BY LEE PFEIFFER

Kino Lorber continues to release titles that were originally telecast on ABC TV in the United States as part of the network's "Movie of the Week" anthology series of original productions. While most of the earlier films in the series, which began in 1969, exceeded expectations, with some becoming classics, by the time 1972 rolled around, the network was cutting back on production costs and some less-than-stellar shows were produced. One of the telecasts shown during this period was "The Daughters of Joshua Cabe", a starring vehicle for Buddy Ebsen, who had become a TV icon through "The Beverly Hillbillies" and who would go on to find great success a few years later as TV detective Barnaby Jones. "Joshua Cabe" was shot between the two series. Ebsen is well-cast in the title role that affords him his familiar persona as a laid-back, soft-spoken man of simple means but admirable values. Josh has been proudly calling a beautiful spread of rural land his own, a dream he shared with his beloved wife who passed away many years ago. He now lives a rustic lifestyle with his best friend, Bitterroot (Jack Elam) and the two men are quite content until they receive the alarming news that a new law affects the ownership of homesteads. In order to be declared the rightful owner of the property, Josh only has weeks to find his three estranged daughters of many years and convince them to settle on his land for a period of no less than one year. It's a tall order but he sets out to St. Louis to begin tracking the daughters down. He only finds one of his offspring, Mary (Julie Mannix), and she is content living the life of a nun. She advises him that her two sisters are now living in New York with their families. Dejected, Josh almost gives up on his quest to qualify for ownership of his land until he gets an audacious inspiration: he approaches three wayward women from the other side of the tracks who are living hardscrabble lives in St. Louis and convinces them to move back with him and pose as his daughters for a period of one year. The young women have diverse personalities but they are all streetwise, cynical and willing to go toe-to-toe against the inevitable lechers who try to seduce them. They are Mae (Lesley Ann Warren, billed here as "Lesley Warren), a prostitute being exploited by a charmless pimp, Mae (Sandra Dee), a pickpocket and Charity (Karen Valentine), a recently paroled thief.

Problems arise when Josh's arch-enemy, Amos Wetherall (Leif Erickson) and his four no-goodnick sons set eyes on laying claim to Josh's land to expand their local empire. Their plans hit a set-back when Josh arrives with his three "daughters" but Wetherall and his boys use violent methods to try to intimidate him, including burning down his precious ranch house that he had built for his wife. Wetherall's tactic only reinforce his determination to claim the land legally for his own. The three young women, who had been indulging in plenty of bickering, become united to try to help him, as he's emerged as a kindly father figure to them. The climax finds a showdown between Josh and Bitterroot and Wetherall and his sons to determine who will possess Josh's land. Guess who comes out on top?

"The Daughters of Joshua Cabe" is directed with workman-like efficiency by Philip Leacock, who had a long resume in TV and films as director and producer. The script by Paul Savage is largely unoriginal and predictable. The main reason for watching the film is the delightful cast. The three actresses playing the "daughters" are all amusing with Warren getting the meatiest role as a prostitute. Ebsen is always a delight to watch and he gets plenty of amusing support from Elam, who seemed to inherit Walter Brennan's roles as crabby, eccentric western sidekicks. Erickson makes for a fine villain and his scroungy, sadistic sons are played by well-known actors, specifically Don Stroud, Michael Anderson Jr, Paul Koslo and William Katt (billed here as "Bill Katt".)

The Kino Lorber transfer is adequate, but no more. That's probably because the source material for the print used was less-than-desirable and no one would expect KL to sink a great deal of money into enhancing this modest, little-remembered title, the production values of which are pretty chintzy. IMDB verifies that it was shot on 35mm film but it's hard to believe that the interiors weren't filmed on video, as they have a soft focus look that resembles an episode of a soap opera from the era. The only impressive action scene involves a stampede. Beyond that, the movie is definitely a 1970s Poverty Row production. Still, it's nice to have these obscure TV movies now available on home video, so regardless of their individual merits, we hope KL keeps 'em coming.

The DVD includes a gallery of other KL western comedy trailers including "Support Your Local Sheriff", "Support Your Local Gunfighter", "Young Billy Young" and "Sam Whiskey".

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By Hank Reineke

Generally speaking, I happen to watch more bad movies than good ones… and I suppose that any film which includes the breathless line, “It’s too bad we didn’t bring the dune buggy!” suggests I’m likely in the midst of another. In truth, I sort of knew this going into Arch Hall Sr.’s cult classic EEGAH (1962), a bona fide drive-in circuit masterpiece. This film has long suffered ignobility partly due to the circulation of tattered prints relegated to the Public Domain. The film’s PD fate partly explains its inclusion in practically every budget-label 50 or 100 count horror and sci-fi multi-film DVD collection ever marketed. Happily – if somewhat curiously - Film Detective has bravely rescued the film – and its fans - from the gray-market, washed-out, faded and deteriorating prints of which we’ve been accustomed, sharing with us this brand new 4K transfer to Blu-ray from an original 35mm camera negative.

The real question I suppose is whether or not EEGAH deserves such white-glove attention? I will reason that it does, especially as I have no financial interest or skin in the game. It’s nothing if not a fun film; a completely nutty and perfect jewel of non-pretentious, time-capsule-exploitative-entertainment. It’s also of some train-spotting, fan-boy interest as the film features the decidedly fresh-faced, twenty-one year old, 7’ 2” actor Richard Kiel (“Jaws” of the James Bond films) as the titular EEGAH. EEGAH is, apparently, a brooding prehistoric cave dweller who has somehow managed to survive well into the early 1960s, unnoticed, unwashed and unloved, in the Coachella Valley of Southern Californian Mountains.

EEGAH’s curious, eon-spanning survival is never explained to scientific satisfaction in Bob Wehling’s dotty script adapted from Arch Hall Sr.’s original story. Sweet Roxy Miller’s adventure-writer father Mr. Miller (also played by Arch Hall Sr.) opines – not unreasonably – that the caveman is likely the last of his line. But he gives us no indication of how he’s intellectually arrived at his totally non-scientifically tested, off-the-cuff conclusion. By his best ballpark estimate the savage primitive has managed to survive perhaps “fifty to one hundred years” following the passing of even EEGAH’s most recent forebear. In some manner of speaking EEGAH still lives alongside his now all-but-extinct extended family in his lonely mountainside cave. Except they now reside there as little more than well cared for mummified remains.

EEGAH’s survival has seemingly gone on unnoticed until one dark night on a deserted road when sweet Roxy (Marilyn Manning) nearly plows into him with her banana yellow sport coupe. While EEGAH grimaces and growls and postures menacingly, it’s apparent that he’s somewhat smitten with his hit-and-run paramour. The girl manages to escape their impromptu meet-up and soon relates the details of her strange run in to her disbelieving boyfriend Tom (Arch Hall, Jr.) and her aforementioned father. Acknowledging the mystery would be best investigated by a responsible adult, Dad Miller is apparently unable to find one. He chooses to go off on his own, hiring a helicopter to take him into the deep ravines within Shadow Mountain. Dressed resplendently in white safari shirt, shorts, and pit helmet, Miller disembarks the copter for an ill-prepared solo expedition. He carries little more than a small tartan satchel and a Brownie camera to support him on his overnight camping trip.

When he fails to appear at the pre-arranged pick-up site the following day, heartthrob Tom and Roxy rush to the designated spot in the hot desert in Tom’s cool dune buggy (“The tires are filled with water,” he tells his girlfriend, the extra weight giving them better “traction in the sand”). As an aside, actor Hall Jr. recalled the dune buggy featured in the film was actually the most authentic and menacing monster of the production. Though it had once been a 1939 Plymouth Sedan it was now, in the actor’s own parlance “a deathtrap,” since it had been amateurishly converted into a buggy and welded back together poorly with no semblance of supportive structure. He recalled a few instances where he was literally pinned under a wreckage of metal, the crew scrambling to pull him free from the crushing weight.

BY DOUG OSWALD

Jack Lemmon is cast against type with co-star Glenn Ford in “Cowboy,” a gritty western available on Blu-ray by Twilight Time. The movie has a rousing start with titles by Saul Bass accompanied by a title score composed by George Duning, setting the mood for this western directed by Delmer Daves. No stranger to westerns, Daves also directed Ford in “Jubal” and “3:10 to Yuma.” The drama in Daves’ westerns was atypical of the genre and unfolded in a more realistic way with no clearly defined hero or villain in an era where the western followed a typical story pattern with clearly defined depictions of heroism and masculinity. Daves was part of a change which redefined the western in the 50s and in some ways prepared us for the inside-out world of the spaghetti westerns to come in the 1960s.

Frank Harris (Lemmon) is a Chicago hotel clerk seeking to make his fortune in the cattle business when he meets Tom Reese (Ford) who just happens to arrive at the hotel with his men after a two month cattle drive. Tom likes opera, gambling, drinking and enjoys a hot bath. Frank is more introspect and in love, but has just been informed by the wealthy Senor Vidal (Donald Randolph) that his daughter, Maria (Anna Kashfi), will never be allowed to marry him. Maria and her family return home to Mexico and Frank makes a deal with Tom to be his partner on his next cattle drive which will take the men to Senor Vidal’s ranch in Mexico. Tom initially rejects Frank, but takes him up on his offer after losing most of his money gambling and also due to Frank’s persistence.

The movie evokes, but only touches on, heroic mythology as the young wide-eyed idealist Frank, eager to make his fortune and find the woman he loves, joins the older and more experienced Tom who becomes his mentor and father figure. Tom warns the young idealist Frank by telling him no woman is worth going after when he should be focused on the quest for fortune. Along the way the cattle men face several trials of near epic proportions resulting in death and near death including the taming of a savage bull, an encounter with a deadly serpent, an attack by a band of Indians who attempt to steal the cattle and an attempt to rescue a friend who tempts fate in a Mexican border town. The sage advice of the experienced Tom is often ignored by Frank in this Homeric journey starting in Chicago by train to Texas and on horseback from Texas to Mexico and back again to Chicago. Frank’s admiration of Tom turns to dislike as they tussle with one another along the trail including a dramatic fight with a crowbar next to the camp fire pit. Both men compliment each another in spite of their struggles and come to a grudging admiration of one another after Frank takes the lead in rounding up the cattle lost during a stampede.

There’s more- a lot more- to enjoy in this unique and unconventional western. Stupid boyish pranks turn deadly and men who know better tempt fate by placing themselves in dangerous situations. There are no traditional heroes or villains in “Cowboy,” but rather men faced with a series of tasks and trials not unlike those which could unfold for all of us as we make choices and move through life. Lemmon and Ford are very good, especially Ford who gives a believable and effortless performance. The movie also features a great cast of supporting actors including Brian Donlevy, Dick York, Richard Jaeckel, Victor Manuel Mendoza, James Westerfield and Strother Martin in an early uncredited role.

BY LEE PFEIFFER

The 1965 adventure film "Sands of the Kalahari" was the follow-up project for star Stanley Baker and writer/director Cy Endfield, who had triumphed the year before with Zulu. The plot centers on a small group of strangers in a South African airport who are frustrated when their plane is delayed for mechanical reasons. They opt to charter their own flight to Johannesburg, which mandates that they fly over the vast Kalahari Desert. A swarm of locusts disables the engine and the plane ditches in a remote area, far from civilization. The survivors are a diverse lot. There's Stanley Baker as an alcoholic who suffers a severe leg injury. Stuart Whitman is a macho All American with a passion for rifles, hunting and making sure he gets the advantage in every situation. Theodore Bikel is a timid, kindly doctor. Harry Andrews is an aging German with knowledge of the terrain and Nigel Davenport is the pilot. The lone female is (naturally) a stunner with strong sexual desires. She's played by Susannah York, one of the most beautiful British actresses to emerge during the 60s.

The survivors find shelter in a cave and, using their ingenuity and Whitman's rifle, manage to sustain themselves. However, they are in midst of a band of savage baboons who pose a constant threat. It doesn't take long before the small group devolves into petty feuds and sexual jealousy, with Whitman emerging as a self-centered villain intent on keeping the food supplies and the woman for himself. The film, which is similar in content to Flight of the Phoenix, boasts an impressive screenplay by Endfield, who does yeoman work as director.  He presents the landscape in such a harsh manner that you'll run for a cold glass of water the second the film ends. The performances are all excellent, with Whitman particularly good as the charismatic villain. His last scene in the movie is one that will haunt you. There are many memorable sequences in the film but to divulge them would spoil the fun of watching this superior, testosterone-driven adventure. Make this one another "must" for your video library.

Although Olive Films has done justice to this magnificent looking film with a fine Blu-ray presentation, there are no bonus extras included.

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By Todd Garbarini

Following the financial success of John Carpenter’s Halloween (1978) and Sean Cunningham’s Friday the 13^th (1980), movie studios were making slasher films in large quantities. They didn’t necessarily want to, they just knew that there were scores to be made at the box office. Producers and directors alike were trying to come up with the next big franchise to keep pumping out money makers for years to come. The success of Tobe Hooper’s The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974) directly inspired The Toolbox Murders (1978). Likewise, Maniac (1980), released in New York City on Friday, January 30, 1981 (the same day as David Cronenberg’s Scanners), was the result of a brainstorming conversation between the film’s eventual director Bill Lustig and his friend Frank Pesce (who can be seen as the restaurant manager in James Toback’s 1978 film Fingers and as fugitive Carmine in Martin Brest’s 1988 comedy Midnight Run. His life story was also the subject of the 1991 comedy 29^th Street, directed by George Gallo who, incidentally, penned Midnight Run). The idea was to make a horror film that could be billed as “Jaws on land.” Jaws (1975), of course, changed the cinematic landscape and how movies are distributed and promoted using catchy tag lines, effective advertising campaigns, and rolling out a film in hundreds of movie theaters at once. It also provided the basis for obvious and cheap imitations and rip-offs. Maniac isn’t so obvious to the untrained eye.

Shot back-to-back in the fall and brutal winter of 1979 with much of the same crew from Friday the 13^th, Maniac stars the under-rated, under-utilized and, unfortunately, late Joe Spinell, an actor of considerable range who, despite his intimidating stance and demeanor, was actually a thoughtful and exceedingly nice personality on the set and behind-the-scenes, always eager to help fellow performers. Here he plays Frank Zito, a middle-aged man who lives alone in a New York City apartment amid toys and mannequins who double as his friends and personal company following a childhood ruined at the hands of an overbearing and physically abusive mother whom he lashes out against when he comes into physical contact with women. Following in the footsteps of the slasher films of the time, Maniac’s theme of an outcast with sexual hang-ups has provided more than enough fodder as a theme for disturbed young men who engage in ruthless killing sprees. Frank converses with the mannequins which are adorned with the real scalps and clothing of women who met their end at his hands, thus giving credence to the notion that serial killers keep trophies of their victims, a point spouted by Clarice Starling in The Silence of the Lambs ten years later. Not all his victims are women, however. One night he follows a couple and shoots the man (Tom Savini!) point blank with a double-barreled shotgun before adding his girlfriend to his macabre collection. On another night he spots two nurses at a hospital (one of them is played by former porn actress Sharon Mitchell) and follows one of them into a subway bathroom in the film’s creepiest and most unsettling sequence.

A chance encounter with a photographer named Anna (Caroline Munro, who actually got her start as an actress after someone took her photograph and entered the winning image into a contest) leads him to her apartment. Anna doesn’t appear to be the slightest bit concerned that he obtained her name and address from her camera bag and invites him in! They soon begin a platonic friendship, but one of Anna’s model friends, Rita, catches Frank’s eye at one of her photo shoots and soon meets a terrible end. Anna is oblivious to this fact until she accompanies Frank to his mother’s grave with flowers and all hell breaks loose and heads towards an ending that is inspired until the final shot which is often relegated to the domain of slasher films, most notably Michele Soavi’s 1987 stylish giallo classic Stagefright.

Maniac developed a notorious reputation for its then-shocking violence, angering feminists from coast to coast. While it’s still fairly disturbing even by today’s standards, there is an argument to be made that AMC’s The Walking Dead is infinitely more savage. Shot on 16mm, the film holds up very well and has now been made available on Blu-ray in a three-disc set that includes a transfer mastered from a 4K restoration of the original camera negative.

BY FRED BLOSSER

Kino Lorber Studio Classics has released “A Minute to Pray, a Second to Die!,” a 1968 Italian Western, in a Blu-ray edition. In the movie, Gov. Lem Carter (Robert Ryan) offers amnesty to outlaws in a bid to quell lawlessness in 1880s New Mexico. On the run from deputies and bounty hunters, desperado Clay McCord (Alex Cord) decides to seek the governor’s clemency. McCord suffers from paralytic spasms of his gun hand. The attacks have become more frequent and more severe, and he fears that they represent the onset of epilepsy, the malady that disabled and eventually killed his father. But enemies on both sides of the law make it difficult for him to go straight as he wishes to do. Bounty hunters surround the town of Tascosa, where McCord must go to sign the needed papers, and even if he can elude them, the cynical marshal, Roy Colby (Arthur Kennedy), is disinclined to give him a break. The gunfighter is equally unwelcome in nearby Escondido, a haven for fugitives, after antagonizing Kraut (Mario Brega), the brutal hardcase who controls the rundown settlement. It’s even money on who will bring McCord down first, Kraut’s pistoleros or Colby’s deputies. Although I can’t find any sources to either confirm or refute the speculation, I believe that Brega’s dubbed English voice as Kraut belongs to American actor Walter Barnes, who made several Italian and German Westerns in the 1960s.

With an American executive producer, three high-profile ‘60s American actors in starring roles, an Italian producer, an Italian director, and an Italian supporting cast dubbed into English, “A Minute to Pray, a Second to Die” straddles the divide between the earnest tradition of U.S. Westerns and the violent, anything-goes approach of the Italian kind. It opens with a long (actually, too long) outdoor sequence of McCord and a pal eluding a posse, like characters in “One-Eyed Jacks” and any number of other classic Westerns. Then follows a scene of two sadistic gunmen roughing up a frightened priest in front of an altar, and eventually shooting him in the back. Try to find a situation like that in a John Wayne or Roy Rogers movie. The two gunmen are played by Aldo Sambrell and Antonio Molino Rojo, who -- like Mario Brega, the Ernest Borgnine of Italian Westerns -- are instantly recognizable from Sergio Leone’s stock company of scruffy character actors. An unsympathetic critic might speculate that a respectable if unexceptional American Western could have resulted had the moviemakers tightened the script, dialed back the film’s high body count, and substituted homegrown character actors for Italian ones in the supporting cast. On the other hand, for those of us whose moviegoing tastes were formed in the Cinema Retro era, the manic unevenness of the picture as it exists has a certain freewheeling charm of its own.

Kino Lorber’s cover notes advertise the Blu-ray as a new high-definition master from a 4K scan of the original negative. Although the daytime scenes have some graininess, the nighttime lights and darks are clear and sharp. The label’s resident Spaghetti expert, Alex Cox, contributes an informative, droll, but respectful audio commentary. Those new to Italian Westerns will learn a lot about the genre from Cox’s remarks, while fans will have fun matching their knowledge against his in spotting familiar Italian faces in the movie’s supporting cast. As another supplement, the disc also includes the original ending from the European print of the movie, transposed from an old, overseas VHS tape. This bleak denouement is stronger by far than that of the U.S. cut.

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FRED BLOSSER IS THE AUTHOR OF "SAVAGE SCROLLS: VOLUME ONE: SCHOLARSHIP FROM THE HYBORIAN AGE". CLICK HERE TO ORDER ON AMAZON

BY TODD GARBARINI

This has been a good year for fans of model and actress Laura Gemser. Recently, Severin Films released a deluxe Blu-ray package of two of her films, a soundtrack CD, a really cool t-shirt and an enamel pin, the last item appearing to be something that is new and all the rage nowadays. We’ll take a look at the two films featured in this collection.

Emanuelle and the Last Cannibals (1977)

Laura Gemser, the high cheekbone-chiseled, dark-skinned Indonesian goddess born Laurette Marcia Gemser who appeared opposite Jack Palance in Emmanuelle and the Deadly Black Cobra (1975), returns in Emanuelle and the Last Cannibals as Emanuelle. Here she’s a photojournalist who goes undercover at a mental hospital with a 35mm camera hidden within a creepy children’s doll that takes photos when the eyes open and close. She’s looking to expose the hospital’s treatment of the infirmed and witnesses a horrific event wherein a patient tries to eat one of the nurses. Yes, you read that right. A tattoo on the patient’s torso of a cannibal tribe’s logo stuns Emanuelle. She comes to find out that the woman was raised by a tribe of cannibals called the Apiaca. Eager to pursue this story, she consults with her newspaper editor, an older man who is looped so poorly you practically never see his mouth move. In fact, the whole movie is looped with foley effects and dialogue that all sound so unnatural but hey, that’s part of the fun of these movies. The story compels Emanuelle to seek out Dr. Mark Lester (Ms. Gemser’s late real-life husband, Gabriele Tinti) who agrees to accompany her on a journey to investigate the Apiaca. Before she leaves on her trip, however, she decides to make love to her boyfriend in full view of the New York skyline, but this is the last we see of him as she appears to be smitten with the older Dr. Lester. Mechanical and joyless softcore sex scenes proliferate, even after the point following their arrival in the jungle to pursue the tribe. They are offered assistance by a group of others who go with them: Reverend Wilkes (Geoffrey Copleston), Isabelle (Mónica Zanchi), an overly emotional Sister Angela (Annamaria Clementi), Donald Mackenzie (Donald O’Brien), and his wife Maggie (Nieves Navarro). They are on a mission to locate Father Morales who is supposedly the only person not from the Amazon who has ever had any contact with the tribe. Unfortunately, they only discover his remains, which sets poor Sister Angela into a terrible emotional state.

Poor Donald can’t seem to satisfy Maggie anymore, so when they stop to make camp she elects to get it on with natives in the jungle. As one would expect from director Aristide Massaccesi, better known as Joe D’Amato, the sex scenes are overdone, artificial and completely lacking in passion. Even Emanuelle’s multiple romps do little to exult in the wonder of her lithe figure. If ever there was an award for Best Mechanical and Robotic Sex Scene, director D’Amato would surely win every time.

Naturally, the more the group hikes further into the jungle the more they expose themselves to potentially being captured and eaten. This horrific fate befalls several of the party, but Emanuelle thinks of an ingenious way to escape once they are surrounded. The ending is silly and predictable, but you pretty much know what you’re getting with this acting troupe.

As difficult as it may seem to believe, cannibal films enjoyed a high level of popularity back in the 1970s and 1980s, so it was inevitable that they would make their way into other genres. If the title is unfamiliar to U.S. audiences, it should be. Though shot in the summer of 1977, Last Cannibals didn’t make its way to American shores until 1984 when it was dumped on VHS under the title of Trap Them and Kill Them. Like most exploitation films of the period, some of the action is shot in the streets of New York City and it’s a real hoot to see what Manhattan looked like 41 years ago. One shot has the comedy Kentucky Fried Movie displayed prominently on the marquee of the long-gone Rivoli Theatre which was known for its extended showcases of 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) and Jaws (1975).

The film has just made its way to Blu-ray via of Severin Films and the results are so far above what we’re used to from VHS bootlegs that it looks like a different movie. Presented in its original aspect ratio of 1.85:1 and given a 2K transfer from a good print that significantly brightens up the image, Last Cannibals looks good enough to make one dump the inferior and murky VHS bootlegs of over thirty years ago.

This disc has an unusual amount of extras for this sort of title. Up first is The World of Nico Fidenco which runs twenty-seven minutes. Signor Fidenco is the film’s composer and he has written an upbeat score for the film. He’s very interesting to listen to and describes how his stint in the military got in the way of his original ambition which was to be a film director. After he was discharged, he learned the guitar and studied singing and this led him to composing music for film. He collaborated multiple times with director D’Amato. (Note: if you’re a fan of the score, the first 3000 Blu-ray pressings in a special edition contain a separate compact disc of the score. The end of this review will fill you in on how to order it).

A Nun Among the Cannibals: An Interview with Actress Annamaria Clementi (twenty-three minutes). While watching the interview, I couldn’t believe that the woman speaking to the camera was the same woman who played Sister Angela in the film. She was roughly twenty-three when she shot the film, and is now sixty-five(?!) in the on-screen interview. This bespectacled beauty could easily pass for thirty-eight. Perhaps the interview was shot years ago? It looks new to me. She talks about how shy and aloof she was with lead actress Gemser, and how director D’Amato wanted to put her in his next seven films which she declined(!), as well as a chance encounter with Robert DeNiro when shooting in New York City. She also explains that she was approached by Pino Pellegrino, the man who would become her agent, casually on the street and he asked her if she wanted to become an actress. Remarkably, she trusted him and they had a good working relationship.

Dr. O’Brien MD: This eighteen-minute interview with Donald O’Brien who played Donald Mackenzie reveals how he got his start in acting, like most performers do, in the theatre. I was amazed at how much he had aged whereas the aforementioned Annamaria Clementi looked so much younger.

From Switzerland to the Mato Grosso runs nearly nineteen minutes and features Monika Zanchi whom genre fans will remember from the nutso 1977 outing Hitch Hike with Franco Nero and the incomparable David Hess. She also appeared in the ridiculous Spielberg spoof Very Close Encounters of the Fourth Kind (1978).

The last featurette is called I Am Your Black Queen which runs just over eleven minutes and is a poorly-recorded audio interview with Laura Gemser which is subtitled. She talks about how she began, like most attractive young actresses do, by modelling. This is how genre favorite Caroline Munro got her start. Her first film, Free Love, was released in 1974. Perhaps not so surprisingly, she refers to her embarrassment over her nude scenes. Of the few movies that I have seen of her, she rarely if ever looks comfortable in her own skin, almost as if disrobing is a chore.

Last of all is the requisite theatrical trailer.

As I mentioned earlier, the first 3000 copies of this Blu-ray also include a soundtrack CD of the film’s score. The running time on the 31-track CD is one hour. It can be ordered here as part of The Laura Gemser Deluxe Bundle which includes a second film, Violence in a Women’s Prison.

BY LEE PFEIFFER

Sam Spiegel was one of the most revered and accomplished producers in Hollywood history. His achievements included such classics as "On the Waterfront", "The African Queen", "The Bridge on the River Kwai" and "Lawrence of Arabia". His body of work, though not nearly as extensive as that of some other producers, was notable in the sense that Spiegel thought big and shot for the moon when it came to bringing to the screen stories that spoke to the human condition. Following the triumphant release of "Lawrence" in 1962, Spiegel did not make another film for four years. When he did, the movie - "The Chase"- turned out to be a star-packed drama that won over neither critics or audiences. Spiegel had a more ambitious idea for his next production, a screen adaptation of the best-selling WWII thriller "The Night of the Generals" by Hans Helmut Kirst. Spiegel had the inspired idea of reuniting his "Lawrence of Arabia" co-stars Peter O'Toole and Omar Sharif. They  were reluctant to take on the project, but they certainly owed him. Both were virtual unknowns until Spiegel gave them the roles that made them international stars. Spiegel also added to the mix an impressive cast of esteemed British actors ranging from veterans such as Donald Pleasence and Charles Gray to up-and-coming young actors Tom Courtenay and Joanna Pettet. He chose Anatole Litvak to direct. Litvak had been making films for decades and had a few notable hits such as "Sorry, Wrong Number", "Anastasia" and "The Snake Pit". Spiegel being Spiegel ensured that the production benefited from a large budget and an appropriate running time (148 minutes) that would allow the story to unfold in a measured process.

"The Night of the Generals" is certainly a unique spin on WWII films. There are no battles or major action sequences, save for a harrowing sequence in which the German army systematically destroys part of the Warsaw Ghetto. Instead, it's very much a character study populated by characters who are, indeed, very interesting. The film opens with a tense sequence set in occupied Warsaw. The superintendent of an over-crowded apartment building accidentally overhears the brutal murder of a local prostitute in a room upstairs. From a hiding place he witnesses the killer walk past him. He does not see the man's face but recognizes his uniform: he is a general in the German army. The man keeps this information to himself on the logical assumption that divulging it might mean his death sentence. However, under questioning from the army investigator, Major Grau (Omar Sharif), he tells the shocking details of what he witnessed. From this moment, Grau becomes obsessed with finding the killer. Grau may be a German officer, but he is a pure cynic when it comes to the Nazi cause and the brutal methods being employed to win the war. He can't control the larger picture of how the war is being waged but he can control what is in his jurisdiction: bringing to justice the man who committed this one especially savage murder. Grau soon centers on three suspects. The first is General von Seiditz-Gabler (Charles Gray, channeling his future Blofeld), an effete, well-connected opportunist who is in a loveless marriage to his dominating wife Eleanore (Coral Browne). Then there is General Kahlenberg (Donald Pleasence), a man of slight build and low-key personality who has some eccentric personal habits that may include murder. Last, and most intriguing, is General Tanz (Peter O'Toole), a much-loathed and much-feared darling of Hitler's inner circle whose ruthless methods with dealing with civilian populations disgust his colleagues. Tanz has been sent to control or obliterate the Warsaw Ghetto.

The screenplay (which includes contributions by an uncredited Gore Vidal) is a bit disjointed and cuts back and forth to the present day in which we see a French police inspector, Morand (Phillippe Noiret), investigating the case twenty years later as he tries to tie together Grau's findings with dramatic developments that occurred during his handling of the case. Morand also appears in the war era sequences, having befriended Grau, who does not seem at all disturbed when he learns that Morand is actually a key figure in the French Resistance. Grau becomes particularly intrigued by General Ganz. He is an elitist snob who is devoid of any humor or compassion. A workaholic with seemingly no human weaknesses, Tanz is ostensibly under the command of his superior officer, Gabler, but it becomes clear that his political connections make him the top general in Warsaw. Major Grau interviews all three suspects and finds that any of them could be the murderer. When he becomes too intrusive, he is conveniently promoted and transferred to Paris, presumably to shut down his investigation. However, as the fortunes of war decline for the Third Reich, the top brass is eventually  moved to Paris and Grau resumes his investigation when he discovers that prostitutes are being brutally murdered there as well. There is a parallel story that accompanies that of the murder investigation. It centers on Corporal Hartmann (Tom Courtenay), a young soldier who has been reluctantly acclaimed to be a national hero. It seems he was the last surviving member of his unit after a bloody battle. The brass used him as a propaganda tool, bestowing medals on him for heroic actions. In fact, he is a self-proclaimed coward whose only goal is to stay alive through the war. Hartmann confesses this to his superior, General Kahlenberg, who is amused by his honesty. He assigns him to be General Tanz's personal valet and orders him to show Tanz the history and sights of Paris. Neither he nor Tanz wants to partake in the venture, but Gabler orders Tanz to take a few days vacation, largely because he despises the man's presence. The scenes in which Hartmann tries to appease the mercurial Tanz without making any missteps are fraught with tension and suspense. Tanz is a fascinating character, presumably devoid of the vices most men have. However, in the course of their time together, Hartmann realizes that Tanz is somewhat of a fraud. He surreptitiously drinks to excess and changes into civilian clothes in order to meet with prostitutes in seedy bars. Although Tanz chews out Hartmann for every minor infraction, he seems to come to respect the younger man's professionalism. This sets in motion another complex plot development that also involves Hartmann's secret romance with General Gabler's free-spirited daughter Ulrike (Joanna Pettet). 

Just trying to summarize the various plot strands of "The Night of the Generals" in this space is fairly exhausting. Oh, did I mention that another subplot involves Field Marshal Rommel (a cameo by Christopher Plummer) and the July, 1944 plot on the part of rebellious German officers to assassinate Adolf Hitler? Nevertheless, although the various story lines become quite complex, they are all tied together eventually in clever and compelling ways. The film is part "Whodunnit", part political statement and part war movie. The movie moves back to the present for its intense conclusion as Inspector Morand is finally able to solve the crime and attempt to bring the culprit to justice. When the killer is revealed it's about as shocking of a development as the revelation that the butler did it in one of those old British film noir mysteries. Still, director Litvak (who shares the producer credit with Sam Spiegel because he owned the screen rights to the novel) keeps the action flowing briskly running time and elicits outstanding performances from his cast. O'Toole, who would later capitalize on playing larger-than-life characters, was at this point in his career still very immersed in portraying introspective, quiet men. He is quite mesmerizing as General Tanz and quite terrifying as well. Sharif is, at least on the surface, badly cast. I'm not aware of any Egyptians who became prominent German officers. Sharif has the map of the Middle East on his face and lingering remnants of his native accent. It's to his credit that he overcomes these obstacles and gives a very fine performance as the charismatic investigator who doggedly pursues his suspects with Javert-like conviction. All of the other performances are equally outstanding, with Courtenay especially impressive- and one has to wonder why the very talented Joanna Pettet never became a bigger star. The international flavor of the cast gives the film a Tower of Babel-like effect. Some of the actors attempt to affect a quasi-German accent while others speak with British accents, and then we have the French and Poland-based sequences with even more diversity of languages. Still, if you could accept Richard Burton and Clint Eastwood speaking "German" in their native tongues in "Where Eagles Dare", you won't find this aspect of "The Night of the Generals" to be particularly distracting. I should also mention the impressive contributions of composer Maurice Jarre, cinematographer Henri Decae and main titles designer Robert Brownjohn (remember when films even had opening titles?) In summary, the film-which not successful with critics or the public- is a  thoroughly intriguing experience and affords us the joy of watching some of the best actors of the period sharing the screen.

"The Night of the Generals" has been released as a limited edition (3,000 units) Blu-ray from Twilight Time. The transfer is gorgeous, giving full impact to the impressive cinematography and lush production design. There is also an isolated score track, the original trailer and an informative booklet by film historian Julie Kirgo, who examines Sam Spiegel's attempts to rebuild his career in subsequent years only to find that he was out of place in the new Hollywood.

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BY HANK REINEKE

One man’s cinematic trash is another man’s cinematic treasure, so I will tread lightly here. Simply put, the low budget horror From Hell It Came (1957) is not a very good movie. The fact that the folks at Warner Archive have made this available on Blu-ray allows film fans a glimmer of hope that their own personal cinematic Titanic might yet see release in this upscale format. This is tough review for me. As a devotee of Silver Age Sci-Fi movies, I wish I could be more charitable of this film’s few merits, but Richard Bernstein’s screenplay offers little more than a cycle of endless chatter. This causes the film’s relatively brief 71-minute running time to seem even more meandering and interminable. That producer Jack Milner and director-brother Dan Milner (The Phantom from 10,000 Leagues (1955) were able to bring this unremarkable film to fruition is laudable, but while this movie has achieved some low-grade cult status - and a memorable monster that has spawned a thousand snickering mockeries – it’s nowhere in the league of such entertaining monstrosities Phil Tucker’s Robot Monster (1953) or Ed Wood’s seminal Plan 9 from Outer Space (1959).

I suppose, if caught in the right combination of shadow and light, the titular tree monster from Hades might be of somewhat cool design… if still not particularly threatening. I think I should mention, in the interest of full disclosure and despite my critical brickbat here, I actually purchased the original DVD release of this when first issued in 2010. So I’m not immune to the film’s (very) limited pleasures. Set on an unnamed island in the South Seas, From Hell It Came manages to unashamedly mix the timeworn clichés of nearly every B-picture worthy of the designation: jungles, quicksand pits, scientists, voodoo doctors, atomic energy and, of course, a lumbering monster. Released in the summer of 1957, From Hell It Came was paired with another Allied Artists voodoo-themed release The Disembodied (a somewhat better film also available as a MOD DVD release through Warner Archive).

Having been born in the first decade of the 20^th century, the aging Milner Bros. were either already over or nearing their chronological half-century mark when they unleashed From Hell It Came on unsuspecting teenage moviegoers. I suppose it’s to their credit that they chose not to pander to their teenage audience – as, for example, that decade’s immensely popular beach-party and biker movies most certainly would. The Milner’s, conversely, seem to have little interest in promulgating lowbrow teen culture. They display an almost refreshing disinterest in appearing hip; this is most evident in their disparagement of the ascendant rock n’ roll phenomena. The natives’ tribal drums are referenced sarcastically as providing “a nice anthropological beat.” The killjoy egghead scientists on the island suggest the crazy, primitive, and percussive tribal rhythms are so “out there”, they’re worthy of topping the contemporary hit parade.

The film’s casting team – assuming there was one, of course – were, at best, making what they could from the shallow pool of available talent. While some of the island’s natives share some physical characteristics of Pacific islanders, most of the indigenous-to-the-island roles are handled by actors who… Well, let’s say they could have been plucked from the sidewalk of the Gambino’s Bergin Hunt and Fish Club of Ozone Park, Queens. Similarly, the best that can be said of the film’s wardrobe and costume department is that they made good use of their 50% off summer clearance coupon at Tommy Bahama.

Though badly mounted, this film is essentially one more formulaic allegory pitting old world superstition against modern science. The tribe’s blood-thirsty medicine man – perhaps sensing his position as exalted healer might soon become redundant - is at the center of the mayhem. He’s clearly unhappy that his healing herbs and folkloric healing incantations have been neatly usurped by the “Devil Dust” of the American scientists, the healing pharmaceuticals of modern medicine. He’s so upset, in fact, that the film opens in a rather savage manner, with poor islander-collaborationist Kimo (Gregg Palmer) being put to a grim death for his collusion with the infidel American doctors. In his last spoken declaration before meeting his maker, the bound and aggrieved Kimo threatens to come back from Hell itself, if only to make the witch doctor and his minions pay dearly for putting him to this terrible end.

Having been grotesquely and mortally staked through the chest, the islanders bury poor Kimo, for no apparent reason, vertically. To no one’s surprise he reemerges later as Tabonga, described – rather aptly - as an all powerful “creature of revenge.” Tabonga is a lumbering monster tree stump that frightens the primitive and enlightened alike… sort of a physical repository of the island’s accumulative evil spirits and bad karma.

BY DOUG OSWALD

David Hemmings is “Alfred the Great” in the epic story of the legendary Saxon King. The film opens as Alfred is about to take his vows as a priest when the Danes invade to pillage and rape their way across England. Michael York is Guthrum, the Viking leader of the invaders. After fierce battles, the Saxons and Danes form a truce and Alfred agrees to Guthrum’s additional terms; swapping hostages. Guthrum picks Alfred’s wife, Aelhswith (Prunella Ransome), as hostage and takes her with him across the English Channel to Denmark.

The Viking scenes are played for every last ounce of lusty Pagan Medieval violence and gusto. A relaxing night out with Vikings is no stop at your local coffee shop. Axe tossing games, knife fights and rape ensue in the great hall while Guthrum cheers on the Viking good times. Aelhswith retreats to her room to be with her baby and handmaid, but she’s followed by Guthrum who rapes, though ultimately she willing accepts him as her lover.

Meanwhile back in England, Alfred continues his struggle to unify the warring Saxons under his leadership. Alfred is literally wallowing in the mud, surviving along with his closest associates as they find allies in thieves and other common folks who are eager to join him against the local barons. They develop tactics and after savage battles with the feuding kingdoms and form an alliance under Alfred’s leadership just as an invading fleet of Danes is seen approaching through the mist-covered river. Another great battle between Saxons and Danes ensues and Alfred is reunited with his wife and child. The movie is a serviceable epic, but it’s lacking in several areas. For one thing, the casting is off. Michael York has far more charisma in every scene than David Hemmings. The movie would have benefited if York had played Alfred and Hemmings Guthrum. There’s very little in the way of chemistry between Hemmings and Ransome and it was entirely predictable that Aelhswith would become enthused about being Guthrum’s lover.

The movie marked the second big screen appearance, of Sir Ian McKellen who would gain fame in many roles including the fantasy Tolkien Middle Earth series as Gandolph. The movie also features appearances by other familiar and up-and-coming actors like Colin Blakely as Asher, Peter Vaughan as Burrud, Julian Glover as AEthelstan (try and say that name fast three times) and Vivien Merchant as Freda. For some reason Merchant does not speak a single word in spite of her prominent role in the movie. According to critic Pauline Kael, who was no fan of this film, Merchant may have refused to say her lines because the dialog was unspeakable.

I wanted to like the movie, but it isn’t one of those films you yearn to watch more than once or twice in a lifetime. It has its moments, but lacks the grandeur you might expect in a film about Alfred the Great. Why was Alfred so great? You’ll have to find out on your own because you won’t know after watching this biopic.

“Alfred the Great” was released by Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer in summer of 1969 and shown in some territories in an extravagant roadshow presentation with the 35mm format blown up to 70mm. The Warner Archive DVD transfer is good and clocks in at 122 minutes with the trailer as the only extra. Recommended primarily for fans of British historical epics.

Cinema Retro has received the following announcement from McFarland publishers. 

Horror and exploitation films have played a pioneering role in both American and world cinema, with a number of controversial and surreal movies produced by renegade filmmakers. This collection of interviews sheds light on the work of 23 directors from across the globe who defied the conventions of Hollywood and commercial cinema. They include Alfred Sole (Alice, Sweet, Alice), Romano Scavolini (Nightmares in a Damaged Brain), Stu Segall (Drive-in Massacre), Joseph Ellison (Don't Go in the House), David Paulsen (Savage Weekend, Schizoid), Jörg Buttgereit (Nekromantik, Schramm), Jack Sholder (Alone in the Dark, The Hidden), Marinao Baino (Dark Waters), Yoshihiko Matsui (Noisy Requiem) and Jamil Dehlavi (Born of Fire). More than 90 photographs are included, with many rare behind-the-scenes images.

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BY FRED BLOSSER

The stylish Western “Da Uomo a Uomo” (“Man to Man”), written by Luciano Vincenzoni and directed by Giulio Petroni, opened in Italy in 1967.  Two years later, it reached American theaters as “Death Rides a Horse.” In the film, bandits attack a relay station at the Mesita Ranch where an express wagon carrying $200,000 has stopped for the night to wait out a pounding rainstorm. After killing the guards, the four leaders of the gang glimpse two women -- the ranch owner’s wife and daughter -- inside the house. They invade the home, gun down the rancher, rape and shoot the two women, and set fire to the place before riding off with their loot. The only survivor of the massacre is the family’s eight-year-old son, pulled from the burning wreckage of the house by an unknown benefactor.

Fifteen years later, now grown, the orphaned Bill (John Philip Law) lives alone at the rebuilt cabin and practices obsessively with six-guns and rifles, hoping for a chance to find the murderers and settle the score. Meanwhile, released from prison after completing a fifteen-year sentence, an ex-convict named Ryan (Lee Van Cleef) rides into the territory. He encounters Bill, briefly, when he stops by the ranch to pause over the graves of the three people buried there. “I heard about it some time ago -- I’m sorry,” he tells the young man mysteriously. Afterward, in town, two gunmen try to ambush Ryan in his hotel room, but the ex-convict outwits and outshoots them. The sheriff, investigating, recognizes the spurs worn by one of the dead men: they match one that hangs in Bill’s cabin, lost by one of the outlaws outside the burning ranch years before. “Fifteen years, there’s been no new track, only a spur,” Bill tells Ryan. “Then you come along, and there’s three spurs.” It transpires that Ryan is chasing his former partners in crime, who double-crossed him and left him to serve time at hard labor. When he leaves town, Bill follows, suspecting that his prey and Ryan’s are the same.

“Death Rides a Horse” follows the template of Sergio Leone’s “For a Few Dollars More” or “Per Qualche Dollaro in Più” (1965), which was also written by Luciano Vincenzoni, in its structure of an older gunman and a younger one who form a mutually respectful but shaky partnership to chase a common quarry. The teamwork has its advantages, but each character has his own motivation for the chase, and ultimately each one strives to reach his objective first, before the other. Vincenzoni’s script even recycles several other characters and situations from his earlier storyline for the Leone movie, including Bill’s fragmented, red-tinged flashbacks to the massacre. But the key differences between the two pictures are as striking as the similarities, and “Death Rides a Horse” stands nicely on its own merits. Like Clint Eastwood’s bounty hunter Manco in the Leone film, John Philip Law’s Bill is blond-haired and fast on the draw, but he’s also younger and less experienced -- an amateur at manhunting, not a professional. This places him in stronger contrast to Van Cleef’s steely and vaguely tragic rival and mentor, underscored by Ennio Morricone’s signature themes for the characters: a mournful dirge that represents the lingering trauma of the Mesita murders, a measured guitar and drum tune symbolizing Ryan’s determination to find his former partners, and a dissonant “vengeance” theme with a tortured flute solo. Where the enemy in Leone’s film was an outsider on the American frontier, a depraved, dark-skinned bandit of mixed Mexican and Indian parentage, the masterminds sought by Ryan and Bill have burrowed into polite society and have become outwardly respectable business and political leaders. Cavanaugh (the wonderfully sleazy Anthony Dawson) runs a popular saloon and gambling house. Walcott (Luigi Pistilli) is a trusted town father. Ryan’s reappearance inspires Walcott to use this advantage to pull off an even bigger score than the Mesita Ranch heist. The conceit of criminals masquerading as civic leaders would reappear in many later Italian Westerns. In real life, as we all know, crooks and opportunists rarely wind up as figures of power in commerce or government.

The Kino Lorber Blu-ray edition of “Death Rides a Horse” presents Petroni’s film in a sharp 1.85:1, 1920x1080p edition. The image isn’t perfect (some graininess is apparent, especially in the dark nighttime scenes); nevertheless, it relegates decades of substandard TV and budget-video prints to the trash heap. The bonus features include English and Italian language options, subtitles, perceptive running commentary by filmmaker and critic Alex Cox, and trailers for other Italian Westerns from Kino Lorber, including a forthcoming, remastered BRD of “For a Few Dollars More.” While we’re on the subject, here’s hoping that someone will produce comparably good widescreen, hi-def U.S. editions of Petroni’s somber Zapata Western “Tepepa” (1969) and Vincenzoni’s playful gangster film “Mean Frank and Crazy Tony” (1973), with Lee Van Cleef as a seasoned mafioso and Tony LoBianco as his admiring, younger disciple.

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FRED BLOSSER IS THE AUTHOR OF "SAVAGE SCROLLS: VOLUME ONE: SCHOLARSHIP FROM THE HYBORIAN AGE". CLICK HERE TO ORDER ON AMAZON

BY FRED BLOSSER

José R. Larraz’s 1982 film “Black Candles” -- original title, “Los Ritos Sexuales del Diablo” -- has been released on Blu-ray by the specialty label Code Red. Carol (Vanesa Hidalgo) and her boyfriend Robert (Jeffrey Healey) fly to the U.K., where they accept an invitation by her widowed sister-in-law Fiona (“Martha Belton,” aka Helga Liné) to stay at Fiona’s country estate. As the viewer already knows from a pre-credit sex scene, Fiona and virtually everyone else on and around the estate are members of a devil-worshipping orgy cult. But Carol and Robert are clueless, even after they see satanic lithographs on the wall and Carol experiences bad dreams. Fiona seduces Robert into the coven, while the coven’s master, the sinisterly goateed Reverend Hübner, decides to initiate Carol at the cult’s next satanic ceremony . . . And that’s probably all anyone needs or wants to know about the plot, which unabashedly copies “Rosemary’s Baby” and adds all the nudity and simulated intercourse that Euro-movie fans would expect from the relaxed censorship of early 1980s, low-budget sexploitation cinema. Like Larraz’s marginally more famous “Vampyres” (1974), it’s probably better judged against the criteria of Joe Bob Briggs, “The Bare Facts Video Guide,” and “Mr. Skin” than by mainstream critical standards. That is: How many skin and sex scenes are in the film? Where do they occur? How long, umm, do they last? And how much skin do they show? By those benchmarks, Larraz delivers the goods. And for the record, his film at least is more honest in meeting the viewer’s baser expectations than any of the terrible sequels and remakes of “Rosemary’s Baby,” not least the now mercifully forgotten 2014 TV miniseries. The only actors in the cast likely to be recognized by anyone are Helga Liné, the foxy leading lady of countless 1960s and ‘70s Eurospy films, spaghetti westerns, giallo thrillers, and gladiator movies -- yes, she’s frequently nude in “Black Candles,” and in sleek form at almost 50 -- and Carmen Carrión, a familiar supporting actress in Jess Franco’s Eurotrash soft-core sex movies.

BCI Eclipse released “Black Candles” on DVD in the U.S. in 2007 as part of a “Welcome to the Grindhouse” double feature. Before that, there was a DVD-R pressing from Midnight Video under Larraz’s original Spanish title. The Code Red hi-def Blu-ray in anamorphic, 1.78:1 widescreen is far superior to either in sharpness and clarity, and likely the best home video edition we’ll ever see. The BCI Eclipse DVD lists an 85 minute running time, and Code Red lists 82 minutes for its Blu-ray. Based on a comparison viewing, however, the two editions seem to be substantially the same. The opening credits of the Code Red print give the title as “Hot Fantasies,” once used for late-night cable showings. The only extras are other Code Red trailers. The Code Red Blu-ray, which retails for $24.95, is available from Screen Archives Entertainment HERE.

FRED BLOSSER IS THE AUTHOR OF "SAVAGE SCROLLS: VOLUME ONE: SCHOLARSHIP FROM THE HYBORIAN AGE". CLICK HERE TO ORDER ON AMAZON

BY FRED BLOSSER

In Tim Hunter’s “River’s Edge” (1987), high-school student John (Daniel Roebuck) tells his pals Matt, Layne, Clarissa, and Maggie that he’s killed another friend, Jamie. The other kids don’t believe him -- he makes the statement with complete lack of emotion -- until he takes them down by the river and shows them the body. The revelation stymies the teens. As Hunter observes in his commentary track on the new Kino Lorber Blu-ray edition of the film, “These are kids who just don’t have the tools to make the tough choices life has thrown their way. . . . No one has taught them morals or values.” Their parents are either dead like John’s, absent like Matt’s father, or helpless like Matt’s divorced, stressed out mother.

Layne (Crispin Glover) argues that there’s nothing they can do for Jamie now, and they have to be loyal to John. He tries to cover up the crime by rolling Jamie’s corpse into the river, and advises John to lay low at the run-down house of their pot dealer, Feck, a crippled ex-biker (Dennis Hopper), until he can sneak out of town. Maggie (Roxana Zal) and Clarissa (Ione Skye, billed as Iona Skye Leitch) make a half-hearted attempt to report the murder before changing their minds. Only Matt (Keanu Reeves) shows any sustained remorse over Jamie’s death. He goes to the police, setting up a tense series of events as the cops look for John, Feck and John wander back to the river, and Layne tries to figure out who snitched. Like the events of two other seminal teen movies, “American Graffiti” (1973) and “Dazed and Confused” (1993), the action stretches into nighttime and into the following morning. In the meantime, Matt’s little brother Tim (Joshua Miller), angry at Matt for hitting him after Tim callously upsets their younger sister Kim, steals a gun from Feck’s house and determines to use it on his brother.

Dramatically and visually bleak, “River’s Edge” benefits from a strong script by Neal Jimenez and uniformly fine performances, with Reeves, Glover, and Hopper notably compelling. Reeves’ pensive, low-key presence effectively balances Glover’s jumpy, gawky physicality. “There’s a great method to Crispin’s madness,” Hunter observes in his commentary track. Glover is particularly striking in a display of grief near the end of the movie, aligning vocal reaction and body posture perfectly. To say more would reveal a spoiler, but you’ll know the scene when you see it. Skye and Zal have one of the best moments in the film, providing some subtle macabre humor as Clarissa and Maggie debate reporting the murder and go to a pay phone:

“Who do I call anyway?”

“The police, I guess.”

“Well, am I supposed to know the number?”

“Call the operator.”

Clarissa holds the receiver indecisively. “You do it.”

“I don’t know what to say. Here, I’ll dial, you talk.”

In his commentary track, Hunter compliments Danyi Deats, who plays the murdered Jamie. Aside from a silent flashback to the moment of Jamie’s murder, Deats’ scenes call for her to lie still on the open ground as the dead girl’s corpse, vulnerably and frontally nude. “She had a tough time,” Hunter says sympathetically, commenting that Deats took the pivotal but static role to get her SAG card. Jamie’s motionless, waxen corpse mirrors two other objects in the film: Feck’s inflatable sex doll, which he calls “Ally,” and little Kim’s doll which Tim vindictively throws off a bridge into the river in the film’s opening shot. Tim’s action begins the string of events that lead him to stalk Matt with a gun. It’s telling that Kim shows more feeling for her lost doll and Feck for his sex toy than Jamie’s friends display for her.

The 1980s details of “River’s Edge” look a little quaint today, when the 24/7 media give parents new reasons to worry about their kids with headlines and top-of-the-hour stories about teens sexting and swapping explicit selfies by smartphone. Nevertheless, the movie’s story and characters remain unsettling. The Kino Lorber Blu-ray’s hi-def, 1920x1080p image is serviceable. Besides the director’s commentary track, the disc includes a theatrical trailer.

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FRED BLOSSER IS THE AUTHOR OF "SAVAGE SCROLLS: VOLUME ONE: SCHOLARSHIP FROM THE HYBORIAN AGE". CLICK HERE TO ORDER ON AMAZON

BY FRED BLOSSER

Frederick Knott's suspense play "Wait Until Dark" premiered on Broadway on Feb. 2, 1966.  Lee Remick played Susy Hendrix, a young blind woman who becomes the target of a manipulative scheme orchestrated by a sinisterly glib psychopath, Harry Roat Jr. from Scarsdale. Robert Duvall, in his Broadway debut, had the pivotal supporting role of Roat. A movie version opened on Oct. 26, 1967, starring Audrey Hepburn (in an Oscar-nominated performance) as Susy and Alan Arkin as Roat, produced by Mel Ferrer (Hepburn's husband at the time), directed by Terence Young, and scored by Henry Mancini. A predecessor of today's popular, trickily plotted suspense movies like "Gone Gir" (2014) and "The Girl on the Train" (2016), the film was a commercial and critical success, ranking number sixteen in box-office returns for the year. Movies adapted from plays often feel stage-bound, but "Wait Until Dark" avoids those constraints, thanks in no small part to Young's fine pacing, sharp eye for detail, and sure grasp of character.

Bosley Crowther's October 27, 1967, film review in the New York Times noted that the Radio City Music Hall screening of "Wait Until Dark" included a stage show with a ballet troupe, performing dogs, and the Rockettes. Fifty years later, going out to a movie, you're lucky to get a good seat and decently lit projection for the price of admission. Any live entertainment comes courtesy of the patrons behind you who can't put away their smartphones for two hours.

Knott's play was confined to one interior set, Susy's cramped Greenwich Village apartment, which makes it a perennial favorite for little-theater and high-school drama productions on limited budgets. The movie adds a new opening scene in which Sus's husband Sam (Efrem Zimbalist Jr.), a freelance photographer, meets an attractive young woman, Lisa, as they board a flight from Montreal. When they land at JFK, Lisa hands Sam a child's doll and asks him to hold on to it for her temporarily. She says it's a present for the child of a friend, she just learned that the friend and the little girl will be meeting her at the airport, and she doesn't want to spoil the surprise; she'll call and come by for it later. Unknown to the obliging Sam, it's a phony story: Lisa is a drug mule, and narcotics are hidden inside the doll.

Lisa had planned to double-cross her accomplice Roat and split the money from the drug shipment with Mike (Richard Crenna) and Carlino (Jack Weston), her partners in past criminal schemes. Roat murders Lisa and enlists Mike and Carlino to help him find the doll in Susy and Sam's apartment. He lures Sam away with a call promising a big photo assignment. In his absence, Mike poses as an old Army friend of Sam's, and Carlino impersonates a detective investigating Lisa's murder. In a bad guy/good guy ploy, the phony Detective Sgt. Carlino insinuates that he suspects Sam of Lisa's murder. Mike intervenes, offering his support to Susy to gain her trust. To further disorient Susy, Roat poses as two men who appear to lend credence to the con.Harry Roat Sr., an an aggressive old man, barges into the apartment, noisily claiming to be in search of evidence that Lisa, his daughter-in-law, carried on a clandestine affair with Sam. Later, mild-mannered Harry Roat Jr. knocks on the door and apologizes for his father's outburst. It's a nice gimmick for Alan Arkin, who gets to impersonate three characters with different costumes and personalities. For audiences who watched the Broadway production, it might also have provided an effective "Aha" moment when they realized that there was only one Roat, not three. But it's no surprise for the movie audience, since close-up camera angles make it clear immediately that the other two are also Arkin in heavy make-up.

The new Blu-ray release of "Wait Until Dark" from the Warner Archive Collection presents the movie in a 1080p print for high-def TV. It's a definite improvement in richness from previous TV and home-video prints. The tailor-made audience is likely to be those older viewers who saw the film on the big screen in 1967, who may wonder if the movie's "gotcha"climax still holds up. Suffice to say without spoiling the scene for new viewers by going into details, it does. The film's stage origins are obvious in the dialogue-driven plot set-up and in the constrained setting of one cramped apartment. The measured exposition may be a hurdle for younger viewers used to a faster pace and visual shorthand, but the concentration of character interplay in a closed space isn't necessarily a problem, even for Millennials who have been conditioned to expect ADHD editing and splashy FX in movies. It imposes a sense of claustrophobia that subtly forces the audience to share Susy's mounting fear of being hemmed in and trapped.

In "Take a Look in the Dark", an eight-minute special feature ported over to the Blu-ray from a 2003 Warner Home Video DVD release, Alan Arkin notes that the psychotic Roat, with his granny-frame sunglasses and urban-hipster patter, was a break from the usual sneering, buttoned-down movie and TV villains of the time. "By and large, the public had not been exposed to that kind of person", he recalls. "But they began to have people like that live next to them, or see them in the newspapers or on TV." Ironically, if Roat was unsettling to 1967 audiences, he and his flick knife may seem insufficiently scary for younger viewers today, in the endless wake of movies and TV shows about flamboyantly demented murderers since "The Silence of the Lambs" (1990) -- not to mention the perpetrators of real-life mass murders that, numbingly, we seem to see every night on CNN, network, and local news.

BY FRED BLOSSER

Corky Curtiss (Robert Blake) aspires to be a champion stock-car racer. Fired from his job as a mechanic and dirt-track competitor in small-town Bates, Texas, he abandons his wife Peggy Jo (Charlotte Rampling) and their two small children, collects his pal Buddy (Chris Connelly) and heads east in his 1966 Barracuda. His destination: NASCAR’s Atlanta Motor Speedway, where he hopes to hook up with the legendary Richard Petty. Corky met the great Petty once, fleetingly, and he anticipates that the racing champ will remember him and offer him a chance at the big time.

Messy but interesting and relentlessly downbeat, “Corky” (1972) veers off into unexpected turns as Blake’s troubled character pursues his chicken-fried odyssey from Texas to Georgia. Ben Johnson and Laurence Luckinbill appear prominently in the credits, but they have hardly more than bit parts as rural racing impresarios whom Corky briefly meets as he passes through Louisiana. A scene with Pamela Payton-Wright as a fading and not-too-bright beauty queen, and one with Paul Stevens as a sympathetic track manager in Atlanta, don’t go quite as you might expect them to. Four NASCAR stars (Cale Yarborough, Bobby and Donnie Allison, and Buddy Baker) appear in a brief scene. Waiting hopefully to meet Petty in the NASCAR offices at the Atlanta speedway, Corky spies the four drivers through a soundproof glass wall in an adjacent room. As Corky waves, Yarborough glances at him, then turns away, and the other three appear not to notice him at all. The racers’ body language suggests that they’re preoccupied with planning for an upcoming meet, and not intentionally dismissive, but one wonders whether, today, NASCAR would insist on a fan-friendlier scene. Back home, Peggy Jo goes to Corky’s old boss Randy (Patrick O’Neal) to see if her husband is due any back pay that she desperately needs. Convention suggests that the older man will put the moves on the pretty, vulnerable girl. Instead, he’s a decent guy sympathetic to Peggy Jo’s plight. He gives her a check for her husband’s back wages and additional “severance pay” without strings. The biggest surprise among surprises is Rampling, who is believable and appealing in her atypical role. She even manages a decent Texas accent.

Reportedly, “Corky” was one of the MGM productions in the early ‘70s that suffered at the hands of imperious studio chief James Aubrey. One suspects that some of the film’s shortcomings, such as uneven pace and ragged continuity, and maybe the quick disappearances of Johnson and Luckinbill, were results of Aubrey’s post-production intrusion. Other lapses, like the miscasting of O’Neal and Connelly, good actors in wrong roles, probably not. Robert Blake’s performance is all over the place: abrasively pugnacious one moment, infantile and maudlin the next. Like the downward spiral of the story, which finally drops Corky as low as he can go, without redemption, Blake’s rawness is a reminder of the bygone cinema of the early ‘70s, where happy endings were hardly ever the norm and volatile actors were expected and even encouraged to get in the viewer’s face. Sometimes, watching today’s sanitized and exhaustingly upbeat products from Hollywood, I miss the old days.

“Corky” is a manufactured-on-demand DVD-R from Warner Archive Collection. The letterboxed, 2.35:1 image is satisfactory. The film’s theatrical trailer is the only extra. I wasn’t familiar with “Corky” before putting the disc in the player, but apparently the movie has a small but appreciative fan base of viewers who remember it from long-ago drive-in and TV showings. They should be particularly pleased that Warner Home Video has released the title.

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FRED BLOSSER IS THE AUTHOR OF "SAVAGE SCROLLS: VOLUME ONE: SCHOLARSHIP FROM THE HYBORIAN AGE". CLICK HERE TO ORDER ON AMAZON

BY TIM GREAVES

The year is 1962. Aggrieved when Algeria is granted independence by President Charles de Gaulle, the militant underground alliance known as the Organisation Armée Secrète botches an attempt to assassinate him. Within months many of the conspirators, including their top man, have been captured and executed. The remaining OAS leaders, bereft of funds, take refuge in Austria and warily decide to contract an outside professional to do the job for them. They settle on a British assassin (Edward Fox), who chooses to be identified as Jackal. The OAS orchestrate several bank robberies to cover his exorbitant fee of half a million dollars whilst the mechanics of the plotting are left entirely to Jackal's discretion. After capturing and interrogating another alliance member, the French authorities learn of Jackal's existence and, suspecting another attempt on de Gaulle's life may be imminent, they set their best man – Deputy Commissioner Claude Lebel (Michel Lonsdale) – on his tail. But Jackal is cunning and, as his carefully formulated scheme to assassinate de Gaulle approaches fruition, he moves around Europe seamlessly changing his guise and identity in a bid to stay one step ahead of Lebel.

Adapted from Frederick Forsyth's 1971 bestseller of the same name, director Fred Zinnemann's suspenseful 1973 film The Day of the Jackal is, in my opinion, one of the finest political thrillers to be carried over from page to screen. At its core it's an increasingly taut game of cat and mouse which subtly persuades its audience to champion both sides; as much as we want to see Jackal thwarted by Lebel, we can't help but admire the cucumber cool killer as his meticulous and seemingly fool-proof plan comes together. This ineluctable sharing of loyalties is in no small part down to the performances of the two lead actors. Edward Fox in his first major big screen role – arguably his best – phlegmatically dominates the proceedings. Jackal's mien is that of an urbane, unflappable English gentleman with a winning smile, but it can all disappear in the blink of an eye as witnessed in a moment early on when he deals with someone stupid enough to try to cross him; two swift, savage barehanded blows later the man is dead. Fox's performance is matched ounce for ounce by Michel Lonsdale as the savvy, resourceful policeman tasked with tracking him down. Aside from some unfortunate and slightly distracting continuity oversights relating to the artificial grey in his hair (which frequently changes in volume), Lonsdale's Lebel is a compelling screen presence and I for one would have liked to have seen him carry the role on through a series of cinematic exploits.

Cast-wise the film also benefits immeasurably from a peppering of British stalwarts – among them Derek Jacobi, Timothy West, Donald Sinden, Barrie Ingham, Eric Porter, Tony Britten, Ronald Pickup, Anton Rodgers, Maurice Denham and Edward Hardwicke – and familiar faces from Euro cinema (Vernon Dobtcheff, Howard Vernon). In a largely male populated narrative the sparse but nonetheless essential female contingent appears in the shape of Olga Georges-Picot (The Man Who Haunted Himself) and Delphine Seyrig (Daughters of Darkness).

Kicking off with some expository narration and then thrusting the audience headlong into the bungled attempt on President de Gaulle's life, director Zinnemann sustains high tension from the outset. Once the collaborative government forces ascertain that Jackal intends to target de Gaulle in Paris, a palpable sense of apprehension builds as we dot back and forth between frustrated government officials – furrowed brows becoming increasingly sweat-sheened as they puff nervously on their cigarettes – and Jackal going about his preparations completely unflustered. The climax is located on the Champs-Élysées in the midst of the Liberation Day parade and, as Lebel pushes through the hundreds of milling spectators futilely trying to spot his man – whilst, in a nearby building, Jackal is positioning himself to dispense the death shot – doubt begins to creep in that this will end happily. Incidentally, these scenes were filmed during a real parade and more than a few members of the public can be noted looking directly into camera as Lonsdale moves among them. 

BY FRED BLOSSER

The late Sergio Corbucci (1926-1990) had a long, prolific career in the Italian film industry as a screenwriter and director, but little exposure in U.S. theaters by comparison with his total output. IMDB credits him with sixty-three titles as director. By my count, eleven arrived on Stateside screens, none of them earning Corbucci any real notice at the time. All were genre films -- first sword-and-sandal movies, then Westerns -- before it was cool for critics to treat such products seriously, especially dubbed imports. Three toga-and beefcake pictures -- “Goliath and the Vampires” (1961), “Duel of the Titans” (1961), and “The Slave” (1962) -- were released on drive-in and double-feature bills in the Hercules era. “Minnesota Clay” (1964) had a 1966 run disguised as an American B-Western. “Navajo Joe” (1966) passed through theaters in 1967, earning a typically dismissive review from Bosley Crowther in the New York Times (“results aren’t worth a Mexican peso”). You had to use a magnifying glass to see Corbucci’s name on the movie poster. In his 1994 autobiography, Burt Reynolds said he only took the offer to star in the picture because he thought the director would be the other Sergio . . . Leone. “The Hellbenders” (1967) came and went, also camouflaged as an American production and promoting Joseph Cotten’s starring role. Cotten was a fine actor but hardly big box-office in ’67.

“The Mercenary” (1968) enjoyed a higher profile in a 1970 release, but “Alberto Grimaldi Presents . . .” dominated the credits, including the cover blurb on a paperback novelization that touted the movie as “the bloodiest ‘Italian’ Western of them all . . . by the producer of ‘The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly.’ ” “Companeros” (1970) didn’t open in the U.S. until 1972, and then only with limited distribution. “Sonny and Jed” (1972) followed in 1974. Neither made much of an impression as the Spaghetti cycle waned here. “Shoot First, Ask Questions Later” (1975), a sad attempt at comedy in the Spaghetti twilight, loped through rural drive-ins. “Super Fuzz” (1980; U.S. distribution, 1982) was a Terence Hill police comedy that the Times’ Herbert Mitgang said had “one funny gag a few minutes before the end.” At least Mitgang noted Corbucci and Hill by name as “longtime makers of spaghetti westerns.”

If you were nostalgic for Italian Westerns in the late ‘70s and ‘80s, after the cycle had come and gone in the States, you could read about Corbucci in Laurence Staig and Tony Williams’ “Italian Western: The Opera of Violence” (1975) and Christopher Frayling’s “Spaghetti Westerns: Cowboys and Europeans from Karl May to Sergio Leone” (1981). There you would learn that one of Corbucci’s Westerns that never made it to the States, “Django” (1966), was as wildly popular and influential overseas as Sergio Leone’s movies. But good luck in ever seeing it or Corbucci’s other Westerns, unless you might catch “The Hellbenders” in a pan-and-scan, commercial-infested print on local TV.

Thanks to the advent of home video, cable, and streaming internet -- and in particular, DVD and Blu-ray in which his films can be seen in the proper aspect ratio and definition -- both the committed and the curious now have access to virtually all of Corbucci’s thirteen Westerns, even the obscure “Grand Canyon Massacre” (1964), his first powder-burner, co-directed with Albert Band. Is Quentin Tarantino justified in praising Corbucci as “one of the great Western directors of all time”? Today, you don’t have to take Tarantino’s word for it, or not; you can judge for yourself.

By most accounts, a Corbucci Top Five would include “Django,” The Great Silence,” “The Mercenary,” “Companeros,” and “The Specialist” (1969). The first four are all in relatively easy reach in various formats and platforms. “Django,” “The Great Silence,” and “Companeros” have had domestic DVD releases. “The Mercenary” hasn’t, but it shows up periodically on cable channels, albeit in an edited version, and you can find good DVD and Blu-ray editions with an English voice track through Amazon and import dealers on the web.

“The Specialist” remains more elusive. Written and directed by Corbucci during his peak period, originally titled “Gli specialisti” and also known as “Specialists” and “Drop Them or I’ll Shoot,” this Western never played in U.S. theaters, has never had an American video release, and is hard to find even on the collectors‘ market in a print with an English-language option. Not to be confused with other, unrelated films of the same name, including a mediocre 1994 Sylvester Stallone crime drama and an obscure 1975 B-movie with Adam West, it is past due for official U.S. release on DVD. Or, better yet, on hi-def Blu-ray to give Corbucci’s compositions and Dario Di Palma’s rich Techniscope and Technicolor cinematography their due sharpness and color on home screens.

BY RICH DREES

Spending a good portion of my high school years devouring the paperback reprints of the Doc Savage pulp novels of the 1930s and '40s, the George Pal-produced “Doc Savage: The Man Of Bronze,” is a bit of a bitter pill to swallow. The film gets just enough right to show tantalizing promise only to snatch that away with what it gets wrong.

Summoned back to his Manhattan skyscraper headquarters from his arctic retreat where he was using the isolation to perform some experiments, scientist and adventurer Clark “Doc” Savage Jr. meets with his five closest friends and adventuring companions to be told that his father has died while in the small South American country of Hildago. However, the reunion between Doc and his aides – known as the Fabulous Five – is interrupted by an assassination attempt carried out by a native from a South American tribe Doc can't identify. Surmising that his father's death was not from natural causes, the group head to Hidalgo to investigate. There they encounter the villainous Captain Seas (Paul Wexler), who with government functionary Don Rubio Gorro (Bob Corso), is trying to steal land that was granted to Doc's father by the leaders of the long lost Mayan tribe, the Quetzamal. Doc, his aides and Mona, Don Rubio Gorro's truehearted assistant, head inland to the Quetzamal's hidden village to stop Seas and Gorro's attempt to steal the gold of the Quetzamal for themselves.

In broad strokes, the script captures the globetrotting nature of many of the early Doc pulp stories published by Street & Smith between 1933 and 1949. The film's overall plot is taken directly from the first first Doc Savage yarn published in March 1933, also titled “The Man Of Bronze.” But readers of the old pulps will perhaps recognize that writer Joe Morhaim and Pal have grafted onto the screenplay some elements from a couple of other Savage stories, most notably “The Green Death” (November 1938), “The Mystic Mullah” (January 1935) and “Mystery Under The Sea” (February 1936).

The film does sport a wonderful cast. Ron Ely is as probably as close to the pulps' description of Doc Savage as Hollywood is likely to get, the visual of him standing on the running-board of a touring car as it races through the streets of Manhattan (or more accurately, Warner Brothers' New York City backlot) is an image brought to life directly out of the pulps. And Ely plays the role with a sincerity that at times feels as if it goes against the grain of the campy tone director Michael Anderson is attempting. The casting for Doc's five aides are all equally physically spot on. Those who did their teen years in the 1980s will probably get a kick out of seeing Paul Gleason as one of Doc's aides a full decade before he was tormenting teens at Saturday detention in “The Breakfast Club.” Pam Hemsley as Mona appears much more wholesome here than she would just a few years later as space vamp Princess Ardala on NBC's “Buck Rogers In The 25^th Century.” Horror fans may enjoy a rather atypical appearance from future “The Hills Have Eyes” star Michael Berryman.

Pal certainly lavished some money on the production, at least in spots. There is some great location photography for both Doc's approach to his Fortress of Solitude in the beginning of the film and when Doc and his aides are trekking across South America to the Valley of the Vanished. Less convincing is the set-bound look of the lost Quetzamal tribe's lost valley. (See the latest issue of CinemaRetro for more on the making of the film.)

So why did “Doc Savage: The Man Of Bronze,” flop so hard when released? Perhaps it was the wrong movie at the wrong time. The fall of Saigon and the end of the Vietnam War was just a little over a month in the past when the film hit theaters in June of 1975. The country was in a malaise and a movie wasn't going to snap it out of its funk until “Star Wars” comes along in another two years. It may also have been overshadowed by the release of “Jaws” the same month, which sapped much of the oxygen out of the adventure film market To a cynical and war-weary nation, the film's simplistic pre-Depression era idea of good guys and bad guys perhaps was seen as naive, if not downright laughable. Moments when the film dips into camp – such as the Doc's apparent need to slap his stylized logo on all his equipment or Don Rubio Gorro's weird diaper and giant crib fetish – probably felt like a way too late attempt to cash in on the campy Adam West “Batman” TV series which had been off the air for years by this time. Ultimately, tone is the biggest thing that works against the film and it should be interesting to see how writer/director Shane Black will handle it if his planned Doc Savage movie ever gets out of development.

Warner Archive’s new Blu-ray 1080p transfer from the film's original inter-positive does a good job showcasing the cinematography of Fred J. Koenekamp , who was fresh off his Academy Award-winning work on “The Towering Inferno.” The only extra feature on the disc is a trailer, which shows some definite wear around the edges.

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BY DARREN ALLISON

Attending a film festival in the mid-seventies, Sam Peckinpah was once questioned about how the studios regularly bastardised his vision, his intension and more specifically, if he would ever be able to make a ''pure Peckinpah'' picture. He replied, '’I did 'Alfredo Garcia' and I did it exactly the way I wanted to. Good or bad, like it or not, that was my film.''

The overall narrative for Alfredo Garcia is neither complicated nor convoluted. Warren Oates plays Bennie, a simple pianist residing in a squalid barroom in Mexico. He is approached by two no-nonsense Americans (Robert Webber and Gig Young) who are attempting to track down Alfredo Garcia. The womanising Garcia is the man responsible for the pregnancy of Theresa (Janine Maldonado) the teenage daughter of a powerful Mexican boss El Jefe (Emilio Fernández). In a display of power, El Jefe offers $1,000,000 for the delivery of Garcia’s head. Bennie is unaware of the true bounty, but fully aware that his girlfriend, local prostitute Elita (Isela Vega) was once involved with Garcia. More importantly, Bennie also knows that Garcia is in fact, already dead. Bennie recognises this as a way out, a one off payday opportunity and convinces Elita to take him to Garcia’s burial place. His plan is to dig up the body, cut off the head and collect on his fee, an agreed $10,000. Elita shows some hesitancy, and before long the heavy drinking, paranoiac aspects of Bennie begin to suspect that Elita still carries feelings for the dead Garcia. After an arduous and testing car journey they both finally reach their destination, a place where their plans will take a devastating and unsuspecting twist.

Arrow has delivered a new 4K restoration from the original camera negative. The overall image is beautifully presented and a great deal cleaner than previously seen. Dirt, debris and all other manner of light wear have now been removed. As Arrow points out, there are some minor instances of density fluctuation and photochemical damage, but these really are not distracting. I noticed slight fluctuations during the torture of Theresa, but this is arguably due to the condition of the original film elements and to be expected. More importantly it does not distract from the overall presentation of the film. One could even suggest that such minor defects are perfectly suited and in line with the gritty, sweat soaked ambience that Peckinpah arguably sought to present. The 4K scan has been fully justified and as a result the level of detail has been greatly improved without ever compromising or hampering the genuine celluloid look – an element so essential to a movie such as Alfredo Garcia. Colours retain a realistic and natural quality, almost dry and dusty as opposed to a sun drenched and over cooked. Thankfully, Arrow has also resisted the temptation to beef up the audio, so don’t go looking for a falsely created 5.1 mix. Alfredo Garcia was recorded in mono, so purists will be delighted with the original 1.0 mono mix transferred from the original 35mm single stripe magnetic track. The audio elements are also clean, dynamic and hold a consistent level of clarity throughout.

Peckinpah on the set in Mexico.

Heading the extras on disc one are two excellent audio commentaries. The first is a new and exclusively recorded commentary by Stephen Prince, author of Savage Cinema: Sam Peckinpah and the Rise of Ultraviolent Movies. Prince’s narration looks closely at Peckinpah’s philosophy and theory. It’s a commentary that also examines the characters to some depth. It also encourages you to think and ask questions. There are also more generalised observations from Prince involving the story, in particular the scene with the two bikers (played by Kris Kristofferson and Donnie Fritts). It’s a scene which has always bothered me, and serves no real importance to the story. So it was pleasing to hear that Prince agrees, and that it provides very little - other than slowing down the pace and the narrative. I don’t mind either film philosophy or debate, but I occasionally believe it sometimes has a tendency to overstretch or lose itself in some strange form of self-consumption. Nevertheless, Prince’s commentary does keep your attention throughout and provides plenty of food for thought.

The second audio commentary is moderated by film historian Nick Redman and features Sam Peckinpah scholars Paul Seydor, Garner Simmons and David Weddle. This commentary first appeared on the Twilight Time Encore Edition Blu-ray and works extremely well. The advantage of course, is that it provides various different perspectives and viewpoints. For instance, on this occasion, the same Kristofferson and Fritts biker scene results in a clear difference of opinion. We, the viewer are offered a perfectly logical and justified reasoning for this scene, in that Bennie is provided with the opportunity ‘walk the walk’ rather than just ‘talk the talk’. The implication of the scene, along with a contrasting perspective of its inclusion, suddenly offers something new to digest and signifies perhaps a different level to Bennie’s character. Seydor, Simmons and Weddle are not afraid of arguing their opinions, but also retain a clear respect for each other’s knowledge and understanding. It’s a perfect ensemble of experts, each of whom is clearly on top of their subject.

Sam Peckinpah: Man of Iron is Paul Joyce’s feature-length (93minutes) 1993 documentary featuring interviews with James Coburn, Kris Kristofferson, Monte Hellman, Ali MacGraw, Jason Robards and many others. Its inclusion on Arrow’s special edition marks the first time it is available on home video in the UK. The documentary was released prior on Criterion’s Straw Dogs (1971) DVD release but omitted some film clips due to copyright and reduced the running time by some 10 minutes. Man of Iron is a very personal and enjoyable reflection of the man and told by the people that knew him best. It is a brutally honest account which shows Peckinpah, not only for his craftsmanship, but also for his flaws, for which there were many. As gifted as Peckinpah was, there are also accounts of his cruelty, manipulation and his complexity. His demise into alcohol and later his cocaine use is arguably pitiful and reflected to some degree in his later films. Regardless of this, he remained loved by his friends, many of which returned to work with him over and over again. Whilst Man of Iron celebrates the man and his work, it never attempts to paper over the cracks or his personal frailties. It provides a well-balanced account and as a result, makes for fascinating viewing.

Next up is The John Player Lecture: Sam Peckinpah, an audio only recording of the director’s on-stage appearance at the National Film Theatre in London (47 minutes). Whilst there is no indication, this recording possibly dates from around 1971. Peckinpah does make a reference to his next film to be released, The Ballad of Cable Hogue (1970) and because he is in the UK at this time may be an indication that he was in pre-production stages for his next film Straw Dogs (1971) which was shot in Cornwall. Peckinpah does sound a little uncomfortable in front of an audience and not entirely at ease. There is almost a sense of comfort knowing that his friend Warren Oates is sitting among the audience and on several occasions Peckinpah tries to draw him actively into the conversation. When questioned about certain aspects of his work, Peckinpah does at times seem a little reluctant to answer and the sighs picked up by his microphone appear to back this up. However, Peckinpah does reveal a great deal of insightful information, as well as taking the opportunity in criticising the film establishment, such as the censors and producers and in the way they have handled his work. Historically, it is an important piece to include; my only minor gripe is when it comes to the audience questions, which are at times close to inaudible. As the audio interview is carried out over a still image of Peckinpah, it might have been an idea to overlay some text in reference to the actual audience questions. In doing so it would have made it a great deal easier to decipher exactly what Peckinpah was referring to in his answers.

BY LEE PFEIFFER

If you've seen "The Savage Is Loose", you're among the few who can make such a boast. In 1974, at the height of his career, George C. Scott decided to bring this unusual tale to the big screen. He also wanted to prove that an independent film could be successful without being distributed by a major studio. Scott, ever-temperamental, was critical of how studios used Draconian methods to control and often compromise films in the name of making them more commercial. "The Savage Is Loose" was an off-beat tale set in the late 19th century  that centers on a husband and wife, John and Maida (Scott and real-life wife Van Devere) who, along with their very young son, David (Lee Montgomery), find themselves shipwrecked on a desert island. The first challenge is to adapt to the conditions and learn to survive but the more crucial challenge comes years later when the son (John David Carlson) comes of age and has a sexual awakening. With his mother the only woman he has ever known, tensions rise as he competes with his own father for her attention. This is hardly the kind of scenario that would have motivated Disney to bid on distribution rights. However, its bold premise was the reason that Scott  independently financed and distributed the film himself, thus ensuring that he had total artistic control. 

"The Savage Is Loose" is a generally off-beat and engrossing film despite the premise of impending incest that haunts the three main characters. The movie is done on a modest budget and boasts only one impressive set piece: the wreck of the ship that has left the family stranded on this remote island. As the months and years pass, father and son return to the wreck to explore for any lost items that might be of practical value. John makes a pivotal decision relating to how to raise  David, informing Maida that they must accept the fact that rescue seems highly unlikely and that in order to ensure that David survives when they are dead, he must be schooled in the art of hunting and self-reliance. For years, John tutors David to act as a "savage" and to not take pity on the animal life found on the island, as he must regard it as his only source of food and nutrition. The strategy works and we next see David as a teenager, already proving his expertise in tracking and killing dangerous wildlife. It's clear, however, that with the passing of the years, there is an unspoken tension within the family. David becomes sullen and rarely communicates with his mother and father. The cause is apparent: with his hormones raging, he has set his sites on his own mother, who he wants to take as his lover. Devoid of having been schooled in the niceties and customs of civilized society, David cannot understand why he can't take engage in this relationship. He only knows that his father is determined to keep him from fulfilling this goal. Consequently, the movie turns into a thriller in the latter section, with father and son forced to engage in a potentially deadly duel of wits and strength, as Maida observes in horror what can only be a tragic conclusion, no matter who prevails. 

Scott came up with a distribution plan for the movie that was unique. Under this scenario, Scott would literally sell theaters prints of the movie and split the costs of advertising with them. The plan set off quite a bit of buzz in the industry with studio chiefs predictably calling it unworkable. They were proven right. Without the backing of a major studio with big advertising budgets, Scott was forced to peddle the film piecemeal to theaters, one at a time. Not helping matters was the off-putting subject matter. Although a fair number of theaters did end up showing the movie, it was quickly apparently that the buzz about the film didn't translate into public interest. The scathing reviews helped provide the coup de grace. ((The New York Times gave it an outright pan (click here to read)). The theaters played to mostly empty houses and quickly pulled the film from distribution, thus ending Scott's bold experiment. Scott blamed the fact that the film received an "R" rating for its weak performance but that was an absurd excuse. By 1974, an "R" rating was certainly not a factor that alienated audiences. The pity of it all is that there is much to admire in "The Savage is Loose".  

Scott demonstrates admirable talent both in front of and behind the camera. His direction is understated, as is his performance, at least until the final reel when he must do battle with his own beloved son. Van Devere is also excellent, as is Montgomery in the early scenes in which David is an innocent little boy. Things go a bit awry when John David Carson takes over the role. His performance is effective but his look is all wrong. He sports a modern hair style and his language and mannerisms reflect the culture of the year in which the movie was made: 1974. Still, "The Savage is Loose" should not be dismissed because of a perceived "Yuck Factor" due to the impending threat of a mother taken unwilling as her son's lover. There are no villains here and Scott presents the dilemma as tastefully as possible. The very premise is enough to provide ample suspense for the average viewer. Scott makes the most of the picturesque Mexican coastal locations where the movie was shot.

"The Savage is Loose" is not available at this time on home video in America or the UK except for a bootleg version available through Amazon that could easily be misconstrued as an official release. (There had been an official Betamax and VHS release back in the Stone Age of home video). The quality of the transfer is adequate but only makes one desire to see a first-rate studio release. One suspects that convoluted rights problems might be preventing this but someone out there owns the distribution to this film. One hopes that a "real" Blu-ray/DVD release will one day become a reality. 

BY TIM GREAVES

Not the most beloved entry in Alfred Hitchcock's cinematic oeuvre – by either audiences in general or the director himself – 1939's Jamaica Inn (based on a Daphne du Maurier novel first published three years earlier) is nevertheless a serviceable enough piece of drama, which perhaps finds its most ideal place nowadays as an undemanding rainy Sunday afternoon programmer.

Following the death of her mother, Mary Yellen (Maureen O'Hara) travels from Ireland to England intending to take up residence with her relatives at their Cornish hostelry the Jamaica Inn. After an unexpected detour, which on face value proves beneficial when she makes the acquaintance of local squire and magistrate Sir Humphrey Pengallan (Charles Laughton), Mary arrives at her destination to find her browbeaten Aunt Patience (Maria Ney) living in fear of a tyrannical husband, the brutish Joss Merlyn (Leslie Banks). It also transpires that the Inn is the refuge of a gang of cutthroats â€“ of which Merlyn is ringleader â€“ who orchestrate shipwrecks along the perilous coastline, murdering in cold blood any surviving crew and plundering the cargo. When the gang set about lynching one of their own, James 'Jem' Trehearne (Robert Newton), who's been lining his own pockets with the spoils, Mary saves his life and together they flee into the night, eventually turning to Pengallan for help. But Mary soon discovers neither Trehearne nor Pengallan are what they first appear…

Extremist spoilerphobes who've not seen Jamaica Inn needn't get too riled by the revelation that Pengallan is the film's principal malefactor, since it's a card Hitchcock lays face up on the table very early in the proceedings. Some might suggest too early, but the fun derived from this stratagem is the discomfort that escalates as we the audience, knowing he's a bad egg, watch our hero and heroine mistake him for a paragon of virtue, erroneously placing their trust in the very man they’re trying to bring down.

Its screenplay having been penned by Sidney Gilliat and co-credited to Hitchcock’s secretary Joan Harrison, author Daphne du Maurier was reputedly dissatisfied with the changes made to her novel, and indeed the resulting picture as a whole. And in many respects Jamaica Inn doesn't really feel like "An Alfred Hitchcock Film" at all, not only because it was rare for him to tackle period drama but also due to the fact the performances are so atypically theatrical, certainly more so than in any other of his pictures that I can think of. The ripest ham of the bunch is unquestionably Charles Laughton, who also co-produced and so held considerable sway over the production â€“ for example, he drafted in J.B. Priestley to finesse his dialogue â€“ and for my money the actor pitched his performance completely wrong. What the story cries out for but desperately lacks is a strong arch-villain and, where Pengallan ought to be a festering pool of corruption and depravity, the conceited air, sly sideways glances, snide smirking and ludicrously fashioned eyebrows that garnish Laughton's portrayal, he's more pantomime rascal than anything even remotely threatening. Which isn't to say there's nothing to enjoy about his performance. He rapaciously chews on the scenery, shamelessly thieving one's attention every time he's on screen – even when he's background in a shot – and his lascivious designs on Mary are queasily unsettling. It's merely that, in the context of this particular story, I consider the campy approach was misjudged.

Continuing with the subject of villainy, after the initial, impressively discomfiting scenes in which it looks as if Merlyn is going to be a despicable force to be reckoned with, the character is revealed to be Pengallan's puppet and regrettably loses some of his edge; later on there are even attempts to turn him into a figure of pity. Perhaps the most interesting of the cutthroats is Emlyn Williams as Harry the Peddler, whose soft whistling as he goes about his felonious work imbues him with quiet menace, though he's sadly a tad underused.

On the plus side though, Maureen O'Hara is spirited and ravishing as the heroine of the piece; one can hardly blame Pengallan for wanting to truss her up and take her home! And those most familiar with Robert Newton in his legendary performance as the bewhiskered Long John Silver in Byron Haskin's 1950 take on Treasure Island may be as taken aback as I at the youthful and slightly effeminate good looks the actor exhibits here, however his performance is admirable.

Having stated that Jamaica Inn doesn't feel like a Hitchcock film, there are still some nice ‘Hitchcockian’ flourishes in evidence. Notable is a sequence in which Mary wakes beside a sleeping Jem and, espying a savage blade lodged in the sand within reach of his hand, tries to slip away without rousing him. All the same, the scenario isn't milked to its full potential, at least not in the same way similar moments are so nail-bitingly structured in the director's other works.

ISSUE #37 (JANUARY 2017)

Steven J. Rubin's 40th anniversary tribute to "Rocky"; extensive coverage ON the making of this landmark film with exclusive comments from key members of the cast and crew. 

Christopher Weedman celebrates the career of British actress Anne Heywood with insights from the lady herself.

Diane Rodgers' homage to the Monkees' only feature film, "Head"- with a screenplay by Jack Nicholson!

Martin Gainsford diagnoses the problems of bringing Doc Savage to the big screen in the ill-fated 1970s production.

Nick Anez extols the virtues of Sidney Lumet's brilliant but little-scene "The Offence" with a powerhouse performance by Sean Connery.

Tim Greaves examines the creepy-but-neglected chiller "The Little Girl Who Lives Down the Lane" starring young Jodie Foster.

Did Sergio Leone "ghost direct" the cult Italian Western "My Name is Nobody"? Chris Button examines the case for and against this theory.

Raymond Benson works overtime, providing us with his Ten Best Films of 1956 as well as his favorite movie trilogies of all time.

Gareth Owen looks back at the founding of Pinewood Studios

Lee Pfeiffer rocks on with the Dave Clark Five in their feature film "Catch Us If You Can" (AKA "Having a Wild Weekend"),which marked John Boorman's directorial debut. 

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ISSUE #39 (September, 2017)

Highlights of this issue will appeal greatly to 007 fans:

50TH anniversary of the James Bond classic You Only Live Twice with exclusive interviews, rare photos & memorabilia and movie poster art. 

Remembering Sir Roger Moore

Susan George's career- second and final part of our coverage

Vivan Pickles recalls filming Play Dirty with Michael Caine

The kinky, controversial thriller Night Hair Child (aka What the Peeper Saw)

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BY TIM GREAVES

Numerous actors have occupied the role of Sherlock Holmes over the decades, some more suited to the shoes of author Arthur Conan Doyle's famous consulting detective than others. One of the finest portrayals is that by Ian Richardson. Yet, sadly, his is also one that is often overlooked, not leastways because he played the character just twice (in a pair of 1983 films made for television), but also because his light was to be quickly eclipsed a year later by the arrival on TV screens of Jeremy Brett, whose interpretation of Holmes is considered by many to be the definitive one.

Sy Weintraub – who produced several Tarzan movies throughout the 60s and was executive producer on the popular long-running Ron Ely TV series –teamed up with Otto Plaschkes (whose producer credits include Georgie Girl and The Holcroft Covenant) with the intention of making several Holmes adventures headlining Richardson. But when it became apparent that Granada TV was to launch its own series starring Brett, their plans were abandoned in a rights furore that resulted in a substantial out of court settlement in Weintraub’s favour. The two films that Weintraub and Plaschkes did bring to realisation were The Hound of the Baskervilles and The Sign of Four, two of only four full-length Holmes novels written by Conan Doyle. Both were shot on exquisite sets constructed at England's Shepperton Studios and include some splendid location work utilising the likes of Devonshire country house Knightshayes Court (doubling for Baskerville Hall) and London's River Thames (with some canny employ of theatrical smog to abet the disguise of non-period background architecture).

The Hound of the Baskervilles is probably the most famous of all Holmes's adventures and one of the most filmed. Yet it is also one that largely sidelines the great detective from the action for its middle third. The familiar plot finds our detective investigating death believed connected to a centuries old family curse and the legend of a demonic canine that allegedly haunts the eerie fog-wreathed moorlands surrounding the Baskerville estate.

Scripted by Charles Edward Pogue (whose later work included David Cronenberg’s remake of The Fly) and directed by Douglas Hickox (whose CV includes such 70s screen favourites as Brannigan and Theatre of Blood), like many before and since this isn't verbatim Conan Doyle. But that certainly doesn't detract from its worth as a cracking piece of entertainment. It's handsomely staged (the foreboding moors, awash with swirling fog, are at night as effectively nightmarish a Grimpen Mire as ever brought to the screen), with lush production values that completely belie its TV movie origins. It also boasts hands down the best depiction of the spectral, yellow-eyed titular beast to date.

Crucially, however, it benefits from an endearingly charismatic central performance from Ian Richardson; in many scenes the actor bears a startling resemblance to this writer's favourite Holmes, Basil Rathbone. Donald Churchill's interpretation of faithful ally Dr John Watson leans towards a bumbling nature that irks purists and doesn't rank as one of the more noteworthy, while Martin Shaw's Sir Henry Baskerville is hindered by horrible dubbing. Nevertheless, add in a marvellous assembly of supporting players – including Denholm Elliott (who'd previously appeared in 1978's woeful spoof version of the story), Glynis Barber, Ronald Lacey (as Inspector Lestrade), Eleanor Bron, Connie Booth, Brian Blessed and Edward Judd – and Hickox's film is markedly one of the most star-spangled versions of the supernatural-tinged tale.

The Sign of Four is comparatively a slightly more grounded and sedate affair, though at least Richardson's Holmes get more screen time. Again adapted from Conan Doyle’s novel by Charles Edward Pogue, more so than Hound it takes dramatic liberties with its source narrative (rearranging events and introducing new, slightly superfluous material), yet also in keeping with its predecessor it is hugely enjoyable. Directed by Desmond Davis (Clash of the Titans), this one finds Holmes following a trail of murders born of a broken pact between thieves relating to a treasure of precious gemstones and jewellery.

David Healy steps in as a fine Watson (though again the character is played as a little more maladroit than his literary self) and there are strong turns by Thorley Walters (who previously played Watson twice, opposite Christopher Lee’s and Douglas Wilmer’s Sherlocks respectively, in 1962’s The Valley of Fear and 1975 screwball comedy The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes' Smarter Brother) and Cherie Lunghi as the delectable Mary Morstan (who, in the novel – but not here – gets engaged to Watson). But overall this is a less starry affair than Hound. All the same, there are nice performances from Terence Rigby as Inspector Layton (a curious name switch, for he's clearly meant to be Lestrade), Joe Melia as the despicable peg-legged villain of the piece and John Pedrick as his savage sidekick.

Like Hound before it, The Sign of Four boasts a rich cinematic mien that bests many actual big screen Holmes adventures.

While one can certainly lament that Ian Richardson made only these two Holmes movies, that they're both exceptionally good is reward enough. And both are now available on Blu-ray and DVD in the UK from Second Sight, each with a bonus audio commentary from Holmes enthusiast David Stuart Davies. The 4K restoration for the Blu-rays is quite honestly breathtaking; one can scarcely believe that 33-year-old TV movies could look so good. There is, however, a caveat: the 1.78:1 aspect ratio presentation of the two films. Back in 1983 they were shot for then-standard 4:3 television format and the decision to force fit the image to modern widescreen TV sets has played merry havoc with the composition in some shots, at its most injurious when the tops of heads are rudely shorn off. It’s more noticeable in The Sign of Four than in The Hound of the Baskervilles but it’s a frequent distraction just the same. This disappointment aside though, these releases can't come more heartily recommended, both to Holmes fans (who will snap them up regardless of any perceived shortcomings remarked upon here) and those who simply enjoy a good solid evening’s entertainment.

A shot from The Sign of Four in its original 4:3 aspect ratio.

The same shot as presented on Second Sight’s 1.78:1 aspect DVD and Blu-ray release.

It should be noted that the Blu-ray release is coded Region B and the DVD is Region 2. The films are also being made available for download and on-demand in both standard and high definition.

BY JOHN M. WHALEN

“Kill or Be Killed” (2015) aka “Red on Yella, Kill a Fella,” is a low budget horror-western released on DVD by RLJ Entertainment that also attempts to be a tribute to the spaghetti westerns of the 60s and 70s and Sam Peckinpah’s “The Wild Bunch.” The plot is about a gang of outlaws in the year 1900 traveling 500 miles through Texas to get to a stash of gold that’s hidden at the bottom of a well in the sand dunes of Galveston Beach. The group is hounded on their journey by a mysterious being and one by one the gang members get picked off.

Like Peckinpah’s Wild Bunch these outlaws are a motley crew. Their leader, Claude “Sweet Tooth” Barbee, played by co-writer/director Justin Meeks, is very loosely based on real-life outlaw Sam Bass. As Meeks portrays him, Barbee is a man obsessed with recovering the hidden loot from a previous robbery. He’ll stop at nothing to get it. He’s abetted by a gang of cutthroats capable of anything, and he’s willing to overlook their bloody crimes if it will help him get to the gold. He’s even willing to go as far as looking the other way when one of his men, a hulking brute called Blocky (Gregory Kelly), brutally rapes and murders a girl in her early teens.

Meeks explains in the DVD’s audio commentary that Barbee needs Blocky’s muscle, so he’ll overlook what he did. But it turns out he’s even willing to go farther than that. When the girl’s father pulls a shotgun on Blocky to give him his just desserts, Barbee shoots the father in the head. Meeks points out however, that as bad as that seems, Barbee, at least, has a line he won’t cross. He doesn’t allow the girl’s mother and little brother to be killed. Well, I guess...

Meeks and his co-writer/director Duane Graves, came up with a script that tries to outdo the violence and sadism of the films that inspired it. They set out to show bad men being bad and paying for it all in the end. The addition of the horror element provides for a little extra gore. As far as it goes, it’s not a bad premise for a movie. But the question is how far across the line can you let your characters go before they become so reprehensible that the audience cannot relate to them? Peckinpah’s bunch were men on the wrong side of the law, but he gave them a sense of honor. They were bad but not as bad as the posse of degenerates pursuing them, or Mapache, the bandit chief they rob a train for. Barbee and his men, on the other hand, are on a level even lower than that.

In another scene that comes out of nowhere, our anti-heroes try to rob a black man (whom Barbee calls “Jimmy”) with a wagon of furs, but when they find out he has no money, Barbee tells his men to get a rope and “put his boots in the trees.” Smells like a lynching to me. But who can tell? The scene ends with one of the gang coming toward the man with about three feet of rope in his hands. How do you hang somebody with three feet of rope? Were they just going to tie him up? I went to the audio commentary hoping the filmmakers would shed some light on what was going on and why they included such an unnecessary and repugnant scene in the first place. But instead all they discussed was how much they spent on the props, including a gold coin they bought on eBay. It’s just one example of the confused direction and writing in this film.

Meeks and Graves also seem to be fond of throwing red herrings at the audience. As the members of the gang are killed one by one in mysterious ways, there are scenes involving a giant savage with flaming eyes, which we’re told in the commentary, is some kind of Viking who appeared in one of their earlier shorts. Exactly why he’s in this film isn’t explained. He only appears in Barbee’s dreams, but how can a dream image manage to slit at least one character’s throat while he’s sleeping? Turns out he didn’t. The explanation of who the real killer is pretty fantastic. Like really unbelievable, man.

The cast is full of indie movie players including Michael Berryman (The Hills Have Eyes), Edwin Neal (The Texas Chain Saw Massacre), Arianne Martin (Don’t Look in the Basement 2), Luce Rains (No Country for Old Men) and Paul McCarthy-Boyington (The Human Race). Veteran character actor Pepe Serna (Black Dahlia) is credited with being one of the producers and also has a part in the picture. He plays a man named Rudy Goebel who, with his wife and son or sons (not immediately clear), runs a ramshackle boarding house. We find him drugging his latest boarder and then shooting him in the head when he suspects his soup has been doped. When his hysterical wife asks him how long he can keep doing this, he smashes her head on the wooden table top several times, killing her, and throws her, the boarder, and one son into a root cellar. What the hell? I don’t know. You explain it to me. There are a lot of unexplained things in “Kill or Be Killed.”

Near the end of the DVD audio commentary Meeks remarks that it’s always “good to leave a few questions unanswered at the end of a film, just enough so if you watch maybe a second of third time it might link some of the gaps.” It’s too bad Meeks and Graves didn’t take the trouble to fill in the gaps themselves. If they had, and if they had written a script that had some sort of morality to it, “Kill or Be Killed” might have been an impressive entry in the weird west sub-genre category. But this is the 21st century and in the world of indie films anyone with a camera can throw anything they want up on the screen and call it a movie. As it is, it’s a somewhat pathetic example of ambitious indie film making swinging for the bleachers and coming up with a foul to left field.

The RLJ Entertainment DVD presents “Kill or Be Killed” in a widescreen 2.35:1 aspect ratio, which does justice to Brandon Torres’ cinematography. He captures some nice views of the West Texas country. The soundtrack by John Constant is imitation Ennio Morricone, but has some merits of its own. The disc contains the usual extras, including audio commentary, interviews and deleted scenes. I’m sure there is some sort of audience for films like this. The gore and horror reviewers on the web seemed to like it. It’s definitely not for everyone.

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BY FRED BLOSSER

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.”

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.

Things have changed greatly since then. Younger generations of critics, less bothered by disagreeable characters than Crowther was, have revisited the policiers and found them worthy of serious discussion. Thanks to DVD, Blu-ray, streaming video, and cable movie networks, a wider audience in middle America has a chance to see the films in their original form, and they’re more likely to be receptive to foreign productions than their grandparents in the Ike era. Several policiers, including “Le Doulos” and nearly all of Melville’s other pictures, are available in restored DVD and Blu-ray editions with classy packaging. However, other policiers of arguably equal merit remain missing in action on U.S. home video, even on the collector’s market, notably Alex Joffé’s 1959 production, “Du Rififi Chez Les Femmes” (1959).

As the title suggests, Joffé’s film shares a bloodline with Jules Dassin’s better known classic. Both were based on novels by French crime writer Auguste Le Breton, who claimed that “rififi” was criminal slang that he had picked up from real underworld acquaintances in the hangouts of Montmartre and Pigalle, meaning something like “melee” or “rumble.” Le Breton co-authored the script for the Joffé movie.

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.

In “Du Rififi Chez Les Femmes” (in my rough English translation, “The Girls Mix It Up”), underworld entrepreneur Vicky de Berlin (Nadja Tiller) owns a popular floating nightclub, the “Ration K,” on the Senne River in Brussels. Characteristically for Le Breton’s criminal figures, Vicky’s surname isn’t necessarily her real family name, just a nickname referring to the city where she came from. (In “Du Rififi chez Les Hommes,” the ringleader of the story’s audacious jewel robbery, played by Jean Servais in the movie, was Tony Le Stéphanois: “Stéphanois” being a colloquialism for someone from the French town of Saint Etienne.) Vicky’s troubled past as a displaced Berliner is suggested by a photograph of her father on the desk in her private office, a German officer wearing the Iron Cross. The name of her club implies that she might have made her first money dealing surplus or stolen U.S. Army rations on the black market after World War II.

BY LEE PFEIFFER

Kino Lorber has released a Blu-ray edition of the 1963 action adventure film "Kings of the Sun", a movie that has largely faded into relative obscurity. In viewing for the first time since its initial release I was pleasantly surprised at how impressive the film is on any number of levels. For one, it takes place during a period that has been largely untouched by Hollywood in that it is set in the era of the ancient Mayans. One must deal with the fact that the historical aspects of the screenplay are largely hokum. The story opens with the Mayan people mourning the death of its king in battle against a rival tribe led by the blood-thirsty Hunac Ceel (Leo Gordon). The new heir apparent is Balam (George Chakiris), a young man who must instantly assume his father's throne and responsibilities. These include the practice of human sacrifice to appease the gods. Balam does not agree with this practice and feels it is at odds with an otherwise highly advanced culture. Nevertheless, under badgering from the top holy man, Ah Min (Richard Basehart), he concedes to continue with sacrifices in order to keep his deeply religious people satisfied. He is also told that he must choose a young maiden to be his future bride. He chooses Ixchel- and who can blame him since she's a ringer for Shirley Anne Field? Ixchel is willing to accept being queen but her enthusiasm is dampened by Balam's cold, unemotional demeanor toward her. Before the young betrothed couple can wed their village comes under siege by Hunac Ceel and his forces. Their only hope for survival is to take to the sea and find a new land. The voyage is an arduous one that threatens to diminish the Mayans' confidence in their new king. However he is redeemed when they actually find land and discover that the climate is hospitable and that crops grow abundantly. They set about building a stockade and permanent dwellings, using their scientific knowledge as a guide. A new threat emerges, however, in the persona of Black Eagle (Yul Brynner), chief of the indigenous people who populate the Mayans' new home land. Black Eagle ambushes Balam and engages him in a duel. However, Balam is saved by fellow Mayans who seriously wound Black Eagle. Ah Min orders that he be nursed back to health with the ultimate goal of using him as a future sacrifice to the gods. Black Eagle is cared for by Ixchel and you can see immediately where the story is going once the two lock eyes. It's clear they are mutually attractied. Ixchel is fascinated by Black Eagle, who has savage ways in terms of combat but who also possesses a great intellect. Not hurting matters is that he is in superb physical condition and struts around in a tiny loin cloth while her husband-to-be and the other male higher-ups among the Mayans are generally seen wearing enough silly costumes and headgear that they look like an ancient version of The Village People. 

As Black Eagle makes a slow, painful recovery the relationship between him and Ixhcel intensifies and he even proposes to her, though she has to decline as she is already committed to Balam. Black Eagle has extolled the virtues and civility of the Mayans for nursing him back to health but his attitude changes when he is informed that he will be their sacrificial lamb. Assurances that his death will result in his being worshiped as a god don't appease him and he is led to the sacrificial altar. At the last moment, however, Balam spares his life and orders that the Mayans will no longer practice human sacrifices. Ah Min is so alarmed by this that he takes his own life in order to appease the gods. Nevertheless, Balam instructs his people that this is a new era for the Mayan culture and that they will learn to co-exist peacefully with Black Eagle's people. At first things go well as both cultures blend together well and teach each other valuable skills. However, Balam becomes aware of the attraction between Black Eagle and his future bride. Jealousy finally gets the better of him, resulting in a fight between Ixchel's two would-be lovers. The peace treaty is called off and both tribes are likely to become enemies again. Another crisis hits the Mayans when, unexpectedly, Hunac Ceel arrives by sea with a massive invasion force. When Balam ignores his demands to surrender, the two sides engage in a fierce battle. At first Mayan military strategies take a heavy toll on the invaders. However, their sheer numbers soon overwhelm Balam's forces. The Mayans' only hope for salvation lies in Black Eagle's hands. Will he commit his people to fight on behalf of Balam's kingdom who they now regard enemies?

There aren't many surprises in the story. Once the angle of a love triangle is introduced it becomes obvious that both men will end up squaring off against each other. As these things usually turn out, one man's heroic death conveniently leaves the path clear for his rival to get the girl, so to speak. It's like "The Vikings, only with an abundance of sand. Still, "Kings of the Sun" is never less than entertaining. The direction by the woefully underrated J. Lee Thompson is first-rate, not only in the dramatic sequences but also in the climactic battle, which ranks as one of the best-staged I've seen in films from this era. It's all set to a stirring score by Elmer Bernstein, who occasionally seems to channel some note-for-note aspects of his legendary score for "The Magnificent Seven". In fact there are a couple of genuine connections to that film. Brad Dexter, who was one of the "Seven", has a supporting role and the opening narration is by an uncredited James Coburn, who, of course, also starred in "Seven". 

Chakiris and Field give highly credible performances, given the fact that they don't remotely resemble anyone who could be considered a Mayan. However, the film is Brynner's show. Few actors could command the screen like he did. His very presence in a frame ensured that he could steal the scene and "Kings of the Sun" presents him at his exotic best.  

The Kino Lorber Blu-ray boasts a great transfer that does justice to the film's semi-epic scope. There are a lot of people in this expensive-looking film that takes full advantage of the Mexican locations. The Blu-ray contains the original trailer and a trailer for another fine Yul Brynner film, "Taras Bulba". Kino Lorber has also retained the magnificent original artwork for the packaging which gives full evidence of that glorious era in which seemingly every other movie poster looked like a classic piece of artwork. Highly recommended.

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