer (HD)
STAR
TREK: THE ORIGINAL 4 MOVIES ON BLU-RAY
Each of
the original four Star Trek films will also be available individually on
Blu-ray with the bonus content detailed above. Newly remastered versions
of Star Trek: The Motion Picture, Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan (both
the theatrical and director’s cut), Star Trek III: The Search for Spock,
and Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home are presented in high definition along
with digital copies of the theatrical version of each film.
FATHOM EVENTS
In addition, in celebration of the 55th
anniversary, Fathom Events and Paramount Pictures will bring Star Trek IV:
The Voyage Home back to select cinemas for a special two-day event on
August 19 and 22. Additional details will be announced at a later date.
STAR
TREK: THE MOTION PICTURE Synopsis
The U.S.S.
Enterprise boldly debuted on the big screen with the cast of the original Star
Trek series, including William Shatner, Leonard Nimoy, DeForest Kelley,
George Takei, Nichelle Nichols, Walter Koenig, and James Doohan. When an
unidentified alien intruder destroys three powerful Klingon cruisers, Captain
James T. Kirk returns to the helm of a newly transformed U.S.S. Enterprise
to take command. This is the original theatrical cut of the acclaimed adventure
and features Jerry Goldsmith’s rousing iconic overture.
STAR TREK
II: THE WRATH OF KHAN Synopsis
Including
both the original theatrical and director’s cuts, Star Trek II: The Wrath of
Khan is one of the most celebrated and essential chapters in Star Trek
lore. On routine training maneuvers, Admiral James T. Kirk seems resigned that
this may be the last space mission of his career. But an adversary from the
past has returned with a vengeance. Aided by his exiled band of genetic
supermen, Khan (Ricardo Montalbán)—brilliant renegade of 20th century Earth—has
raided Space Station Regula One, stolen the top-secret device called Project
Genesis, wrested control of another Federation starship, and now schemes to set
a most deadly trap for his old enemy Kirk… with the threat of a universal
Armageddon.
STAR TREK
III: THE SEARCH FOR SPOCK Synopsis
Admiral
Kirk's defeat of Khan and the creation of the Genesis planet are empty
victories. Spock is dead and McCoy is inexplicably being driven insane. Then a
surprise visit by Spock's father provides a startling revelation: McCoy is
harboring Spock's living essence. Kirk attempts to steal the U.S.S.
Enterprise and defy Starfleet's Genesis planet quarantine to search for his
friend, but the Klingons are planning a deadly rendezvous.
STAR TREK
IV: THE VOYAGE HOME Synopsis
When a
mysterious alien power threatens the atmosphere of Earth in the 23rd
century, Kirk and his crew must time travel back to 1986 San Francisco to save
mankind. Exploring this strange new world, they encounter punk rock, pizza and
exact-change buses that are as alien as anything in the far reaches of the
galaxy.
In
comparing Masquerade (1965) with a recent review of Arabesque (1966)
here at Cinema Retro, this time we have yet another mid-1960s “comedy-spy
thriller,†a genre that was crowding the cinemas in those days because of the
success of Double-O-You-Know-Who.
In
contrast to Arabesque,this one is a British production, directed
by the prolific and often brilliant Basil Dearden, and it utilizes London
locations as well as spots in Spain. And yet, despite the thoroughly British
DNA running through 95% of the movie, it stars American Cliff Robertson as the
hero, David Fraser, a sort of CIA type who seems to approach all the danger
around him with misplaced naivete and amused detachment.
The
script marks the first appearance of the great William Goldman in a screen
credit (co-writing with Michael Relph). It’s based on Vincent Canning’s novel, Castle
Minerva. Apparently, it was Robertson who had enlisted Goldman’s services,
as the dialogue needed some “Americanizing.†That said, the script is
serviceable and certainly makes more sense than what we saw in Arabesque.
Britain
wants oil drilling rights in a fictional Middle Eastern country, but the
country isn’t playing ball. Colonel Drexel (Jack Hawkins) is engaged by Sir
Robert (John Le Mesurier) to fix the problem. Drexel hires an old war buddy, Frazer,
to kidnap the teenage son of the country’s prince. This is supposed to force the
resumption of talks and ultimate agreement between the two countries. Why this
is considered sound diplomacy is anyone’s guess, but that’s the mission. Frazer
goes along with the plan out of loyalty to his friend; however, at one point he
rejects performing an order because he has “scruples†(but kidnapping a prince
isn’t one of them). Frazer eventually finds that he has competition in the form
of a small gang of Europeans who also want the boy. As the tag line for the
movie in its posters and theatrical trailer shouts, “Who is Doing What to Who?â€
Indeed… the audience will be wondering that, too. (Shouldn’t that be “to Whom?â€)
In other words, the movie is filled with double-crosses, switcheroos, and
things that are not as they seem.
The
picture is lively and loaded with action sequences. The supporting cast,
especially the Europeans (namely Marisa Mell and a young Michel Piccoli), are a
hoot. The British side sports familiar character actors besides Hawkins (such
as Charles Gray and Bill Fraser).
Unfortunately,
Masquerade doesn’t quite succeed as intended mainly due to the casting
of Robertson. Like Arabesque, this needed someone with the comic
delivery of a Cary Grant, and the American Robertson is also oddly out of place
in this British-European milieu. Robertson does his best, though, and he gets
the job done—even if the whole thing is more than just implausible. (The poor
guy gets clobbered on the head several times in the movie; one would think a
concussion might have debilitated him after, say, the third time.)
Kino
Lorber’s new Blu-ray displays that distinctive 1960s film stock look, and it’s
a good enough transfer. It comes with an audio commentary by film historians
Howard S. Berger and Chris Poggiali. The theatrical trailer, along with other Kino
Lorber trailers, are the only supplements.
Masquerade
is a
middle-of-the-road example of the 1960s cinematic “spy boom, and the Bond-Wanabe
aspects of the picture plants it firmly within the context of its era.
Kino
Lorber and Something Weird Video continue their collaboration to present “Forbidden
Fruit: The Golden Age of the Exploitation Picture†with Volume 9—The Lash of
the Penitentes. Like the other exploitation titles that have appeared over
the last two years, Lash is another piece of American celluloid that
will surely elicit jaw-dropping, eye-rolling, and headshaking. How did these
things ever get made and distributed? Who went to see them? How corrupted was
one after a viewing?
These
delicious and suitably sleazy pictures in the “Forbidden Fruit†series were
made cheaply and outside the Hollywood system. They were distributed
independently in the manner of a circus sideshow, often by renting a movie
theater for a few nights, advertising in the local papers, and promoting the
salacious title as “educational.†For adults only, mind you, but exhibited all
in the good name of science or health or whatever. Reefer Madness. Narcotic.
Ingagi. Test Tube Babies. She Should’a Said No!. Mom
and Dad. That sort of fare.
The
Lash of the Penitentes, from 1936, is sort of a documentary with re-staged and
fictionalized elements. Los Hermanos Penitentes, the “Penitentes†of the
title, (were? are?) a real religious sect in New Mexico and Colorado that
practices extreme rituals on Good Friday of every year. The main course is a re-enactment
of Christ’s passion by having “penitents†carry crosses up a mountain while
being flagellated by the religious leaders, and then ending with the “chosen
penitent†being crucified on a cross (not with nails). The film implies that
the man dies, but that is unlikely. Apparently, for decades, these activities
were public until more recent years in which the whole gruesome spectacle is
performed in private and probably with more care not to really hurt anyone.
However,
back when the picture was made, this was some seriously twisted stuff. And much
of the real thing is caught on camera.
It
has an interesting history, too. A cameraman named Roland Price (we think) went
to New Mexico and surreptitiously filmed some of the ritual for the purposes of
a future documentary. However, nothing was done with the approximately 18,000
feet of footage. Then, in early 1936, a journalist by the name of Carl Taylor
went to write about the Penitentes. He was caught spying on the ceremony, which
is forbidden to outside parties. He was murdered. The crime made headlines.
Enter
exploitation moviemaker Harry Revier (also responsible for another “Forbidden
Fruit†entry, Child Bride). He somehow acquired the rights to the
documentary footage, fashioned a fictional murder mystery plot to wrap around
it, and shot new material with actors. Of course, the mystery is based on—or at
least inspired by—the true killing of Taylor.
The
approximately 48-minute movie was titled The Penitente Murder Case.
Besides the (for the time) violent depiction of the flagellation and the creepy
religious sect stuff that would assuredly freak out “normal†American
Christians of 1936, the motion picture also contained footage of actress Marie
DeForrest also being stripped and flagellated on the mountainside, and
then “crucified†naked. Why this was included is unclear plot-wise, but it has
something to do with her helping Mack in his mission.
The
censors (the Hays Office) understandably would have nothing to do with the
movie, so Revier edited his masterwork down to 35 minutes—deleting DeForrest’s
footage and making other trims. This version was then released to the public as
The Lash of the Penitentes and this is what grindhouse cinemas on the
exploitation circuit have shown since. It was even released on VHS and DVD in
this version by fly-by-night companies in the past.
Now,
Kino Lorber has issued a high-def Blu-ray of the full-length 48-minute version
that looks about as best as it can get. It comes with a highly informative
audio commentary by Bret Wood, co-author of the book Forbidden Fruit: The
Golden Age of the Exploitation Film and curator of the “Forbidden Fruitâ€
series for Kino.
Also
included is the 35-minutecensored version. What makes the entire thing
even more mysterious is the inclusion of the theatrical trailer, which contains
scandalous footage that does not appear in either edit of the film. The trailer
has scenes of a woman being assaulted by her boyfriend, saved by a young boy,
but then flagellated while hanging from her arms. Full nudity. In a trailer.
None of it is in The Penitente Murder Case or The Lash of the
Penitentes. One supposes that this was the only way the distributors could lure
an audience—mostly male, it is assumed—to come see the picture when it opened.
Since
both versions of the feature are short, Kino Lorber and Something Weird
probably could have added another “Forbidden Fruit†title to the disk; after
all, several other Volumes in the series contain double features. Why not this
one? With that the only quibble, The Lash of the Penitentes should
appeal to those fans of film history, exploitation films, and just plain kooky,
weird stuff.
SOLD OUT ON AMAZON. CLICK HERE TO ORDER FROM KINO LORBER.
In March of 2019 I took a drive to the Hudson River town
of Nyack, New York, for a rare public screening of Bob Dylan’s ill-fated
cinematic opus Renaldo & Clara.The film, originally released to art
houses in New York City and Los Angeles January of 1978, was mercilessly panned.The movie – shot during Dylan’s fabled autumn
1975 tour with his ragtag Rolling Thunder Revue – all but disappeared from
cinemas and, mostly, from public consciousness within the span of a few
weeks.The original cut of the film was,
let’s charitably say, a rambling affair, clocking in at just under four hours.
There’s one aspect of the original production that’s
pretty remarkable.In the torrent of old
releases that would flood the market following the advent of home video, Dylan never
chose to green-light an official release of Renaldo
& Clara.The notes to this set suggest
one reason this might be so:the
original negative of the musical
portion of the Rolling Thunder Revue tour footage seems to have been lost.The dazzling tour footage offered here on
this new Criterion release - material mostly culled from vintage Renaldo & Clara footage in strikingly
gorgeous quality, all things considered – is the result of a pristine 4K
transfer from a surviving 16mm workprint.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.The reason behind my traveling to Nyack in
2019 was two-fold.The screening of Renaldo & Clara that afternoon was
to be hosted by Rob Stoner, the bass player and bandleader of the Rolling
Thunder Revue, Bob Dylan’s backing ensemble in autumn 1975.I was hoping that since Stoner was a central
figure in Dylan’s inner circle (at one time), we might – at long last – experience
the film in better resolution.The only
copies of Renaldo and Clara that
circulated through “underground†channels amongst collectors had allegedly been
sourced from a couple of one-off European TV broadcasts.Since the videotapes of those broadcasts
varied wildly in picture and sound quality, the caliber of the bootleg sourced
was dependent upon what generation a copy had been mastered from.
So it was with some surprise and disappointment when I discovered
that Stoner’s personal copy was hardly better than any of the several rather ropey
dupes that found their way into my own collection over the years.What didn’t disappoint were the memories and asides
that Stoner would re-live and share as the near four-hour epic that is Renaldo & Clara unspooled, once
again, before our eyes.
The old saying suggests “truth is stranger than fiction.â€I personally believe that truth is, more
often than not, actually far more interesting
than fiction as well.Which leads me
into this discussion of Martin Scorsese’s Rolling
Thunder Revue: A Bob Dylan Story, newly released as part of the white-glove
Criterion Collection series.There were
plenty of reasons to be excited by this release.Scorsese is an unabashed Bob Dylan fan.Anyone who saw “Life Lessons,†the director’s
segment of the 1989 anthology film New
York Stories, will recall Nick Nolte’s emotionally-wrought artist fiercely thrashing
away at his canvas as Dylan’s “Like a Rolling Stone†plays angrily on the
stereo in his studio loft. More
importantly, it was Scorsese that also gave us – via a PBS broadcast in 2005 -
the celebrated and highly recommended 207 minute long two-part documentary film
Bob Dylan: No Direction Home.
So when it was announced in 2018 that Scorsese would be
tackling a film recounting Dylan’s legendary Rolling Thunder Revue tour for
Netflix, my expectations ran pretty high.But on the evening of the film’s streaming premiere, I switched off the
TV at the program’s conclusion with, at best, a sense of
half-satisfaction.The footage of
Dylan’s musical performances was stunning, an affirmation of the legendary
status long affixed to these shows.On
the other hand, I admit to being totally dismissive of the film’s faux
documentary aspects.As a huge admirer
of Dylan’s music and career, it only took a few minutes in to see that the
feature’s sub-title “A Bob Dylan Storyâ€
was a literal one.It was exactly that,
a story: an uneasy blending of factual items with fantasies and outright
deceptions.
The problem with the folks who involve themselves on Bob
Dylan’s various film projects is that they allow themselves to get personally sucked
into his personal orbit of playful disinformation and obfuscation.His film collaborators become, in effect, coconspirators.The reason that D.A. Pennebaker’s seminal
documentary of Dylan’s 1965 tour of England, Don’t Look Back (1967), will very likely remain the most honest
portrait of the artist is that this director didn’t allow himself to be
manipulated by the bard - to any great degree, at least.I’m not of the camp to pretend that the
Dylan we’re introduced to in Don’t Look
Back (magnetic, abrasive, playful, rude, gifted), is the “real†Bob
Dylan.Once Pennebaker’s cameras begin to
roll, Dylan may or may not have consciously play-acted before them.But at least audiences were allowed to decide
for themselves whether or not Dylan was the ultimate brat or a musical genius
or, perhaps, a confusing and peculiar mix of both.
During
the pre-video/broadcast television era of the mid-seventies, college campuses
were teeming with movie offerings on a weekly basis.It was the only way to see older theatrical
titles in their uncensored form.My own
experience at the University of Illinois provided 8 to 10 films per weekend
with recent Hollywood hits, classic revivals and the occasional porn flick
being the usual choices.Lecture halls,
auditoriums and even church sanctuaries were converted to temporary cinemas
that offered a cornucopia in 16mm. These
were quality exhibitions with twin projectors, external speakers for clear
dialogue and anamorphic lenses when needed.It seemed a little odd that one could view a somewhat racy movie in the
same space that would be used for worship the next morning.I would often take in several titles on
Friday and Saturday nights for the bargain price of $1.00.
Agatha
Christie’s Death on the Nile was one such movie that I chose to see on a snowy
evening in January as it played right in the lobby of my dorm.John Guillermin’s star-studded whodunit was
the follow up to the hugely successful Murder on the Orient Express from
1974.Once again we find Belgian
detective Hercule Poirot, played this time by the wonderful Peter Ustinov,
matching wits with a collection of suspects in the killing of heiress Linnet
Ridgeway.A running gag throughout the
film concerns Poirot having to remind everyone that his is not French.
The
setting this time is 1937 onboard a luxury steamer, the Karnack, navigating the
Nile where Poirot is on an Egyptian holiday before being drawn into the case of
the murdered newlywed.Linnet’s husband,
Simon, had recently ended an engagement with Jackie, former best friend of the
victim.Jackie has been stalking the
couple as she was still in love with Simon.
Poirot,
with the assistance of his good friend Colonel Race, begins to investigate the
murder and soon discovers that everyone on board the Karnack has a motive for
Linnet’s murder and Jackie appears to have an airtight alibi.We have Linnet’s maid, an American lawyer, a
romance novelist and her daughter, a jewel thief, a medical doctor and a
communist agitator whom all have ties to Linnet and her money.
The
tale becomes more twisted as the detective interviews all of the passengers
during the voyage hoping to ferret out the guilty party before the steamer
arrives at the final destination.Poirot
is able to create scenarios where everyone had access to the victim and could
have been the perpetrator.Soon,
however, several of the suspects are themselves murdered adding a sense of
urgency to the case.
Following
the usual format of Ms. Christie’s famous novels, Poirot assembles the
remaining passengers in the onboard saloon and, one by one, eliminates suspects
while revealing the identity of the killer.
Director
John Guillerman, an experienced, gentlemanly director, was experienced at
handling ensemble casts made up of international stars.His previous efforts included Skyjacked, The
Towering Inferno, The Bridge at Remagen and The Blue Max.His cast in Death on the Nile featured Bette
Davis, Maggie Smith, Angela Landsbury, David Niven, Jack Warden, George
Kennedy, Mia Farrow, Olivia Hussey, Jane Birkin, Simon MacCorkindale and future
Bond girl Lois Chiles.Cameo appearances
were provided by Harry Andrews and L.S. Johan.
The
star-studded cast was a 1970s marketing gimmick that began with disaster epics
such as Airport and Earthquake and then spilled over to whodunits and
television mini-series.Print ads and
trailers would play up the star attractions without revealing much about the
plots.Television anthology series made
a success comeback as well with the likes of Fantasy Island, The Love Boat and
Night Gallery. The “stars†featured in
these programs were often second tier, but still recognizable to viewers.
Director
Guillerman, along with producers John Bradbourne and Richard Goodwin, also
assembled a stellar crew behind the scenes starting with a script by Sleuth
author Anthony Shaffer.Aside from some
witty dialogue, Shaffer makes clever and veiled references to Maggie Smith’s
maid character being a lesbian as she seems to express total disdain to the
idea of a man and woman united in marriage.
Director
of Photography Jack Cardiff gave a bright, open and colorful look to the warm
weather cruise, which was the opposite of the dark, confined setting of Murder
on the Orient Express.An especially
beautiful scene is set at the Great Pyramids near Cairo as Linnet and her
husband climb to the top of one of the epic structures.It seems surprising that the production crew
would have access to this site as it was devoid of tourists at the time of
filming.
The following news items were reported in Film Daily during the week of October 21, 1963
Stephen Boyd in "The Fall of the Roman Empire"
Paul Lazarus Jr., executive vice president of Samuel Bronston Productions, is lining up tours to the Bronston Studio in Spain for exhibitors who have expressed interest in (and booking) Fall of the Roman Empire. The trips, on which theater men will be on their own, especially for transportation, are expected to start shortly after mid-November.
Steve McQueen in "the Great Escape" (Like we really had to tell you!)
United Artists' The Great Escape rolled up $205,915 in the second week of its Golden Showcase run at 21 theaters in the greater New York area.
Arthur Kennedy, Victory Jory, Sal Mineo, George O'Brien, and Dolores Del Rio have been signed for key roles in Cheyenne Autumn Warner Bros. film which John Ford is directing.
Britain's Shirley Eaton will fill the sole femme part in MGM's Rhino in production in South Africa.
Executive Council of British Film Producers Association will support the move by the Association of Independent Cinemas to reduce the admittance of teenagers to "A" pictures from 16 to 14. Films classified as "A" by the censor are forbidden to children under 16 unless accompanied by an adult. Films tagged "X" are forbidden to those 16 and under while "U" films are for the entire family.
How the West Was Won has passed the 500,000 admission mark at the Warner Hollywood Cinerama Theatre, where the MGM production has grossed more than $1,000,000 since its opening October 21...Ticket orders are being taken into December and the engagement will continue indefinitely.
(Above: advert for London engagement of It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World)
Stanley Kramer and many of the stars of his It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World will appear on The Jerry Lewis Show, ABC-TV
November 2, the night before the UA Cinerama comedy has its
international press preview at The New Cinerama Theatre in Hollywood.
Kino Lorber’s new Blu-ray edition of Calvin Floyd’s
documentary In Search of Dracula is
the third hard copy to find its way into my collection.I no longer own a copy of that first edition,
a VHS tape of dubious origin and purchased at a convention.That was jettisoned when an authorized copy on
DVD was issued by Wellspring Media in 2003.Truth be told, I’m not sure a manufacture of a Blu-ray for this
particular film is necessarily merited.But it’s here now and will likely displace the DVD sitting on my home
video shelf.The circle of life, I
suppose.
This quirky and occasionally interesting documentary would
make its debut on the small screen, initially produced for exclusive broadcast
on Swedish television.But it was a
popular and professional enough effort to be later telecast in Great Britain on
the B.B.C.The film would make the
transition as a genuine cinematic property in 1975 when Samuel M. Sherman’s
Independent International Pictures Corporation bought the U.S. distribution
rights.The producer would pad the
program’s running time to feature-length with a sprinkling of non-essential bits
and pieces here and there.
The film was released theatrically in the U.S., playing
the New York City metropolitan area in May 1975.This NYC-area engagement lasted little more
than a week, mostly playing drive-ins and second-run cinemas throughout the city’s
outer boroughs, Long Island and the wilds of New Jersey.Sherman’s ballyhoo newspaper advertising was purposefully
misleading.It highlighted Christopher
Lee’s participation in the production and referenced “An Open Letter to the
Descendants of Count Dracula.â€Subsequent
ad copy coyly disguised that the film was actually an historical documentary
rather than a new Dracula feature.
In any event, the film was not strong enough to stand
alone as a potential draw, so it was paired with an appropriate co-feature,
albeit movies of previous-release and exhibiting some mileage and history.These co-features would include the like of
Hammer’s The Mummy (1959) with
Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing and Al Adamson’s bargain-basement cheapie Blood of Ghastly Horror (1967) with John
Carradine. (This second feature made some strategic sense as Sherman was
co-producer of the latter film). Sherman is listed here in the revised opening
credits of In Search of Dracula as “production
consultant.â€With all due respect to Mr.
Sherman, Floyd’s original documentary was inspired by consulting Raymond T.
McNally and Radu Florescu’s best-selling tome of the same title (New York
Graphic Society, 1972).The film, to the
best of its ability, attempts to touch on many of the same subjects more thoroughly
detailed in that book.
Unfortunately, it does so with only mixed success as director
Floyd’s somber narrative tends to meander.The film certainly starts promisingly enough, advising viewers that it
was photographed not only “on location†in Transylvania itself (we’re told “Transylvaniaâ€
translates to the “land beyond the forestâ€), but also in Austria, Germany,
Switzerland and Sweden.“All film
locations are authentic and historically accurate†a title credit promisingly
brags.Indeed, the travelogue snippets
of green fields, the Carpathian Mountains, broke-down castles, and small-village
folkways are amongst the film’s strongest assets.We’re also treated to somewhat tangential footage
documenting a colorful performance by the Romanian Folklore Dance Company and
the so-called “mysticism†of a Greek Orthodox Church ceremony.
The real masterstroke of producer/director/composer Floyd
was his ability to bring in a favorite cinematic Dracula, Christopher Lee, to
narrate and guide viewers through this fractured history lesson.The fact that he was able to convince Lee to do
so is surprising in itself. Lee had walked away, somewhat disgruntled, from the
Dracula character following his appearance in seven mostly beloved – and mostly
profitable - films for Hammer Studios… and an eighth, if less celebrated Dracula
movie, for Spanish director Jess Franco (1970).Lee proudly boasts here near the film’s end that his Horror of Dracula (1958) made “eight
times its production costs!†for Hammer.For the record, Lee hadn’t totally abandoned his cloaked on-screen
vampirism, having also appeared as an ersatz
Dracula in such mostly forgotten continental productions as Italy’s Tempi duri
per i vampiri (1959) and France’s Dracula Père et Fils (1976).Lee provides narration throughout but also appears
on screen - surprisingly “in character†- in several brief vignettes.He’s seen here, in silent footage, as both
the (Stoker-described) mustachioed Count Dracula as well as the character’s presumed
historical forebear Vlad Tepes (aka “Vlad the Impalerâ€), the one-time Prince of
Wallachia.
It’s unfair to expect an eighty-two minute film to adequately
convey the contents of a 300 page book, and director Floyd (along with writer Yvonne
Floyd) tries their best to condense and impart information in an educational and
entertaining manner.Unfortunately,
there’s just not enough running time to discuss any item to satisfaction. We are offered some teachable, if rushed
along, informational tidbits along the way.We learn that Bram Stoker, who would first publish his novel Dracula in 1897, never actually visited
Transylvania prior to writing.Despite
this, Lee ensures, the novelist was “remarkably accurate†in his descriptions
as he had studied period maps and guidebooks in careful preparation.There’s a discussion of the origin of vampire
legends which, we’re told, originated in Asia before migrating westward to
other far-flung places.Stories of
vampires eventually traveled to Eastern Europe where they seamlessly filtered into
and intertwined with local folklore beliefs.It was in Eastern Europe that tales of vampirism and “the undead†would appear
most common.
The film also treats us to tangential, thumbnail case
studies and psychological profiles of other infamous - and terribly real -
“vampires.â€These include CountessElizabeth
Báthory of Hungary (aka Countess Dracula) who, legend has it, bathed in the blood of
virgins in an attempt to stay youthful.Then there was the awful Peter Kürten,
the “Vampire of Düsseldorf,†a
sexual deviant and serial killer who reportedly cannibalized and drank the
blood of several of his victims.Another
addition to this unpleasant rogue’s gallery was John Haigh, the so-called
“Vampire of London.†The delightful Mister Haigh treated his victim’s to acid
baths and claimed to have drunk their blood as well.
It’s almost a relief when, somewhere around the
sixty-minute mark, Floyd – in a head-scratching manner - segues into an odd
sidebar regarding the origins of Mary Shelley’s 1818 novel Frankenstein.Its inclusion here
is almost totally out of place in this particular documentary but, in hindsight,
it did foreshadow Floyd’s next and more ambitious project.This would be the director’s attempt at a dramatic
telling of the authentic and original Shelley text “as written.†This feature
would subsequently be released to European cinemas in 1977 as the Terror of Frankenstein.
Though no classic, Floyd’s take on Frankenstein – unseen by many until the home video boom made the
film more available – is often lauded as the first faithful attempt to follow the
novels genuine and more complex storyline.This declaration wasn’t entirely true.In 1973, NBC-TV would broadcast their three and a half hour television
drama Frankenstein: The True Story in
two parts.So that television production
had gotten their first and, quite frankly, did a better job of it.In any event, Calvin Floyd’s Terror of Frankenstein is certainly
worth seeking out by film scholars, if only for its oddity.
Unfortunately, Floyd’s In Search of Dracula begins to fall apart near the end as we pass
through brief mentions of the nineteenth century literary legacies of such
“undead†figures as Le Fanu’s Carmilla
and Polidori’s Vampyre.As we enter the age of cinema, we’re treated
to an over-long, but time-chewing, excerpt of the public-domain silent classic Nosferatu.Since clips from Carl Theodor Dreyer’s Vampyr and Tod Browning’s Dracula (the latter featuring the iconic
1931 performance of Bela Lugosi), were under copyright protection, we’re
treated only to a few production stills and a lengthy, and not terribly relevant,
excerpt from Lugosi’s appearance in the non-protected 1925 silent drama The Midnight Girl.
In any event, I’m guessing that fans of Sir Christopher
Lee and students of the Dracula legend will be compelled to add this film to
their collections: as someone who has triple-dipped on this title I completely understand.Others less-obsessed might find the film an
outdated celluloid relic, best forgotten.While I’m certainly glad that the film has been made available once again
for those interested, I would be dishonest to deem it as an essential study.
This Kino Lorber Studio Classics Blu-ray of In Search of Dracula has been
transferred from a new 2K master, in a ratio of 1.37:1 and in 1920p x 1080p
with DTS monaural sound.The set also
features an audio commentary track supplied by film historians Lee Gambin and
John Harrison.The set includes a few
bonus trailers for other Christopher Lee films available from the Kino Lorber
library:The Crimson Cult, The Oblong Box, Scream and Scream Again, Arabian
Adventure, and House of Long Shadows.
Although Great Britain had emerged as victors in WWII, the aftereffects of the war had an immediate and substantial impact on British society. In addition to massive damage to cities and infrastructure, the necessities of life were in short supply, resulting in an extended period of rationing. Although the population was eager to flock to cinemas as a distraction from the harshness of reality, the British film industry suffered as well. Consequently, the post-war years were largely characterized by low-budget movies often shot in haste with minimal production values. However, necessity proved to be the mother of invention, as some of these Poverty Row productions provided a fertile training ground for estimable talents both in front of and behind the cameras. Kino Lorber has released a much-welcomed second set of such films titled "British Noir II", containing five modestly-budgeted gems.
The films included in the set are:
"The Interrupted Journey" (1949) Directed by Daniel Birt. This micro-budget production opens with John North (Richard Todd) and his mistress Susan Wilding (Christine Nordern), who is also in a strained marriage, sneaking away to take a nighttime train in order to start a new life together. John's wife Valerie (Carol North) has been pushing him to give up his career as a failed writer and to take more conventional employment. Susan is married to Jerves Wilding (Alexander Gauge), an ogre of a man. On board the train, however, John begins to have second thoughts about deserting his loving and loyal wife. When Christine falls asleep, he pulls the train's emergency brake and jumps off near his house. Minutes after returning home, there is a terrible disaster when the train he had been aboard is hit by an oncoming locomotive on the same track. Blaming himself for the resulting carnage and many deaths, John has to keep a poker face even as he and Valerie help tend to victims of the crash. The next morning, an investigator for the railroad (Tom Walls) appears to inform John that he has been linked to Susan, who died in the crash. Shockingly, he informs John that she had been murdered by a gunshot prior to the accident and John's name was mentioned numerous times in her diary. Valerie put two and two together and confronts John about his affair. Meanwhile, he appears to be the prime suspect in Susan's murder. Despite the low production values, this intelligent mystery/thriller works well for most of its running time, thanks to the fine performances. Director Daniel Birt ratchets up the suspense but he is almost undone by a late, bizarre plot twist that is gimmicky and not very believable. When the story gets back on track, John confronts Susan's husband, who he suspects might be behind her murder. As played like a poor man's Sidney Greenstreet, Alexander Gauge overdoes the obnoxious, obese drunk to the point that you expect to reach over and put a lampshade on his head. Despite these flaws, the movie is impressive because of the more intriguing aspects of the script.
"Time is My Enemy" (1954) Directed by Don Chaffey. Based on the play "Second Chance", the film opens with Barbara Everton (Renee Asherton) living a content life as wife and mother. She was widowed when her scheming, ne're do well husband Martin Radley (Dennis Price), was reported to be killed during the war, though his body was never found. She is now living a life of comfort with her successful husband John (Patrick Barr), as they both dote on their young son. Barbara's dream world turns into a nightmare with the shocking appearance at her house by Martin, who admits to having feigned his death and assumed a new identity. He's now the leader of a band of robbers who are wanted by the police for a bank job that has gone awry, resulting in the death of a security guard. Dennis demands that Barbara give him the sum of 4,000 pounds (ludicrous by today's standards, but a large amount in 1954) so that he can flee the country. If she refuses, he will make it known that he is still alive and that Barbara's marriage to John is invalid, thus making her a tainted woman and afflicting her young son as the product of an unmarried couple. The plot has plenty of surprising twists including another murder and Barbara's frantic attempts to raise the money without divulging the dilemma to her husband. Well-directed by Don Chaffey, who would go on to direct "Jason and the Argonauts", the movie is most compelling when Dennis Price is on screen. He's in the grand tradition of erudite villains who remain polite even as they are threatening someone's life.
"The Vicious Circle" (aka "The Circle") (1957) Directed by Gerald Thomas. One of the best titles in this collection stars John Mills as Dr. Howard Latimer, a successful physician with an upscale lifestyle who is engaged to beautiful Laura James (Noelle Middleton). However, his life is disrupted when he becomes the key suspect in the murders of two women, both of whom he barely knew. The fine script by Francis Durbridge uses the tried-and-true Hitchcock formula of making the protagonist an innocent swept up into a fantastic and deadly plot that becomes increasingly bizarre as he tries to find out who is framing him and why. It all leads to any number of suspects, false identities and deadly situations. The budget for this film was adequate enough to allow for on location filming in London and director Gerald Thomas takes full advantage of shooting at such sites as the Thames, Cleopatra's Needle and the Embankment, thus giving the production a glossier look than many other "B" movies of the era. John Mills is in excellent form throughout and there are marvelous supporting performances by Ronald Culver as as the dapper, dry-witted police inspector who is closing in on our hero and Wilfred Hyde-White, in full lovable, tweedy character mode as a man of mystery. The film is thoroughly engaging throughout.
"Time Lock" with young Sean Connery (right) in an early role.
"Time Lock" (1957) Directed by Gerald Thomas. Another gem from director Gerald Thomas, this time collaborating with producer Peter Rogers, with whom he would go on to make the classic "Carry On" comedies. "Time Lock" is a tense, believable thriller based on a Canadian TV production written by Arthur Hailey ("Airport"). The film retains the Canadian setting, though it was shot entirely in the UK. Another microbudget production, "Timelock" is arguably the best title in this British film noir collection, even if this particular movie hardly merits being included in the noir genre.The plot is simple: a young couple and their six-year old son are inside a bank where the father works. The young boy wanders into the bank vault and is accidentally locked in. The vault cannot be opened until the timing mechanism is enacted automatically 48 hours from the time of incident. Knowing the boy will suffocate by then, the police, bank manager and a local welding company all work frantically to try to bore through the seemingly impregnable wall, with time slipping quickly away. Ultimately, only one man is deemed to be able to save the day: bank vault security expert Pete Dawson (Robert Beatty), but he is in a remote region on holiday and can't be reached. Director Thomas builds the suspense slowly until it reaches a full boil. The performances are all believable and the film's supporting cast includes young Sean Connery as a welder on the rescue team.
"Cosh Boy" (1953) Directed by Lewis Gilbert. Although virtually unknown in the United States where the film was ridiculously titled "The Slasher" (no one is slashed in the film), this early directorial effort by Lewis Gilbert has won considerable appreciation from UK film critics over the years. It's another claustrophobic production this time dealing with juvenile delinquency. In an outstanding performance, James Kenny plays Roy, a 16 year-old punk who reigns as a gang leader in a working class neighborhood. He's being raised by a single mom, who he can manipulate at will and turn into an enabler for his abhorrent behavior. Only is grandmother is wise to the fact that behind the innocent demeanor is a sociopath. The film explores how Roy holds sway through bribes and intimidation to ensure that his mates remain his unquestioning servants. He puts on the persona of a gentleman to woo his classmate, Rene (Joan Collins) into dating him but she learns quickly enough that she will pay a terrible price for what she mistook to be a loving relationship. "Cosh Boy" is expertly made, never melodramatic and paints a picture of working class boys in the aftermath of WWII who grew up fatherless due to the war. Director Lewis Gilbert would go on to far more prestigious productions but the seeds were sown in modest films such as this- and his talent is quite evident. (Kino Lorber has released a stand along Blu-ray edition of the film under the title "The Slasher". Click here for review.)
The quality of the prints used for the transfers are all over the place. Most are satisfactory though "The Interrupted Journey" shows a good deal of wear. Of course these were films that were largely neglected over the decades and one must assume that Kino Lorber used the best elements available. The only bonus extras as some trailers. However, one would hope that a Blu-ray upgrade might be on the horizon. If so, it would be appropriate to have commentary tracks accompanying these films primarily to discuss the wealth of young talent that emerged in titles such as these.
If
you’ve never seen Waiting for Guffman, you owe it to yourself to grab
this wonderful motion picture (now available as a Warner Archive Blu-ray
release) or find it streaming somewhere, for it is such a laugh-a-minute
extravaganza that truly set in motion the so-called “mockumentaries†made by
Christopher Guest and his revolving stock company of comic actors.
It
all started, of course, with This is Spinal Tap (1984), in which Guest,
Michael McKean, and Harry Shearer (among others) presented a pseudo-documentary
about a wacky rock band. This picture was directed by Rob Reiner. It was so
well done that some people wondered why Reiner had chosen a band “no one had
heard of†to make a documentary about. The film skewered the rock world, band
politics and antics, and gave us highly quotable lines of dialogue and
memorable sequences, as well as actual songs ultimately released as a real
album.
A
decade later, Guest took the mockumentary concept and made it his own beginning
with Waiting for Guffman, which premiered at the Boston Film Festival in
1996 and was released to U.S. cinemas in early 1997. His stock company in this
case included Eugene Levy, Catherine O’Hara, Fred Willard, Parker Posey, Bob
Balaban, Michael Hitchcock, Larry Miller, and others. Even Michael McKean and
Harry Shearer show up in the credits—as co-composers with Guest of the original
songs performed in the picture (so, in effect, one could say that Spinal Tap
wrote the score for Waiting for Guffman).
Guffman
uses
the documentary approach to what it’s like to be in a small-town community
theatre. The 150th-anniversary celebration of Blaine, Missouri is approaching,
and Corky St. Clair (Guest) is in charge of putting on the live show that will
tell the story of the town’s history. Corky used to work in New York theatre
(so he says), so the townspeople consider him to be an “expert†(his previous
production of Barefoot in the Park was apparently a smash). Ron and
Sheila Albertson (Willard and O’Hara) are travel agents who believe they have
talent and have experience acting in the community productions, so they’re a
shoo-in to be cast. Town dentist Dr. Allan Pearl (Levy) has never acted but has
the bug, so he auditions. Libby Mae Brown (Posey) works at the Dairy Queen and
aspires to make it big. Corky brings in music teacher Lloyd Miller (Balaban) to
handle the musical direction. Unfortunately, Corky has no budget to speak of
and must make lemonade out of, well, a lot of bad lemons. The town council,
after first refusing Corky’s request for $100,000 (!) to do the show, they
encourage him to “make magic†the way he’s done before. Indeed, Corky’s magic
ultimately gets the show up and running.
The
humor comes in the improvised characterizations the brilliant cast brings to
the table. For example, Guest plays Corky as a closeted gay man with every
stereotypical mannerism in the book, even down to speaking of a wife that no
one ever sees. Anyone who has worked in community theatre (or high school or
college theatre, for that matter) must know someone exactly like Corky
St. Clair. The late Fred Willard is hilarious as the wannabe movie star, and
O’Hara is a perfect foil for him. Posey is very winning; the actress was just
beginning her career when the picture was made, and she almost steals the
movie. Balaban plays his part as a frustrated perfectionist who would rather be
the boss of the production instead of following Corky’s orders.
Guest
would go on to make other classic mockumentaries (Best in Show, A
Mighty Wind), but they don’t get much better than Waiting for Guffman,
the title of which refers to the famous Samuel Beckett play, Waiting for
Godot. In this case, Guffman is the New York critic who Corky promises will
come to see the show and possibly take the company to Broadway.
Warner
Archive’s Blu-ray (produced on demand) looks sharp and colorful, and it is a
high definition transfer of the previously released DVD from years ago. It
comes with an audio commentary by Guest and Levy that is as entertaining as the
film itself. For supplements, there are many deleted/additional scenes that are
just as fun, including two musical numbers from the “show†that were cut for the
theatrical release. These scenes also come with optional commentary by Guest
and Levy. The theatrical trailer rounds out the package.
Waiting
for Guffman stands
as one of the great comedies of the last 25 years, and it’s a testament to the
tremendous talent of many alumni of National Lampoon’s Radio Hour, Second
City, SCTV, Saturday Night Live, and other breeding grounds
of some of our most treasured funny people. Highly recommended.
CLICK HERE TO ORDER FROM THE CINEMA RETRO MOVIE STORE
Without question, this brand new Blu-ray edition of
director Michael Curtiz’s The Mystery of
the Wax Museum will be heralded as one of the Crown Jewels of Warner Bros. Archive
Collection series.This creaky but historically
significant 1933 classic – once believed to be a “lost film†– has been
painstakingly restored to its original two-color Technicolor glory.Such restoration was made possible through
the financial resources of the George Lucas Family Foundation and the combined
technical and artistic interventions of the UCLA Film & Television Archive
and Warner Bros. entertainment.
The
Mystery of the Wax Museum was not the studio’s first foray into
what is now revered as the Golden Age of horror films.One year earlier, Warner Bros. had released Dr. X (1932), another atmospheric horror
vehicle co-starring the villainous Lionel Atwill and 1930’s Scream Queen Fay
Wray.Like its predecessor, The Mystery of the Wax Museum was
green-lit by studio brass to syphon off at least some of the box-office energy
of several contemporary blockbusters: Universal’s Dracula and Frankenstein
and Paramount’s Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde
(all three having been released in 1931). Indeed, Glenda Farrell’s character in
Wax Museum makes a no-so-oblique
comparative reference to the competition when she describes the mysterious
caped and scarred figure in Wax Museum
as a fiend that makes “Frankenstein look like a lily.â€It was, perhaps, the first popular culture
reference to confuse the monster with the monster’s maker.
For several decades the original Curtiz cut of The Mystery of the Wax Museum, the first
horror film to feature the revolutionary, but only briefly in vogue, two-color
Technicolor treatment, was believed lost.In his authoritative tome “Classics of the Horror Film†(Citadel Press,
1974), cinema historian William K. Everson suggested that a damaged and
deteriorating print of Wax Museum was
still making the rounds of cinemas in war-torn London of the 1940s.In any event, with the exception of a few
surviving dupey and tattered black and white television prints, the original
film as envisioned by Curtiz was considered lost.
The situation may have remained that way had it not been
for the success of the studio’s celebrated 3D remake of the original, House of Wax.This more familiar version, directed by Andre
DeToth and famously featuring Vincent Price as the mad and scarred wax-figure
artisan, would prove to be one of the biggest blockbuster scores of 1953.The film’s popularity would summarily – at
least among horror aficionados and film historians – reignite interest in the
1933 version.Indeed, as in the case of
many “lost†films, the reputation of the original – stoked by the hazy memories
of those who had actually had the opportunity to see the film two decades
earlier – was, perhaps, slightly over-praised and over-cherished.
It hardly mattered as the original Curtiz version would remain
a stubbornly elusive treasure.It wasn’t
until the late 1960s that a serviceable, though far from perfect, copy of a
nitrate original – apparently cobbled together from several different prints –
was found in the collection of studio boss Jack Warner’s personal library.It’s from this print that the reconstruction
team could use as their primary source in the film’s restoration.A secondary source was an inferior and later
surfacing French work print that helped fill-in the gaps where frames or lines
of dialogue from the Warner print were determined to be missing or damaged
beyond repair.
On the surface it appeared somewhat brave of Kino Lorber
to greenlight a Blu-ray edition of Peter Hunt’s 1974 conspiracy-thriller Gold.It’s not that the film isn’tt deserving of such treatment, in this case
an almost flawless restoration from original elements courtesy of Pinewood
Studios.It’s only that this film has
already been exhaustively exploited
on peddled by every budget VHS and DVD label over the last several decades.So fans of the film would surely have this
title – perhaps in multiple editions and action-film multi-packs – already
sitting on their collection shelves.If
so, I can promise your copy is a greatly inferior version to what we’ve been happily
provided with here.
The back story of this film’s production, as so often the
case, is nearly as interesting as the film itself.Michael Klinger, the British film producer
who had given us the great Michael Caine spy thriller Get Carter in 1971, had previously optioned the film rights to such
novels as Gold Mine (1970) and Shout at the Devil (1968).Both of these adventure-thrillers had been
authored by the Rhodesian novelist Wilbur Smith.Smith would, alongside co-writers, later
share screenwriting credit for both films.Klinger was able to raise funds for the film’s production through South
African investments and a promise – soon to be controversial - to shoot both of
his films in Johannesburg and neighboring communities.
Klinger brought on Peter Hunt to direct the film – whose
working title of Gold Mine was soon
shortened to Gold.In doing so, Klinger would not-so-coincidentally
rescue Hunt’s career as a director of big-screen adventures.Following production of the Hunt helmed sixth
James Bond film On Her Majesty’s Secret
Service (1969), the former editor was sadly offered only two subsequent
directorial assignments, both far more modest efforts for British television.In what everyone hoped would be his deserved
return to big screen respectability, Hunt would bring on a number of veterans
from the James Bond series to assist him on his return to big feature
filmmaking:editor John Glen, sound
recordist Gordon K. McCallum, camera operator Alec Mills, title artist Maurice
Binder and production designer Syd Cain amongst them.
It was likely a Godsend to Cain that he wasn’t tasked to
replicate an actual working mine in full scale.Klinger had been able to secure the full cooperation of South Africa’s
General Mining Corporation for the film’s production.The British souvenir program for Gold, later sold at cinemas in the UK, boasted
that the GMC was “one of the great mining and finance houses in the world,â€
adding the production team was given unfettered use of their mines at West Rand
and Bufflesfontein.It was at the latter
location that most of the surface photography was shot, with filming having
commenced “beneath the 160-foot high shafthead and above the 500 miles of
tunnels which twist 9,000 feet below and from which are torn 5,000 metric tons
of rock every month.†Cain did impressively replicate portions of the gold mine to film interior action scenes at Pinewood Studios.
Tapped to portray Rod Slater, was another – if more
recent – member of the James Bond film family:Roger Moore.Moore’s character in
the film was recently promoted – or perhaps one should say “set up†– from
“Underground Manger†to General Manager of Sonderditch GMC Ltd. It’s a South
African mining company that will soon fall victim to a nefarious plot hatched in
London by a board room of ruthless financial investors led by Sir John
Gielgud.Their plan is to covertly flood
the mine to manipulate prices on the gold market in an effort to increase their
own fortunes… even if their windfall would come at the at the expense of the
miner’s lives. I’m not giving away anything here, this film is by no means a
mystery; the protagonists are identified nearly from the film’s very beginning.Gielgud has many accomplices in his plot
including the mine’s very own Managing Director Manfred Steyner (Bradford
Dillman).
There was little doubt that the producers of Gold hoped their film might ride the
coattails of Moore’s surprising international success as James Bond in Live and Let Die (1973). The lobby cards
for Gold, one guesses not
unintentionally, would boast “Everything They Touch Turns to Excitement!â€Which may have been a great line of ballyhoo,
but one whose promotional zing would seem awfully familiar to the one found on the
Goldfinger (1964) one sheet: “Everything
He Touches Turns to Excitement!†I
suppose it can also be argued that Gielgud’s intention to create a crisis to
manipulate gold prices and increase his fortune by “five thousand million
dollars†(whatever amount that is) is essentially an idea torn from Auric
Goldfinger’s playbook.Interestingly, Gold would later be paired in the UK as
a double-feature with Diamonds Are
Forever (1971).The very collectible
British Quad poster assembled for this odd cross-studio pairing would trumpet
“At last! Moore and Connery Together in One Terrific All-Action Programme!â€
Moore wasn’t the only actor on hand to bring a little
star power to the marquee.Actress
Susannah York was cast to play Terry Steyner, the Cessna piloting wife of
conspirator Dillman, and Slater’s immediate boss.If Dillman’s Steyner is a complete tool, Moore’s
Slater is, to be honest, a bit of an anti-hero himself: he’s a philandering
rapscallion, who carries a checkered past of broken marriages, debt and
high-living tastes that he can ill afford.Moore easily seduces York and their ill-advised affair begins... though,
to be fair, she was desperately unhappy in her marriage to begin with.Ray Milland, who plays York’s father, is also
on hand as the curmudgeonly but amiable CEO of Sonderditch. Also working on the
film was famed composer Elmer Bernstein, whose emotive score would earn him (and
lyricist Don Black) an Academy Award nomination in the Best Music, Original
Song for “Wherever Love Takes Meâ€â€¦ but they would lose out to “We May Never
Love Like This Again†from The Towering
Inferno.
So the film certainly doesn’t lack for talent. The problem with Gold is that the story is a maddeningly meandering slow burn.Every stage of the nefarious plan and every criminal
and marital double-cross is dutifully documented at length… at the expense of
the film’s action which is relegated to the film’s final fifteen minutes.Hunt’s best and most dramatic moments are captured
in scenes involving the dangers of the dank, claustrophobic mines, all groaning
beams of lumber, dynamite fuses, trapped miners and unsettling cave-in catastrophes
(one which includes a grim on-site medical amputation).
As already mentioned, there were a lot of film
technicians associated with the James Bond franchise who would work on Gold.The most notable, perhaps, was this film’s Editor and Second Unit
director John Glen.There’s little doubt
that this film would later prove influential to Glen when chosen to direct the fourteenth
Bond film A View to a Kill
(1985).Much of the visual mayhem on
display in Max Zorin’s soundstage mine was eerily similar to those in Hunt’s Gold.Glen would go on to direct Moore in three James Bond adventures from
1981-1985.Hunt, on the other hand, had
previously worked with Moore on a single episode of The Persuaders (“Chain of Events,†1971), but would work again with
the actor on Gold and Shout at the Devil (1976).Despite their friendship, Hunt would confess
in a fascinating interview with the short-lived sci-fi magazine Retro Vision, “I love Roger, he’s a
lovely man and I’ve done three films with him.But he was never my idea of James Bond.â€
The World Charity Premiere (“In Aid of the Star
Organisation for Spasticsâ€) of Gold
was held on the evening of Thursday, September 5, 1974 at the Odeon Leicester
Square.On Friday, September 6th,
the film was to set to enjoy a limited roll out to just short of two-dozen
theaters across the UK.Hemdale, the corporation
set to distribute the film in the UK afterwards took out a full-page ad in the
trades trumpeting “Gold is proving to
be 24 carat – 1st Week Box-Office Total in 23 Cinemas: 81, 660
GBP.Every situation held over.Mr. Exhibitor Make Sure You Get Your Share of
Gold.â€The film would make less of a splash in the
U.S.Though the US would not see a
version of the colorful souvenir program brochure that British audiences were
offered, Pyramid Books would publish a paperback movie tie-in with a promise
their pulp edition would include “an 8-page photo insert from the film.â€
Unfortunately for the producers, critical reaction to the
film in the U.S. was less enthusiastic, with many newspapers writing off Gold as one more run-of-the-mill
“disaster films.†There was some morsel of truth in that.The success of The Poseidon Adventure (1972) had kicked-off in its wake a rash of
box-office and pop-culture disaster-film successes as The Towering Inferno (1974) and Earthquake!
(1974).One critic would, incorrectly,
but understandably, describe Hunt’s adaptation of Gold “as one of the cataclysm of disaster movies that have lately
been making cinemas look like Red Cross centers.â€
The
art-house darling of 2018, like 2019’s Parasite (from South Korea), was a foreign language
film from Mexico. Except that it didn’t play in many art houses—it was a streaming
Netflix production, and that’s how most people in the U.S. saw it (although the
picture did play in cinemas a short time in order to qualify for Academy
Awards).
Roma
emerged
from the memories of its creator, Alfonso Cuarón, who grew up in the
Colonia Roma neighborhood of Mexico City. Taking place in 1970-1971, when Cuarón
himself was between the ages of eight and ten, Roma is the story of a maid/nanny
who lives with an upper middle-class household and is, for all intents and
purposes, a member of that family. Apparently Cuarón
had been close to his nanny, and the picture is a compilation of fictionalized
memories from his childhood.
Cuarón
took great pains to recreate the house where he grew up, the neighborhood, and
milieu in the city during that period. In fact, the production utilized the
house directly across the street from the one in which the Cuarón
family lived. The filmmaker also served as his own cinematographer, shooting
the picture in widescreen black and white digital—thus creating a completely
grainless, “modern†look to a movie taking place in the early seventies. The
results are absolutely gorgeous.
Roma
is a
slow burn that sucks you in at a meticulous pace, but once the characters and
the mesmerizing tone of the piece have begun to work their magic, you can’t
escape. As with 2019’s The Irishman, also a Netflix streamer, I heard
many complaints that Roma was “boring.†I blame that reaction on folks sitting
at home, most likely in a living room with the lights on, with distractions
galore, looking repeatedly at a phone in hand, and the lack of attention one
might alternatively devote if the locale was a movie theater. Roma was anything
but boring. Itwas an intimate study of a family on a broad,
impressionistic canvas.
Yes,
there’s a story. Cleo, the maid (vulnerably played by Oscar-nominated Yalitza
Aparicio), enjoys a pleasant life working for the family of a doctor, Antonio (Fernando
Grediaga), and his wife SofÃa (Oscar-nominated
Marina de Tavira). She is close to the four children, but especially one of the
boys (Cuarón’s alter-ego). During the course of the
picture, Cleo becomes pregnant by a young man who then wants nothing to do with
her, Antonio leaves his wife for another woman, and the family unwittingly clashes
with political events in the street (the violent El Halconazo of June
1971). This description barely scratches the surface of the tremendous depth of
emotion and wonder that Roma evokes, but suffice it to say that the film
is more an experience than a movie.
Unlike
Parasite, Roma did not win the Best Picture Oscar for which it
was nominated, but it did pick up trophies for Director and Cinematography
(both for Cuarón) and Foreign Language Film, the first title from Mexico to do
so.
The
Criterion Collection, thank goodness, released Roma on Blu-ray and DVD
(original content from Netflix rarely makes it to home video). The deluxe
package is exceptional. The 4K digital master was supervised by Cuarón
and contains a Dolby Atmos soundtrack—and it looks and sounds fantastic.
The
supplements are plentiful. A feature-length “making-of†documentary, Road to
Roma, is a virtual filmmaking lesson from Cuarón
as he relates how the movie happened from conception to release, complete with
behind-the-scenes footage. Another long piece, Snapshots from the Set,
features interviews with producers Gabriela RodrÃguez and Nicolás
Celis, actors Aparicio and de Tavira, production designer Eugenio Caballero,
casting director Luis Rosales, and others. If that weren’t enough, there are
documentaries on the movie’s design, sound, and post-production processes, as
well as a doc on the film’s release campaign and its social impact in Mexico.
There are alternate French subtitles and Spanish SDH. The enclosed, thick
booklet contains several essays with beautifully reproduced images from the movie
(with notes by Caballero).
Although
you can still stream Roma on Netflix, the Criterion edition is a superb
collectors’ package with an abundance on material you don’t otherwise get. Highly
recommended.
David
Lean’s Brief Encounter, based on Noël
Coward’s one-act play Still Life and
adapted for the screen by Lean, Anthony Havelock-Allan, and Ronald Neame,
represents one of the most admired and poignant love stories ever put on
celluloid. The picture frequently lands on various “best†lists and is often
called one of the great movie romances. It is also a decidedly British picture,
one that deftly captures the zeitgeist of
immediate post-war England with a focus on middle-class values and morality of
the time. It appeared in British cinemas in late 1945 and was released in the
U.S. in 1946; thus, it was nominated for the ‘46 Academy Awards for Best
Director, Best Actress (Celia Johnson), and Best Adapted Screenplay.
The
Criterion Collection released the film on DVD years ago, both alone and as part
of the box set collection, David Lean
Directs Noël Coward (the collection was
also released on Blu-ray); however, until now the title was not available as a
separate Blu-ray disk. All of the supplements from the box set edition have
been ported over to this single disk version.
Brief Encounter is the story of Laura
(wonderfully played by Johnson), a respectable, happily-married woman who
happens to meet a respectable, happily-married doctor named Alec (Trevor
Howard) one day in the train station. There is a mutual attraction, and they
begin to see each other on day outings over the next few weeks. They fall in
love, of course, and the next big question is... will they or won’t they?
With
Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 2
underscoring the affair, this is lush, romantic stuff.
It
was Lean’s fourth collaboration with Coward (their first picture, In Which We Serve,was co-directed by both) and it’s the piece that exhibited Lean’s
growing artistry as a filmmaker. For a man who went on to make big budget epics
like Lawrence of Arabia and Doctor Zhivago, Brief Encounter is strikingly small and intimate, and that’s the
reason it has such charm and resonance. The two leads are superb. Johnson (whom
James Bond fans may know was, in real life, the sister-in-law of Ian Fleming)
displays such controlled emotion (in a manner that is distinctly British), that
it becomes heartbreaking to watch. Howard’s conflict between desire and
responsibility is palpable. Their rapport is very real and totally believable,
even seventy-one years later.
The
Blu-ray disk contains a high-definition digital transfer of the BFI National
Archive’s 2008 restoration, with an uncompressed monaural soundtrack. There is
an audio commentary from 2000 by film historian Bruce Eder.
The
supplements include an insightful interview from 2012 with Noël
Coward scholar Barry Day; a terrific short documentary on the making of the
film; a nearly-hour-long 1971 television documentary on Lean’s career up to
that point; and the theatrical trailer. An essay by historian Kevin Brownlow
appears in the booklet.
Brief Encounter is the perfect date
movie. Watch it tonight with someone you love.
Not coming to a theater near you: the original "Planet of the Apes".
BY LEE PFEIFFER
It's no secret to retro movie lovers that Disney has long denied theatrical screenings of most of their older films. The theory is that some classic gems will generate more interest (and revenue) if they are periodically reissued with great fanfare to commemorate a movie's anniversary. That mostly pertains to a handful of animated movies but doesn't explain why the studio's vast catalog of live-action films are routinely denied exhibition on the big screen. Now the situation appears to be exponentially worse with Disney's acquisition of Fox and its classic movie catalog. In an extensive piece on the web site Vulture, writer Matt Zoller Seitz presents a grim situation facing art house and revival cinemas: Disney is cherry-picking where and how some of the most beloved Fox classics of all time will be screened. The scattershot strategy defies easy explanation but the theory is that theaters that show first run movies will not be allowed to show retro Fox movies in the same venue. Disney has remained mum on the issue but theater owners are quite concerned because the interest in seeing older films on the big screen is quite extensive and such revivals are crucial to many smaller theater's survival. What is Disney's overall motive? It is theorized that the studio wants to maximize as many screens as possible in first-run theaters in order to minimize exhibition space for films of rival studios. There are exceptions. Theaters and film festivals that play exclusively older fare will apparently still be able to access the Fox catalog. However, many theaters can only continue to exist by playing a mixture of contemporary and classic fare. Disney now owns most of the major blockbuster film franchises (agent 007 remains a notable holdout) and last year the studio's films accounted for a staggering 40% of the North American boxoffice. Suppressing screenings of cinematic classics will only increase concerns that the house of Mickey Mouse is misusing its power and the unintended consequences might include threatening the survival of some theaters.
It was perhaps inevitable that the
well-respected Austrian label Cinepolit would make the leap into distributing
Euro Cult movies, such is their love for all things exploitative and the fast-paced
‘70s scene. And true to their reputation of high quality records and CDs, Cineploit
have cut no corners in producing their first four highly impressive Blu-ray media
book releases.
La
Polizia Ha Le Mani Legate (aka Killer Cop, 1975)
(CP01) is certainly a fine way to launch Cineploit’s new catalogue of film
releases. It’s a movie that comes from the very heart of the Italian
poliziottesco genre. As Director, Luciano Ercoli had also made several giallo
movies, and produced some Spaghetti Westerns. La Polizia Ha Le Mani Legate
draws largely on the real life Piazza Fontana bombing which happened in Milan (where
the film was shot) in 1969. As to be expected, there is plenty of over-acting
from the Italian cast (Claudo Cassinelli, Franco Fabrizi), whilst Arthur
Kennedy tries to maintain a calmer exterior. The action scenes are good, but it
is also clear (especially in the bomb sequence) that the budget was largely
restricted. The English audio track does throw up some funny translations and
there’s plenty of those Seventies, slappy sound effects when the fists begin to
fly! Naturally, whatever audio track you select (there is also an Italian and
German track) there is always composer Stelvio Cipriani’s great score which
helps it along its 97 minutes. The picture and audio quality are very good, yet,
it still maintains that unique grindhouse ‘70s look: clean and sharp, with
muted urban colours – just as it should be.
In fact, Stelvio Cipriani is featured heavily
among the disc’s bonus features. For starters, we are treated to a 51 minute
interview with the composer (Italian audio with a choice of subtitles).
Cineploit have rather teasingly added ‘Part 1’ to the title of this interview,
so hopefully there will be more to come. There is also a 13 minute interview with
actress Valeria D'Obici (Falena) who also offers some interesting insights and
there is a poster and photo gallery. However, perhaps best of all, Cineploit
have also included composer Cipriani’s full soundtrack in a completely separate
chapter. For me, this concept works far better than an isolated (and sometimes
disjointed) track. Here you get a separate menu with basically the entire 10
tracks from the soundtrack album. The music is clean and delivered in clear 2
channel stereo with the option to select individual tracks or a ‘play all’
option. What a great way to include a soundtrack album as a bonus feature.
Of course, this is just the disc contents.
Aside from this, the overall packaging is superb. Cineploit have never skimped
on their commitment to quality. Their Blu-ray book covers are beautifully
produced using their regular addition of UV spotting (a stand out, high gloss
section). The book case contains an average of 26 pages; packed with
information (this particular edition is all German text), posters, stills and Italian
fotobusta reproductions. If that is not enough, Cineploit have also included a
double sided (2 different designs) fold out poster measuring approx. 11â€x15†and
on gloss paper.
Overall, it’s a great package and one hell of
a way of launching your Blu-ray catalogue.
Non
Contate Su Di Noi (Don't count on us, 1978) (CP02)
marks the worldwide premiere of an unseen and lost film. Set in 1970s Rome, a young musician meets by
chance a beautiful girl in the middle of heroin withdrawal. He falls in love
and tries to help her, discovering a shocking underworld of drugs, junkies and
pushers. Sergio Nutis’s drug drama from the late Seventies is a shattering but
also prosaic contemporary document of the drug scene in Rome. Predominately
placed in the intellectual student scene, heroine dominates their daily routine.
The film was shot using amateurs, most of who were connected to and heavily
involved with the drug scene. The result is a completely authentic experience.
The film was shot on original locations and provides a raw historical and
social document of the circumstances at that particular time. Never before
available on home video, this drugsploitation film is one of the first attempts
to portray the heroin scene of the 1970s, pathing the way for movies such as Christiane
F (1981), El Pico (1982) and Amore Tossico (1983). The film also features a memorable
folk rock score by Maurizio Rota (leader of the band Alberomotore) and features
songs by some of the most interesting names from the Italian indie music scene
of the 1970s, including Alan Sorrenti and Canzoniere del Lazio.
Sadly, the movie’s destiny was rather short-lived.
After a short run in a handful of Rome’s cinemas, and initial screenings at two
festivals in Italy and Switzerland, the planned distribution company fell into
bankruptcy and as a result, the film faded in obscurity. Thankfully, the movie’s
brand-new 2K restoration by Cineteca Nazionale has made this underground
classic available for all to enjoy.
The film is presented in its original Italian
Dolby Digital 2.0 Mono audio with the option of German and English subtitles.
The disc also contains an interview with producer & actor Manfredi Marzano
(11 min), an interview with friend of Sergio Nuti, Marco Tullio Giordano (7 min)
and a deleted (censored) scene which basically saw actress Francesca Ferrari
dropping to her knees during the shower sequence. There is also a photo gallery
included. Cineploit’s overall packaging is again very impressive. The Blu-ray hardcover
media book with partial UV Spot contains 24 pages including an essay (in German
and English) by Udo Rotenberg (host of Deep Red Radio) and promotional material
and stills from the movie. Sadly, there is no poster reproduction included with
this release, which is probably due to the film’s very limited distribution.
Cinema Retro has been apprised of the forthcoming release
of the new film Spirits in the Forest, a documentary that follows six of the
most dedicated fans of the electronic band Depeche Mode, which was formed in
Basildon, Essex, England in 1980. Ranked at number 98 by VH1 in December 2016
on their list of 100 Greatest Artists of All Time, Depeche Mode has
played to millions of fans the world over, with hits ranging from “Just Can’t
Get Enough†(1981) to “People Are People†(1984) to “Suffer Well†(2005) to
“Precious†(2005) to their latest album Spirit in (2017).
Please read the press release below from Trafalgar
Releasing, the company that released the Rush theatrical extravaganza Cinema
Strangiato in August.
London, UK, September 26: Depeche Mode, along with
Trafalgar Releasing, Sony Music Entertainment and BBH Entertainment, today have
launched the official film trailer for Depeche Mode: SPIRITS in the
Forest, with cinema tickets for the worldwide November 21 release now
available at spiritsintheforest.com.
The brand new feature-length film, directed by award-winning filmmaker and
long-time artistic collaborator Anton Corbijn, Depeche Mode: SPIRITS in
the Forest, delves deeply into the emotional stories of six
special Depeche Mode fans from across the globe, giving audiences a
unique look into music’s incredible power to connect and empower people. Along
with these key fan stories, the film integrates performance footage from the
two final shows of the band’s 2017/2018 Global Spirit Tour, which saw them play
to over 3 million fans at 115 performance dates around the world.
SPIRITS in the Forest will be screened in more than 2,400 cinemas
around the world on November 21. Tickets are on-sale from today at
spiritsintheforest.com, where fans can find the most up-to-date information
regarding participating theaters and sign up for event alerts.
Alfred
Hitchcock’s early British period of work (1927-1939) has been in the public
domain and/or out of copyright and available in poor quality renditions online
and cheap home video bargain collections for many years. Most of these are
unwatchable, not due to the films themselves, but because of the wretched
condition of the images. Granted, not everything the Master of Suspense did
during these years is up to par with his later Hollywood output that most of us
know. Nevertheless, of the 25+ films Hitch made then (nine of them silent),
there are indeed some select winners (The Lodger, The Man Who Knew
Too Much, The 39 Steps, Sabotage, and The Lady Vanishes
all come to mind).
There
are also a handful of other admirable and worthwhile gems from the British period,
and Kino Lorber has recently issued new high definition restorations of two
that have been crying out for facelifts for some time.
Blackmail
(1929)
is touted as Britain’s first talkie, although it really isn’t. Nevertheless, as
audio commentator Tim Lucas says, we’re not going to argue with that notion. Blackmail
was such a step forward in technical innovation with its inventive use of sound
that the picture deserves to be recognized as, at least, the first British
talkie that did sound well. Interestingly, the film exists as a silent
film, too. As in the USA, many cinemas across Britain were not yet wired for
sound, so Hitchcock made two versions—a silent and a talkie. Originally, the
silent picture was longer than the sound version, but some of that material is
lost. A recent restoration brings the silent entry in at around 75 minutes,
whereas the talkie is roughly 85.
It’s
a rather sordid story (then again, it’s Hitchcock!). Alice (gorgeous Anny
Ondra) is angry at her police detective boyfriend, Frank (John Longden), so she
goes out with an artist, Mr. Crewe (Cyril Ritchard). Crewe attempts to rape
her, so Alice murders him with a knife. Unfortunately, shifty street bum Tracy
(Donald Calthrop) figures out she’s the one who did it, and he attempts to
blackmail both Alice and Frank. Without giving too much away, let’s just say
the picture ends with a moral ambiguity.
For
an early sound motion picture, Blackmail is surprisingly engaging and
suspenseful. Hitchcock’s playful use of the technology (such as in the
now-famous scene in which Alice hears the word “knife†repeated and loses her
cool over it) is apparent throughout. The picture is also notable for the director’s
first big climactic sequence at a famous landmark (in this case, the British
Museum).
That
said, film buffs may very well find that the silent version of Blackmail to
be superior. There is an economy to the purely visual storytelling that the
sound entry subtly lacks. They’re both terrific, though.
Note:Although the packaging does not adequately
make it clear, Blackmail comes with two Blu-ray disks. The first
contains the silent version and the sound edition in 1.33:1 aspect ratio. On
the other disk is the sound version in 1.20:1 aspect ratio, which is apparently
closer to what the movie was when first released. There is some speculation
online regarding the accuracy of these two aspect ratios (see the discussion at
https://www.hometheaterforum.com/a-few-words-about-blackmail-in-blu-ray/),
but these eyes can find no egregious fault with either presentation. Compared
to what we’ve had before with Blackmail, the Kino Lorber release is a
godsend. Ironically, the silent version looks the most pristine. Supplements
include the previously mentioned audio commentary by Lucas (always listenable),
an intro to the film by Noël Simsolo, an audio
portion of the conversation between Hitchcock and François
Truffaut conducted for the Hitchcock/Truffaut book, Anny Ondra’s
celebrated brief screen test, and trailers for this and other Kino Lorber
titles.
While criticism of Earthquake usually concentrates on its flaky Sensurround effects,
the film’s more important flaws lie in a confused approach to the genre and –
especially – one character who really belongs in a different movie altogether,
writes BARNABY PAGE.
Although it remains one of the
best-known of the early-1970s all-star disaster extravaganzas, Earthquake (1974) was less successful
commercially than Airport, The Towering Inferno or The Poseidon Adventure, and did not
enjoy the critical acclaim of the latter two.
It probably suffered in the
short term from being released only a month before Inferno, and in the longer term from its over-reliance on the
Sensurround system; watched now, though, it is flawed largely through
discontinuity of tone and the uneasy co-existence of both a strong human
villain and a natural threat. Still, the film casts interesting light on the
genre as a whole, sometimes complying with its standards and sometimes
departing from them.
At the time Earthquake must have seemed something of
a sure bet, overseen for Universal by Jennings Lang, a veteran
agent-turned-producer who was more or less simultaneously working on Airport 1975, had lately been
responsible for some high-profile critical successes including Play Misty For Me and High Plains Drifter, and was a supporter
of Sensurround.
Director Mark Robson had only
a few years earlier delivered the hit Valley
of the Dolls. Co-writer Mario Puzo was riding high on The Godfather,and
Charlton Heston, although his fortunes had waned somewhat during the 1960s, had
been revived as a star by Planet of the Apes.
In Earthquake he would again be one
of those square-jawed “Heston heroes who lack irrational impulsesâ€, as Pauline
Kael memorably put it (though not referring to this movie); he had lately
played a number of characters who defended civilisation against all odds, in
films from El Cid to Khartoum and Major Dundee, and even had a recent disaster-movie credit in Skyjacked.
Yet somehow none of its
creators could quite make it jell, and we are never sure quite what kind of
film we are supposed to be watching. It may not have helped that Puzo
apparently left the project to work on The
Godfather Part II and was replaced by the obscure George Fox, who – from
what I can discover about him – seemed to be as interested in researching
earthquakes for factual accuracy as in crafting an engaging drama. He wrote a
little about the production in a book, Earthquake:
The Story of a Movie, that was published to coincide with release of the
movie.
From early on in the film, we
feel it doesn’t quite have the slickness of the disaster classics. Earthquake belongs to a genre that at
heart took itself very seriously, yet it is more humorously self-referential
than them – not least when Charlton Heston reads, very woodenly, a script with Geneviève Bujold, who plays a wannabe
actress. Another character, Victoria Principal, mentions going to a Clint
Eastwood movie; and in one of the film’s most visually striking sequences we
later see this Eastwood flick, running sideways during the quake before the
projector conks out.
One could even take the
repeated joke of the Walter Matthau character, drunk at a bar and ignoring the
earthquake while randomly spouting the names of famous figures (“Spiro T.
Agnew!†“Peter Fonda!â€), as a comment on the all-star concept.
But at the same time Earthquake is also bleaker than many
others; by contrast Airport is upbeat
and even Towering Inferno, which ends
on a prediction of worse fires in the future, also offers the hope that better
architecture can prevent them. In Earthquake,
however, the ending is distinctly mournful – with its semi-famous final line,
“this used to be a helluva town†and
the comment that only 40 people out of 70 trapped in a basement survived. (The
death tolls in classic disaster movies vary, from negligible in Airport and Inferno to near-total in Poseidon;
numerically, Earthquake sits in the
middle, but it is clearly much more about destruction than salvation.)
And italso has more sheer nastiness than all the others combined,
notably in the miserable marriage of Heston and Ava Gardner – made all the more
bitter by the way Heston feels obliged to save her and dies in the attempt,
when he could have reached safety with his newer love Bujold – and in the
repellent character of Jody, the retail worker and National Guardsman played by
Marjoe Gortner.
The title for this in-depth
documentary couldn’t be more apt. Is there anyone who can’t remember the impact
the famous chest buster scene had on them when it first burst (pun intended)
onto the screen in Ridley Scott’s 1979 Alien
before those indelible images became etched into cinema folklore? I doubt
it.
We all know that this
is the key scene and idea that one takes away from Alien and the premise of which literally got the film green light to
go into production. However, although MEMORY:
The Origins of Alien spends a great deal of time dissecting this scene,
it’s the back stories that fascinate, especially those regarding the film’s
original writer Dan O’Bannon. O’Bannon has been the subject of several reappraisals
of late regarding the franchise, especially in regard to how much he
contributed to the style of the film. The look is total Ridley Scott but the
words on which Scott based his visuals are those of the onetime John Carpenter
collaborator.Of that, the documentary
proves, there is no doubt (at least in the opinion of this writer). O’Bannon’s
involvement on the unfinished Jodorowsky version of Dune is explored in this highly academic documentary. The film
looks at the lyrical inspirations that made Alien
such a classic; from Lovecraft to Shakespeare, from Francis Bacon to the
inimitable H.R. Giger, whose Necronomicon book read like a storyboard for Alien and served as an inspiration for
the movie’s young, visionary director.
The documentary’s
pacing matches that of the initial films and mirrors the fact that we have
taken time to get to know these characters and what makes them tick before they
embark into the unknown. Scott is seen memorably, albeit briefly, as the artist
but its O’Bannon and Giger who come across as the poets of the piece.My one complaint, which could also be taken
as a compliment, is that the film seems to end all too abruptly after the in-depth
coverage of the said chest buster scene. I’d really have liked to have seen
more regarding this scene both in front of and behind the camera. This detailed
examination of a specific scene is obviously director Alexandre O. Philippe’s strong
point, as evidenced in his excellent film 78/52:
Hitchcock’s Shower Scene. But I’d really have liked to have seen more on
what the chest buster evolved into; a creature that took its place in the upper
echelons of horror along with the likes of Frankenstein. Saying that, however,
it’s hard to fault this documentary as it brings new pathos to the Alien franchise and shows us all that Alien, both the creature and the film,
is the sum of many parts. The film has always held a special place in my heart
as it was the first X cert I saw at the cinema (underage and overexcited after
seeing the film’s amazing teaser trailer a few months before). To have such an
in-depth and concise documentary on this milestone is like being handed the
missing piece from the jigsaw that took so long to build but was left on a
shelf until the full picture could be seen. Anyone who is a fan of the
franchise should see this, as should any serious scholar of the art of the
moving image. I’ve always said that the original Alien was more of a ghost train ride than an out and out horror or
science fiction movie but this film shows just how much work goes into setting
that ride up. This really is a treasure chest(buster) of a documentary that all
fans should see.
(MEMORY: The Origins of Alien arrives in UK cinemas on 30 August and
on-demand 2 September.)
Cinemaretro.com
has received the following press release regarding the exhibition of the new
film Rush: Cinema Strangiato 2019, which will be shown in select
theaters on Wednesday, August 21, 2019.
Rush
(pun intended!) to get your tickets now as they are selling out very quickly
(let’s hope that additional dates are added!):
TRAFALGAR RELEASING AND ANTHEM ENTERTAINMENT BRING
‘RUSH: CINEMA STRANGIATO 2019’
TO MOVIE THEATERS WORLDWIDE ON AUGUST 21
THIS FIRST EVER “ANNUAL EXERCISE IN FAN INDULGENCE†FOR RUSH FANS
WILL FEATURE A SPECIAL LOOK INTO R40 LIVE, FEATURING NEW BACKSTAGE FOOTAGE,
SPECIAL GUESTS, AND HIT SONGS “CLOSER TO THE HEART,†“SUBDIVISIONS†AND MORE
Denver, CO – June 11, 2019: Global
event distributor Trafalgar Releasing today announcedRUSH: Cinema Strangiato 2019, coming to select cinemas across the
globe, for a special, limited theatrical engagement on Wednesday, August 21.
Hailed as the first "Annual Exercise in Fan Indulgence" Cinema Strangiato is set to see the Holy Trinity of
Rock return to the big screen bringing RUSH fans together in movie theatres
worldwide.
In partnership with Concord Music
Group and Anthem Entertainment, RUSH: Cinema Strangiato 2019 will feature a special look inside some of the most powerful performances from R40 LIVE,
the band’s 2015 tour and album of the same name.
The theatrical film experience is
set to include top RUSH songs, such as “Closer to the Heart",
"Subdivisions", "Tom Sawyer" and more, as well as
unreleased backstage moments and candid footage previously left on the cutting
room floor.The release also includes
unseen soundcheck performances of the fan-favorite "Jacob's Ladder,†and
exclusive new interviews with Tom Morello, Billy Corgan, Taylor Hawkins,
producer Nick Raskulinecz, violinist Jonathan Dinklage and more.
As a special bonus, fans will get a glimpse into the
madness and passion that went into the making of Geddy Lee's new book, Geddy
Lee's Big Beautiful Book of Bass - featuring a brand-new interview from the
RUSH frontman himself.
“I’m
excited for fans to see some new clips from our R40 tour but also a peek
behind the scenes of making the Big Beautiful Book of Bass,â€
said Geddy Lee.
The news of RUSH: Cinema Strangiato 2019follows
other recently announced upcoming music releases from Trafalgar Releasing including The Cure: Anniversary 1978-2018 Live
in Hyde Park London directed by longtime collaborator Tim Pope, the first
worldwide outing for the ninth Grateful Dead Annual Meet-up at the Movies,
hit Tribeca Film Festival music documentary Between Me and My Mind
featuring Phish frontman Trey Anastasio, and the latest film from Roger Waters
based on the US + THEM World Tour. Other recent music releases from Trafalgar
Releasing have included The Music Center presents Joni 75: A Birthday
Celebration,
Coldplay:
A Head Full of Dreams, Burn the Stage: the Movie, Muse Drones World Tour and Distant
Sky: Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds Live in Copenhagen.
Kymberli Frueh,
SVP for Acquisitions at Trafalgar Releasing added: "Trafalgar Releasing is
thrilled to bring Rush: Cinema Strangiato 2019 to theaters around the
globe for the first of what we’re hoping will become an annual event, bringing
fans together to experience a celebration of one of the world's most popular
rock bands."
The event will be screened in theaters around the
world on Wednesday, August 21. Fans can visit CinemaStrangiato.com to sign up
for news and ticketing updates.
Cinema Retro has received the following press release from Paramount Home Video:
HOLLYWOOD, Calif. –On July 6, 1994 moviegoers met a man named Forrest Gump whose story was
both a deeply personal and affecting odyssey and a universal meditation on our
times. Hailed as “magical†(Roger Ebert, Chicago Sun-Times) and
filled with “startling grace†(Peter Travers, Rolling Stone), FORREST
GUMP became not only a global blockbuster, but a true cultural
touchstone.
25 years later, FORREST
GUMPremains a treasured cinematic classic that is beloved and
quoted the world over. Tom Hanks gives an astonishing performance as
Forrest, an everyman whose simple innocence comes to embody a generation.
Alongside his mamma (Sally Field), his best friend Bubba (Mykelti Williamson),
his commanding officer Lieutenant Dan (Gary Sinise), and his favorite girl
Jenny (Robin Wright), Forrest has a ringside seat for the most memorable events
of the second half of the 20th century.
Directed by Robert Zemeckis
and written for the screen by Eric Roth (based on the novel by Winston Groom), FORREST
GUMP won six Academy Awards® including Best Picture, Best Director,
Best Actor (Tom Hanks), Best Writing, Best Film Editing and Best Visual Effects.
NEW TWO-DISC BLU-RAY
A newly remastered version
of FORREST GUMP is now available in a two-disc Blu-ray. The
set includes access to a Digital copy of the film as well as over three hours
of previously released bonus content detailing the creative efforts that went
into making the enduring classic:
Disc
1
·
Commentary by Robert Zemeckis, Steve Starkey and Rick Carter
·
Commentary by Wendy Finerman
·
Musical Signposts to History
o
Introduction by Ben Fong-Torres
Disc
2
·
Greenbow Diary
·
The Art of the Screenplay Adaptation
·
Getting Past Impossible—Forrest Gump and the Visual Effects
Revolution
·
Little Forrest
·
An Evening with Forrest Gump
·
The Magic of Makeup
·
Through the Ears of Forrest Gump—Sound Design
·
Building the World of Gump—Production Design
·
Seeing is Believing—The Visual Effects of Forrest Gump
In addition, on June 23rd
and 25th, FORREST GUMP will return to the big screen
in more than 600 cinemas nationwide for two screenings each day as Fathom
Events and Paramount present the film. For information and tickets, visit
www.FathomEvents.com.
Bertolucci on location for "Last Tango in Paris" with Marlon Brando and Maria Schneider in 1972.
BY LEE PFEIFFER
Bernardo Bertolucci, the acclaimed Italian director, has died in Rome at age 77. The cause of death was not immediately revealed. Bertolucci won an Oscar for his direction of the 1987 film "The Last Emperor" and also received acclaim for his earlier films that included "The Spider's Stratagem" and "The Conformist". A left-wing Marxist through much of his life, Bertolucci also directed the 1976 epic "1900" which was steeped in political overtones. His most famous and notorious film was "Last Tango in Paris" (1972), which was non-political but highly controversial. It's graphic sexual content was the cause of international controversy and resulted in Bertolucci being charged with obscenity in his native Italy. The film starred Marlon Brando in the tale of a depressed, middle-aged American ex-pat who indulges in a series of anonymous sexual encounters with a teenage Parisian girl (Maria Schneider.) The movie was highly praised in some quarters while being denounced as pretentious pornography in others. Largely on the strength of Brando's powerful performance, the movie was an international boxoffice smash despite the fact that it was basically fare for art house cinemas. Both Brando and Bertolucci received Oscar nominations for the film. Bertolucci also directed the 1979 drama "Luna" which was also controversial for its overtones of an incestuous relationship between a mother and her teenage son. He would go on to also direct "The Sheltering Sky", "The Tragedy of a Ridiculous Man". "The Sheltering Sky", "Stealing Beauty". "The Dreamers" and "Me and You". For New York Times coverage, click here.
All movie lovers have experienced it: a favorite movie theater closes
and is usually replaced by some nondescript cookie-cutter store, usually
part of a big chain..or worse, the place suffers the indignity of the
wrecking ball. Writing in the New Yorker, author Thomas Beller provides a
poignant personal view of the recent closing of a landmark New York
movie theater, the Lincoln Plaza Cinemas, that served the community for decades. The landlord
declined to renew the lease despite the fact that the place was
profitable and there was broad community support to keep it open. I
guess that's the price of "progress"...the same "progress" that in
recent years has seen a virtual war declared on Gotham landmarks, the
very establishments that define neighborhoods and give them their
inimitable flavor. You don't have to be a New Yorker to appreciate Beller's sentiments, so read it and weep. - Lee Pfeiffer
It was the
enormously ambitious and costly film project they said would spectacularly
flop; the 1937 feature length cartoon feature that even his own family tried to
talk him out of making; the realised dream of an all cartoon motion picture,
three years in the making, which broke new ground and cemented his place in
film history. It could have failed and it was a gargantuan gamble, but it paid
off handsomely and Walt Disney never looked back after the supremely seminal Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs became a
global sensation and set him on his way to certain success with a succession of
captivating cartoon classics. Then came the parks, the publications, the
inevitable merchandise and the rest, as they say, is history. So much for this
being “Disney’s Folly†which Snow White was
unfortunately nicknamed - even during
its production! Indubitably, the film serves as a life lesson in believing in
yourself and following your dream. The visionary that was Walt Disney surely
deserved every cent of success for the wealth of wonder and excitement for
which he was responsible.
Picking up a copy
of “Disneyland†comic from a
selection of periodicals in the doctor’s surgery when I was a very young boy
was enough to captivate me and ordain me as a Disney devotee. It became a
weekly reading staple of mine from that point on, taking in “Mickey Mouseâ€
comics along the way. I never missed “Disney Time†on the Beeb and the first
big Disney movie for me at the cinema was Lady
and the Tramp. It completely blew me away and even at that tender age, I
knew that there was something extra special about this particular animation;
everything about it was so wonderfully lifelike (I then had no knowledge of
such animation processes and techniques such as rotoscoping). I eventually knew
all the Disney characters by heart and longed to see the other films on the big
screen. One by one, during school holidays and Easter weekends, I would get the
invaluable opportunity to thrill to these masterpieces: Pinocchio (1940), The Jungle Book (1967), One Hundred and One
Dalmatians (1961), The Rescuers (1977). However, the one Disney production
which never played at any of our local cinemas was the one film I wanted to see
most of all. And that was Snow White and
the Seven Dwarfs, having adored the classic Grimms fairy tale as a nipper
and from which the film was adapted. Finally
that day came when I was in my early teenage years and I actually visited the
cinema to see it after all that time. I would have much preferred to have seen
it as a child, but it still cast its magic spell over me and delivered the
goods I had longed to see.
I think what
appealed to me most about the Disney films, especially Snow White, were the genuinely frightening moments in his films
that featured the villains of the piece. That stirred something deep inside me
and was instrumental in making me a horror film aficionado as I grew older.
So, back to Snow White. Disney did something quite
remarkable with the oft-told and much loved Grimms Brothers favourite Everyone
knows the story of how a young princess, forced to flee for her life when her
insanely jealous mother Queen demands she be killed because she is more
beautiful, encounters a cottage full of dwarfs, becomes a mother to them and
then is brought back from death by love’s first kiss, delivered by a handsome
prince for whom she always had the hots. After which, it goes without saying,
they all live happily ever after.
However, making a
short and sweet little story into a full length animated and consistently
entertaining film is no mean feat, but Disney knew exactly what he was doing
and his invention and attention to detail here is extraordinarily admirable. There
are no longeurs whatsoever and the
film is carefully and cleverly paced and crafted to ensure that there is no
extraneous material inserted to pad out the picture which has an the 83 minutes
running time. For a start, the dwarfs are imbued with their own personalities
and named accordingly; then there is that unmistakable anthropomorphic charm
with the woodland creatures who befriend the gentle and sweet-tempered Snow
White, help her with household chores but most importantly play a pivotal part
in the exciting climax; beautifully written songs are introduced into the story
along the way and could easily stand alone as classics in their own right. All
of this works wonderfully well and never looks out of place or appears poorly
judged.
