10 + 10

Although technically the date was yesterday, it was ten years ago this Sunday when the 10th Anniversary Issue of ESR debuted at Toronto's Word on the Street. To commemorate the occasion, we brought cake to give free to all patrons who bought the new issue, while it lasted. It was a gorgeous day, and it was so great to reconnect with many old friends. After this issue made its debut, I received a lot of emotional support, and some very nice letters, which encouraged me to continue in the small press world. I shall be eternally grateful for the love and kudos we received in those ten years, and especially on this day. 

In hindsight, no one really knew it was the beginning of the end. It is weird to think how quickly the so-called "small press" scene changed after that Fall 2011 season. The Toronto Small Press Fair would have its last gasp that winter, with really underwhelming attendance (not helped by lack of advertising, and plopping it in the middle of snowbanks), which seemed to presage what followed. But still, we were oblivious to this at the time. As far as we were concerned, based on the overwhelming response we got on that beautiful Sunday and beyond, ESR was still worth doing. The Fall 2012 release of our 25th (and to date, last) issue was a financial disaster. After some lacklustre tour dates, I quietly decided to retire, letting this enterprise end (to paraphrase T.S. Eliot) not with a bang but a whimper. Indeed, a lot of fellow small pressers that I knew and looked forward to seeing every fall had similarly vanished within that year, as the scene either got younger, or more corporatized, depending on which venue you attended.

While I was preparing the tenth anniversary issue, I was secretly considering it to be its last. I made no mention of it even in my editorial. This decision was not borne out of dissatisfaction, but rather my ambition to get into longer formats. In hindsight, I should've ended it on a crescendo. Lest I be accused of being a "glass half empty" guy (although I'd prefer to call it "realistic"), I will end this post on a hopeful note. 

After ten years of false starts, personal and professional calamities (to say nothing of our current situation), it is nearing the time for ESR to rise again. Yes, the website's official launch date keeps getting pushed back, as my time is now spent more on finding work, but rest assured that it will happen some time this fall, still in keeping with our 20th anniversary. If dishing out the cake ten years ago signalled the beginning of the end, then let the tenth anniversary of that presage a new beginning.

Farewell to Grindhouse Purgatory?

It comes with a heavy heart to announce that the twentieth issue of Grindhouse Purgatory, published by Pete Chiarella, will be its last... for now, anyway.

I first became aware of Pete back in the 2010s, when he still hosted a program on Jackalope Radio, using his alias of 42nd Street Pete. He would regale his listeners with tales of the wild and crazy films he had seen at the notorious New York City grindhouses back in their heyday. He is a veritable authority on the films, but he also established ties with many people who made them, having done business with them over the years in the convention circuit, for example. His show's guests included such luminaries from the grindhouse days as Herschell Gordon Lewis, Ted V. Mikels, Tura Satana, Gary Kent, John "Bud" Cardos, and Sid Haig, to name only a few.

After that show wrapped, Pete had taken part in the mid-2010s renaissance of film zine publishing, with Grindhouse Purgatory. As per its namesake, it offers articles and reviews of genre films (and their makers) from the Golden Age of drive-ins and grindhouses. He also self-published an autobiography, entitled A Whole Bag of Crazy, with wild stories of his life in the Deuce and beyond. What is more, he created a YouTube channel, where he shares more movie reviews and reminisces. (I haven't even mentioned his DVD line, with the 42nd St. Pete byline, which released vintage adult fare.)

For all that, what I most admire about Pete is his honesty. He shoots from the hip, and takes no bullshit from anyone. On the radio, and in print, he has pointed to a lot of hypocrisy that exists in fandom. Additionally, he accents the word con in conventions, as their promoters are often overpriced entities that rip off a lot of the fans that they couldn't care less about. While this scene should be about sharing, much of it is venal oneupmanship. To be certain, this viewpoint has ruffled some feathers, but I greatly applaud him for telling it like it is.

His radio show, and by extension, his publications, are of inestimable historical value, as many of these filmmakers have since passed away, and their stories will continue to live in these media. Which is why, I hope this will be a temporary decision. Chiefly, as alluded to on a recent YouTube video, his choice to end the run of Grindhouse Purgatory with his latest issue, that you can purchase here, was financial. (Not least, because a lot of his sales came through Amazon, he didn't want to fund any more of Jeff Bezos' space trips.) Pete was never in this for the money- as long as he kept breaking even on this venture, and that he was still getting support for it, he would continue publishing- however, he had lost money on the past few issues. Further, on his YouTube video, he had lamented that few people who had read the magazine had bothered to post any online reviews to increase its word of mouth. (Guilty as charged, but to be fair, I'm only now beginning to write full-time again after a nine-year hiatus.) Still, he had left the door open for a possible comeback. After discovering his work ten years ago, I can say that above all, Pete is a survivor, and the great grindhouse can rise again.

Cinéma de minuit

This past week, I've been watching Bertrand Tavernier's marvellous eight-hour documentary, Journeys Through French Cinema, usually one episode a day with my morning coffee and Tim Horton's cereal. (An in-depth review of this film will follow in the near future.) I love movies about movies, which offer new worlds of cinema history that I still need to explore in depth. A film like this proves that you never stop learning. Case in point- in one of his addresses to the camera, M. Tavernier (who passed away earlier this year) mentioned a (new to me) French television program entitled Cinéma de minuit, hosted by Patrick Brion.

To be sure, it has showcased a lot of acknowledged cinematic classics (not just from France but from abroad), yet this show has also brought a lot of underseen, lesser-appreciated films back into public conscience, which therefore allowed for Tavernier and other film enthusiasts to re-evaluate the works of artists who may not necessarily be household names, including some of the lesser-appreciated French filmmakers that appear in this documentary. As of this writing, the show has entered its 45th season (!!) and is still hosted by M. Brion.

Patrick Brion is also an author of numerous film books, including works on Richard Brooks and Clint Eastwood. In commemoration of Cinéma de minuit's 40th anniversary, he published this mammoth book, seen above, which details over 2000 films seen on the program. I haven't been able to "preview" any of the text, but I imagine it also contains a wealth of information on the very under-appreciated films that Tavernier likewise champions in his documentary. A new door is opened. It's on Amazon for about 80 bucks used. I'm tempted, but I'll have to sell some more copies of Grit first.