By Lee Pfeiffer

Kirk Douglas leads an impressive cast in "The Final Countdown", a 1980 military adventure with a sci-fi twist. The film is set aboard the real-life U.S. aircraft carrier Nimitz, named after the legendary U.S. fleet commander Chester Nimitz who was in charge of the Pacific fleet. Douglas plays the fictitious character of Matthew Yelland, who is the current captain of the ship. When the film opens, the Nimitz is in service off of the U.S. Naval base at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. Yellen's ship is loaded with state-of-the-art, highly armed jets that are undertaking training missions from the deck of the carrier. When we first meet Yellen, his biggest problem is having an unwanted but important civilian passenger aboard, Warren Lasky (Martin Sheen) who represents the company that manufactures the planes. The Department of Defense has assigned him to act as a quasi efficiency expert and report back any findings he has in terms of making the planes operate more effectively. Yellen assigns Cmdr. Richard Owens (James Farantino) to assist Lasky. The two men get off on the wrong foot when Owens catches Lasky reading the draft of a historic book manuscript that Owens is writing about the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, which propelled America into WWII. (You know immediately that this plot point will resurface in dramatic fashion later in the story.)  Things takes an unusual turn when the ship encounters a terrifying storm that appears out of nowhere. It's effects include what appears to be bizarre manifestations of lightning, accompanying by ear-splitting and ominous sounds. (The storm effects were created by Maurice Binder, who designed the inventive title sequences for many of the James Bond films.)  Ultimately, the storm subsides and the Nimitz is back in sunny weather. However, radio broadcasts from the mainland are inexplicably shows from the 1940s, including Jack Benny bantering with Rochester. Even if you haven't seen the film, you know where this is going.

Evidence continues to mount that the ship has somehow sailed through a time warp and that the date is December 6, 1941, a story hook that only a screenwriter could envision. Radar detects the presence of the Japanese fleet sailing nearby and preparing to launch its fleets of Zero war planes on the unprepared and unsuspecting U.S. base at Pearl Harbor. Yellen 's first impulse is to prevent the attack by using the modern weaponry he has at his disposal to destroy the Japanese fleet. However, Lasky challenges his decision by pointing out that if history is altered, it might have a devastating effect on how the future plays out. This is where the film is most intriguing. Scientists have speculated endlessly about whether time travel might be possible and what the consequences of it might be. Lasky warns that if people who were supposed to die during the attack are spared, it would inevitably lead to mind-boggling issues to deal with. Some people alive at the present time would cease to exist, for example. Things get stickier for Yellen when a private pleasure yacht is sunk by a Japanese Zero. On board is U.S. Senator Samuel Chapman (Charles Durning) and his devoted secretary, Laurel Scott (Katharine Ross). They are plucked from the ocean and brought aboard the Nimitz. Chapman, a powerful political force on a defense committee, is understandably gobsmacked by the hi-tech weaponry on the ship and believes a conspiracy is going in terms of keeping the technology secret from his committee. Lasky informs Yellen that Chapman had died during the hostilities on December 7. What are they to do regarding his fate? Lasky postures that if he is allowed to survive, there is evidence he would have succeeded Franklin D. Roosevelt as President following FDR's death in 1945.

The "Twilight Zone"-like scenario dreamed up by the screenwriters has some fascinating aspects to it. Douglas makes a predictably strong impression as the captain who faces the kinds of decisions that no one in history has been confronted with. The supporting cast is all very good, though Ross seems to have been added to provide some feminine grace in the otherwise all-male cast. Farantino and Sheen are very fine and Durning is suitably blustery as the demanding and obnoxious senator. Soon Tek-Oh appears as a Japanese pilot who is captured when his Zero is shot down. The film benefits from having had the full cooperation of the U.S. Navy. Some of the scenes of the planes taking off and landing are genuinely exciting and the cinematography by Victor J. Kemper is especially impressive, as is John Scott's lush score. Director Don Taylor keeps the action flowing and is equally good in conveying the tensions aboard the ship between the main characters.

Kirk Douglas's son Peter brought the script to his father's attention and Kirk decided to make the film through his own production company with Peter producing. Douglas recounted in his biography "The Ragman's Son" that he was disappointed with the boxoffice results but did have the time of his life when he was allowed to take off as a passenger on one of the Naval supersonic jets. If the film has a flaw its in the decision to punt when it comes to the most crucial elements of the story. I won't reveal the details but the emphasis on providing the audience with an uplifting finale compromises what could have been a more effective ending if the screenwriters were bolder. Still, "The Final Countdown" is thoroughly entertaining. It is current streaming on Amazon Prime. Click here to order Blue Underground's Blu-ray special edition from Amazon.

By Lee Pfeiffer

Susan Backlinie, who appeared in the opening scene of Steven Spielberg's 1975 blockbuster "Jaws", has passed away at her California home at age 77. Backlinie was plucked from obscurity by the young director because she was an expert swimmer who had performed stunt work. In the film she played Chrissie, the ill-fated teenager whose decision to take a moonlight dip in the ocean led to her horrific death from a giant Great White Shark. Although her name would not be known by average movie-goers, it's safe to say that her appearance in the movie represented one of the most famous scenes in screen history. Backlinie's contribution to the film was recognized by legions of die-hard "Jaws" fans who considered her an important member of the production team.

In 2005, she was an honored guest at Universal's "Jawsfest", which was held at Martha's Vineyard, Massachusetts, where filming took place. Here she was joined by Peter Benchley, author of the bestselling source novel and key members of the original production who were reunited over the celebratory weekend. Backlinie earned her pay on the film, as she recounted over the years. She was attached to a harness and violently pulled through the water to simulate the shark attack. Spielberg was impressed with her courage and hired her to recreate the scene for his 1979 WWII spoof "1941".

For more, click here.

This episode of the marvelous web series "Behind the Stunts" looks at producer Euan Lloyd's classic 1978 British adventure film "The Wild Geese" starring Richard Burton, Roger Moore, Richard Harris, Hardy Kruger and Stewart Granger, who was lured out of retirement for the movie. The film is one of the best macho flicks of its era and boasts incredible stunts, which are recounted here by some of the people who performed them.

By Todd Garbarini

The first time that I heard of the name Nat Segaloff was in 1990 when I purchased his new book at the time, Hurricane Billy: The Stormy Life and Films of William Friedkin. I eagerly read through it in no time as The French Connection, Mr. Friedkin’s Oscar-winning film for Best Picture and Best Director among others, is my favorite film. It was his fifth feature as a director, and it put Mr. Friedkin on the map following the disappointing box office performance of his first four films. However, the critical praise and box office success of this real-life-inspired police drama which contains two of cinema’s greatest action set pieces would not truly prepare audiences for his follow-up film.

Mr. Friedkin’s The Exorcist, a film adaptation of the best-selling 1971 William Peter Blatty novel of the same name, opened theatrically on Wednesday, December 26, 1973 on no less than twenty seven theater screens, one of which was the Cinema 57 which was part of the Sack Theatre chain in Boston, MA. Mr. Segaloff was a publicist and was tasked with playing door guard to a top-secret pre-arranged screening of the film on Christmas morning to a handful of critics who were there to get their reviews in their respective papers earlier than usual. This incident is recounted in his preface to his latest book, The Exorcist Legacy: 50 Years of Fear, the title of which brings to the forefront the shocking revelation of just how many years have transpired since Regan MacNeil’s head spun around. The film is something that I had heard about for years prior to becoming a fan of scary cinema and I was unsure how much of it was rumor or fact. I recall purchasing The Exorcist on VHS in February 1986 seven months before I saw The French Connection. It was in the oversized clamshell box by Warner Home Video and while I was impressed with it, it did not scare me in the slightest. However, I have spoken to other people who saw the film in their teenage years and refused to view it ever again. A September 1996 viewing of the film to a sold-out screening at Radio City Music Hall, introduced by both lead actress Ellen Burstyn and the director in-person, solidified the film’s stature as a masterpiece in my mind. The release of the film on DVD in a 25^th anniversary edition whetted the appetite of those who would see the film theatrically two years later when The Exorcist: The Version You’ve Never Seen was released which would include changes and additional footage. The Blu-ray of the film in 2010 in the extended director’s cut was by no means the final word, as in 2013 a 40th anniversary Blu-ray added a nice documentary and extended interviews with the author. Just in time for the 50^th anniversary, the film is now bowing in 4K UHD.

Following a foreword by John A. Russo of Night of the Living Dead fame, Mr. Segaloff begins his book, which is comprised of sixteen chapters and lasting just over three hundred pages in length, from the correct presumption that the film is a misunderstood classic. He agrees with the assessment by both Mr. Blatty and Mr. Friedkin that the film is many things except the horror film that it is widely revered as since the time of its release, though audiences have other opinions. We are treated to many interesting tidbits: the hilarious story of how Mr. Friedkin met Mr. Blatty and how the former’s honesty solidified a working relationship and lifelong friendship with the latter, with Mr. Friedkin being the sole director that Mr. Blatty wanted from the get-go; Warner Brothers’ initial reluctance to hire Mr. Friedkin until the release of his brilliant The French Connection in 1971 garnered sudden critical and financial success and changed the game completely; the original 1949 real-life case of a young possessed Maryland boy; Mr. Blatty’s writing of the novel; the making of the film; a multitude of issues that beset the film’s production giving way to the supposed “curse” on the set; the controversy surrounding the release of the film; in-depth looks at the much-maligned Exorcist II: The Heretic (1977) and the superior The Exorcist III (1990), the latter both written and directed by Blatty; the prequels and television series, and the little-known The Ninth Configuration. If you’re even just a passing fan of the film, the book is a must read.

Mr. Segaloff was gracious enough to speak with me from his home in Los Angeles by phone regarding the book. Unfortunately, the day I contacted him about the interview was the same day that Mr. Friedkin had passed away, a fact that I was unaware of until an hour later. Mr. Segaloff wanted to press on with the interview, however, which amazed me as he knew Mr. Friedkin for nearly fifty years.

Todd Garbarini: Where are you from originally?

Nat Segaloff: I was born in Washington, D.C., and raised in Silver Spring, Maryland, which is a good long way from Cottage City, Maryland, where that little boy was possessed in 1949. We were not possessed in Silver Spring. Silver Spring was a very strange place. It was the nation’s largest unincorporated city, about one hundred thousand people, and nobody taking out the garbage.

I was able to leave and go to school in Boston, and there, I not only ran the major movie program on campus, I also insinuated myself into both the city’s professional film scene and the then-burgeoning underground film scene. Of course, we’re talking the 1960’s.

When I graduated from college, I started doing publicity for the film companies in town and, after a while, moved to New York to do it there, then moved back to Boston and became a critic. All of that served as fodder for the books I’ve written and for the people I’ve met because I’m a kind of a demimonde. A lot of people remembered me from when I was a publicist, but then when I became a reporter, they thought I was still a publicist, and they trusted me. It’s a very odd combination, and I sometimes had to tell people, “You know, I’m a reporter now.” I was able to keep close to a lot of people that I’d met doing publicity, like Robert Altman, James Bridges, Paul Mazursky, and John Milius.

TG: A lot of people I’ve spoken with who work in the film industry didn’t go to the movies or even see films on television until they were much older. Did you do the same thing, or did you get into them later?

NS: Back when I was a pod, the only way to see an old movie was on late-night television. I stayed up till one-thirty in the morning to view The Jazz Singer on Washington television because there was no way I was otherwise going to see it. There was no video, and you couldn’t even rent a 16-millimeter print of it. Later, there were revival theaters in Washington where I attended occasionally, but you still had to wait for something to appear. Only when I went away to school and ran the film program was I seeing movies every weekend, because I had to make sure people weren’t smoking in the theater. That was my job. I was managing the campus theater. I saw a lot of movies in class and in theaters, and it was wonderful. Between that and being a critic, I must have spent thirty years watching a couple of movies a week, and then I just burned out completely.

TG: As much as I love watching movies, I don’t know that I would be able to do that! Do you have an all-time favorite movie?

NS: The easy answer is Citizen Kane. It certainly is the source of so much inspiration and technique for everybody who makes movies. I don’t think it’s possible to cite one particular film. Whatever pleases you at the time that you’re open to, it’s a film that becomes your favorite. I also like His Girl Friday. No connection between those, except they’re both about newspapers.

TG: Are you drawn to movies about reporters and publicists?

NS: It turns out that I am drawn to movies about reporters. Certainly, Sam Fuller’s Park Row is a movie that makes me cry, not because it’s sad, but because it reminds me of the days when I was writing for real newspapers. No, I don’t find myself glomming onto any particular kind of film, be it science fiction, horror, drama, musical, or anything else. I just like a good movie.

TG: So, you don’t consider yourself partial to certain genres?

NS: I think that so many genres, particularly horror or suspense films, seem to have a playbook, and I don’t like films that go where you know they’re going to go. I remember something Jonathan Demme said about the script for his film Something Wild. He said you literally didn’t know from one page to the next what was going to happen. I like to see that on the screen. I like films that have what I call an “Oh, shit!” moment. The first one I remember was, of course, 2001: A Space Odyssey, just before the intermission, when we realized that HAL was reading the astronauts’ lips, and that was the moment where the whole audience sort of exclaimed, “Oh, shit!” [laughs]. There are also other movies like A Beautiful Mind with that kind of moment, or a movie that very few people remember that Stephen Fears made called Dirty Pretty Things.

TG: Yes, that’s with Audrey Tautou from Amelie.

NS: Yes. I was watching it in a small theater, and not only did we all say, “Oh, shit,” but we all stayed through the credits and then stood up and congratulated each other after the movie for seeing that film.

TG: You’ve written and published a good number of books on The Towering Inferno, the Scarface films, the Hollywood Code, John Milius, William Friedkin and Harlan Ellison. Your latest book, The Exorcist Legacy: 50 Years of Fear, is quite an accomplishment. It begins on Christmas Day in 1973. You were working for the Sack Cinema 57 on Stuart Street in Boston.

NS: Yes. I was their publicity director in 1973 when The Exorcist was scheduled to be released on Wednesday, December 26^th. One of our critics, Stuart Byron, who knew the industry really well, was able to inveigle William Friedkin to permit a day-before screening so that the weekly papers, which catered to the young audience, would be able to meet their deadlines. So, I hosted this greeting of The Exorcist on Christmas morning.

For some reason, the critics had no problem leaving the bosom of their families to come and see a movie about a little girl whose head spins around. I didn’t see the movie that day. I was standing in the lobby guarding the door so the people who weren’t invited couldn’t get in. Nobody got sick. We didn’t know we were supposed to throw up. Of course, the Technicolor yawns began the very next day.

TG: Did you have any inkling what that film was like? Based upon the lobby cards, the marketing of the film by Warner Brothers, did you have any idea what was going on behind those doors?

NS: I had no idea what was going to be going on, “on this street in that house in a little girl’s bedroom.” [laughs] I had read the book, of course. The only glimpse we had was a teaser trailer that went 30 seconds with the narration I just did for you. It was simply a shot of the poster of Max von Sydow standing outside of the house. That’s all anybody knew. There were no pictures, nothing. In fact, there was an embargo on anything from the film. I think it was either Time or Newsweek who ended up sued by Warner Brothers because somebody sneaked into the theater and got a picture of Regan in makeup and ran it. That was considered a breach of copyright, a very secret thing. The audiences, as you know, would file out ashen. The audiences waiting to get in would know that something weird was going on in there, and it became an emotional rollercoaster for them.

TG: Now, I of course, didn’t live through this. Was this a similar reaction like when Psycho came out? Psycho had been a novel first, and then the film was released and it was all hush-hush, “don’t give away the ending.”

NS: I wasn’t old enough to see Psycho when it came out. I do know, of course, that Hitchcock specified that nobody be allowed in once the film had started. That made a certain groundswell of public opinion. The film that was closest to The Exorcist when I was that age was Night of the Living Dead, which had a reputation for being gross, scary, and horrifying. The fact that it was shown at midnight to a bunch of kids who were probably high made additional impressions on people. A black and white film with blurry pictures from an indie source in Pittsburgh was not the same thing as a beautifully photographed color film from Warner Brothers. Incidentally, John Russo, who co-wrote Night of the Living Dead, wrote the forward to The Exorcist Legacy.

TG: What was your introduction to William Friedkin’s work? Had you seen any of his previous films?

NS: I had seen The Birthday Party. It was on a sneak preview where Walter Reade’s Continental Releasing was trying to get a booking for it, and I saw it in Boston. That wasn’t the film that I was there to see. The Birthday Party was just stunning. Robert Shaw, Patrick Magee, I mean, just a beautifully contained job. I’d also seen The Night They Raided Minsky’s, and thought it was lovely, but I didn’t really realize it was a William Friedkin film. I had missed Good Times with Sonny and Cher, which I’ve seen since then. Then of course, The French Connection came out. I was late seeing The Boys in the Band because I was in school at the time when it played in theaters. I caught it later. The French Connection naturally was the one that galvanized everybody. In fact, at the theater that showed it in Boston, which is where I was working at the time, people would come in early when they knew that the car chase was going to start, and they’d see the chase and stay through to watch the film all through again so they could get in and see the chase twice. We had to clear the theater. It was remarkable with that on a huge screen. The vertigo was just phenomenal. It was just a staggering effect because I don’t think anybody had ever mounted a camera on the bumper of a car before Billy did it.

TG: That’s what blows me away about his cinema. He did things that we had never seen before.

NS: Yes, including racing through the streets of New York without permits. Randy Jurgensen will tell you one thing. Sonny Grosso would tell another. Billy Friedkin would tell you something else. There’s no agreement. From what I understand, and I trust Randy, is that they simply ran the car. They didn’t have any siren on the car to warn people because, as Randy said, if you put a siren on the car, people look at the car and they don’t want people looking at the car. Billy sat in the back, Bill Hickman drove, and they just tore ass through Brooklyn. If anybody stopped them, Randy said he’d just flash his badge saying, “Fellow officer, let us go.” You could do that then. You could get away with it.

TG: So much of what you could get away with, you can’t do now because of small security cameras and the Internet.

NS: Yes. We’re living, as John Milius said, under the booted foot of the lifeguard state.

TG: How did this book about The Exorcist Legacy come about? When did you start thinking about it? Had it been something gestating in your mind for some years? Had you started writing it a long time ago in anticipation of the 50th anniversary?

NS: I could tell you my publicity line, which is that I’ve been possessed by The Exorcist for 50 years, but in fact, I’d acquired a wonderful new agent, Lee Sobel, at the end of 2020. We were thinking what kind of books we could possibly sell. Anniversary books seemed to work well. What film was having a 25th, a 40th, or a 50th anniversary? We figured, well, with a year and a half or two of lead time, that makes it 2023. I said, “The Exorcist is going to be 50.” Bang, he sold it in a matter of days.

TG: Did you approach John Russo specifically to do the forward?

NS: John Russo was approached by my editor, James Abbate, who knows him and has worked with him. He very graciously did the forward to the book.

TG: Yes, John is very nice. I go to horror conventions that they have and most of the cast of my favorite horror films come and speak about them. Night of the Living Dead was one of them. I got to meet John there and talk with him at length about the films and all. I just love the behind-the-scenes stories that you haven’t read and haven’t been published. It gives you a real look into the film, a new appreciation, of the movie, whatever that movie may be.

NS: There are some very good people out there. The great thing about writers is that we tend to help each other. Whenever I need an author’s query or information, it’s always the writers who come through first, like yourself.

TG: As far as The Exorcist Legacy is concerned, who was the first person you spoke to? Did you go straight to Billy?

NS: I didn’t go to Billy at all for The Exorcist Legacy. There was a reason for that, which is that I had all the answers I needed back in 1988 to 1990 when I wrote his biography. In those days, The Exorcist was merely a hit. It wasn’t a classic yet. The stories, I believe, were closer to the source. I also had the good fortune to speak to Ellen Burstyn, whom I adore, and who I believe is our finest American actress of our generation.

TG: I agree, she’s phenomenal.

NS: She’s amazing. I had spoken to William Peter Blatty at great length. We’d been friends and kept in touch over the years. A lot of his material in the book is material that I could not publish while he was alive. He was very frank about his relationship with film studios. As he hand-wrote on the side of a transcript that I sent him for approval, as you do, he said, “Nat, don’t print this. I’ve got enough problems.” He was a warm, funny, and wonderful man. I’ve become friends with his oldest son, Mike, since the book came out. In fact, I saw him at a signing the other day. He happened to be in town. I’m very happy to keep up my connection with the Blatty family.

TG: Oh, sure. Whom did you speak to at great length for the book?

NS: I did it two years ago and it was with Terry Donnelly, who was the first assistant director and unit manager. I had worked on a film with Terry years ago. We picked up where we left off and he was able to tell me about the behind-the-scenes facets. I spoke to Craig McKay, who is a film editor. He cut The Silence of the Lambs among other films. He’s very good. He was a kid when he was starting out on The Exorcist, there to pick up pieces. He had some wonderful stories. I did speak to Jeremy Slater, who was the showrunner for the Exorcist television series, and of course, David Gordon Green, who has a new Exorcist film coming out. I had a lot of the material from when I wrote Hurricane Billy (Billy’s biography). I was able to use that. What can I say, covering all these films, two sequels, two prequels, and each of them was recut? It was a lot to write about.

TG: How do you keep track in your head just of all these different versions of these movies? As much as I love films, I really find it so hard to be able to keep track of the director’s cut, or the original cut, and this one runs this number of minutes, etc. I’ve always admired Tim Lucas’s review of movies in Video Watchdog for that reason because it’s encyclopedic, the amount of information that he has on all these films and how he would do all the video comparisons. How did you find doing that? Was that something that came easily to you because you had seen the film so many times in different versions?

NS: Tim Lucas is one of the people in the book, as is Mark Kermode. We’ve known each other for so many years that we don’t even think about it. With the different versions of The Exorcist, which I’m not very happy with, I guess, three of them, or maybe four, depending on if you count one of them twice, I think the original is the best version, except for a couple of scenes that are put in “The Version You’ve Never Seen,” so it’s very hard. I would like to do my own fan edit, but I think I’ve watched The Exorcist enough by now.

TG: Was there anybody you wanted to interview for this book whom you weren’t able to interview because they either passed away or you were unable to contact?

NS: Linda Blair.

TG: What was the first Billy Friedkin film that you were on the set of?

NS: The Brink’s Job in the summer of 1978. I was there for Evening Magazine, which was the version of PM Magazine that was run on the stations that were owned by Westinghouse.

TG: Oh, I remember PM Magazine. That’s where I first saw Matt Lauer.

NS: Billy allowed our cameras on the set, which is funny because he just kicked the publicity cameras for Paramount and Universal off the set, and he let us on. We had wonderful footage of Peter Falk and the cast. Dean Tavoularis had done a reconstruction of the Brink’s system as it was in 1951 when the robbery took place. It was a magnificent set. There was an incident where some local tough guys broke into the editing offices, took footage, and wanted to hold it for ransom to shake down the production. As it happened, I had the only footage of Brink’s and I was with a TV station, but I couldn’t get my TV station to run their own footage because we had shot non-union. That was Westinghouse. That’s why they’re not around anymore. Westinghouse was the Pazuzu of television. I was also on the set of one of Billy’s films in Montreal when I was writing the book (the 1988 TV-movie C.A.T. Squad: Python Wolf). You don’t learn a whole lot on a set. William Goldman is right. The most exciting day of your life is your first day on a movie set, and the most boring day of your life is your second day on a movie set.

TG: I’ve seen a handful of films being shot. It’s fairly boring, I must say.

NS: I will correct you on one thing. Billy Friedkin didn’t allow chairs on his sets. You stand around.

TG: Christopher Nolan is like that. He doesn’t allow them either.

NS: He’s right! James Cameron has a nail gun (like in No Country for Old Men), and if anybody’s cell phone rings, he nails it to a prop.

TG: Holy Jeez! Is there anything that I haven’t covered that you wanted to say about the book?

NS: The book goes into not just the original Exorcist, but the sequels and prequels. That’s something that people don’t consider because nobody ever intended The Exorcist to be a franchise. It became a franchise when Morgan Creek bought the rights from Bill Blatty, and they are now trying to revive it, of course, with the October release of The Exorcist: Believer.

TG: Have you seen that?

NS: No, I haven’t seen it yet. I’m looking forward to it. I do know that I really like David Gordon Green, who was very kind to me. He probably shouldn’t have been talking about the film. He did because I had a year and a half lead time for the book, and it’s in there. I was disappointed in the prequel, both Dominion, which was Paul Schrader’s version, and Exorcist: The Beginning, which was Renny Harlin’s. Although I think there’s a lot in Paul Schrader’s version, I’ve been saying the difference between them is that Paul Schrader made a film where Renny Harlan made a movie. I think that both films had trouble because people expect an exorcism Exorcist movie and what they got was CGI. That’s not the same thing. CGI is not the real thing. That’s what distinguishes The Exorcist; what made The Exorcist work was that it was real. The things that happened in front of the camera actually happened. Linda Blair really floated, the bed really shook, doors really cracked, things really fell over. Curtains really blew on closed windows. They didn’t happen because anybody was possessed. They happened because Dick Smith created brilliant makeup and Marcel Vercoutere had incredibly complicated mechanical effects, but they all happened in front of the camera so that it looked real. That’s the documentary nature of Billy’s filmmaking and why he believes in reality. That, I believe, will be his ultimate legacy on film, which is that he made the movies look real. Of course, now most of the movies look like fantasy. We’ve lost that.

TG: Yes. Steven Spielberg would agree with that statement. He likes to see everything real in front of the camera. He does realize that in today’s day and age, you do have to use computer graphics, and that’s really came to fruition with Jurassic Park. Before that, he wondered how they were going to make the dinosaurs run.

NS: It’s true. He tried stop motion, but he didn’t want to make Jurassic Park until he could do it right. Not everybody has that. They’ll say, “Well, the audience won’t know.” No, no, they know. The audience doesn’t know what’s called the uncanny valley, but it is the uncanny valley.

TG: I want to thank you very, very much for taking the time to speak with me about the book.

NS: Thank you so much. I do want to say something about Billy who, as you know, died just twenty-two days shy of his 88th birthday. He was a friend for fifty years and an inspiration, not just for his films, but for his personality: he didn’t cotton to bullshit which, of course, is the coin of the realm in Hollywood. Billy was a very brave man because I can’t think of many other directors, except maybe Brian De Palma, who let somebody write a book about them while they were still working. He did that for me and launched my career as a writer. I love him and I miss him. And thank you, Todd and Cinema Retro, for giving me the chance to say that on the record.

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By Mark Cerulli

Tom Johnson, noted Hammer Film expert and longtime friend of many a Hammer star, passed away at his home in Shillington, PA on July 11^th. He was 76.

Tom’s best-known work was his 1995 book, Hammer Films – An Exhaustive Filmography (co-written with Debra Del Vecchio) and exhaustive it was with over 400 pages covering every film the studio made from the 1930s onward. He wrote other books like The Christopher Lee Filmography (co-written with Mark A. Miller and Jimmy Sangster), The Films of Oliver Reed (with Susan D. Cowie) and The Mummy in Fact and Fiction (with Susan D. Cowie) and others. His 2015 tribute to Christopher Lee for Little Shoppe of Horrors – “Christopher Lee – He May Not Have Been… Who You Thought He Was” won the Rondo Award for Best Horror Article.

I met Tom when I covered the 1997 Midnight Marquee Hammer Convention for Cinemax. Along with spending time with Caroline Munro, Freddie Francis and Jimmy Sangster, I got to know Tom. Very smart, with a dry wit and an encyclopedic knowledge of cinema, he was easy to befriend. Tom was close to many Hammer actors and filmmakers, most noticeably Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing. I will forever be in his debt for his getting Lee to sign my UK one-sheet to Scars of Dracula. Tom said when he unfolded it for the star, Lee rolled his eyes and mumbled, “Oh my God.” The Count, it seems, was not a fan of the film!

Along with his literary efforts, Tom taught and coached high School track. (He was a medal-winning runner himself back in the day.) An avowed Luddite, Tom didn’t own a computer, never had an e-mail account and never once browsed the web. I remember telling him how great it would be if he got an email address. His response? “Nah.” Old school to his core, he would write his books by hand and his wonderful British writing partner Sue Cowie would type them up and bring them into the 21^st Century.

As years went by, Tom’s health got worse and he seldom ventured far from his PA home, but we would talk on the phone. He took great delight in my collecting tales – the items that got away and also the things I managed to get, especially anything expensive. Tom laughed uproariously when I told him about buying a rather large helicopter model from You Only Live Twice sight unseen and my wife’s less than enthusiastic reaction. He made ME laugh when he recounted buying an ultra-rare window card for 1935’s Mad Love at an antique store, putting it under his mattress to “straighten it out,” then FORGETTING it for years! When he finally removed it, the brittle paper was in tatters. Ouch.

Tom stoically faced his mounting health problems with his sense of humor and curiosity unchanged. He was a kind and gentle man who truly loved the art of filmmaking and was unrivalled in his knowledge of the entire Hammer canon. He leaves behind seven books, countless articles and an army of people who will truly miss him. Thank you, dear Tom.

You can buy Tom’s books at https://mcfarlandbooks.com/?s=Tom+Johnson&search_id=product&post_type=product

Photos kindly supplied by Dick Klemensen at Little Shoppe of Horrors.

By Hank Reineke

Louis B. Mayer’s MGM was not a preeminent fright-movie factory in the 1930s. In a 1935 interview with London’s Picturegoer, C.A. Lejeune, managing director of MGM in Great Britain, boasted the studio didn’t “specialise in any single type of production,” whether they be “musicals, or comedies, or horror films.” That said, following the successes of Universal’s Dracula and Frankenstein, and the still-in-production The Bride of Frankenstein, MGM wisely chose to dip their toe into the horror pool. In doing so, they managed to release a couple of eerie 1930 classics of their own. In 1935-1936 MGM delivered to the big screen The Devil Doll with Lionel Barrymore and Mad Love with Peter Lorre. But the studio was also interested in capitalizing on Universal’s success of Dracula. So much so they even sought out that film’s director, Tod Browning, to do so. It was Browning, an earlier collaborator on multiple silent-film classics starring Lon Chaney, chosen to helm the production of MGM’s The Vampires of Prague.

Mayer was not particularly enamored of horror pictures, but business was business and he recognized Universal was doing good box office with their string of chillers. MGM did insist writers tapped to scribe The Vampire of Prague should draw upon an earlier property of theirs: Tod Browning’s silent feature London after Midnight (1927). Though only a relatively few short years separated release dates of London after Midnight and Mark of the Vampire (as The Vampires of Prague would be re-titled), it didn’t seem a large number of critics (circa 1935) recognized the latter as a re-make of the earlier Lon Chaney film - an effort now sadly lost for examination and contrast.

So it wasn’t too surprising that MGM brought Tod Browning on. Though Lon Chaney was dead and gone, the director had an ace-in-the-hole, an actor holding current high attention. Bela Lugosi had come to Browning’s attention with his casting in the director’s cinematic adaptation of Bayard Veiller’s 1916 three-act stage mystery of The Thirteenth Chair (1929). Though Lugosi’s role in that film was relatively minor – he was only the seventh-billed of the cast – his subsequent popularity as Bram Stoker’s Count Dracula on stage productions cemented Browning’s decision to cast the actor in the title role of the iconic Universal film of 1931.

With this bankable asset in place, Variety reported in December of 1934 that Sam Ornitz and Hy Kraft had been conscripted to write the screenplay for The Vampires of Prague: but this news was not only late arriving, but incorrect. When production commence directly following the New Year (January 12), Guy Endore and Bernard Schubert were handling screenplay chores. Endore was something of an anomaly among horror-writers. The author of such works as The Werewolf of Paris (1933) and Babouk (1934), Endore was a devout leftist who dressed mysteries with subliminal doses of theoretic Marxism.

That said, the most controversial aspect of Endore’s scenario was not necessarily political, though its inclusion was completely excised from the finished film. It’s never explained why Lugosi’s Count Mora (a virtual mirror-image of his Count Dracula persona) displayed a visible bullet-hole in his right temple. Actress Carol Borland, playing Mora’s daughter Luna, later reminisced Endore’s script was envelope-pushing in its construction. In a scene excised from the film, the actress recounted the original screenplay explained it was an act of incest that caused Mora to strangle to death his daughter and take his own life with a bullet to the head.

It was this ghastly act that caused the restless souls of Mora and Luna to solemnly walk the earth in perpetuity. Endore’s plot device, needless to say, conjured a scenario far beyond any sort of supernatural hokum: MGM, not without cause, demanded its exclusion from the finished film. If such a scene was actually filmed, it was likely excised along with fourteen other minutes reportedly trimmed from the final cut. In any event, Mark of the Vampire clocks in at a tidy sixty-one minutes which, all things considered, is probably for the best.

The production was allotted a twenty-four day shooting schedule and budget of some 305,000 dollars, $3000 of which went to Lugosi for his (mostly) silent walk-through role. For those cineastes who complain Lugosi was under-used in Mark of the Vampire – given that the actor’s only speaking lines consisted of only one or two sentences uttered at the film’s end – such fans should enjoy the film’s trailer (included here on this new Blu-ray from the Warner Archive). Lugosi serves as the trailer’s singular narrator, spookily warning - in his Slavic trademark style, of course - cinemagoers “Shall be the judges of this eerie conspiracy!” It was nice to see the trailer included with the set, however misleading its vampiric content.

In Mark of the Vampire, Browning and MGM borrow generously from Universal’s established horror film tropes: cinematographer James Wong Howe’s photography is atmospheric and moody, particularly in scenes where Luna stoically skulks the graveyard in her “cemetery clothes.” The film’s exterior setting is a quaint eastern European village, peopled by superstitious residents who enjoy a bit of folkloric dancing in the daylight hours - but who wouldn’t dare travel at night should they encounter such ghouls as Mora and Luna. No string of garlic cloves or wolfs bane are used to protect the villagers from evil. They prefer a regional botanical they refer to as “Bat’s Thorn.”

In the unlikely scenario someone reading this is not already conversant with the plot of the film, I don’t want to give too much away. So I’ll just say elements that work best and prove memorable are the ghostly mute walk-throughs of Lugosi and Borland. The latter’s swooping entrance on a set of animated bat wings during one scene is particularly cinematic. The performances of the cast are all up to par, though one gets the feeling Lionel Barrymore regards his leading role as unworthy of his talent.

There are stories of Browning carping on Barrymore’s diffident performance while the film was in production. Which is surprising as the two were certainly familiar with each other’s work habits. Though Browning earned a reputation as a stern taskmaster on set, the director had worked with Barrymore earlier: on the Lon Chaney Sr. silent West of Zanzibar (1928). Though Barrymore is tasked to play only one-half the character Lon Chaney played in London after Midnight, it is obvious Browning would have preferred Chaney in the lead role – if only the silent-screen legend had not tragically already passed in 1930.

Browning’s opinion of Chaney bordered on the worshipful. In 1928 he enthused the “Man of a Thousand Faces” famous make-up appliances and grotesqueries were hardly “Chaney’s real secret. He could put the same make-up on the face of another man and that man would fail on the screen. There is a personality, a something about the man that grips one.” Even accepting Browning’s preferences, Barrymore’s performance is not the crux of the problem plaguing Mark of the Vampire. The main weakness of the film is the implausibility of its red-herring scenario.

Based on Browning’s own short story, The Hypnotist, both London after Midnight and Mark of the Vampire are atmospherically disguised as genuine “horror” pictures, but in truth they’re simply routine mysteries dressed as ghoulish entertainment. While I actually enjoy Mark of the Vampire, I concede the picture might otherwise be regarded a middling whodunit without the presence of Lugosi and Borland. The actress – who had earlier worked with Lugosi on a stage production of Dracula, acknowledged neither she nor Bela were made aware they were merely red herrings; the final “reveal” page of the script had been withheld until the final day of production. Universal’s lawyers tried to get an injunction to stop production of the MGM film, believing MGM’s use of Lugosi’s Dracula-persona in the film seemed an uncomfortable infringement of their intellectual properties. But threatened legal action against MGM was dropped when Universal’s lawyers deemed the case unwinnable.

Universal needn’t have worried: the film doesn’t really work as a great mystery, much less a gripping vampire tale. One doesn’t need to wait breathlessly until the closing minutes for the murderer’s reveal. Instead, we’re only given insight into how the perpetrator is entrapped into confessing. Which doesn’t make for a particularly exciting climax. The film’s other weakness is its parlor-room staginess – a plodding element also plaguing Browning’s otherwise iconic staging of Dracula. With that said, it wouldn’t be fair to throw the baby out with the bathwater. Mark of the Vampire is still a classic – albeit a somewhat minor one – from Hollywood’s Golden Age of Horror.

Previously issued in 2006 on DVD as part of the six-film Hollywood Legends of Horror set, Mark of the Vampire makes its first U.S. appearance on Blu-ray via this Warner Archive Collection release. Ported over from that earlier set is the audio commentary supplied by film historian’s Kim Newman and Stephen Jones as well as the film’s original trailer. “New” to the Blu-ray release are two items of tangential interest to people interested in circa-1935 cinema: the 8 minute-long The Calico Dragon (a 1935 MGM cartoon) and an episode from MGM’s Crime Does Not Pay series of film shorts A Thrill for Thelma (1935).

Be warned neither bonus has really anything to do with Mark of the Vampire though there’s a slight connection to the latter bonus. The Crime Does Not Pay series served as both a long-running film and radio series. On December 12, 1949, Lugosi was a featured player on the series’ radio broadcast of Gasoline Cocktail. This arguably might have been a more interesting audio supplement to include on this archive release, but interested fans can listen to the Lugosi program easily via You Tube should they desire. In any event, the release from Warner Archive looks great: 1080p High Definition 16x9 1.37.1 DTS-HD Master Audio. This Blu-ray should be on the shelf of any fan of classic horror film fan or enthusiast of Browning’s work.

Click here to order from Amazon

Celebrity interviewer Bobbie Wygant posted this 1968 interview with Robert Vaughn when he was in Czechoslovakia to begin filming the WWII epic "The Bridge at Remagen". Vaughn speaks optimistically about the new freedoms found in the country, which was under domination of the Soviet Union. The so-called "Prague Spring" didn't last long, however. Shortly after this interview was conducted, the Soviets had second thoughts about having extended significant freedoms to the people of Czechoslovakia, fearing that other satellite states would demand the same. As Vaughn recounted to Cinema Retro, he and other members of the cast and crew received a rude awakening at their Prague hotel when Soviet tanks rumbled through the city streets, sent by Soviet leaders to  reimpose the iron boot of an authoritarian regime. In the protests and street violence that followed, the cast and crew had to fend for themselves to devise ways to escape the country.

Vaughn recounts all of this in his highly-readable memoir, "A Fortunate Life" but he also joined cast members George Segal, Bradford Dillman and Bo Hopkins in providing his memories of the experience to writer Steven J. Rubin in Cinema Retro issues #'s 33 and 34.

BY LEE PFEIFFER

At first glance, "Voyeur", a 2017 original Netflix documentary, would seem to be as salacious as its title might imply- but it unexpectedly transforms into a fascinating and highly engrossing character study of two men from disparate backgrounds who are brought together by a common interest in sexual practices. In 1980, the famed journalist Gay Talese was contacted by a Colorado man, Gerald Foos, who suggested that he might have a tale worthy of Talese's talents. Foos informed the bestselling author that he was the owner of a nondescript motel, the kind of place people stop at for a night while passing through town. As with many other U.S. motels, a prurient inducement was advertised: the rooms had pornographic movies you could access on the TV, a big deal back in the pre-internet era. Foos told Talese that sex was very much on his mind and was an incentive to buying the motel. He claimed he was a voyeur, but not the average Peeping Tom who might glance in a neighbor's window in hopes of seeing a woman is some stage of undress. Foos was a professional snoop. He had meticulously transformed the crawlspace above one of the motel rooms into an eavesdropping vantage point worthy of an episode of "Mission: Impossible". The vents allowed him to see directly down to the bed but he could not be seen even if a customer were to stare straight up. Foos was an everyday, unassuming guy and was unlike another motel owner with creepy habits - Norman Bates of "Psycho"- in that he was not lonely or desperate for sex. In fact, Foos was married and his wife Anita indulged him the way a wife might for a husband's mainstream hobby. She would even tip-toe to the crawlspace to provide Gerald with refreshments and food if he was putting in some long hours staring down at his oblivious customers. The goal, of course, was to watch couples engage in sexual activities. He was more often than not rewarded for his patience.

This story appealed to Gay Talese, who was no shrinking violet when it came to sex. In fact, for a decade he had been researching his book "Thy Neighbor's Wife", a non-fiction examination of American sexual practices in the post-WWII era. There was plenty to research, as anyone who came of age in the late 1960s-1970s could attest. Before AIDS brought down the curtain on promiscuous activity, sex was everywhere, and largely guilt-free. Talese chronicled all this in his book, which was first published in 1981 and updated in 2009. As part of his research, he actually operated a massage parlor. lived in a nudist colony and engaged in sexual activities, despite the fact that his marriage was already hanging by a thread. When the book was published, it reached bestseller status and Talese revisited the Gerald Foos situation. He traveled to the motel and Foos escorted him to the crawlspace where the two men spied on people engaging in sex. Talese thought the tale was fantastic and over the years and he Foos formed a friendship of sorts. Foos, who has narcissistic tendencies, relished the fact that a New York City dandy with a famous name would be interested in his story. Talese saw the potential for another bestseller. He found Foos to be a guilt-free, jolly guy who was proud of his "accomplishment" and wanted to brag about it, with the prestige of having Talese tell his story. Their relationship continued even after Foos and his wife sold the motel.

Talese, who is an old school journalist who relies on shoe leather, personal interviews and an abundance of yellow paper writing pads, kept meticulous notes of his conversations with Gerald Foos. They formed the basis of the documentary "Voyeur", directed by Myles Kane and Josh Koury, which premiered on Netflix in 2017 but which I only recently discovered. I wasn't the only one in the dark about the documentary. In 2016, Steven Spielberg planned to make a feature film with director Sam Mendes about the Talese/Foos relationship, only to learn of the documentary, which caused him to drop the project. The documentarians spent a good many months (perhaps years) filming candid conversations with Talese and Foos, sometimes together, but mostly as individuals. Talese believed Foos was being honest with him but was haunted by the fact that Foos was his only source for these remarkable tales. It's the first rule of journalism that a writer trusts a single source at their own peril. When Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein of the Washington Post unearthed information that indicated the highest levels of the Nixon administration were involved in the Watergate scandal, their editor, Ben Bradlee, refused to print the story unless the reporters could find additional sources. They ultimately did, as recounted in "All the President's Men", but it was a painful, time-consuming process. Nevertheless, they emerged as honored journalists and brought down a corrupt presidency. In the documentary, Talese ponders aloud if he is being too trusting of Foos, but decides that since he had personally witnessed the crawlspace, the rest of his tales must be true. That theory is put to the test when Foos reveals he had inadvertently witnessed a drug dealer murder his girlfriend in the room in 1977 but never reported it. Foos said he thought the woman was only injured. The body was found by the maid the next morning. However, when Talese tries to validate the story, there was no record of it in newspaper archives. However, there was a murder in a nearby motel around that time. Was Foos expropriating that incident to sensationalize his own story? 

The documentary examines journalistic methods and accountability. They are especially relevant today when elected officials with much to hide have convinced large sections of the population that real news is fake news and vice-versa. In fact, the film documents the extent to which seasoned journalists go to in order to insure accuracy. Their reputations are on the line, as Talese finds out after publication of his book about Foos, "The Voyeur's Motel", when a Washington Post reporter notifies him that he has unearthed provable inaccuracies in the tale. We watch Talese go into an emotional tailspin, first denouncing his own book, then attempting damage control. He blames Foos and himself for the scandal. Talese gets testy even with the filmmakers, insulting them on camera at one point and drawing them into the narrative. There is a morbid fascination in watching him melt down on camera. Was he sloppy in his research? Was he snookered by a man he trusted? Was he guilty of ignoring the famous cautionary line from John Ford's "The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance": "When the legend becomes fact, print the legend"?

Foos, meanwhile, tries his own damage control and is more concerned about losing his friendship with a world famous author than a string of loose facts he had been feeding him. Foos also gripes that, in a newspaper interview to promote the book, Talese disclosed that Foos had a priceless collection of baseball memorabilia on display in his basement. Foos is outraged because he now fears he will be targeted by crooks, overlooking the fact that he had already willingly given Talese a tour of through the collectibles on film for use in the documentary.

The film will not placate the general population, which is already understandably a bit paranoid about where we are and what we do in the modern era. At one time, tiny cameras and recording devices were employed by the likes of Napoleon Solo. But today, any schmuck can by miniature eavesdropping equipment. No one knows if the room the or house they are renting isn't making their activities the object of someone's obsession.

"Voyeur" is a remarkable achievement, not only as a film, but as a sociological study of sexual perversion and journalistic practices, two subjects that are not often paired. The directors also edited the film and have done a very impressive job, given the countless hours of footage they must have had to sort through. There is also a good, appropriate score by Joel Goodman that captures the mood of the film perfectly. There is a bit of schmaltz in the film, with the directors resorting to recreations of sexual activities to represent what Foos is observing. They are tastefully done and not graphic but one could argue that Ken Burns makes documentaries about subjects pertaining to the eras before the advent of films and never uses recreations. Nevertheless, "Voyeur" is a highly engrossing achievement. Recommended. 

(For the Guardian's article about the credibility scandal relating to Talese's book, "The Voyeur's Motel", click here.)

BY LEE PFEIFFER

Noted director and film historian Peter Bogdanovich has passed away from natural causes at age 82. Bogdanovich grew up idolizing the legendary actors and directors of his youth and would later enter the film industry working for Roger Corman on the 1966 hit "The Wild Angels". Corman saw potential in him and allowed him to direct a "B" movie titled "Targets" in 1968, which Bogdanovich and his wife Polly wrote very quickly. The atmospheric film was widely praised and it provided a fictional interpretation of a notorious mass shooting in 1966 that had horrified the nation. Bogdanovich also managed to logically intermingle a parallel story relating to a once-legendary horror actor played by Boris Karloff in his last great role. Bogdanovich next gained acclaimed with his 1971 B&W drama "The Last Picture Show" which received international honors. He seemed to be on a non-stop juggernaut towards success, as more hits followed: "What's Up, Doc?" and "Paper Moon". However, after Bogdanovich began an affair with Cybill Shepherd, who had appeared in "The Last Picture Show", his personal life became increasingly chaotic. His marriage ended and his next film, "Daisy Miller" starring Shepherd was a notorious bomb. This was followed by another starring vehicle for Shepherd that paired her with Burt Reynolds, "At Long Last Love", a tribute to musicals of the 1930s. When that film proved to be an expensive failure, Bogdanovich's reputation as a "Golden Boy" was diminished.

Over the years, he was in the news, not because of his film achievements, but because of his love life. After he and Cybill Shepherd broke up (but stayed on amicable terms), Bogdanovich became obsessed with Playboy Playmate of the Year, Dorothy Stratten, who was married. On the evening she was going to tell her husband she was leaving him for Bogdanovich, he brutally murdered her in a jealous rage and then committed suicide. (Bob Fosse would later make a film about Stratton, "Star 80", that recounted her love affair with Bogdanovich.) Bogdanovich remained haunted by the tragedy for the rest of his life and would he would later marry Stratten's 20 year-old sister Louise. He was 49 at the time. The marriage didn't last but Bogdanovich continued to live with Louise and her mother. 

Professionally, Bogdanovich would continue to make films occasionally. He received critical acclaim for the 1979 arthouse film "Saint Jack" starring Ben Gazzara but his much-anticipated 1981 comedy "They All Laughed" in which Dorothy Stratton had a major role, proved to be a boxoffice bomb when it was released shortly after her death. Bogdanovich didn't like the studio's marketing campaign for the movie and bought back the rights at a cost of most of his assets. He believed he could distribute the film himself but reviews were tepid and he could find few theaters that would play the movie. He rebounded and a modest boxoffice success in 1985 with "Mask" starring Cher.

In later years, Bogdanovich was often sought-out for his first-hand knowledge of old Hollywood. As a young man, he had the foresight to interview prominent actors and directors and used the original tapes to launch his own podcast. Bogdanovich had befriended his idol Orson Welles in the 1960s and Welles served as his adviser and mentor. However, Welles was often the victim of his own ego and excesses and fell out of favor in Hollywood. At one point, he was living in Bogdanovich's house as he tried to raise funds for his final film "The Other Side of the Wind". Welles worked on the project for many years but died before finishing it. Bogdanovich, with support from Netflix, finished the movie using Welles's own scripts and notes. Bogdanovich would also occasionally accept roles as an actor and proved be quite effective. He had a recurring role on "The Sopranos" and appeared in supporting roles in many feature films.  

In 2021, he consented to participate in Turner Classic Movie's podcast "The Plot Thickens" and afforded a series of remarkably insightful and brutally honest interviews that didn't reflect well on the decisions he made as a much younger man. In the podcast, hosted by Ben Mankiewicz, Bogdanovich comes across as a man who is proud of his successes but regretful about many aspects  of his personal life and how it adversely affected his career.

BY HANK REINEKE

Ernest B. Schoedsack’s Dr. Cyclops (1940) was certainly not the first - nor is it the most famous - horror/sci-fi film to exploit the cinematic possibilities of shrunken humans as ghoulish entertainment. Audiences of the 1930s were first introduced to Ernest Thesiger’s deliciously devilish Dr. Pretorius as he dabbled with his experimentations-in-miniature in James Whale’s The Bride of Frankenstein. The miniaturization of human specimens were central to the plot of Tod Browning’s The Devil Doll (1936). In that film, an embittered Lionel Barrymore misuses a scientist-friend’s discovery to convert people to doll size in order to extract revenge on those who had earlier sent him to prison. In the Silver Age of Sci-Fi, this device was most famously captured in Jack Arnold’s The Incredible Shrinking Man (1957) and again, rather exploitatively a year later, in Bert I. Gordon’s less-celebrated but still amusing knock-off Attack of the Puppet People (1958).

In some manner of speaking, the size-reduced victims terrorized by Dr. Cyclops is frightening to them only as a matter only of ratio. The combat between the unusually very large versus the very small was already a well-established trope, straight out of the playbook of such giant-ape films as King Kong (1933), Son of Kong (1933), and Mighty Joe Young (1949). Interestingly, Schoedsack and Dr. Cyclops producer Merian C. Cooper worked together on all three of these epics, though their involvements were not always credited on-screen.

Brooklyn’s own Albert Dekker portrays the titular Dr. Cyclops, otherwise known as Dr. Alexander Thorkel. In his steamy scientific-research laboratory nestled deep within the green and leafy Amazon jungles of Peru, the secretive doctor has managed to tap into what’s described as a “deposit of the richest radium ore known to man.” Though he would have preferred otherwise, Thorkel’s poor eyesight requires him to request the assistance of a scientific colleague, Dr. Bulfinch (Charles Halton). Bulfinch travels the thousand or so miles to Thorkel’s remote Amazon base – if only to look through a few microscopic slides and confirm his colleague’s findings.

With his task accomplished, Dr. Bulfinch – who has visited with a small expedition party – is surprised when he’s summarily dismissed: Thorkel has – somewhat ungraciously - told Bulfinch and Co. to pack up their things and head home. Though his time at the jungle laboratory was short, Bulfinch recognizes that Thorkel’s “drawing the cosmic force from the bosom of the earth” is an inherently dangerous practice. Especially when one considers that, by almost all measure and standard, the “abnormally secretive” and obsessive Dr. Thorkel is clearly a bona fide paranoiac. Bulfinch deems him as a “delusional” who is recklessly “tampering with powers reserved for God.”

The “cosmic force” that Bulfinch has referenced is radium. Dr. Cyclops has been collecting radium ore through a sophisticated ringed and phallic two-bulb-shaped instrument of his own invention. Having extracted the subterranean radium from an open-pit mine, this unrelentingly malevolent madman then transmits the alkaline and highly radioactive metal through a condenser unit housed inside his home laboratory. It there’s that he tricks his overstayed-their-welcome but curious visitors into taking a closer look at his technical handiwork. Their apparent trusting willingness to do so will prove to be unfortunate for them as Thorkel reduces them to 12”-13” in size. He does this gleefully and without a hint of remorse, assured that his scientific secrets will remain… well, secret.

Paramount’s Dr. Cyclops – one of only a handful of horror films commissioned by the studio during the genre’s Golden Age – isn’t a masterpiece by any stretch of the imagination, but it’s never dull. It must be said that the photographic effects of Dr. Cyclops are very well done for the period. The work of Visual Effects team of Farciot Edouart and Gordon Jennings’ would earn both a “Special Effects” nomination at the 1941 Academy Award celebration. Though they would lose out that year to the flying carpets featured in The Thief of Bagdad, both men would go on two win Oscars for later special projects.

BY HANK REINEKE

OK, let’s start this review by stating an obvious and oft-repeated criticism. The actress Maria Montez was a skillful, if somewhat shameless, self-promoter; her primary asset wasn’t talent but beauty. In her desperate search for stardom, Montez arrived in New York City from the Dominican Republic, leaving behind an otherwise uncelebrated life as wife of a bank manager. Montez did a bit of modeling at first - even appearing in such widely-distributed magazines as LIFE - but a Hollywood career remained her primary target. She managed to secure a screen-test for RKO pictures, but was quickly scooped up by Universal in 1940 who thought her “exotic” features might prove useful to them. She mostly appeared as a supporting player in the years 1940-1941, but emerged in 1942 as a full-fledged star. She became, for a time, the “Queen of Technicolor,” an honor bestowed on her due to her appearances in a string of sumptuously photographed, escapist B-movie adventure entertainments.

Her first big taste of success followed her appearance in Arabian Nights (1942), but while she achieved top-bill status on the marquee, her on-screen time was unusually brief for a featured player. There was a reason for this, of course. The memories of many of the actors and filmmakers who worked with her would share similar reminiscences. Though they all agreed she photographed wonderfully, most conceded Montez simply couldn’t act or sing or dance. Her male admirers sitting in darkened theaters often felt cheated by the brevity of her screen time. But the softball roles assigned to her, to say it most politely, were purposefully undemanding as a matter of practicality. What Montez did possess, aside from her God-given beauty, was a combination of ego-centrism and moxey that was uncommon… even when measured against the copious self-regard exemplified by most of Hollywood’s most famous Divas.

With the provocative title of Cobra Woman, aficionados of Golden Age Horror might be seduced into thinking the flick is a borderline genre film.  It most certainly is not, the film having more in common with the chapter-serials of the 1940s than with the barrage of 65-minute second-feature chillers and mysteries that Universal would churn out with regularity.  The presence of Lon Chaney Jr. in the cast, not top-billed but still featured prominently in all of the film’s advertising, might also lead one into thinking this is a minor – if mostly forgotten - horror classic.  As the mysterious servant Hava, Chaney actually enjoys very little screen time and is given almost nothing to do aside from appearing menacing whenever on screen. 

Though Chaney flits in and out of the film, it is likely not a part he was particularly enamored of having been gifted; his character is little more than a hulking mute here, described as a “giant” by Sabu (Sabu Dastagir). Since he’s mute throughout Chaney is tasked to gesticulate to convey emotion and intention: it’s fair to say the actor is unable to convincingly pantomime in the style of his silent film star father, Lon Sr. This is not Lon Jr.’s fault, really, as his character is strictly one-dimensional. The actor may have been wasted in this role, but Chaney could hardly complain.  He would appear in no fewer than eight films release by Universal in 1944… with this one, arguably, being the least.

Though the dashing and handsome Jon Hall is at best dimly remembered by few others than fans of cult films of the 1940s and 1950s, his most famous roles were the ones in which he was paired (or, perhaps, saddled) with co-star Montez.  A former free-agent actor contracted by Universal, Hall was groomed to play the heroic leading man in such films as Invisible Agent (1942) and The Invisible Man’s Revenge (1944).  But his most memorable roles were played out here in the studio’s splashy Technicolor - but budget-strapped - adventure films.  He would eventually be paired with Montez in no fewer than six films.  

In this BBC article from February, 2017, director Guy Hamilton's suspense-packed adventures in WWII are recounted, though the late filmmaker was loathe to discuss his wartime experiences. Hamilton, who died in April, 2016,  was in the Royal Navy, landed some secret agents on a beach in occupied France, only to find that his escape route had vanished when the ship that brought them departed suddenly. Hamilton joined the agents in evading German troops and managed to make contact with members of the Resistance, who housed the men at risk to their own lives. The amazing story rivals anything seen in the four James Bond films that Hamilton would go on to direct.

Click here to read.

By Hank Reineke

If you trust the biographical sketch included on his 1963 LP As Long as the Grass Shall Grow (Folkways FN 2532, 1963), the folksinger Peter LaFarge hailed from Fountain, Colorado, a farming and ranching town settled ten miles south of Colorado Springs. If you trust the memory of his own mother, Peter LaFarge was actually born Oliver Albee LaFarge on April 30^th, 1931, in New York City. The singer-songwriter was the son of the notable anthropologist, author and historian, Oliver LaFarge. The senior LaFarge’s 1929 novel documenting life on a Navajo reservation, Laughing Boy, would earn him a Pulitzer Prize in fiction in 1930.

Though separated early on from his biological father due to his parent’s divorce in 1935, Peter remained his father’s son in his studious devotion of America’s indigenous people. His mother, with whom Peter remained, remarried in 1940 to Alexander Kane, a rancher in aforementioned Fountain, CO. Through his stepfather’s business, LaFarge fell in love with horses and roping and rodeo life, eventually dropping out of high school to try his hand at saddle bronc riding. Though he had become a cowboy in vocation - suffering numerous injuries during his brief association with rodeo life - he remained more absorbed by his birth father’s scholarship into the folklore, art, history, and customs of the American Indian.

LaFarge was a restless spirit, tending to drift in and out of things. He served on the U.S.S. Boxer during the Korean War, sparred as an amateur pugilist, studied acting at the Goodman School of Drama in Chicago, and wrote several (as of yet) un-produced plays. Befriending the folksinger Cisco Houston, an occasional singing partner of and best friend to Woody Guthrie, LaFarge’s existing interest in folklore ignited his enthusiasm for the folksong revival of the late 1950s. Upon his arrival in Greenwich Village with an intention of inaugurating a career in folk singing, the young LaFarge seemingly burnished his credentials by telling everyone he was the descendant of the Narragansett Tribe of the Rhode Island- based Algonquians. One of his stories was that once the Narragansett’s had been “wiped out,” he found himself adopted by “the Tewa Tribe of the Hopi Nation, whose reservation is near Santa Fe.” This appears to have been the tale he chose to settle on. He would write in a 1963 issue of the seminal folk music magazine Sing Out!, “The Pima Indians, whose reservation is just outside of Phoenix, Arizona, are cousins of my people, the Hopi Indians of the New Mexico Pueblos.”

If LaFarge’s assertions of a direct ancestral lineage to indigenous Americans are suspect - as most music historians now believe - the songwriter was certainly not alone in such self-mythologizing. Another recent Village transplant from the Midwest, Bob Dylan, was also telling friends and colleagues a similar fiction. Dylan, ten years LaFarge’s junior, famously suggested to a doubtful Izzy Young of Greenwich Village’s venerable Folklore Center that he was of Sioux Indian descent. To be fair, even Johnny Cash – who is, of course, more or less the central figure in Antonio D’Ambrosio’s moving 2015 documentary We’re Still Here: Johnny Cash’s Bitter Tears Revisited, now available on DVD courtesy of Kino-Lorber, was not above such mythologizing. In an infamous letter to Billboard (published August 22, 1964), Cash would describe himself as “almost a half-breed Cherokee-Mohawk,” whatever that means. It’s therefore somewhat perplexing that, regardless of the best intent and justice-seeking goodwill of all involved, D’Ambrosio’s film makes not even a passing mention to all of these innocent subterfuges.

Does any of this really matter? I suppose not. What does matter is that LaFarge, whether a full, half or non-fledged ancestor of indigenous Americans, wrote some of the most poignant, bitter and insightful songs somberly documenting the Indians’ experience in the United States. LaFarge’s intimate knowledge of Indian customs and folklore were, ultimately, far more schooled and convincing than either Cash’s or Dylan’s more clumsy appropriations which were easier to dismiss. While Cash and Dylan would, of course, both go on to be deserved long-standing totems of the music industry, LaFarge remained a mostly obscure figure, one very much on the fringe of the popular music scene. LaFarge would productively wax new no fewer than six albums between 1962 and 1965, but only “Ira Hayes” and Other Ballads (Columbia CL 17995/CS 8595) had been recorded for a major label with pop-music market distribution. It sold poorly. His following five albums were waxed for Moses Asch’s more austere and cerebral Folkways Records, whose eclectic catalog included everything from educational LPs, to anthropological studies, to early jazz and blues recordings. LaFarge’s addition to the Folkway’s roster was something of a more comfortable – if less royalty generating – fit for the artist. Asch, a supportive “fellow traveler” of left-wing causes, judiciously used his record label to provide an open microphone to such genuine folk music artists as Woody Guthrie, Lead Belly, Cisco Houston and Pete Seeger. It was a defiant gesture as well as a pragmatic one. The political climate made most labels in the late 1940s and early 1950s wary of recording rabble-rousers armed with guitars and 5-string banjos.

BY JEREMY CARR

The works of William Shakespeare were ideally suited to the sensibilities of Orson Welles. More than once, on stage and in the cinema, The Bard’s scenarios supplied a prime source for Welles the auteur, and the dramatist’s distinct personalities manifest themselves in grandiose roles skillfully personified by Welles the actor, in his straightforward Shakespearian adaptations and in characters created to embody correspondingly epic types (Charles Foster Kane, as the most notable example). This artistic appreciation and cross-form application was most outstandingly realized in Chimes at Midnight, from 1965, but the same impassioned devotion—aesthetic and thematic—is likewise evident in the dynamic, striking Othello (1951), otherwise known as The Tragedy of Othello: The Moor of Venice, an unsung Welles film now available on an exceptional Blu-ray from The Criterion Collection.

Welles’ venerated love affair with Shakespeare began at a young age, when he published an annotated series of Shakespearean texts at the age of 12 and, later, at just 16, when he performed in assorted productions at Dublin’s Gate Theatre, an outing that would prove significant to Othello’s genesis. Fleeing the infamous blacklist business in America, Welles arrived in Rome to star in Gregory Ratoff’s Black Magic (1949), and it was around that time that he embarked on the disorderly path toward what would be his second consecutive cinematic rendering of a Shakespeare primer, following 1948’s Macbeth. What ensued was a convoluted lesson in haphazard, yet thoroughly determined independent filmmaking, with years of on-again, off-again shooting, different cinematographers and editors, several locations (Rome, Venice, Morocco, etc.), miscellaneous financial interruptions, and multiple casting changes—there were two Desdemonas before Welles settled on Suzanne Cloutier, whose voice he nevertheless had dubbed by Gudrun Ure. Othello was initially (finally) released in 1952, when it shared the Grand Prize with Two Cents Worth of Hope (1952) at the Cannes Film Festival. But that was not the end of its difficulties. The details of the whole process are recounted (and frequently repeated) on the Criterion disc, dispersed amongst a range of interviews and documentaries and in Geoffrey O’Brien’s accompanying essay. But what matters most, is that while a decent film managing to survive the turmoil would be remarkable enough, that a very good film was the ultimate result is even more impressive.

Beginning just after the death of Othello (Welles assumes audiences know how and why this happened and so spends little time worrying about exposition), Othello flashes back and delves into the intricate web of deception that led to the Venetian general’s demise. Prominent in this charade is Othello’s traitorous ensign, Iago (Micheál MacLiammóir), whose dubious, ambiguous motives are born not from some pure, abstract malevolence, but from an ordinary professional, personal resentfulness (or, so Welles would also interpret it, potential impotency). Driving a wedge between Othello and his radiant wife, Desdemona (Cloutier), the weaselly Iago takes advantage of Roderigo’s (Robert Coote) jealousy—he, too, has amorous eyes for Desdemona—and the two of them devise a ruse to drive Othello mad with suspicion and to concurrently sew discord between he and his favored lieutenant, Cassio (Michael Laurence). Cloutier is at her best in moments of unknowing bewilderment, her chaste beauty convincingly stunned by Othello’s rage and his distrust, while MacLiammóir, who co-founded the Gate and was fundamental to Welles’ early theatrical career, is the embodiment of deceit; hovering always on the periphery, scheming and biding his time, he is all vacillating slants and slithering movements. Welles, of course, is center stage, his performance descending from one of class, command, and charm (“I think this tale would win my daughter, too,” says one onlooker as Othello captivates the crowd—and the viewer), to one of deadening confusion and despair. And yet, even as the seeds of doubt produce an ensnaring crop of gradual torment, Welles loses none of his booming, prevailing presence, nor the magnitude of his theatrical inflection.

Welles had openly criticized Laurence Olivier’s approach to Shakespearean cinema, regarding his interpretations as little more than filmed theater. So, it stands to reason that Welles, already a visual mastermind, would render his Othello in extraordinary illustrative fashion. There may be less polish—a result of budgetary restrictions and the movie’s slapdash assembly—but there is a tangible increase in filmic vigor, as Welles treats the material not as something required for “serious” actors and directors to undertake, but as something to be passionately fulfilled. Translating this enthusiasm with requisite care and affection, Welles advances Othello as an artful mélange of stark, expressionistic designs and vivid, textured imagery, like engravings animated by the complex balance of light and shadow for which he was so renowned. Part of his innate, virtuoso style has to do with nearly shot-by-shot ingenuity, crafting (and Othello feels very much like an artisanal creation) a rich production design detailed in depth and accented by astonishing camera angles, reflective surfaces, and crossed shadows generated by tapestries, iron bars, and thatched roofs. Gloomy interiors portent the delirious, devastating downfall to come, while outside, the backdrop of bleak skies and raging waters induce a similarly imposing sensation.

“TESTS OF FAITH”

By Raymond Benson

Martin Scorsese has made several films that are challenging for an audience. Even some of his most acclaimed pictures, such as Raging Bull, are difficult to watch and “enjoy.” Scorsese tackles hard truths about the human condition, and many times they’re unpleasant and disturbing. Sometimes the dramas he explores are not what one would call a “good time at the movies.”

That doesn’t mean they’re bad. On the contrary, great art often requires an audience to meet it halfway, to capitulate and embrace the pain that is at the heart of what the artist has intended to convey.

Silence is one of those films. A decades-long passion project for the director, based on the novel by Shūsaku Endō, it is about the “silence” of God that is the biggest obstacle faced by people of faith. The subject matter would have been at home in hands of someone like Ingmar Bergman, who tackled this topic several times in his career. Nevertheless, Scorsese’s oeuvre has often been informed by his Catholic upbringing and his struggles with it. While his 1988 film, The Last Temptation of Christ, was a deeply personal and, yes, a religious picture, it was met with controversy and even banning in some territories. Silence is an even more religious statement from the master filmmaker, and it, too, has received mixed responses. Some hailed it as a masterpiece. Others said it was an overlong, colossal bore.

Silence is a period piece that takes place in 17^th Century Japan, when Portuguese Jesuit priests were attempting to bring Christianity to that feudal kingdom. One particular priest, Father Ferreira (Liam Neeson), had gone to Japan on such a mission, but news comes back to Portugal that he has renounced his faith and disappeared. Two young priests, Father Rodrigues (Andrew Garfield) and Father Garupe (Adam Driver) are sent to locate him to find out what happened—and spread the Gospel while they’re at it.

It doesn’t go well. The priests encounter the cruel and calculating samurai known as the “Inquisitor” (magnificently portrayed by Issey Ogata), who does everything in his power to crush the priests’ objective, wipe Christianity from his land, and keep an iron hold on the citizens’ beliefs. Different methods of torture are his preferred weapons of rule. As time passes, the priests’ faith is severely compromised—but Rodrigues hangs on, fighting with every fiber of his being to the bitter end.

Which doesn’t come for two hours and forty-one minutes.

Therein lies the problem I had with what otherwise was one of the most gorgeously-photographed motion pictures I’ve seen in years. The cinematography by Rodrigo Prieto earned an Oscar nomination—and probably should have won. The production and costume designs by Dante Ferretti should have also at least received nods. The movie is indeed beautiful to look at, on par with such visual feasts as Barry Lyndon, Days of Heaven, and The Tree of Life.

It’s just… long. And very slow. The meditative pace, intentional as it is, serves the subject and the picture well up to a point. The movie is additionally extremely quiet; the soundtrack consists of mostly sounds of nature along with delicate period music of an Eastern flavor by Kathryn and Kim Allen Kluge. The relentless suffering of the characters—in silence—takes its toll. Perhaps that’s what Scorsese wanted to do. To test the audience, just as the priests are tested.

The acting, especially by Garfield, shows extreme dedication to the material. Both he and Driver lost a good deal of weight for their roles. At one point during filming, as recounted in the documentary supplement on the disk, the entire cast and crew broke for lunch on a beach—but the two actors chose to stay in a boat away from shore and not participate in the meal.

The new Paramount Blu-ray disk exquisitely captures the film. It looks fantastic, as it should, with a 1080p High Definition transfer. There are several sound options—5.1 DTS HD Master Audio in English, and other languages in 5.1 Dolby Digital. The only supplement is the aforementioned making-of featurette, Martin Scorsese’s Journey Into Silence, which provides a satisfying overview of the production and its genesis.

Devotees of Martin Scorsese should give Silence a chance, but don’t expect the flash-bang editing of GoodFellas. This is an art film of the highest order, one that you may find very rewarding if your endurance makes it to its final, glorious image before the end credits.

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BY HANK REINEKE

Though I’m generally not wishy-washy in my assessment of… well, practically anything, I admit to holding a decidedly middle-ground opinion on the work of Jesus “Jess” Franco.  There are some films by this controversial Spanish director that inspire me to become more intimate with his work.  Conversely, there are others that actually discourage me from seeking out additional titles. His films, particularly those from 1972-1973 following, have proven to be polarizing to cineastes. Though he attracted notice in the early 1960s with such more or less traditionally-mannered horror films as The Awful Dr. Orloff and The Diabolical Dr. Z (both shot in atmospheric black and white and both quite entertaining), Franco was a restless, creative soul eager to push the envelope.

By the mid-70s Franco had attained a reputation as a competent and bankable director of exploitation features. Even his detractors – and there are many – cannot argue that the director had an ability to bring a film to market both quickly and under-budget. Beginning in the early-1970s, he would controversially begin to introduce elements of soft-core pornography within the framework of otherwise more conventional horror or historical-period films. Some find these films artful and intriguing; others see them as sadistic, lurid celebrations of sexual violence. These controversial films would often be seen as pandering to an audience that four-time Franco collaborator Christopher Lee would later deride as the “raincoat crowd.” Whether you found Franco’s films as artful unabashed celebrations of the female form or as unrelentingly sordid cinema that’s unapologetically misogynistic in construction… Well, this would all depend on your own moral compass.

Blue Underground has just released two of Franco’s earliest, most notorious – and, to be fair, occasionally artful – films on Blu-ray. Both films originate from the era that historians perceive as the controversial director’s transitional period: Eugenie… the story of her journey into perversion (1970) and Justine (1969). Both films were inspired by the works of the notorious eighteenth century French novelist the Marquis de Sade, an author for whom Franco clearly shares an affinity.

Jesus Franco’s Eugenie… the story of her journey into perversion (1970) is tangentially based on de Sade’s notorious 1795 novel La philosophie dans le boudoir (“Philosophy in the Bedroom”). Franco describes de Sade as “an extraordinary writer” in one supplement, and offers Eugenie as “the story of a poor girl who drowns in a hemorrage of sin in the discovery of love.” If this is truly Franco’s perception, his interpretation is a bit at odds with de Sade’s own conception of the title character. In de Sade’s novel, Eugenie is a young girl already unredeemingly infused with decadent and depraved impulses. In Franco’s film, the young girl is portrayed as a victimized ingénue, an innocent misued and brutalized by elders and authority figures for their own lurid pleasures. In de Sade’s novel Eugenie is a willing participant in acts of near-unspeakable debauchery. In his own version of the wicked novel, Franco almost entirely removes this component from the scenario, portraying the young girl as an unfortunate hostage to predators who manipulate her through a combination of mind control and drugs.

Though his name is offered on publicity materials as one of the film’s two stars (the other being the gorgeous Swedish actress Marie Liljedahl), Christopher Lee recalls Eugenie as the only motion picture in his career that he was moved to ask his name being struck from advertising. The distinguished British actor has long told a tale that, a mere six months following his work on the film, a friend tipped him off that the final cut of Eugenie was not playing in the usual cinemas in and around London.  Quickly following up on his friend’s observation, Lee was reportedly horrified upon discovery the film had been relegated to the sordid “blue” cinemas of Compton Street in the city’s Soho district. He was especially troubled by a scene where a completely nude woman, surrounded by a gaggle of Sadists, was strapped to a table in the background of one of his shots. In the early 1980s, Lee dismissively told Robert W. Pohle Jr. and Douglas C. Hart, authors of The Films of Christopher Lee (Scarecrow Press, 1983), “that I was entirely ignorant of what was going to take place behind my back after I had finished the comparatively innocuous scenes I appeared in.”

In the eighteen-minute and informative supplement Murderous Passions: The Delirious Cinema of Jesus Franco (also included on this Blue Underground release) film historian Stephen Thrower suggests that Lee might have been somewhat disingenuous with his claim of being unaware of the debauch scene playing out behind him.  As Lee was a self-acknowledged worldly and literate man of the arts, the author suggests that it would be highly unlikely that the actor would have not been at least partly familiar with the writings of de Sade. Surely this cultured English gentleman would be well aware of what sort of film this was to be?  Having suggested this, Thrower nonetheless admits willingness to accept Lee’s victim-hood at face value; he acknowledges neither Franco nor producer Harry Alan Towers were the type to suffer moral ambiguities in the countenance of such deception.

In any event, and regardless of his excised headline billing, Lee is hardly a main player in the production. The actor recalls the “bits and pieces” in which he was involved were shot on a Barcelona sound-stage in all of two days. In his single primary scene, the actor was even made to supply his own wardrobe: a red velvet smoking jacket he had appropriated following the shooting of the East German-French-Italian co-production Sherlock Holmes and the Deadly Necklace (1962). What is certain is that Lee would not work with the director again. Though belated release dates on the continent and in the U.S. might suggest otherwise, Lee collaborated on four films with Jesus Franco from late 1968 through mid-1969. Along with Eugenie, there were The Castle of Fu Manchu (1970), The Bloody Judge (1970), and Count Dracula (1972).

If Lee harbored any lasting hard feelings for Franco’s perceived betrayal of his trust, it apparently wasn’t long-lasting.  In one supplement Lee magnanimously describes the Spaniard as “a much better director than he’s given credit for.” He suggests the filmmaker was handicapped not by any lack of talent in his craft, but by tight schedules (most of Franco’s films were given three to four weeks of photography at a maximum) and shoestring budgets. If this is Lee’s genuine appraisal of Franco’s talents, it’s not one shared by the director himself. The filmmaker is surprisingly dismissive of his own work, only acknowledging with dispassion, “of all my films [Eugenie is] the one I hate the least.”

Though not a neat break from his past oeuvre, historians of continental film are of the mind that Eugenie was more-or-less a transitional movie for Franco, a pivotal catalyst for the director’s turn from more traditional movie-making forms to a more seamy and steamy catalog of cult-films. In the final analysis, Eugenie was a difficult film to market in 1970 as it had a cinematic foothold in two disparate worlds. U.S. distributor, Jerry Gross, didn’t even want the final product as he found the film too artsy and tame and wanted to see more flesh on-screen. Franco would defend the finished film as “erotic but not pornographic.” Depending on where one draws the line between art and pornography, I suppose this is a somewhat truthful self-assessment on Franco’s part. It took no fewer than three attempts to market the film in Germany due to censorship issues, and in the U.K. there was no general release.

Though no less exploitative than Eugenie, Franco’s Justine is actually a visually softer and more lavish production. It’s a moody costume-drama set in the time of de Sade’s world, a time replete with castles, and lush gardens, and baroque music. The film is also mounted in a more traditional format, the many sordid indignities suffered by the title character recounted in an unrelenting episodic style. Like Eugenie, Justine (the beautiful Romina Power, the eighteen-year old daughter of screen-legend Tyrone Power) is degraded in equal measure by religious figures, criminals, noblemen, and low caste boarding house tenants. Also as in Eugenie, the young girl is savaged with moral disregrad by both predatory men and women. The film voyeuristically drifts from episode to episode as Justine endures a series of humiliations. The film is unrelentingly grim, and the filmmaker’s almost casual depictions of sexual violence rarely pauses a moment so one can catch a breath.

BY LEE PFEIFFER

Over the last year the entertainment industry has suffered incalculable losses of talented people. Some of them hit home personally, as is the case with producer Euan Lloyd, who passed away this weekend in London. I first met Euan in 1978 when I was attending college in New Jersey. I had the enviable gig of being the film critic for the campus newspaper, which afforded me the opportunity to routinely attend press screenings of forthcoming films in New York, which was a stone's throw across the river from my native Jersey City. I had read about the upcoming release of "The Wild Geese" which seemed to promise a "too-good-to-be-true" cast composed of some of my favorite actors (Richard Burton, Roger Moore and Richard Harris above all) in the kind of gritty, macho British war flick that I had become addicted to ever since seeing "Zulu" at age 8. To say the film lived up to expectations would be an understatement. I thought it was a superbly crafted blend of rugged action, social commentary and splendid performances under the capable direction of Andrew V. McLaglen. The film was inspired by the exploits of a real life mercenary named Col. Michael Hoare (not so affectionately known as "Mad Mike"). He was a technical adviser on the film and was speaking at the post-screening press conference along with the film's producer Euan Llloyd. I had seen some of Lloyd's earlier films and liked them. The two men gave a riveting account of the making of "The Wild Geese", after which I approached Mr. Lloyd and introduced myself. I told him that I was greatly impressed with the film and would be writing an excellent review of it. I had hoped to just get a handshake and a few nice words since I wasn't exactly representing the New York Times. To my surprise, Mr. Lloyd spoke to me at length about my experience writing film reviews. He hung on every word. Whether he was just being polite or had a genuine interest, I can't say to this day. However, he astonished me by inviting me to breakfast at the Plaza the next morning. As a college kid, the Plaza on Central Park was a place you only saw in the kidnapping scene of "North By Northwest", as few people from my blue collar background had the kind of bankroll that would  afford a trip to the bar or restaurant. The next morning I dined with Mr. Lloyd, who insisted that I call him Euan. After breakfast we took a long walk around the city and he related fascinating stories about the film trade. He even gave me an inside scoop on the next James Bond movie. He said he had recently screened "The Wild Geese" for Cubby Broccoli, who was so impressed by the sequence in which the mercenaries sky dive into Africa that he decided to plan a major aerial scene to start "Moonraker" off with - and indeed he did.   Euan had asked me to bring him copies of some of my reviews, which he read in my presence (a nerve-wracking experience for me, as I recall.) He was highly complimentary and encouraged me to take up writing as a career. I had never heard such words of encouragement from anyone. He also told me that if my schedule permitted it, he could get me a bottom-rung job on the set of his forthcoming film "The Sea Wolves". It was an offer I wasn't able to take because  of factors in my personal life at the time, not these least of which were that I needed a steady job and was about to get married. Still, the offer was an extremely kind gesture.  I parted with Euan that day and was destined not to see him for many years. In the pre-E mail era, these types of casualties happened to people's relationships.

 

In 2002, my old friend and future Cinema Retro publishing partner Dave Worrall happened to meet Euan Lloyd and Andrew V. McLaglen at an event at Pinewood Studios. He asked Euan if he might have remembered a guy named Pfeiffer he had met many years ago. To his surprise, Euan recalled the day I had spent with him and relayed the message that we should visit him when next I was in London.  A few months later we did just that and I was delighted to renew my friendship with this remarkable man.  In 2006, he was our guest of honor for a black tie dinner we held at the Reform Club in London. His anecdotes were captivating but he never seemed pretentious or full of himself. He was always an example of humility and class. When we started Cinema Retro magazine a few years later, Euan was front and center and we ran an extensive interview with him over the first three issues that was conducted by writers Mac MacSharry and Terry Hine.  Euan would always be there when you needed him. It should be said that Euan was one of the first very successful producers to eschew studio financing in favor of raising money for his films on his own, then selling distribution rights to the major studios. In his early days in the industry he worked for future James Bond producer Cubby Broccoli and his (then) partner Irving Allen. Lloyd always credited Cubby for giving him a him this opportunity, which was actually arranged by Alan Ladd, who Euan had befriended. Euan helped oversee production on many successful movies for Cubby and Irving's Warwick Productions. When Cubby later teamed with Harry Saltzman to form Eon Productions, Euan continued to work with Irving Allen and co-produced the second Matt Helm film, "Murderer's Row" starring Dean Martin. From that point on, he would produce his own films. They included Sean Connery's first post-Bond film, "Shalako" in 1968. He struck pay dirt with the 1978 release of "The Wild Geese", which was a major hit internationally and spawned a loyal cult following that seems to be growing to this day. Some of his movies including "The Sea Wolves" and "Who Dares Wins" did not do well at the boxoffice in America but reaped large profits from the European markets. "Who Dares Wins", which was based on a real life incident in which the SAS fought terrorists to free the Iranian embassy in London, counted among its admirers Stanley Kubrick, who wrote Euan Lloyd a letter praising the film. Another admirer of the 1982 movie was President Ronald Reagan, who requested that it be screened at the White House. Euan was also a man who seemed to have no enemies. I once received an unexpected phone call from Sean Connery and in the process of speaking to him, I told him that I was a friend of Euan Lloyd's. Connery recounted his experiences making "Shalako" and said that although he had battled with producers many times over the course of his career, Euan was one of the most honorable men he had ever worked with. Similarly, Roger Moore, who starred in "The Wild Geese" and "The Sea Wolves" for Euan, counted him among the most trustworthy producers in the industry. 

Over the years, Dave and I would try to see Euan whenever we were  in London. He would occasionally join us at the royal premieres of James Bond films.  On my last visit in October 2015, I knew he had been seriously ill. We planned to meet briefly at his apartment but his illness prevented this from happening. I think Euan was looking out for me even then, as I don't believe he wanted me to see him in a weakened state. Perhaps he was right. My only memories of him are of a vibrant, elegant man who was always "dressed to the nines" and the epitome of class, style and kindness. He was old school in the best sense of the term. Small wonder that producer Jonathan Sothcott titled his excellent 2004 documentary tribute to Euan "The Last of the Gentleman Producers". I realize now more than ever how that title perfectly encapsulates the man. Upon learning of Euan's passing, Sir Roger Moore referred to him as "a legend". Somehow, that word seems equally appropriate.

(Click below to watch "The Last of the Gentlemen Producers") 

BY LEE PFEIFFER

The good folks at Synapse Films are primarily known for releasing high-end editions of retro porn flicks and cult sci-fi/ horror titles. All of their releases are impressive, if not in terms of content, then certainly in terms of quality and the imaginative bonus extras. The label often gives the deluxe treatment generally reserved for David Lean films to low-rung, long-forgotten titles. Often, even if the film is of questionable merits, the perspectives offered by the extras make the viewing experience highly enjoyable. Synapse sometimes strays from their own formula by releasing mainstream films. Case in point: "Stalingrad", an acclaimed three episode documentary that was broadcast to great acclaim in 2003 in Germany and Russia. The new Synapse Blu-ray release is an extended cut featuring previously unseen footage. The film is presented in three separate stand-alone episodes, each running 55 minutes, that follow the progression of the battle in sequential order.  As a viewing experience, "Stalingrad" is utterly mesmerizing. It's a sobering reflection on what was deemed the bloodiest battle of WWII. Directors Sebastian Dehnhardt, Christian Deick and Jorge Mullner present heart-wrenching interviews with both German and Russian veterans of the battle. The horrors they recount are backed up by some of most dramatic newsreel footage I've ever seen. The battle of Stalingrad has been documented many times before- and very effectively. However this documentary has the advantage of an extensive running time that allows some of the more personal nuances to be recounted in ways that previous documentaries were not able to do. The film is fairly well balanced between the Russian and German perspectives and the stories told from both sides are uniformly moving. 

If there is a weakness in the production its in the fact that it lacks an introduction that gives the overall background on how the battle came to be. Clues to its origins are strewn throughout the episodes but for the benefit of those who are not WWII historians, a brief overview of the conflict would have been useful. For the record, in 1939 Nazi Germany shocked the world by signing an alliance with Stalin's Soviet Union. The move was a surprise because from a political standpoint, National Socialism was vehemently against Communism. But Adolf Hitler was shrewd in his political dealings. He conned Britain and France into ceding Czechoslovakia to him on the basis of a promise that it would satiate his territorial demands. By the time they realized they had been snookered, Hitler had moved against Poland, thus initiating the outbreak of WWII. Hitler was already in alliance with imperial Japan and Italy. Indeed the Axis powers seemed destined to rule much of the world.  Josef Stalin was more than happy to sign up and share the spoils of war. He assisted in invading Poland and Finland but behind the scenes Hitler regarded him as a hapless stooge and the Russian people are genetically inferior to the Aryan race. By forming an alliance with Stalin, Hitler ensured that he wouldn't have to fight the Soviet army until a time of his choosing. That time came in June 1941 when Hitler launched a major invasion of the Soviet Union. By that point he was comfortably in control of most of continental Europe and he felt he could deal Stalin a quick death blow. His generals warned him otherwise, but Hitler had assumed total command of German military strategy. At first his instincts seemed to be right. German columns made quick progress through the Soviet territory, decimating the ill-prepared enemy forces they encountered. Thousands of miles of land was seized and the peasant populations subject to cruel tortures and genocide. Hitler's unwillingness to take advice from his generals backfired when he split his forces in 1942 to launch simultaneous attacks on two different regions, sending half in a quixotic mission to seize the oil fields in the Caucuses and the other half to take Stalingrad. It was the military equivalent of hubris.  He was most obsessed with taking Stalingrad not because of any relevant military importance but simply to deal Stalin a personal blow by occupying the city that bore his name. The Germans met far greater resistance than they had anticipated. The civilian population joined the fight and proved a formidable force, building barricades and tank traps while the regular army fought the Germans fiercely. Germans did inch forward and at various points occupied large sections of the city. However, Staliln's mastermind general Zhukov had kept an enormous army secretly in reserve. As winter bore on, the Germans were not equipped to deal with the harsh Russian weather. Food and fuel supplies dwindled, morale sank among the huge German Sixth Army and their advance came to a stalemate. Zhukov waited until his prey was weak and disheartened, then launched a one million man surprise counterattack that resulted in hundreds of thousands of German troops being encircled, starved and relentlessly bombarded even as temperatures reached 60 below zero. The toll was horrendous on German troops, many of whom died from starvation and some from suicide. Toward the end, the starving soldiers sometimes resorted to cannibalism to survive. Hitler demanded that the troops fight to the last man, but Field Marshal Paulus ultimately relented and surrendered, making him the first German Field Marshal in history to do so. Ultimately it would take years before a political agreement would see the surviving POWs allowed to return to Germany. Only 6,000 of the 100,000 prinsonersremained alive at that time. 

"Stalingrad" cuts presentation of the causes and background of all of the above to the bare minimum, instead concentrating on first-hand accounts of the battle. Survivors include both Russian civilians and German and Soviet war veterans. All of their stories are compelling and some might move you to tears. Among the tales of mutual cruelty, however, are some stories of unexpected compassion. The German POWs expected to be executed immediately but were impressed by the fact that their captors, themselves drastically short of food, split their bread ration with the prisoners. Soviet doctors also worked diligently to save the lives of wounded Germans. For the German troops, most had turned against Hitler when it became clear that he intended to all but abandon the Sixth Army to their fate, save for a relative small number of wounded men who were able to be airlifted out. One patient recalls that all wounded men were placed in occupied Poland until they recovered because Hitler didn't want the stigma of so many injured soldiers to bring down the morale of the German people who, by that time, were suffering terribly. The Blu-ray includes a wealth of incredible battle footage from both sides that will make you appreciate the bravery of war time photographers and filmmakers. Bonus features include interview segments that were deleted from the original cut of the film, an interview with historian Dr. Guido Knopp that adds interesting perspectives to the events, and "Stalingrad Today", a video tour of the impressive city that has since been rebuilt and renamed Volgograd but which still bares the scars of the infamous battle. What is left as an overriding impression is that over 500,000 died unnecessarily in order to satiate the whims of a madman.

"Stalingrad" is a major historical record  that should be seen by everyone.  

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Neil deGrasse Tyson is universally regarded as one of the top astrophysicists in the world. He hosts the popular Cosmos series and is a ubiquitous presence on American television as he promotes the study of science and astronomy is layman's terms.  Nevertheless, the generally calm, cool deGrasse does have something that irks him more than the flat-earthers who continue to argue that the planet is only a few thousand years old and that humans romped around in the presence of dinosaurs. Turns out that a routine question from TMZ regarding his opinion of the movie that bastardized science the most, set deGrasse into a humorous "rage" when he immediately recounted how the 1979 Disney flick "The Black Hole" continues to irritate him to this day. deGrasse said that the scriptwriters didn't even make a token attempt to convey the actual science behind real black holes and claims that, had they done so, they would have also turned out a more compelling film. deGrasse isn't a totally stick-in-the-mud, however. He acknowledges that the Bruce Willis blockbuster Armageddon was also amiss when it came to science, but he gives it a pass because he feels it was a very entertaining film. Click here to watch the interview. 

By Martin Sheffield

The Empty Canvas (original Italian title La Noia), is a 1963 Italian drama waiting to be rediscovered as a classic by retro film lovers in America. Besides being a solid outing for Horst Buchholz and part of Bette Davis’ 1960’s resurgence, this film is a reminder of why French-born Catherine Spaak was the “IT” European teenager of the period. She was described by critic Rex Reed as "[h]alf kittycat go-go girl, half petulant defiance, … like a sexy lollipop [with] soft hair the color of maple syrup.” In The Empty Canvas, the 18-year-old actress gave the best performance of her career in a role intended to make her an international star. That performance earned a special Golden Plate award at the David di Donatello awards (presented by The Academy of Italian Cinema) in 1964.

Based on a novel by Alberto Moravia, the film follows Dino (Buccholz), the twenty-something artist son of a rich, American ex-patriot from New Orleans (Davis).  Dino has lost his way in life and no longer feels inspired to paint, or inspired for life in general, so it seems.  He resents his mother and her money, spending as little time with her as possible.

Dino's life changes, however, when he meets Cecilia (Spaak), an amoral young woman.  Cecilia has been carrying on a torrid affair with a much-older married painter, who is Dino's neighbor.  Upon the painter's death, Dino and Cecilia slide into a torrid affair of their own.  As their affair progresses, Dino, suddenly filled with feelings and purpose in his life, becomes obsessed with obtaining commitment from Cecilia.  In the film's penultimate scene, Dino covers Cecilia's nude body in lira notes in an effort to win her commitment.  Cecilia, on the other hand, is just out to have fun and do whatever makes her feel good.  Dino is in danger of letting his obsession with Cecilia destroy his life, just as the old painter’s life was destroyed by his obsession with Cecilia.

Of the "money" scene, director Damiano Damiani was quoted in The Saturday Evening Post as saying that "It was the most important scene of her career in her first English-language picture, one that would either make or break her as an international star.  And she was cold as ice." While she may have been cold as ice in controlling her nerves, as Cecilia, Catherine exudes a sensuous quality that leaves no doubt about how a man like Dino could become obsessed with her charms. In one scene set at an outdoor cafe overlooking the city, as Rita Pavone sings "Now That You've Gone," Cecilia dances seductively while Dino watches attentively from a swing.  Without a word being said, you can see Dino's resistance falling and his obsession budding.  That is one of my all-time favorite scenes from any film.

Shot in gorgeous, mood-setting black-and-white around Rome in the summer of 1963, the film's set was a linguistic adventure.  Director Damiani spoke English to Bette Davis, German to Buchholz, French to Spaak, and Italian to others.  The actors spoke their lines in English for later dubbing. It had to have been interesting to watch Bette Davis try to reign supreme over such an eclectic mix of talent. In Rex Reed's N.Y. Times profile of Catherine in 1966, he quoted her as saying:  "I acted with Bette Davis in 'The Empty Canvas.'  Everyone in Rome was terrified of her.  I said only one thing to her: 'Hello'."

On a curious side note, Bette Davis biographer Charlotte Chandler recounted in her book an odd incident concerning Bette's arrival in Rome for filming.  She was greeted at the airport by Buchholz, who wanted to get things started off on a good note with the notoriously persnickety Davis.  Buchholz leaned forward to kiss Bette on the cheek, as custom would dictate, whereupon Bette proceeded to put her tongue in Buchholz's mouth in a more-than-friendly kiss!  Buchholz never knew whether she was just trying to shock him, or whether she had other intentions. 

It is also interesting to note that Sophia Loren’s 18th century castle, renovated at a cost of nearly $2,000,000, was loaned by her to represent Bette Davis' villa in the film. Furthermore, the filming of the garden party, which provides the setting for the "money" scene, included the participation of more than 150 leaders of Rome's cultural set, who were there to honor Bette Davis' first film in Rome.

The Empty Canvas was a hit in Italy before being distributed in the U.S. in March 1964 by Joseph Levine’s Embassy Pictures. Levine was quoted by The Saturday Evening Post as saying that “[Catherine Spaak] will be the biggest new star of the 1960's.  This girl will be the Bardot of her generation.  Ten years from now there will be girls billing themselves as the new Catherine Spaak.” In Bardot tradition, I suppose, some of the advertising showed Cecilia draped only in a towel and was considered too risqué in some circles. As a result, some of the advertising was censored. Levine even took to Variety to express anger about the ad censoring by the L.A. Times and the L.A. Examiner. Censoring can still be seen on many of the surviving lobby cards for the film. My how times have changed!

The Empty Canvas generally received mixed-to-negative reviews at the time from American critics, but it did respectable business and garnered considerable attention for Catherine in the U.S. She was featured on the cover and in a story in the July 1964 issue of Cosmopolitan, and she was also the subject of a feature story in the May 2, 1964 issue of the Saturday Evening Post.

Catherine’s story was a dream come true for the press, because she was the daughter of well-known screenwriter Charles Spaak, was the niece of famed Belgian politician Paul-Henri Spaak, and had married actor Fabrizio Capucci (of the Capucci fashion-design family) in February of 1963, while seven months pregnant with their first child. Amazingly, after giving birth to daughter Sabrina in April of 1963, Catherine shot a film called The Little Nuns before commencing work on The Empty Canvas in July. By the time the film reached U.S. shores, Catherine and Capucci had already split, including a well-publicized incident at the Italian border, where authorities stopped Catherine as she was trying to leave the country with her infant daughter. I am sure that the tabloids of the day were all over this story.

The Empty Canvas has never been released on DVD in North America, but it was released by Embassy Home Entertainment in an English language version on VHS in 1987.    With The Criterion Collection’s impressive recent release of the 1962 Italian classic Il sorpasso (aka The Easy Life), in which Catherine has a prominent supporting role, the time is ripe for rediscovery in America of her classic work in The Empty Canvas as well. Furthermore, there should be no Bette Davis film from the 1960’s that is unavailable on DVD in the U.S.

We want our DVD!

“Truffaut’s Gift”

By Raymond Benson

It’s not only my favorite Francois Truffaut film, but it’s also my favorite French New Wave picture. While Godard’s Breathless is often cited as the quintessential French New Wave movie—and it is indeed a hallmark of the movement—for me it’s Jules and Jim that fully represents that important development in cinema history. It contains all the recognizable stylistic and thematic qualities that those French upstarts brought to their films (what? French critics becoming filmmakers? How dare they!), but it’s also a darned good story with wonderful performances by its three leads. And while the movie ends on a bittersweet, somewhat tragic note, Jules and Jim is really a feel-good movie because of the way Truffaut chose to tell the tale. The director has never shied away from pathos and sentimentality—something the filmmaker was very good at—but in Jules and Jim he keeps it from being maudlin or syrupy by infusing the picture with whimsy. Perhaps the best way to describe Jules and Jim is that it’s a pure delight, a quirky joy from start to finish.

Based on a 1953 semi-autobiographical novel by Henri-Pierre Roché, who fictionalized the menage a trois relationship between him, his best friend, and his best friend’s wife (the true story of which is recounted in the fascinating 1985 documentary, The Key to “Jules and Jim,” included as an extra). The source material was perfect fodder for Truffaut, who was particularly adept at exploring the mysterious topics of flawed love and romance (he would make another menage a trois picture a decade later entitled Two English Girls, a sort-of flipside of Jules and Jim). The storyline is relatively straight-forward: Jules (Oskar Werner), an Austrian, and Jim (Henri Serre), a Frenchman, become bosom buddies in France in the years before the First World War. They both fall in love with the same bohemian and decidedly “free” woman, Catherine (Jeanne Moreau, in a career-defining performance). The war intervenes and separates the two friends, for they must fight on opposite sides of the conflict. But they make it out alive and reconnect during peacetime—and Catherine is still very much a part of their lives. Catherine had married Jules before the war, but now, even though she lives with Jules and their young daughter, Catherine begins a renewed affair with Jim—in the same house. Jules’ friendship with Jim prevents him from objecting, although it is clear that the pain is there, buried, inside both men. Needless to say, the triangle ends badly; but, ironically, it’s presented as if the situation is the most natural thing in the world.

Jules and Jim was released in 1962 to international critical acclaim and established Truffaut as one of France’s great directors. He made many wonderful pictures during his brief career (which was tragically cut short by a brain tumor), including the magnificent Oscar-winner, Day for Night, but none would reach the heights achieved by Jules and Jim. Its influence on future filmmakers is undeniable—Martin Scorsese once claimed that GoodFellas was directed in the same style as Jules and Jim, with disjointed narrative, rapid-fire cutting, and voice-over narration. Jean-Pierre Jeunet’s Amelie is practically a love letter to the French New Wave, especially the frivolous, whimsical nature that was present in Jules and Jim. The recent Frances Ha, by Noah Baumbauch, also owes a lot to Truffaut’s masterpiece, especially to the significantly fanciful score by Georges Delerue.

Criterion has seen fit to re-issue their earlier DVD release as a Blu-ray, and the results are astounding. The new 2K digital restoration is gorgeous. Beyond that, the extras are exactly the same as the previous DVD edition, which includes two separate audio commentaries (one by Jeanne Moreau herself), several video interviews with Truffaut from different periods of his career, the previously-mentioned documentary on the true story behind the film, video interviews with cinematographer Raoul Coutard and co-writer Jean Grualt, and much more. This new release is dual-format—you get the Blu-ray and two DVD disks, all containing the same material.

If you already own the previous release, the question for you is whether or not you want to experience Jules and Jim in the best possible visual and aural presentation. For me, the answer to that is a no-brainer. Jules and Jim is Francois Truffaut’s gift to cinema lovers.

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By Lee Pfeiffer

Last evening I attended a rather remarkable event: the world premiere screening of the new highly-touted National Geographic Channel TV movie Killing Kennedy. (The program will be telecast on November 10.) What made the evening remarkable was the fact that, instead of premiering the film in a New York or L.A. prestigious venue, National Geographic in association with Cablevision, chose Greenbriar, a senior citizens community in the central New Jersey town of Marlboro. It seems the channel is taking a populist approach to publicizing their most prestigious productions and it was decided to premiere the Kennedy film before an audience of people who were alive during the events recounted on screen. Several politicos were on hand (there is an election in New Jersey next week, after all) including Jonathan Hornki, the mayor of Marlboro -who used some clout to get the event held at Greenbriar- and state  senator Joe Kryllos (R). Also in attendance was Charlie Parsons, one of the executive producers. Discussing historical facts among senior citizens who lived through the actual events is generally a risky business. I taught classes about films pertaining to the Cold War to adult ed students at NYU and found that I learned as much from the class as they did, thanks to their personal insights. Thus, National Geographic felt very confident that they had a good product with this high budget, slickly made recreation of the events that unfolded  50 years ago on that somber day in Dallas.

There are plenty of landmark moments in American history that have taken place over the last century, but few that can be called genuinely seminal. I would list the attack on Pearl Harbor, D-Day, the moon landing, the 9/11 terrorism acts and certainly the assassination of John F. Kennedy. With the 50th anniversary upon us, there is no shortage of beings and entities that are trying to exploit this dreadful day in U.S. history. Some are motivated purely by profit others by profit and a desire to enlighten people. The National Geographic Channel falls squarely into the latter category. Producer Parsons explained that the channel prides itself on presenting fact, not fiction or speculation. He also said the decision was made to go with the traditional theories about the assassination (i.e, Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone.) This is, in itself, refreshing. The two most prominent major feature films made about the death of Kennedy- Executive Action (1973) and Oliver Stone's  JFK (1991)- both propagated conspiracy theories. Parsons didn't endorse or dismiss such theories but simply said that, had the project delved into those waters, the film would have been too large in scope to cover the key events effectively in an 88  minute time slot. There are plenty of intelligent people who believe in the conspiracies and others who are genuine nutcases...the kind of folks who believe President Bush orchestrated the destruction of the World Trade Center and that President Obama is a Marxist illegal alien from Kenya. The channel will take a lot of heat from this crowd for presenting a straight-forward view that Oswald alone killed Kennedy; in essence presenting the Warren Report version of events. However, it is now unusual to see this traditional interpretation of the assassination being put forward since conspiracy-oriented films and TV show have been sucking up all the oxygen on the subject for the last couple of decades. 

National Geographic Channel had a major success with their February airing of Killing Lincoln, a truly outstanding production that rightly earned the highest ratings in the channel's history. That film was based on a best-selling book by Bill O'Reilly (yes, that Bill O'Reilly) and his co-author Martin Dugard. The success of the book led to the two collaborating on Killing Kennedy and-most recently- Killing Jesus. Whether you love or loathe O'Reilly for his controversial political punditry on Fox News (and there is no middle ground), you have to credit him for bringing historical events back into the public mainstream through his books. In an increasingly dumbed-down world, anyone who helps elevate interest in history is to be commended. The new Killing Kennedy production represents new ground for National Geographic: it's the channel's first scripted docudrama. (In the parlance of the 1970s, it would be called a "TV movie".) That is, is has no narration and the scripted project stars professional actors. This is a bit risky for a venture that prides itself on historical accuracy as scripted dramas always run the risk of reflecting the biases of the screenwriters. While I don't profess to be a JFK assassination scholar, it seemed to me that overall production was accurate based up on what we know, not supposition.  (There is some clunky ambiguity about JFK's removal of missiles from Turkey in order to give Kruschev a fig leaf to end the Cuban Missile Crisis, but that's a minor criticism.)

The film traces parallel story lines involving the rendezvous with destiny that both John F. Kennedy and Lee Harvey Oswald were approaching from disparate paths. The movie presents interesting insights into Oswald's defection to the Soviet Union and his ultimate disappointment about living in the decrepit "Worker's Paradise". He ultimately returns to America with his Russian wife with the dream that he will somehow be the center of a major news story. When that fails to happen, his life rapidly disintegrates. His marriage begins to unwind, his wife and children move out and he is relegated to a menial job in the Dallas school book depository from which the deadly shots were fired. Meanwhile, JFK is nursing his wounds over his bungling of the Bay of Pigs invasion and trying to prevent all out nuclear war when the Soviets move missiles into Cuba. The President is very well-played by Rob Lowe, who opts to capture the essence of the character as opposed to attempting a flat-out imitation of the man. It's a wise move. Lowe conveys Kennedy's charm, intelligence and swagger but also reveals his self-centered side through his dalliances with other women (as aspect of White House life that is conveyed strongly, but briefly.) JFK becomes a more mature and thoughtful person following the tragic death of his infant son. Jackie Kennedy (played by Ginnifer Goodwin as a sympathetic and tolerant figure) finally sees her husband becoming the man she knew he could be- but, of course, tragedy will cut short this transformation. Oswald's marriage is also delved into in a detailed way with Michelle Trachtenberg outstanding as his long-suffering Russian immigrant wife. (Impressively, Trachtenberg learned how to speak Russian phonetically from her mother, who was born in the Soviet Union.) As Oswald comes to the realization that his dreams of grandeur are destined for failure, he makes a rather spontaneous decision to make history by assassinating the president. As Oswald, newcomer Will Rothhaar gives a very impressive performance, avoiding the types of pretentious quirks or overt signs of villainy that one might have anticipated. Instead, he plays Oswald as a somewhat sympathetic loser; a man who is capable of having genuine empathy for the civil rights movement, yet is equally capable of manhandling his wife in a rage. Other key historical figures such as LBJ, Jack Ruby and Bobby Kennedy remain peripheral characters out of necessity due to time constraints but every supporting performance is played to perfection. The film actually gets better as it nears its inevitable and tragic conclusion. It's hard to ring suspense out of a drama when we all know how it ends. Fred Zinnemann achieved this with his brilliant 1973 film The Day of the Jackal about a fictitious plot to assassinate Charles de Gaulle and director Nelson McCormick manages to do the same with Killing Kennedy. Production values are top-notch as is the editing and cinematography. None of this is surprising given the impressive talent behind the scenes (both Ridley Scott and David Zucker are among the executive producers.) Oliver Stone may get his knickers twisted when he sees this non-conspiratorial view of the JFK assassination but the truth is that no one can say they really know the truth. Despite compelling questions, mysteries and inconsistencies regarding key aspects of the Warren Report, no one has ever produced definitive evidence of a plot that went beyond the mad act of a desperate man who wanted to known for making some kind of mark on society, even if it were to be a tragic one. 

Killing Kennedy is sure to get a huge audience when it is broadcast on November 10 (a DVD release will follow shortly thereafter). Hopefully, an enthusiastic response to a production this good will only encourage the National Geographic Channel to continue to elevate the standards of historical dramas with similarly-themed programming. Everyone involved should take a well-deserved bow. 

By Lee Pfeiffer 

Julie Harris, who was regarded as Broadway royalty for winning five Tony Awards (a feat never equaled by any other actress), has passed away at age 87. Harris' career in stage, film and TV spanned almost 60 years. She was the first actress to play Sally Bowles in the original stage adaptation of Christopher Isherwood's I Am a Camera, which recounted the journalist's experiences in Berlin during the fall of the Weimar Republic and the rise of National Socialism. The musical version of the story was later brought to the stage as Cabaret.  Ms. Harris was widely respected throughout the arts and was among those select American performers who was accorded the Kennedy Center Honors. Ms. Harris also appeared in numerous high profile films beginning with his Oscar-nominated performance in The Member of the Wedding in 1952. She also appeared in the 1955 film version of I Am a Camera. She memorably co-starred with James Dean in East of Eden and throughout the 1960s, her big screen career blossomed even while she performed in high profile stage and TV productions. She often played the role of a troubled woman, sometimes beset by psychological disorders. In the 1962 film version of Rod Serling's Requiem for a Heavyweight, she played a dowdy, plain Jane who unexpectedly falls in love with a down-and-out, punch-drunk boxer played by Anthony Quinn. In John Huston's Reflections in a Golden Eye, she played a deeply troubled woman whose husband is having an affair with her best friend. Her biggest impact on the big screen during this era was as a woman whose psychic powers lead to tragedy in director Robert Wise's chilling masterpiece The Haunting. For more about her remarkable career, click here. 

We recently reviewed Ernest Borgnine's final film, The Man Who Shook the Hand of Vicente Fernandez. Here is a statement about the making of the film and director Elia Petridis' reflections on working with Borgnine in his last appearance on the silver screen. 

Director’s Statement

The Man Who Shook The Hand Of Vicente Fernandez. I’ll never forget the moment the title blossomed in my brain. Just after two in the afternoon and I was driving through Toluca Lake, a neighborhood I wouldlater poke fun of in the screenplay. Pierre Gonneau had just told me a funny story. The actor in my graduate thesis film had emerged from his valley home earlier leaning on a cane. I had asked him the cause. The funny anecdote he answered me with was, all at once in its telling, a faint sketch of what the film would eventually become; an unlikely hero, hailed as a star, because he had once long ago shaken the hand of the legendary Vicente Fernandez.

The moment I had the title, I (almost) knew what it was, and where it belonged in film history, who its compatriots were and what kind of an experience it was going to be for the audience. I wanted to tip my hat, and stick my tongue out, to all those great westerns that had peoples’ names in their titles.

I love films that know they are films. And they don’t make them like that anymore. I’m a modernist, self-reflexive filmmaker atheart. Heavily reliant on the grammar of its celluloid predecessors, the film stands on the shoulders of giants, but it is those giants, giants like Mr. Ernest Borgnine, that make the work complete. The mandate had always been to cast an old movie star of the west to heighten the irony of Rex’s failure and create a space where the audience knew better than Rex himself, for they remembered Borgnine’s iconic turns in the genre Rex loves so much, creating a metaphysical relationship of melancholy between viewer and protagonist.

And what a dream come true, as a first timer, to work with a true legend, one that even surpassed the man in the film’s title. Ernest never left the set. He wouldn’t be caught dead in his trailer. At ninety-four he recounted to us all that Jimmy Stewart had an ethic to always be on hand, near the camera, ready to shoot. And if it was good enough for Jimmy, it was good enough for Ernie. He was always tireless, spirited, and devoted to every moment of the work. And we had the same style and approach to the process. We just wanted to work. We didn’t want to covet or worship the act, we just wanted to perform it, like balancing a checkbook or digging a ditch. So it was ties worn on set every day, just as if we were going to the office. And especially so because we were working with Hollywood royalty. That’s the way I like it, all else leads to analysis paralysis. That’s a little secret I love about the movie; it truly is, if nothing else, a living document of an extremely charismatic ninety-four year old man caught on film. With Ernie in almost every scene, anyone whohas ever survived the rigors of a film shoot knows that just showing up at that age is a feat unto itself, let alone turning in an incredible performance that any thespian would envy. Ernie’s example set the watermark of professionalism and a devotional tone for the entire shoot.

A film needs a brain, but it also needs a heart and a soul too. The greatest storytellers of all time refuse to ascend beyond pulp. Kubrick,Spielberg, Chabon, King, and Radiohead all concern themselves with mass entertainment. So I read Louis Lamour. I wanted the whole thing to feel like a dime store paperback. The story turns were familiar enough, but the manner in which I wanted the film to sneak up on you was fresh. I wondered if a western, a genre known for anything but, could make you cry. I wanted this genre that had very rarely ascended up the ranks of high art, like a comic book or Harlequin novel, togive the audience the turns they had paid to see but also grow the narrative to occupy a space in the their hearts intrinsically unique to our film. And if you didn’t get to the core of it, it didn’t matter because the outer layers were enough on their own.

I wanted to re-mythologize the western. Where the genre had hereto concerned itself with the white man taming America’s infant wilderness by way of taming the savages and natives of the west, this film was about the modern wilderness taming the white man. It represents the wild west of the present, where the person formerly in control has a lot to learn from the new, dominant cultures that surround him.

When I’m asked to describe the film I liken it to a mixed tape, a “greatest hits” of the western genre. Yet, I don’t see the film as a postmodern collage, I see the work as something “Neo-Classical”, for the self-reflexive references are conveyed with sincerity and idealism, not irony, cynicism, or nostalgia. The film never fuses western iconography with anything else, and its endeavor remains true and pure to its own marrow andspirit, just like the cowboy at its heart.

The film is an examination and ultimate celebration of the imagination; of Clem’s imagination, and Rex’s lack thereof. Their imaginations inform the way our characters interact with their everyday world. The film indulges Rex’s western fantasy for him, he becomes transported into a western of his imagination’s own making, but it makes no apologies for using this device on its own, without permission from its central character. And so the film itself has its own brand of imagination.

The title is a tall order, for the film assumes greatness, sight unseen! It proclaims to introduce the world to a legend, and having an acting legend portray its central figure didn’t hurt. Ultimately, it’s the cult of Fernandez and his relation to it that gives Rex access to the courage that lies within. But, like the entire pursuit, its title encompasses the irony of a nondescript, mundane occurrence, places us firmly in the realm of pulp from where it takes its cue, while also speaking to the most universal, transcending truth of all. For one day, one way or another, we all will shake the hand of Vicente Fernández.

In Memory of Ernest Borgnine

On July 6^th, 2012 the great Ernest Borgnine embraced the film’s metaphor on a profound level.  Those he left behind had waited on pins and needles throughout the weekend, coping with the sudden turn his health had taken, not quite believing that the legend would leave.  In the casting process it had become evident that Ernie was always working, and in my brief time spent with him I realized that it was his constant motion that kept him happy and virile to the very end.  Although, as artists, we were both aware of the element that Ernie’s career and public persona added to the metaphysical intent of the film, I was convinced, even considering his age, that ours would take at least fifth or sixth place behind the finish line of his work.  The film’s final act and ending, as it played out with Ernie's own bow, was an element of metaphysics I never thought would occur in terms of this being his last.

It just goes to show that there can be something bigger at work, something more divine at play, than lights, camera, and action; that there can exist magic and meaning in this world beyond our imagination, comprehension, or articulation.  Rex’s march to the afterlife was the last scene we shot.  I remember Ernie approaching me, strung out and pacing because we were shooting slow motion and only had so much film, a fact I don’t think, thankfully, that registered with him.  He whispered in my ear, “I’m going to remove the hat before I kiss her, you know, because Rex is a gentleman.”  This was a last minute addition to a scene we had blocked many times with film feet in mind.  But it’s the best moment of that whole scene; it’s climax.  That decision retains so much residue of Ernie’s soul.

I am so proud that Ernie’s final performance was captured on glorious 35mm, celluloid, befitting of one of the medium's great giants.  Oh, were I to have rued the day were his last turn distilled to ones and zeros.  Ernie is a legend and the film bills himthat way, sending him off to become so much greater than the sum of his parts.

Half an hour before his father passed, Chris Borgnine called to tell me that Ernie was beside him and had insisted on reaching out to me to say how proud he was of his final film and that it had been made with my crew and I.  As a sensitive individual constantly in tune with the grand narrative of my existence and choices, this moment changed my life forever.  Knowing Ernie, having had access to his heart and love, changed my life forever.  This is strong stuff; art, soul, creativity, passion, expression, ambition.  These ingredients, have the power to reverberate throughout time and the universe, microcosmically and transcendentally.  As much as one might think they toil in obscurity, or that they’re giving too much of their marrow, it’s nothing compared to what may happen at the other end of the divide.  I have seen a place where life and art have no distinction, and I have met the cowboy who purveys over this magic prairie.  He taught me about significance, gratitude, humility and grace; the myth, the legend, the man who shook the hand of Vicente Fernandez.    

- Elia Petridis

RETRO-ACTIVE: THE BEST FROM THE CINEMA RETRO ARCHIVES. (FROM NOVEMBER 2009)

By Nick Thomas

Best known for his swashbuckling roles in films such as The Adventures of Robin Hood, Captain Blood, and The Sea Hawk, or as the dashing hero in war adventures and westerns, Errol Flynn appeared in some 50 movies during his short 16 year career in Hollywood.

This year is the centenary of Flynn’s birth in Tasmania, the southern island state of Australia. So you can bet Errol Flynn fans are whooping it up big, down under. In fact, a chunk of June and July was set aside in the city of Hobart, Flynn’s home town, to celebrate Tasmania’s most famous Hollywood son. Special guests at the celebrations were Flynn’s daughter, Rory, and grandson Sean.

Rory Flynn was just 12 when her father died which, as it turns out, was exactly 50 years ago this year too. She recently wrote about memories of her dad in “The Baron of Mulholland: A daughter Remembers Errol Flynn.” Rory inherited just a handful of items from her father, as most of Flynn’s estate went to his third wife. But earlier this year, Rory visited Tasmania and gave all her Flynn memorabilia, including love letters from her dad to her mom, to the Tasmanian museum for display.

Since any discussion of the Flynn clan is complicated by three marriages, let’s sort that out first: Errol married three times. First to French actress Lili Damita (one son, Sean, a photojournalist who went missing during the Vietnam war, and was never found); second to Nora Eddington (two daughters, Deirdre and Rory who had one son, also named Sean); third to actress Patrice Wymore (separated from Flynn but never divorced, and lived on Flynn’s old plantation in Jamaica; one daughter Arnella who died in 1998 who had one son, Luke). So the Errol Flynn lineage lies with two grandsons, Sean and Luke.


*******************************

CR: How did you get involved in the centenary festivities?

There’s a big fan club down there, the Errol Flynn Society of Tasmania. They started organizing this a couple of years ago and asked me to come down.


CR: Nice to see that Errol Flynn was recognized by the Aussies!

It’s great that Tasmania - and Australia - are honoring their native son this year, because Hollywood isn’t. They’re much more involved in their current stars, whereas Europe and other parts of the world are very considerate towards the older stars.


CR: What did it mean to you to visit Tasmania?

Well, I actually feel like I’ve brought my dad home. That’s where his roots are and they love him and honor him there. I think the people there understand that my father was an extraordinary man. I have also learned more about my roots. My grandfather was a very interesting man and is still well-known down there. There’s a street named after him, he was the curator of the museum for 6 years, and he was a professor of biology. They say my grandmother was a direct descendant of midshipman Edward Young, of the HMS Bounty. So I feel like I’ve come home too.


CR: What are some of your earliest memories of your father?

When I was around five, I used to lie on a bearskin rug in his den and I would fall asleep to the sound of his writing - the scratching of his pen. He was always writing. He was writing his autobiography from a very early age, and other books, documentaries and newspaper articles. I grew up with him until I was about 7, then after my parents separated I would see him several times a year. Those visits became huge. He was really big about spending quality time with us when he could.


CR: Did you know how sick he was towards the end of his life?

No, my mom didn’t tell us about it. We know now that shortly before he died, he told my mother that he was only given a year to live, but he only made it three more months. His liver was shot, he had tuberculosis, malaria, terrible back problems - and there he was, still swashbuckling all over the place to the end.


CR: What do you think made your dad stand out as an actor?

I think he bridged the gap between actors playing the tough American cowboy type who were simple and direct, and the European actors with sophisticated dialogue, like Leslie Howard. My dad was able to be that action hero, and still hold an intelligent conversation. No one had really done that before.


CR: In his 20s, Flynn sailed up the east coast of Australia to New Guinea where he had all sorts of real-life adventures, as recounted in his book, “Beam Ends.” Did that period of his life influence his acting?

Absolutely. This early period formed who he was. He was who he was by the time he got to Hollywood - he was that “Tasmanian Devil” and he brought that to his films.

By Lee Pfeiffer

Pundits and film critics always question why there are so many remakes of good movies. They generally ask the rhetorical question, "Why not remake bad movies?" The answer may be found in the fact that many bad movies have been remade into even worse productions. Case in point: the 1978 schlock scarefest The Amityville Horror was derided by all but made a ton money largely because naive members of the public actually believed the bestselling book that recounted "factual" hauntings in the New York home. The fact that there is more evidence of the Loch Ness Monster than these reputed happenings didn't deter Hollywood from churning out a seemingly endless string of Amity sequels and prequels. Now Miramax is getting on board with their own project. That's right, the prestigious company behind The King's Speech will be trawling for dollars by exhuming the oft-told tale. At least by this point, no one is pretending its based on fact. Not to be outdone, company called Hannibal Classics is launching their own Amityville pic. Is there an audience for this sludge? You bet. In fact, as I write this, there are thousands of Americans preparing for the end of the world, which apparently will come later today. They have based their actions on the divine word of a talk show host and religious zealot, so how could they possibly go wrong? With so many dummies running about, there is plenty of room for Amityville fllicks, many of whom believe they are watching documentaries. If I'm wrong and the world does end tonight, don't worry about hurrying up with your subscription renewals for Cinema Retro. For more click here

 

By Lee Pfeiffer

Part of Charles Bronson's success was his reluctance to go public with his private life. It seems hard to believe in the era of Charlie Sheen that there once was an era in which celebrities valued their privacy and dignity. Bronson overcame a predestined fate to follow his family members in working in the mines of Pennsylvania. Through quiet, but hard-nosed determination, he gained a foothold in Hollywood and became a reliable supporting actor before his unlikely emergence as one of the world's most bankable leading men. Even at the height of his fame and popularity, Bronson's fans knew little about his personal life beyond the prerequisite studio-issued biographies. He rarely attended Hollywood functions, almost never promoted his films and only fleetingly gave interviews. I once asked Michael Winner, the director with whom he had some great successes, if he could say he really knew Bronson and the answer was a resounding "No."

There were reasons for Bronson's reluctance to open up his personal life and some of them revolved around his messy marital problems and affairs. These are painfully recounted in Charlie and Me, a memoir by his first wife Harriett. In the early years of their courtship, she found Bronson to be attentive and thoughtful, even if he harbored a lifelong insecurity about the women in his life that made him obsessively jealous. Harriett Bronson's book is a true page-turner, as it gives a different perspective from what little has been relayed to date about his personality. Harriett Bronson's story is the same as so many Hollywood wives: they stuck with their husband during the lean years and when success finally came, they were unceremoniously dumped for another woman. In this case, the other woman was British actress Jill Ireland, who was married to Bronson's best friend, David McCallum. The two men bonded in Germany on the set of The Great Escape, and these stories provide the basis for some of the book's most intriguing elements. Although Bronson claimed he considered McCallum as "a god" for being so kind to him, he didn't hesitate to initiate an affair with Ireland. While Harriett stewed about the constant delays on the film caused by Steve McQueen's perfectionism, Bronson relished the extra time "on location" with Jill. Though Bronson denied there was anything beyond friendship, Harriett used the services of a private detective to unveil the truth.

 

As regular readers of Cinema Retro know, publishers Lee Pfeiffer and Dave Worrall's book The Alamo: A Visual Celebration of John Wayne's Epic Movie was an instant hit, selling out very quickly. We've received many requests from readers asking if we can find additional copies for sale. We're happy to say that we have been able to obtain a small quantity of copies of this limited edition, hardback volume. It is available for sale through our Ebay affiliate Spy Guise. See description below:

This is a rare edition of the book  THE ALAMO: A VISUAL CELEBRATION OF JOHN WAYNE'S CLASSIC MOVIE. Written and designed by Cinema Retro magazine publishers Lee Pfeiffer and Dave Worrall, the book recounts the dramatic and inspiring story of John Wayne's obsession with making his 1960 film that recounted one of the most famous battles in history. The production was a challenge from day one, as Wayne was not only starring and producing, but also making his directorial debut with one of the largest budgeted American movies ever made. The problems Wayne encountered were seemingly insurmountable and involved political battles, forces of nature and even a murder of a cast member. The book covers all aspects of production including the controversial Oscar campaign that became part of Hollywood lore. Despite these obstacles, Wayne managed to emerge with one of the great epics of American cinema.

The book was designed as a limited hardback print run of only 1500 copies. The book sold out very quickly, but we have been able to get a very small number of unused copies which are available on a first-come, first-serve basis. The book was never sold in retail chains or through Amazon.

Each copy is individually numbered and has labels signed on the interior by both authors.

The book contains over 650 rare color & b&w photos, many of which have never been published before. There are entire sections dedicated to international marketing campaigns and collectibles tied in with the film. This is sure to be a valued collector's item in the years to come.

If that special someone in your life loves epic movies, this will make the perfect holiday gift. (Coonskin cap not included!)

PRICE: $110 (includes free postage anywhere in the world)

For views of the interior of the book and to order directly through Ebay, click here

You can also order through Pay Pal by sending $110 to: or by sending a check to: cinemaretro@hotmail.com

Cinema Retro

POB 152

Dunellen, NJ 08812 USA

(If you wish to pay by credit card, E mail us at cinemaretro@hotmail.com)

By Lee Pfeiffer

Last evening, The Players club at Gramercy Park in New York City, in conjunction with Cinema Retro magazine, hosted a gala tribute dinner for member Robert Vaughn. The club dates back to 1888, when it was founded by actor Edwin Booth along with such luminaries as Mark Twain and General Sherman. The rich heritage continued with last evening's event. As Editor-in-Chief of Cinema Retro and a  member of The Players, I had long wanted to hold an event in honor of Vaughn's career. Club Executive Director John Martello and I began planning the evening months ago, working around Vaughn's schedule for filming his hit TV series Hustle in England. The catalyst was the recent publication of Vaughn's acclaimed autobiography A Fortunate Life. Vaughn chose November 22 because of the date's significance in his life: it was his 77th birthday, the anniversary of the assassination of his political idol John F. Kennedy and also the date production began on The Man From U.N.C.L.E. 46 years ago.

Perhaps the most challenging aspect was the remarkable compilation of video clips assembled by John Martello and his editor. Rare videos from the Cinema Retro archive were contributed, but there were still key clips that seemed be impossible to find: Vaughn playing young Teddy Roosevelt in an obscure Western TV episode called Law of the Plainsman, his performance as Harry S. Truman in the 1974 TV special The Man From Independence and his Emmy-winning role as the political hatchet man in the 1977 mini-series Washington: Behind Closed Doors. With Vaughn's personal assistance, clips were obtained from fans, TV networks and museums. The resulting 25 minute compilation gave ample evidence of Vaughn's diverse talents.

KEN ANNAKIN

(1914-2009)

By Lee Pfeiffer

The film world lost another legend this week with the passing of director/writer Ken Annakin, who died at age 94. For those of us at Cinema Retro, the loss is personal. In addition to directing some of our favorite films, Ken was an avid supporter of the magazine. The seemingly indestructible British filmmaker led a full and active life and was engaged in trying to get new projects off the ground until he fell ill in February.

Annakin began his career as a director in 1946 and found his talents to be constantly in demand. His career took off a decade later when he was hired by Walt Disney to direct The Story of Robin Hood in 1952. He quickly became one of Disney's favorite and most dependable directors. Annakin would do numerous other films for Disney, the most successful being the adventure classic Swiss Family Robinson. Annakin would direct many other high-profile films over the years. He was one of several directors hired for Darryl F. Zanuck's epic D-Day film The Longest Day. Annakin primarily handled the British military sequences, but also contributed to other key scenes. His success on that film led to his involvement with two other epic films of the 1960s: Those Magnificent Men in Their Flying Machines and Battle of the Bulge. Annakin scored an Oscar nomination for his screenplay of the former, but his experience on Bulge was far different. The production ran into funding difficulties that required him to go far beyond his expected duties in order to ensure successful completion of the film. Perhaps the greatest compliment to extend to Annakin is that there was no "typical Ken Annakin picture". He delved into many different genres, including the South African High Noon- like adventure The Hellions, the period war film The Long Duel, the delightful caper comedy The Biggest Bundle of Them All and the sentimental film Paper Tiger for producer Euan Lloyd.

Ken Annakin personified the British gentleman and came of age in an era in which film directors would wear suits and ties on the set. He was a wonderful story-teller with a great sense of humor, attributes I got to enjoy first-hand several years ago when Dave Worrall and I visited him in his Los Angeles home. Ken loved the concept of Cinema Retro and afforded us an entire day in which to interview him for future issues. He shared priceless memories of working with Walt Disney, Darryl F. Zanuck and other giants of the industry. He was hard at work on more film projects, though he wasn't delusional about his chances of success in an industry obsessed with youth. "These will probably never be made, but I can't help myself", he said in relation to finding an outlet for his creative ideas. Dave and I were greatly honored by Ken's enthusiastic reaction to our recent book

The Great War Movies which we authored for 20th Century Fox. Ken sent word that the extensive section on the making of The Longest Day brought back a lot of fond memories.

He authored a well-received autobiography (So You Wanna Be a Director...) which recounted his remarkable career. He even figures as a footnote in the Star Wars saga, as it's said that George Lucas' decision to name the character Anakin Skywalker was a nod of respect to Ken. He is survived by Pauline, his wife of 50 years, and his daughter Deborah, an executive at Paramount.

The only unpleasant aspect of running Cinema Retro is having to report on the loss of so many revered figures in the film industry. This time, the loss is personal, as we're not likely to see another Ken Annakin anytime soon. The man may be gone, but we can take comfort from the fact that generations of future movie goers will still be entertained by his work.

Warner Home Video has recently released a series of Paul Newman titles that have not previously been available on DVD. We'll be taking a look at some of these titles, beginning with the 1964 western The Outrage.

By Lee Pfeiffer

Paul Newman and director Martin Ritt collaborated on six films of varying quality between the years 1958 and 1967, when both men were at the prime of the careers. One of their most notable misfires was The Outrage, an ambitious 1964 remake of Akira Kurosawa's classic Rashomon redefined as a western. Kurasawa's film told of the kidnapping of an innocent couple by a bandit. The woman is raped and the husband is murdered. However, as various people recall the incident, it becomes clear there are radically different versions of what happened and who was responsible for the death. The premise of remaking the story as a Hollywood production starring Newman probably seemed like a winning proposal for MGM, given the film's envelope-pushing content regarding sex. Martin Ritt rounded up an impressive array of talented people ranging from the legendary cinematographer James Wong Howe to composer Alex North and actors Laurence Harvey, Claire Bloom and Edward G. Robinson. However, it was neither a critical or financial success - though it did allow Newman to stretch his acting abilities by playing a notorious Mexican bandito. 

The film's chief asset is the stunning black and white cinematography and some spirited performances. Newman plays the villain as though he graduated from the Eli Wallach School of Banditry - his charisma and sense of humor masks a sadistic nature. He is actually quite effective in the role, with the guise of the character differing quite a bit depending upon whose version of the incident is being retold. In this case, the flashbacks take place among three men (Edward G. Robinson, William Shatner and Howard Da Silva) who are waiting in an isolated train station. Robinson is a cynical con man who goads the other two men to relate the various versions of the incident, though it becomes apparent that both may be hiding the truth for their own selfish reasons. The first time the rape/murder is played out, the scene is fairly chilling and engrossing. However, as the story unravels, the viewer sees the situation  recounted three more times, at least once in a broadly comical vein (not easy to do when the subject is rape and murder). By this point, the proceedings have become tedious and the scenario monotonous. Making matters more frustrating is the fact that certain key storylines aren't satisfactorily concluded and the determination of the principals to make this an "important" film results in it playing rather pretentiously. On the positive side, Claire Bloom is terrific as the wife, playing the difficult part as both helpless victim and sexually promiscuous temptress who initiates her own rape to humiliate her husband. As the latter, Laurence Harvey has little to do but stand bound and gagged to a tree while the storyline plays out, though he and Newman do manage to engage in an exciting and well-staged fight sequence. In supporting roles, William Shatner underplays (yes, underplays) his part and allows Da Silva and Robinson to steal the scenes he shares with them. Robinson is particularly good in an unsympathetic role as the fouled-mouthed patent medicine salesman.

The Outrage is an artistic failure, but as with any collaboration between Newman and Ritt (who would go on to make the far superior Hombre), its not without merit or interest. Warners's DVD of the film is most welcome and the transfer is outstanding, however, at least a few extras would have been appreciated. This one doesn't even boast "scene selections" from the menu which only allows "Play" as an option! - Lee Pfeiffer Click here to order discounted from Amazon.

By Mike Thomas

The screening at the Academy on Friday was the start of a Leslie Caron tribute weekend in Los Angeles as events at the Samuel Goldwyn Theatre at the Motion Picture Academy and the following nights at the American Cinematheque demonstrated the timeless charm of this beloved actress. Leslie Caron was the original Amelie, a Gallic sprite who enchanted the world when Gene Kelly discovered her at 18 and cast her in “American in Paris.” She went on to prove her skill as a dramatic actress in such fare as “The L-Shaped Room“ and even won an Emmy for a recent stint on “Law and Order” but it was in her 50s musicals, “Gigi,” “Daddy Long Legs, “ “American in Paris,” and “Lili,”  that she won the hearts of the world.

A sold-out crowd paid tribute to Ms. Caron as she recounted some very funny stories of her time at MGM, and  the making of that night’s screening, “Gigi.” Moderated by critic Stephen Farber, the interview was as light as a souffle and when she flashed her trademark smile she had the audience in the palm of her hand.
It was pointed out that “Gigi” was the last great original screen created for the screen. With a score by the great Lerner & Lowe and based on story by Colette, it won 9 Oscars including Best Picture and Best Director for Vincente Minnelli, a man legendary for being more concerned with a film’s mis-en-scene  than his actors. While shooting the  "I Don't Understand the Parisians" number on the backlot near a constructed stream, Minnelli shot take after take. "I couldn't understand what I was doing wrong,” confessed Caron. “After take 18  he said, 'cut, great, print, the swans were great!'" She also spoke of her joy at working with the two great male dancers of the cinema, Kelly and Astaire and confessed her childhood ambition was to be a ballerina, not an actress. But she admitted  her greatest thrill came in 1964 when she co-starred in “Father Goose,” with Cary Grant. “I couldn’t believe it,” she marveled, “Me in a film with Cary Grant!” She talked of the film’s shooting in Jamaica as idyllic time, complete with butler who would scurry up a tree every morning to fetch fresh cocoanuts for her. She also commented about working with directors like James Ivory in an amusing anecdote where Ivory asked her if she knew she came off arrogant in a delivery and she said yes, she was intentionally trying to it that way. “Don’t!,” he snapped and that was that. Discussing her upcoming memoirs she admitted she was worried that somebody she had dissed in the book might be in the audience so she had better behave herself. But there was no need to worry, she had us at ‘”bonjour.”

ACADEMY TRIBUTE TO GEORGE PAL

By Mike Thomas

 

An over-capacity crowd packed the Academy Theater in New York last night for AMPAS’s popular “Monday Nights with Oscar” program, this time featuring a special treat: “Hollywood Home Movies: Treasures from the Academy Film Archive.” The program, curated by Academy archivist Lynne Kirstee and accompanied by pianist Donald Sosin, afforded a rare glimpse into the intimate scenes of family life of Hollywood’s legendary directors, producers and actors, and were at once fascinating and strangely familiar.

We saw Alfred Hitchcock playing with his baby daughter Patricia on their English estate; Bogart and Bacall sailing their beloved Santana out of the Newport Beach marina (she’s making dreary sandwiches down in the hull while he dashingly masters the riggings up on deck, an ever-present cigarette dangling from his lips); Cedric Gibbons and his wife Dolores del Rio entertaining guests poolside at their home in Santa Monica; and other peeks at the off-hours of Hollywood’s Golden Age royalty. Interestingly, just when the scenes began to look overly familiar in that “every family has an over-eating aunt” way, out of left field comes a sophisticated camera trick (Hitchcock eating a banana backwards, for example) that reminds one that these people literally had technical magic at their fingertips.

Or, for example, watching Mickey Rooney and Judy Garland playing in a charity tennis match in 1939 (part of the Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. Collection) gives the viewer the sensation of being in a communal living room and watching home movies of everyone’s relatives. Or something bizarre like that.

The program also included revealing commentary from the likes of Gary Cooper’s daughter, Maria Cooper Janis; Steve McQueen’s wife, Neile Adams; and the last wife of Douglas Fairbanks, Jr., Vera Shelton, among others. As Shelton recounted in an amusing anecdote, she met Fairbanks by chance at a crowded bar when she turned to the man next to her and asked his help in getting her a drink. For some, brushes with fame remain just that. For others, they turn into relationships, affairs or marriages that last decades.

One revelation I found fascinating was the availability of color film to the home movie camera user as early as the mid-1930s. In the Hitchcock segment, the clip was in a dreamy “lenticular color” which is registered on a specialized film through thousands of minute “lenses” embedded into the emulsion, and then usually projected through a tri-color banded filter (these details courtesy of Wikipedia). Also holding up astonishingly well were the Kodachrome film clips featuring Esther Williams at home (circa 1949-55) and the beautiful saturated color footage of Marlon Brando shooting On the Waterfront (c. 1953-54), courtesy of the Charles Rossi Collection.

The program was also punctuated with early home movies of New York Harbor in 1927, a beauty contest parade in Atlantic City from 1935, and the neon wonderland of Times Square in the mid-1950s, providing a national context to the celebrity home movie clips through the decades.

Bravo to AMPAS for this entertaining and revealing evening!

The Academy Theater is located at 111 East 59^th Street in Manhattan. Please note Monday Nights with Oscar is going on hiatus for the month of September for administrative needs. For reservations to any event in this monthly film series, call (888) 778-7575.

-DAVID SAVAGE

John Wayne didn't make too many mistakes in his career, but when he did, they were howlers. Remember when he played Ghengis Khan in The Conqueror, wooing Susan Hayward with "This tartar woman is for me and my blood says 'Take her' and "Yer Beeootiful in yer wrath!" Well, that performance would have undoubtedly been Oscar material compared to the film that almost happened: Steven Seagal in a 2002 big screen version of old Ghengis' life. That's right, the cigar store Indian of emotion playing the conqueror the world. Seagal is to charisma what Vladimir Putin is to slapstick humor. It's all recounted on the web site of Cracked magazine, along with many other Hollywood near-misses that Divine Providence seems to have spared us from. It's a hilarious article, even if writer Steve Clark indulges in the cliched penchant for peppering every sentence with needless obscenities - though none are quite as offensive as picturing Seagal as Ghengis Khan. To read click here

Superman on Film, Television, Radio and Broadway by Bruce Scivally. McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers; 2007.

In many ways, this is a book about a succession of tragedies. On the surface it is a scholarly hardback publication from author Bruce Scivally (who co-wrote the superb The James Bond Legacy and other film-related works) and it’s a welcome, informative addition to the vast amount of available Superman literature. While there is plenty of material out there on the Superman comics and the character himself, there has never been much written about the Man of Steel’s films and even less on the character’s appearances on television, on the radio, and his one-time attempt at a Broadway musical.

Scivally spends a brief early part of the book on the comics’ Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster and how they created a legend… and lost it. For me, the first true tragedy of the Superman saga lies in the story behind these two men, for they were treated with disdain and received no appreciation from the corporations and entertainment business that eventually made millions off of their character. Much of this tale has been recounted elsewhere, so Scivally quickly moves on to the meat of the book—Superman’s evolution from comics to a radio program, the Columbia serials in theaters, and the television series (which enveloped yet another tragedy in actor George Reeves, who may or may not have committed suicide in the late fifties). Does anyone remember the unsuccessful Broadway Superman musical from the sixties? It was called It’s a Bird, It’s a Plane, It’s Superman!, and the author enlightens the reader with its tales of woe. After covering the Saturday morning cartoons, Scivally recounts the successful blockbuster motion pictures starring Christopher Reeve in fascinating detail, treating the reader to the sometimes ugly machinations behind such Hollywood productions. And, of course, Reeve’s story ends in tragedy as well. The book ends with somewhat happier tales of Superman’s return to television—Lois and Clark and Smallville.

This is a terrific book and a must-have for anyone remotely interested in Superman and his life beyond the comics. There is one problem though, and it’s not the author’s fault. McFarland, the publisher, considers its books to be “textbooks”; thus, the retail prices are frightening. This thin, 240-page book with no color illustrations costs $49.95. I’m not sure how McFarland expects to sell this book to the fan community and I suspect they’re shooting themselves in the feet by charging so much. While it may be a “textbook,” and a good one at that, sadly it’s not being appropriately marketed to its primary audience. --Raymond Benson

TO ORDER THIS BOOK FROM THE CINEMA RETRO AMAZON MOVIE AND BOOK STORE CLICK HERE

Sundown Entertainment's eagerly-awaited limited edition book THE ALAMO: A VISUAL CELEBRATION OF JOHN WAYNE'S CLASSIC MOVIE has been published. Written and designed by Cinema Retro publishers Lee Pfeiffer and Dave Worrall, the book recounts the dramatic and inspiring story of John Wayne's obsession with making his 1960 film that recounted one of the most famous battles in history. The production was a challenge from day one, as Wayne was not only starring and producing, but also making his directorial debut with one of the largest budgeted American movies ever made. The obstacles were seemingly insurmountable and involved political battles, forces of nature and even a murder of a cast member. The book covers all aspects of production including the controversial Oscar campaign that became part of Hollywood lore.

We've seen the final copies of the book, which will be shipped shortly to those who have pre-ordered. The hardback edition is limited to only 1500 copies, each individually numbered and signed by the authors. The price is $110. The book contains over 650 rare color & b&w photos, many of which have never been published before. There are entire sections dedicated to international marketing campaigns and collectibles tied in with the film. This is sure to be a valued collector's item in the years to come.

If that special someone in your life loves epic movies, this will make the perfect holiday gift. It will not be sold in stores or on Amazon and must be ordered directly through the publisher. (Coonskin cap not included!)

TO ORDER THE BOOK CLICK HERE

WE CONTINUE OUR SERIES OF REPORTS FROM OUR CORRESPONDENT JOHN EXSHAW'S DIARY FROM THE RECENTLY CONCLUDED VENICE INTERNATIONAL FILM FESTIVAL.

Joaquín Luis Romero Marchent was the earliest European director, prior to Sergio Leone, to consistently explore the Western form. After two films in the mid-1950s featuring the Zorro-esque El Coyote and two in the early Sixties featuring the Fox of Old California himself (Zorro the Avenger and The Shadow of Zorro), Romero Marchent made his proper Western début in 1963 with The Magnificent Three, followed by Gunfight at High Noon, starring Richard Harrison, Robert Hundar, Gloria Milland, and Fernando Sancho. The latter three actors also starred in Seven Guns from Texas (1964), shown here today, and introduced by the hulking Hundar (real name, Claudio Undari) himself. Whether or not Romero Marchent, still going strong at 86, was invited, I’ve been unable to discover . . .

Bob Carey (Paul Piaget), having been released from prison after killing a man in a (fair) fight, discovers that his former fiancée, María (Gloria Milland, real name, Maria Fié) is now married to a successful rancher named Clifford (Jesús Puente), and that he himself is being hunted by the dead man’s brothers, who have vowed to avenge him. Clifford learns that María is suffering from a brain tumour; on being told that her only chance lies in seeing a specialist in El Paso, Clifford decides against telling María and begins making plans for the long and hazardous journey through Indian territory. With the Redskins currently on the warpath, the Army cannot spare men for an escort, and so Clifford is forced to hire adventurers for the journey. These include Carey, Ringo, a flamboyant character known as “Gambler” (Fernando Sancho), a couple of bad hats led by Raf Baldassarre, a comic-relief Chinese cook (Gregory Wu) and the wagon driver, played by Paco Sanz. With tensions simmering within the party, and dangers threatening without, the group embark on their race against time . . .

Last year, when I was interviewing Aldo Sanbrell, I was surprised to learn that, generally speaking, he preferred the Westerns he had made with Romero Marchent to those made with Italian directors, Sergio Leone included. Admittedly (For a Few Dollars More apart), Leone had never made the best use of Aldo, employing him more as a good-luck talisman than as an featured character star, but considering that Sanbrell had also appeared in films for Corbucci, Sollima, and Tessari, it seemed an extraordinary endorsement of his fellow countryman. But, watching Seven Guns from Texas, I began to see why Aldo felt that way. A very traditional Western, with a solid plot and clearly defined characters in even the smaller roles, it is just the sort of well-crafted movie that would appeal to an actor brought up on the Westerns of Randolph Scott and Joel McCrea, and who consequently preferred the American approach – “Americans, in Westerns, give you much more reality. . . . Romero Marchent, he makes something like the American films – so simple . . . But it was real. He doesn’t go into the fantasy, let’s say, of Leone . . . ”

In addition to being told with a skill and conviction which should satisfy most traditionalists, Seven Guns from Texas looks impressive – the fort has a built-to-last quality that would put many higher-budget Hollywood Westerns to shame, and the costumes and photography are of a comparably high standard. Piaget is rather stiff and colourless as Carey, but then traditional Western heroes often are. Hundar, who would become a distinctive presence in the Italian Western, is fine as Ringo, and Baldassarre is suitably snaky as the villain who holds the party to ransom over a water hole near the film’s end.. Puente gives a sympathetic performance in what is a fairly thankless role, and Sanz, who seems to be turning up in everything in the last few days, demonstrates his versatility behind a bushy beard which would have been the envy of George ‘Gabby’ Hayes. While Romero Marchent includes a number of obvious allusions to ‘Stagecoach’ in his film, they are in no way intrusive; indeed, the basic story of a race against time in the face of terminal illness was apparently an extrapolation of the director’s family’s own, ultimately futile, efforts to find a cure for his mother’s lung cancer. The Spanish print reportedly closes with the death of María, but the ending in the Italian version was “softened” to allow the possibility that she may survive.

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One of the great canards thrown at the Italian film industry during its international heyday was that it provided a haven for washed-up stars whose “real” careers back in Hollywood had gone south of the border. As with so much written in those times (such as the notion that Anglo pseudonyms were adopted to fool English-speaking audiences into thinking they were watching a “real” Hollywood film), this was arrant nonsense. Not only did the Italian film industry create new stars of global significance (Steve Reeves, Clint Eastwood, Franco Nero, Tomás Milian, to name only the most obvious), but it also gave older “name” actors opportunities they would never have had at home.

Rather than sneering about “has-been stars making cheap B-movies in Italy”, film historians need to ask themselves what those actors might have done had they stayed in Hollywood. Take Guy Madison, for example: he went to Italy in 1960, two years after the cancellation of his long-running TV series, The Adventures of Wild Bill Hickok, and spent a decade starring in every popular genre of the day: pepla, swashbucklers, Westerns, spy films, superhero yarns, and war movies. He was able to play both heroes and villains, from Wyatt Earp to turbaned Oriental exotics, in films which, if they were cheap, were only so in comparison with bigger-budgeted Hollywood movies (and which, thanks to the behind-the-camera skill and inventiveness of such as Mario Bava, frequently looked much better than their similarly-budgeted American counterparts). Now, ask what Madison might have done had he stayed in Hollywood: a few more guest spots in Wagon Train and other TV series? Cameos in the occasional movie? Or straight down the ladder to grade-Z horror flicks for the drive-in market? Nor is Madison an isolated case: what did the future in Hollywood hold for a middle-aged ex-Tarzan like Lex Barker? Certainly not the chance to work with Fellini and become a massive star in Continental Westerns. And then there’s Gordon Scott, and . . . well, you get the idea.

Neither Van Heflin nor Gilbert Roland, two “name” stars finding good work hard to come by in 1960s’ Hollywood, can have had any reason to regret their participation in Giorgio Capitani’s The Ruthless Four (1968), a superior Western in every respect, and one which gave Heflin, in his only Italian outing, the last good role of his distinguished career. He plays Sam Cooper, a gold prospector who finally strikes it rich only to find himself faced with an immediate murder attempt by his hitherto loyal partner. After being held up and robbed on his way back to town, Cooper, realising that he needs someone he can trust to help extract the gold, wires money to Manolo Sánchez, a young man whom Sam had helped raise before succumbing once more to wanderlust and gold fever. Manolo (played by George Hilton) duly arrives, and Sam, in the course of their drunken reunion, gradually reveals his reason for summoning him. Close on Manolo’s heels, however, comes the sinister figure of “the Blond” (Klaus Kinski), who soon reasserts his authority, based on their homosexual relationship, over the affable but weak Manolo. With “the Blond” insinuating himself into the group, Sam turns to a one-time friend, Mason (Roland), for support. Mason, who still believes that Cooper turned him in after their escape from a prison camp several years previously, agrees to accompany Cooper in return for a fifty-fifty split. The quartet set off, foiling an ambush instigated by the town’s storekeeper before beginning the long trek to Cooper’s mine . . .

Capitani, whose only Western this was, originated the story which was then developed by co-writer Fernando Di Leo, who had worked uncredited on the first two Dollars films and would later become well-known for his crime movies of the 1970s. The characters in The Ruthless Four have a psychological depth and complexity comparable to any American counterpart of similar scope and ambition, and indeed the film (a few stylistic flourishes apart) is largely indistinguishable from a traditional Hollywood Western. The most memorable stylistic flourish involves Capitani’s introduction of the Blond, who arrives in town during a thunderstorm, wearing a battered trilby and a rubber slicker. Going into the saloon, the Blond asks for milk and is not amused by the barman’s smart-ass reply. As he grabs the barman’s wrist, Capitani cuts to a Leonesque close-up of Kinski’s eyes, then, when he turns away, there is an anachronistic jazz intro on the soundtrack, an obvious reference, along with his costume, to Kinski’s many roles in Edgar Wallace krimis, in which the actor often played sinister weirdos slinking around in smoke-filled jazz clubs. Another nice touch is the depiction of Lancaster, the treacherous storekeeper, as an obese knitting fanatic. Capitani also makes interesting use of Carlo Simi’s El Paso set; whereas, in Sugar Colt, Franco Giraldi obviously didn’t give a damn who recognised it, Capitani seems to go out of his way to disguise its appearance, choosing unusual camera set-ups and avoiding long-shots – perhaps an indication of how well-known the set had become a mere two years after For a Few Dollars More (The Ruthless Four was shot in 1967.)

Van Heflin, who, with his bulging eyes and homely features, was surely one of the more improbable Hollywood stars – a character actor propelled by his talent into leading roles – gives a wonderfully rich and well-judged performance as Cooper, certainly on a par with his work in Shane and 3:10 to Yuma. Roland, a more limited actor, perhaps, but one whose unique brand of style and steely machismo made him a welcome figure in many Fifties’ Westerns, is at his best in The Ruthless Four, as a man twisted by suspicion (and crippled by bouts of malaria) who regains his sense of decency at the end. In one delightful touch (presumably improvised), Roland, to distract the storekeeper’s bushwhackers, executes a seemingly impromptu two-step dance, which immediately recalls the actor’s many roles as Latin lovers in his early career.

Hilton, the Uruguayan-born star of many Spaghetti Westerns (often as fairly laid-back types, with the occasional avenger or villain thrown in) is excellent as the spineless Manolo, with Capitani cleverly exploiting the essential softness in the actor’s screen persona. It seems well worth pointing out that, had Hilton been a star of Hollywood Westerns at the time, the chances of him being offered, or allowed to play, a role like Manolo Sánchez would have been less than zero. (“Big Jake, starring John Wayne, with George Hilton as The Catamite Kid”? Unlikely, to say the least.) Indeed, another of the most commendable aspects of the Italian film industry in this period was the freedom enjoyed by actors in their choice of roles: they could make a Mario Bava horror film one week and a Fellini the next, and if an actor decided to become associated with a particular genre, it seems it was a matter of choice, not box-office imperative or typecasting.

Klaus Kinski, it need hardly be said, is extremely effective as the Blond – less flamboyant than in many of his Western roles, which were often little more than glorified cameos, but none the less impressive for that. And he gets to stick around for a lot longer than usual, a good thing in itself.

Giorgio Capitani and George Hilton were both present for the screening, which attracted a full house in one of the smaller cinemas allocated to the retrospective. Capitani went on to become a highly-respected director of sophisticated comedies, most of which received little distribution outside Italy, but The Ruthless Four is considered by many to be his best film, and is well worth tracking down.

WE CONTINUE OUR SERIES OF REPORTS FROM OUR CORRESPONDENT JOHN EXSHAW'S DIARY FROM THE RECENTLY CONCLUDED VENICE INTERNATIONAL FILM FESTIVAL.

Started the day by calling in on Giancarlo Santi at his hotel, having arranged an interview with him last night. He was just finishing his breakfast, but otherwise seemed quite ready to hit the trail and “git them dogies rolling”. Politeness required that I kept my generally low opinion of ‘The Grand Duel’ to myself – though to be fair to Santi, I never got the impression that he himself regards it as an imperishable classic. In any case, I was much more interested in hearing him talk about his time as assistant director to Sergio Leone on ‘The Good, the Bad and the Ugly’, ‘Once Upon a Time in the West’ and ‘Giù la testa’ (‘A Fistful of Dynamite’, ‘Duck, You Sucker’). Santi speaks pretty good English, but as the interview progressed, he tended to lapse into Italian with increasing frequency. When he apologized for this, I suggested that he continue in Italian, saying I could always get the tape translated at a later date.

The best-known story involving Santi concerns his aborted direction of ‘Giù la testa’, caused by Rod Steiger’s refusal to work with anyone other than Leone. After about three days, so the story goes, Steiger refused to continue under Santi’s direction, responding to Leone’s assurances that Santi was perfectly capable by saying, okay, I’ll send along my stand-in, he’s perfectly capable too. And so, reluctantly, Leone demoted Santi and assumed the directorial burden himself . . .

Santi, however, remembers things rather differently. At the end of filming ‘Once Upon a Time in the West’, he recalls, Leone turned to him, removed his viewfinder and placed it around Santi’s neck, telling him, “You will direct the next film.” Santi, who doesn’t appear to have harboured any great desire to be a director, thought no more about it. Some two years later, when Santi was working in Africa as assistant director on Glauber Rocha’s ‘The Lion Has Seven Heads’, Leone, unbeknownst to him, took out a full-page ad. in Variety announcing ‘Giù la testa’, “to be directed by Giancarlo Santi”. Leone was immediately bombarded with telegrams from both Steiger’s and James Coburn’s agents: their clients had accepted the film on the understanding that it was to be “Directed by Sergio Leone”, and they weren’t going to settle for the crown prince in place of the king. When Santi did join the film as assistant director, it was the first he’d heard of all this rumpus, and he categorically denies that he shot any principle scenes, or any scenes which would not fall within the usual remit of the assistant director.

We continued talking about his work with Leone, but such stories as emerged will have to wait for another time. Before I left, he whipped out a digital print of Lee Van Cleef and himself on the set of ‘The Grand Duel’ and proceeded to inscribe it to me. Remembering Lee and Dave’s injunction to “spread the good word”, I presented him with a back issue of Cinema Retro, shook hands and oiled off.

It has just been announced that legendary Italian director Michelangelo Antonioni has died at age 94. The controversial filmmaker died on the same day as another iconic symbol of European cinema: Swedish director Ingmar Bergman. Although Antonioni made relatively few films in his career, those he did bring to the screen are still steeped in controversy- most notably his first English language film, Blow Up. The 1966 release was among the most stylish films ever made and perfectly captured the "mod period" of London during that era. The story was thin on dialogue but heavy on symbolism as it recounted the efforts of a young fashion photographer to discern whether he has accidentally photographed an actual murder. It's ambiguous ending is still widely debated today. The film was a big box-office hit and catapulted Antonioni into an international firestorm regarding his use of groundbreaking sexual images and situations. His 1969 film about the hippie culture, Zabreksie Point was roundly panned and dismissed as an expensive and pretentious bomb. He would never recapture the sensationalism caused by Blow Up but his 1975 drama The Passenger starring Jack Nicholson and Maria Scneider is considered by many critics to be a classic. Click here for critic Roger Ebert's tribute to the filmmaker

We once received a letter from a subscriber who said that while Cinema Retro is his favorite film magazine, the content was best suited for a magazine titled Cinema Hetero. We confess to being guilty of over-emphasizing stories that tend to favor middle-aged, straight white guys because...er...our magazine is put together by two middle aged, straight white guys. However, our new web site has liberated us to expand our horizons and be more inclusive with our content. Let's face it...straight guys see hints of lesbianism in everything including the Ginger and Maryann scenes from Gilligan's Island. Are these just absurd fantasies or are there really intentional, latent homoerotic images in some of our most cherished films and TV series?

Journalist Diana Blackwell examines this scenario as it pertains to one of the most beloved war films of all time, the 1964 epic Zulu which recounted the legendary stand by a small number of British soldiers against an overwhelming number of Zulu warriors. In England, this is the equal of the American's Alamo - only with a happy ending. In this analysis, Ms. Blackwell examines latent homoerotic images in the film. Is this simply a case of a female perceiving homoerotic fantasies that don't reflect the intended content of a film or has she uncovered some hidden messages in oft-viewed classic adventure story? You can judge for yourself - but we think this article will tempt you to view Zulu again just to examine her thoroughly-researched conclusions. At the very least, Ms. Blackwell's article about Zulu gives an all new perspective to "keeping the British end up."

Introduction

Zulu has always seemed like a sexy movie to me despite its lack of love scenes or romantic subplots. The sexiness has little to do with Zulu’s few scenes of women: the bare-breasted Zulu girls aren’t onscreen for very long, while the missionary’s daughter, Miss Witt, is buttoned-up in every way. ¹ No, Zulu is sexy because of its men and the subtly homoerotic quality of their interactions.

Two major soundtracks have been released by Film Score Monthly on one limited edition CD. The Bridge At Remagen features one of master composer Elmer Bernstein's most requested scores, but a soundtrack LP was never issued to tie in with the release of the 1969 war film that depicted the fall of the last bridge leading into Nazi Germany. The big budget film was largely under-rated in its day and had an interesting history: it was shooting on location in Czechosolvakia when the Soviets invaded in 1968, causing the cast and crew to be subjected to house arrest. Stars Robert Vaughn and Ben Gazzara fled the country in a daring nocturnal escape that is recounted in Gazzara's recent autobiography. The film also starred George Segal and features some of the best action sequences ever devised for a war movie.

The Train was the 1965 film that would prove to be one of the last major black and white studio releases. Burt Lancaster teamed with director John Frankenheimer for this superb action thriller in which a member of the French Resistance attempts to prevent a German officer from looting France's art treasures in the closing days of the war. A soundtrack of composer Maurice Jarre's score had been issued for the film in 1965 but it has been hard to come by in recent years.

To order the limited edition, double feature soundtrack click here.

TO ORDER THE TRAIN SPECIAL EDITION DVD FROM AMAZON, CLICK HERE!

TO ORDER THE BRIDGE AT REMAGEN DVD FROM AMAZON, CLICK HERE!