Burt Reynolds had been gnawing around the boundaries of genuine stardom for more than a decade, starring in short-lived television shows and top-lining "B" movies. He ingratiated himself to the American public by showcasing his wit and comedic abilities by appearing on chat shows. In 1972, he struck gold when director John Boorman cast him opposite Jon Voight as the two male leads in the sensational film adaptation of James Dickey's "Deliverance". Finally, he could be classified as a major movie star. Soon, Reynolds was cranking out major films even while his uncanny ability to publicize himself resulted in such stunts as his famed provocative centerfold pose in Cosmopolitan magazine. On screen, Reynolds sensed that he could cultivate an especially enthusiastic audience if he catered to rural movie-goers. He was proven right with the release of "White Lightning", a highly enjoyable 1973 action/comedy that perfectly showcased Reynolds' favored image as a handsome, unflappable hero with a Bondian knack for tossing off quips while facing death and also engaging in good ol' boy towel-snapping humor. Playing bootlegger Gator McClusky, Reynolds drew major crowds, very much pleasing United Artists, which enjoyed hefty profits from the modestly-budgeted production. Reynolds learned, however, that his audience wouldn't necessarily follow him if he deviated from that image. When he went against the grain in films like "The Man Who Loved Cat Dancing", "At Long Last Love" and "Lucky Lady", the movies bombed. When he stuck to the basics, he had hits with "Shamus", "The Longest Yard" and "W.W. and the Dixie Dance Kings". The legendary Variety headline that read "Hix Nix Stix Pix" was no longer true. The American heartland loved Burt Reynolds, especially when he played characters that rural audiences could embrace.
In 1976, Reynolds fulfilled another career milestone by directing his first feature film, a sequel to "White Lightning" titled "Gator". Like the first movie, it was shot entirely on location in Georgia and picked up on the adventures of everyone's favorite moonshiner. When we first see Gator in the sequel, he his getting out of jail only to be targeted by the feds to be used as a pawn in a multi-state crackdown on an epidemic of political corruption that threatens the career of the self-serving, ambitious governor (played very well by famed chat show host Mike Douglas in his big screen debut.) Gator is living in a shack located deep in an inhospitable swamp with his elderly father and precocious 9 year-old daughter when the feds launch a major raid to arrest him on moonshining charges. In reality, they want to use the warrant as leverage to convince him to go undercover for them inside the crime ring. Gator wants no part of it and leads the feds on a merry chase around the bayou in which he is pursued by speed boats and helicopters before finally relenting. The lead federal agent in charge is Irving Greenfield (Jack Weston), an overweight, hyper-nervous Jewish guy from Manhattan who has the unenviable task of ensuring that Gator follows orders. A good portion of the film's laugh quotient comes from Irving's less-than-convincing attempts to "blend in" with small town southern locals. The crime ring is run by Bama McCall (Jerry Reed), an outwardly charming and charismatic fellow who, in reality, uses brutally violent methods to ensure loyalty and intimidate local businessmen to pay protection money. He and Gator are old acquaintances and he doesn't hesitate to give Gator a good-paying job as an enforcer for his mob. Things become more intriguing when Gator sets eyes on Aggie Maybank (Lauren Hutton), an attractive local TV anchor with liberal political beliefs that find her squaring off against Bama in order to protect the poor merchants he is exploiting. "Gator" proceeds on a predictable path but its predictability doesn't detract from its merits, which are considerable. Reynolds is a joy to watch and it's small wonder he leaped to the top ranks of cinematic leading men. His cocky, self-assured persona served him well on the big screen and "Gator" is custom-made to please his core audience. He also proved to be a very able director, handling the action scenes and those of unexpected tragic twists with equal skill. He also gets very good performances from his eclectic cast, with Weston engaging in his usual penchant for scene-stealing. Reed also shines in a rare villainous role and ex-model Hutton proves she has admirable acting chops, as well. The action scenes are impressive thanks to the oversight of the legendary Hal Needham, who would forge a long-time collaborative relationship with Reynolds.
The Kino Lorber Blu-ray is a reissue with extras from the 2018 release ported over. The new additional material consists of a commentary track by film historians Steve Mitchell and Nathaniel Thompson, who also provide a new track on the KL reissue of "White Lightning". The track is quite valuable and entertaining, as old pros Mitchell and Thompson provide a wealth of interesting facts and observations about the film. For example, they discuss that "Gator" is far lighter in tone than the revenge thriller "White Lightning" and say that Reynolds thought the script for "Gator" was sub-par but did the film on the proviso he could direct it. The disc is also impressive not only because of the excellent transfer but also because it contains a filmed interview with Reynolds, who extols the film's virtues and its personal meaning to him. In an unusually candid conversation, he divulges amusing anecdotes about Hutton's on-set quirks that included a penchant for exhibitionism (she would flash her breasts to appreciative crew members.) He also relates how a car crash stunt almost killed Hal Needham. Most poignantly, he talks about his personal affection for Georgia, a state he has filmed over twenty movies in. He also candidly expresses his regret that only directed a few films and never fulfilled his dream of directing productions he didn't star in. The Blu-ray set also includes a new gallery of trailers for Reynolds films available from KL. In all, a highly impressive release of an action film showcasing Reynolds at his best. Recommended.
In
the aftermath of the surprise runaway success of Arthur Penn’s Bonnie and
Clyde – the Warner Bros. crime-drama garnering a fifty-million dollar
profit on a two million dollar investment by the close of 1967 – rival studio
United Artists wisely chose to give the director free-reign in choosing his
follow-up project. Ultimately, Penn
chose to give folksinger Arlo Guthrie’s already fabled talking-blues, the
“Alice’s Restaurant Massacree,” a big screen treatment. The timing seemed right.
Though
Penn’s new film would be far removed in temperament and style (and certainly
less violent) than his previous effort it was, in many respects, a prudent
choice. Such anti-establishment films as
Easy Rider, Medium Cool and Wild in the Streets had proven
critical and box successes in the years 1968-1969. Such free-spirited films brought in young,
enthusiastic audiences, the movie industry’s most important target demographic. But Penn was also aware that this recent
trend from literary to reality-based story-telling on film signaled an
important shift. He told the Los
Angeles Times that filmmakers were in increasingly “moving more and more
into direct relationship with the populace.”
Guthrie’s
meandering, sardonic epic – one seamlessly weaving an innocent’s view of
government inanities, the overreach of small-town policing, of “American Blind
Justice,” the travails of Selective Service draft board induction and of U.S.
foreign policy in Vietnam – was blistering clear-eyed and acutely withering in
its impossibly gentle, but mocking satire.
In
March of 1968 Guthrie’s manager, Harold Leventhal, was in process of inking the
film deal with Penn and UA. That very
same month Guthrie’s debut album, also titled Alice’s Restaurant, had
climbed to the no. 29 spot on the Billboard Top 100 album chart. Guthrie’s album had, improbably, been
charting steadily upward since it’s entry in the no. 180 position in November
of 1967. This was a particularly impressive
feat for an album whose signature song was eighteen minutes and twenty seconds
long. The song’s maddeningly memorable
and cyclical melody was supported only by the most basic backing
instrumentation: Guthrie’s acoustic guitar, a sparse standup bass and an impish
typewriter-cadence drum beat.
By
all measures, the commercial success of the “Alice’s Restaurant Massacree” was
implausible. Guthrie’s studio recording was understandably ignored on
ever-important AM radio – partly as no broadcast-length version was made
available to them.* But long before Guthrie would formally record his
shaggy-dog studio version of the “Massacree” in a professional setting in June
of 1967, the song was already well-known by those listening to such free-form
underground radio stations as New York City’s WBAI and Philadelphia’s
WMMR. The song had been pirated – in
several differing “live” versions and iterations – from reel-to-reel recordings
sourced from Guthrie’s appearances during late-night on-air radio show
appearances.
Thanks
to the underground circulation of those recordings, the “Massacree” was quickly
adopted as an anthem of the counter-culture, and by writers, artists and
anti-war activists. In time, Guthrie’s
talking-blues filtered up from underground radio to a more mainstream
audience. The song particularly appealed
to open-minded listeners, draft-age youngsters, journalists and
social-political pundits. They
immediately recognized that many of Guthrie’s satirical observations were acute
and perhaps too-closely reflected a society going amiss.
Upon
its release in September of 1969, Penn’s cinematic version of Alice’s
Restaurant wasn’t the box-office blockbuster that Bonnie and Clyde
was – but no one expected it to be. It
was a more personal low-budget film, but one that still did great
business. The film would bring in some
6.3 million dollars and sell just shy of 4.5 million paid admissions in the
domestic North American theatrical market alone. The film’s cast of professional actors were
supplemented by the townspeople of Stockbridge, Massachusetts, and by Guthrie’s
own friends working as extras on the edges. Penn estimated that ninety percent of the extras in the film were of the
community.
Penn’s
cinema vérité style dabbles are evident throughout. The film’s primary strength is in its
glimpses of the otherwise private involvements of the community congregating at
Alice and Ray Brock’s Old Trinity Church in Great Barrington. The film, on occasion, has a documentary feel
to it. This was Penn’s choice, his
personal way of doing things. “I work
very fluidly, with almost no preconceptions,” he told a visiting journalist on
set. Penn also shared that he did not
work from storyboards nor even visit locations prior to shooting. “I just sort of set up how life would be if
you were in that situation.” It could be
argued that the biggest issue with this approach was Penn’s viewing the
unfolding drama through a lens of presumption: the film’s reality and fictional
episodes are uneasily juxtaposed throughout.
Though
Arlo Guthrie holds mixed feelings about the resulting film (“I only made one
film,” he’d tell concert audiences over ensuing decades, “…’cause I saw
it.”), his memories of working with the creative team involved remain
warm. He thought Penn’s effort was an
“honest” one, his efforts allowing outsiders a small peek into the “scene”
built around the Old Trinity Church. But
Guthrie was also aware that the scene at Trinity circa 1965 – the time of
Guthrie’s Thanksgiving Day crime of littering - was a fluid one. Penn’s film could only provide a brief
snapshot of a time already passed since, in coming days, Guthrie reckoned,
“there’ll be a whole new scene up there, as everywhere else.”
Guthrie
was only twenty-years old when the film went into production - and had not
acted professionally in any capacity. Many on set in the summer of ’68 found the folksinger private and
distant, “elusive” in answers to both crew members and visiting
journalists. According to a long essay
in Playboy magazine, even old friends at the Trinity suggested that
Guthrie was “thought by some” to have already “left the family.” Certainly, his visits to the Trinity were
less frequent due to his new touring and recording commitments. On the brighter side, manager Leventhal was
impressed by his young client’s professionalism. He told the New York Times, “Here’s a
kid who likes to sleep until 3:30 in the afternoon who had to make a 7:30 A.M.
movie call every day for three months of shooting, and he did.”
In
November of 2023 the University of Oklahoma Press published a biography of the
folk-rock singer in which he and I collaborated: Rising Son: The Life and
Music of Arlo Guthrie. Cinema
Retro editor Lee Pfeiffer asked if Arlo might be willing to share some
memories of his experience working on the Alice’s Restaurant film with
Arthur Penn. Though it’s been nearly
fifty-six years since production on the film began in June of 1968, Guthrie
graciously offered to share some of his remembrances of that time with
readers:
Q:
My first question to you is a pretty general one. As a kid growing up in the 1950s and early
‘60s, how would describe your interest in cinema? Were you a big fan of the movies? If so, what sort of films were you attracted
to?
Arlo: I wasn’t so much into films as I was more into TV
shows. Obviously, films that came out when I was a little older - the mid to
late 60s - had a bigger impact on me. “Bonnie & Clyde” for example.
Q:
What were you favorite TV programs? I
understand you were a big fan of Star Trek –
and just missed out on being cast on an episode. What was the story behind that?
Arlo: I got a phone call from Leonard Nimoy one time, out
of the blue! I couldn’t believe I was chatting with Spock! But I have no memory
of being asked to participate with Star Trek. **
Q:
I have a news-cutting from Variety reporting from your overseas
promotional tour for the Alice’s Restaurant film. In this case, from Paris in May of 1970. At the press conference you suggested that following the release of the Alice
film in the U.S. you were suddenly “offered ten films about hippies but
would prefer to do a western.”
Arlo:We didn’t do any promotional tours
in the US, as they were un-needed. But when I was asked to do a promotional
tour of Europe I jumped on it. I wanted to go to Europe. I had offers for more
acting roles, but mostly on TV shows that were popular at the time. Hawaii 5-O,
etc. But in those days everyone who had long hair was cast as a drug-addled
thief or a murderer. So I kindly
declined those invitations.
Q:
In any case, you did accept a number of television acting assignments in the
1990s. Our readers might recall your
reoccurring role as the graying-hippie Alan Moon on ABC’s Byrds
of Paradise. My
personal favorite of your television work was your role as a 1960s
folk-singing, Weather Underground-style fugitive on the Lorenzo Lamas series Renegade. How did those opportunities come about?
Arlo: I don’t remember exactly. But my
booking agents, David Helfant and later Paul Smith, made those roles possible.
Those offers came through their offices. I wasn’t looking for acting jobs.
(Photo: Cinema Retro Archive)
Q:Since you are a musician first and foremost,I’d like to ask you a
few questions about the soundtrack accompanying the Alice’s Restaurant film. Prior to his work on Alice’s Restaurant, Gary Shermanwas the arranger and conductor for John
Barry’s soundtrack for Midnight Cowboy. On Alice’s Restaurant, Sherman is billed as “Musical Supervisor,”
credited as composer and arranger of the film’s “Additional music.” What exactly was Sherman’s contribution? Did
you work closely with him on the arrangements?
Arlo: Gary Sherman wasn’t very familiar with the kinds of
instruments I wanted to be used as a sound track. But he was very knowledgeable with regards as
to how music supported a film. We worked very closely together trying to
integrate our different skills.
Q:Fred Hellerman, the producer of your first two albums for Reprise - is
credited on screen as the film’s “Musical
Director.” What exactly was
Hellerman’s role in creating the soundtrack?
Arlo: Fred had some knowledge of the kinds of musical
instrumentation - and songs - I was into at the time. He may have worked with
Gary more than I was aware of, but I think the credit was more of an honorific
title.
Q:In Rising Son: The Life and Music of Arlo Guthrie, you recall your
enthusiasm of having partnered with John Pilla on the soundtrack sessions. Pilla, of course, would soon become the
“Spiritual Advisor,” producer and/or co-producer of all of your albums from Running
Down the Road (1969) through Someday (1986). What was it about this earlier collaboration
that made you so trusting of John as someone musically simpatico?
Arlo: John and I loved the traditional songs and
instruments that became the underlying sound track for the film. For example,
we made extensive use of the autoharp which had not been used before (or since)
in Hollywood movies.
Q:
Any particular fond (or perhaps not-so-fond) memories of working on the Alice’s Restaurant soundtrack sessions with
Pilla and Sherman?
Arlo: Arguing about music became the
hallmark of my collaboration with John Pilla. He was very traditional in his assessment of what was good while I was a
little too experimental. Gary was good at determining what worked. So between
us we arrived at a consensus.
Q:The Old Trinity Church is central to Arthur Penn’s imagining of the Alice’s Restaurant film. What role did Ray and Alice’s deconsecrated
church-home play in your life?
Arlo: I always felt very much at home at the church. Long
before we began working on the film, I had stayed there often. It wasn’t very
long after Thanksgiving 1965 that I was to spend more time traveling around and
less time at the church. Using the church as a central location was fabulous.
Although Charles Bronson had been making movies for nearly 25 years and was quite popular in Europe, this international smash hit made him a superstar for the rest of his career. Michael Winner's provocative saga of a grieving father's vigilante vengeance became a Nixon-era touchstone that engendered four increasingly exploitative sequels over the next two decades. Hard to imagine what originally slated director Sidney Lumet would have made of this with Jack Lemmon in the lead.
As always, you can find more commentaries, more reviews, more podcasts, and more deep-dives into the films you don't know you love yet over on the Trailers From Hell mothership:
http://www.trailersfromhell.com
The
incentive for this 4th volume in my Celluloid Adventures series was a dismissive review in a reference
book of the 1956 film version of George Orwell’s novel, 1984, calling it “a great disappointment and a lackluster
adaptation of the briliant novel.” This derogatory opinion remains the general
consensus among many critics. I disagree with this assessment, in part
because
the movie remained in my memory long after I first saw it. Furthermore, I had
read the novel so I knew that, though the adaptation was definitely a loose
one, it was actually faithful to Orwell’s ideas. So I wanted to redress this
negative opinion of the movie and proceeded to write about it. This led to my
considering other movies in the science fiction and horror genres that, I
believe, are also underrated. Thus was born the concept for Celluloid Adventures 4:Science Fiction Thrills….Horror Chills.
I
should state at this point that I became a fan of science fiction and horror
movies in my adolescence. I also loved Westerns (Shane is my all-time favorite movie) and it has always upset me
when a good movie, particularly in my favorite genres, fails at the box-office.
Thus, my objective in the first three volumes was to bring overdue attention to
some of these movies. In these books, I discuss films within several genres
while I devote individual chapters to science fiction and/or horror movies. For
this fourth book, I decided to focus only on science fiction and horror because
the ascendancy of these genres that began with Star Wars (1977) and The
Exorcist (1973) relegated to relative obscurity many fine movies that
preceded this dominance along with a few that followed. And it is some of these
films that I wanted to retrieve from anonymity for this book. (Not
coincidentally, my devotion to the genres more or less ended in the late 70s,
coinciding with this ascendancy, but that’s another story.)
It
was very rewarding for me to research the movies in Celluloid Adventures 4 because I discovered numerous interesting details
about their development and production that I hope will make this book equally
interesting. For instance, here are just a few of the many intriguing facts
that I learned:
The director of one movie fired his own
brother who had written the screenplay.
One movie is based upon a legend of the
birth of a deformed monster.
One movie was made by a married couple
that later engaged in an acrimonious divorce.
One movie failed upon its original
release but played to enthusiastic audiences in New York
and Los Angeles 65 years later.
The
screenplay for one movie is based upon actual inhumane experiments conducted in
prestigious universities.
The producer of one movie was forced to
cast the actor who starred in it.
The director of one movie considers it among
his worst.
One serious movie suffered because its
studio promoted it as an exploitation movie.
The
14 movies that I highlight cover a period of three and one-half decades, from
1943 to 1978, and I would speculate that the average moviegoer today has not
heard of most of them. With one exception, they were financial failures or
disappointments, a fact that contributes to their obscurity. However, I believe
that they still deserve the recognition and praise that they did not receive
upon their original release. In my estimation, these are all excellent films
but yet most of them did not attract wide audiences.
These
movies include a wide variety of subjects. In Son of Dracula (1943), the main character is a woman who is not
only eager to die but is also willing to kill the man that loves her. In Alias Nick Beal (1949), Lucifer is
determined to condemn an innocent man him to eternal suffering. Both The Power (1968) and The Medusa Touch (1978) portray men with
superior brains that have the capability to either save or destroy the entire world.
One of them will choose destruction because he hates humanity with a passion.
Very
few people have heard of the movie, Who?
(1974), and those who have heard of it were probably confused by the title. And
yet it is a poignant story of an altruistic man who is victimized by futuristic
technology. The protagonist of The Groundstar
Conspiracy (1972) also endures tremendous suffering from another type of
futuristic technology. The future of the aforementioned 1984 (1956) is extremely frightening because it depicts a world in
which a sweet-looking child will betray her own father to be tortured and
perhaps killed.
I
am hoping that this book will encourage people, including some of you who are
reading this, to view these movies. They are all entertaining and, in some
respects, provocative. For instance, after seeing The Maze (1953), you might actually sympathize with a monstrous amphibian.
If you believe that a brain is lifeless once it is removed from its body, Donovan’s Brain (1953) may change your
mind. You might also discover how fragile our brains are after viewing The Mind Benders (1963), a story about the
cruelty of pitiless scientists. If you view Crack
in the World (1965), you will witness how the earth is almost destroyed by
a scientist with abundant hubris. Upon viewing Journey to the far Side of the Sun (1969), you will witness a benevolent
scientist lose his sanity because of his extraordinary discovery.
There
are moments of pure excitement and suspense as well as pure terror in these
movies. Viewers of Capricorn One
(1977) will inevitably break out in ecstatic applause at the sight of a rickety
biplane suddenly appearing on an isolated desert road. This is the only movie
among the 14 in this book that was a success – with the public if not the
critics. In contrast, The Mummy’s Shroud
(1967) played the bottom-of-the-bill of double features and was unnoticed upon
its release. But I believe it deserves some kind of awareness.
So
I hope that I have piqued your curiosity enough to encourage you to read about
the making of these movies. But even if you choose not to buy the book, for
your own safety, I implore you to please heed this warning: Beware the beat of
the cloth-wrapped feet!
Filmmaker
Nicolas Roeg always managed to challenge cinematic norms. Even his most
accessible and popular film, Don’t Look Now (1973), still had what some
might call “arty” shots and experimental editing. Roeg was a director who loved
the images the camera caught, but he also enjoyed manipulating the narrative of
his pictures with the kind of radical editing likely inspired by the French New
Wave, but probably more by the so-called New American Cinema movement that included
revolutionary filmmakers such as Andy Warhol, Stan Brakhage, and others.
Roeg
began his work in film as a cinematographer—and a very good one, too (second
unit on Lawrence of Arabia, The Masque of the Red Death, Far
from the Madding Crowd, and more). After a co-directing (with Donald
Cammell) debut of Performance (1970), Roeg struck out on his own and
made a name for himself as a director of provocative art house fare.
First
out of the gate was Walkabout (1971). It was Australia’s official entry
to the Cannes Film Festival that year, despite it being primarily a British
production (and Roeg himself being English). It was based on the 1959 novel by
James Vance Marshall (a pseudonym of Donald G. Payne), which was first
published as The Children but subsequently renamed Walkabout.
Roeg had apparently wanted to adapt the book into a film for years, and he
finally got the chance to do it with only a million dollar budget. Producers
Max L. Raab and Si Litvinoff (both known primarily as executive producers of
Kubrick’s A Clockwork Orange, because they had initially owned the film
rights) provided the funding for what was essentially an independent
production, eventually released by 20th Century Fox. Playwright Edward Bond wrote
a treatment that acted as the screenplay, but most of the picture was
improvised on the go.
Taking
a minimal crew and a cast of unknowns into the Australian outback, Roeg gave us
a haunting, enigmatic, gorgeous-to-look-at, existential treatise on innocence,
the loss of it, and the importance of communication.
“Girl”
(a young Jenny Agutter, who was sixteen when the film was made) and “White Boy”
(Nicolas Roeg’s son Luc Roeg, credited as Lucien John, who was age seven during
production) are siblings who live what appear to be “normal” lives with their
parents in Sydney. One nice, sunny day, “Father” (John Meillon), takes the two
children to the desert for a picnic. There, he attempts to shoot them, but Girl
protects her younger brother and they hide. Father kills himself and sets the
family car on fire. The two kids are now stranded in the outback. Lacking
survival skills, they manage to make it through a few days (but time is never
clear in the film). Then they meet a young “Black Boy” (Australian and Yolngu
actor David Gulpilil, whose age was unknown at the time but since estimated to
be about eighteen when cast) who is out in the wilderness alone. He befriends
the two, regardless of a language barrier, and effectively saves the white
kids’ lives by teaching them how to find water and hunt for game to eat. Interestingly,
it is White Boy who is able to communicate with Black Boy through mime and
playful gestures; Girl seems to be at sea when dealing with the human who is
totally foreign to her. Days pass as the trio travels across the striking
landscape, culminating in a moment in which the physical adolescence of Girl
and Black Boy follow a natural course to sexual tension. Black Boy performs his
native “courtship ritual” dance in tribal makeup and clothing for Girl. Not
understanding what he’s doing and fearful of him, Girl rejects him. Revealing
the rest of the tale would certainly be a spoiler.
A
“walkabout” is a rite of passage in Australian Aboriginal society. Adolescent
males must spend six months in the wilderness and survive—or not—to became an
adult. Hence, while Black Boy is likely enacting his own walkabout, the film
becomes a walkabout for Girl and White Boy. There’s a lot going on underneath
the surface here, including an examination of race and class differences in a
land where the British Empire encroached on an indigenous people, sexual mores
and taboos, and how one’s social environment dictates how one behaves.
Walkabout
is a
fascinating film, and it was highly praised by critics upon release—but, sadly,
it was a box office failure. It has since become a cult classic and a cinephile
favorite. There was some criticism (still is) of the picture’s display of
nudity of all three leads, seeing that, technically, Agutter and young Roeg
were underage. Some bits were cut for the initial release, but footage was
restored in the 1990s. The British Board of Film Classification, though,
determined that the film was not “indecent.” Agutter herself has contemporarily
defended the nude scenes and says that they are essential to the themes of the
movie.
The
Criterion Collection released the film on DVD and Blu-ray years ago, but now
the company has issued a new 4K UHD edition containing two discs. A 4K UHD digital
master in Dolby Vision HDR occupies the first disc, while a Blu-ray of the film
plus special features are on the second. The visuals are, naturally, stunning. An
audio commentary featuring both Nicolas Roeg and Jenny Agutter accompanies the
film. Special features include vintage interviews with Luc Roeg and Agutter, an
hour long documentary on the life and career of David Gulpilil, and the
theatrical trailer. An essay by author Paul Ryan is in the booklet.
With
John Barry’s lush score, Roeg’s own striking cinematography, the sweeping
panoramas of the Australian outback, and the likable, honest performances by
the cast, Walkabout is a highly recommended must-see.
PASOLINI 101—a monumental collection of nine films by one of the most original thinkers of the 20th century. Collected together for the first time in celebration of the Italian iconoclast’s daring vision of cinema as a form of resistance.
One of the most original and controversial thinkers of the twentieth century, Italian polymath Pier Paolo Pasolini embodied a multitude of often seemingly contradictory ideologies and identities—and he expressed them all in his provocative, lyrical, and indelible films. Relentlessly concerned with society’s downtrodden and marginalized, he elevated pimps, hustlers, sex workers, and vagabonds to the realm of saints, while depicting actual saints with a radical earthiness. Traversing the sacred and the profane, the ancient and the modern, the mythic and the personal, the nine uncompromising, often scandal-inciting features he made in the 1960s still stand—on this, the 101st anniversary of his birth—as a monument to his daring vision of cinema as a form of resistance.
NINE-BLU-RAY SPECIAL EDITION COLLECTOR’S SET FEATURES
Nine feature films: Accattone, Mamma Roma, Love Meetings, The Gospel According to Matthew, The Hawks and the Sparrows, Oedipus Rex, Teorema, Porcile, and Medea
New 4K digital restorations of seven films and 2K digital restorations of Teorema and Medea, with uncompressed monaural soundtracks
Two shorts made by director Pier Paolo Pasolini for anthology films: La ricotta (1963) and The Sequence of the Paper Flower (1969)
Two documentaries made by Pasolini during his travels
New program on Pasolini’s visual style as told through his personal writing, narrated by actor Tilda Swinton and writer Rachel Kushner
Audio commentaries on Accattone and Teorema
Documentaries on Pasolini’s life and career featuring archival interviews with the director and his close collaborators
Episode from 1966 of the French television program Cinéastes de notre temps
Interviews with filmmakers and scholars
Trailers
New English subtitle translations
PLUS: Deluxe packaging, including a 100-page book featuring an essay and notes on the films by critic James Quandt, and writings and drawings by Pasolini
Birkin in the 1969 cult film "La Piscine". (Photo: Cinema Retro Archive.)
By Lee Pfeiffer
Actress and singer Jane Birkin has died at age 76. A cause of death did not accompany the announcement. Birkin was one of the "It Girls" of the mod period of the mid-to-late 1960s when censorship boundaries were removed and sexual behavior became celebrated rather than condemned. Because Birkin had been so closely associated with France, many people thought she was French by birth. Indeed, in commenting on her passing, President Macron referred to her as a "French icon". But Birkin was British by birth and came of age during an era of social rebellion that afforded her liberated attitudes to be celebrated in the arts. She first appeared in bit roles in "The Knack...and How to Use It", "The Idol",, "Kaleidoscope" and, more importantly, in a memorable nude scene in director Michelangelo Antonioni's bizarre but acclaimed 1966 "Blow-up". She also starred in the 1969 French film "La Piscine" with Alain Delon, which has become a popular cult film in recent years. She married British composer John Barry, whose own popularity was exploding due in no small part to his association with the James Bond films. The marriage didn't last and Birkin went to France to appear in a film. There she met and fell in love with songwriter and actor Serge Gainsbourg. Their relationship became the stuff of gossip columns after the couple recorded the smash hit, provocative record "Je t'aime...moi non plus". She and Gainsbourg stayed together for ten years. In addition to her concert appearances, Birkin was also known for inadvertently inspiring a top-end handbag design manufactured by Hermes, after an executive for the company overheard her complain that they needed to create a larger bag.
These
days, filmmaker Joseph Losey doesn’t get the acclaim he deserves. An American
who showed great talent in Hollywood in the early 1940s and was well on his way
to a lucrative and respectable career, got sidelined by HUAC—the House
Un-American Activities Committee. Because Losey had ties with the early
Communist Party in the U.S., he, along with many, many other artists working in
Tinsel Town, was blacklisted. He fled his native country to the United Kingdom,
where he remained until his death. Losey made films in England and France, many
of which are admired films noir. In the 1960s and beyond he moved toward
making provocative art films, working with writers such as Harold Pinter and
generally pushing the envelope in the cinema.
The
Servant (1963)
is one of those art films that Losey made, and it was his first collaboration
with playwright Pinter (they did three pictures together). Based on a 1948
novella by Robin Maugham, The Servant is also one of Pinter’s first
attempts at screenwriting. Pinter had been enjoying some success in the theatre
since the late 1950s but was still not yet a fully established theatrical
superstar at that time (this would occur a couple of years later). His own
adaptation of his play, The Caretaker, was also made in 1963. Pinter
took Maugham’s novella and re-tooled it to emphasize the class warfare that is
going on in the subtext of the story, as well as adding what can only be
described as the Pinter’s Theatre of Menace—a sense of subtle, unnerving threat
that exists in most all of his work.
The
story is about a wealthy international real estate developer, Tony (James Fox,
in a debut role), a bachelor who hires a manservant, Hugo Barrett (Dirk
Bogarde). They get along splendidly at first, although Tony’s girlfriend, Susan
(Wendy Craig), senses something off about Barrett and wants Tony to get rid of
him. Tony refuses. Barrett one day convinces Tony to hire his sister, Vera
(Sarah Miles), to be a maid. Vera seduces Tony one night when Barrett is away.
But then one day Tony and Susan come home to the flat and find Vera and Barrett
in bed together. Turns out they’re not brother and sister at all. And then the
tale takes a sharp left turn into nightmare territory as relationships change
and power dynamics are reversed. To reveal more would spoil the creepiness of
what happens next.
The
Servant is
a powerful, disturbing film. The crowning touch is the superb, unsettling
performance by Bogarde, who won the BAFTA award that year for Best Actor (the
film was nominated for Best Picture). The movie was ignored by the Oscars, but
Pinter did win the award for Best Screenplay by the New York Film Critics
Circle. Today, the movie resides at #22 on the BFI Top 100 British Films of the
20th Century list.
Losey’s
perceptive direction masterfully uses mise-en-scène in a carefully
staged sense of place that is claustrophobic and austere. He treats the
theatre-of-the-absurd goings-on with absolute sincerity and realism… a perfect
approach to Pinter’s exceptional dialogue and the mood established by the piece.
The
Servant is
very much an adult film, something that couldn’t have been made in America in
1963, and it’s a bit surprising that Britain’s censors weren’t all over it. But,
then again, everything lies in the subtext. What you don’t see on screen can’t
be censored, can it? The film is a brilliant display of shocking subject matter
done in an ordinary, matter-of-fact presentation.
The
Criterion Collection’s new Blu-ray release features a new 4K digital
restoration with an uncompressed monaural soundtrack. It shows off the striking
black and white cinematography by Douglas Slocombe, a longtime British DP who later
won three Academy Awards (including one for Raiders of the Lost Ark).
Supplements
include a new, interesting overview of Joseph Losey’s career by film critic
Imogen Sara Smith; a rare audio interview with Losey from 1976; a revealing
1996 interview with Harold Pinter; vintage interviews with actors Dirk Bogarde,
Sarah Miles, James Fox, and Wendy Craig; and the theatrical trailer. The
enclosed booklet contains an essay by author Colm Tóibín.
The Servant is for fans of Joseph Losey, Harold Pinter, and, especially,
Dirk Bogarde, who owns this motion picture. His portrayal of Hugo
Barrett surely upends the old adage that ‘you can’t get good help these days.’
Way back in 1971 when I was in high school, there seemed to be a tidal wave of soft-core porn flicks, mostly imported from Europe and dubbed rather crudely into English. I never sought to spend the paltry contents of my wallet on these tame sex movies movies because I lived directly across the river from Times Square and that offered my friends and I the real forbidden fruit in sleazy, grind house movie theaters. Age was no barrier as long as you were willing to pay the then tidy sum of $5. However, the softcore Euro imports did find enthusiastic audiences in places where there weren't many alternatives to finding cinematic "adult entertainment". The films were generally rated "X" but were pretty tame, stressing humor to overcome objections from local killjoys who thought the idea of seeing some naked people on screen would condemn their entire community to eternal damnation. One of the most profitable of these films was the 1969 release, "The Stewardesses", which was so tame that it could be shown on Disney+ today. Nevertheless, these films afforded women to get a few cheap thrills without having to suffer the stigma of being seen entering a theater showing hardcore fare. Thus, plenty of couples enjoyed the opportunity to share in date nights that somewhat pushed the envelope in terms of general standards. The films were generally bestowed with memorable titles, which is why I remember the newspaper ads for "Dagmar's Hot Pants" and similar fare such as "The Long Swift Sword of Siegfried". The good news is that some of these films have been lovingly presented on Blu-ray by Kino Lorber, in collaboration with Code Red. When a screener arrived of "Dagmar's Hot Pants", I took an immediate interest, remembering hot pants as one of those short-lived fashion trends of the 1970s. For those readers who were not around way back then, the gimmick with hot pants was a simple one: they were very short and very tight and left little to the imagination. Although my high school had a very liberal dress code (jeans and T shirts were the norm), I do recall one of my female classmates pushing the envelope by wearing hot pants to class. That was a bridge too far and she was summarily sent home to change into something less offensive, much to the consternation of her male classmates. At least hot pants were provocative and sensible, as opposed to the male fashions of the era such as the leisure suit and safari jacket, the latter of which was a dress/casual abomination that looked as though it was designed to allow a man to hunt elephants in the morning and then attend a swank cocktail party in the evening without changing attire.
I looked forward to viewing "Dagmar's Hot Pants" simply to see an abundance of this long-forgotten fashion trend glorified on screen. Alas, I was snookered, as was anyone back in the day who paid to see the film. You see, there are no hot pants in "Dagmar's Hot Pants". They are neither shown nor discussed. It was simply a case of a shamelessly deceptive marketing campaign to capitalize on a recent fashion trend. Oh, well.The film itself presents lovely Diana Kjaer in the title role, playing a fabulously successful young woman who has emerged as one of Copenhagen's most in-demand hookers. Dagmar's daily schedule of meeting with clients from around the globe is frantic and she sometimes has to call on the services of fellow prostitutes to assist her in meeting some of the more unusual demands of her customers. The film takes a humorous view of all this, as we see Dagmar patiently keeping a straight face while interacting with oddball clients ranging from two goofy Japanese businessmen who want an orgy to horny local businessmen of some esteem, including a doctor who pays Dagmar to initiate his teenage son in the ways of the world. The only "normal" client Dagmar services is a member of Copenagen's Vice Squad, who ensures she doesn't get busted in return for sexual favors. One of her adoring clients is a gruff, but rich American businessman played by Robert Strauss...yes, that Robert Strauss who had earned an Oscar nomination for Billy Wilder's "Stalag 13". It's a bit uncomfortable seeing the sixty-something actor engaging in a sexual dalliance with Dagmar but presumably the lure of a quick paycheck and a trip to Copenhagen made for an offer Strauss couldn't refuse. If Robert Strauss has always figured into your fantasies, then your ship has come in. Throughout the story, Dagmar is keeping a big secret as she arranges to leave her lucrative business for a top secret venture. "That's it!", I thought- she's going into the hot pants manufacturing business, but alas, the answer is somewhat more mundane and disappointing. There are a couple of minor efforts to introduce some dramatic scenes into the slapstick. Dagmar lends her desperate brother money so that his girlfriend can get an abortion. There is also a tense scene with her quasi-pimp, a scary fellow who threatens her if she doesn't obey his wishes. In this sense, the film differs from similar movies of this type by at least acknowledging that the life of a call girl isn't all fun and games.
As is usual with these films, there are some interludes showing the star walking through the lovely streets of Copenhagen in an obvious attempt to add an exotic appeal to the production. Diana Kjaer manages to keep her clothes on occasionally but for the most part she is seen showering or chatting on the phone sans any cumbersome garments. I must say the dubbing in this film is a bit better than most and Code Red and Kino Lorber have provided a good looking transfer from a 2K master. You have to admire companies that take such efforts to preserve and present even minor films such as this.
The only bonus extra is an English language trailer that continues the sin of false advertising by saying "Dagmar's Hot Pants" is the name the title character has given to her prostitution network. In fact, there is never any mention of Dagmar's Hot Pants anywhere in the film. However, if these tame sex comedies from the distant past appeal to you, this is one of the better in this genre. I now hopefully await a Blu-ray release of "The Long Swift Sword of Siegfried"!.
In the estimation of many film scholars the 1970s was the most
adventurous and liberating period in the history of the medium. The new
freedoms in regard to sex, violence and adult themes that had exploded
in the mid-1960s became even more pronounced in the '70s. Among the most
daring studios to take advantage of this trend was United Artists. The
studio had been conceived by iconic actors in the silent era with the
intent of affording artists as much creative control over their
productions as possible. UA had continued to fulfill that promise,
producing a jaw-dropping number of box-office hits and successful film
franchises. The studio also disdained censorship and pushed the envelope
with high profile movie productions. The daring decision to fund the
X-rated "Midnight Cowboy" paid off handsomely. The 1969 production had
not only been a commercial success but also won the Best Picture Oscar. A
few years later UA went even further out on a limb by distributing
"Last Tango in Paris". UA fully capitalized on the worldwide
sensation the movie had made and the many attempts to restrict it from
being shown at all in certain areas of the globe. Like "Midnight
Cowboy", "Tango" was an important film by an important director that
used graphic images of sexual activity for dramatic intensity.
Unfortunately, not every filmmaker who was inspired by these new
freedoms succeeded in the attempt to mainstream X-rated fare during
those years that the rating wasn't only synonymous with low-budget porno
productions. Case in point: screenwriter John Byrum, who made his
directorial debut with "Inserts", a bizarre film that UA released in
1975 that became a legendary bomb. The movie was released some years ago on Blu-ray as a limited edition by the now sadly defunct Twilight Time label. To my knowledge, it isn't available in that format today, although it is streaming on Screenpix, the subscription-based service that can be accessed through Amazon Prime, Roku, YouTube and Apple TV.
The claustrophobic tale resembles a filmed stage production. It is
set primarily in one large living room in a decaying Hollywood mansion.
The time period is the 1930s, shortly after the introduction of sound to
the movie industry resulted in the collapse of silent pictures (Charlie
Chaplin being the notable exception.) The central character, played by
Richard Dreyfuss, is not named but is referred to as "The Boy Wonder".
From our first glimpse of him we know we are seeing a man in trouble. He
is unkempt, dressed in a bathrobe and swizzling booze directly from the
bottle. We will soon learn that he was once a respected mainstream
director of major studio films and was revered by Hollywood royalty. Now
he is a has-been who has resorted to making porn movies in 16mm in his
own home. (Yes, Virginia, people liked to watch dirty movies even way
back then.) He is entertaining a visitor, Harlene (Veronica Cartwright),
a perpetually cheery, bubble-headed young woman who was once a
respected actress but who, like Boy Wonder, has fallen on hard times.
She is now a heroin addict who earns a living by "starring" in Boy
Wonder's porn productions. They make small talk and some names from the
current movie business are bandied about. Harlene tells Boy Wonder that a
rising star named Clark Gable is said to be an admirer of his and wants
to meet him. Instead of responding favorably to this news, Boy Wonder
seems unnerved by it. The implication is that he is locked in a
self-imposed downward spiral and lacks the self-confidence to attempt a
real comeback. Harlene also needles him about his sexual prowess. It
turns out that the king of porn films has long been impotent for reasons
never explained. As they prepare to film some scenes Harlene's male
"co-star" (Stephen Davies) arrives. He is nicknamed Rex, The Wonder Dog,
which seems to bother him especially when the Wonder Boy uses it to
intentionally disparage him. Like Harlene, Rex is short on brains but is
physically attractive. Boy Wonder seems to have a real resentment
towards him, perhaps because Rex is a powerhouse in bed while he can't
get anything going despite directing naked people in sex scenes. It
becomes clear that Boy Wonder and Rex don't like each other. Boy
Wonder ridicules Rex for performing sex acts on male studio executives
who he naively believes will help him become a star. However, their
relationship looks downright friendly compared to the interaction
between Harlene and Rex. When Rex is a little slow in becoming
physically aroused, Harlene mocks him mercilessly. This results in him
essentially subjecting her to a violent rape which thrills Boy Wonder,
who captures it all on film. Harlene doesn't appear to be any worse for
the wear, however, and blithely says she's going off to a bedroom to
rest.
The household is next visited by mobster Big Mac (Bob Hoskins), the
man who finances Boy Wonder's film productions. He is accompanied by his
financee Cathy Cake (Jessica Harper), a pretty young woman who seems to
have a particular interest in the forbidden world of pornography. Big
Mac and Boy Wonder also hate each other. Big Mac berates Boy Wonder for
making his porn flicks too esoteric and artistic for their intended
audiences who just want a cheap thrill. However, for Boy Wonder the porn
films represent the last opportunity he has to demonstrate the
cinematic style and camera angles that once impressed critics and the
public. In the midst of their arguing, it is discovered that a tragedy
has occurred: Harlene has died from a heroin overdose. Everyone seems
nonplussed by the news and Big Mac's only concern is to ditch the body
somewhere quickly. Turns out Rex has a part time job in a funeral parlor
and can arrange for a gruesome plan in which they dump her body inside a
grave that is being prepared for another person's funeral the next day.
The plan is to dig a bit deeper, bury Harlene, then place a layer of
dirt over her and have the "new" body placed on top of hers. As Big Mac
and Rex leave to "undertake" this sordid task, Boy Wonder finds himself
alone with Cathy Cake. She wants to use the time to have Boy Wonder film
her in her own personal porn movie since Big Mac would never let his
"fiancee" do so with his knowledge. She finds the idea of sex on film to
be a stimulant but Boy Wonder won't have any of it. He knows that Big
Mac's volatile temper and ever-present bodyguard could result in him
being the next corpse in the house. Cathy Cake tries another tactic and
feigns interest in Boy Wonder. He lets his guard down and gradually is
seduced by her. She even manages to cure his impotence but the tryst
turns ugly when she learns he has not filmed it. Boy Wonder soon
discovers that his renewed pride and self-respect is to be short-lived
when it becomes clear that Cathy Cake actually loathes him and was only
using him in order to fulfill her porn movie fantasy. The ploy works to a
degree- her attention to Boy Wonder reawakens his sexual prowess but
when she learns the camera wasn't rolling, she cruelly tells him that
she only used him for selfish purposes. With this, Big Mac and Rex
return from their horrendous errand and catch Boy Wonder in bed with
Cathy Cake. The situation becomes dangerous with Big Mac threatening to
kill Boy Wonder and things only deteriorate from there.
Richard Dreyfuss was said to have had a personal
obsession with this film. He was very involved in all aspects of its
production and remained defensive about the movie after its harsh
reception from critics. The movie's complete rejection by reviewers and
the public might have hurt his career but Dreyfuss already had "American
Graffiti" and "Jaws" under his belt. Soon he would also star in another
blockbuster, "Close Encounters of the Third Kind" followed by his
Oscar-winning performance in "The Goodbye Girl". The fact that so few
people ever saw "Interiors" actually worked to his advantage. However,
whatever motivated him to become involved in this bizarre project
remains a mystery. It's an ugly tale about ugly people doing ugly things
to each other. If there is a message here, I didn't receive it. There
isn't a single character you can identify with or sympathize with. They
are all self-obsessed cynics with no redeeming traits. That leaves us
with whatever values the performances afford us and it's a mixed bag.
Dreyfuss is miscast. He was twenty nine years-old when he made the film
and, despite his sordid appearance which ages him considerably, he is
still far too young to portray a once-great movie director who has
fallen on hard times. John Byrum's direction of Dreyfuss is unsteady. At
times he encourages him to underplay scenes while at other times he has
Dreyfuss chew the scenery mercilessly. Similarly, Stephen Davies plays
the brain-dead hunk Rex with flamboyantly gay characteristics one minute
then suddenly transforms into a heterosexual stud the next. Bob Hoskins
is squarely in what would become his trademark tough-guy gangster mode but gives a
solid performance. The best acting comes from the two female leads, with
Veronica Cartwright especially good as the ill-fated Harlene. Jessica
Harper also does well in her thankless role. Both women seem at ease in
doffing their clothes and playing much of their scenes in a provocative
state. Cartwright even goes full frontal for the violent sex scene with
Rex while Harper spends almost the entire last act of the film being
photographed topless. Curiously, the willingness to appear nude onscreen
was considered the epitome of female emancipation in films during the
1970s but the practice has largely become frowned upon in more recent
years. In fact the days are long gone when virtually every major actress
had to appear naked on screen. Today, female emancipation is the
ability to play erotic scenes on screen without having to be completely
compromised.
If John Byrum's
debut as a director is problematic, so, too, is his script. There is a
lot of name-dropping about the great figures in the movie industry who once socialized with the Boy Wonder but it all seems pretentious and
unconvincing right down to the constant attempts by Boy Wonder to avoid
meeting the unseen Clark Gable. In fact, aside from some fleeting
references the "Flapper Look" styles worn by the women, the film could
have been set in the 1970s. Byrum has the characters indulge in
vernacular that is far too contemporary for the 1930s. The only wit
that is apparent concerns Big Mac's plans to build roadside restaurants
that would all look the same and serve identical fast food. ("Big Mac"-
get it?) Beyond that, there are few attempts at humor and most of those
pertain to unspeakably cruel behavior and mutual humiliation. There
seems to be no purpose for the film's existence beyond the desire of the
participants to be in a porn movie. Given their status in the industry
that was obviously not going to happen so they banded together for a
quasi-porn movie and shrouded it in the protective layer of
intellectualism. This gave them all the cover of being artistes and
Richard Dreyfuss the opportunity to nibble on Jessica Harper's nipples
while pretending there was some greater purpose to it all. In reality
the film's most cringe-inducing scene has Dreyfuss and Harper having an
extended conversation about her private parts, which are referred to
repeatedly (almost to an absurd degree) in gutter language as those the
actors were pre-teenagers using naughty words for the first time.
There are said to be people who consider "Inserts" to be an underrated gem. But for this
writer, it represents an interesting but woefully misguided experiment
by some very talented people who should have known better.
Even
diehard fans of filmmaker David Lynch were puzzled by his 2006 epic surrealist
horror picture, INLAND EMPIRE. There are legions of fans and critics who
love the movie, but there are likely more who find it impenetrable, way too
long, self-indulgent, pretentious, and, as one critic called it, a film that
might have been made by a “former genius who now has Alzheimer’s.”
INLAND
EMPIRE is
tough viewing. It deals with what could be called “multi-verses” before that
term was trendy. Some consider it to be the third film in a loosely
interconnected trilogy of movies Lynch made about “psychogenic fugues,” or dissociative
disorders. Lost Highway (1997) and Mulholland Drive (2001) both
deal with similar themes in which protagonists become “somebody else” during
the course of the stories.
One
aspect of the film that everyone agrees on is the stellar, virtuoso performance
by Laura Dern. Lynch famously sat on Hollywood Boulevard with a live cow in an attempt
to campaign for Dern’s performance to be considered for an Academy Award (she
wasn’t nominated). Ironically, even Dern has admitted she has no clue what is
going on in INLAND EMPIRE.
The
best this reviewer can make of the story is that Dern plays Hollywood actress
Nikki Grace, who is married to a Polish man, Piotrek (Peter J. Lucas), who has
something to hide. Nikki has just been cast in a movie called On High in
Blue Tomorrows, to be directed by the great Kingsley Stewart (Jeremy Irons)
and co-starring heartthrob Devon Berk (Justin Theroux). We learn that the movie
is based on an unfinished German movie from decades ago that was allegedly
“cursed” because the lead actors were murdered. Nikki, who has begun an affair
with Devon, sets out to investigate this history and literally falls through a
series of rabbit holes (there are even sequences featuring the anthropomorphic rabbits
from Lynch’s online shorts series, “Rabbits”) and becomes Sue Blue, who may or
may not be a completely different character from Nikki or perhaps a separate
personality. And then there’s the “Lost Girl” (Karolina Gruszka), a
human-trafficked prostitute in Poland in another decade (the 1930s?) whose
actions mirror what’s going on in Sue’s world.
Is
it a story of reincarnation? Of death and what might be the afterlife? Or maybe
there isn’t a story at all that can be followed linearly. Perhaps Lynch
intended INLAND EMPIRE to be an experience of emotions, images, and
surrealism in the vein of classic experimental filmmakers such as Stan
Brakhage, Germaine Dulac, Man Ray, and the Luis Buñuel
& Salvador Dalí collaborations. Maybe the movie is the
attempt to film in dream logic—which often makes no sense but can be vividly visceral.
At
any rate, INLAND EMPIRE is not for a mainstream audience. This is Lynch
at his most Lynchian. Be forewarned. Interestingly, it is the last theatrical
feature the filmmaker has made to date.
The
Criterion Collection has issued a new HD digital master on Blu-ray, made from
the 4K restoration supervised by Lynch, with both a 5.1 surround DTS-HD Master
Audio and uncompressed stereo soundtrack (also remastered by Lynch and original
recording mixers Dean Hurley and Ron Eng). As is usually the case with Lynch’s
films, the sound is always impressive, and INLAND EMPIRE doesn’t disappoint
in that regard.
The
package contains two disks—one with the feature film (it’s 180 minutes in
length), and the other with hours of supplements. Some of the supplements are
ported over from the original 2007 Rhino-Studio Canal DVD release: “More Things
That Happened” (75 minutes of extra scenes); LYNCH (a 2007 nearly-90-minute
behind-the-scenes documentary made by blackANDwhite); and “Ballerina,” a 2007
short film by Lynch. New to the Criterion release is an excellent half-hour
conversation between Laura Dern and actor Kyle MacLachlan, who both discuss
their respective work with Lynch and specifically Dern’s role in INLAND
EMPIRE; LYNCH2, a shorter documentary made by blackANDwhite; an
audio excerpt read by Lynch from his autobiography, Room to Dream
(co-written with Kristine McKenna); and the theatrical trailer. The booklet
contains an interview excerpt from Richard A. Barney’s book David Lynch:
Interviews.
Love
it or hate it, INLAND EMPIRE is without question one of the most
challenging and provocative pieces of cinema released since the New Millennium.
Click here to pre-order from Amazon. (The Blu-ray will be released on March 21.)
Tony Curtis, like most aspiring screen stars, slogged through bit
parts in unmemorable films when he first broke into the industry in the
late 1940s. By the mid-1950s, however, he was a major star, even if the
films he top-lined were relatively undistinguished. With his boyish good
looks and New York wise guy persona, Curtis excelled at playing
charismatic rogues and, perhaps improbably for a guy born in the Bronx,
cowboys, knights and other exotic men of action. But Curtis was more
than just a pretty face and by the late 1950s he was getting challenging
roles that allowed him to show off his dramatic acting skills. He was
brilliant in "Sweet Smell of Success" and "The Defiant Ones" and gave
one of the great comedic performances of all time in Billy Wilder's
"Some Like It Hot". By the late 1960s, however, his star power was
fading. He still had enough clout to get the male leads in lightweight
comedies like "Sex and the Single Girl" and "Don't Make Waves", but the
bloom was off the rose. Ironically, he won fine reviews for his
convincing performance in the 1968 film "The Boston Strangler", but most
of the good roles would continue to elude him. Like many fading
American stars, he turned toward European productions, starring in
"Those Daring Young Men in the Jaunty Jalopies" and "You Can't Win 'Em
All", the latter with fellow U.S. import Charles Bronson who found major
stardom in Europe long before he became a big name in America. One of
the least prestigious films that Curtis appeared was titled "On the Way
to the Crusades, I Met a Girl Who...", a 1967 sex comedy filmed in Italy
and which would not be released in the USA until 1969, when it had
limited distribution. Perhaps because theater owners in the UK and USA
had pity on the poor souls who had to stand on ladders and put film
titles on theater marquees letter-by-letter, the English language
version of the film was shortened to the more provocative "The Chastity
Belt". Curtis wasn't the only English-speaking actor in the otherwise
all-Italian production, as Hugh Griffith and John Richardson were
co-starred.
The film opens with Curtis playing against type as Guerrando de
Montone, a sniveling, cowardly and bumbling opportunist who finally is
granted his wish to be made a knight. As his reward, he is entitled to
claim a vast tract of land as his own. Guerrando is quick to abuse his
power over the peasants, especially when he discovers that the local
game warden and his voluptuous daughter, Boccadoro (Monica Vitti) live
on his land. Although Boccadoro is initially attracted to him,
Guerrando's misogynistic ways quickly alienate her. Guerrando informs
her that he is her lord and master and will use her for sexual pleasure
whenever he pleases. Most of the fun in the script, which was co-written
by the esteemed Larry Gelbart, centers on the buxom beauty's strategies
to avoid going to bed with Guerrando, who becomes increasingly
frustrated. To solve the problem, he forces her to marry him but she
delays the consummation of the marriage by invoking a rare, ancient
ritual that commits them both to spending three days in constant prayer.
When that obstacle is removed, Guerrando is ready to make his move only
to find that he has been summoned to join the Crusades and leave Italy
for a period of years. To ensure that Boccadoro remains chaste, he has
her fitted with a chastity belt which causes her to swear vengeance. The
film meanders through the couple's misadventures with Boccadoro intent
on finding her husband and murdering him. She poses as a knight in armor
and infiltrates his camp but both are kidnapped by an evil, horny
sultan (Hugh Griffith) who forces Guerrando to convert to Islam while he
makes plans to open the chastity belt and have his way with
Boccadoro.The whole thing ends in a madcap chase with heroes and
villains chasing each other about a castle.
Italian cinema-goers were very enamored of sex farces during this
period. "The Chasity Belt" is one of the tamest, as there is no nudity
and the most provocative aspects are plentiful shots of Ms. Vitti's
ample bosom bouncing around during the many chase scenes. Like most
films of the genre, there are plenty of moments of slapstick and narrow
escapes. What impresses most about this modest production is director
Pasquale Festa Campanile's light touch and the ability to move the
action at such a rapid pace that you don't ponder how predictable it all
is. While it's still a bit of a shock to see someone of Curtis's
stature in this "B" level comedy, he is in good form and provides plenty
of laughs by not even attempting to disguise his New Yawk accent. He is
matched by the very likable Vitti and Hugh Griffith, who recycles his
lovable rascal shtick from "Ben-Hur". What is stands out most are
the rather spectacular locations. Most of the action is shot outdoors
in ancient ruins and castles that add a good deal of atmosphere to the
goings on.
"The Chasity Belt" is the kind of film that Curtis probably did very
reluctantly. He would later try his hand in television co-starring with
Roger Moore in the sensational action series "The Persuaders", but it
lasted only 24 episodes. A later series, "McCoy" lasted only a single
season. Curtis would still turn up in a few major films like "The Mirror
Crack'd" and "The Last Tycoon" but only in supporting roles.
Nevertheless, he remained enjoyable to watch and always gave his best
effort. Perhaps for that reason, "The Chastity Belt" is a lot more
worthwhile than you might imagine.
The Warner Archive DVD is generally very good with a few blotches and
grainy frames, but one suspects there aren't too many archival prints
of this long-forgotten film floating around out there. There are no
bonus extras.
Michael Winner emerged as a promising young director/screenwriter/film editor in the early 1960s and his career gained momentum when the mod movement of the mid-Sixties made London the go-to place for everything and everyone who was hip. Winner fit into that category very neatly. He was wealthy, charismatic, talented and very much a key member of the city's thriving social scene. He made offbeat comedies that appealed to young audiences such as "The Jokers" and "I'll Never Forget What'sis Name". Soon he was making big studio films and was accorded substantial budgets to do so. He was quite diverse in his subject matter. "Hannibal Brooks" was a WWII comedy, "The Games" a drama set at the Olympic, "The Nightcomers", an ambitious prequel to Henry James's classic ghost story "The Turn of the Screw". He made good Westerns such as "Lawman" and "Chato's Land" and his numerous collaborations with Charles Bronson were crucial in finally elevating Bronson to major star status after being regarded as a reliable character actor for many years. Winner's biggest hit starred Bronson: the 1974 urban thriller "Death Wish" that perfectly reflected the real-life paranoia of America's soaring crime rate. The film was provocative and controversial, much to Winner's delight, and it made a ton of money. But soon after, Winner's fortunes in cinema began to decline. He seemed to have backward momentum and most of his films were poorly received by critics and audiences, even though occasionally a few proved to be underrated including his 1978 remake of "The Big Sleep" that was fittingly as confusing as the classic original.
One of Winner's least-remembered films from this era is "Firepower", released in 1979, which starred James Coburn and Sophia Loren. Like most of Winner's recent movies, it didn't light any fires at the boxoffice, but it has an impressive cast and production values that elevate the film above the embarrassing "Death Wish" sequels Winner would later preside over that gave him a resurgence of relevance. The film literally opens with a bang when a scientist opens a letter bomb and is blown to smithereens. He's the husband of Adele Tasca (Sophia Loren), who suspects the assassination was orchestrated by her husband's employer, the mysterious billionaire Karl Stegner, because he had discovered that Stegner was distributing a drug that could result in patients contracting cancer. Stegner is also wanted by the U.S. government for high-end criminal activities. There's one major problem: Stegner maintains a Howard Hughes-like lifestyle and no one even knows what he looks like. FBI agent Frank Mancuso (Vincent Gardenia) leans on crime figure Sal Hyman (Eli Wallach) to use his connections to locate Stegner in return for having pending criminal charges against him dropped. Hyman, in turn, reaches out to another man of mystery, Jerry Fannon (James Coburn), to get the job done in return for an eye-popping fee. Fannon is the ultimate Mr. Fix-It, having pulled off seemingly impossible tasks for other shady characters. Fannon enlists his trusted right-hand man, Catlett (O.J. Simpson) for the assignment and the two set off to the island of Curacao in the Caribbean, where he has learned Stegner is residing in a seaside mansion protected by an army of bodyguards who report to his top assistant, Leo Gelhorn (George Grizzard, successfully cast against type in an action role.)
Things get complicated when Adele arrives on the scene, ostensibly to find a way to expose and kill Stegner herself. But Fannon soon sees she might actually be in league with her husband's murderer. As with scenarios of this type, Fannon is welcomed into Stegner's hacienda by his prey. In this case, Stegner remains unseen but Fannon is afforded some courtesies by Gelhorn and Stegner's personal physician, Dr. Felix (Tony Franciosa). The Bond-like scenario finds heroes and villains exchanging witticisms and veiled threats very politely over drinks in a luxurious environment. Of course, the detente doesn't last long and the action becomes frequent and explosive. There's a goofy and thankfully brief subplot that finds Coburn face-to-face with his exact double, who he employs as part of his strategy but the screenplay by frequent Michael Winner collaborator Gerald Wilson affords some unexpected plot twists and genuine surprises and Winner handles the action scenes very well indeed, even if they not very original. For example, Coburn employs a bulldozer to demolish a house, which is fun to watch, but Robert Mitchum had already performed the same feat on screen a couple of years before in more spectacular fashion in "The Amsterdam Kill". The gorgeous Caribbean locations add a degree of luster to the production. The cast comes through, with Coburn especially fun to watch. Loren, who was paid $1 million to appear in the film, looks sensational but the role is somewhat underwritten and the inevitable romantic moments between Coburn and Loren's characters are rather dull and perfunctory. Eli Wallach and Vincent Gardenia are relegated to extended cameo roles and the film ends with a strange but welcome brief appearance by Victor Mature that is played for laughs.I should also mention the impressive stunt work performed by Terry Leonard and his crew.
(Warning: the video below contains spoilers!)
"Firepower" was produced by Sir Lew Grade, who originally had Charles Bronson agree to star in the film. At the last minute, Bronson pulled out and Grade considered canceling the production. However, he had already sunk a good deal of money into the project and signed James Coburn as the lead. Coburn would later recall, "I did it for the money, the locations (the Caribbean islands) and
to work with Sophia Loren. The director was Michael Winner. He’s
probably one of the weirdest guys I’ve ever met. Yet, I thought he was a
good guy when I first met him. But when he got on the set, he was
almost like a total dictator. I found it hard to
work for that way. The most fun I had was when I got to drive a
bulldozer through a
house in the islands." For all the effort, the film was greeted with negative reviews and a weak boxoffice take. The movie is available on Blu-ray as a collaboration between Kino Lorber and Scorpion Releasing. The transfer looks great and the disc includes the original trailer.
On the eve of the November 1963 release of TWICE TOLD
TALES, the British actor Sebastian Cabot would tell a reporter from the Copley
News Service, “They’ve been after me to do more of the horror pictures with
Vincent Price.I wouldn’t mind that a
bit, though I must say I wouldn’t want to do them exclusively.”He intimated that he and his co-star had
discussed a possible future pairing in “a light comedy” motion-picture.Alas, it was not to be; the two actors would
not work together again.Cabot, of
course, would soldier on and enjoy success as both a television personality and
a recognizable voice-over actor.Following
the passing of Boris Karloff in 1969, Vincent Price would reign as the big-screen’s
uncontested “King of Horror.” Cabot’s estimation of Price as an actor
“extremely adept” at light-comedy was incisive.Throughout his long and fabled career, Vincent Price’s on-screen
ghoulishness would nearly always be mitigated with a wry smile and twinkle in
the eye.
TWICE TOLD TALES is the second of two quickie vehicles in
which Price starred for Robert E. Kent’s Admiral Pictures, Inc. (1962-1963).For their first pairing, DIARY OF A MADMAN
(released in March 1963 and distributed through United Artists), Kent mined the
imagination of the great French short-story writer Henri-René-Albert-Guy de
Maupassant.That film’s ballyhoo
proclaimed it “The Most Terrifying Motion Picture Ever Created!” It most
certainly wasn’t, but the film still managed to be a worthwhile psychological
thriller - though one that didn’t particularly resonate at the box-office.In what was obviously an attempt to
capitalize on the low-budget but big commercial success of Roger Corman’s Edgar
Allan Poe adaptations for A.I.P, Kent quickly changed course and ambitiously turned
to the short stories and novels of Nathanial Hawthorne for material.
Though a descendant of John Hathorne, the unrepentant
magistrate who presided over the fate of several innocents during Salem,
Massachusetts’s celebrated witch trials, Nathanial Hawthorne was a
romanticist:he was not prominently a
writer of mysteries or of fantastic fiction.Having said that, Hawthorne was not averse to penning a good ghost story
or two and his talent had won him the praise of contemporaries.One such fan was Edgar Allan Poe himself.In his review of Hawthorne’s two volume
collection of short stories TWICE TOLD TALES for Graham’s Magazine in May of
1842, Poe unabashedly pronounced the New Englander as “a man of truest genius…
As Americans, we feel proud of this book.”
Of course Hollywood producers have always somehow managed
to take great creative liberties with the acknowledged classics.Stories of cigar-chomping producers passing
on tracts of classic literature so their stable of writers might “give ‘em a
polish” are legion.Though Roger
Corman’s series of Poe films both successfully and artistically mined the great
man’s work for their tortured characters, grim atmosphere and elements of plot,
Corman himself rarely offered filmgoers a straight-forward re-telling of any of
the doomed author’s fabled tales.
Producer-writer, Robert E. Kent seems to have taken a
similar, albeit far less successful, approach with his production of TWICE TOLD
TALES.Only segment two of this trilogy
film, “Rappaccini’s Daughter” closely resembles Hawthorne’s original story, and
even that diverges when at odds with cinematic expectations.In “Dr. Heidegger’s Experiment,” a sinister
love-triangle between Dr. Carl Heidegger (the corpulent Sebastian Cabot), Alex
Medbourne (Price) and the recently revived but still exquisite corpse of Sylvia
Ward (Marie Blanchard) is re-engineered as to feature an original - if
salacious - back-story.This “Virgin
Spring” elixir-of-eternal-youth morality-fable plays out with little fidelity to
the original tale.
Such creative-license is stretched to the breaking point
with the film’s final episode, “The House of the Seven Gables.”This segment bears little resemblance to Hawthorne’s
celebrated novel, but it has borrowed elements from the better known – and far
more lavish – 1940 Universal film of the same title.The Universal film, perhaps not
coincidentally, also featured Vincent Price in a starring role, though this
tale too strayed far from Hawthorne’s original.Though I recall no physical blood-letting in the Hawthorne novel, in TWICE
TOLD TALES the sanguine red fluid pours freely– and mostly unconvincingly, it
must be said - from ceilings, walls, portraits, and lockets.The Pyncheon’s family’s metaphorical skeleton-in-the-closet
becomes all too real in this rather uninspired re-working.
Part of the film’s original marketing stratagem was the
offer of “FREE COFFEE in the lobby to settle your nerves!”One might suggest, with a measure of
cynicism, that such brew was a necessary component in helping to keep audiences
awake.TWICE TOLD TALES is, to be
generous, a very good ninety-minute film.The problem is that the filmmakers stretched this ninety-minute film to an
interminable two-hour running time.
This is a “sitting room” or “parlor” film; most of the
action (as it is) takes place in mildly claustrophobic confines of small home
settings with long stretches of unbroken dialogue.There are very few provocative set-pieces employed
over the course of three segments and the most ambitious of these, the deadly
and poisonous garden of Dr. Giacomo Rappaccini (Price), is only experienced in sun-soaked
broad daylight.This supposedly lethal
garden is both terribly over-lit and ill-disguised in its construction (the
seams of the faux-grass mats are clearly visible).As such this potentially visual and cinematic
garden of death portends little of its intended menace.If only love-struck suitor Giovanni Guasconti
(Brett Halsey) could have encountered the beautiful but lethal Beatrice
Rappaccini (Joyce Taylor) in a blue-swathed moonlight setting, the garden’s mysterious
atmosphere would have been instantly heightened.
Kent’s too-wordy screenplay suffers occasional patches of
purple prose, but it’s serviceable.There are a couple of great moments:Cabot’s toast of the glass prior to his experimental drinking of a fluid
that may or may not kill him (“To eternal youth, or just eternity?”).In “Rappaccini’s Daughter” we’re not sure, at
first, of who is a prisoner to whom.Is
it the estranged daughter to the father, or the father to the daughter?When all is made clear, we can better understand
the poisoned daughter’s bitter complaint, “The only difference from being dead
is that this house is bigger than a grave.”
TWICE TOLD TALES is no classic, but it’s not unworthy of
one’s time.Vincent Price is, as always,
brilliant in all three of the villainous roles he inhabits.The supporting cast is mostly great as well,
and Kent, unashamedly, brings aboard several of the familiar players who earlier
worked with Corman on the Poe series.Director
Sidney Salkow was, sadly, no auteur.Though he had been directing and writing films – and bringing them in
under or on budget -for both
independent and major studios as early as 1936, it’s clear he was most
interested in producing a satisfying checkmark in the company’s profit ledger and
not terribly concerned with film-as-art. Though Salkow’s films are never less than
competent, they’re generally pedestrian and not particularly memorable.As helmsman, Salkow simply possessed none of
Corman’s visual-style or displayed any ability to stage an impressive production
on a shoestring budget.
To be fair, Corman had advantages.His gothic films were European in design: his settings were of torch-lit gloomy and
brooding castles, of misty streets of cobblestone and black twisted tree-limbs.Two of the TWICE TOLD TALES, on the other
hand, are set in the non-atmospheric repose of 19th-century small-town
America.With the small exception of a creepy
sequence in which a thunder and lightning-storm disturbs a tomb that had been
sealed for thirty-eight years (and sits, inexplicably, just to the rear of Dr.
Heidegger’s back-door), the dressing that surrounds TWICE TOLD TALES demonstrates little
of the macabre ingredients necessary for mounting a successful horror film.
This 2022 release from
Kino-Lorber Studio Classics supplants their original 2015 Blu-ray issue of
TWICE TOLD TALES.As with its first
incarnation, the film is presented in Technicolor and in its original 1.66:1
ratio and in 1920x1080p with removable English subtitles.This new issue looks great… but no greater
than their 2015 release, quite frankly.This edition doesn’t necessarily offer a significant upgrade, if at
all.Bonus features ported over from the
first issue includes a commentary from film scholars Richard Harland Smith and
Perry Martin as well as a brief “Trailers from Hell” segment courtesy of Mick
Garris.
It seems this Kino
“Special Edition” differs only in small ways from their earlier effort.First, a “collectible” slipcover (featuring a
pair of color photographs on the reverse sleeve), replaces the two
black-and-white shots featured on the case of the original issue.The original edition featured only three
trailers in total – this new issue balloons to a generous baker’s dozen of
trailers from other Poe/Price/AIP titles offered on the Kino Studio Classics
line.On the minus side, this new
edition, somewhat oddly, offers no chapter selections – a strange omission for
a portmanteau film.An essential
purchase, I suppose – but only for those who missed out on the original 2015
pressing.
Bob Hope's status as having enjoyed the longest reign as America's most beloved comedy icon remains unchallenged . When he passed away in 2003 at age 100, Hope had mastered seemingly all entertainment mediums. By the 1930s he was already a popular star on stage and in feature films. He could sing, dance and joke often simultaneously. British by birth, Hope and his family emigrated to America when he was five years old and he would ultimately become one of the USA's most patriotic public figures. His long-term contract with NBC stretched from radio days to being the face of the network's television broadcasts. It was TV that made made Hope the ultimate media icon. His NBC TV specials were the stuff of ratings gold, especially those that found him entertaining American troops in far off locations during the Christmas season. Hope continued this tradition, which started in WWII, through the early 1990s. His genius was that he never veered from his core act: quick one-liners that were designed to amuse but never offend. Although a life-long conservative and Republican, Hope knew how to thread the needle when it came to politics. He hobnobbed with presidents of both parties and the jokes he cracked about them gently poked fun at their eccentricities without offending either them or their supporters. Hope's political barbs were made in an era in which such humor would bring people together instead of polarize them. Hope's humor became dated but he never lost his popularity with older fans who continued to tune in to his TV specials and delighted at his frequent appearances on chat shows. Not everyone was a fan, however. Marlon Brando once criticized Hope's hunger for the spotlight by saying he would turn up at the opening of a supermarket if there was a camera there. Still, Hope's ubiquitous presence extended into the realm of movies, though cinema was decidedly a secondary career for him. In the 1940s and 1950s he was a top box-office attraction, with his "Road" movies co-starring Bing Crosby particularly popular. By the 1960s changing social values threatened Hope's brand of squeaky clean comedies but he still had enough juice at the boxoffice to top-line movies throughout the entire decade.
"Boy, Did I Get a Wrong Number", released in 1966, is the epitome of a Hope comedy. He plays Tom Meade, a California real estate agent who has sunk a considerable amount of money into buying a house in a remote area of the mountains by a beautiful lake. He was certain he could turn a quick profit but it transpires that the house is located in an area that is a bit too remote and his investment has turned into a money-bleeding white elephant. At the same time, the story follows the exploits of Didi (Elke Sommer), an international screen sex siren who is known for including provocative bathing sequences in her racy films. Didi is shooting her latest movie when she has a fierce argument with her director/lover Pepe Pepponi (Cesare Danova) and storms off the set to go into hiding, thus initiating an intense manhunt that dominates the headlines. Through the type of quirk that can only happen in movies, Tom makes a business phone call and accidentally gets connected with Didi, who tells him she is hiding in a nearby hotel but lacks any food or sustenance. Tom realizes he possesses bombshell information and promises to visit her with food. He sneaks out late at night so his wife Martha (Marjorie Lord) doesn't suspect anything...but unbeknownst to him, his nosy and sarcastic live-in housekeeper Lily (Phyllis Diller) catches on. When Tom arrives at Didi's hotel room, she practically seduces him but Tom has something other than sex on his mind. He offers Didi the opportunity to stay at his dormant house at the lake until the manhunt dies down. He's motivated partly by compassion and partly by the opportunity to exploit the property as the house that Didi once hid in. Things naturally go awry when Martha insists on spending a romantic weekend at the house with Tom, away from their two pre-teen but precocious son and daughter. This sets in motion one of those traditional bedroom farce situations. Tom arrives separately in advance of Martha and discovers Didi is practically comatose after taking a sleeping pill. In the ensuing mayhem, he must drag her from room to room and hide her before Martha discovers her presence. This madcap sequence is the highlight of the film and it is deftly directed by old pro George Marshall. However, the film's final act crosses the line into over-the-top outright slapstick with Diller riding wild on a motorcycle and Hope being pursued in a car chase by FBI agents who think he murdered Didi.
The joy of any Bob Hope movie is that he never played the traditional hero. He specialized in portraying characters who weren't immoral but who were willing to gnaw around the edges of ethical behavior (i.e a coward who pretends he's a hero, a virginal buffoon who pretends he's a great lover, etc.) In this production, Hope continues that tradition and gets off some good one-liners. He's got the perfect foil in Phyllis Diller and their chemistry worked so well they made two more films together in short order, "Eight on the Lam" and "The Private Navy of Sgt. O'Farrell" before Hope retired from the silver screen with his 1972 dud "Cancel My Reservation". "Boy, Did I Get a Wrong Number!" plays out like an extended TV sitcom from the era and was shot on a relatively modest budget. There are a few timid attempts to make the script a bit contemporary by including a some overt references to sex but it's still tame family-friendly viewing. It should be said that Elke Sommer, who was always somewhat underwhelming in terms of dramatic acting skills, had a true knack for playing light comedy and she's delightful in this movie in a physically demanding role that requires her to be tossed around while unconscious as though she is a rag doll. One of the more amusing aspects of the film is unintentional: Marjorie Lord's hairstyle, which is as high as a beehive and equally distracting. One keeps awaiting Hope to make some quips about it but they never come.
Olive Films has released the movie as a Blu-ray with an excellent transfer but no bonus extras. As retro comedies go, this is typical of a Bob Hope comedy from the era. It offers no surprises but somehow today the sheer predictability and innocence of his movies make for pleasing viewing- and this is no exception.
Joachim
Trier’s The Worst Person in the World, a film from Norway, was nominated
for the Best International Feature at the 2022 Oscar ceremony. It also received
an Original Screenplay nomination. It lost the International Feature award to
Japan’s Drive My Car, and the Screenplay award to Kenneth Branagh’s Belfast.
For
this reviewer’s money, Worst Person deserved the Oscar over the (albeit
excellent) Drive My Car. It’s such an original, lively take on the
concept of “romantic comedy” (with shades of darkness) that it was a joy to
view.
Worst
Person is
the third in director Trier’s so-called “Oslo Trilogy,” which includes Reprise
(2006) and Oslo, August 31st (2011). All three films were written by
Trier and Eskil Vogt. Filmed in and around Oslo during the pandemic, the
picture is a marvelous depiction of how the quality of a production was maintained
during Covid-19, and a behind-the-scenes supplement included on the disk
emphasizes this achievement.
Julie
(Renate Reinsve) is a 29-year-old single woman who at first thinks she wants to
be in medical school, but she changes her mind and veers toward psychology. But
then she takes a left turn and pursues photography. It soon becomes clear, even
after Julie turns 30, that she isn’t sure what she wants in life. She dabbles
in writing, works in a bookstore, and becomes involved with a handful of men.
Two of these romantic relationship are central to her world—the first, to
underground comics writer/artist Aksel (Anders Danielsen Lie), and then to coffee
shop baristo Eivind (Herbert Nordrum). Aksel is a bit older and is keen on
solid commitment and having a family—something to which Julie is adamantly
opposed. Eivind, who is more her age, is in tune with her free spirit ways.
Julie’s parents are divorced, and she gets along well with her mother (who
obviously has concerns about Julie’s lack of direction in her life), but not so
well with her father (who has remarried a younger woman with a daughter). By
the end of the tale, Julie finally settles on what appears to be a path that
hopefully will make her happy—but of course this is ambiguous, like life
itself.
Renate
Reinsve is absolutely radiant in the role of Julie, and she lights up the
screen in every shot. She is totally believable as a character that is so
deeply nuanced and real that we feel as if we know her. The two leading men are
also excellent, especially Anders Danielsen Lie, who must undergo a physical
change in the flow of the story.
Trier’s
direction is superb. He manages a tightrope act of comedy and drama that
recalls some of the best of Woody Allen, Eric Rohmer, and Francois Truffaut,
but there are also hints of old Hollywood screwball comedy in the mix. And then
there is the influence of intimate Scandinavian angst, as in Ingmar Bergman. The
celebrated dream/fantasy sequence, in which Julie “stops time” one morning,
runs across town to meet her new lover, spends an entire twenty-four hours with
him, and then returns to the flat is simply exhilarating. Extras on the streets
of Oslo are “frozen” in movement, along with cars and bicycles, and the only animated
humans in the scenes are Julie and Eivind. Shooting the sequence proved to be a
challenge because of Covid, as illustrated in the previously-mentioned
supplement. The filmmakers had to halt production and resume it during a
completely different season of the year.
The
Criterion Collection’s new Blu-ray is a 2K digital master with a 5.1 surround
DTS-HD Master Audio. Kasper Tuxen’s gorgeous cinematography is showcased in
this exceptional presentation. Supplements include a nearly hour-long “making
of” documentary containing interviews with Trier, Vogt, Reinsve, Lie, Nordrum,
Tuxen, and sound designer Gisle Tveito. The supplement about the pandemic
difficulties and time-freezing sequence is fascinating and is a canny lesson
for budding filmmakers. Finally, there are some deleted scenes that are also
worthwhile. One involves Julie and Aksel texting each other after their
breakup; the time lapse photography is very effective and would have been a
nice addition to the final cut.
The
Worst Person in the World is funny, sad, and provocative. It is a celebration of
what it means to be a Millennial, albeit a European one, in today’s mixed
messages society. For fans of romantic comedies with bite, international
sensibilities in film, and solid storytelling and acting.
The Sony Choice Collection has rescued another long forgotten TV movie from obscurity and released it as a burn-to-order title. "Kiss Me...Kill Me" is a crime thriller that was originally telecast in 1976. Compared to similar fare from that era, the film is fairly routine, though it might well be more appreciated today than it was at the time of its original airing. This is due to the fact that it boasts a strong cast of seasoned veteran actors- something that was relatively common in the 1970s, when the concept of TV movies became very popular. Most of these productions had star power and audiences enjoyed seeing some of their favorite movie stars on the small screen. "Kiss Me...Kill Me" stars Stella Stevens as Stella Stafford, an L.A-based investigator for the District Attorney's office. She is assigned to an especially disturbing murder case involving Maureen Coyle (Tisha Sterling), a respected young woman who teaches at a school for handicapped children. Maureen suffers from a disability herself: she has a leg disorder that causes her to walk with a limp. When she is discovered murdered in her apartment, the D.A.'s office is put under pressure to find the culprit behind the especially gruesome killing. Stella is assigned to work the case with veteran detective Harry Grant (Claude Akins). The two are old friends- and perhaps more. They interact with intimate familiarity and socialize at Stella's apartment. Harry's career has been in decline and views this case as a way of re-establishing his reputation. Before long, he has his first suspect: Edward Fuller (Robert Vaughn), an elitist owner of a major advertising agency who was seen lurking around Maureen's apartment building prior to the murder. Under questioning, he is less than co-operative and can't provide a logical reason for his being there in the dead of night. In looking into Maureen's personal life, a shocking secret emerges. Turns out she enjoyed kinky, rough sex and was known to frequent a seedy bar trolling for one night stands. Ultimately, Harry finds another suspect: a young black man named Hicks (Charles Weldon) who admits to having bedded Maureen. Harry's strong-armed tactics results in the down-and-out Hicks eventually confessing to the killing but Stella suspects he is not the real killer. This puts her at odds with Harry, who accuses her of sabotaging his case by continuing the investigation beyond Hicks, who she feels was coerced into confessing. Ultimately, the trail leads to Douglas Lane (Bruce Boxleitner), an arrogant young hunk who was using Fuller as a sugar daddy. Fuller is clearly infatuated with Lane and tries to buy his love and respect but all he gets is public humiliation. Stella becomes convinced that Lane is the real killer but trying to prove it could cost her her own life.
"Kiss Me...Kill Me" is rather provocative for a TV movie from this period, though overt discussion of S&M sex and gay relationships have to be hinted at rather than explicitly discussed. The film contains some rather routine chase scenes and action sequences but the script is more successful in regard to presenting some interesting characters and developing their relationships. The tensions between Stella and Harry boil over to the breaking point and there is good on-screen chemistry between Stella Stevens and Claude Akins, one of cinema's best "second bananas" who gets a rare leading man role here. It's also interesting to note that Stevens is the real star of this movie in an era when actresses were breaking the glass ceiling and emerging as popular action stars. (Think "Police Woman", "Wonder Woman" and "Charlie's Angels", all of which came about within a couple of years of each other.) The best performance is by Robert Vaughn, who boldly discards his image at a suave ladies man to play a weak, vulnerable aging gay man. In one scene he is publicly humiliated by the bisexual object of his affection and instead of going Napoleon Solo on the guy, Vaughn's character meekly endures the shame. It's a cringe-inducing scene that makes you feel sympathy for a character who is not very sympathetic. The are some other veteran actors in the flick, which helps elevate its status. They include Michael Anderson Jr, Dabney Coleman, Steve Franken and even Pat O'Brien as an elderly, wise-cracking morgue worker. In all, a rather enjoyable visit back in time to the glorious era of '70s TV movies. Let's hope Sony keeps making these long-unseen productions available.
The transfer is excellent but the release, unsurprisingly, has no extras.
Few actors had the screen and stage presence of Yul Brynner. There
never was an actor quite like him and there hasn't been since. Like most
thespians, Brynner had his share of good movies as well as those that
fell considerably short of their potential. Nevertheless, the man never
gave a false performance. He came across as supremely self-confidant
even when he must have suspected the material he was given proved to be
far below his considerable talents. Much of his self-confidence seemed
to stem from an inflated ego. Robert Vaughn once told me that when
Brynner arrived on the set of "The Magnificent Seven" in Mexico, he was
still firmly in the King of Siam mode that had seen him win an Oscar.
Vaughn said he carried himself as though he were real life royalty at
all times. You didn't chat with him casually. Rather, he would grant you
an audience. As Brynner's stature as a top boxoffice attraction began
to wane, he returned over and over again to his signature role in stage
productions of "The King and I" and found his mojo and star power were
still very much intact when it came to touring in front of live
audiences. His exotic look and manner of speaking were invariably
intoxicating. Given Brynner's enduring legacy as a Hollywood icon it's
rather surprising to remember that he had very few major hits. "The King
and I" in 1956 was his star-making vehicle and his role in "The Ten
Commandments", released the same year, helped build on his success.
However, with the exception of the surprise success of "The Magnificent
Seven" in 1960, Brynner proved to be more of a reliable on screen
attraction than a powerhouse draw in the way that John Wayne, Cary Grant
and Burt Lancaster were regarded. For most of Brynner's screen career,
he top-lined in major studio releases that were relatively modest in
terms of production budgets. Since this was during an era in which a
decent profit for a film made it a success, Brynner remained popular for
many years. By the 1970s, however, his clout had diminished
considerably. He would have only one memorable big screen success during
the decade- his brilliant appearance as the murderous robot in
"Westworld" (1974). He would concentrate primarily on stage work until
his death in 1985.
"Invitation to a Gunfighter" is the kind of mid-range vehicle that
defined most of Brynner's career in Hollywood. Released in 1964 by
Stanley Kramer's production company, the film is a perfect showcase for
Brynner in that it lacked any rival star power and afforded him a
smorgasbord of scene-stealing opportunities. The story opens in the
wake of the Confederate surrender that marked the end of the Civil War.
Matt Weaver (George Segal), a veteran of the Confederate army, is making
an arduous journey home to his Texas ranch on foot through the desert.
When the exhausted man finally reaches the small town he calls home, he
gets a rude welcome. His ranch is now occupied by another man who claims
he bought the deed from the township. Matt soon learns that he is
despised by the locals because he is the only man to have served in the Southern army. He is notified by the town's political kingpin, Sam
Brewster (Pat Hingle), that a technicality has been used to seize
ownership of his ranch. He also advises him to move on out of town
because he is no longer welcome there. Matt, however, is not about to be
cheated. He confronts the new owner of his house and is forced to shoot
him dead in self-defense. Brewster manipulates the facts and accuses
Matt of being a murderer. Matt takes possession of his ranch and uses
firepower to hold off the townspeople. He is surreptitiously visited by
his former lover Ruth (Janice Rule), who admits that she could no longer
bear waiting for him to return from the war. She reluctantly married
Crane Adams (Clifford David), a local Union war veteran who lost an arm
in the conflict. Since then, Crane has become an alcoholic with a
violent temper and his relationship to Ruth has devolved into a loveless
marriage of convenience.
Unable to lure Matt from his besieged homestead, Brewster takes the
step of announcing to the town council that he will hire a gunslinger to
kill him. Coincidentally, a man with the exotic name of Jules Gaspard
d'Estaing overhears the offer. He is just passing through on a
stagecoach ride but is immediately intrigued. d'Estaing convinces
Brewster that he is a master gunfighter and demonstrates his prowess
with a pistol. Brewster hires him on the spot but d'Estaing is in no
hurry to carry out the mission. Instead, he sees the townspeople for
what they are: cowardly hypocrites and delights in humiliating Brewster
in front of them. d'Estaing is an intimidating presence to the
townspeople. They can't pinpoint his ethnicity and know nothing of his
background. He dresses immaculately, speaks fluent French, plays the
harpsichord and chain smokes Churchill cigars (though I wonder what
they called them in this era before Churchill was born.) Ever
provocative to his hosts, he stirs the pot even further by moving into
the house of Crane and Ruth Adams. Predictably, it isn't long before
Ruth is entranced by this larger-than-life man of mystery who dresses
like a dandy and is highly cultured- the very opposite of her own
husband and Matt. Tensions rise as Crane correctly suspects a romance
may be brewing. d'Estaing insists he intends to carry out his mission to
kill Matt, despite Ruth's protests, but he later makes it clear to her
that he intends to manipulate the situation so that Matt is spared and
Brewster is dragged down in disgrace.
The film, directed with admirable if unremarkable competence by
Richard Wilson, is a slow-moving, talky affair that leads to some
intelligent discussions about race relations and the horrors of bigotry.
(This was, after all, a production financed by Stanley Kramer, who
never heeded the old adage, "Leave the messages to Western Union!").
What saves the movie from devolving into a completely pedantic affair is
the charisma of Yul Brynner. It also helps that he is playing an
interesting character with a mysterious background and the revelations
he makes to Ruth about his life only make him even more intriguing. This
is a "thinking man's" western that touches on social issues as well as
the desperate plight of women in the old West, when their survival often
saw them entering dreadful marriages simply for financial security and
protection. Brynner gets fine support from Janice Rule and rising star
George Segal and Pat Hingle plays the town's pompous boss with
appropriate, sneering superficial charm.
"Invitation to a Gunfighter" is by no means a classic but it does
afford viewers to spend some time with Yul Brynner and that is always
time well-spent.
The film is currently streaming on Amazon Prime.
CLICK HERE TO ORDER KINO LORBER BLU-RAY FROM AMAZON
A March 1945 notice in the Los Angeles Times reported that following his return to Hollywood
from a USO camp tour, Boris Karloff was to begin work on a RKO Radio production
titled Chamber of Horrors.The film was to be produced by Val Lewton, the
producer who had already brought to the screen such psychological-horrors as Cat People (1942), I Walked with a Zombie (1943) and Curse of the Cat People (1944).Karloff had already appeared in a pair of Lewton’s horror-melodramas for
RKO, The Body Snatcher (1945) and Isle of the Dead (1945).The actor had been enjoying his freelance status
of late.Recent castings in a series of
mad scientist films (1940-1942) for Columbia solidified Karloff’s reputation as
cinema’s preeminent boogeyman - even in roles sans grotesque makeup appliances.So the engagement of the actor for Chamber
of Horrors was properly trumpeted in a 1945 Variety notice as something of a given: “Karloff Goes Mad – Again.”
By August of 1945 the pre-production title of Chamber of Horrors was abandoned, the
film tentatively re-slated as A Tale of
Bedlam.It’s not entirely clear why
the earlier title was dropped.One can
speculate that RKO wished to differentiate their new film from the 1940 British
Edgar Wallace thriller of the same name.But this second title too was soon shortened, the resulting film eventually
released simply as Bedlam.
The origin of the film’s scenario was certainly original,
one inspired by a painting of the sixteenth century British artist William
Hogarth. In the years 1733-1734, Hogarth would brush a series of eight plates
depicting the plight of a doomed character’s commitment to London’s notorious
St. Mary’s of Bethlehem Asylum.The most
famous of these portraits was Plate #8, titled “The Rake’s Progress,” a
snapshot depicting madness on the ward’s floor.If Lewton’s films are best recalled for their psychological-horror
element, the scenario of Bedlam illustrates
the sorry fate of those irreversibly afflicted.Particularly the lurid, inhumane conditions to which they’re subjected following
internment.
In the case of Bedlam,
Lewton (under the nom de plume of
“Carlos Keith”) and director Mark Robson would craft a provocative, class-conscious
screenplay.Though the film is a historical-melodrama
in construction, the picture was marketed as a thinly disguised Boris Karloff
horror vehicle.Robson was a favorite collaborator
of Lewton’s.He helmed Karloff’s
previous film for RKO Radio, Isle of the
Dead, as well as two earlier Lewton productions, The Seventh Victim (1943) and Ghost
Ship (1943).The latter title, in
fact, appears here as one half of the double-feature Blu ray made available here
through the Warner Archive.
The budget for Bedlam
was kept reasonably low since the filmmakers were able to make use of an
existing set at RKO-Pathe’s studio in Culver City.Eagle-eyed admirers of the classic Ingrid
Bergman-Bring Crosby movie The Bells of St.
Mary (1945) will notice that film’s convent school setting has been
repurposed for the darker explorations of Bedlam.The existing set’s availability allowed the production
and costume designers on Bedlam some economic
freedom to properly – and lavishly - dress the costumes and settings.The film has a very elegant, high-budget feel
despite it’s small bankroll, and Robson does an admirable job of contrasting
the privileged world of London’s elite against the poor souls who suffer the
dank, dark asylum chamber of St. Mary’s.
The film takes place in the year 1761, an era cynically described
here as “The Age of Reason.”Karloff’s unpleasant
character, Master Sims, serves as the particularly cold and malevolent
Apothecary General of the asylum.He’s a
man without morals, interested only in satisfying his own selfish desires and
lining his pocket. To this end, Sims continually toadies and fawns to those of
regal or high political import, such as the corpulent and equally repulsive
Lord Mortimer (Billy House).To gain
favor with those of high position, Sims coldheartedly showcases “performances”
of interned “loonies” for amusement and monies.
Things start going bad for Sims when he’s challenged by
Nell Bowen (Anna Lee), a mistress of Mortimer’s whose earlier haughtiness and indifference
has softened by the grotesque showcases.Rightfully seeing Bowen as a threat to both his position and pocketbook,
Karloff does what he can to break the woman’s spirit.He cynically and falsely charges her with
derangement, leading to a commitment to the ward at St. Mary’s.Her only hope in breaking free – and continuing
her fight for the well-being and humane care for fellow inmates interred in this
“bestial world” – is through the interventions of a pacifist Quaker (Richard
Fraser) and a sympathetic, anti-Tory Whig politician Wilkes (Leland Hodgson).But the malevolent Sims will do all he can to
silence and destroy the determined woman to prevent that from ever happening.
The film’s monochrome cinematography looks great, Director
of Photography Nicholas Musuraca atmospherically capturing and juxtaposing the
elegant lifestyles of the rich and powerful against the sorrowful living
conditions of the mental and emotionally disturbed inmates of the asylum.Such attention to detail is particularly
impressive when considering the production of Bedlam was shot quickly, photography wrapping by the end of
September 1945.
The Hollywood trades would report shortly afterward that
Karloff was scheduled to appear in yet a third
film for the team of Lewton and Robson, Blackbeard,
presumably a swashbuckling pirate epic.RKO
executive producer Jack Gross was to supervise this new production, one scheduled
to commence filming in spring of 1946.That film would, sadly, not see the light of day.Lewton’s relationship with Gross was
reportedly an unfriendly one, and the box-office for Bedlam wasn’t what the studio had wished it to be.The revenue shortfall was partly attributed
to troublesome distribution issues.
Such issues aside, it was also true that public interest
in horror films had diminished. Such changes in taste had allowed Karloff to -
briefly – be free of playing roles that exploited his reputation as cinema’s
man of menace.This respite, however,
wouldn’t last long.The gentlemanly,
lisping actor was soon back to playing villains, mad scientists, and mysterious
Swamis before decade’s end - even terrorizing Bud Abbott and Lou Costello as an
acrobatic Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
Lewton would go on to produce four subsequent films
following Bedlam, but the filmmaker would
pass on in March of 1951, a somewhat uncelebrated figure in Hollywood.It wasn’t until the late 1960s that film
scholars would reassess his contributions to cinema, anointing several of his
earliest 1940’s efforts as classics of the horror genre.Robson’s career would continue unabated for
decades, scoring big successes with such films as Von Ryan’s Express (1965) and
Earthquake (1974).
Though this Blu ray’s second film lacks a star player of Boris
Karloff’s caliber, Robson’s The Ghost
Ship is certainly worth a watch. Despite its titillating supernatural
title, this film too is not a horror-vehicle.Tom Merriam (Russell Wade), a newly hired third mate to Captain Will Stone
(Richard Dix), suspects the cargo freighter’s commander is not only mentally
disturbed, but possibly homicidal.The
problem is no one on the crew or at the shipping company seems to agree with
him.This despite mounting evidence of the
Captain’s increasingly suspicious actions and demonstrably bizarre behavior.In some respects, The Ghost Ship is similar to Bedlam
as it suggests one remain wary of being too trustful of those holding positions
of power and prestige.Though a sixty-nine
minute B-film, The Ghost Ship is a
pretty effective effort, some even preferring it to Bedlam as it’s a bit more suspenseful in construction.
This Warner Archive Collection Region-Free Blu ray edition of Bedlam and The Ghost Ship is presented here in 1080p High Definition 16x9
1.37.1 and DTS-HD Master Mono Audio.While the set includes the trailers of both films, the only other special
feature offered is an informative and entertaining commentary courtesy of film
historian Tom Weaver in support of Bedlam.Those of us who already invested in Warner’s
nine-film DVD set The Val Lewton Horror
Collection (2005) might not choose to upgrade for this Blu two-fer, but
fans of Karloff and Lewton will be amply rewarded should they do so.This set not only features upgraded transfers
with great balance, but also Weaver’s usual comprehensive supporting commentary,
absent from the original DVD release.
Click here to order from the Cinema Retro Movie Store
The 1970s was the Golden Age of American TV movies and mini-series. Fortunately, many of these long unseen titles have been surfacing again on home video and streaming services. I'll admit that memories of the very good ones had somewhat romanticized my recollection of the TV movie genre in general. Upon viewing some of the titles today, they don't hold up as well as I had hoped, but even the weakest remain quite entertaining. "One of My Wives is Missing" is definitely a lesser entry in the TV movie cycle. In fact, I had never heard of it until I came across the title on Amazon Prime and decided to give it a go. The film was telecast in 1976 and has a good deal of talent associated with the production. The show was produced by the powerhouse team of Aaron Spelling and Leonard Goldberg. The screenplay was by Peter Stone, who used the nom-de-plume Pierre Marton, and the director was Glenn Jordan, an established TV veteran with a long line of credentials. The cast was also impressive: James Franciscus, Jack Klugman and Elizabeth Ashley.
The film starts out with Franciscus as Daniel Corban, a rich New York City executive frantically calling police numerous times to find out about any progress made relating to his previous report of his new wife as a missing person. Corban and she were enjoying their honeymoon at a lake resort in upstate New York when he claims she went out in her car and never returned. Corban is increasingly frantic to find out where she is. Finally, the local police chief, Murray Levine (Jack Klugman) meets with him to get more facts. Corban is frustrated by Levine's unorthodox police methods and feels that the small department he oversees is not up to solving the mystery. Corban tells Levine that his wife is even wealthier than he is and that they are a devoted couple. When Levine leaves, things start to get weird. An attractive young woman arrives at the house and makes herself at home, claiming she is Corban's wife Elizabeth. As played by Elizabeth Ashley, she's attractive, intelligent and has a habit of sauntering around the rented house in an array of provocative outfits that are cut down-to-there. Corban is stunned and claims he has no idea who she is and why she is posing as his wife. Still, she goes about her business, saying that he must be delusional due to stress. Things get even weirder with the arrival of a local priest, Father Kelleher (Joel Fabiani), who backs up Elizabeth's story and verifies that Elizabeth is indeed the real Mrs. Corban.
The central premise of the plot is the movie's weakest point. It's patently absurd because anyone could have easily be able to prove or disprove the real identity of a spouse even back in 1976 in the pre-internet era. The fact that Chief Levine can't achieve this simple task is explained away by the fact that it's the Labor Day weekend holiday and everything is closed, as though New York City police resources would simply shut down as though they were a local coffee shop. As screenwriter, adapting the Robert Thomas stage play "Trap for a Single Man", Peter Stone allows most of the action to take place in a living room before opening things up a bit in the climax. As with all whodunnits of this type, the less plot revelations, the better. Suffice it to say that the script veers increasingly into the realm of the unbelievable before Stone redeems himself by providing some cracking good plot surprises in the last fifteen minutes. Stone's presence on the low-brow TV movie is a bit of surprise, given that he had written such esteemed feature films as "Charade", "Father Goose" and "The Taking of Pelham One-Two-Three". Perhaps that's why he used an assumed name. A near fatal error is director Jordan's handling of the pivotal role of the priest. Joel Fabiani is miscast in the part and Jordan has him using a cliched Irish accent that makes him sound as though he's channeling the ghost of Barry Fitzgerald. Franciscus is good, if a bit hammy at times, as the bewildered and exasperated husband. Klugman, always a pleasure to watch, is in full Columbo mode, exhibiting plenty of disarming tactics to mask the fact he is more competent than he seems. Ashley oozes sensuality and is quite effective as the woman who holds the key to the mystery. In all, it adds up as satisfactory, if unexceptional, trip back in time to the era of the "ABC Movie of the Week" series.
The Amazon Prime streamer is presented "as is" with from a source that has not been enhanced in any manner. The film had been released on VHS and as a low-rent public domain DVD. The latter probably served as the source for the streaming presentation.
Sheldon
Hall's 13 page spectacular tribute to the 50th anniversary of Zulu starring
Stanley Baker and Michael Caine. Rare behind the scenes photos and
international movie posters.
Dave
Worrall takes on you on a locations "now and then" tour of
where Goldfinger starring Sean Connery was filmed at the
legendary Pinewood Studios.
Ray
Morton's exclusive interview with cinematographer Richard Kline, who
shot King Kong (1976), Death Wish, Star Trek: The Motion
Picture and Camelot.
Dean
Brierly looks at classic American crime movies including The
Killers (1974), The Driver, Point Blank, Bring Me the Head of Alfredo
Garcia and The Taking of Pelham One Two Three.
Brian
Hannan tells the fascinating story of Elizabeth Taylor's
BUtterfield 8, the film she did not want to do but won an Oscar
for!
Tim
Greaves looks at the short but exotic career of Victoria
Vetri, star of Hammer Films' When Dinosaurs Ruled the
Earth- and provides some rare provocative photos!
Illustrated
tribute to movie comic book tie-ins from the 1960s and 1970s.
Howard
Hughes continues his history of Oakmont Productions with The
Thousand Plane Raid starring Christopher George.
Harvey
Chartrand tells the fascinating story behind Mary Rose, the
dream project that Alfred Hitchcock never filmed.
Trevor
Chapman remembers the glorious Gaumont Theatre, one of Britain's Cinerama
gems.
Gareth
Owen looks at Pinewood Studios in the 1970s and 1980s.
Raymond
Benson's top ten films of 1987
Plus
the latest film book, soundtrack and DVD reviews
On Disc two of the Warner Archive’s new and essential Blu-ray
release of The Curse of Frankenstein
- the first Hammer horror classic - Richard Klemensen, publisher of Little Shoppe of Horrors magazine, offers
a succinct examination of the nuts and bolts of the film’s production history.The
Klemensen segment is only one of several generous and informative featurettes
included on the set.In the course of The Resurrection Men: Hammer, Frankenstein
and the Rebirth of the Horror Film, the publisher explains that Hammer was
a small, struggling indie studio that had churned out B pictures and modest second
features since its 1934 inception.The
studio’s fortune – and existence - was threatened in the early 1950s when
television upended the British film industry.Ironically, it was during this same period that Hammer would lens one of
their most significant big screen splashes: a sci-fi property adapted from British
TV titled The Quatermass Xperiment.
That film would signal the studio’s first successful
entry in the theatrical sci-fi/horror genre: even though the picture was a far
cry from the Gothic horrors to which the studio would soon be most associated.The public’s interest in Gothic horror had
waned in the late 1940s, as enthusiasm for Universal’s famed cycle of Dracula
and Frankenstein and Mummy films had peaked and passed.The movie-going public with a penchant for the
mysterious had since turned their attentions to flying saucers and alien
visitors, of giant radioactive insects, of Ray Harryhausen’s celebrated animated
monster-mutations.
So it was an odd time for Hammer to invest money in
restages of such literary monsters as Shelley’s Frankenstein Monster and
Stoker’s Count Dracula.The initial
script for the first of Hammer’s Frankenstein cycle films would come to company
producers via two gentleman who would eventually become competitors:Milton Subotsky and Max J. Rosenberg, the two
principal founders of Amicus Productions.Hammer execs would ultimately reject that script and scenario, but the
idea of producing of a Frankenstein film was not dismissed.The studio’s interest in reviving the franchise
was ultimately left to screenwriter Jimmy Sangster.
Hammer’s decision to resurrect the monster was not met
with enthusiasm by Universal Pictures.As the creators of the original series of Frankenstein films (1931-1948),
the studio was very protective of their interests.They would do their best to make certain that
no Universal-conceived elements would be co-opted by this British up-start.But as Mary Shelley’s property had long been in
the rights-free Public Domain, Universal could not claim copyright to any
characters that appeared in the original novel of 1818.
In truth, Hammer had no intention to overlap with the celebrated
Universal film series.For starters,
there would be no iconic armies of torch and pitchfork toting angry villagers
chasing the monster.This wasn’t an
artistic choice or due to any executive decision to not shadow Universal’s
tropes too closely.The modest budget they
set aside for the production of The Curse
of Frankenstein simply wouldn’t allow for the employment of that many
extras. The use of Jack Pierce’s
iconic flat-top Frankenstein monster make-up, replete with neck bolts and
callow cheeks was also taboo.Hammer’s make-up
wizard Phil Leakey would conjure up an admittedly less iconic - but certainly
far more gruesome – set of make-up for Frankenstein’s creation, all boils and
melted flesh and cloudy eyes.
Gruesome and bloody would be the order of the day.As the first Frankenstein film to be shot in color,
the filmmakers were able to take advantage of relaxed contemporary standards of
what was deemed acceptable to show on screen.The resulting film was certainly far more graphic than previously seen,
dressed as it was with ample amounts of blood-letting and gory visuals.That’s not to say the censors were happy with
the film’s content when submitted for review.The film would receive an “X’ rating in Great Britain.This wasn’t only due to the graphic content
and violence as presented, but also due to Hammer’s introducing an element of lurid
sexuality and provocative peeks of Hazel Court’s ample cleavage.
Hammer would also wisely make Shelley’s Baron Victor
Frankenstein the series central character.Actually, it was the Baron’s lack
of character that would make him the series’ central villain.Peter Cushing’s Frankenstein remained as
obsessed as ever in his desire to create new life from dead tissue.This ambition was a hallmark of all his mad
scientist predecessors at Universal: Colin Clive, Lionel Atwill, Patrick
Knowles, Onslow Stevens and even Boris Karloff himself.But Cushing’s Frankenstein was more ambitious
in his creating of new monsters.The
actor’s Dr. Frankenstein was the
monster, producing a series of woeful, tortured creatures in the course of his
experimentations.
The
Curse of Frankenstein would bring together several members of the
production crew whose work would soon become synonymous with Hammer’s brand of
horror.Director Terence Fisher was a
dependable figure to helm the project.He had creating serviceable thrillers for the studio’s producers since 1951.Despite working with penny-pinching budgets, Production
Designer Bernard Robinson was able to create a sense of luxurious, visual ambiance
with his opulent set decorations.This
was no small feat as most of the films he would design for Hammer were shot
within the cramped confines of Bray House on the Thames.
Then there was Jack Asher, whose moody lighting was never
short of brilliant.His work became even
more nuanced and image-invoking when the success of Curse at the box office convinced the studio to loosen the purse
strings… a bit.This decision allowed
the studio to invest in bigger budgets and to unleash their creative energies
on other horror film properties once the sole domain of Universal.Between 1957 and 1974, Hammer would give us
no fewer than seven Frankenstein films, nine Dracula movies, four Mummy
pictures and even a one-shot Spaniard Werewolf epic.This in addition, of course, to an impressive
number of original monsters and adherents of Satan they would conjure on their
own.
I’m preaching to the choir here.If you are a fan of vintage horror movies,
you are already acquainted with this classic.Warner’s Blu ray edition of The
Curse of Frankenstein provides film fans with beautiful transfers of this
1957 horror classic with the choice of enjoying it in 1.85:1, 1.66:1, and
1.37:1 Open-Matte versions, all restored and remastered from 4K scans.The set also offers a generous amount of
supplemental materials providing dedicated fans with backstories on its
production.Asher’s contributions are
featured in the set’s featurette Torrents
of Light: The Art of Jack Asher, with cinematographer David J. Miller (A.S.C.)
bringing to the fore the elements that made Asher’s photography so distinctive
and compelling.Miller describes Asher
as a “perfectionist†and the preeminent “architectural lighting director,†and
makes a convincing case of such an honor.
Though the phrase “painting with light†has become an
overused stock-phrase to describe the art of cinematography, Miller suggests that
Asher’s work is particularly deserving of such accolade.He describes the atmospheric visual imagery
as captured by Asher as “an oil painting come to life.â€Miller also suggests, not unreasonably, that
Asher not only set the template for Hammer’s visual style, but that his work had
clearly influenced the styles of cinematographers in Italy and France, the
great Mario Bava being the most notable.He also suggests that Asher had freedom to creatively contribute to the
“Hammer style†as he had previously worked extensively with Fisher and
Production Designer Robinson.Such
familiarity and trust with the core creative team was an essential component to
the film’s visual flair.
Another figure whose work for Hammer is now considered
essential to the Hammer brand was that of composer James Bernard.The composer’s dramatic, string-soaked
arrangements would serve as a perfect complement to the often wild melodrama
unfolding on screen.Bernard’s
contribution to the Hammer legacy is examined in detail in yet another
featurette Diabolus in Musica: James
Bernard and the Sound of Hammer Horror, moderated by composer Christopher
Drake.
Most famously, The Curse
of Frankenstein would first pair two names that eventually would forever remain
associative with the Hammer Film legacy:actors Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee.Cushing was a well-known figure to television
audiences in Britain when he accepted the role of Victor Frankenstein in Curse.The actor’s feature film work prior to his work with Hammer was less
celebrated, though never short of brilliant. In 1956 Christopher Lee wasn’t yet
a film star of any magnitude, at least not a household name.He had been a difficult actor to cast due to
his height. He dwarfed the lead actors
he worked alongside, which no doubt rankled his better-known male co-stars and caused
frustrating framing issues to cinematographers.In his casting of the creature in Curse,
his height would finally work to his advantage.But ultimately he was cast not due to his towering presence alone.He also impressed with his abilities to
communicate effectively as a mime.
Actress Margaret Nolan has passed away at age 76. She was best known for her association with the 1964 James Bond blockbuster "Goldfinger", in which she appeared in a small role as the character of Dink, who is lavishing her attentions on Sean Connery's 007 at the Fontainebleau Hotel pool in Miami Beach. It was her work behind the scenes on the film that made her a fan favorite. While Shirley Eaton played the character who was famously gilded to death in gold paint, it was Nolan who appeared in the film's iconic opening credits sequence in which scenes from the movie were projected on her body. This was sensational and provocative stuff in 1964 and Nolan's attachment to the film saw her appearing at Bond fan events in front of appreciative audiences for decades to come. For more about her life and career, click here.
Dame Diana Rigg, one of Britain's most esteemed actresses, has died from cancer at age 82. In the course of her career, Rigg conquered the mediums of stage, screen and television. She studied at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts in London and received praise for her work in classic theater. Perhaps improbably, she became a pop culture icon when she replaced Honor Blackman on the iconic British TV series "The Avengers" in the 1960s. When Blackman left the show to star as Pussy Galore in the 1964 James Bond film "Goldfinger", Rigg introduced the character of Emma Peel, playing opposite Patrick Macnee's John Steed. She became the most notable early female action star on television, practicing martial arts and often attired in provocative leather outfits. In 1969, Rigg followed in Honor Blackman's footsteps by appearing as the female lead in a James Bond film, "On Her Majesty's Secret Service" opposite George Lazenby's 007. The film, considered one of the best of the series, cast Rigg as a countess who marries James Bond, only to be murdered on their wedding day. The movie was notable for its realistic and downbeat ending. Rigg's other feature films include "The Hospital", "The Great Muppet Caper", "Evil Under the Sun" and "Theatre of Blood", a comedic horror film in which she and Vincent Price were memorably co-starred. She thrived on television over the decades, gaining numerous Emmy and BAFTA nominations and winning an Emmy in 1997 for her performance as the evil Mrs. Danvers in "Rebecca". She also won acclaim for her role in the TV production of "Mother Love" opposite David McCallum in 1989. Rigg found late career success on television with an Emmy-nominated role in "Game of Thrones". In theater, she often concentrated on the classics, packing houses on Broadway and the West End. She won a Tony Award in 1994 for her starring role in "Medea".
The BFI has released Sidney Lumet's 1977 film adaptation of Peter Shaffer's acclaimed theatre production of "Equus". The film stars Richard Burton and Peter Firth in Oscar-nominated performances. Here is the official press release:
This Oscar® nominated* adaptation of Peter Shaffer’s Tony
Award-winning play, released by the BFI on Limited Edition Blu-ray with a raft
of extras including a new interview withPeter Firth, erupts on
the screen with the same power and passion as the stage original. Richard Burton
gives one of his best performances in this elegant and provocative tale of myth
and mental turmoil.
What would drive Alan Strang (Peter Firth), a troubled
adolescent stable boy, to blind the horses in his care? Psychiatrist Martin
Dysart (Richard Burton) investigates this unspeakable act and delves
deep into Alan’s mind, confronting the mysteries of sexual passion and
psychological pain – as well as the demons buried within his own soul.
*1978
(50th) ACTOR – Richard Burton, SUPPORTING ACTOR – Peter Firth, WRITING
(Screenplay – based on material from another medium) – Peter Shaffer
Special
features (NB. Some extras are on DVD)
Feature presented in High
Definition
Audio commentary by Julie
Kirgo and Nick Redman (2014)
Isolated score
Sidney Lumet Guardian
Lecture (1981,
89 mins, audio only): director Sidney Lumet talks to Derek Malcolm in this
interview recorded at the National Film Theatre
Peter Firth in
conversation with Leigh Singer (2020, 39 mins, audio over stills gallery)
The Watchers (1969, 26 mins):
BFI-produced short film directed by Richard Foster
In From the Cold? A
Portrait of Richard Burton (1988, 121 mins): Tony Palmer’s
award-winning feature-length documentary profile
Religion and the People (1940, 14 mins):
documentary by Andrew Buchanan illustrating a time when faith lay at the
heart of the British experience
The Farmer’s Horse (1951, 18 mins): in a time
of increasing mechanisation, this public information film makes the case
for the sturdy farm horse
Trailer
Illustrated booklet with
new writing by Sidney Lumet’s biographer Maura Spiegel and arts filmmaker
John Wyver; notes on the extras and full credits
Product
details
RRP: £22.99 / Cat. no. BFIB1399 / 15
USA / 1977 / colour / 138 mins / English language, with optional
hard-of-hearing subtitles / original aspect ratio 1.85:1 // Disc 1: BD50,
1080p, 24fps, PCM 2.0 mono audio (48kHz/24-bit) / Disc 2: DVD9, PAL, 25fps,
Dolby Digital mono audio (320kbps)
(This is a Region 2 Blu-ray format release. Click here to order.)
OK, let’s start this review by stating an obvious and
oft-repeated criticism.The actress
Maria Montez was a skillful, if somewhat shameless, self-promoter; her primary asset
wasn’t talent but beauty.In her desperate
search for stardom, Montez arrived in New York City from the Dominican
Republic, leaving behind an otherwise uncelebrated life as wife of a bank
manager.Montez did a bit of modeling at
first - even appearing in such widely-distributed magazines as LIFE - but a Hollywood
career remained her primary target.She managed
to secure a screen-test for RKO pictures, but was quickly scooped up by
Universal in 1940 who thought her “exotic†features might prove useful to them.
She mostly appeared as a supporting
player in the years 1940-1941, but emerged in 1942 as a full-fledged star.She became, for a time, the “Queen of
Technicolor,†an honor bestowed on her due to her appearances in a string of sumptuously
photographed, escapist B-movie adventure entertainments.
Her first big taste of success followed her appearance in
Arabian Nights (1942), but while she achieved
top-bill status on the marquee, her on-screen time was unusually brief for a featured
player.There was a reason for this, of
course.The memories of many of the
actors and filmmakers who worked with her would share similar reminiscences.Though they all agreed she photographed
wonderfully, most conceded Montez simply couldn’t act or sing or dance.Her male admirers sitting in darkened
theaters often felt cheated by the brevity of her screen time.But the softball roles assigned to her, to
say it most politely, were purposefully undemanding
as a matter of practicality.What Montez
did possess, aside from her God-given beauty, was a combination of ego-centrism
and moxey that was uncommon… even when measured against the copious self-regard
exemplified by most of Hollywood’s most famous Divas.
With the provocative title of Cobra Woman, aficionados of Golden Age Horror might be seduced into
thinking the flick is a borderline genre film. It most certainly is not,
the film having more in common with the chapter-serials of the 1940s than with
the barrage of 65-minute second-feature chillers and mysteries that Universal would
churn out with regularity. The presence of Lon Chaney Jr. in the cast,
not top-billed but still featured prominently in all of the film’s advertising,
might also lead one into thinking this is a minor – if mostly forgotten -
horror classic. As the mysterious servant Hava, Chaney actually enjoys very
little screen time and is given almost nothing to do aside from appearing menacing
whenever on screen.
Though Chaney flits in and out of the film, it is likely not
a part he was particularly enamored of having been gifted; his character is little
more than a hulking mute here, described as a “giant†by Sabu (Sabu Dastagir).Since he’s mute throughout Chaney is tasked
to gesticulate to convey emotion and intention: it’s fair to say the actor is
unable to convincingly pantomime in the style of his silent film star father,
Lon Sr. This is not Lon Jr.’s fault, really, as his character is strictly
one-dimensional. The actor may have been wasted in this role, but Chaney could
hardly complain. He would appear in no fewer than eight films release by
Universal in 1944… with this one, arguably, being the least.
Though the dashing and handsome Jon Hall is at best dimly
remembered by few others than fans of cult films of the 1940s and 1950s, his
most famous roles were the ones in which he was paired (or, perhaps, saddled)
with co-star Montez. A former free-agent actor contracted by Universal,
Hall was groomed to play the heroic leading man in such films as Invisible Agent (1942) and The Invisible Man’s Revenge (1944).
But his most memorable roles were played out here in the studio’s splashy
Technicolor - but budget-strapped - adventure films. He would eventually
be paired with Montez in no fewer than six films.
(Above: Lyon appeared in a provocative ad campaign for "Lolita" that promised more eroticism than the actual film contained.)
BY LEE PFEIFFER
Sue Lyon, who briefly took Hollywood by storm as the teenage vixen in Stanley Kubrick's 1962 screen adaptation of the controversial Nabokov novel, has passed away after a long illness at age 73. Lyon was 14 years old when Kubrick cast her as the seductive object of middle-aged Humbert Humbert's (James Mason) sexual desire. The provocative nature of the novel deemed it to be unfilmable but Kubrick succeeded, albeit after making some key concessions to censors. Lyon's career saw her cast in another role as a teenage seductress in John Huston's 1964 film version of Tennessee Williams' "The Night of the Ignuana", this time with Richard Burton as a much older, defrocked clergyman who is tempted by her charms. However, stardom didn't follow despite her being cast in a key role in John Ford's final film "Seven Women". She also played a wayward teen in the 1967 Frank Sinatra hit, "Tony Rome" and starred with George C. Scott in "The Flim Flam Man" the same year. She appeared in numerous TV show episodes as a guest star before retiring from acting in 1980. Her personal life was tumultuous. She had been married five times, once to a convicted murderer (in 1973). Lyon blamed the bad press she received from her choice of a husband (the ceremony was performed in prison) for derailing her career. For New York Times obituary and rare 1962 filmed interview with Sue Lyon, click here.
On the eve of the November 1963 release of TWICE TOLD
TALES, the British actor Sebastian Cabot would tell a reporter from the Copley
News Service, "They've been after me to do more of the horror pictures with
Vincent Price. I wouldn't mind that a
bit, though I must say I wouldn't want to do them exclusively." He intimated that he and his co-star had
discussed a possible future pairing in " light comedy" motion-picture. Alas, it was not to be; the two actors would
not work together again. Cabot, of
course, would soldier on and enjoy success as both a television personality and
a recognizable voice-over actor. Following
the passing of Boris Karloff in 1969, Vincent Price would reign as the big-screen''S uncontested "King of Horror". Cabot'S estimation of Price as an actor as "extremely adept at light-comedy" was incisive. Throughout his long and fabled career, Vincent Price;s on-screen
ghoulishness would nearly always be mitigated with a wry smile and twinkle in
the eye.
Though a descendant of John Hathorne, the unrepentant
magistrate who presided over the fate of several innocents during Salem,
Massachusetts’s celebrated witch trials, Nathanial Hawthorne was a
romanticist: he was not prominently a
writer of mysteries or of fantastic fiction. Having said that, Hawthorne was not averse to penning a good ghost story
or two and his talent had won him the praise of contemporaries. One such fan was Edgar Allan Poe himself. In his review of Hawthorne’s two volume
collection of short stories TWICE TOLD TALES for Graham’s Magazine in May of
1842, Poe unabashedly pronounced the New Englander as “a man of truest genius…
As Americans, we feel proud of this book.â€
Of course Hollywood producers have always somehow
managed to take great creative liberties with the acknowledged classics. Stories of cigar-chomping producers passing
on tracts of classic literature so their stable of writers might “give ‘em a
polish†are legion. Though Roger
Corman’s series of Poe films both successfully and artistically mined the great
man’s work for their tortured characters, grim atmosphere and elements of plot,
Corman himself rarely offered filmgoers a straight-forward re-telling of any of
the doomed author’s fabled tales.
Producer-writer, Robert E. Kent seems to have taken a
similar, albeit far less successful, approach with his production of TWICE TOLD
TALES. Only segment two of this trilogy
film, “Rappaccini’s Daughter†closely resembles Hawthorne’s original story, and
even that diverges when at odds with cinematic expectations. In “Dr. Heidegger’s Experiment,†a sinister
love-triangle between Dr. Carl Heidegger (the corpulent Sebastian Cabot), Alex
Medbourne (Price) and the recently revived but still exquisite corpse of Sylvia
Ward (Marie Blanchard) is re-engineered as to feature an original - if
salacious - back-story. This “Virgin
Spring†elixir-of-eternal-youth morality-fable plays out with little fidelity to
the original tale.
Original comic book tie-in.
Such creative-license is stretched to the breaking
point with the film’s final episode, “The House of the Seven Gables.†This segment bears little resemblance to Hawthorne’s
celebrated novel, but it has borrowed elements from the better known – and far
more lavish – 1940 Universal film of the same title. The Universal film, perhaps not
coincidentally, also featured Vincent Price in a starring role, though this
tale, too, strayed far from Hawthorne’s original. Though I recall no physical blood-letting in
the Hawthorne novel, in TWICE TOLD TALES the sanguine red fluid pours freely– and
mostly unconvincingly, it must be said - from ceilings, walls, portraits, and
lockets. The Pyncheon’s family’s metaphorical
skeleton-in-the-closet becomes all too real in this rather uninspired
re-working.
Part of the film’s original marketing stratagem was the
offer of “FREE COFFEE in the lobby to settle your nerves!†One might suggest, with a measure of
cynicism, that such brew was a necessary component in helping to keep audiences
awake. TWICE TOLD TALES is, to be
generous, a very good ninety-minute film. The problem is that the filmmakers stretched this ninety-minute film to an
interminable two-hour running time.
This is a “sitting room†or “parlor†film; most of the
action (as it is) takes place in mildly claustrophobic confines of small home
settings with long stretches of unbroken dialogue. There are very few provocative set-pieces employed
over the course of three segments and the most ambitious of these, the deadly
and poisonous garden of Dr. Giacomo Rappaccini (Price), is only experienced in sun-soaked
broad daylight. This supposedly lethal
garden is both terribly over-lit and ill-disguised in its construction (the
seams of the faux-grass mats are clearly visible). As such, this potentially visual and cinematic
garden of death portends little of its intended menace. If only love-struck suitor Giovanni Guasconti
(Brett Halsey) could have encountered the beautiful but lethal Beatrice
Rappaccini (Joyce Taylor) in a blue-swathed moonlight setting, the garden’s mysterious
atmosphere would have been instantly heightened.
Kent’s too-wordy screenplay suffers occasional patches
of purple prose, but it’s serviceable. There are a couple of great moments: Cabot’s toast of the glass prior to his experimental drinking of a fluid
that may or may not kill him (“To eternal youth, or just eternity?â€). In “Rappaccini’s Daughter†we’re not sure, at
first, of who is a prisoner to whom. Is
it the estranged daughter to the father, or the father to the daughter? When all is made clear, we can better understand
the poisoned daughter’s bitter complaint, “The only difference from being dead
is that this house is bigger than a grave.â€
TWICE TOLD TALES is no classic, but it’s not unworthy
of one’s time. Vincent Price is, as
always, brilliant in all three of the villainous roles he inhabits. The supporting cast is mostly great as well,
and Kent, unashamedly, brings aboard several of the familiar players who earlier
worked with Corman on the Poe series. Director
Sidney Salkow was, sadly, no auteur. Though he had been directing and writing films – and bringing them in
under or on budget - for both
independent and major studios as early as 1936, it’s clear he was most
interested in producing a satisfying checkmark in the company’s profit ledger and
not terribly concerned with film-as-art. Though Salkow’s films are never less than
competent, they’re generally pedestrian and not particularly memorable. As helmsman, Salkow simply possessed none of
Corman’s visual-style or displayed any ability to stage an impressive production
on a shoestring budget.
To be fair, Corman had advantages. His gothic films were European in design: his settings were of torch-lit gloomy and
brooding castles, of misty streets of cobblestone and black twisted tree-limbs. Two of the TWICE TOLD TALES, on the other
hand, are set in the non-atmospheric repose of 19th-century small-town
America. With the small exception of a creepy
sequence in which a thunder and lightning-storm disturbs a tomb that had been
sealed for thirty-eight years (and sits, inexplicably, just to the rear of Dr.
Heidegger’s back-door), the dressing that surrounds TWICE TOLD TALES demonstrates little
of the macabre ingredients necessary for mounting a successful horror film.
This release from Kino-Lorber Studio Classics presents
TWICE TOLD TALES for the first time in the U.S. in a Blu-Ray edition. The film is presented in Technicolor and in its
original 1.66:1 ratio. Bonus features
include an optional commentary from film scholars Richard Harland Smith and
Perry Martin, as well as trailers for the title film as well as Corman’s TALES
OF TERROR and BLACK SABBATH. A brief
“Trailers from Hell†segment is also included, courtesy of Mick Garris.
Kino Lober is releasing a number of value-priced Blu-ray double features with similarly-themed films. Among them is the combo of "Betsy's Wedding" and "Holy Matrimony". The first movie is a 1990 release starring and directed by Alan Alda, who had directed three previous feature films. Anyone who has been involved in planning a wedding knows that the old adage "The more the merrier!" rings hollow. In fact, the logistics of planning a wedding can become increasingly complicated and frustrating in direct correlation with the number of well-meaning people who decide to involve themselves. There's always the risk that the betrothed couple will be overwhelmed by logistics and that the wedding plans are catered to please everyone but them. Such is the case in "Betsy's Wedding". Alda is cast as Eddie Hopper, a successful real estate speculator who invests money in building homes that he hopes to sell for a quick profit. Lately, however, his instincts have been troublesome and his latest venture is proving to be a white elephant that is draining his savings. At the same time, his youngest daughter Betsy (Molly Ringwald) and her boyfriend Jake (Dylan Walsh) announce they intend to get married. Both are left-wing progressives who are also social activists who disdain blatant displays of wealth. They want a low-key civil ceremony with only a handful of guests. However, Eddie and his wife Lola (Madeline Kahn) argue that a much grander, traditional wedding is called for so as not to offend family members. Their resistance worn down, Betsy and Jake reluctant concede, which opens a Pandora's Box of bad luck for all involved. Eddie can't afford to put on the wedding he has lobbied for so he turns to his brother-in-law Oscar (Joe Pesci), a slimy business "tycoon" who, in reality, is also short of cash. Since he can't find the money to lend Eddie for the wedding, he introduces him to a local mob boss, Georgie (Burt Young), who puts up the funds but then integrates himself into Eddie's life and plans for the wedding. A parallel story line centers on Eddie and Lola's other daughter Connie (Ally Sheedy), a New York City police officer who is stuck in a perpetual mode of depression, shying away from people and bruised by the fact that her younger sister will marry before she does. She is elevated from the blues by Georgie's bodyguard Stevie Dee (Anthony Lapaglia), a slick mobster who sounds like Rocky Balboa on steroids but who curiously speaks to everyone with excessive politeness. Has is obsessed with Connie and slowly but surely succeeds in wooing her into coming out of her shell. As the wedding date nears, the pressure mounts on everyone. Eddie's business dealings with George almost get him assassinated in an attempted mob hit, Betsy and Jake are barely on speaking terms and on the wedding day and a torrential rain storm threatens to collapse the large tent structure the reception is being held in. Eddie receives solace from imaginary conversations with his dear, departed father (Joey Bishop).
"Besty's Wedding" was not well-received by critics or audiences back in the day and proved to be the final feature film to date directed by Alan Alda. Yet, I found it to be consistently funny and Alda excels as both actor and director, milking maximum laughs from an inspired cast. The scene-stealer is Lapaglia, one of the few cast members to receive kudos from reviewers. His sensitive tough guy routine is both amusing and endearing. The film isn't hilarious at any point but it's never less than entertaining, as you might imagine any movie that teams Joe Pesci and Burt Young would be.
"Holy Matrimony" was unceremoniously dumped by Disney into a handful of theaters in 1994 before being relegated to home video. It's total theatrical gross in North America was about $700,000. As with "Betsy's Wedding", it was directed by a popular actor, in this case Leonard Nimoy. Ironically, just as "Betsy's Wedding" represented Alda's last direction (to date) of a feature film, so too did "Holy Matrimony" mark Nimoy's last directorial effort on the big screen. The premise is hardly original, centering on a protagonist who seeks shelter in a religious community to evade pursuers. This plot device dates back to the 1940s with John Wayne in "Angel and the Badman" and its unacknowledged 1984 remake "Witness". Here we find Patricia Arquette as Havana, a sultry young woman from the other side of the tracks who is fed up with being exploited by performing provocative routines at a carnival tent located in a fairgrounds. She is paid a miserly wage by the owner who she comes to resent. She and her equally impoverished boyfriend Peter (Tate Donovan) rob the owner and flee in their car, but not before being identified. With the police searching for them, they cross into Canada and take refuge in an Amish-like religious colony where Peter was raised before leaving for the outside world. They pretend to want to immerse themselves in the rustic lifestyle but Havana's coarse nature and foul mouth make the elders suspicious of their motives. Peter hides the cache of stolen loot but before he can divulge its location to Havana, he is killed in an automobile accident. The colony elders view this as a way to get rid of Havana by informing her that customs dictate that she must marry Peter's brother, in this case twelve year-old Ezekiel (Joseph Gordon-Levitt). However, Havana- who needs to stay until she can locate the stash of hidden money- agrees to the arrangement, much to the shock of all involved- especially young Ezekiel who is appalled at having to be married at such a young age. The film deftly handles the possible distasteful elements of this reverse "Lolita" situation by making it clear that both husband and wife sleep in separate rooms. The one funny sex gag involves Ezekiel trying to impress his friends that he is satisfying his new wife only to have the scenario backfire much to his embarrassment when it is revealed he is actually in the bedroom alone.
Much of what follows is predictable. As with all movie plots in which the male and female protagonists start off hating each other, there is no doubt that Havana and Ezekiel will grow to respect and like each other, with Havana acting more like a big sister than a wife. Once the money is located, Havana is told to accompany Ezekiel back to the States to return the loot to its rightful owner. What follows is a road trip in which the two share plenty of personal thoughts and have to avoid a corrupt FBI agent (John Schuck), who is hot on their trail, determined to steal the money for himself. The story climaxes back at the state fair where Havana originally worked. She's now determined to return the stolen money, all the while trying to evade the police and the FBI guy who are hot on her trail. Director Nimoy capably blends both sentiment and comedy during the course of the film, though the movie's main attributes are the performances by Arquette and especially young Gordon-Levitt who shows star power even at this early stage of his career. There is also a very fine performance by Armin-Mueller Stahl as the elder of the religious community. Refreshingly, the film doesn't mock or humiliate the members of the religious colony. Rather, it is "fish-out-of-water" Havana who bears the brunt of most of the humor. While "Holy Matrimony" is nothing very special, it does seem to have suffered an undeserved fate by being released to only a small number of theaters. It is certainly on par with most mid-range comedies but apparently Disney felt it had very little boxoffice appeal.
The Kino Lorber Blu-ray combo features very fine transfers of both films and includes their original trailers. Recommended.
The Huffington Post's Jamie Scot takes a fascinating look back at the origins of gay and lesbian paperback novels that flooded the American market in the post-WWII era. It was the first acknowledgement that gays and lesbians represented significant numbers of the population, a fact attested to by the explosive sales of these novels. For the gay population during this period of cultural conservatism, these books provided a bit of titillation that heterosexual men had never had a problem accessing. More surprising to publishers was the significant sales of lesbian-themed books, some of which became bestsellers. (Undoubtedly, many of these sales could be attributed to men, who have always been preoccupied with lesbian sex.) Like any erotic paperbacks of the period, the covers of the gay-themed books featured provocative, highly suggestive artwork. Most of these artists labored in anonymity but today pulp fiction paperback art is considered by many to be an important aspect of American popular culture from this time period. Click here to read
The
year 1989 brought us such Oscar-winning pictures as Driving Miss Daisy, Born on
the Fourth of July, Dead Poets
Society, and, of course, the blockbuster Batman. One picture, though, always stood out for me and was my personal
favorite of the year—Steven Soderbergh’s remarkable feature film debut, Sex, Lies, and Videotape. The Academy
nominated it only for Original Screenplay. The Cannes Film Festival, however,
awarded it the Palme d’Or and the
Best Actor honor for James Spader. The movie put Soderbergh on the map,
establishing him as an innovative, provocative filmmaker who was unafraid to
take on challenging subjects.
The
Criterion Collection has produced a new, restored 4K digital transfer and a new
5.1 surround mix (from the original sound elements), supervised by Soderbergh.
The results, in the director’s own words that appear in an on-screen comment on
the restoration, are such that one should “throw away†all previous home video
(DVD, Blu-Ray) versions of the film—this is the definitive edition.
Made
for only a little over a million dollars, the story is really a chamber drama
of sorts that focuses on four characters. There is Ann (wonderfully played by
Andie MacDowell), a sexually uptight and frigid housewife married to John
(Peter Gallagher), a successful, go-getter lawyer who happens to be a lying
philanderer. He’s having an affair with Ann’s precocious and definitely not sexually uptight sister, Cynthia (Laura
San Giacomo), who works as a bartender. Enter Graham, an old college friend of
John’s, who has returned to town after nine years—and he is one strange dude.
James Spader delivers a nuanced, sensitive, but assuredly slightly perversely
skewed performance—one that pretty much defined the kinds of roles he would
play for years to come. Like Ann, he, too, is sexually inhibited due to
something that happened with his college girlfriend.
These
days the only way Graham “gets off†is by videotaping various female
acquaintances and interviewing them about their sex lives—and then viewing them
when he’s alone.
While
Ann suspects her husband is betraying her, she finds Graham oddly fascinating
and they become friends until she discovers Graham’s “habit.†This proclivity
is not a problem for Cynthia, though—she happily makes a video for Graham.
How
things turn out for the quartet of characters plays out like therapy. In fact,
Ann is seeing a therapist throughout the picture. Soderbergh has subtly
structured and presented the story such that, in many ways, we, the audience,
are the therapists observing the characters as they reveal their secrets.
In
1989, the material was shocking. Without any nudity or explicit sex scenes, Sex, Lies, and Videotape manages to be
extremely visceral, voyeuristic, and, yes, sexy. It explores how the most
intimate desires of human beings might seem kinky or perverse to some, and yet
be perfectly normal for others. The way the “therapy†of the film addresses
these hang-ups in the final moments is revelatory. Soderbergh may have never
written or directed a more perfect picture.
The
new transfer looks and sounds remarkable. An audio commentary from 1998,
featuring Soderbergh and filmmaker Neil LaBute, accompanies the film.
The
supplements are up to Criterion’s usual high standards. There’s a new
introduction to the film by Soderbergh, along with vintage interviews with the
writer/director from 1992 and 1990. A new documentary on the making of the
film, featuring actors MacDowell, Gallagher, and San Giacomo, is especially
informative and insightful. James Spader makes an appearance in a vintage 1989
appearance on the Today Show. There’s
a deleted scene with commentary by Soderbergh. A new conversation between sound
editor/re-recording mixer Larry Blake and composer Cliff Martinez explores the
challenges of the location shoot in Baton Rouge. Finally, Blake takes us on a
journey through the evolution of sound restorations. The booklet features an
essay by critic Amy Taubin and excerpts from Soderbergh’s 1990 book about the
film.
Sex, Lies, and
Videotape is
still relevant and powerful. The picture reveals a young filmmaker who is
exploding with talent, and four brave actors who dig deeply within to reveal
all. It’s a masterpiece of independent filmmaking. Pick it up.
In 1973, director William Friedkin adapted William Peter Blatty's bestselling novel "The Exorcist" for the screen. The film shocked the industry by becoming an international phenomenon and the movie's impact continues to resonate with audiences of all ages even today. In 2016 Friedkin decided to return to the subject of demonic possession by personally filming the rite of exorcism performed by a priest, Father Amorth, the Chief Exorcist of the Diocese of Rome. The result is his new documentary "The Devil and Father Amorth", which has enjoyed some limited art house screenings while simultaneously being released on DVD. Before we go any further, it is appropriate when covering a film of this type for the reviewer to state his/her personal beliefs or lack thereof in terms of the subject matter. After all, Friedkin does the same in his film, stating that he is predisposed to believe in the possibility of demonic possession. I'm not. Friedkin is clearly a man of religious faith. I'm not, having happily lived most of my life as an agnostic who keeps an open mind but who has never seen an inkling of evidence that a higher being presides over the universe. So there we are....with one additional caveat. Although I have never met William Friedkin, I have conducted two separate, extensive interviews with him for Cinema Retro regarding his films "Cruising" and "Sorcerer", both of which I believe were very underrated. Based on those interviews, I can say that I like Friedkin and greatly respect him as a filmmaker.
With those explanatory remarks out of the way, let's delve into "The Devil and Father Amorth". Friedkiin acts as an on camera host of the movie, which opens with some brief archival interviews with William Peter Blatty, who relates that he was a student at Georgetown University in 1949 when he read a remarkable account in the Washington Post about a 14 year-old boy who had undergone the rite of exorcism. Other respected news outlets picked up on the story and it became a sensation. Blatty was fascinated by the alleged possession and hoped to write a non-fiction account of the incident. However, the priest who performed the exorcism refused to release the identity of the boy or his family and imposed upon him to respect their privacy. Blatty went the fictional route and turned the victim into a 12 year-old girl. The rest, as they say, is history- except that over the decades, the incident has been studied by skeptics who point out that there is scant evidence that the exorcism involved anything other than a boy who had a vivid imagination and that he may well have simply staged the incidents for those predisposed to believe in possession. (The boy's late aunt was a "spiritualist" who had influenced the boy's interest in the supernatural.) Whatever one thinks of the historical facts and theories, Blatty's book was a chilling page-turner and Friedkin's film version would motivate even the most headstrong skeptic to sleep with a nightlight on. Friedkin's documentary has some early scenes of him returning to actual locations from "The Exorcist". The action then shifts to Rome, where he introduces us to Father Amorth, then 91 years-old and proud of his position as Chief Exorcist, claiming to have performed the ritual thousands of times. Friedkin also interviews a woman who underwent the rite and who claims to have been saved by Father Amorth. Her brother, who went on to become Father Amorth's assistant, relates disturbing and fantastic accounts of his sister's alleged possession. Father Amorth gave Friedkin rare permission to film an actual exorcism on the provision that there would be no artificial lighting employed or any crew members present. Friedkin agreed to shoot the rite himself using just a small, hand-held camera.
The subject of the exorcism is Christina, a 46 year-old architect who has been bedeviled by what she claims are frequent instances in which she becomes possessed by a demon. She claims not to remember the occurrences but those who surround her relate that, when possessed, she speaks in strange languages, exhibits Herculean strength and shouts threats in a voice that is not her own. We learn that the exorcism Father Amorth is to perform will be the ninth time he has conducted the rite in relation to Christina. When we finally do get to observe what Friedkin is filming it certainly is disturbing. Christina is restrained by two men as she wriggles and resists their grip, all the while shouting insults at the priest in an unfamiliar voice. Unlike the famous scenes of the ritual depicted in "The Exorcist", the real-life exorcism is performed in front of a room full of people, presumably friends and relatives of the victim. We watch as Father Amorth doggedly remains fixated on reciting the religious phrases that are supposed to expel the demons. (At one point, the "possessed" Christina identifies herself as Satan.) The Friedkin footage seems relatively brief and he doesn't provide any context as to how much footage may have been edited out of the final cut. While the episode we witness is certainly "harrowing" (as Friedkin describes it) and the affected Christina is clearly suffering from severe disorder, there is nothing in the footage that is likely to convince skeptics that they have just seen proof of a supernatural event. There are no signs of superhuman strength and the admittedly frightening voice Christina speak in could clearly be her own, since every person on earth is able to significantly alter their manner of speaking. Furthermore, there is no context provided regarding whether Christina ever sought professional psychiatric help. Friedkin asks her if she did, but her answer is vague. She simply says that doctors can't cure her, leaving it ambiguous as to whether she ever underwent a psychiatric diagnosis. This is a pivotal point that is not pursued. If she did seek medical help, it would be imperative to interview her doctors. If she did not, then her affliction is one that is self-diagnosed. Friedkin interviews prestigious doctors in America to get their views of the case, having shown them the footage. They all give the answer that people of science would be expected to give: we can't explain it without having examined the patient. They profess to keep an open mind but none will go on record as endorsing the premise that demonic possession could really be behind the victim's affliction. At the end of the film, Friedkin himself stops short of stating for certain that he believes he has witnessed a supernatural event, but the implication is that he clearly thinks he has.
Though we’re only a few months into 2018, I’m already dead
certain that Shout! Factory’s brand new Blu-ray edition of Joe Dante’s Matinee (1993) will be regarded as one
of the most generous, lovingly produced and expansive reissues of the
year.This remarkable set offers nearly
three hours of beautifully constructed bonus materials to supplement the actual
feature’s ninety-nine minute running time.In case you’re wondering, the short answer is, “Yes.†It’s officially now time to retire your
treasured Laserdisc copy of Matinee as
well as the now-rendered-totally-inconsequential bare bones DVD issued by
Universal in 2010.
Matinee is
an undeniably warm and wonderful film, an affectionate but quirky Valentine.In a series of amazing supplemental features
included with this set, several key members of the film’s creative team suggest
the movie was, in essence, director Joe Dante’s (Piranha, The Howling, Gremlins) very personal love letter to the
art of the B-movie.Critically praised,
but not commercially successful upon its release in early winter of 1993,
Shout! Factory has added this title to its “Shout Select†catalogue designed to
“shine a light†on “unheralded gems.â€This film is certainly one such deserved
jewel, but Matinee Director of Photography
John Hora appears less dreamy eyed than some when offering his own honest post-assessment.
Cognizant that the Hollywood industry was just that, an industry, it was Hora’s contention that
regardless of the immaculate staging and wonderful storytelling of Dante’s very
personal film, he suggested the director would need to pursue a more
traditional career path following the indulgence of Matinee.The age of making
films for what Hora would describe – perhaps too dismissively - as a
“specialized audience,†had passed.Making more marketplace films for consumption by a more general public of
cinemagoers would be the only guarantor of future employment.
If Hora offered a tough in-hindsight assessment, it was
not an unreasonable one.Dante himself
would recall that no one, neither early on at Warner Bros. nor later at Universal,
were particularly optimistic about the film’s potential as box office dynamite.Acknowledging the project as a labor-of-love,
Dante accepted his tribute to the “B-movie†magic of days long gone might best be
realized as an independent film project. When Dante’s early investors reneged
on their promises of bankrolling the production, the director was forced to
negotiate directly with the juggernaut that was Universal Studios for
financing. In Dante’s own recollection, Universal’s accountants emerged shakily
from the board room giving the eccentric project a nervous, wary blessing.It was a rare industry moment, the director
would concede with a sigh, when “Passion won over reason.â€
In hindsight Dante mused that Universal’s green lighting
of Matinee was to “my everlasting
gratitude, their everlasting regret.â€The film is undeniably brilliant cinema and
most assuredly a wonderful time capsule piece; but it was in design and intent an
indie film, one not likely destined for blockbuster status.Dante’s original idea was to bring the film
out in limited release in art house cinemas.He hoped positive word-to-mouth might help create a buzz, and was
confident that this film – one designed for cineastes
in mind - would be met with favorable critical appraisal.But in 1993 Universal was a corporate titanic
that dropped their films into blanketing nationwide release for a quick return
on investment.Sadly, Matinee was too insular a film to appeal
to a mass audience, finishing a disappointing sixth even in its first week or
release.
Originally in development at Warner Bros., writer Jerico
Stone’s original screenplay of Matinee
– which Dante described as a “fantasy†concerning nostalgic friends who
congregate one night at a haunted neighborhood theater - would differ wildly
from the final product.Though Stone,
billed simply as “Jerico,†would share on-screen credit along with screenwriter
Charlie Haas for the original story, he would, much aggrieved, later litigate
unsuccessfully against the Writer’s Guild for screenplay credit.In any event, Warner Bros. would eventually
pass on Stone’s early unmarketable treatment, as would several other
studios.Undeterred, Dante chose to
bring in fellow New Jersey “Monster Kid†and writer Ed Naha (Honey, I Shrunk the Kids) to take a
whack at the script.It was Naha who wove
in the un-credited idea of a beloved TV-horror film host (ala WCAU and WABC’s Zacherley) coming to visit a
neighborhood bijou to promote the latest offering of low-budget cinematic
horror.
Tony Curtis, like most aspiring screen stars, slogged through bit parts in unmemorable films when he first broke into the industry in the late 1940s. By the mid-1950s, however, he was a major star, even if the films he top-lined were relatively undistinguished. With his boyish good looks and New York wise guy persona, Curtis excelled at playing charismatic rogues and, perhaps improbably for a guy born in the Bronx, cowboys, knights and other exotic men of action. But Curtis was more than just a pretty face and by the late 1950s he was getting challenging roles that allowed him to show off his dramatic acting skills. He was brilliant in "Sweet Smell of Success" and "The Defiant Ones" and gave one of the great comedic performances of all time in Billy Wilder's "Some Like It Hot". By the late 1960s, however, his star power was fading. He still had enough clout to get the male leads in lightweight comedies like "Sex and the Single Girl" and "Don't Make Waves", but the bloom was off the rose. Ironically, he won fine reviews for his convincing performance in the 1968 film "The Boston Strangler", but most of the good roles would continue to elude him. Like many fading American stars, he turned toward European productions, starring in "Those Daring Young Men in the Jaunty Jalopies" and "You Can't Win 'Em All", the latter with fellow U.S. import Charles Bronson who found major stardom in Europe long before he became a big name in America. One of the least prestigious films that Curtis appeared was titled "On the Way to the Crusades, I Met a Girl Who...", a 1967 sex comedy filmed in Italy and which would not be released in the USA until 1969, when it had limited distribution. Perhaps because theater owners in the UK and USA had pity on the poor souls who had to stand on ladders and put film titles on theater marquees letter-by-letter, the English language version of the film was shortened to the more provocative "The Chastity Belt". Curtis wasn't the only English-speaking actor in the otherwise all-Italian production, as Hugh Griffith and John Richardson were co-starred.
The film opens with Curtis playing against type as Guerrando de Montone, a sniveling, cowardly and bumbling opportunist who finally is granted his wish to be made a knight. As his reward, he is entitled to claim a vast tract of land as his own. Guerrando is quick to abuse his power over the peasants, especially when he discovers that the local game warden and his voluptuous daughter, Boccadoro (Monica Vitti) live on his land. Although Boccadoro is initially attracted to him, Guerrando's misogynistic ways quickly alienate her. Guerrando informs her that he is her lord and master and will use her for sexual pleasure whenever he pleases. Most of the fun in the script, which was co-written by the esteemed Larry Gelbart, centers on the buxom beauty's strategies to avoid going to bed with Guerrando, who becomes increasingly frustrated. To solve the problem, he forces her to marry him but she delays the consummation of the marriage by invoking a rare, ancient ritual that commits them both to spending three days in constant prayer. When that obstacle is removed, Guerrando is ready to make his move only to find that he has been summoned to join the Crusades and leave Italy for a period of years. To ensure that Boccadoro remains chaste, he has her fitted with a chastity belt which causes her to swear vengeance. The film meanders through the couple's misadventures with Boccadoro intent on finding her husband and murdering him. She poses as a knight in armor and infiltrates his camp but both are kidnapped by an evil, horny sultan (Hugh Griffith) who forces Guerrando to convert to Islam while he makes plans to open the chastity belt and have his way with Boccadoro.The whole thing ends in a madcap chase with heroes and villains chasing each other about a castle.
Italian cinema-goers were very enamored of sex farces during this period. "The Chasity Belt" is one of the tamest, as there is no nudity and the most provocative aspects are plentiful shots of Ms. Vitti's ample bosom bouncing around during the many chase scenes. Like most films of the genre, there are plenty of moments of slapstick and narrow escapes. What impresses most about this modest production is director Pasquale Festa Campanile's light touch and the ability to move the action at such a rapid pace that you don't ponder how predictable it all is. While it's still a bit of a shock to see someone of Curtis's stature in this "B" level comedy, he is in good form and provides plenty of laughs by not even attempting to disguise his New Yawk accent. He is matched by the very likable Vitti and Hugh Griffith, who recycles his lovable rascal shtick from "Ben-Hur". What is stands out most are the rather spectacular locations. Most of the action is shot outdoors in ancient ruins and castles that add a good deal of atmosphere to the goings on.
"The Chasity Belt" is the kind of film that Curtis probably did very reluctantly. He would later try his hand in television co-starring with Roger Moore in the sensational action series "The Persuaders", but it lasted only 24 episodes. A later series, "McCoy" lasted only a single season. Curtis would still turn up in a few major films like "The Mirror Crack'd" and "The Last Tycoon" but only in supporting roles. Nevertheless, he remained enjoyable to watch and always gave his best effort. Perhaps for that reason, "The Chastity Belt" is a lot more worthwhile than you might imagine.
The Warner Archive DVD is generally very good with a few blotches and grainy frames, but one suspects there aren't too many archival prints of this long-forgotten film floating around out there. There are no bonus extras.
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The
1980s were a decade of many cultural phenomenon such as the teen angst film,
the splatter horror film, the zombie films, and of course the teen sex comedy.
Bob Clark’s Porky’s (1981) was a huge
success both financially and artistically. To this day it’s still one of the funniest
movies ever made. Many of today’s best-known actors cut their teeth in such
fare: Tom Hanks attended an out-of-control Bachelor
Party (1984) and even Johnny Depp and Rob Morrow checked into a Private Resort (1985). Stanley Donen,
best known for directing Singin’ in the
Rain (1952), Funny Face (1957), Charade (1963), and Arabesque (1966), followed up the boring and disastrous Saturn 3 (1980) with Blame It on Rio, a peculiar entry in his
otherwise illustrious career. Jennifer (Michelle Johnson) is a pulchritudinous seventeen-year-old
who lusts after her father Victor’s (Joseph Bologna) best friend Matthew
(Michael Caine), a man roughly twenty-five years her senior (in reality there
is a thirty-two year difference between Caine and Johnson). The situation can
only be characterized as “creepy†and “inappropriate†since she has known him
her whole life and refers to him as “Uncle Matthewâ€.
From
the start we know that Matthew and his wife Karen (Valerie Harper) are
estranged when Karen drops a bombshell that she’s going on vacation by herself which
forces Matthew and their daughter Nikki (Demi Moore) to fly to Rio by
themselves with Victor and Jennifer. Almost from the outset Jennifer is pining
for Matthew, hitting the beach in nothing but a bikini bottom, her abundant
assets in full display to the dismay of her father. Despite Matthew’s vehement
protests, she insists that she loves him and only wants to be with him. Men her
own age simply don’t appeal to her. It becomes obvious by the film’s end that
Matthew is starting to fall for her (he’s still married to Karen), but one of
the biggest problems with the film is its characterization of Jennifer. Ms.
Johnson, who was hired by Mr. Donen following his discovery of her in W magazine, portrays Jennifer as she was
written: immature and unstable. By the film’s end, Jennifer commits a truly
awful act that is glossed over in the standard Hollywood fashion. It turns out
that she may be a little more dangerous than Matthew ever would have imagined.
Burt Reynolds had been gnawing around the boundaries of genuine stardom for more than a decade, starring in short-lived television shows and top-lining "B" movies. He ingratiated himself to the American public by showcasing his wit and comedic abilities by appearing on chat shows. In 1972, he struck gold when director John Boorman cast him opposite Jon Voight as the two male leads in the sensational film adaptation of James Dickey's "Deliverance". Finally, he could be classified as a major movie star. Soon, Reynolds was cranking out major films even while his uncanny ability to publicize himself resulted in such stunts as his famed provocative centerfold pose in Cosmopolitan magazine. On screen, Reynolds sensed that he could cultivate an especially enthusiastic audience if he catered to rural movie-goers. He was proven right with the release of "White Lightning", a highly enjoyable 1973 action/comedy that perfectly showcased Reynolds' favored image as a handsome, unflappable hero with a Bondian knack for tossing off quips while facing death and also engaging in good ol' boy towel-snapping humor. Playing bootlegger Gator McClusky, Reynolds drew major crowds, very much pleasing United Artists, which enjoyed hefty profits from the modestly-budgeted production. Reynolds learned, however, that his audience wouldn't necessarily follow him if he deviated from that image. When he went against the grain in films like "The Man Who Loved Cat Dancing", "At Long Last Love" and "Lucky Lady", the movies bombed. When he stuck to the basics, he had hits with "Shamus", "The Longest Yard" and "W.W. and the Dixie Dance Kings". The legendary Variety headline that read "Hix Nix Stix Pix" was no longer true. The American heartland loved Burt Reynolds, especially when he played characters that rural audiences could embrace.
In 1976, Reynolds fulfilled another career milestone by directing his first feature film, a sequel to "White Lightning" titled "Gator". Like the first movie, it was shot entirely on location in Georgia and picked up on the adventures of everyone's favorite moonshiner. When we first see Gator in the sequel, he his getting out of jail only to be targeted by the feds to be used as a pawn in a multi-state crackdown on an epidemic of political corruption that threatens the career of the self-serving, ambitious governor (played very well by famed chat show host Mike Douglas in his big screen debut.) Gator is living in a shack located deep in an inhospitable swamp with his elderly father and precocious 9 year-old daughter when the feds launch a major raid to arrest him on moonshining charges. In reality, they want to use the warrant as leverage to convince him to go undercover for them inside the crime ring. Gator wants no part of it and leads the feds on a merry chase around the bayou in which he is pursued by speed boats and helicopters before finally relenting. The lead federal agent in charge is Irving Greenfield (Jack Weston), an overweight, hyper-nervous Jewish guy from Manhattan who has the unenviable task of ensuring that Gator follows orders. A good portion of the film's laugh quotient comes from Irving's less-than-convincing attempts to "blend in" with small town southern locals. The crime ring is run by Bama McCall (Jerry Reed), an outwardly charming and charismatic fellow who, in reality, uses brutally violent methods to ensure loyalty and intimidate local businessmen to pay protection money. He and Gator are old acquaintances and he doesn't hesitate to give Gator a good-paying job as an enforcer for his mob. Things become more intriguing when Gator sets eyes on Aggie Maybank (Lauren Hutton), an attractive local TV anchor with liberal political beliefs that find her squaring off against Bama in order to protect the poor merchants he is exploiting. "Gator" proceeds on a predictable path but its predictability doesn't detract from its merits, which are considerable. Reynolds is a joy to watch and it's small wonder he leaped to the top ranks of cinematic leading men. His cocky, self-assured persona served him well on the big screen and "Gator" is custom-made to please his core audience. He also proved to be a very able director, handling the action scenes and those of unexpected tragic twists with equal skill. He also gets very good performances from his eclectic cast, with Weston engaging in his usual penchant for scene-stealing. Reed also shines in a rare villainous role and ex-model Hutton proves she has admirable acting chops, as well. The action scenes are impressive thanks to the oversight of the legendary Hal Needham, who would forge a long-time collaborative relationship with Reynolds.
For many years Pierce Brosnan has taken control of his own legacy through his production company Irish DreamTime. He's had some mixed results but the bottom line is that he has remained a popular, consistently working leading man. Brosnan's hi-tech thriller "I.T." was released in 2016 with a limited theatrical run that apparently didn't generate any substantial business. The film has been released on Blu-ray where it has been largely savaged by reviewers. Having watched the film, I'll dare to go in the opposite direction and swim against the tide. I found the film to be thoroughly entertaining and very slickly made with rich production values that mask its relatively modest budget.
Brosnan is well-cast as Mike Regan, a mega-wealthy industrialist who is gambling everything he has on the launch of a bold new enterprise. Essentially, it's an Uber-like service that caters to rich executives who need air transportation on a minute's notice. Regan's company has a fleet of private jets ready to serve this limited clientele in return for sky high fees. When we first meet Regan, he's frantically overseeing his company's first official unveiling of the business plan. He still has to get approval from the Securities and Exchange Commission, but feels he has nothing to worry about in that regard. However, upon personally launching the hi-tech, expensive video presentation in front of business executives, the press and potential investors, a serious glitch threatens to spell catastrophe when the video malfunctions. Regan is spared disaster by the intervention of Ed Porter (James Frecheville), an innocuous temporary employee who Regan doesn't even know. Thanks to Ed's quick thinking, the video presentation resumes quickly and is deemed a success. A grateful Regan personally thanks Ed and rewards him with full-time employment. He also invites him to his modern mansion house with a freelance assignment to rewire the outdated wi-fi capabilities. When Ed arrives at the house, Regan introduces him to his wife Rose (Ann Friel) and his attractive teenage daughter Kaitlyn (Stefanie Scott), who is a high school student. Regan gives Ed the royal treatment and encourages him to stay for drinks. Ed, meanwhile, has an ulterior motive. Upon having seen Kaitlyn tanning herself poolside while clad in a bikini, he decides to wire the home in a very unique manner that no one will be aware of. By the time he's done, the Regans have the ultimate hi-tech wiring system- but don't suspect that Ed has secretly installed microscopic video cameras and microphones that allow him to monitor every movement and conversation, which he views at his loft on a wall-sized video screen. Unbeknownst to Regan, Ed had also made some "improvements" to his state-of-the-art sports car that will allow Ed to manipulate the controls and a video system installed on the dashboard. Regan soon discovers that his friendly overtures to Ed have blurred the line between in the employer/employee relationship. Soon, Ed is showing up uninvited at the family home. Of more concern to Mike and Rose is Ed's increasingly obvious interest in Kaitlyn, who seems smitten by the older man. When Ed crosses the line, Regan ends up firing him in a very belittling manner and thereby opening a Pandora's Box of troubles for himself, his wife and daughter.
Ed seeks immediate revenge and he has plenty of tools at his disposal. A master hacker, he forges documents that are leaked to the SEC, causing Regan's pending deal to fall under suspicion of being illegal and gumming up the approval process. He also releases provocative footage of Kaitlyn in the shower that was secretly shot with the hidden cameras. The result is her humiliation among her friends and schoolmates. Regan catches on that his entire world is in the hands of a mentally unstable former employee and he decides to fight back. After trying to physically intimidate Ed- a tactic that fails- he uses his own hi tech genius, the shadowy Henrik (wonderfully played by Michael Nyqvist), who constructs a plan to turn the tables on Ed by hacking the hacker and turning his own world into a nightmare. The result is a cat-and-mouse game between Regan and Ed that escalates to a violent final confrontation between the two antagonists.
It’s hard to decide if David O. Selznick’s “Duel in the
Sun†is a work of twisted genius, or just the worst, corniest, unconsciously
hilarious movie ever made. It hovers in a weird place somewhere between a
Eugene O’Neill tragedy and a sketch that Carol Burnett might have come up with
on her old TV show. Remember when she lampooned Gone with the Wind? She came
down the staircase in a gown made from the curtains that used to hang on the
window, complete with curtain rod draped across her shoulders? There are scenes
in “Duel in the Sun†that are unintentionally almost as funny as that.
Based on a Niven Bush potboiler and directed by King
Vidor (along with several others), the film tells the tale of half-breed femme
fatale Pearl Chavez, a woman whose passion and hopes for a better life are
doomed by her heritage and a script straight out of a soap opera. Selznick cast
Jennifer Jones, who was his paramour at the time, as Pearl, hoping to duplicate
with her the success he had with Vivian Leigh as Scarlett O’Hara in “Gone with
the Wind.†Jones gives it everything she’s got, in a performance that is
fascinating, even entrancing at times, but occasionally so over the top that,
occasionally, you can’t help snickering.
The story begins with a sequence that was actually directed
by William Dieterle after the production was finished. Selznick felt that some
explanation of Pearl’s provocative sex-pot behavior was needed in order to make
her a more sympathetic character. Vidor refused to return to return to direct
the additional scenes after already having been through numerous reshoots
during production. Herbert Marshall was added to the cast to play Pearl’s
father, a refined, educated man caught in a humiliating marriage to a wild Native
American woman. Pearl witnesses her father’s murder of her mother when he
catches her with another man. Before he is hanged, he arranges for Pearl to go
live with Laura Belle McCanles (Lilian Gish), a refined woman he once loved and
who is now married to Sen. Jackson McCanles (Lionel Barrymore), owner of Spanish
Bit, one of the biggest ranches in Texas.
When she arrives, Pearl discovers the McCanleses have two
sons, one good and the other a downright dirty dog. I guess you could say if the
McCanles ranch were the Garden of Eden, Laura Belle and Jackson would be Adam and
Eve, and Lewt (Gregory Peck) and Jesse (Joseph Cotten) would be Cain and Abel.
But what does that make Pearl? Joseph Cotten is well cast as the honest,
upright, dutiful Jesse. He’s been to college and is a lawyer. He likes Pearl
quite a bit. And she seems to like him until she lays eyes on the tall
handsome, cold hearted Lewt. Why Gregory Peck was chosen to play Lewt will
remain a mystery for all time. He is totally out of his element as the senator’s
favorite son. He’s called on to treat Pearl like dirt. He slaps her around,
forces her to swim all day in a pond without any clothes on until it gets dark,
and finally forces himself on her. Sorry. I just don’t see Atticus Finch doing
something like that, but I guess everybody has a dark side.
There’s a big plot element that comes into the story
about a third of the way through. The railroad wants a right of way through
Sen. Jackson’s land, and, dang it, he ain’t about to give up one inch of
Spanish Bit. There’s a showdown with the rail workers, and when Jesse refuses
to order McCanles men to fire on them, the senator calls him a traitor and
orders him off the ranch. So that leaves Pearl alone with Lewt, and try as she
might to be the respectable young woman her father wanted her to be—a woman like
Laura Belle—she can’t help being obsessively attracted to Lewt. He messes
around with her, but when she tries to get him to marry her, he won’t, because
his father is an Indian-hating racist and would disown him if he did.
Well, there’s a lot of agonizing and squirming around as
Jennifer Jones climbs all over the scenery. Even Gish and Barrymore reach
various levels of melodramatic absurdity. In one scene the old blowhard senator
goes into a long monologue about the night he almost lost her to Pearl’s father
and how he rode all night to get back to her. Meanwhile, she’s lying in bed
listening, sick with some fatal disease. Moved by his sudden emotional outburst,
she sits up and reaches out to him. The senator keeps rambling on as only a
Barrymore can, oblivious to her condition, until finally Laura Bell falls out of bed flat on her face on the floor. Can’t you just see Tim Conway
and Vicki Lawrence doing that scene on The Carol Burnett Show?
From all of this you might think this is a movie to be
avoided. But that’s not actually the case. Despite its being referred to in the
annals of movie history as “Lust in the Dust,†there are some rare moments of
insane brilliance. The movie ends with one of the most talked about scenes in
movies. Pearl and Lewt, dying of their twisted love for each other at the foot
of Squaw Head Rock, is unconventional and almost beyond anything you could say
about it. Martin Scorsese says “Duel in the Sun†was the first movie he ever
saw and you can see the obvious influence it had on one of today’s most
obsessive filmmakers.
Kino Lorber’s KL Studio Classics Blu-ray release includes
the roadshow version of the film with Dimitri Tiomkin’s prelude, overture and
exit music. There are other extras, including audio commentary by film
historian Gaylyn Studlar, interviews with Celia, Carey and Anthony Peck, as
well as a trailer gallery. It’s quite a package and quite a film.
Molly Peters, who began her career as a nude "glamour girl" model before starting a short-lived film career, has passed away at age 78. She had been diagnosed with terminal breast cancer according to her husband but it was a stroke to which she succumbed. Peters' voluptuous appearance made her one of the more popular of the provocative models who posed for men's magazines in the 1960s. She posed for England's legendary photographer of nudes, Harrison Marks. She landed the only memorable role of her career in the 1965 James Bond blockbuster "Thunderball". In the film, Bond (Sean Connery) was sent to the Shrublands health spa to recuperate from some wear-and-tear. Here he encounters nurse Pat (Peters), a sexy blonde who conveniently is assigned to look after Bond's needs. Within short order Bond has her naked in a steam room. In another scene, Bond memorably massages the nude Pat with a mink glove. At the health spa, Bond discovers some nefarious activities going on by Spectre agents that finds Pat bewildered by Bond's strange comings and goings. Peters' scenes were brief but among the film's most memorable including a scene in which she straps Bond to a therapeutic stretching machine that a Spectre agent uses to almost deadly effect on 007. Following "Thunderball", Peters made the little-seen thriller "Target for Killing" co-starring "Thunderball" villain Adolfo Celi and future Bond baddies Karin Dor and Curt Jurgens. In 1968 she made her last credited film, "Don't Raise the Bridge, Lower the River" with Jerry Lewis. In 1995 this writer along with Cinema Retro co-publisher Dave Worrall along with Mark Cerulli and John Cork, tracked Ms.Peters down. She participated in an extensive on-camera interview recalling her experiences for the "Thunderball" special edition laser disc. The interview is now available on both the Blu-ray and DVD editions of the movie.
There is an immediate appeal in the very premise of Alfred
Hitchcock’s Lifeboat (1944), a
curiosity that stems from how exactly this story will play out and how the
Master of Suspense is going to keep the narrative taut and technically
stimulating. It was a gimmick he would repeat with Rope (1948), Dial M for
Murder (1954), and Rear Window
(1954), similar films where the drama is contained to a single setting. But
here, the approach is amplified by having the entirety of its plot limited to the
eponymous lifeboat, an extremely confined location that is at once anxiously restricting
and, at the same time, placed in a vast expanse of threatening openness.
Following a German U-boat attack that sinks an allied
freighter and creates the cramped, confrontational condition, a cast of nine
diverse, necessarily distinctive characters are steadily assembled aboard the
small vessel (and their variety is indeed necessary so as to tackle singular
themes and disparities). Starting with journalist Connie Porter (Tallulah Bankhead,
in the film’s featured and much-hyped performance), the improvised squad
includes: a member of the freighter’s crew, Kovac (John Hodiak), the radioman,
Stanley (Hume Cronyn), a steward, Joe Spencer (Canada Lee), seaman, Gus Smith
(William Bendix), a U.S. Army nurse, Alice (Mary Anderson), the wealthy
industrialist, Rittenhouse (Henry Hull), the shell-shocked Mrs. Higley (Heather
Angel), an Englishwoman who arrives with her already deceased infant child,
and, adding instant and inherent tension, Willi (Walter Slezak), a survivor
from the enemy German sub.
Connie is the most incongruous personality for such an
occasion. Initially adorned in a fine mink coat, accompanied by her camera, her
cigarettes and suitcases, all of which seem miraculously dry, she sure doesn’t
look like someone who has been torpedoed, as another character is quick to
point out. She and Rittenhouse will together serve as half of the film’s
embodied class consciousness, which is one of several social divisions alluded
to as explicit points of contention or simply hinted at as latent cultural
conflicts (“Do I get to vote too?†asks the African American Joe). Though
generally cordial and cooperative to start, the spirit of critical
collaboration doesn’t last. How could it? For a film like this, there needs to
be a breeding ground for consistent opposition, beyond the predictable clash
between Willi and the rest.
What develops is multi-leveled, ever-fluctuating suspicion,
a leery and fascistic survival of the fittest that hangs in the balance as the
winds of authority and hysteria blow. With his famously elaborate set-pieces
made impossible by Lifeboat’s scenario,
Hitchcock narrows his focus to the dynamic landscape of the human face, and the
film is nothing if not a revelatory study in human nature, especially when
individuals are in strained situations. There are constant disputes about the
best path forward, often grounded in ideological motivations derived from
political, religious, or national beliefs—whatever is needed to prevail and
retain a semblance of composure in the face of an extraordinary dilemma.
In a swift 97 minutes—its riveting progression a testament
to how the tension outweighs its spatial and dramatic limitations—the
characters endure assorted trials and tribulations, just enough to keep
everyone on edge, but not too many to seem unnatural. This ranges from the
unique (Gus’ impending leg amputation), to an issue that affects just a few
(cheating at cards), to something upon which all involved are invested (the
bliss of fresh rainwater to drink and the disappointment when the passing storm
doesn’t last). There are lingering doubts about motivation, the debatable
course of progress, and turn-on-a-dime behavioral shifts. Two passengers even
find time for romance.
To express all of this, and to keep the viewer engaged when
the actions and visuals, at least in a broad sense, are relatively reduced, the
writing of Lifeboat is tremendously
vital. While Hitchcock came up with the idea for the picture, the basic story
was written by John Steinbeck (after Hitch’s first choice, Ernest Hemingway,
passed). It was Steinbeck’s first fiction film, though he had written a
documentary in 1941. What he completed, however, resembled something more like
a novella. Subsequent writing and rewriting duties went to everyone from Harry
Sylvester and MacKinlay Kantor, to Jo Swerling, Ben Hecht, Hitchcock’s wife,
Alma Reville, and others. Ultimately, only Swerling gets the screenplay credit
(Steinbeck, who was so unhappy with the deviations in the final film that he
tried to have his name removed from the picture, gets original story).
Cinema Retro has received the following press release from Lionsgate:
Relive the imaginative and compelling cult classic, The
Man Who Fell to Earth, when the Limited Collector’s Edition arrives on Blu-ray
Combo Pack (plus Digital HD) January 24 from Lionsgate. International icon
David Bowie stars in his unforgettable debut role as an alien who has
ventured to Earth on a mission to save his planet from a catastrophic drought.
In honor of David Bowie’s legacy, the limited collector’s edition Blu-ray Combo
Pack includes never-before-seen interviews, brand new artwork, a 72-page bound
book, press booklet, four art cards and a mini poster. Hailed as “the most
intellectually provocative genre film of the 1970s†by Time Out, the remastered The
Man Who Fell to Earth Limited Collector’s Edition Blu-ray Combo Pack will
be available for the suggested retail price of $34.99.
OFFICIAL SYNOPSIS
Thomas Jerome Newton (David Bowie) is a humanoid
alien who comes to Earth from a distant planet on a mission to take water back
to his home planet.
BLU-RAY/DVD/DIGITAL HD SPECIAL FEATURES
· David Bowie Interview
– French TV 1977
· New Interview
with Costume Designer May Routh Featuring Original Costume Sketches
· New Interview
with Stills Photographer David James Featuring Behind-the-Scenes Stills
· New Interview
with fan Sam Taylor-Johnson
· New Interview
with Producer Michael Deeley
· New “The Lost
Soundtracks†Featurette, Featuring Interviews with Paul Buckmaster and Author
Chris Campion
· Interview with
Candy Clark
· Interview with
Writer Paul Mayersberg
· Interview with
Cinematographer Tony Richmond
· Interview with
Director Nicolas Roeg
CAST
David Bowie Basquiat, Labyrinth, The
Hunger
Buck Henry
The
Graduate, Catch-22
Candy Clark
American
Graffiti, Zodiac
Rip Torn
Men
in Black, Dodgeball: A True Underdog Story
With
Christmas 1970 on the horizon, the UK’s thrilling new sci-fi TV show UFO was
well underway. Gerry and Sylvia Anderson's first live-action series, it was set
in the future and revolved around the activities of the Supreme Headquarters
Alien Defence Organisation (SHADO), a covert agency presided over by Commander
Ed Straker (Ed Bishop) to fend off alien attacks on mankind. As a wide-eyed 8-year-old
I was hooked and I can recall wishing two things. One was that I could have one
of the Dinky Toys’ missile-firing SHADO Interceptors, which I thought then (and
still think now) was the coolest among the incredible array of vehicles that
appeared in the show; I’d not be nearly as forgiving today as I was back then
that Dinky had manufactured it in garish green, where the ‘real’ ones on TV
were white. The other wish was that I could somehow watch UFO whenever I wanted
instead of having to wait the week-long eternity between each episode. Now, the
first of these wishes had a pretty good chance of being granted, after all
Christmas was coming and if it didn't materialise then it would only be a few
months more until my birthday. The second wish was… well, frankly it was silly;
the only way to watch episodes whenever one wanted would be to own them and
that was beyond the realms of possibility, literally the stuff of dreams.
Yet here's the thing: Although I never did get that Interceptor toy, almost 20
years later, thanks to a TV run in the early hours of the morning during the
late 1980s, I got to own every episode on video. Then along came the wonders of
DVD and a spiffy Network box set release which suddenly made those
dropout-impaired, off-air VHS recordings completely redundant. It's now almost
half a century since UFO first aired on television in the UK and Christmas has
truly come early this year with Network's upgrade of the show to sparkling
Blu-Ray format.
Throughout
the 1960s the Andersons were best known for a slew of action shows aimed at
children with marionettes as their stars – Fireball XL5, Stingray, Thunderbirds
and Captain Scarlet remain among the most fondly remembered – and, aside from 1969
TV movie Doppelgänger (aka Journey to the Far Side of the Sun), UFO was their
first dalliance with live-action. It was also their first move towards
something aimed at a more mature audience, its storylines touching upon some distinctly
adult themes; not only was there the ever-present core threat of aliens
abducting humans and harvesting their organs to sustain their dying race, there
were flirtations with adultery, divorce, interracial romance and the
recreational use of hallucinogenic drugs, a facet which prevented the final
episode, “The Long Sleepâ€, from being screened during the series' initial run;
it eventually showed up some two years later. The very appearance of the aliens
was disconcertingly sinister, sporting eerie liquid-filled helmets, the viscous
green fluid therein enabling them to breathe. Additionally, the characters
regularly made flawed decisions and not all the stories concluded happily. There
was also a pervasive frisson of sexuality throughout the series; not only were most
of SHADO’s female personnel clad in rather provocative attire, in the first
15-minutes of the show’s pilot episode alone a woman fleeing from aliens tears her
dress and exposes her underwear, moments later there’s a protracted tracking
shot of a young woman's shapely legs as she walks across the studio forecourt, then
Gabrielle Drake performs a semi-striptease (to accompanying wah-wah organ music).
Of course, as a futuristic action series it was still going to harbour huge
appeal with a younger audience and whilst the heavier plot tropes would probably
have by-passed most kids, throwaway dialogue such as "These clouds give
about as much cover as a G-String on a belly dancer" almost certainly flew
right over their heads; at 8-years-old I doubt I even knew what a belly dancer
was, let alone a G-String!
Ed Bishop and Ayesha Brough
Producer
and co-creator (with Sylvia) of UFO, Gerry Anderson also wrote and directed the
first episode, "Identified". Other directors on the series were David
Lane (8 episodes), Ken Turner (6 episodes), Alan Perry (5 episodes), Jeremy
Summers and David Tomblin (2 episodes each), and Cyril Frankel and Ron Appleton
(a single episode each). As with any series there are great stories and
not-so-great stories, but there isn't a single entry in UFO's run that doesn't
have something intriguing going on. Among my personal favourites are Frankel's
"Timelash", in which Straker arrives at SHADO HQ and finds the entire
establishment frozen in time; Turner's "Ordeal", which finds a key
SHADO member abducted by the aliens and turned into one of their own; Lane's
"A Question of Priorities", in which Straker is torn between the
responsibility of his job and a tragedy in his personal life; and Summers'
"The Psychobombs", wherein the aliens turn several humans into living
explosive devices.
Heading
up the cast, Ed Bishop was the only actor to participate in all 26 episodes but
there were regular appearances by a handful of others, among them Michael
Billington (as Colonel Paul Foster), George Sewell (as Colonel Alec Freeman), Dolores
Mantez (as Nina Barry), Antonia Ellis (as Joan Harrington), Vladek Sheybal (as Dr
Doug Jackson), the aforementioned Gabrielle Drake (as Lieutenant Gay Ellis), Keith
Alexander (as Lieutenant Keith Ford), Wanda Ventham (as Colonel Virginia Lake)
and Ayesha Brough (who, despite the fact she appeared in 19 episodes, was
curiously never given the courtesy of a name).
Much
has been written and said about director Krzysztof Kieślowski’s
ten-hour mini-series originally broadcast on Polish television in 1988. The
late Stanley Kubrick, who rarely commented on other filmmakers’ works, wrote in
a foreword to the published screenplays of Dekalog
that Kieślowski and his co-writer Krzysztof Piesiewicz
had dramatized their ideas with “dazzling skill.†Many critics have called Dekalog one of the greatest television
mini-series ever made.
Although
Dekalog has been previously released
on home video, The Criterion Collection has seen fit to present on DVD and
Blu-ray a new, restored 4K digital transfer that has also been recently playing
in select art house cinemas around the U.S. Even though all but two episodes
are in an analog television aspect ratio (4:3), there is no question that this
is cinematic material. Kieślowski’s mise-en-scene is subtle and beckons to
be seen on the big screen—or a large high definition TV. The clarity of the new
Criterion release does wonders for Dekalog,
and as a result the package is one of the hallmarks of the company’s
prestigious releases.
Dekalog is loosely based on
the Ten Commandments. No, it’s not a Biblical drama. Each episode is a modern (i.e.,
the late 1980s, when the films were made) take on how the Ten Commandments
relate—or not—to the contemporary world. The stories are set in and around a
single apartment block in Warsaw, Poland, and mostly involve various tenants.
Each episode is a separate tale, and yet characters from one part might appear
in the background of another, illustrating that the “chapters†are connected.
For example, a little girl who is at the focus of Dekalog: Seven can be seen playing outside a window in Dekalog: Nine. An old man who collects
stamps is a minor character in Dekalog:
Eight, and his two grown sons are the protagonists of Dekalog: Ten.
Kieślowski,
who died too young (of heart failure) in 1996, apparently liked story cycles.
Another of his acclaimed works is the Three
Colors Trilogy (Blue; White; Red) from 1993 and 1994—interconnected but
separate tales obliquely meditating on the meanings behind the colors of the
French flag. Dekalog does the same
thing with the Ten Commandments. Kieślowski and Piesiewicz
wrote ten little dramas that have as starting points the Biblical moral tenets,
but they are not handled literally. For example, in Dekalog: One, a man keeps his beloved computer in a prominent spot
in his living room, but his reliance on what the computer tells him with its
calculations eventually has tragic results. This is Kieślowski’s
ironic way of commenting on the
commandment “thou shalt have no other gods before me.â€
And
that’s the key to Dekalog—every
episode is flush with irony. The episode dealing with “thou shalt not kill†is
more about the capital punishment faced by the protagonist of the tale than it
is the murder he committed that landed him on death row. The episode concerning
“honor thy parents†concerns a young woman who has incestuous thoughts for the
man she always thought was her father—but who, it turns out, is not. Sometimes
a single episode relates to two—or even three—commandments, and there are cases
in which one commandment is the subject of two or more chapters.
This
is provocative, challenging stuff.
Dekalog stars some of the
most talented Polish actors of the day—many of whom none of us outside the Iron
Curtain knew at the time. And that’s another thing—one must keep in mind that Dekalog was made while Poland was still
a Communist country. While this has some bearing on the stories, the underlying
truths of the piece are still quite universal.
Interestingly,
the cycle features nine different cinematographers (Three and Nine were shot
by the same DP). There is indeed a different look to each episode—and yet Kieślowski
managed to keep them all consistent in style to create a whole. The cumulative
effect of the ten pieces—in content and visual craft—is what ultimately makes Dekalog such a powerful, meaningful work
of art.
Two
of the episodes, Five and Six, were expanded to feature length
(and were shot in widescreen) to become A
Short Film About Killing and A Short
Film About Love, and were released theatrically, also in 1988. The longer
pictures add more depth to the original TV versions. In the case of A Short Film About Love, the ending is
remarkably different. Fortunately, Criterion has included these two feature
films in the set along with the ten original one-hour episodes and trailers.
An
entire extra disk is devoted to hours of supplements. Most welcome are archival
interviews with Kieślowski, taken from 1987, 1990, and 1995. A
very informative and illustrative new interview with film studies professor and
author Annette Insdorf is a highlight of the set. Other archival and new
material includes interviews with thirteen cast members, Piesiewicz, three
cinematographers, editor Ewa Smal, and Kieślowski confidante
Hanna Krall. The thick booklet contains an essay and capsules on the films by
cinema scholar Paul Coates, along with excerpts from the book Kieślowski
on Kieślowski.
The
Criterion Collection has always been known for producing boxed sets of
outstanding quality. Dekalog is one
of their crown jewels.
With so few quality roles afforded to actors of a certain age bracket, I looked forward to viewing "Grandma", the 2015 independent film that won very favorable reviews for Lily Tomlin in the title role. Indeed, Tomlin received a Golden Globe nomination for Best Actress and the film was named one of the ten best independent movies of the year by the prestigious National Board of Review. Thus, I approached the film, which was written and directed by Paul Weitz, with a positive attitude and optimistic expectations. That mood lasted about three minutes into the movie when we are introduced to Elle (Tomlin), an older but still very independent woman who was a firebrand in her day. She received a bit of fame for her provocative poetry but in recent decades hasn't written anything of merit. In fact, she hasn't written anything at all for the last four years. The first we see of Elle, she is cruelly breaking up her relationship with her decades-younger lesbian lover, Olivia (Judy Greer) and informs her to leave her keys to their apartment and get out. Elle doesn't say specifically when she is intent on breaking the younger woman's heart but when Olive reluctantly leaves, Elle breaks down crying. Did she act like a villain in order to do what she felt was best for Olive in the long run? Presumably so, but as we follow Elle around in the course of one long day, it becomes apparent that this off-the-wall counterculture type does indeed possess a mean temper that can flare up at a moment's notice and over the slightest perceived provocation. Elle gets plenty provoked, too, when her teenage granddaughter Sage (Julia Garner) turns up on her doorstep to ask for $600 so she can get an abortion later that afternoon. She's too afraid to tell her own mother, Judy (Marcia Gay Harden), a single mother who is a successful business executive with little time for anyone but her colleagues. We learn that Lily gave birth to Judy after becoming pregnant through a artificial insemination. Judy was raised by Elle and the love of her life, Vi, who now been dead for a number of years, a tragedy that Elle has never fully recovered from. One might think that the sight of her own granddaughter in desperate straits might solicit some sympathy from Elle, but instead she tosses out obscene insults to the young girl. But don't feel too sorry for Sage...she's got a foul mouth of her own. Thus, our introduction to the two main protagonists of the story is through a stream of vile obscenities and insults. I realized early on that I still had an entire movie to spend with these less-than-lovable characters. Indeed, things only go downhill from there...and fast.
Screenwriter Weitz practically twists himself into a pretzel to rationalize some very irrational behavior on the part of Elle and Sage. For starters, although Elle seems to be living comfortably in a fairy nice apartment, she informs Sage that her entire net worth is only about $40. The fact that a woman in her seventies who is living in L.A. would be worth only $40 is ludicrous to the point of distraction. The script provides an explanation: Elle was tired of being in debt for medical bills relating to Vi's care so she used every penny of savings to pay off that debt. Uh-huh. When Sage asks the obvious question- doesn't she have credit cards- Elle explains that she cut them up as a symbolic act and turned the shredded cards into a decorative piece of art. Uh-huh. Elle nevertheless agrees to assist her granddaughter in raising the required cash. They pile into her ancient, mechanically-challenged automobile and set off to visit Sage's boyfriend who promised to get the money for the abortion. They find him to be a self-centered, uncaring cynic. So Grandma does what grandmas do best- she slams the boyfriend in the crotch, causing him much pain and also inspiring this writer to once again make a plea to script writers: the "shot in the crotch" joke was funny just once. It was way back in 1969 when Paul Newman kicked Ted Cassidy where it hurts in "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid". Ever since then, it's been a cheap mechanism to get an even cheaper laugh. Please retire this tired device. Next stop on the Elle/Sage road trip to through Hell is a visit to a free clinic where destitute young women can get abortions. Sounds sensible. However, when they arrive at the location they discover the clinic has closed or moved and has been replaced by a boutique coffee shop. Neither Elle or Sage has enough smarts to take the obvious course of action: simply Google "women's clinics" on Sage's cell phone to find out where they alternately get the procedure done. Instead, they decide to patronize the coffee shop where Elle lets loose with a loud stream of obscenities. When the owner politely asks them to leave, Elle goes into a tirade of more obscenities. Presumably this is to further establish her anti-Establishment credentials and endear her to the audience. ("Hey, Granny's still got it!") The attempt fails, however, for the simple reason that no sane person would enjoy sitting in a coffee shop listening to some ex-hippie blather filthy language. Elle and Sage next visit one of Elle's friends who had expressed an interest in buying some presumably rare first edition books that Elle hopes will cover the cost of Sage's abortion. When the woman offers her only $50, Elle goes into another tirade of obscenities- despite the fact that Sage had researched the value of the books and informed her they were almost worthless.
The film goes into a new direction when, out of desperation, Elle decides to visit her ex-husband Karl (Sam Elliott) in the hopes of getting some cash. They haven't seen each other in many years and since they've been divorced Sam has been through several marriages. At first their reunion is civil but when Karl agrees to give the money, there is a caveat: he wants some fast sex. Elle refuses and a Pandora's Box of old resentments spills out into the open, with Karl still angry that his wife turned out to be unfaithful- and a lesbian, to boot. Elle finally shames him into parting with the money but when he learns it's for an abortion, he relents on moral grounds, which in the eyes of screenwriter Weitz immediately makes him a villainous character. (Even if you're politically and socially liberal, the heavy-handed propaganda messages contained in the script will probably make you roll your eyes.) Ultimately, Elle and Sage reluctantly visit Sage's mother Judy at her place of business. It's a sterile environment and we see that, as an executive, she has the reputation of a female Captain Bligh. She and Elle have been estranged for quite some time and Judy is non-too-happy to learn her daughter needs an abortion. Like Elle and Sage, Judy peppers her sentences with obscenities, thus indicating that the acorns don't fall far from the tree in this family. Ultimately, everyone ends up at the abortion clinic but not before screenwriter Weitz can insert another political dig: Elle encounters a young mother and her adorable looking little daughter outside the clinic where the mom is protesting abortions. When Elle tries to make nice with the little girl, she receives a black eye. It might strike one as being tasteless to use a small child to make a political statement but everyone in Grandma is vile and vulgar, so why should the toddlers be any different? In the last fifteen minutes or so, the problems are resolved and Elle makes up with Olivia. It's the only section of the film in which the characters are given anything close to admirable human emotions but it's too little too late.
Grandma is an offensive film and I say that as someone who routinely reviews vintage X-rated fare for this web site. The difference is that outright pornography isn't pretentious but Grandma certainly is. Paul Weitz can be commended for inspiring his actors to give excellent performances but the value of the production pretty much ends there. I have never met anyone like the people in this film and if I did, I certainly wouldn't want to be in their company for one minute longer than I had to. Why, then, would a viewer want to spend the running time of this film (a mercifully brief 79 minutes) digesting a barrage of filthy language spouted by unsympathetic characters? Even Sage, a young girl facing a great trauma, comes across as a vile ingrate, making demands more than asking for help. Lily Tomlin still has what it takes to carry a film. To her credit, she doesn't "glam" up her character but still has plenty of charisma. She's a consummate actress and her performance here is admirable. It's just a pity that its contained within a miserable movie about miserable people who treat each other in a miserable fashion.
The Sony Blu-ray contains an audio commentary track with the principals, a cookie-cutter "making of" featurette in which everyone extols the virtues of the people they worked with, a Q&A video from a screening of the film with Tomlin and Elliot and an original trailer.
In the estimation of many film scholars the 1970s was the most adventurous and liberating period in the history of the medium. The new freedoms in regard to sex, violence and adult themes that had exploded in the mid-1960s became even more pronounced in the '70s. Among the most daring studios to take advantage of this trend was United Artists. The studio had been conceived by iconic actors in the silent era with the intent of affording artists as much creative control over their productions as possible. UA had continued to fulfill that promise, producing a jaw-dropping number of box-office hits and successful film franchises. The studio also disdained censorship and pushed the envelope with high profile movie productions. The daring decision to fund the X-rated "Midnight Cowboy" paid off handsomely. The 1969 production had not only been a commercial success but also won the Best Picture Oscar. A few years later UA went even further out on a limb by distributing "Last Tango in Paris". The studio fully capitalized on the worldwide sensation the movie had made and the many attempts to restrict it from being shown at all in certain areas of the globe. Like "Midnight Cowboy", "Tango" was an important film by an important director that used graphic images of sexual activity for dramatic intensity. Unfortunately, not every filmmaker who was inspired by these new freedoms succeeded in the attempt to mainstream X-rated fare during those years that the rating wasn't only synonymous with low-budget porno productions. Case in point: screenwriter John Byrum, who made his directorial debut with "Inserts", a bizarre film that UA released in 1975 that became a legendary bomb. The movie has been released on Blu-ray by Twilight Time as a limited edition (3,000 units).
The claustrophobic tale resembles a filmed stage production. It is set primarily in one large living room in a decaying Hollywood mansion. The time period is the 1930s, shortly after the introduction of sound to the movie industry resulted in the collapse of silent pictures (Charlie Chaplin being the notable exception.) The central character, played by Richard Dreyfuss, is not named but is referred to as "The Boy Wonder". From our first glimpse of him we know we are seeing a man in trouble. He is unkempt, dressed in a bathrobe and swizzling booze directly from the bottle. We will soon learn that he was once a respected mainstream director of major studio films and was revered by Hollywood royalty. Now he is a has-been who has resorted to making porn movies in 16mm in his own home. (Yes, Virginia, people liked to watch dirty movies even way back then.) He is entertaining a visitor, Harlene (Veronica Cartwright), a perpetually cheery, bubble-headed young woman who was once a respected actress but who, like Boy Wonder, has fallen on hard times. She is now a heroin addict who earns a living by "starring" in Boy Wonder's porn productions. They make small talk and some names from the current movie business are bandied about. Harlene tells Boy Wonder that a rising star named Clark Gable is said to be an admirer of his and wants to meet him. Instead of responding favorably to this news, Boy Wonder seems unnerved by it. The implication is that he is locked in a self-imposed downward spiral and lacks the self-confidence to attempt a real comeback. Harlene also needles him about his sexual prowess. It turns out that the king of porn films has long been impotent for reasons never explained. As they prepare to film some scenes Harlene's male "co-star" (Stephen Davies) arrives. He is nicknamed Rex, The Wonder Dog, which seems to bother him especially when the Wonder Boy uses it to intentionally disparage him. Like Harlene, Rex is short on brains but is physically attractive. Boy Wonder seems to have a real resentment towards him, perhaps because Rex is a powerhouse in bed while he can't get anything going despite directing naked people in sex scenes. It becomes clear that if Boy Wonder and Rex don't like each other. Boy Wonder ridicules Rex for performing sex acts on male studio executives who he naively believes will help him become a star. However, their relationship looks downright friendly compared to the interaction between Harlene and Rex. When Rex is a little slow in becoming physically aroused, Harlene mocks him mercilessly. This results in him essentially subjecting her to a violent rape which thrills Boy Wonder, who captures it all on film. Harlene doesn't appear to be any worse for the wear, however, and blithely says she's going off to a bedroom to rest.
The household is next visited by mobster Big Mac (Bob Hoskins), the man who finances Boy Wonder's film productions. He is accompanied by his financee Cathy Cake (Jessica Harper), a pretty young woman who seems to have a particular interest in the forbidden world of pornography. Big Mac and Boy Wonder also hate each other. Big Mac berates Boy Wonder for making his porn flicks too esoteric and artistic for their intended audiences who just want a cheap thrill. However, for Boy Wonder the porn films represent the last opportunity he has to demonstrate the cinematic style and camera angles that once impressed critics and the public. In the midst of their arguing, it is discovered that a tragedy has occurred: Harlene has died from a heroin overdose. Everyone seems nonplussed by the news and Big Mac's only concern is to ditch the body somewhere quickly. Turns out Rex has a part time job in a funeral parlor and can arrange for a gruesome plan in which they dump her body inside a grave that is being prepared for another person's funeral the next day. The plan is to dig a bit deeper, bury Harlene, then place a layer of dirt over her and have the "new" body placed on top of hers. As Big Mac and Rex leave to "undertake" this sordid task, Boy Wonder finds himself alone with Cathy Cake. She wants to use the time to have Boy Wonder film her in her own personal porn movie since Big Mac would never let his "fiancee" do so with his knowledge. She finds the idea of sex on film to be a stimulant but Boy Wonder won't have any of it. He knows that Big Mac's volatile temper and ever present bodyguard could result in him being the next corpse in the house. Cathy Cake tries another tactic and feigns interest in Boy Wonder. He lets his guard down and gradually is seduced by her. She even manages to cure his impotence but the tryst turns ugly when she learns he has not filmed it. Boy Wonder soon discovers that his renewed pride and self-respect is to be short-lived when it becomes clear that Cathy Cake actually loathes him and was only using him in order to fulfill her porn movie fantasy. The ploy works to a degree- her attention to Boy Wonder reawakens his sexual prowess but when she learns the camera wasn't rolling, she cruelly tells him that she only used him for selfish purposes. With this, Big Mac and Rex return from their horrendous errand and catch Boy Wonder in bed with Cathy Cake. The situation becomes dangerous with Big Mac threatening to kill Boy Wonder and things only deteriorate from there.
According to the informative liner notes by Julie Kirgo that accompany the Blu-ray, Richard Dreyfuss seemed to have a personal obsession with this film. He was very involved in all aspects of its production and remained defensive about the movie after its harsh reception from critics. The movie's complete rejection by reviewers and the public might have hurt his career but Dreyfuss already had "American Graffiti" and "Jaws" under his belt. Soon he would also star in another blockbuster, "Close Encounters of the Third Kind" followed by his Oscar-winning performance in "The Goodbye Girl". The fact that so few people ever saw "Interiors" actually worked to his advantage. However, whatever motivated him to become involved in this bizarre project remains a mystery. It's an ugly tale about ugly people doing ugly things to each other. If there is a message here, I didn't receive it. There isn't a single character you can identify with or sympathize with. They are all self-obsessed cynics with no redeeming traits. That leaves us with whatever values the performances afford us and it's a mixed bag. Dreyfuss is miscast. He was twenty nine years-old when he made the film and, despite his sordid appearance which ages him considerably, he is still far too young to portray a once-great movie director who has fallen on hard times. John Byrum's direction of Dreyfuss is unsteady. At times he encourages him to underplay scenes while at other times he has Dreyfuss chew the scenery mercilessly. Similarly, Stephen Davies plays the brain-dead hunk Rex with flamboyantly gay characteristics one minute then suddenly transforms into a heterosexual stud the next. Bob Hoskins in what would become his trademark tough-guy gangster mode but gives a solid performance. The best acting comes from the two female leads with Veronica Cartwright especially good as the ill-fated Harlene. Jessica Harper also does well in her thankless role. Both women seem at ease in doffing their clothes and playing much of their scenes in a provocative state. Cartwright even goes full frontal for the violent sex scene with Rex while Harper spends almost the entire last act of the film being photographed topless. Curiously, the willingness to appear nude onscreen was considered the epitome of female emancipation in films during the 1970s but the practice has largely become frowned upon in more recent years. In fact the days are long gone when virtually every major actress had to appear naked on screen. Today, female emancipation is the ability to play erotic scenes on screen without having to be completely compromised.
It's
probably difficult for those residing in more liberated territories – where pornography
was something of a matter of fact affair back in the 1970s – to appreciate just
how uptight and repressed Great Britain was in its attitude to sex. There were,
however, voices in the crowd that had the courage to speak out against the establishment's
Draconian stance (though largely without changing very much at the time, it's
sad to say). One of the most famous and outspoken of those voices was that of model-
cum -actress Mary Millington. Hers is a name that may not mean much to anyone
outside the United Kingdom, but few of those old enough to remember her rise to
superstar status during the 70s would dispute that in the latter half of that
decade she was nothing short of a sensation. Yet how could that possibly be so in
a country where the authorities vehemently reviled and sought to crush the
adult entertainment industry out of existence? Respectable: The Mary Millington Story, an enthralling new feature length
documentary, provides the answer to that and many more questions.
The
brainchild of writer/producer/director Simon Sheridan (whose lavish book
"Come Play with Me: The Life and Films of Mary Millington" is absolutely
essential reading), over the course of some 110-minutes this definitive work
documents Mary's meteoric rise from underground hard-core loops through
celebrated softcore Brit sex comedies and on to a level of national celebrity
which found her rubbing shoulders with some of the most prolific figures of the
era.
Mary’s
career in the adult entertainment industry had kicked off at the start of the
decade with a clutch of hard-core loops shot in Europe, among them the famous
German short Miss Bohrloch (for which
she was paid the equivalent of almost £4000 by today's money). Few of them were
easily obtainable in the UK at the time though, for distribution of such
material was illegal. But if one knew where to go such things were available
“under the counterâ€, or if one were prepared to chance it they could be
acquired via the slew of mail order advertisements that appeared in adult
magazines.
Mary
liked to say that she was born respectable…but didn't let that spoil her life! Truer words were seldom spoken. However, that
life certainly wasn't an easy one. Though no striking beauty, she exuded a
provocative “attainable†girl next door appeal and even at the very height of
her fame never shied away from making herself accessible to her admirers. However,
said accessibility plus her unabashed, enthusiastic attitude to sex – moreover
a willingness to pose for and perform explicit sexual acts in front of a camera
– might have built her a huge fan base across the nation, but it also brought
her to the attention of the country's moral guardians. At the time Mary's
magazine spreads for publisher David Sullivan were helping him shift around a
million copies a month, and made her an obvious target for the crusaders’ puritanical
wrath. One of them was the infamous Mary Whitehouse whose ardent campaign to
sanitise British television diversified when she set her beady sights on the
porn industry. Sullivan delighted in tweaking the tiger’s tail, and among his
raft of adults-only titles was the cheekily-monikered "Whitehouse".
From
the mid-70s onwards Mary Millington shook the dust of hard-core films from her
shoes, and while continuing to model for magazine photoshoots – many of the
images in Sullivan’s titles pushing the limits of what UK laws would permit –
she also edged towards the less controversial environs of the silver screen,
popping up in softcore comedies such as Eskimo
Nell (1975) and Keep It Up Downstairs
(1976). It was Sullivan, when he moved into filmmaking, who really put Mary
on the map, featuring her in what was (and still is) the highest grossing
British sex film of all time, Come Play
With Me (1977). Although she didn't have a huge amount to do – she shared the
screen with a bevy of other models, who appear both in and out of their sexy
nurses uniforms – the film was always intended as a vehicle for Mary and she
was the focal point of its advertising campaign, which promised some the
strongest viewing material ever seen on British screens. This was gilding the
lily somewhat, to put it mildly. Although some fruitier footage had been shot
for overseas versions (but never saw the light of day), the British cut of Come Play With Me was in fact little
more than an amiable Carry On style
farce decorated with copious (but inoffensive) nudity and populated by a collective
of familiar British character actors, among them Irene Handl, Alfie Bass and
Ronald Fraser. Nevertheless, the film was a huge success, and went on to run
continuously at one of London's Soho cinemas for five years. Extensive
promotion took Mary to major cities across the UK, her adventures paraded in
the pages of Sullivan's magazines and increasing her popularity at a phenomenal
rate.
Such
was the box office success of Come Play With
Me that for his next feature, The
Playbirds (1978), Sullivan planted Mary firmly centre stage, cheekily having
her play a police officer who goes undercover in the sex industry to expose a
killer. The film again starred a bunch of Brit film and TV stalwarts, including
Windsor Davies, Derren Nesbitt, Glynn Edwards and Kenny Lynch.
French
gangster movies about mobs, molls, and ingenious but ill-fated heists enjoyed a
big vogue in Europe in the 1950s and early 1960s, especially after the success
of Jules Dassin’s stylish “Du Rififi chez Les Hommes†in 1955. Opening
here a year later in an edited, subtitled print as “Rififi,†Dassin’s picture
drew a small but appreciative audience of critics and foreign-film fans, and
became a perennial favorite in American art houses, repertory theaters, and
film schools.
This
was a rare example of a “policier,†as French audiences called them, gaining
any critical and commercial notice on these shores even remotely comparable to
their popularity abroad. Although the genre owed a clear debt to classic
American crime films, it fell victim here, like nearly every other cinema
import from abroad, to a homegrown bias against dubbed or subtitled foreign
films in that more insular era of American popular culture. The vast
demographic of moviegoers in small-town America tended to be wary of movies
that they had to read as well as watch, or those in which stilted dialogue came out of unfamiliar actors’
mouths in interchangeable voices that didn’t match the movements of their
lips. If you were a crime-movie
enthusiast, you already had plenty of domestic product to choose from, anyway,
thanks to a wave of violent, “fact-based†programmers like “The Bonnie Parker
Story†(1958) and “Al Capone†(1959) that U.S. studios released in the wake of
high ratings for TV’s “The Untouchables.â€
The
policiers that crossed the Atlantic, if they made it at all, were likely to be
relegated to marginal, second-run theaters, alongside nudies and exploitation
pictures. Newspaper ads and posters
played up the sexier, grittier aspects of the films as lurid entertainment “for adults only.†For example, the blurbs on the posters for
“Doulos, the Finger Man,†a subtitled 1964 edit of Jean-Pierre Melville’s “Le
Doulos†(1963), proclaimed: “Raw, Savage, Shocking†-- “So ruthless, untamed
women would do anything for him . . . and did!†In these days of graphic
internet porn, what may have been “shocking†50 years ago now looks quaintly
tame. Actual nude scenes in the original
European prints, which were modest to begin with by today’s standards, were
trimmed out of the American versions in deference to anti-obscenity laws. The sensual content that remained would
hardly cause a stir in today’s climate, but it was provocative for its era,
when married couples on TV had to be shown sleeping in modest PJs in twin beds,
if they were shown in the bedroom at all.
The
advertising strategy of implied sex turned a quick buck for distributors who
had little chance of seeing the policiers accepted by mainstream
ticket-buyers. However, the films’
reputation suffered in the larger court of public opinion. Middlebrow critics snubbed them as sordid
trash, almost beneath their notice. The
New York Times’ Bosley Crowther, for example, dismissed the Melville film as
“talkative and tiresome,†and seemed personally offended by the “mean and
disagreeable†title character portrayed by Jean-Paul Belmondo.
Some
critics have questioned whether Le Breton was telling the truth about his gangland
connections, and suspect that he coined the term “rififi†himself. Dassin said he was disturbed by racist
implications in the word, since Le Breton asserted that it referred to the
violent characteristics of Parisian gangs made up of North African immigrants
from the Rif area of Morocco. Accordingly, in the film version of “Du Rififi chez Les Hommes,†Dassin
downplayed the ethnicity of his characters. Sort of a Mickey Spillane of France, Le Breton became a popular
celebrity after the success of “Du Rififi chez Les Hommes†and made a lot of
money writing about hoods and tough guys. Many of his novels were branded with “rififi†in their titles, but aside
from certain shared themes and plot elements, the books were unrelated to each
other.
Impulse Pictures has once again delved into their archives of seemingly unlimited adult film titles from the 1970s and 1980s for two separate DVD releases: "Farmer's Daughters" and "Snow Honeys". The former film is apparently the most notorious- and for good reason. Released in 1976, "Farmer's Daughter's" is the work of director/writer Zebedy Colt, who made a reputation back in the day for creating some of the most distasteful and shocking hardcore porn feature films. The fact that the bearded, grungy Mr. Colt is seamy enough to make the lunatics on "Duck Dynasty" look like sex symbols did not stop him from placing himself in the leading role, thereby guaranteeing he'd get plenty of "fringe benefits" from the on-screen action. The setting is a remote farm in an unnamed location. The opening sequences make you think you're going to be watching a lighthearted porn spoof of shows like "The Beverly Hillbillies" and "Green Acres". We see the aforementioned Mr. Colt as Shep, an aging, bedraggled husband who is happily going at it with his wife Kate (porn superstar and publisher Gloria Leonard, billed here as Gayle Leonard.) Ms. Leonard is fine on the eyes but it takes a lot of willpower to watch Colt enjoying carnal pleasures with her. Things get kinky right away when we see that they are been secretly observed by their three daughters (Susan McBain, Marlene Willoughby and Nancy Dare). That's a pretty twisted premise right there but things are about to get even weirder. The three sexually frustrated sisters are inspired to take matters into their own hands and start a private orgy between themselves. When a goofy local farm boy, Fred (Bill Cort), stumbles on the scene, they force him to have sex with them. (That's right: in the film's most unbelievable lapse in credibility, he has to be forced to have sex with them.) What follows won't be described here in detail. Suffice it to say that upon having Fred reluctantly satisfy their needs they indulge in some acts of humiliation towards him that are still plenty eye-opening even by today's standards.
Pretty soon the sisters get their own comeuppance when three escaped convicts happen upon the farmhouse. You don't have to be a modern Sherlock Holmes to figure out the premise that happens next as the three men engage in gang rape and even kinkier activities involving the girl's parents. Again, we won't provide the details but the molestation of young Fred pales in comparison to what follows. The film's climax somehow incorporates elements of "Last House on the Left", "Deliverance" and "Death Wish" and combines group sex, gang rape, blood-drenched revenge murders and incest, thus giving a new interpretation of movies that are intended for the whole family. Perhaps the most bizarre aspect of this wacky exercise in perversion is the fact that one of the horny convicts is played by a real actor, Spalding Gray. Yes, that Spaulding Gray, the grumpy raconteur who built a cult following on the basis of his one-man stage show and subsequent film, "Swimming to Cambodia" which was based on his experiences playing a small role in the 1984 movie "The Killing Fields".
"Farmer's Daughters" is repulsive, offensive, shocking and degenerate on every level. Small wonder that these "qualities" are cited in promotional releases for the DVD which will undoubtedly please its intended audience.
Another Impulse release is more benign in content but also wacky in its own way. "Snow Honeys", released in 1983, is a hodgepodge collection of scenes from unrelated porn flicks wrapped around a thin premise. Erotic superstars of the era Ken Starbuck and Kara Lott open the movie in scenes filmed at a scenic ski resort. They amiably break the "fourth wall" and speak directly to the viewer, griping that they are getting very little money for being in this production so they might as well enjoy themselves. Within minutes the two are starkers inside a resort hotel room and bizarrely describing scenes we are about to see even while they are pleasuring each other. This device is used to link choppy clips from older porn movies starring such familiar names and faces as John Holmes (was there a porn flick from this era he wasn't in?). Vanessa Del Rio, Desiree Cousteau, Seka and John Leslie, to name just a few. The vignettes range from a rather strange lesbian seduction sequence that starts out as romantic but quickly turns S&M to a somewhat amusing take off of Superman with the hero, Super Rod, getting it on with Lois Lane (named Lois Canal here). The big joke is that every time they mention their more famous counterparts' names, they are bleeped. "Snow Honeys" is fairly uninspired in its premise but does provide some abbreviated and memorable moments from other, better productions- and at least Ken Starbuck and Kara Lott are much easier on the eye than watching anything starring Zebedy Colt.
Both transfers are impressive considering the questionable source material and both include sneak peeks at Impulse's line of "Peep Show" silent loops from grind house theaters of days gone by. "Snow Honeys" also has a reversible sleeve with the alternate image more provocative than the weird sleeve depicted above.
CLICK HERE TO ORDER "FARMER'S DAUGHTERS" FROM AMAZON
To identify editor-publisher Richard Klemensen’s Little Shoppe of Horrors as simply a
fanzine is to do it a grave disservice. Such an appellation too often denotes an enthusiastic but decidedly
amateur magazine.
If you’re a dyed-in-wool-fan of fantastic cinema and were
knocking about in the late 1960s or early 1970s, you’ve probably gambled and subscribed
- at least once – to such a fanzine as described above. One mimeographed or perhaps having suffered the
ill-effect of poor off-set printing, lousy photo-reproduction, and variable
levels of scholarship. The earliest
issues of Little Shoppe of Horrors
(henceforth to be referred to as LSoH)
may have exhibited some of these mechanical deficiencies on inception, but over
its forty-three year history the content within its pages has never been short
of brilliant. LSoH is simply without
peer and has no comparable challenger in its field of endeavor; it’s indisputably
the most venerated encyclopedia of all things Hammer and British horror.
You’ve never heard of the magazine, you say? Well, if you’ve ever bought a useful book within
the last forty years that documented the history of British horror films - or one
of the better researched biographies of such key players as Christopher Lee or
Peter Cushing - you’re tangentially in debt to LSoH. Since its founding in June 1972, the resources of the
magazine have been plundered by the genre’s finest scholars. I suppose this is only fair. Many, if not all, of the most respected writers
painstakingly researching the tradition have earned their earliest bylines contributing
to the magazine. There’s hardly a figure
associated with British horror cinema, either in front or behind the camera,
whose stories, large and small, have not been annotated and shared within this
great magazine’s pages.
The fact that LSoH has
been based since its beginning in Des Moines, Iowa, half-a-continent and one
ocean away from the Hammer production offices in London, England, is simply mind-boggling. Not a world way, perhaps, but close,
especially in the pre-internet age. What’s
equally amazing is that, with the exception of the first six issues
(1972-1980), the succeeding twenty-nine have been published in the fallow years
following the studio’s sad descent into bankruptcy and irrelevancy in 1979. So the magazine has faithfully served these
past thirty-six years as the primary torch-bearer and celebrant of the studio’s
glorious legacy.
From the glossy and colorful artistically rendered front
and back covers to the impeccable research of their stable of writers – and in
spite of an indisputably erratic publishing schedule – LSoH has remained the nexus for all things British horror. The latest, issue no. 35, published October
2015, proves the passing of time has not even remotely dimmed the magazine’s
reputation for superlative reportage.
This spanking brand new issue features a gorgeous and
colorful fold-out cover, courtesy of artist Jim Salvati and equally impressive back cover art by Bruce Timm. Hammer stalwart Peter Cushing and lead
actress Susan Denberg are evocatively rendered in an atypical mad-scientist laboratory
scene from Hammer’s classic Frankenstein Created Woman (1967). Some twenty-eight of
the magazine’s ninety-eight pages are, not coincidentally, dedicated to an exhaustive
examination of all aspects of the film’s
production; synopsis’s, interviews, set-design sketches, a bevy of rare
photographs, clippings etc. A further
twenty-three pages examines Terence Fisher’s Frankenstein Must Be Destroyed (1969) in equally acute detail. There’s also a look-back at the early fan-journal
Fantastic Worlds, part of the
magazines series “A History of Horror Film Fanzines.†As always, there’s a
plethora of book and DVD/Blu-Ray reviews, as well as a provocative interview
with actor Barry Warren (Kiss of the
Vampire (1963), Devil Ship Pirates
(1964) and Frankenstein Created Woman
(1967). The former article is the
seventh installment of the magazine’s “British Character Actors†series. There’s also the always erudite and
worthwhile letters to the editor column.
In June of 2015 we lost the great Sir Christopher Lee
and, in memoriam, the editor has exhumed an interview, courtesy of his friend
the late Bill Kelly, of the legendaryt actor. In this “open conversation†from the early 1990s, Lee reminisces about
his career and his many roles, including his iconic turn as Count Dracula in seven
Hammer productions and several more instances in continental knock-offs. In yet another segment, the author Tom
Johnson (Hammer Films: An Exhaustive
Filmography) offers an affectionate memoriam to Lee and shares both amusing
and poignant glimpses of the times their paths crossed. There are several moments when both Lee’s and Johnson’s
observations and ruminations are as laugh-out-loud funny as they are revealing.
Let’s face it. You
need this. With their in-depth coverage
of every aspect of the best – and lesser efforts – of British horror cinema, Little Shoppe of Horrors has… well, left
no headstone unturned.
CLICK HERE TO VISIT OFFICIAL WEB SITE FOR LITTLE SHOPPE OF HORRORS.
Jim Sherlock, one of Australia's most respected film historians, provided us with this sampling of what was showing in Oz on one day in 1966. Sort of boggles the mind, doesn't it? Steve McQueen in Nevada Smith, Robert Vaughn and David McCallum in The Man From U.N.C.L.E. feature film One of Our Spies is Missing, Julie Christie in Darling, Sophia Loren and Marcello Mastroianni in Marriage Italian Style and Doris Day and Rod Taylor in The Glass Bottom Boat (note that in Australia it had the more provocative title The Spy in the Lace Panties!). Those really were the days....
