Painting John Porter

I was "yesterday" years old upon learning that John Porter had a documentary made about him. In 2001, a 12-minute video, Painting Porter, was made by Valesca R. Cerski, Jochen W. Detscher, Sascha Drews, Leah Jeffrey and Eva Ziemsen, then students at (my alma mater) York's Film & Video Department. To people enamoured of the city's "alternative" film scene, John needs no introduction. He has made over 300 Super8 films since 1968: each expanding the cinematic possibilities of such a "personal" medium. He is also a tireless supporter of independent-experimental cinema history and events, as evidenced on his exhaustive website super8porter.ca, which he has maintained since 2005. To the novice, Painting Porter serves a pretty good introduction to the man and his work. There are some nice clips of John's diverse films, such as his "Condensed Rituals" (time lapse pieces like Amusement Park or Landscape) or "Camera Dances" (studies in movement like Down On Me and Cinefuge). He is also seen on camera, discussing his work, doing "cinema busking" downtown, and sharing his views on censorship. (Fellow filmmaker Philip Hoffman is one of the other faces appearing on camera talking about John and his work.)

As far as I can tell, a Google search on this piece (until now) only brings two hits. The documentary is viewable on the website for the UK Cog Collective, where John did a show in 2007. It only seems to exist in cyberspace as a 320x240 Quicktime, so you might want to download it and blow it up in the video player of your choice. The Cog Collective programme notes for John are here. The direct link for Painting Porter is here.

[VHS Mondays] Truth In Advertising?

Video distributors were often snake oil salesmen, offering you something other than what you paid for... anything to entice you to plunk your hard-earned dollars on the counter. One common trick was to feature a popular star prominently on the box art, even if he or she only had a small role in the movie. The consumer quickly learned another rule of thumb, that if the video box had only artwork and no stills from the movie, the film in question likely stunk to high heaven. Remember, this was pre-Internet. People couldn't just "look something up", and therefore had to "roll the dice" on a purchase or rental.

In all my years of VHS hunting, though, this box (pictured here) takes the cake. Mysteries Of The Gods was a 1979 paranormal documentary, released late in the cycle of when these films were still popular. It was made by Harald Reinl, whose 1970 classic Chariots Of The Gods? jumpstarted this trend. Familiar faces like Jack Palance, Raymond Burr or (you guessed it) John Carradine were often employed to narrate these movies, which discussed such supernatural topics as UFOs, Bigfoot, The Bermuda Triangle... you name it. It makes sense that William Shatner was hired to narrate a paranormal doc during his "between Kirks" period- i.e. the gulf of time between the Star Trek TV series and the movies, when he racked up a lot of genre credits and TV appearances to pay the bills. 

The movie on its own is pretty good. (I reviewed it for an article on paranormal movies way back in ESR #14.) But, to paraphrase Kirk's pal, Bones McCoy, "What the devil is this?" To advertise a VHS tape about supernatural phenomena, they can do no better than find a still with Shatner and Angelique Pettyjohn from Star Trek's "Gamesters Of Triskelion" episode? Were they strictly going after the "Trekkie" market? This picture has nothing to do with anything. Such a bizarre, Dada-ist advertising decision is why this tape remains one of my favourite finds in the secondary market. The fun had while being had.

[Sinister Saturdays] The Seven Faces Of Bannai Tarao, Private Eye

We had planned for 2020 a series of posts dedicated to the long-running mail-order company Sinister Cinema, in tribute to its founder, the legendary Greg Luce, who was considering retirement last year. Since 1984, Sinister Cinema has specialized in weird and wonderful genre films both domestic and imported. Second features from the golden age of cinema, Mexican and Japanese monsters, and Eurospies, are just some offerings from Sinister’s eclectic catalog. Many of these titles have been unseen on this hemisphere since the days of UHF. Were it not for the diligence of Sinister Cinema (sourcing perhaps the same film prints you originally saw at the drive-in or on late-night television) they would likely remain obscure. Those posts ended up not happening, but neither did Greg's retirement! Sinister Cinema is still active, even during a pandemic! 

As far as we're concerned, they've been performing a public service in rescuing these films from blurry memories. As a “thank you” to Greg, Sinister Saturdays is an ongoing series, sampling some of the wonderful discoveries found in the Sinister Cinema catalog. 

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The Seven Faces Of Bannai Tarao, Private Eye
(Japan, 1956) 85 min B&W
Directors: Sadatsugu Matsuda, Tsuneo Kobayashi.

For crime genre fans, the appeal is not just the formula, but the different ingredients in the structure. Case in point: Japanese inspector Bannai Tarao can be added to the roster of unconventional policemen in cinema, with the novelty of investigating crimes under several disguises! Chiezō Kataoka played the character eleven times from 1946 to 1960. The first four Bannai Tarao films were produced at Daiei Studios, the remainder were from Toei, where Chiezō was a very popular star. This, the ninth in the series, is one of the few with English subtitles, so that Western viewers can sample this unusual character. As the title says, Bannai adopts seven different identities (including a magician, island millionaire, and -my favourite- an eye-patched taxi driver) to solve a series of crimes, including a botched bank robbery, and the murder-suicide of a shooter in a gang turf war, all attributed to the distribution of Colt 45 pistols being smuggled in! The deceased shooter's grieving nightclub singer girlfriend, along with his mother and sister, sister's boyfriend, and a compact, all figure somehow into this murder puzzle.

The film begins ostensibly as a somber police procedural, but soon reveals such pulpy ingredients as trap doors, and people who wilfully get in cars with strangers (if for no other reason than to advance the plot- but this is a pulp convention as well). Moats and alligators wouldn't have seemed out of place. Still, this is pretty potent for its time, with moments of strong (if not explicit) bursts of violence, like the matter-of-fact taxi explosion, and the memorably bizarre final shootout where a suit of armour becomes a shield. At the end, Bannai drives off into the mythical fog, before people even get a chance to thank him. 

Each of this film's two directors are showcased elsewhere in the Sinister catalog: Sadatsugu Matsuda's Foul Play (1955) is another Bannai Tarao film; Tsuneo Kobayashi's Four Hours Of Terror (1959) is a nifty airplane thriller. The Seven Faces Of Bannai Tarao, Private Eye is recommended for crime fans looking for something more than the usual procedural, and another worthy investigation into the seemingly endless wealth of international genre films.

Till next time...

[Fringe Fridays] Adolfas Mekas + David Avallone

It is unknown when I can return to a movie theatre, much less one of the small independent-experimental cinema venues, with my groovy suit jacket and large Tim Horton's green tea. In the meantime....  Fringe Fridays is back! Playing to an audience of one!

On pre-pandemic Friday nights, if I hadn't any prior engagements, I would shake off the work week with a "return to the self" if you like, sitting home and viewing the kind of cinema so near and dear to me: including (but not limited to) renegade Hollywood Renaissance-era productions, counterculture cinema, Experimental Film of the 1940s to the 60s and beyond, independent-underground films from the 1980s and 1990s, and documentaries: a step back to days when people had to view things projected onto blankets hung in musty basements as a cry for independence. And the inaugural Fringe Friday for the Spring 2021 Season "to an audience of one" was precisely what the doctor ordered. This madcap program was a perfect way to shake off a week of retraining and job searching. 

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Hallelujah The Hills 
(USA, 1963) Dir: Adolfas Mekas.
82 min B&W

Jonas Mekas was a more prolific filmmaker, and perhaps more "the voice" of the New American Cinema. But he co-founded the influential Film Culture magazine with his brother Adolfas, and based on this program offering a long overdue glimpse at his own films, it is clear that Adolfas Mekas (1925-2011) was a unique talent as well, harbouring a poetic blend of absurdity. After tonight's show, we can only say... more, please!

A self-confessed homage to the cinema that has influenced him (even abruptly lifting the classic "ice floe" sequence from Griffith's Way Down East) Adolfas Mekas' Hallelujah The Hills is justly regarded as a classic of the New American Cinema. This equally comedic and dreamlike tale is evocative of Buster Keaton slapstick, Marx Brothers anarchy, the playful lyricism of Vigo, Clair, and early Renoir, and the improvisatory feel of the French New Wave as two dorky would-be suitors, Jack (Peter Beard) and Leo (Marty Greenbaum) court the same woman, Vera. In a move predating Bunuel's That Obscure Object Of Desire by fourteen years, Vera is played by two women (Sheila Finn, Peggy Stefans): each representing how (respectively) Jack and Leo "envision" her.  The exquisite black-and-white cinematography is by filmmaker-illustrator Ed Emshwiller (Thanatopsis), who also acts (credited as "Emsh") as Gideon, the one who Vera marries in the film's opening, and thereby sets the boys off on a voyage... somewhere... playing their little war games- these young men are still little boys. The fragmented narrative radically blends the present with the pair's past ill-advised attempts at wooing Vera -each over a seven-year period, one in summer, another in winter, each with a montage that will recall the breakfast sequence from Citizen Kane- become more pathetic with each new season. No wonder they lost Vera. Filmmaker Jerome Hill and underground superstar Taylor Mead appear as convicts in the jaw-dropping finale that nicely sums it all up. The gimmick of the "two Vera"s doesn't quite work, but this is a delight all the same, which will reward with further viewings. Beneath the exuberant innocence, one is tempted to read a somber semi-autobiographical parable of the Mekas brothers' wartime experiences. A tour de force for writer-director-editor Mekas, although I can't help but wonder if the line of dialogue "I haven't seen a movie for ten days" was suggested by brother Jonas. It sounds just like something from his Movie Journal column. The lovely New England winter setting added a perfect "you are there" feeling to viewing the film, while under a blanket as the winds howled outside.

Added Attractions!

An Interview With Ambassador From Lapland
(USA, 1967) Dir: Adolfas Mekas.
4 min colour

A hilarious four-minute short in the guise of a Time-Life newsreel, with stock footage, cartoon segments and Adolfas Mekas as a dictator spouting rhetoric, all with quite a prescient Vietnam subtext that mainstream cinema was still catching up to. It's just long enough to crack its big joke, and it's a doozy!

Hallelujah The Villa
(Italy, 2006) Dir: David Avallone.
27 min colour

This has a lot more going on than the typical format of a DVD extra. This 27-minute opus apes the same goofy style of its inspiration, as director-interviewer David Avallone tracks down the elusive Adolfas Mekas for an interview at his beautiful Italian coastal property "which the film paid for". Lots of fun, with Mekas savouring a glass of wine, recounting its making, and his lack of pity towards "the two schmucks" in the film. 

More next time!