The Eclectic Screening Room - Midnight Movies, Martinis and Musings

It Should Happen To You (1954)

2012-01-21T06:53:00.000-11:00

Director: George Cukor

Writer: Garson Kanin

Producer: Fred Kohlmar

Music: Frederick Hollander

Cinematography: Charles Lang

Columbia Pictures; 86 min; color

Cast:

Judy Holliday (Gladys Glover), Peter Lawford (Evan Adams), Jack Lemmon (Pete Sheppard)

It is a surprise to view It Should Happen To You today, during the glut of so-called "reality TV", where everyone is famous for just being famous. One doubts that Garson Kanin knew he was writing something so ahead of its time, but years before Warhol's epochal phrase "Everyone will be famous for fifteen minutes", this movie is scarily prescient of an age when someone can be a household name for no other reason than for warbling an off-key cover of "Pink Houses" or hoarding too many old pizza boxes.

Gladys Glover comes to New York with the star in her eyes, so much that she decides to blow a chunk of her savings to rent billboard space with nothing but her name on it. (Angelyne, whose real-life rise to dubious fame was also due to self-promotion on billboards, must have taken notes.) Her celebrity status however arrives indirectly. An ad company, desiring the prime location where Gladys innocently promotes herself, attempts to buy the billboard back from her, and even has their salesman Evan Adams attempt to woo the star-struck gal. After all of these plans fail, she however agrees to let the company in turn buy her ad space on numerous, but smaller, billboards throughout the city. In a delightful moment (that echoes the 40s pictures of Preston Sturges in theme, and in how the frame of the single-take scene is cluttered with eccentric characters), Gladys nonchalantly shops in a department store, only to be asked for autographs by clerks and customers alike, merely because one of her eponymous billboards is across the street! This dubious rise to fame irks the noble filmmaker Pete Sheppard, who lives down the hall in her building. Because he makes documentaries (watch how everyone in a 1954 movie gets tongue-tied on that word), he represents "truth", and thereby sees the lies and exploitation behind what is perceived as showbiz glamour.

It Should Happen To You also presages another interesting cousin: Budd Schulberg's script for A Face In The Crowd. In their separate ways, both films satirize one unlikely person's rise to fame in the media... merely for being themselves. Crowd's antagonist, hayseed Lonesome Rhodes however becomes a sensation for telling it like it is, whereas Gladys Glover becomes a media darling precisely because, well, she's so darn human. Her unfortunate wooden delivery, echoing the wide-eyed vulnerability of a deer in view of headlights, and her ignorance of the real world, are precisely what endear her to the public. Whereas Rhodes exploits his fame and becomes a monster, in this film the monster is truly the fame that woos and unknowingly exploits Gladys.

Because this movie is a vehicle for Judy Holliday (in a role originally written with Danny Kaye in mind!), of course it couldn't be as bitter a satire as A Face In the Crowd. In her fourth and final collaboration with Garson Kanin and George Cukor, the multi-talented actress is completely winning as Gladys Glover. In the climactic scenes where Gladys appears on several television shows, Holliday masterfully plays her down, to expose all of the character's insecurities. Although Gladys is ignorant of the harsh realities behind the curtains of celebrity and advertising, Judy Holliday portrays her as anything but the stereotypical 50's "dumb blonde". Gladys Glover may be sweetly naive, and her ascension to fame is through a series of happy accidents, but she however still is tough enough to survive a world with lecherous males who attempt to seduce with their wallets. Kanin's screenplay is wise, and often has some genuine belly laughs, however still manages to be bubbly and light. George Cukor's direction is often in uncomplicated setups- gently allowing this film just to happen. This film is also noteworthy for the debut of Jack Lemmon- and he's already patented his fidgety patter. He makes Pete Sheppard the first of his many everyman roles who sees the truth that no one else wants to- and comes to rescue Gladys, even when she is at first unaware she needs salvation.

Denise Darcel (1924 - 2011)

2012-01-16T14:54:00.000-11:00

ABOVE: Denise Darcel in Vera Cruz, with Gary Cooper and Burt Lancaster

I remember seeing a TV show back in the 1990's about an American soldier named George Simpson Jr. who had a brief romance with a woman named Denise Billecard while stationed in her native France during World War 2. After the war, she became a cabaret singer who caught the attention of Hollywood, and had a movie career under the name of Denise Darcel. Her first film of real importance was William Wellman's box-office hit Battleground (1949), in which she had a tiny supporting role. The exotic beauty had perhaps her most substantial part in Robert Aldrich's Vera Cruz (1954) as a French countess who is escorted through war-torn Mexico by Burt Lancaster and Gary Cooper. After her final film, Seven Women From Hell, in 1961, Ms. Darcel became an exotic dancer, and then returned to the cabaret circuit. In 1990, the divorced entertainer was invited by a friend to a GI reunion, and just happened to rub elbows with a widowed, ex-lieutenant colonel who remarked on her French accent, and mentioned that he had had a romance with a French girl named Denise Billecard 45 years earlier. Upon realizing each other's identity, the pair resumed their romance and were married a few months later.

Sometimes life really is like a plot from a movie.

This Week's "Hard-To-Find" Film We're Seeking: Cattle Annie and Little Britches (1981)

2012-01-13T11:19:00.000-11:00

"Cattle Annie was an outlaw, with a dime novel dream..."
-Lyric sung in the opening credits of Cattle Annie and Little Britches

If you can find it, I recommend a volume of film reviews entitled Produced and Abandoned (published by the National Society of Film Critics), which collects pieces about movies that may have had critical success, or at best cult audiences, but remain largely unknown to the general public. Among the reviews (featuring works by many authors) is a piece by Peter Rainer about a 1981 western entitled Cattle Annie and Little Britches.

Rainer's prose is devoted less to the film itself, and more to a lengthy tirade about the governing powers that prevent movies from ever finding their rightful audiences. I wished that he had spent more column space on the virtues of the movie, especially since interested readers could at least vicariously learn more about a film that they may never see- however his review is a cautionary tale about how the life of a film can be ruined by insensitive execs, and is no more true than in our current climate, where films must open wide to maximum screens instead of slowly building an audience. Indeed- thirty years on, after Cattle Annie and Little Britches was acquired by Universal, and summarily dumped after only a scant few playdates (despite even receiving a warm review from Pauline Kael), the film has never been on home video. Luckily, I managed to see this little gem twice on television circa 1983-84, and to this day remember fondly its quirky charm.

In the conclusion of The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, there is the truthful adage: "When the legend becomes fact, print the legend." Our film centers on a young woman who has succumbed to that process. Clearly enamoured in the exaggerated over-romanticized tales of western outlaws that were published during the frontier days in dime novels (popularized by such writers as Ned Buntline), Cattle Annie is dismayed to find that her revered Doolin-Dalton gang is somewhat less than their larger-than-life depictions in those dime novels. With her young sidekick Little Britches, she joins the gang to re-instill in them the glamourous life of the outlaw that she idealizes.

Scripted by David Eyre and Robert Ward (from Ward's own novel), production for the movie began in the late 1970s, and although it was released (albeit haphazardly) in 1981, Cattle Annie and Little Britches belongs with the many so-called "old man westerns" of the 1970s. Films as diverse as The Wild Bunch or The Shootist featured their aging stars as frontier men well past their prime who attempt one last hurrah before fading away completely into changing times. In this case, Burt Lancaster, in his 60s, appears as Bill Doolin (although his real-life counterpart only lived to be 38), who attempts to keep together the fledgling Doolin-Dalton gang after their disastrous 1892 robbery in Coffeyville, Kansas. The actor made a tremendous post-senior-aged comeback in the 1980s with Atlantic City, Local Hero, and Field of Dreams, yet this film shows evidence of what was to come, as he is marvelous as a gentlemanly Victorian Doolin who is persuaded by the passions of Cattle Annie.

John Savage and Burt Lancaster.

Another veteran, Rod Steiger, is cast as the marshall Bill Tilghman (the actor's resemblance to the real-life frontier lawman is uncanny), and gives one of his rare low-key, controlled performances as the lawman who is constantly thwarted by the outlaws, and befuddled by the public's admiration for their romanticized ways. The film is rounded out with younger stars John Savage and Scott Glenn (the latter as Bill Dalton), but it is especially notable for stars-to-be Diane Lane (in her third film) and Amanda Plummer (in her first). In her debut, it is clear that Plummer was going to go places. She jumpstarts her future career in unusual roles, and she is simply astonishing as Cattle Annie, whose passion to restore the outlaw gang is enormous.

This is also a career highlight for director Lamont Johnson, who always excelled in character-driven movies, such as The Last American Hero, and another underrated western, A Gunfight. While the script is fine, and there is enough action to satisfy the western fan, one most remembers the interplay among the cast: the love and humour displayed between the characters is what makes this lyrical film really shine.

Diane Lane and Amanda Plummer

Thirty years is long enough for people to discover this movie for the first time. Or for those who were fortunate to catch it during its fleeting dates in the 1980s, a long overdue reunion is welcomed. Universal clearly didn't know what they had- this marvelous picture needs to be unearthed now!

Chained For Life (1951)

2012-01-11T10:59:00.000-11:00

Director: Harry L. Fraser
Screenplay: Nat Tanchuck, with additional dialogue by Albert de Pina, based upon an idea by Ross Frisco
Producer: George Moskov
Music: Henry Vars
Cinematography: Jockey Feindel
Spera Productions; 73 min; B&W

Cast:
Violet Hilton (Vivian Hamilton), Daisy Hilton (Dorothy Hamilton), Mario Laval (Andre), Allen Jenkins (Hinkley), Patricia Wright (Renee), Norvel Mitchell (Judge Mitchell)

There is a moment in Tod Browning's 1932 film, Freaks, in which a man kisses one of the siamese twin sisters, while the other twin, is also visibly enjoying the kiss. This blatantly sexual moment in one way illustrates how Freaks was marketed for years as an exploitation film for its frank, lurid details. However, on the other hand, Browning's controversial, shocking yet touchingly beautiful melodrama uses such moments to illustrate how these sideshow attractions, despite their deformities, are people too, and yes, can have natural sexual impulses just like everyone else.

After appearing in that 1932 film, sisters Daisy and Violet Hilton (who were joined at the hip, yet shared no vital organs and each had four limbs), spent years in the carnival circuit, and as a musical act (piano-violin duo). They returned to the silver screen one last time for this golden-age exploitation picture. Such films from the 1930s to the 1950s would illustrate taboo subject matter to entice viewers, all while masquerading as educational pictures or morality plays in order to skirt the censors. In most cases, these movies would intercut such sensational aspects with explanatory title cards, or sequences of some expert discussing whatever social ill the film exploits. Chained For Life is also of the "roadshow pictures" tradition in that the film is bookended with an authority figure (in this case, a judge) who addresses the viewers about suspending our own moral judgments as we witness the story within.

However, despite the usual accepted liabilities of these poverty row wonders (bad acting, poor production values), all one can rightfully ask is that these films, you know, shock. Since Chained For Life is about the attempts for one of the sisters to marry, surprisingly, the frank sexuality evidenced in Freaks is ignored here- despite the lurid marketing of this picture, at heart, it is a rather straightforward melodrama.

The Hilton sisters play The Hamilton Sisters, a singing act in a failing vaudeville revue. In order to score at the box office, their promoter comes up with the sensational marketing campaign that one of the sisters is to marry Andre, who is part of the trick-shooting act also featured in the show. (His partner, Renee, played by the tantalizingly sexy Patricia Wright, is not so amused by this arrangement.) Certainly, Andre courts Dorothy, who really does fall in love with the smooth-talking gigolo, but sister Viv is less than flattered by Andre, who is also slyly chiseling her for her new-found wealth that has resulted from this publicity stunt. However, once the marriage takes place, and Andre has reached the pinnacle of his popularity thanks to this campaign, he dumps Dorothy in short order. Viv shoots Andre, and is put on trial for murder. Many states forbid Dorothy's marriage, because technically, it is bigamy as she and Viv are conjoined. Ironically, although they are forbidden the right to marry just like anyone else, the court does not hesitate to persecute them as they were anyone else. The film ends with the judge unable to decide whether to incarcerate both of the women or not at all, and thus asks the viewers what they think he should do.

Although structurally this movie follows the traditional pattern of the roadshow films, one senses that the makers were actually trying to make something out of this. Despite the limited budget, the cinematography is crisp, and scenes often play with fluid tracking shots. Director Harry Fraser had previously made countless B-grade cheapies for PRC, and this film by comparison is an art-house picture. The major plot element where Andre leaves Dorothy is however presented as a newspaper headline. So many second features of yesteryear would use this device in order to save money by not filming a scene: however, in this case, not visualizing that moment is a tasteful decision, as we don't need to see these ladies being degraded further onscreen. Chained For Life is a much more austere picture than Freaks, but indirectly the sensibility is the same: we are presented with a story about people with abnormalities who are trying to have lives like real people. (There is even a jaw-dropping dream sequence, where, thanks to the help of a lens effect and a body double, Dorothy envisions herself physically separated from her sister, rising up from the bed they share, and dancing on her own.)

The honourable Judge Mitchell boldly confronts the viewer with the thought: "No matter what your problems are, they can't be as bad as theirs". Indeed- offscreen, the Hilton sisters experienced hardships no-one should have to endure: from being physically abused at a young age by their stepmother, to being abandoned much later in life by their promoters, penniless in a strange town, forced to pick up the pieces and start over again. Upon facing these adversities, all while trying to have a normal life, the Hiltons were survivors; and based upon accounts I've read, it also appears that the ladies were very nice people; but still, in all honesty, actresses they were not. Although this film is always fascinating to watch because of the unusual subject matter, it may be easy to sympathize with the Hamilton sisters, but in truth the movie doesn't have the panache it could have beyond its novelty value, as the Hiltons' onscreen presences are tired, glum, and passionless. However, wouldn't we be, after spending a lifetime of difficulties no-one else could imagine?

The ultimate beauty of Chained For Life is in its own dichotomy: it indirectly succeeds in its seeming desire to be more than the quick-buck exploitation picture it was fated to be. The exploitation of this transcendent little wonder is actually experienced within the viewer, not in the sensational matter onscreen. While the movie ends without a proper story resolution, the payoff is indeed what the judge suggests in his dialogue to the viewer: we are forced to evaluate many things we have just witnessed. In this converse logic, as we see the beauty within two unusual people, we are even led to view how the film's flaws equally force us to consider other truths.

Mean Frank and Crazy Tony (1973)

2012-01-09T00:12:00.000-11:00

Director: Michele Lupo

Producers: Dino DeLaurentiis, Franco Cancellieri

Writers: Nicola Badalucco, Sergio Donati, Luciano Vincenzoni

Music: Riz Ortolani

Cinematographers: Joe D'Amato, Aldo Tonti

Aquarius Film Releasing; 85 min; color

Cast:

Lee Van Cleef (Frankie Diomede), Tony Lo Bianco (Tony Breda), Edwige Fenech (Orchidea), Jean Rochefort (Louis Annunziata), Fausto Tozzi (Massara), Mario Erpichini (Joe Sciti), Jess Hahn (Jeannot)

Anyone who knows me well enough in person or in print knows that Lee Van Cleef is my favourite actor. Here was a talent capable of many great things, and seldom received what he deserved in his newfound fame after collaborating on two spaghetti westerns with Sergio Leone. With his sharp features (eagle eyes; high cheekbones), natural charisma, and dry demeanour, he was a striking six-foot-two presence onscreen. He could and should have been as big a star as Clint Eastwood or Charles Bronson, actors who quickly came back stateside to capitalize on their leading-man statuses after becoming stars in Europe. It remains unclear why he did not: perhaps because he stayed in Europe much longer than his American contemporaries, or did he remain there simply because offers for Hollywood films were few and far between?

As such, one cannot look at the post-Leone filmography of Van Cleef without a little bit of melancholy. Indeed, he still made some solid movies, and often turned in strong performances, but he perhaps unwisely remained with the spaghetti western genre right until the very end, when the films had lapsed into tired gimmickry and parody. (Or did he stay there simply because he had no other offers?) And so, as his projects diminished in quality, if he didn't give them all that he was capable of, well, they deserved no better (in my opinion, his nadir was the insufferable comedy-western Bad Man's River). Alas, while we're discussing a career full of many "could haves" and "should haves", it is fitting that for what would be the actor's eighty-seventh birthday, we discuss the exciting crime-comedy, Mean Frank and Crazy Tony. Upon witnessing his solid work here, it is a pity he didn't do more Italian crime pictures when they were in vogue, as did his American contemporaries Henry Silva or Telly Savalas.

This film is one of the many of Lee Van Cleef's output (circa 1968 to 1977), whose copyright status (or lack thereof) has always been questionable in America, resulting in poor quality releases on so-called "public domain" labels for home video. Most famously, good old Paragon (one of my favourite VHS labels, partially because of their baffling selection) released it under the title Escape From Death Row, with a bizarre credits sequence featuring cartoonish stills, and listing a completely different supporting cast (even ignoring co-stars Tony LoBianco or Edwige Fenech)! Who are these Barbara Moore and James Lane people displayed in these credits?

Mean Frank and Crazy Tony transposes to the crime genre the "older man and inexperienced youngster" pairing seen in previous Van Cleef spaghetti westerns For A Few Dollars More or Death Rides A Horse (not coincidentally, these films were also written by co-scripter Luciano Vincenzoni). It is a formula that is distilled by way of Jean-Luc Godard's Breathless- not just for its wildly erratic mixture of styles (as violence clashes with slapstick), but that the Tony Breda character channels Belmondo in his portrayal of a two-cent hood who idolizes criminals. In Tony's flat, a huge poster of gangster Frankie Dio dwarfs other images of mobsters on the wall. Whereas Belmondo's Michel emulates Bogart's chin scratching, Tony attempts the cosmopolitan gangster pose by holding cigarettes between his pinky and ring finger.

There is trouble brewing among mob bosses, as a turf war is being waged. Smooth criminal Frankie Dio deliberately gets himself imprisoned, so that when he kills a rival mobster, he is made to look innocent of the crime since the murder would be perpetrated while he's behind bars. (Little do the authorities know that with the help of accomplices on the inside, Dio managed to sneak out of prison to commit the crime.) Alas, the tables are turned on Dio, when his insiders fink him out, and his short prison term instead becomes a life sentence. Suddenly Dio's privileges of having a cell all to himself, his newsapers and cardigans, are squashed, and he is in general population, where suppressed homoeroticism and social class mutterings run beneath the surface. Tony, meanwhile, has landed in the clink with Dio for a minor sentence, befriends the crime lord, and when the younger man is back on the outside, he orchestrates a way for Dio to get out of jail to get revenge on the mobsters who double crossed him and also killed his brother.

Even the most ardent fan of Italian genre films would concede how wildly inconsistent they often are, and this film is surely no exception. The tone ranges uncomfortably from grisly violence to goofy slapstick, given a jaunty air with Riz Ortolani's ragtime jazz score, made even more bizarrely cartoonish by the English dubbing. Whatever inconsistencies the movie has, it is never dull. Michele Lupo has demonstrated himself as a fine director of action and suspense elsewhere (check out the terrific Kirk Douglas heist picture, The Master Touch), therefore unsurprisingly, the highlight of the film is surely the aftermath of the jailbreak, when Frank and Tony flee the law in a confiscated truck, destroying anything in its path.

The film works also because the key character relationships remain grounded and realistic, despite whatever insanity surrounds them. Regardless of Frank's warning, Tony willfully follows his idol into a world of death and danger- and when the young man sees Frankie kill someone, his reaction is appropriate horror. There is also a nice addition of European cinema sex siren Edwige Fenech as Tony's girlfriend. Although she is given little to do, there is a memorable scene where Tony steals something from her purse while she's taking a shower (and yes, the scene is also memorable because the actress is in her birthday suit). Once she notices that he has pinched something and runs away like a mischievous child, she smiles to herself. Although Tony gives her nothing but grief in their few screen moments together, a subtle moment like this reveals that deep down she has a soft spot for the guy.

Little touches like this elevate this effort above the standard caricatures one is accustomed to seeing in similar genre fare. Lee Van Cleef is marvelous in saying so much with little to no dialogue- where a glance or sideways smile gives us so much insight into Frankie's character. His simple gestures suggest a surrogate father-son relationship between the two men while on the lam. Mean Frank and Crazy Tony would be enjoyable enough fare as the movie never stops moving, but thankfully someone had the tact to make this fare into something more than popcorn fare. And best of all, at the heart of the movie is a solid performance by Lee Van Cleef in a role of dignity. Although he still had more films to come, this one feels like a "last movie" of sorts, as it is a valedictory to the familiar patriarchal relationship found in many of his Italian vehicles. Fittingly, we last see him in a longshoreman's coat, standing at the stern of a boat, which journeys into the screen background, and into the fog of memory and legend, having lived a full life as an adventurer.

Too Late Blues (1962)

2012-01-08T05:29:00.001-11:00

Director / Producer: John Cassavetes
Writers: Richard Carr, John Cassavetes
Cinematographer: Lionel Lindon
Music: David Raksin
Paramount; 100 min,; B&W

Cast:
Bobby Darin (John 'Ghost' Wakefield), Stella Stevens (Jess Polanski), Everett Chambers (Benny Flowers), Nick Dennis (Nick Bobolenos), Vince Edwards (Tommy Sheehan), Val Avery (Milt Frielobe), Marilyn Clark (Countess), James Joyce (Reno Vitelli), Rupert Crosse (Baby Jackson), Cliff Carnell (Charlie), Seymour Cassel (Red)

While today he is best known as a director, John Cassavetes was best remembered as an actor during his lifetime. However, he would star in such films as The Dirty Dozen and Rosemary’s Baby to fund his own idiosyncratic projects as a writer and director. After his directorial debut, the trailblazing independent feature Shadows (1959), he went to Hollywood to direct two films, Too Late Blues (1962) and A Child Is Waiting (1963), which fans of his directorial output generally shun, as they aren’t “true” Cassavetes films. In other words, these films are more formulaic commercial product, which have the polished studio look and the conventional story structure that he generally avoided. His more “pure”, “honest” movies (as in later, self-funded efforts like Faces) would forsake narrative for explorations into character. As such the often boorish people in a “real” Cassavetes film would be vastly unpredictable -powderkegs who would run the gamut of emotions often within a single scene- and rendered for the screen in a pseudo-documentary feel. While Hollywood movies enslaved the actor for the camera by ensuring they hit their marks on the floor, the camera instead became the slave to the actor in a Cassavetes picture, forsaking classical screen composition to give a sense of spontaneity, as though the moment is being captured on the fly, unrehearsed.

However, it is unfair to dismiss these two studio films as work by a pioneering independent director slumming in Hollywood. One can sense that he was attempting to bring his own style to these commercial pictures: at their worst, they are uneven for their odd mixture of studio polish and gritty realism. The effect is much the same as an unwashed person putting on a clean suit. Both of these films are inferior to what they might have been had there not been the unsurprising clashes between a brash young director and a studio concerned mostly with the bottom line, however they are far from the travesties that devotees of his independent features would have you believe.

Too Late Blues is perhaps the least seen of Cassavetes’ features as a director: it has never been released on any format for home video, and hardly ever plays on television (and certainly not in an age where most late-night programming is replaced by all those rotten infomercials). My first (and for a long time, only) viewing of it was on Bravo in 1996, back in an age when such rare and diverse programming as this was the rule, not the exception, before this so-called “arts channel” dissolved into showing incessant reruns of CSI and Law and Order. While at first, I dismissed this movie as a weak piece which neither works as a mainstream commercial picture nor as a quirky independent film, a second glance reveals it to be a unique project, however imperfect. (And besides, is there any other filmmaker than Cassavetes whose work always warrants a second glance or change of mind?)

John “Ghost” Wakefield is a jazz pianist who will not sacrifice his musical style in order to make it more commercial- his friends in the combo support this ideal, however since they’re not getting any younger, they want something greater than the usual performances in schools and parks that Ghost has happily confined the group to on the provision that they play what they want. At a cocktail party, Ghost meets a self-deprecating amateur vocalist Jess, likes her unique talent in vocalese (wordless singing), and adds her to the band, falling in love with her during the collaborative process. After a recording session, the band is celebrating at their favourite hangout, when a fight breaks out with some jazz-hating hooligans. This moment indirectly makes Ghost aware of his own inabilities as a leader, especially to his partners, and then abruptly leads the group.

The production had already begun with some studio interference, as Bobby Darin and Stella Stevens were hired over Cassavetes’ own choices for the leads: Montgomery Clift (!) and the director’s wife, Gena Rowlands. However, the most damaging aspect of the interference was the removal of a downbeat ending (however it still ends on a rather ambiguous note). Yet, Too Late Blues still suffers from a muddled third act. After spending some time whoring himself for a countess by playing mediocre music for crowds (becoming the very thing that he had always despised), Ghost attempts to reconcile with the band, and with Jess, whose life has dissolved to prostitution after the split. It is unclear whether Ghost’s attempts to patch things up with his former lover and friends is out of love, or to restore his own artistic dignity- in either event, although the ending remains more ambiguous than the happy resolution that the studio wanted (and certainly less downbeat than Cassavetes’ intention), it still fades out with a hackneyed conclusion.

While I would have loved to see Montgomery Clift in the lead (his haunted persona would have added much more of the requisite insecurity to the role), I’m rather glad they got Bobby Darin- although he’s no Montgomery Clift, he’s decent in a rare dramatic role, and undoubtedly brings his own musical instincts to the party. (Besides, Cassavetes’ films are all autobiographical in a sense, as the actors bring a little of themselves into the project- in fact the whole aspect of a jazz man trying not to sell out could be read as a reflection of the director’s life at the time, trying to remain independent within a studio system.) However, the casting of the luminescent Stella Stevens was a perfect choice: this multi-talented actress is equally at home in a role demanding both tragedy and sprightly humour, and she steals the film.

John Cassavetes always loved to tell contradictory stories about his work in order to confound the press (in that regard, he is much like his kindred spirit Orson Welles), and in one bizarre tract he had stated that Too Late Blues was basically the same story as Shadows, however with a white cast, suggesting that his stories can be universal enough to be played by any race. The colour line dissolves in the opening credits, as the camera tracks past kids and teachers in an all-black school swaying to some jazz being played offscreen, until it pans to reveal that we’ve been hearing white musicians. However, while the films may be similar structurally, thematically they are different: the big split in Shadows is over race, whereas the defining breakup in Too Late Blues is over a man’s recognition of his own frailties.

In that sense, this film is similar to the director’s later domestic films, like Husbands or Woman Under the Influence: the male adults are children at heart, who really don’t understand responsibility. Additionally, the Jess character presages many of his female characters in subsequent work, who are always portrayed as erratic, helpless creatures surrounded by doltish males.

Too Late Blues is not great cinema, either as commercial product or as a personal statement; no matter how you look at it, the mise en scene is rather flat: hand-held docu-drama sequences clash with gauzy, studio interiors. It is however a valuable piece for those moments that exist in between the plot. Such sequences where the band breaks off its afternoon park jam session to play baseball, or where Ghost and Jess have a late-night drinking game in an empty bar are wonderful moments where Cassavetes characteristically allows the characters to show a bit more of themselves as people, with seeming spontaneity, stuttering and overlapping dialogue.

In another bizarre statement, Cassavetes had said that all of his films are comedies at heart- perhaps he said that because all of his characters’ lives are tangled with misunderstandings, which is the essential catalyst for most comedy. In more literal terms, Too Late Blues fits that description, as there is possibly more laughter felt from viewing this than any other of his pictures. Such a feeling derives from those seeming freestyle moments where the characters naturally interact and play with each other. It is also for these moments that Too Late Blues nonetheless remains quite special.

J. Hoberman Laid Off From The Village Voice

2012-01-07T10:26:00.000-11:00

It is with a heavy heart to report the news that J. Hoberman was laid off from The Village Voice earlier this week, after having been with the publication since 1983 (becoming its senior film critic in 1988). Jim Hoberman is one of the very few film critics in a name publication who could essentially cover whatever he wanted for his column, without fear of distancing the paper from its demographic. As a result, he would write about mainstream and independent-underground films in equal measure, and when writing about one camp, he would unabashedly make reference to another. (Jonathan Rosenbaum, who recently retired from The Chicago Reader, was another contemporary who had that rare distinction.) In that regard, because he was writing for a publication that remained independent and therefore free of the constrictions of the advertisers' mandate, one could say that his freedom to write about the entire gamut of cinema made him even more powerful than other name critics of the day. (Would-could Roger Ebert do a column on Sadie Benning?)

Hoberman's prose is scholarly without being stuffy, and approachable even to readers who may not be familiar with the non-mainstream works he cites. By the same token, whenever he tackles sacred institutions like Steven Spielberg (as in his savagery of the director's recent effort The War Horse), he isn't doing so with a hipster knee-jerk reaction. Whether he is on the pro or con side of any subject, his responses are well-informed. But still, Hoberman's unique gift to film writing is in his ability to see the virtues within what is perceived in low culture, and is one of the few highbrow film critics who could discuss such fare without a sense of mockery or disdain. One of my all-time favourite pieces of film writing is Hoberman's "Bad Movies", collected in the book Vulgar Modernism. Although the tone of the article may be tongue-in-cheek as he compares the incongruities of beloved "so-bad-they're good" movies to avant-garde experimental films (where the relations of time and space resulting from two films being cobbled together to become They Saved Hitler's Brain evoke an experience similar to that of Resnais), the point however is clear: he is forcing us to consider the values of absolutely everything.

Another of his unique gifts is to discuss the social climate or culture that can shape how a film is made: this trait he also shares with Rosenbaum, and the two authors jointly used that approach in their collaborative book, Midnight Movies- among the many aspects of that project is to study the community that supported these midnight cult film screenings. Further, in his own books, Dream Life and his recently published An Army of Phantoms, he discussed films in terms of the eras in which they were created. For instance, Dream Life explores Kennedy-era cinema during a time when the administration was akin to movie stars, and An Army of Phantoms illustrates the cold war sentiments of American cinema in the first ten years after World War 2.

Once the news of Hoberman's layoff reached the internet, there was a tremendous response from fans and fellow journalists alike- and the sentiment was not dissimilar to that as if they were writing an obituary. In one sense, that may be true, as his departure signals yet another casualty in the death knell of newspaper film criticism- a tradition that fades fast in the age of conglomerate media and advertising buyouts, and the continuing migration to the world wide web for news and information. However, one end begets a new beginning- if another press doesn't hire him, at least Hoberman can have more time to fill shelves with more scholarly book-length studies on films and the societies which made them. In one way or another, we'll still have J. Hoberman and be the better for it.

This Week's "Hard-to-Find Film" We're Seeking: The Troublemaker (1964)

2012-01-04T03:24:00.000-11:00

The more one keeps discovering cinema, the more one realizes how much more there is to know. And despite how in the age of DVDs, Netflix and many other wide resources to instantly obtain almost any movie one can think of, there are always titles that have slipped through the cracks and remain elusive to us, despite our best efforts. The Troublemaker (1964), and the filmography of its creator, Theodore J. Flicker, exemplify both of these points.

Although today Flicker is perhaps best remembered as the co-creator of the Barney Miller TV series, he had written and directed several quirky films in the 1960s and 1970s. Of these, The President's Analyst (with James Coburn) remains the best-known. He had started out in Chicago's Compass Theater (America's first venue of improvisational comedy), working alongside Elaine May. In 1959, he wrote the book for, and directed the world's only "beatnik" stage musical, The Nervous Set (in which the jazz standard, "Spring Can Really Hang You Up The Most" debuted). In the 1960s, he also worked in theater on New York's Bleecker Street, with such up-and-comers as Buck Henry, Joan Darling, Gene Hackman, George Segal, Godfrey Cambridge and Al Freeman Jr. (many of whom would appear in his subsequent film work) in the shows The Premise, and then The Premise in Living Color (which tackled the subject of racism).

Flicker and Buck Henry co-wrote the screenplay for his maiden directorial feature, The Troublemaker (1964). The synopsis (courtesy tcm.com):

"Jack Armstrong, a naive Midwesterner and former chicken farmer, runs into difficulties when he tries to open a coffee house in New York City without paying protection money to racketeer Sal and his associates. Armstrong's lawyer, T. R. Kingston, is also associated with Sal and is secretly paying off the mobster. Armstrong's moral indignation invokes Sal's wrath, and Jack is kidnaped and placed in a mental institution before he is finally able to obtain evidence that he is being harassed by criminals. Jack and his girl friend, Denver, discover that the crime commissioner is the real head of the graft racket, and, with the help of Kingston, they turn the tables on him. In the process, however, Jack loses his own integrity and becomes the biggest grafter of all."

I had actually seen this film during the Christmas break on Bravo in 1996. Canadian TV viewers were unknowingly living in a silver age during those times, when obscure films like this were still being programmed as filler on this arts channel, which has subsequently resolved to showing incessant re-runs of CSI. However, dear reader, due fifteen years of clouded memory (and that I had the stomach flu while watching it), I can recall no other intricate details of the movie than to say that sadly, the movie is not a lost classic, as its attempted quirky humour is rather forced, and simply doesn't work. Nonetheless, this film is essential alone for fellow enthusiasts interested in New York-lensed films of the 1960s, which capture the era's Greenwich Village counterculture. It is also a valuable snapshot of the many future movers and shakers involved in its making: Tony-award winning actor Tom Aldredge (later in TV's Boardwalk Empire and The Sopranos), Premise player (and future film director) James Frawley, future director Joan Darling (who blazed a trail with TV's Mary Hartman Mary Hartman), comedian Godfrey Cambridge (who is remembered for his biting stand-up comedy about racism), and of course, screenwriter Buck Henry, who personified the decade with his work on The Graduate.

The Troublemaker is a snapshot of the era, when social change was upon the horizon, and being reflected in the arts. For that simple historic fact, it is worthy of another look today. This was released in the 1960s by Janus Films, a name familiar to many connoisseurs of the Criterion DVDs. If the film still exists in a playable form (and it must, if I saw it on television fifteen years ago), and is under the umbrella of the Janus-Criterion family, they truly must put it out. (In fact, a boxed-set of Theodore Flicker's films would be a Godsend to those, like myself, who need to see much of his work for the first time.)

Although Flicker kept busy in the next two decades writing and directing television (not least a certain TV program about a police station), for the big screen he wrote the screenplay for the delightfully daft Elvis Presley vehicle Spinout, and wrote-directed the seminal The President's Analyst (1967) and the bizarre counterculture allegory Up The Cellar (1970). Before calling it a career in the film-television world, he also made the Canuck classic Jacob Two Two Meets the Hooded Fang (1977), and the hick flick, Soggy Bottom USA (1980).

Theodore J. Flicker turned to sculpting, legally changed his name to "Ted" Flicker, and for all that, still managed to keep with the pulse of change. His novel, The Good American, was among the first to be exclusively distributed on this new thing called the internet. He was also the subject for the 2007 documentary, Ted Flicker: A Life in Three Acts (which is now on my "must-see" list). With the creation of a documentary on the man's work, it seems we're not alone in thinking that the work of Theodore J. Flicker needs a second glance. We can get started by making The Troublemaker accessible for us again.

Trailer for Ted Flicker: A Life in Three Acts

Stills for The Troublemaker

Second Wind (1976)

2012-01-03T12:26:00.005-11:00

Director / Editor: Donald Shebib
Writer: Hal Ackerman
Producer: James Margellos
Cinematographer: Reginald H. Morris
Music: Hagood Hardy
Olympic Films; 93 min; color

Cast:
James Naughton (Roger), Lindsay Wagner (Linda), Ken Pogue (Pete), Tedde Moore (Paula), Tom Harvey (Frank), Louis Del Grande (Howie), Gerard Parkes (Packard), Jonathan Welsh (Simon)

Roger Matheson has a well-paying job as an aggressive Toronto stockbroker, a beautiful wife, and a nice house in the burbs. However, early on, we detect that something is missing, as he is stuck in a traffic jam, and looks at some joggers in the background. Although always a casual spectator of the sport, Roger decides to take up running himself- the remainder of the film details how this new vocation becomes an obsession that replaces his responsibilities on the job and in domestic life.

While it may seem that running is a symbol of freedom, which could represent Roger’s yearning to escape from his daily rut, Hal Ackerman’s script for Second Wind is much more complex than that. In an early scene, when Roger is watching television documentary footage where one comments on sports being an act of one person attempting to gain superiority over another, it is perhaps this notion more than any other that inspires him to put on a pair of sneakers. As we’ve already seen with introductory moments at the workplace (in which director Shebib uses his documentarian instincts for some vivid “fly-on-the-wall” glances at the daily grind in the stock exchange), Roger is ruthlessly competitive. His transferal from casual spectator of running, to practicing the sport in a professional race, simply provides him another avenue in which he can claim his superiority.

As the film progresses, running instead becomes a metaphor for lies and infidelity. During one morning jog, Roger is hit on by a socialite Paula, whose sexual motivations are blatantly obvious. True to form, Roger simply gives her his business card, and she even becomes a client for no other reason than to begin a physical relationship. However Roger’s current obsession with mastering the sport precludes any interest in sex- even Linda’s ploy for intimacy (via a weekend getaway) is thwarted by his obsessive training.

Almost all of the other male characters cheat on their spouses: in fact, Roger is encouraged by his co-worker to hop in the sack with Paula, and his next door neighbour Howie even confides that he’s being unfaithful. Roger’s relationship with Paula intriguingly remains platonic- perhaps she becomes the surrogate partner who offers the support that Linda does not. (Although at first Linda attempts to understand her husband’s current obsession, but these moments result in embarrassment and estrangement.) Instead, Roger’s infidelity occurs when he lies to his wife about being away on a business trip in the south when he’s really a two-hour drive up north, training for the race. When he is caught in his lies, the emotion is much the same as though she walked in on him having an adulterous tryst.

Despite the expected "trainee and grizzled old coach" relationship, and the overtly sentimental score by Hagood Hardy, Second Wind is no Rocky: this isn’t about an underdog whom we can identity with for overcoming all the odds. It is about a high-rolling selfish prick who needs another conquest. It may not be incorrect to assume that running provides an escape from his stifling existence, but the greater truth may be that once Roger has achieved something, he foolishly takes it for granted that these things will always be here, and therefore does nothing to maintain them. While he's on the track, he assumes that the big account at work, and the problems at home will resolve themselves.

I don't think the viewer is meant to sympathize with Roger- the film remains largely non-judgmental of his behaviour, yet cannily shows our protagonist at his best and (mostly) worst. Hal Ackerman's script allows us to see many sides of his characters. While for the most part, Linda is a sympathetic, compassionate human being, she too can act as child-like as Roger. Despite how much Howie seems to brag that he's getting a little something on the side, he also is seen as a caring, providing father and husband. The most intriguing revelation is seeing Paula adapt from a sexual predator to a sensible person whose advice to Roger is perhaps the most profound in the film (or at least, the only one that he seems to listen to).

We however may end up identifying with Roger precisely because we share that desire to aspire to greater things, and also we can recognize these screwed-up people onscreen as familiar characters in our own lives. While Second Wind may follow the mechanics and structure of a "sports training" film, replete with slow-motion race sequences, and can be enjoyed as such, but it clearly has other things on mind, and remains all the more interesting for that additional subtext. The movie may have lofty ambitions as a treatise on the hang-ups and foibles of (then) modern urban life (where an ugly, muddy brown canvas of urban life clashes with the lush greens of the track-and-field), yet it works due to Shebib's trademark low-key approach and economic storytelling.

25 Films Selected for Preservation - 2011 Edition

2011-12-31T06:07:00.000-11:00

It is that time again, the end-of-year list that matters to me the most: the annual selection of titles in the Library of Congress that are chosen to be preserved by the National Film Registry. What I like about these lists, is that they do not limit themselves to commercial features: every year offers a fascinating representation of popular audience favourites, or works historically significant either for their subject, or how they've advanced the art. As such, experimental shorts and ephemeral works are also included into the mix, thus giving credence to the phrase that all film matters. This selection, however, is a bit more mainstream than recent years, but there are still some interesting choices.

1. Allures (1961)

A short film by experimental animator Jordan Belson, who passed away in September of 2011.

2. Bambi (1942)

An animated feature about a deer- sounds interesting.

3. The Big Heat (1953)

Fritz Lang's classic late-period noir about a tough cop (Glenn Ford) who takes on the syndicate. This is the one where thug Lee Marvin throws hot coffee into the face of his moll (Gloria Grahame).

4. A Computer Animated Hand (1972)

Edwin Catmull, a computer scientist, and current president of Pixar, used his own hand as the model for this sequence, which eventually was used in the 1976 film Futureworld.

5. Crisis: Behind A Presidential Commitment (1963)

Robert Drew's documentary about governor George Wallace's attempts to block two black students from enrolling in the University of Alabama, thwarted by JFK's administration federalizing the Alabama National Guard. This verité project was assembled by footage from four different cameras separately following around JFK, RFK, George Wallace, and even the students. Such pioneering documentarians as D.A. Pennebaker and Richard Leacock were among the camera crew. This piece about equality and tolerance was subsequently aired on television-- never seen it; sounds like another "must watch".

6. The Cry of the Children (1912)

George Nichols' short, based on the poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning, was an indictment of child labour, and featured authentic footage of kids working in a mill.

7. A Cure for Pokeritis (1912)

This comedy short features a woman who tries to cure her husband of his poker playing. This is historically significant as a vehicle for comedian John Bunny, one of the first silent comedians, although largely forgotten today, who paved the way for such acts as Fatty Arbuckle.

8. El Mariachi (1992)

Robert Rodriguez's $7000 wonder, a darling of the indie film boom in its day, with a traveling musician who is mistaken for a criminal.

9. Faces (1968)

The film that firmly established John Cassavetes as America's premier maker of American independent narrative features. This gritty, gruelling drama details the breakdown of a then-modern middle aged couple.

10. Fake Fruit Factory (1986)

Now here is one reason why I love these annual lists, as they give props to some independent filmmakers who aren't household names, yet are as equally deserving of recognition. This documentary by Chick Strand is another unconventional study of women, this time featuring the relations among migrant female workers in the title workplace.

11. Forrest Gump (1994)

Hmm... I don't know this one. I'll do some research and get back to you...

12. Growing Up Female (1971)

This documentary by Jim Klein and Julia Riechert is the first film to emerge from the modern woman's movement in the early 1970's.

13. Hester Street (1975)

Joan Micklin Silver's excellent directorial debut of Jewish immigrants in New York's Lower East Side in the late 19th century, also features a star-making performance by Carol Kane. This one doesn't get seen nearly enough.

14. I, an Actress (1977)

The legendary underground filmmaker George Kuchar (his twin brother Mike is also of the same pedigree) made many, many films that are equal parts diaristic, homages to trash culture, and playfully Brechtian deconstructionist pieces. If they are choosing this work due to his passing this September, there are perhaps other works to be recognized, but this is a good start.

15. The Iron Horse (1924)

John Ford was already a veteran filmmaker by 1924, but this western, about the arrival of the train in the frontier, remains his best-known work from the silent era.

16. The Kid (1921)

Charlie Chaplin had already made his "Little Tramp" character an icon in dozens of shorts during the 1910's before embarking on this, his first feature. This time, The Little Tramp meets his match when he befriends an orphaned street kid (featuring Jackie Coogan in a star-making role). True to Chaplin's form, it is hilarious and touching, with an added fantasy sequence.

17. The Lost Weekend (1945)

Countless films have been made about addiction, but Billy Wilder's scorching, Oscar-winning study of alcoholism is still strong stuff.

18. The Negro Soldier (1944)

One of the many influential war-time documentaries produced by Frank Capra, this propagandist piece was made to inspire African Americans to enlist in World War 2. Although there is a sad irony in black men being recruited to fight for a country that was effectively screwing them, this film however was notable during the age of segregation for portraying black people in anything other than the comic relief or subservient roles that were usually seen in Hollywood pictures.

19. Nicholas Brothers Family Home Movies (1930s-40s)

Archival footage of dancing brothers Fayard and Harold Nicholas. Google around to see some of their soundies-- they are truly exciting.

20. Norma Rae (1979)

Sally Field in re-defined her career in this Oscar-winning role as a factory worker who attempts to unionize the workplace. It is also another significant picture in one of Martin Ritt's oeuvre depicting life in the American south.

21. Porgy and Bess (1959)

Now THIS is interesting.... the Samuel Goldwyn adaptation of the Gershwin-Heywood opera, directed for the screen by the irascible Otto Preminger, has been kept out of the public eye for decades. After Goldwyn's rights had lapsed, the property then deferred back to the Gershwin and Heywood estates, which have repeated refused requests to have it shown again after its original theatrical run and its solitary television airing in 1967. However, the UCLA has a print which is not generally available for public viewing, although it did receive permission to show it twice non-theatrically. The film was finally shown theatrically again for two nights at New York's Ziegfeld theater in 2007. I can only hope that the attention paid to this title now might prompt some of the powers that be to give this a proper restoration.

22. The Silence of the Lambs (1991)

Jonathan Demme's modern classic, with Anthony Hopkins whose cannibalistic fava-bean loving killer Hannibal Lecter has entered pop culture iconography.

23. Stand and Deliver (1988)

Ramon Menendes' film about a math teacher who attempts to push a class full of unamibitious Latin American students to a level of higher learning.

24. Twentieth Century (1934)

Although not as well remembered as his own His Girl Friday, Howard Hawks' classic screwball comedy featuring John Barrymore and the screwball queen Carole Lombard needs to be seen by more than the discerning movie buff.

25. War of the Worlds (1953)

George Pal's classic sci-fi adaptation of the H.G. Wellls novel of Martians attacking Earth.

For previous inductees into the National Film Registry, see my post from last year, detailing the 2010 titles and a list of all previous entries.

Down The Road Again (2011)

2011-12-28T16:45:00.001-11:00

Director / Writer: Donald Shebib

Producer: Robin Cass

Cinematographer: Francois Dagenais

Union Pictures; 85 min; color

Cast:

Doug McGrath (Pete), Kathleen Robertson (Betty-Jo), Anthony Lemke (Matt), Jayne Eastwood (Betty), Cayle Chernin (Selina), Tedde Moore (Annie)

Like many viewers enamoured with the 1970 film Goin Down The Road, I had always hoped that director Don Shebib would create a sequel to his Canadian classic. What had happened to Pete and Joey after the film fades out? After having experienced their hopeful emigration to greener pastures from the Maritimes to Toronto, our heroes find despair and economic hardship, and then after a poorly planned plot to steal some groceries which ends in violence, flee to an uncertain future in the west coast (Joey leaving behind a pregnant newlywed wife). For years, Shebib had resisted requests to do a followup film, until finally Cayle Chernin (who played Pete's unrequited love interest in the original) persuaded him to revisit the path charted by this groundbreaking film.

Oddly enough, it is rather fitting that Shebib waited until 2010 to begin this project: in 1970, we saw our ensemble of characters in the beginning of adulthood, and then forty years ago, we see them in the twilight of their lives, which have however been changed by the men's sudden departure to the west. Actor Paul Bradley, who played Joey, passed away in 2003, thus inspiring the story for the sequel. Pete, having recently retired as a postman, receives posthumous instructions from his friend Joey, who just died of lung cancer, to revisit Joey's wife Betty and daughter in Toronto, and then journey back to Nova Scotia to scatter his ashes. After Pete breaks the news of Joey's passing to Betty in Toronto, her estranged daughter Betty-Jo talks her way into joining Pete on the road out east, in an effort to learn more about the father she never knew. As the film unfolds, we see that Joey has concocted a very intricate plot within this journey: to heal old wounds, and indirectly, to reveal some secrets of Pete's own past.

If Goin' Down the Road was a progression to the west which opened many wounds, Down The Road Again is journey back east, and to salvation. Perhaps Betty's line "What's done can't be undone" captures the film's overlying theme of atonement. Fittingly, we revisit these characters when they are post-senior age: a time in life when many are ready to accept and forgive life's hard turns.

Although despite that some key scenes are perhaps too rushed, I however was enthralled by this revisit to some iconic Canadian characters. As far as sequels to our Canadian classics go, this is far more honourable than Unfinished Business, American Cousins, or Scanners III: The Takeover. This drama admittedly relies too much on flashback footage from the 1970 classic, although its usage isn't necessarily wrong (the grainy 16mm film of Joey makes him an omnipresent figure, even in death). As the journey down the road unfolds, we see our characters change, yet still writer-director Shebib thankfully avoids contrivances in doing so. The key figure in the film is Betty-Jo, a thirty-something screwup, who is understandably hostile and bitter at first (and also has a bit of her father's devil-may-care spirit), but ironically begins to learn about discipline and respect from her ne'er-do-well dad. Kathleen Robertson's performance is bristling, never overwrought.

It's great to see the three surviving key characters back on the big screen. Although admittedly Cayle Chernin has less to do as Selina (who after forty years is still best friends with Betty), she is a delight: it's immediately apparent in Pete and her's awkward reunion that she still has a thing for her ex-old flame. (Sadly, Ms. Chernin did not live to see this film released. Unbeknownst to her co-workers, she was dying of cancer while filming. The film is dedicated to her, Paul Bradley and the late cinematographer Richard Leiterman, who lensed Goin' Down the Road, and several other Shebib projects.) Jayne Eastwood too, in her usual world-wise yet "what the hell" demeanour finds the soul of Betty: deep down she too still has some love for the man who abandoned her. Doug McGrath is quietly affecting as Pete: his slouched body symbolically carrying the burden of a fateful mistake made four decades earlier. This film has another reunion of sorts: Tedde Moore is also re-united with director Shebib (having co-starred in the director's Rip-Off and Second Wind), giving a touching performance as a woman with Alzheimer's that Pete encounters back in Nova Scotia.

Down The Road Again is a minor revelation alone for the simple fact that we are finally seeing a Donald Shebib picture on the big screen after a long absence. This movie reveals the same subtle touches, low-key approach and storytelling economy that graces his best film work. It is equally refreshing also, to see such an old-fashioned approach to moviemaking, when the multiplexes are usually full of bombast and style-over-substance. Despite one scene with a cell phone, this movie otherwise feels timeless: these characters still exist in a world from before our present-day landscape where technology and gadgets enroach upon our lives.

When the lights went up, I was tremendously moved- not just by the hard-won road to the characters' salvation, but that we are (however briefly) allowed to see work by one of our country's masters once again. Donald Shebib is one of the key figures of the era in our country's cinema which I refer to as The Great Promise, circa 1968 to 1973, when new young Canadian filmmakers imbued the spirit of the British Kitchen Sink and the French New Wave into our own stories. Many of these key works by Shebib, Paul Almond, Claude Jutra and others remain fresh and exciting. And like many of our country's finest directors, Shebib paid the bills while working in television as the feature film projects became fewer and further between. This is the cinema that we need- Down The Road Again (as symbolized by its title) is a return not only to some iconic Canadian characters, but a revisit to the kind of honest storytelling that we had forgotten we missed. It is time once again for us to see our own stories on the screen.

ABOVE (left to right): Doug McGrath, Kathleen Robertson, Jayne Eastwood, Cayle Chernin

Tormented (1960)

2011-12-26T09:47:00.000-11:00

Director: Bert I. Gordon
Producers: Bert I. Gordon, Joe Steinberg
Screenplay: George Worthing Yates, based on a story by Bert I. Gordon
Cinematographer: Ernest Laszlo
Music: Albert Glasser
Visual Effects: Bert I. Gordon, Flora Gordon
Allied Artists; 76 min; B&W

Cast:
Richard Carlson (Tom Stewart), Susan Gordon (Sandy Hubbard), Lugene Sanders (Meg Hubbard), Juli Reding (Vi Mason), Joe Turkel (Nick, The Blackmailer), Lillian Adams (Mrs. Ellis), Gene Roth (Mr. Nelson)

Tom Stewart, a jazz pianist who lives and works in an island lighthouse, is about to be married to the wholesome Meg, but receives a visit from his old flame and former singer Vi, who isn't about to leave their relationship buried in the past. During an argument, a piece of lighthouse railing breaks free, and Vi hangs for dear life onto the twisted piece of steel. Tom purposely hesitates to save her before the metal gives way, and she falls to her death in the rocky shore below, thus ensuring that Vi is out of his new life for good. However, Tom finds out that the old phrase "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned" also applies even in death.

This engaging little ghost story is a change of pace from Bert I. Gordon, best known for his movies featuring giant monsters (such as Cyclops or The Amazing Colossal Man) or giant bugs (Beginning of the End; Earth Vs. The Spider). Those films are also notorious for the primitive special effects (which either featured normal sized animals running around glaringly obvious miniature sets, or showed obvious matte lines) usually designed by Gordon himself. Likewise, Tormented has moments with crude super-impositions as Vi's ghost comes back to taunt Tom. But this movie perhaps works better than those that give Mr. B.I.G. his namesake, because there is still a good movie without the effects.

I first saw Tormented on The Cat's Pajamas (pause- sigh) on their Sunday "Science Fiction Horror Night" program just before Christmas of 1985, shown with Roger Corman's The Wasp Woman (and found it to be far more inventive and creepy than the latter). In 2006, I programmed this film as part of the Creepy Kooky Double Bill screening in October of that year; surprisingly, it became the hit of the evening over the headliner- another Roger Corman film (Creature from the Haunted Sea). Even more surprisingly, despite that this little horror gem has been circulating in the public domain for years, no-one in that night's audience had yet seen it! It was a delight to see that this movie still worked with an audience.

Because it doesn't rely so much upon dated technical effects to deliver the goods, this movie succeeds as a mood piece about guilt. Tom is essentially a good man who yearns for a wholesome lifestyle, yet is now paying the price for a single stupid act. Whether it is due to ghostly encounters that only Tom sees, or that her watch shows up on the beach, his new life is constantly dismantled due to his momentary lapse of judgment. Further, he is being blackmailed by a jive-talking ship captain who initially chartered Vi onto the island, and knows that she never returned, especially in light of Tom's upcoming marriage. Despite all of this, we care enough about Tom to wonder how he'll get out of his plight. However, the heart of the movie actually belongs to Sandy, Meg's younger sister, who has a great friendship with Tom- it is largely through her eyes that we see his character change from a passionate human being to a paranoiac who will stop at nothing to erase the memory of Vi on this island. And once she knows too much, will her life be endangered as well?

Admittedly, I re-watched this movie the other night in memory of Susan Gordon, daughter of the director, who passed away this month. Yet, I was surprised to discover that I had remembered absolutely nothing of her substantial role as Sandy. (In truth, it is Joe Turkel's beatnik blackmailer who steals the picture performance-wise.) Instead, one more recalls this film for the visceral experience it produces- its atmosphere is conveyed through such subtleties as shadows, wind, cold, shredded garments. I must also confess that I have an affinity for suspense films which are set on shorelines (The Fog; Play Misty For Me)- something about the waves and the wind, plus the elements of forbidden desire that the milieu recalls, and perhaps I value this picture more than others do for these ingredients. As such, this movie benefits greatly from its atmosphere: its setting upon an island detached from the rest of the physical world adds to the feelings of despair and helplessness. However, there is a great visual touch that I've always remembered from my first viewing 26 years ago: in one sequence on the beach, we see a pair of footprints gradually appearing in the sand next to Tom.

Low-key touches such as this make Tormented much than what it is: a programmer designed for a quick sell to the drive-in circuit. The movie is so fun that you forget the odd casting troika of 48 year-old Richard Carlson, 26 year-old Lugene Sanders (as his fiancée) and 11 year-old Susan Gordon. (She's young enough to play his granddaughter.) Although I watch Gordon's Empire of the Ants every Christmas Eve while I wrap gifts, perhaps his superior films are those peculiar fables which do not rely upon giant monsters or colossal men. It may be time to revisit such works as Picture Mommy Dead and The Magic Sword to re-evaluate where Gordon's talent truly lies.

Hot Tomorrows (1977)

2011-12-25T17:44:00.001-11:00

Director/Producer/Writer: Martin Brest

Cinematographer: Jacques Haitkin

Choreographer: Lloyd Gordon

American Film Institute; 71 min; B&W

Cast:

Ken Lerner (Michael), Ray Sharkey (Louis), Hervé Villechaize (Albrecht), Victor Argo (Tony), George Memmoli (Man in mortuary), Donne Daniels (Night Embalmer), Rose Marshall (Tante Ethel), Sondra Lowell (Polly), Orson Welles (voice on radio)

"We're watching the movie with two dead people. That's what's so great about old movies- you're entering the land of the dead."

This is a typically moribund statement uttered by the death-obsessed author Michael, much to the consternation of his fellow Bronx-native friend Louis, who has journeyed to Los Angeles to visit his old pal for some good times. The line above, by the way, is uttered while the two men watch Laurel and Hardy in a funny scene from The Bohemian Girl. This scene is indicative of the entire film: where moments of supposed joy are subtly coloured with dread. And when we consider that the good-time-seeking Louis and the bleak Michael are going out for some action on Christmas Eve, we realize that this isn't going to a typical holiday movie fare.

In his bilious book Movie Wars, author Jonathan Rosenbaum makes the snarky assertion that the only good thing the American Film Institute ever did was finance David Lynch's first feature, Eraserhead. Well, no. Hot Tomorrows, the first feature by Martin Brest (later of such hits as Beverly Hills Cop and Scent of a Woman), was also produced via the AFI, yet it's unfortunate that this $38,000 wonder has never received its deserved audience. Today, this black comedy is sought by collectors, especially for the appearance of Danny Elfman and the Mystic Knights of the Oingo Boingo, who are the musicians in the sparsely populated Paradise Ballroom, one of the stops of our protagonists' fateful journey on December 24.

Shot in glistening black and white by Jacques Haitkin, these flickering images recall the spirit of the old movies that the men refer to, especially in the bizarre 42nd street revue that closes the film. The deeply expressionist photography indeed captures the moribund atmosphere that surrounds Michael (in fact the hard key lighting on the band suggests a cabaret act from beyond the grave), but it also enhances the sorrow and loneliness that permeates the lives of our principal cast.

Even without the death-obsessed symbolism, Hot Tomorrows is a valuable film for offering an alternative look at Christmas-time. It beautifully captures the holiday season for those who find this time of year difficult, as they are shiftless, alone, and looking for something-anything to do. These displaced people somehow find their ways to the Paradise Ballroom (tellingly, the only clientele on Christmas Eve), and find momentarily companionship with one another. Michael and Louis befriend another Bronx native, Tony, who accompanies his rich, socially awkward friend and employer Albrecht, while the latter's wife carries out an "arrangement" with her boyfriend. In addition, Louis chats up a girl, Polly, whom one senses yearns for greater things, but doesn't know what or where. This sequence is a moving portrait of people who are trapped in their own limited lives.

And if this scene isn't a desperate enough way to spend Christmas Eve, it gets better. Upon leaving the club, the two men hear a radio ad (voice by Orson Welles!) about a funeral home offering free coffee to sober people up and prevent car accidents ("it's better to drive here than to be carried here"). This is all the provocation that Michael needs. What follows is another scene of displaced people who have momentarily converged in their pursuits of something to do while alone on December 24. However, Michael manages to cajole the funeral director into seeing the embalming equipment, and in a moment that climaxes his death fantasies, he views the dead body of an old woman. Michael has been working on a story about his aunt Ethel, who appears as the "face of death", seen in photos, posing at the supermarket, and even in the funeral home.

Although Hot Tomorrows sometimes plods in its short running time, it is a jewel of a movie- at once a black comedy about death and a moving portrait of urban loneliness, which results in tragedy, yet concludes with a bizarre sequence that is equally moribund and (somehow) life-affirming.

The Magic Christmas Tree (1964)

2011-12-25T07:50:00.035-11:00

Director: Richard C. Parish
Producer: Fred C. Gerrior
Screenplay: Harold Vaughn Taylor
Music: Victor Kirk
Cinematography: Richard Kendall
Holiday Pictures / Orrin Films; 59 min; color-B&W

Cast:
Chris Kroesen (Mark), Valerie Hobbs (Witch), Robert "Big Buck" Maffei (Santa Claus), Darlene Lohnes (Mother)

During Halloween season, little boy Mark helps a witch get her cat Lucifer down from a tree, and for his kindness, he is rewarded with a (talking) Magic Christmas Tree that grants him three wishes. Mark's first wish is to give himself power over everything for an hour, thereby turning night into day, and creating merry mayhem by allowing vehicles to run away on their owners. His second wish is the selfish notion to have Santa Claus all to himself. Will his third wish be of any virtue?

This jaw-dropping holiday film (although clocking in at less than an hour, feels twice as long), begins in black-and-white, likely inspired by The Wizard of Oz, and yet feels like a failed 60s suburban "Our Gang" reboot, replete with "ah gee golly whiz" dialog indicative of Spanky and the bunch, as Mark and his friends gripe over what each other has brought to school for lunch. Once the tree appears the film bursts into powdery full colour, it resembles a Sid Davis film run amuck, with a sterile look befitting the middle class suburban milieu. Indeed, the stifling, locked-off camera work, the rubbery post-sync sound and the wooden performances make this the classroom film from Hell.

To adult eyes, this deceptively short film may be interminable with its stock footage, unimaginative mise en scene, sloppy production values (squint and you'll see the crouching stunt bodies at the wheel of the so-called driver-less cars), and its uninspired slapstick (the father attempts to chop down the title tree for what seems like minutes). On the other hand, older viewers would notice the movie's sarcastic tone that would escape its target kiddie matinee audience. This bitter poem about greed has a novel character in a talking tree, yet whose voice (resembling an effeminate version of a world-weary Jack Benny) hardly sounds inviting. In the sequence detailing the "second wish", Mark is held captive by a giant in the forest who will allow the young lad to be as greedy as he wants provided that he remains the big man's slave. In a perverse spin on A Christmas Carol, he is forced to gaze into a pool of water to see the aftermath of his selfish request. Via representative footage and a droning narrative, Mark is witness to how the world is in turmoil due to the missing Santa Claus who is held captive in Mark's living room next to a caustic Christmas tree! (Explain this one to the missus.) The giant however agrees to let Mark go back to the real world on the condition that he undoes his greedy actions. And to hammer the point home once again, the giant points to the camera, warning the kiddie audience that the next greedy kid to be his prisoner "could be you!" Like the primitive scare films of Sid Davis, this movie delivers its message by sending its characters on a one-way ticket to Hell, and additionally refuses to let its viewers off the hook.

Although on both sides of the camera, The Magic Christmas Tree is pedestrian, it is however fascinating for all the wrong reasons. Despite that it was likely marketed as wholesome family fare (and apparently was re-issued several times for the matinee circuit over the years), it is however a subversive little item that seems to bite the little hands that reached up to the ticket booth to buy admission. On the whole, the movie feels like the efforts of cynical adults wishing to make a quick buck on the kiddie market while having a last laugh on their viewers. The results however are mystifying- one wonders why the filmmakers would expend such effort into delivering such cynical undertones that would likely go unnoticed.

The Junky's Christmas (1993)

2011-12-25T07:17:00.000-11:00

Directors: Nick Donkin, Melodie McDaniel
Writer: James Grauerholz, based on a story by William S. Burroughs
Producers: Francis Ford Coppola, Francine McDougall
Music: Hal Willner
Cinematography: Simon Higgins, Wyatt Troll
Production Design: Andrew Horne
Island Pictures; 21 min; B&W

Cast:
William S. Burroughs (narrator)

The film opens with author William S. Burroughs rifling through his bookshelf, finding his own copy of Interzone (in which the original story for the movie is collected) and sitting down by the Christmas tree to read. This image alone is jarring enough- Burroughs the legendary underground anti-hero at the age of 75 (didn’t he always look 75?) turning into Jimmy Stewart?!? There is a low-angle shot of his condor-shaped profile looking whimsical standing beside the tree, and right away we are wondering what kind of perverse whole-someness is being provided us? Has the collusion of mainstream and underground finally gone too far? Who would imagine that a tale from the Bard of Benzydrine would be presented to the screen by Francis Ford Coppola?

Once the grandfatherly Burroughs settles down into his easy chair, and his crystalline talons turn the hard pages, we dissolve from this natural world into a twenty-minute claymation short, as he narrates for us the pathetic efforts of a dope fiend trying to score on Christmas Day. What surprises here is not the junkie’s change of heart in the end. Rather, this celluloid trip is more valuable for documenting a part of the world on December 25th that has seldom been realized for cinema. In other words, there is no Capra-esque fantasy of George Bailey running down the street, and wishing everyone a Merry Christmas as potato flakes of snow fall to the ground. Instead this is about the lonely people sleeping on the street that your sedan passes by as you go visit your folks.

Usually the work of Burroughs is a Dadaist science fiction nightmare in which the author can run wild with his ideas and satiric metaphor. It is rare to see a Burroughs piece (and admittedly a short one) in which the characters are real people, presented matter-of-factly, for us not to judge, nor for him to celebrate, but merely for us to understand. Although we may not think that the people scoring crack outside my office are human beings underneath, but that matter is easily forgotten when we have to clean all the pipes and prophylactics off of the back step. In other words, The Junky's Christmas is presenting an ugly world that, surprisingly, has its own moral code.

(adapted from a review originally presented in ESR #4)

Santa Claus Conquers The Martians (1964)

2011-12-25T06:43:00.000-11:00

Director: Nicholas Webster
Producers: Paul L. Jacobson, Arnold Leeds, Joseph E. Levine
Screenplay: Glenville Mareth, from a story by Paul L. Jacobson
Art Director: Maurice Gordon
Cinematography: David L. Quaid
Music: Milton and Anne Delugg
Embassy Pictures / Jalor Productions; 81 min; color

Cast:
John Call (Santa Claus), Leonard Hicks (Kimar), Vincent Beck (Voldar), Bill McCutcheon (Dropo), Victor Stiles (Billy), Donna Conforti (Betty), Chris Month (Bomar), Pia Zadora (Girmar), Ned Wertimer (Newscaster Andy Henderson), Carl Don (Werner Von Green/Choacem)

I find it rather amusing that this classic schlock piece was released by Joseph Levine, who produced Godard's Contempt a year earlier. Despite how much people have poked fun at Santa Claus Conquers The Martians over the years as one of the all-time worst, truthfully this film has far too many subversive ideas for such a dubious honour. It is more of scabrous commentary on the western world than Contempt- it is also certainly less pretentious.

We usually expect kiddie fare -- especially Christmas movies- to preach wholesome family values and instruct our little ones on the spirit of giving. But despite all the goofy Martians, candy-colors, and funny robots certain to amuse five-year olds of all ages, this is a subversive morality play, indeed!

At the heart of this skidrow juvenilia is a subtle, but sour primer for capitalist greed. Take the opening song (also repeated at the end), "Hooray for Santy Claus". The kids' choir on the soundtrack is NOT cheering Santa Claus for conquering the Martians, but actually, jolly old Saint Nick is being lauded for all the presents he has brought the kids! To laud Santa for this is one thing, but also the song continues to make offensive remarks about Santa's weight problem! Talk about a bunch of spoiled ungrateful brats!

Still, this dour reference to Kris Kringle is pervasive of Santa's portrayal throughout the entire film. Unlike, say, the Mexican version of Santa Claus, that presents Father Christmas as a superhuman being, this may be the only holiday movie in memory that portrays Santa as a mere mortal. Despite the odd magic that he casts to get himself out of tight scrapes here and there (such as when a mutinous Martian tries to sabotage the ship that carries Santa back to the red planet), I cannot think of another film that accentuates Santa's (very) human frailties.

Right from the start, we see Santa as a stressed-out entrepreneur who is bending his elves over backwards to make the December 24th deadline (this is so indicative of the retail manufacturers' classic "Get 'em out by Friday" attitude), To top it all off, Santa hardly wears the red pants of the household. He is constantly henpecked by his nagging wife. In fact, when the Martians come to abduct Santa, he seems rather relieved-a welcome break from the "supply and demand" of his corporate zeitgeist. When the little green men zap everyone else with a freeze ray, Mr. Claus muses that this is the first time he sees his wife with her mouth shut! Is it any wonder that Santa doesn't use his powers to thwart the Martians then and there? He's happy to get away from it all!

Oh no! What will my wife think?

Santa Claus Conquers The Martians is also interesting for its anti-Communist propaganda. Lest we forget, this seemingly innocuous kiddie matinee fodder was released during the Cold War. During the Red Scare, what more of a sly reference could one make than having someone on a Red Planet being introduced to the ways of the west? (Note how the Martians all have similar-sounding names, thus suggesting little differentiation in character?)

Someday someone should write a book covering the alternative history of kiddie movies (that is, anything but the Disney stuff). And in terms of subversive matinee fodder, Santa Claus Conquers The Martians ought to get a whole chapter for itself! Don't be fooled by all the juvenilia- despite the cute Martian kids, the doltish comic relief, and the terrific gasp of the most pathetic looking polar bear in movie history, this film is actually an insidious little tool for social conditioning! In this seemingly inconsequential fluff, kids are systematically being groomed for the western mantras of capitalism, automation and greed!

The real conflict in this film is not in Santa's being told to set up shop on Mars, but the fact that they want him here permanently. In fact, the Martians are already beginning to see the ways of the western world at the outset- their kids are being brainwashed by "those ridiculous Earth programs"! Even the wise old Martian sage tells them that getting Santa for the kids is a good thing. This Entire Martian setting is a primer of all those Communist movie clichés that one would find in old Russian "tractor" films of the 1930s. The old hermit, who nonetheless is versed in the old Martian ways, knows the system isn't working, and prods his comrades towards the avenue of change. The mutinous Martian on the ship delivering Mr. HoHo is the classically universal renegade who rises up against his brethren: "Don't you see? Don't you see? No good can come to our regime from this!"

Alas, Santa soon has all these fancy machines set up, making toys at a far greater rate than his grumpy elves. Just a punch of a button and presto! But Saint Nick isn't jolly for long- he still has to get back to earth and meet his deadline for December 24th! What to do? Well, throughout the film there has been a goofy Martian collapsing around (doing a spin on the old Donald O'Connor role), and before you know it, Santa gives him the proposition of becoming Mars' own version of Kris Kringle, so he can get back to head office on time for Christmas Eve. There you have it- the Martians learn the next word in capitalism... franchise!

(There! And not one mention of ten-year old Pia Zadora as one of the Martian kids. Oops!)

(adapted from a review originally published in ESR #4)

Santa Claus (1959)

2011-12-25T05:52:00.001-11:00

Director: Rene Cardona (original version) / Ken Smith (English Version)

Producers: Guillermo Calderon Stell (original version), K. Gordon Murray (English version)

Story & Screenplay: Adolfo Torres Portillo
Musical Director: Antonio Diaz Conde

Special Effects: Gordillo Y Martinez

Choreography: Ricardo Luna

Cinematography: Raul Martinez Solares

K. Gordon Murray Productions (English Version), 94 min, color

Cast:
Jose Elias Moreno (Santa Claus), Cesarero Quezadas (Pulgarcito/Tom Thumb), Jose Luis Aguirre, aka "Trosky" (The Devil), Armando Arriola, aka "Arriolita" (Merlin), Antonio Diaz Conde Hijo, (Ricky), Angel D'Estefani (The Blacksmith), Lupita Quezadas (Lupita); Ken Smith (narrator- English version)

I met a minister once who collected Santa Claus memorabilia. One of his prized pieces was a plate featuring Santa standing in a manger next to the three wise men witnessing the birth of Christ. As an opposition to many devout Christians who feel that thinking about Santa is sacrilege, his contention was that all along Santa was preaching the spirit of giving, and spreading goodness and joy. What's wrong with that? I couldn't agree more with that sentiment- and now I wonder what he may have thought of this film, especially when one of the first images of Santa Claus shows him admiring his model of the manger!

Santa Claus, Rene Cardona's hypnotic and surprisingly dark perennial holiday fable, is unique in one of many ways in that it compares Kris Kringle to God. And to further this point- Mr. Claus even fights The Devil! Also, Santa's work-shop is not in The North Pole, but in the clouds above, where he watches who is naughty and who is nice through a telescope! Is this heaven? Most of the film plays in a surreal setting- not least being Hades, where The Devil conspires to turn children into devious little monsters. (There is even a mad bit of Fellini-esque choreography during this setpiece too, adding to dumbfoundedness not encountered since Hellzapoppin’.)

Consider too, the over-long opening set in Santa's representative world. We see kids of all races each contributing their own heritage of music to a lumbering chorus that will delight mostly people under the age of five. Who these kids are in Santa’s workshop I cannot say (if this is heaven, are they dead?), but it is easy to see why they would like to work there. The kids sing and dance in their native tongues, and the whole place is decked out as a playground. Doorways are shaped as keyholes, the telescope has an actual eye in the lens, the sonar equipment is decked with an ear, the loudspeaker has a giant mouth, and the reindeer are wind-ups (a good way to disguise the cheapness of the latter)!

One writer has commented on how Santa Claus is almost Neo-Realistic. In terms of its Earthly settings, this is true in tone, if not exactly mise en scene. One of the main characters is adorable little Lupita, whose parents are loving, yet dirt poor. At one point the Devil is whispering in her ear to say that it's okay to steal the department store doll that she covets. The poverty in which Lupita and her family lives is a universal anyone can recognize, yet what sets it apart from, say, a similar environment in a DeSica film is that the settings are plain, representative, almost supra-real. Even this reality is upset by otherwordly forces. Of course The Devil and Santa Claus are performing their struggle over the kids, but even dreams figure into this natural world. For instance, the lonely little rich boy whose social-climbing parents are never home, dreams of getting his folks for Christmas (and they come giftwrapped!). Lupita has a subconscious dilemma too, as the doll she covets manifests into a bizarre dream where adult-sized playthings prance around her! (I wouldn’t want to have paid the bill for the dry ice.)

Don't do it, Lupita!

Another fable akin to Santa Claus is “Alice In Wonderland”. There are more drugs taken in this kiddie film than any other I can remember. Those educational films about drugs and alcohol seem conservative by comparison. With the help of Merlin the Magician (!), Santa has the ability to disappear with the sniff of an orchid, and some white powder (!!) makes him re-appear. These little party favours are certainly beneficial for his December 24th excursion- he even blows some magic dust to make sure some kids are asleep before he comes calling. The poor little rich boy gets his wish fulfilled as Santa , disguised as a waiter, (although whatever disguise he is in remains off-camera) brings a bubbling drink on the house to his parents at the swanky cocktail lounge, and once they imbibe it, they have the sudden urge to go home to their child! Finally, in a comic battle reminiscent of the final battle in The Raven (1963), Santa and The Devil match wits against each others’ magic. All in a night’s work and to all a good night.

Back in the days of the kiddie matinee, this film was a seasonal favourite, thanks to the shrewd marketing ploys of producer K. Gordon Murray, the Florida-based distributor who imported Mexican films and dubbed them for the English market. His cheap kiddie imports at one point even rivalled Disney for attention in the Saturday afternoon matinee circuits. Every three years for almost two decades, Murray would resurrect Santa Claus at Christmas-time to rake in ticket sales.

Although this film was obviously made for pre-adolescents, there are so many marvelous visual and thematic ideas running through, that adults would no doubt enjoy it too, regardless if those less young at heart would notice the occasional lethargy in plot, the dubbing which somehow turns Santa's "ho ho" into something like a smoker's hack and that he only has four reindeer instead of eight (windup reindeer at that!) could be either interpreted as cheapness or revisionism. Admittedly, Santa Claus shuffles in fits and starts sometimes, but still I walk away amazed by the proceedings.

Truthfully though, I can’t think of a more wonderful holiday film to put a toddler in front of. This film is full of inventive visual ideas, it is benevolent without being cloying, and it is terrific fun for young and the young at heart. And Santa is a supremely wonderful soul: full of music, energy and laughter. That he is slyly equated to Godhood is not a sacrilege, but sensible. Like that other being up above, Santa is always watching, ensuring that those who are eternally good receive their great reward.

Plus, isn’t the fact that Santa gives the world toys out of one bag reminiscent of the never-emptying bread basket in The Last Supper?

(Photos courtesy of Rob Craig.)

(adapted from a review originally published in ESR #4)

Don Sharp (1922 - 2011)

2011-12-22T09:09:00.000-11:00

The Man In The Net (1959)

2011-12-21T11:12:00.008-11:00

Director: Michael Curtiz
Writer: Reginald Rose, from a story by Hugh Wheeler
Producer: Walter Mirisch
Cinematographer: John F. Seitz
Music: Hans J. Salter
United Artists; 97 min, B&W

Cast:
Alan Ladd (John Hamilton), Carolyn Jones (Linda Hamilton), Diane Brewster (Vicki Carey), John Lupton (Brad Carey), Charles McGraw (Sheriff Steve Ritter), Barbara Beaird (Emily Jones), Susan Gordon (Angel Jones), Charles Herbert (Timmie), Steven Perry (Leroy)

John Hamilton is a former New York commercial artist who has fled with his wife to rural Connecticut to begin a new career as a painter. However, his wife Linda (yes, Linda Hamilton) misses life in the fast lane in The Big Apple, despite John's implications that her former lifestyle contributed to her "illness". A recovering alcoholic who frets over a grey hair at age 28, Linda is especially upset that John will be turning down a lucrative job offer back in the city, preferring instead to toil away his time in his new career that brings neither acclaim nor fortune.

The implied conjugal tensions outwardly manifest themselves into this John Cheever-ish world when Linda appears one night at a birthday party, inebriated, and with a black eye that she falsely accuses John of giving her. Soon after, when Hamilton returns from the New York trip where he turns down the job offer, he finds that all of his paintings have been slashed, and his wife has disappeared. In short order, Linda's body is discovered buried in the shed underneath fresh concrete. Since John is already labelled a cad among his friends and neighbours, thanks to his wife's accusation the previous night, he is naturally accused of murdering Linda and flees persecution by the police and the mob of townspeople.

The Man in the Net is a surprisingly enthralling film noir, and also an interesting credit late in the careers of both actor Alan Ladd and its prolific director, Michael Curtiz (who had helmed many Warner classics in the 1940s). At first, this movie seems like a pleasant enough variation on the "falsely accused man on the run" plot. Despite how formulaic this story may first appear, it is made engaging for the panache that Curtiz gives the material- he certainly knows how to set a mood with deceptively simple mise en scene. (And as we will see, this film is deceptive in many ways.) By 1959, Alan Ladd's career had been fizzling- his acting instincts had become tired and dulled, and had to accept star billing in second-rate pictures. Yet in its own negative way, Ladd's taciturn, world-weary demeanour suits the character of a man who has been put upon both personally and professionally. Carolyn Jones is superbly cast as his estranged wife- with her Bohemian bangs suggesting that she ended up in Connecticut by way of Greenwich Village, Linda is truly a fish out of water in this rural environment- yearning instead for life in the fast lane, despite the consequences. If you stretch it, this film could be a continuation of her Oscar-nominated role in The Bachelor Party (1957)- "The Existentialist" has left the Beatnik scene for the suburbs.

ABOVE: Carolyn Jones

Any good film noir reveals the corruption beneath the surface of a supposedly civil society. Yet rather than depicting a rainy, urban jungle this film juxtaposes the benign suburbia of New England with a story of adultery, blackmail and murder permeating the picture-postcard landscape. And still, despite moving the setting to an uncommon green oasis, this "man on the run" formula is further differentiated as it slowly evolves into a delightfully bizarre allegory.

In the final third of the picture, John receives aid from the children he has befriended while painting out in the meadows. The movie thus becomes a unique Utopian treatise, as the incorruptible kids not only believe John, and enact his complex and clever plot to prove his innocence, but the children forge their own unique society with a moral code of virtue, loyalty, and a tolerance of class, race and gender. (The leader of the kids is a girl, after all. Young Susan Gordon, in one of her few screen roles, is a delight as the kids' captain and den-mother: the Raggedy Ann doll she always carries symbolizes her maternity and strength.) Further, it is a delight to see the African American boy Leroy work and play in harmony with his white friends. (This film is one of the very few from an age of segregation that slyly presents fraternity among mixed races.) The adult world by contrast is Barbaric and archaic, adhering to an outdated structure where race determines class: for instance, Leroy's father is a servant for one of the white kids' parents. Despite that the current ruling class of this supposedly picket-fence environment is revealed to be full of deceit, one actually finishes the movie with the hope that these children (already exhibiting a maturity beyond their years) shall inherit the world, and seed their goodwill for future generations. Perhaps the children find a kinship with John in that he is an artist, and also lives a supposedly carefree (shall we say? childishly innocent) existence outside of the constrains of the ruling class.


ABOVE: Alan Ladd, Susan Gordon

Sadly, The Man In The Net is nearly forgotten today- hardly considered a career highpoint for any of the people involved. Seeing a film like this recalls Wheeler Dixon's book Lost In the Fifties: Recovering Phantom Hollywood (which I read last month, and will review here soon): its central thesis insists that one would do best to look at the 1950's film and television that have not remained in memory, as they will be the works that more accurately depict the times in which they were made. Indeed, many works of the decade suggest a society of forced conformity, sexism and segregation; this film on the other hand offers a more hopeful message of harmony and equality. Released just a few years before such social themes entered the collective consciousness, Man In the Net is a fascinating precursor of the changing times. A programmer it may be- but a wholly diverting one at that. Like the characters onscreen, this movie has much more underneath than meets the eye.

DVD Releases We Dig This Week (12.13.11)

2011-12-13T12:18:00.010-11:00

This week, the summer hit Rise of the Planet of The Apes makes its debut on DVD from 20th Century Fox, as well as the Fright Night remake, from Buena Vista. Also, MPI releases Black Power Mixtape 1967-1975, which I missed at Hot Docs this year, and am eager to check out.

For the cult film fan (my hand is raised!), there is another irresistible release from Shout! Factory. They offer a double DVD set of the ultra-rare 1975 The Nickel Ride (which I've been wanting to see for years) paired with John Frankenheimer's goofy crime caper 99 & 44/100% Dead (1974). Both films, which have long been -ahem- "traders' favourites", are making their debut on disk.

Also, we can't resist also plugging these double feature releases from Image Entertainment. You'll have a huge dose of 80s drive-in nostalgia in the post-apoc Def Con 4 (paired with the Roddy Piper classic Hell Comes To Frogtown). Remember Kim Richards? The adorable child actress with the really long hair in TV's "Hello, Larry" and "Diff'rent Strokes"? Among her few grown-up roles was in Tuff Turf (1985), which is being paired with Under The Boardwalk (1989), also by the same director (Fritz Kiersch).

Go get 'em!

Susan Gordon (1949 - 2011)

2011-12-13T06:36:00.018-11:00

Susan Gordon, who as a child appeared in several films by her father Bert I. Gordon, has passed away in New Jersey after a battle with cancer at the age of 62. Mr. Gordon's is best remembered for his giant monster movies (a la Earth Vs. The Spider or The Amazing Colossal Man)- and she was cast in his Attack of the Puppet People, but also appeared in some of his less typical (and ironically, stronger) efforts. She made a strong impression in the kiddie matinee fantasy The Boy and The Pirates, the underrated ghost story Tormented and the gothic melodrama, Picture Mommy Dead. In addition to her father's films, she also appeared on the big screen with Danny Kaye in The Five Pennies and Alan Ladd in The Man In The Net. Ms. Gordon was also busy on television, with a live presentation of Miracle on 34th Street (airing on Thanksgiving of 1959), and appearances in such series as "The Twilight Zone" and "My Three Sons".

For more on her career, visit her official site.

Loving and Laughing (1971)

2011-11-29T10:23:00.012-11:00

Director: John Sole

Writer: Martin Bronstein

Producers: John Dunning, Andre Link

Music: Paul Baillargeon, Dean Morgan

Cinematographer: Roger Moride

Cinepix; 96 min; color

Cast:

André Lawrence (Lucien Lapalme), Mignon Elkins (Mrs. Margaret Harrison), Michèle Mercure (Lovely), Gordon Fisher (Reggie Parker), Susan Petrie (Belinda Harrison), Céline Lomez (Diane), Julie Wildman (Joan Harrison)

An obscure hippie-dippie movie? And as co-stars, Canuck cuties Susan Petrie and Céline Lomez? You had me at hello.

That was all the provocation yours truly needed to head down last night to a free screening of this near-forgotten exponent of "maple syrup porn", presented by Paul Corupe, the webmaster of the excellent Canuxploitation site. In the early 1970's, Quebec filmmakers were making box office gold with these so-called "maple syrup porn", whose ample amounts of softcore sex represented the newly found liberation of the era. While such films as Love In a 4 Letter World and Après Ski may seem comparatively tame today, seeing full frontal nudity (of either sex) and fornication was enough to upset the staunch Catholic leanings of the province's old guard. Last night's picture was one of those offered by the enterprising producers André Link and John Dunning from their Cinepix production company.

In this countercultural ancestor to Trading Places, boring rich priss Reggie's car breaks down while en route to offer French lessons to more boring rich people in Vermont. He gets a lift from some hippies, who all spend time on a commune led by Lucien. Naturally Reggie doesn't fit in with the free-spirited longhairs, but he offers a proposition to Lucien (who is fleeing drug charges) to switch roles with him. Thus, Lucien assumes Reggie's role as the French tutor for the Harrison family, and gets more than he bargained for in staid New England, as it appears that the mother, her daughters and the maid are all hankering for some French stick bread.

While the plot would be satisfactory enough just to provide the opportunity for some sexual situations (which is all that the audience is paying to see anyway), it is however surprising how the initially flabby humour evolves into a clever comedy of manners. The film works in its non-carnal moments because the actors are engaging to watch even with their clothes on. André Lawrence effortlessly makes the change from casual hippie to elegant aristocrat in this new alien environment. While I've always loved the bright-eyed Susan Petrie in everything (Rip-Off; Lions For Breakfast; Shivers), I now have even more respect for her range, as this role shows her knack for screwball comedy! She nearly steals the picture as one of the two sharp-tongued daughters. And yes, no Quebec sex romp would be complete without an appearance by the dark-haired hottie Céline Lomez (best remembered to Anglophone viewers as the ill-fated love interest in The Silent Partner)- she amply fills the requirements as the fun-loving maid. Meanwhile, back at the commune, Reggie is also evolving, from a stick-in-the-mud to local hero, as he gets to use his pampered education to help the hippies out of brushes with the law (the fuzz depicted herein must have pinups of Rod Steiger from In The Heat of the Night).

Despite a climax (literally and figuratively) atop a mountain, alas the film has a weak conclusion, attempting to tie together the two story threads. Like the hippies onscreen, Loving and Laughing is definitely a product of its time: in this more enlightened age, the stereotypical depictions of homosexuals would offend more than the flagrant full frontal (but not exploitive) nudity. Still, one is surprised that this sex romp transcends the meager requirements of its box office appeal. There is plenty of loving, but surprisingly, just as much laughing.

Canzine 2011

2011-10-24T05:45:00.055-11:00

I had begun the usual Canzine weekend ritual the night before: watching Harry Thomason's regional horror film Encounter With the Unknown (I've watched this thing about three or four times in the past on the night before Canzine-- why break a tradition?), and again in the lineup at 10:30 AM worrying: a) whether or not my name was on the list this year; and b) where I was going to be sitting. The latter fear was especially prescient as this year's fair was at a new and different venue, 918 Bathurst Centre. However, once inside, my concerns were quickly forgotten, as the day was spent in this marvellous arts facility (formerly a Buddhist temple). Not only was I able to actually move around, but I managed to move and groove with fellow zinesters and independent publishers, and most importantly, re-connected with some old friends after having spent most of the year on my side. In short, my eleventh Canzine appearance was the first one in a long time that actually felt like fun instead of business as usual.

In addition to the three or four big rooms for people to table their wares - on the main floor and in the basement, there were also separate smaller ones downstairs in which people could also do installations. My (former?) colleagues at Trash Palace had rented the room which resembled a small class room where they spent the day showing (guess) educational films. Also, adjacent to the big room downstairs, they had an antechamber where vendors sold food and snacks- all organic, including the beer (whose brand name I've already forgotten, but do recommend). I was in the main room, with the beautiful hardwood floors and arched roof (formerly where they congregated for worship), and still had plenty of wiggle room to check things out.

The sales were okay, but I'm not hear to carp about dollars and cents. (If you ignore the number one koan in the independent world- "How much can you afford to lose?", then you're in the wrong business.) There's a greater, more volatile thing than that here-- simply, it's a livelihood. A time-worn adage in this field is "for the love and not for the money", yet this term is blind to the unconverted, who simply cannot understand why people would spend untold hours on often ephemeral, deeply personal pieces of creativity that offer little to no financial returns. Also, the unconverted often dismissively refers to all of this as "hobbyism" (a term that has always irked me). It is more than that- a state of mind, a way of life. And although I count myself among those who seeks something outside of the mainstream conventions, by the same token, I don't assume that what we do is superior to those accepted conventions. Those who seek something outside the parameters of the mainstream are simply looking for a different set of values: neither is right or wrong.

At shows like this, another adage comes forth: "Give back to the mountain what you take from it." In other words, it's up to all of us to continue to support this independent community, lest it fall apart. Whatever you can afford to give from your pocketbook to buy some books or zines to keep the machine running, all the better. Money may not be the primary reason why people contribute to the underground, but it keeps the machine running nonetheless.

Yes, I have preached similar aphorisms for most of the time in which I've had this blog, and these words may be nothing new, but since I've been away from this community for some time, they serve as a valuable reminder to myself. Despite the fun I have re-uniting with old friends and hopefully making some new allies at shows like this, actually my favourite time of all of Canzine is the "contemplative coffee" had the next morning. As I reflect upon the previous day, I am empowered by the buzz of independence and creativity, touched to be a small part of it, and realize that the values we uphold at events like this, we must continue to carry with us, and make them part of our lives the other 364 days of the year.

Love and light.

Tales of an Analog Enthusiast Book 5: Independent Video Store Day

2011-10-16T03:51:00.003-11:00

ABOVE: That's Rentertainment; Champaign, IL
(Photo courtesy of Jason Pankoke)

It had long been my intention to reboot the dormant "Analog Video Enthusiast" series of posts (or hell, just reboot this blog in general), and saw no more appropriate time to do it than on October 15, the first annual Independent Video Store Day. Inspired by the annual tradition of Record Store Day (born in 2008), Video Store Day likewise honours a form of retail which is in fear of becoming extinct thanks to the Internet. Today, independent video rental stores enticed consumers to come out for some great deals on video rentals and purchases, and simultaneously reminded them how much fun it is to go the neighbourhood retailer instead of downloading movies from iTunes and Netflix.

What did I do to celebrate Independent Video Store Day? Nothing. I had an excuse-- I was out of town for my father's birthday. But since I spend most of the year's other 364 days browsing video stores and looking for tapes or DVDs in some of my favourite haunts, I bear no remorse for missing it. Instead, hopefully this day enticed those who weren't already converted how much of a valuable commodity is the video rental shop around the corner, and they will continue to support it. In other words, it's great that you cook a Christmas dinner for the homeless, but they still have to eat every remaining day of the year.

There are now consumers who don't know about a life without having a VCR in the home. Soon, if not already, there will be consumers who won't remember what one was. I am old enough to know a life before the days when the VCR became a household item, and can comment on how radical a change that became for anyone interested in cinema. Suddenly, the consumer no longer had to be a slave to the TV schedule- they had the power to choose instant programming for themselves. Further, because consumers were so excited about this newly acquired power, they would also virtually rent anything to play on these newfangled devices- many would sample previously unheard of titles that suddenly became available to them. Thus, in the 1980s, well into the 1990s, video stores of all sizes appeared to capitalize on the new craze. Colloquially, when we refer to the golden days of video stores, we often think of the "mom and pop" outlets. Many of these perished under the juggernauts of the franchise stores. How could one compete against a store that had 20 copies of everything? Yet, over the years, we've also seen the chain stores fade away: The Video Station, Jumbo Video, Major Video, and of course, Blockbuster, this year's huge fatality.

The decline of video stores over the years has been blamed upon downloads (legal or otherwise) and streaming. That's the argument, right? Why would some kid want to trot down to the video store to pick up Scott Pilgrim, when they can just go "click" on the mouse in their bedroom? Instant gratification, and no-one had to put on any galoshes. But this decline is also symptomatic of a greater issue: the continuing social displacement of our society, because of its false dependence upon gadgets. Everywhere you look, it's people fiddling with their new Crackberrys, iPads, iPods and iPhones-- each new model more enticing than the last with new features and more capabilities, offering the consumer a Swiss army knife of diversions from having to communicate with another human being. And I guarantee you that, when iBlowJob appears, no-one will ever have to go outside again.

Hey, I'm no old fart. My day job is spent in front of a computer screen, working online, and learning new technology. But let's be fair- I surely don't want to come home and spend the rest of my waking hours in front of another computer screen. Contrary to what that smartass reviewer at Broken Pencil will have you believe, I'm no luddite, BUT these gadgets should only be tools-- they are not your life. It's great that we have all of these devices, but our reliance upon them goes to ridiculous extremes. I really don't need to hear yet another person on the streetcar during the morning commute call someone to say they'll be there in two minutes. Who gives a fuck? Just show up in two minutes.

My home computer is an old operating system on which it gets increasingly harder to watch video, especially in streaming- I can't run Netflix because I have the wrong processor. But even if I did get a new computer, I'd still much prefer to rent a video or DVD. (Not only that, but the selections of titles for Canada's Netflix plain sucks.) Why would I want to watch a measly Quicktime (or worse, Flash) file when I can see something of greater resolution on a disk-- and on a bigger screen, no less?

Since the giants have fallen, how do the independent hangers-on still persist? Selection and expertise. The whole joy of going to a video store is "Hey, look what I found". How many times have we had the thrill of discovery in going to the neighbourhood retailer for one thing, only to come across another title that one didn't know about, or at least didn't know was available? But still, for the most part, the independent video store is a chapel for the already-converted. The majority of moviegoers is of adolescent males, who often will only care about what's new, and even then, if they can get their fixes without having to leave their bedrooms, all the better. As such, many wouldn't care about the back catalogue or the history of the medium. ("Huh? Fright Night is a remake?") If we don't support these stores, we lose this access to that heritage. Not only that, but.... well, I don't know about you, but I kind of like chatting in person with a fellow human being. Sure, it's great to have access to a lot of bells and whistles at one's fingertips, but nothing beats the over-the-counter expertise.

And in honour of Video Store Day, I'd like to give due props to one store that I've frequented over the years. For the past fifteen years I've been a customer of 2 For 1 Video. When I first encountered them in 1996, their three aisles were crammed with VHS tapes; even today in the age of DVD and BluRay, the shelves are equal parts tape and disk.

In the beginning of my visits, 2 For 1 was also in competition with two other shops in the same block: another independent shop across the street, and a Blockbuster next door- both of those are now long gone, but still 2 For 1 hangs on. I'd like to think that their reason for continuing to stay around is due not only to the fact that now they're the only store in that little neighbourhood nook, but also to their expertise. For example, Shane, the enthusiastic employee who has been working there for 20 years, claims to have seen every movie in the store. That's a broad admission, but the more you hear him talk, the more you believe him. Think about it- even if you see a couple of films in the store every day, over time, it adds up. And he's honest enough to tell you whether he thinks a movie is good or bad- not necessarily to discourage or entice you, but at least to give the customer an informed opinion on whether the film in question is what they're seeking.

Since the independent video store is becoming a niche market, there also seems to be a sense of elitism about it now-- an indie snobbism of the "holier than thou" variety that one associates with the record store clerks of High Fidelity. I'll grant that I've experienced that sometimes (yet, not always) in the stores I've frequented. Personally, I just fluff them off like any other poser I encounter. If you ignore the assholes long enough, they go away. (In fact, that deserves a post of its own some day.) Well, there's none of that posturing at 2 For 1. In fact, they offer the best of both worlds in video rentals. The staff is courteous, honest and helpful, free of the indie snob pretension, and yet refreshingly offer their own opinions on their inventory to help the consumers to make their own choices, which is something that chain store employees are forbidden to do.

To be sure, 2 For 1 has had its ups and downs over the years. This modest little outfit used to be open from noon to midnight, seven days a week- now they're open about eight hours a day. A few years ago, they were looking into moving to a smaller retail space, which also didn't have as prominent a store front, as their rent was being increased. As such, they began whittling down their inventory by selling off hundreds of VHS tapes, which of course delighted collectors like me, but not without a touch of melancholy. (This feeling too, is worthy of a post all its own.) Many of the sale titles were from boxes of inventory they had in the basement. Over the years, they had been removing slow renters from the shelves to make space for new inventory, and finally saw fit to let them go. Ironically, some of the titles they were selling off were of films I had been seeking for years, and would have rented had I seen them earlier. Once again, that is the necessity of a video store, to find and leave with something else than what you came for. But still, they're hanging on, still in the same space, God bless them, and I know it will be a sad day for the community if they ever do pack it in.

Wait, what? Community? Yes! To Netflix or iTunes, you're only just a customer. Will Netflix ever ask you how your wife and kids are doing? While it's a great thing to support our video stores today, remember that they need our attention the other 364 days of the year, too. Independent video stores exist not just to fill a niche market- they are a necessary life blood. They give a vivacity and social circle to the neighbourhoods in which they still struggle to survive. If we lose this, we're one step closer to becoming as faceless as the gadgets we reply upon.

And yes, I'm well aware of the irony that this piece is being read online.

Keep My Grave Open (1976)

2011-10-10T08:25:00.005-11:00

Director: S.F. Brownrigg
Writer: F. Amos Powell
Wells Company; 79 min; color

Cast:
Camilla Carr (Lesley Fontaine), Gene Ross (Dr. Emerson), Stephen Tobolowsky (Robert), Ann Stafford (Suzie), Sharon Bunn (Twinkle), Chelcie Ross (Kevin), Annabelle Weenick (Clara), Bill Thurman (Hitchhiker)

Of the four horror/exploitation pictures made by Texan S.F. Brownrigg, he considers Keep My Grave Open to be his favourite, and I share his opinion, perhaps because this was the first of his work I had seen (and therefore this was the film where his distinct style impressed upon me), but it is also his most satisfying. His quartet of films is remarkable for the “you are there” atmosphere, unusual camerawork and melodramatic acting, in addition to the helpings of gore and violence to sell tickets. Although these pictures had different screenwriters, similar themes of madness, dysfunctional familes and sexual tension play into all of these scenarios, best described as macabre mélanges of Tennessee Williams and Erskine Caldwell.

Brownrigg’s films also employed a regular stock company of actors and technicians. (In fact, sometimes the actors would perform a double duty and take on various production roles.) The cinematography of Robert Alcott, which is by turns claustrophobic and dreamlike, and the haunting music by Robert Farrar (whose unusual instrumentation of flutes and harpsichords add a strange texture) contribute to the mise en scene of Brownrigg’s worlds. These cinematic landscapes are populated with his recurrent stars such as the pock-marked, burly and intense Gene Ross, the bird-like and weirdly alluring Camilla Carr, the country girl next door Ann Stafford, and the raven-eyed Annabelle Weenick.

But for all of the savagery onscreen, there is also a leisurely, perhaps poetic side to this work. These pictures move as slowly as life traditionally does in their remote rural settings. In the mesmerizing opening of this film, we see a hobo on the back of a flatbed truck, as seen through the rear window of the cab. It is a shot that is so simple yet so layered. And like most compositions in this film, the sequence plays longer than one expects. For a film full of murders and madness, it is strangely serene. The hobo (played by Larry Buchanan regular Bill Thurman) gets off the truck and wanders onto the Fontaine estate, which boasts the sign: “Keep out- not responsible for any accidents.” The tramp gets into the house, raids the refrigerator for food, swaps his rotgut for the good wine, and then heads back outside for a cookout. And then, he is hacked to death beside his campfire. This is nine minutes of a movie that is barely eighty minutes long! This sequence is representative of what I love about Brownrigg’s films. The narratives take their time to unfold, as the emphasis is more on atmosphere and quirky characters.

Ultimately, this movie is a haunted love story that spends most of its running time in the mind of Lesley Fontaine (Camilla Carr, in her most substantial role). Her doctor (Gene Ross) is worried about her current mental state and suggests that perhaps she needs go back to the hospital. “This bond between you and Kevin… is unhealthy,” he warns. The doctor even offers to speak to Kevin about her condition, and she refuses. The viewer has already seen more of this strange relationship than her physician. “Kevin” is never seen on camera. Lesley is always yelling offscreen, at him, usually about her unrequited love. One scene, which plays for a few minutes in a single take, features Lesley in bed being seduced by Kevin, shot from his POV. The viewer is put into an awkward position of vicariously making love to Camilla Carr, but this sequence is far more creepy than sensual. As quickly as the camera assumes the missionary position, it moves away from Lesley, unfulfilling her desires (or her fantasy?).

There is a younger couple in the story whose similar unfulfilled desires parallel the relationship between Lesley and Kevin, albeit not to such a demented degree. Fontaine’s stablehand Robert (Stephen Tobolowsky, in his first film) has a blossoming relationship with young Suzie (Ann Stafford). Tellingly, she is killed just prior to a sexual rendezvous. Later in the film, in the next scene after the point-of-view shot, Lesley attempts to seduce Robert out of her frustration with Kevin. This play is also a piece of sexual blackmail, so Robert will be allowed to enter a horse in a championship. But before the act is committed, Robert becomes the next murder victim.

Lesley then brings home a prostitute in another effort to please Kevin, and in an elaborately shot sequence, the woman is pursued around the estate by her killer, and attempts to hide in a car, only to find that all of the previous victims have been left there.

Fans who are in any way familiar with horror film conventions of the past 50 years would likely be telling themselves what the surprise revelation would be in this story. But this narrative is not as easy to decipher as one would assume. Despite that there are so few main characters in the movie, when we expect things to wrap up, the narrative just gets cloudier. One’s assumptions about this “relationship” between Lesley and Kevin are subverted.

In this movie, Brownrigg cleverly uses the camera not just as a device for this offscreen “Kevin” figure, but to make the film a visceral experience. Rather than to solve the identity of the murderer, we are beckoned to vicariously live within the damaged mind of Lesley Fontaine.

As always, Brownrigg’s film is a feast of inventive visual ideas to compliment this mood. There are oblique angles even in the most surprisingly mundane scenes like in making coffee, or creative framing devices like shooting from inside a cupboard. All of these touches serve to make the familiar seem otherworldly and mysterious to us. This makes sense in a story that constantly makes us question what we’re seeing.

While Keep My Grave Open has scenes with shocking bursts of violence, one more remembers the quiet touches, like the pastoral opening and the dissolves within the same shot showing progressions of time. These add to the dreamlike feel of this narrative. What makes Brownrigg’s films even special today are their visual ideas, their unusual atmosphere and strong mood. If we perhaps are let down in their stories, that do not tidily follow the three-act convention, then we are likely watching these movies for the wrong reasons. The narratives are actually as hazy as the disoriented minds of their protagonists- appropriately so.

After Keep My Grave Open, Brownrigg left the movies for a more economically stable occupation. His departure from the film industry is synonymous with the time in which most regional cinema was coming to a close. The drive-ins that hosted such fare were being closed and remodeled for strip plazas. By and large the movie industry was changing from interesting niche markets into products for mass consumption by the greatest majority. It would be difficult to imagine S.F. Brownrigg working in a time when one would made a career out of churning out generic films for the direct-to-video market. It’s not that he wouldn’t have had a place in the new industry- one senses that he would have had to compromise his vision more for accessibility to the masses. And indirectly, perhaps we saw evidence of that with his one return to cinema: a dreadful teen comedy, Thinkin’ Big (1986). Sadly, that film would complete his filmography. Brownrigg passed away in 1996, at the age of 58, leaving the world without realizing his dream project: a sequel to Tod Browning's Freaks! Keeping in mind his distinctive visual style, that would have been a hell of a movie.

Screams of a Winter Night (1979)

2011-10-05T17:06:00.001-11:00

Director: James L. Wilson
Writer: Richard H. Wadsack
Producers: James L. Wilson, Richard H. Wadsack
Music: Don Zimmers
Cinematography: Robert E. Rogers
Full Moon Pictures; 91 min; color

Cast:
Matt Borel (John / Ron), Gil Glasgow (Steve / Parker), Patrick Byers (Cal), Mary Agen Cox (Elaine), Robin Bradley (Sally / Annie's Roommate), Ray Gaspard (Harper / Billy), Beverly Allen (Jookie / Crazy Annie), Brandy Barrett (Liz), Charles Rucker (Alan), Jan Norton (Lauri), Bill Ragsdale (Service Station Attendant)

"Listen to the wind...."

Five college-aged couples go to a cabin for a weekend getaway, and in the dead of the wintry night, they tell each other tales of horror: a couple whose car runs out of gas in the middle of nowhere are stalked by a furry creature; people meet their doom in a fraternity initiation to spend a night in an abandoned hotel; a young woman goes on a killing spree after a lovers lane rendezvous goes bad. These "urban legend" stories that the kids tell, however, become superficial once they physically experience a legendary horror that the local yokels at the gas station warned them about....

This regional horror anthology, shot in a spooky backwoods of Louisiana, is fondly remembered by genre fans who either caught it in its initial theatrical run, or back in the glory days of home video (it has never been released on DVD, which is why the old VCI VHS fetches a pretty penny on eBay). One can surely see the appeal, as the film is unique for its old-fashioned reliance upon setting and atmosphere to deliver the scares. In fact, the mood is set immediately, as the opening credits roll over a black screen, as we hear sounds of carnage, screaming and indecipherable dialogue. This is a brilliant touch, as (like the days of radio) movie audiences are given to imagine sights possibly more horrific than what a two-dimensional piece of film could muster, and because this chatter is of audio bits taken from the climax, the film begins where it ended-- these kids are on a destined path... (In another clever touch, the same actors play the people in the story they tell-- their characters thus vicariously live the tales of terror they are told.)

The stories that the kids tell don't really have a third act- there is a lack of motive or resolution in any of them, save perhaps for the vengeful woman episode. That segment is prefaced with the observation that the human monster is the scariest of all- oddly enough, all of the other tales of terror are founded upon an unknown, offscreen evil. And finally, the wraparound tale of the onscreen horror that the students face is similarly rooted in the unknowable. In this ingenious climax, the standard "dark and stormy night" setting is actually the menace, as the elements revolt against the hapless teens. Nice touch. Seeing this at a drive-in around a similarly wooded area must've been quite effective. In this regard, Screams of a Winter Night succeeds in what the overrated Blair Witch Project attempted: scaring us with the unseen, the unknowable, which exists just outside of frame, but within our minds. Rather than frighten us out of our wits with a rubber monster or mad slasher, the filmmakers cannily use those long moments of hesitation for the viewers to imagine their own monsters for what exists behind the door, or outside the cabin. Plus, the gnarled forest provides an ominous sense of isolation and helplessness.

The problem is, this clever premise doesn't completely work as not only are the acting and dialogue quite pedestrian, we don't really care about any of the characters. Because these ten people are unappealing, cackling, cruel sociopaths, it is difficult for us to be completely absorbed in their plight of being stranded in this creepy cabin while an evil presence lurks outside. Nonetheless, the final ten minutes make this amateur night worth seeking out, as all hell breaks loose, and the kids are besieged by the juggernaut of natural elements. On the surface, this is a unique movie that sustains a mood with making the surroundings as the monster, but with better writing and character development, this could have been great.

Scared To Death (1981)

2011-10-04T13:52:00.001-11:00

Director: William Malone
Screenplay: William Malone, from a story by Robert Short and William Malone
Producer: Rand Marlis
Music: Tom Chase, Ardell Hake
Cinematography: Patrick Prince
Special Effects: Tom Russo
Lone Star Pictures International; 93 min; color

Cast:
John Stinson (Ted Lonergan), Diana Davidson (Jennifer Stanton), Jonathan David Moses (Detective Lou Capell), Toni Jannotta (Sherry Carpenter), Walker Edmiston (Police Chief Dennis Warren), Pamela Bowman (Janie Richter), Michael Muscat (Howard Tindall), Freddie Dawson (Virgil Watson)

Someone or something is going around killing the local hardhats, roller skaters, and party girls who won't go to see a Maria "Oos-pens-kya" movie, and Detective Lou Capell is clueless over the identity of the culprit. He recruits the help of his ex-partner, former detective-turned-hack-novelist Ted Lonergan to solve the crimes, but he steadfastly refuses.... until his new girlfriend Jennifer is jeopardized by this menace.

Scared To Death has the novelty value of being an Alien rip-off that takes place on the planet Earth. Not only is our creature earthbound, but it's man made. The Syngenor (SYNthetic GENetic ORganism) lurks around LA's sewer system, coming to ground when it needs to feast upon human spinal fluid, thus causing brain tumors in its victims, which therefore tips off brainy Sherry Carpenter (who's bespectacled, spunky and in need of an acting lesson) as to the true culprit, and accompanies the police to track down the monster.

Writer-director Malone's maiden effort sounds and looks quite good for a measly $74,000 production. The bluish cinematography sets the mood, and the creature (designed by the director, admittedly inspired by Giger's Alien creation) is well done. Although the movie is derivative of the horror movie clichés that one found in slasher films of the time (where cars don't start, and women undress in front of open windows), it is however an old-fashioned movie at heart, with a minimum of gore or onscreen violence. Even though the monster looks really cool, Malone wisely shows little of it until the climax, to sustain our quest for the unknown. For all of these reasons, this movie likely stood apart from most of the slashers and the gashers of its day, which is why it has become a mini-favourite among genre fans. With the one exception of the lady who plays Sherry, the performances are quite good for such an inexpensive monster movie. In fact, the budding romance between Ted and Jennifer is quite cute and touching. (Trivia note: the hero was originally going to be played by Rick Springfield, who dropped out at the last minute. Based on the evidence of Hard To Hold, this may not have been a bad thing.)

However, despite the interesting human relationships, this film has less to offer as it veers towards a standard cat-and-mouse climax. Still, it is an entertaining flick all the same, and one wouldn't have gone wrong picking this up as a 99 cent rental back in the days of the mom and pop video stores; as such it is a pleasant throwback to when CSI's didn't wear disposable gloves when touching the mysterious ooze around the victims.

(In 1990, a sequel, Syngenor was released. Retromedia released Scared to Death on DVD with the subtitle Syngenor to tie it with that film.)

Fiend (1980)

2011-10-03T03:00:00.000-11:00

Director, Writer: Don Dohler
Producers: Don Dohler, Ted A. Bohus
Cinematographers: Don Dohler, Richard Geiwitz
Music: Paul Woznicki
Special Effects: David W. Renwick
Cinema Enterprises; 90 min; color

Cast:
Don Leifert (Eric Longfellow), Richard Nelson (Gary Kender),Elaine White (Marsha Kender), George Stover (Dennis Frye), Greg Dohler (Scotty),Del Winans (Jimmy Barnes), Kim Dohler (Kristy Michaels), Debbie Vogel (HelenWeiss), Richard Geiwitz (Fred)

Don Dohler's Amazing Cinema magazine,
which often plugged his own films.

Before Don Dohler had ever picked up a movie camera, he was already a "do-it-yourself" legend for having published underground comics in the 1960's, and with his influential "Cinemagic" magazine, which was a primer for aspiring filmmakers to create their own special effects. His first feature, The Alien Factor (1978), shot for a paltry $6000, proved he was a trailblazer for another medium- once a film of such small budget succeeded in being sold to cable, many "DIY" filmmakers were alerted to the possibility that "Hey, I can do this too."

Don Dohler would produce or direct another ten features in his native Maryland during the next three decades, until his untimely death in 2006. His first four early features (before his late 1980's hiatus) are gems- full of the same wide-eyed "golly gee" innocence as the 50's sci-fi/horror films that no doubt influenced him, and whose small budgets are contrary to the impressive special effects. For my money, his second feature, Fiend (1980), remains his greatest achievement.

All of Don Dohler’s filmsare ensemble pieces, in which a mosaic of characters is thrown into a fantasticsituation. However, by comparison,Fiend only has a handful of keycharacters. Don Leifert was alwaysgiven colourful characters to play in Dohler’s work, but with his lead role,this picture rests comfortably on his shoulders.

The charming openingfeatures a red cartoonish, ectoplasmic demonic looking entity that travelsthrough the night sky and then disappears into a gravesite. Then the corpse digs its way out of theearth and strangles a girl in the cemetery. The corpse touches its face,delighted at the notion of being alive again. That shot is perhaps the crux of this brilliant satire fromwriter-director Don Dohler. Themonster simply wants to live a normal –human- existence insuburban Maryland. And so severalmonths later we see the fiend, under the name of Eric Longfellow, moving intothe quaint neighbourhood of Kingsville, opening a lucrative music publishingbusiness and even offering lessons from his bungalow. However, there’s one problem. The fiend needs to survive by killing others and absorbingtheir lifeforce (as seen with the red glow emanating from its body upon doingso), otherwise the host body it controls begins to decompose (as seen a coupleof times with convincing makeup).

Longfellow’s neighbourGary Kender (Richard Nelson) has been reading about the mysteriousstrangulations in the county. He’salready been irritated by music coming from next door, and has commented onLongfellow’s strange behaviour. Kender delves further into the truth about thekillings (including a hilarious sequence with a graveyard custodian who sohappens to carry around a newspaper clipping of the graveyard exhumation thatbegan this movie), and begins to suspect Longfellow, especially after a girl inthe neighbourhood is killed.

The idea of a monstertrying to be human is as old as Frankenstein itself- the subhuman creatureusually wants to feel love. However, one cannot think of another movie monster that simply wishes toembrace the most everyday mundane things, like sipping wine or washing the car,however all while still dressed in the same black suit he was buried in.

Dohler creates a picturepostcard of the film’s suburban setting with candid shots of kids playingstreet hockey, a man mowing the lawn, and cut-ins of birds, skies andbranches. We are also witness tothe daily ritual of the Kender couple. Richard is the typical suburban husband who comes home from work andexpects to unwind while his wife Marsha prepares dinner. Also, Marsha is an obsequious surrogatemother to her cub scouts, and obsessive about helping them make a movie in thespring. She even recruits herhusband to make the trek to buy a book on special effects, Film Magic, at704 Market St. (a clever way for Dohler to plug his own product). Because Richard Nelson and Elaine White(who plays Kender’s wife Marsha) are obviously unschooled actors, theirtendency to overact, intentionally or not, actually makes this setting largerthan life. Dohler presents this landscape that is familiar to us, and slylyturns it into a satirical cartoon.

Most importantly, Fiend works as a horror film as itsustains a creepy mood. Theold-fashioned special effects do not date the work, but rather compliment thelow-key tone of the narrative. Although it slowly builds to its climax, it is exciting to watch for itsplethora of ideas, inventive visual touches, and another brooding electronicscore, this time by Paul Woznicki. Kudos to Don Leifert for his commanding performance as the fiend (hisdelivery reminds me a lot of Orson Welles’), and we would also be remiss toforget Dohler's regular actor George Stover’s appearance as Dennis Frye (likely named after theimmortal horror movie lab assistant Dwight Frye), who playsLongfellow’s cloying employee (a modern variation on Renfield, perhaps?). This film is also a family affairas Dohler’s son Greg has a supporting role as Scotty who confides in Kenderabout some strange encounter, and daughter Kim was hired to play the poorlittle girl whose death advances the plot! It is too bad that Fiendonly played for the small screen (in the golden days of VHS, it became amini-favourite among genre fans). Here was a film deserving to be seen in the drive-ins, thereby begettingrevivals on the late late show.

Bigfoot (1970)

2011-10-02T02:50:00.001-11:00

Director: Robert F. Slatzer

Producer: Anthony Cardoza

Screenplay: Robert F. Slatzer, James Gordon White

Cinematographer: Wilson S. Hong

Music: Richard Polodor

Gemini-American Productions; 82 min; color

Cast:

John Carradine (Jasper B.Hawks), Joi Lansing (Joi Landis), Judy Jordan (Chris), John Mitchum (Elmer Briggs), James Craig (Cyrus), Christopher Mitchum (Rick), Joy Wilkerson (Peggy), Lindsay Crosby (Wheels), Ken Maynard (Mr. Bennett), Dorothy Keller (Nellie Bennett), Doodles Weaver (Forest Ranger), Jennifer Bishop (Bobbi), William Bonner (Lucky), Anthony Cardoza (Fisherman), Haji

I am astonished at the hate given to this film, even from people who normally appreciate B-movie trash. This is one of the most delightful pieces of rock-bottom drive-in junk I've ever seen- so much that it's become a perennial viewing favourite at Casa G-Man every fall: perhaps not up there with our custom of screening Empire of the Ants every Christmas Eve, but it's getting there. It is difficult to imagine how anyone could take this lumbering, scattershot film so seriously, since it's inept on so many levels that it enters a new realm of cinematic language. It is also morbidly fascinating to see so many veteran actors in this little movie, but they appear to be enjoying themselves. Perhaps the greatest revelation is seeing former B-western star Ken Maynard as the store keeper, in his first screen appearance in more than a quarter century. Despite the oft-reported details of his poor health at the twilight of his life brought on by years of alcoholism and malnutrition, even he is given some dignity at least.

This is also one of the rare cheapies in which John Carradine is first billed, but actually has more than just a glorified cameo. Yes, he hams it up shamelessly as traveling salesman Jasper B. Hawks, who with his cousin Elmer (John Mitchum, Robert's brother, in an Abe Lincoln beard), roam the countryside in their rickety old station wagon (the passenger door needs to be secured with rope to remain shut!), to hit up people with their cheap junk. At the general store of Mr. Bennett, however, they realize they can have more of a bonanza once Rick the young biker (Chris Mitchum, Robert's brother) comes in to call the sheriff about his girlfriend's abduction. Earlier, he had broken off from the rest of his bike gang to have some hanky panky with his girlfriend Chris (the fetching brunette Judy Jordan), only to roam onto the Sasquatch's burial ground. He was knocked unconscious by a Bigfoot creature, and Chris was taken away. Knowing that they could make money by capturing the creature and traveling the carnival circuit with "the eighth wonder of the world", these old coots accompany Chris to rescue his girl. Meanwhile, as seen in the endless opening, Joi Lansing was also captured by the creatures when she parachuted to safety after her plane malfunctioned (although I doubt that airplane cabin left the ground). The sheriff sits on his ass throughout the entire film, refusing to check in on such a cockamamie story. Oh, and if you've been wondering whatever could've happened to Erich Von Zipper's bike gang cohorts after the Beach Party movies ended, well, a similar group of over-aged misfits was cast as Chris' pals who lumber to the rescue. For most of the film, Joi and Chris are tied to poles, discussing anthropology while the Sasquatch creatures seemingly take forever to get the procreating urge.

This scruffy little movie has so much technical ineptitude that nonetheless captures its juvenile charm. A car drives through the forest after dark, and even though it's shot day-for-night, no-one thought to turn the headlights on. One never gets a sense of "you are there" as everyone talks in studio echo- the bulk of the film is obviously shot in soundstages, where the plastic trees are thinly disguised by dry ice. The handheld camera lurches and tilts with abandon, not just during the bikers' wild transistor radio and beer party, giving the whole movie the essence that it was shot on the run by a snake-oil salesman out to make a quick buck, with one foot already outside of the town line before his hapless customers get wise. In fact, it is tempting to paint Carradine's Hawks character as a self-portrait by its director-writer Robert F. Slatzer. A true huckster if there ever was one, Slatzer claimed to have been married to Marilyn Monroe for three days in 1952, despite evidence to the contrary, also alleged that her death was caused by the Kennedy administration, and even published two books on the subject! When the traveling carnivals began to wane, hawkers of all stripes emigrated to the movies. Drive-in movies are especially made by snake-oil salesmen like Hawks, promising much but delivering little. (Check out that poster.) But hey, isn't that the appeal of the drive-in: the fun had while being had?

Since this is also produced by Anthony Cardoza (who gave us Coleman Francis' infamous trilogy of films, beginning with Beast From Yucca Flats), once again there is a scene featuring aircraft. One is tempted to find a motif in his work, as the plan crashing symbolizes man's fall from grace and reduction to a barbarian state (as symbolized by Joi's capture by the missing link creatures). But, nah, I'll bet that he was simply chummy with someone who owned a landing strip. This movie is simply too goofy, too threadbare to be anything more than it is. However, this scrappy mess just seems to work, despite the staginess, the cheap props ("his motorcycle-- one of those fancy rigs-- I'll bet those things must cost... a hundred dollars"), and of course, those furry costumes of the Bigfoot family, which appear just as thrown together as everything else, and good naturedly strung along by a country rock score. And despite that it seemed to be a family affair (look at all the Mitchums and Cardozas in the credits), this is also a "who's who" of drive-in cinema. One of the editors was Hugo Grimaldi (The Human Duplicators); Anthony Lanza (The Glory Stompers) was assistant director; second unit camera was by Henning Schellerup (he who gave us In Search of Historic Jesus). I love this job.

Even though it was made to cash in on the burgeoning Bigfoot craze of the time, it curiously feels too old-fashioned for its time, further complimenting the movie's innocent wide-eyed appeal. Now as then, they sure don't make movies like this anymore, and it's a darn shame.

So Sad About Gloria (1973)

2011-10-01T12:19:00.002-11:00

Director, Producer: Harry Thomason

Writer: Marshall Riggan

Cinematographer: James W. Roberson

Music: Jerald Reed, Terry Trent

Centronics International; 90 min; color

Cast:

Lori Saunders (Gloria Wellman), Dean Jagger (Fredrick Wellman), Robert Ginnaven (Chris Kenner), Lou Hoffman (The Psychiatrist), Seymour Trietman (Mr. Bellinger), Linda Wyse (Janie)

One of most interesting "where are they now" stories of the days of regional horror films is of director-producer Harry Thomason, who went on to produce such successful TV series as "Designing Women" and "Evening Shade", after having paid his dues the previous decade with a quartet of drive-in genre pictures made in his native Arkansas. The horror anthology Encounter With The Unknown (1973); the rural comedy The Great Lester Boggs -AKA: Redneck Country (1975)- of which I may be its one admirer; and the delightful rock-bottom 1950s sci-fi homage The Day It Came To Earth (1979); proved that he was no Eisenstein, but at least managed to deliver medium-grade entertainment on low budgets. For years, I had sought his other film, So Sad About Gloria, after catching only a glimpse of it on Elvira's old TV show way back when (before switching channels to watch Any Which Way You Can instead), which was also released on video with the less-interesting title Visions of Evil. Of the four films, this one is perhaps the most competently acted, sentimental and character-driven.

Like a piece of classic Southern Gothic fiction, So Sad About Gloria explores the themes of insanity and longing, as our heroine Gloria is released from a sanitarium, after having experienced trauma from her brother's death, into the care of her uncle Fredrick. ("I don't feel much like The Madwoman of Chaillot".) Back into the real world, Gloria yearns to settle down and have a happy, normal, simple life, contrary to the wealth that her estate provides. ("She sees wealth as an intruder on her self.") However, despite this ambition, Gloria still has visions of a mysterious man dressed in a black cape, who hacks away at a coffin in a train station (what Bunuel would've done with this!). Nonetheless, Gloria meets and marries Chris, a writer, and they move into their new home, oddly enough, the scene of an earlier seen murder of a young woman, still unsolved. Of course, strange things occur: the house resonates with chimes from a musical box; chains are heard rattling; and her apparitions return.

The second act takes forty-five minutes of its 90-minute running time to begin, as much time is spent in the courtship of Gloria and Chris, and even in moments between our protagonist and her friend Janie. Before the terror truly kicks in, the screenwriter wisely lets us get to know Gloria as a person before the trauma occurs once again. Gloria and Chris spend two montages together playing on swings, canoeing, and visiting the zoo before tying the knot. Yet still, there is a hint of melancholy beneath this exterior with James Roberson's autumnal cinematography and the odd piano-trombone score. But even when this turns into a mid-Western Gaslight, the film doesn't generate much excitement. It spends even more time flash cutting to the mysterious man with the coffin, as Gloria's danger increases, which fast becomes a tiresome gimmick.

The conclusion is rather astonishing, but most may not decide to stick through this leisurely melodrama to get there. At best, this movie serves as a good vehicle for Lori Saunders' talent. The dark-eyed beauty (from TV's "Petticoat Junction") shows her seldom-used dramatic, natural talent: in the many romantic montages of the first half, the camera just simply records the actress being herself, thus giving this woman-in-peril a three-dimensional persona. It's just unfortunate that the effort is lost in a weak movie that relies too much on one gimmick.

ABOVE: (left) Dean Jagger; (far right) Lori Saunders

Watch the trailer right here.

rebirth

2011-09-27T10:08:00.005-11:00

Sunday September 25 marked perhaps a new beginning in our travels, upon debuting the new issue of The Eclectic Screening Room at Word on the Street. It has been a year since we've published, and almost as long since we've done any shows, but happily we're back in the saddle, and looking forward to getting on the road again this fall to spread the good word on ESR, re-unite with old friends, and hopefully to make some new allies along the way. But also, we've reached a milestone here at Camp ESR. It was exactly ten years ago when we first debuted our little magazine to the public. Most micro-publications don't last ten issues, let alone ten years.

Why have we still lasted? Perhaps because ESR hasn't turned into the money pit it may have if I ever did fulfil my dream of going wide with distribution. In the intervening years, publications bigger and better than mine have perished, but we're still here precisely because our operating costs and inventory remain small. But also, we strive to offer up content that hasn't already been written about to death online- there is still room to be unique in this new world.

There are always tribulations in getting a new issue together, and this one was compounded due to personal issues in the past several months, but happily, we didn't throw in the towel. Thus, the debut of the new issue two days ago was just the shot in the arm we needed. It was ingratiating to be re-acquainted with old friends, who were also generous with their words of encouragement, thus reminding us why we do what we do. The work of the past several weeks paid off with a fun day- kicking it off by serving anniversary cake (while it lasted!) to our customers. The day flew by, with only one lull to speak of- so much so, that in retrospect this year's appearance at Word on the Street seemed surreal due to the fact that the traffic was so constant we barely had a chance to check out the rest of the fair, thus it seemed like we weren't part of it at all! Even so, I had a chance to sneak out here and there to stock up on missed issues of CineAction (okay, not a stretch- they were our neighbours), as well as to raid the dollar bins at the Musicworks booth. Sunday was a fun and rewarding day, and already we've got some future plans in store, which I'll reveal at the appropriate time.

And for those who missed us on Sunday, here's what you can find in the new issue. Although this is the tenth anniversary of ESR, I resisted the urge to publish a "greatest hits" package, and instead just decided to release a traditional issue, which ran the gamut of the diverse range of cinema that we like to cover, thus still a fitting tribute for our namesake. Within these pages you'll find coverage of the latter period of Otto Preminger, Orson Welles' The Immortal Story, Arthur Lipsett's collage films, a look at video games in cinema, the Wisconsin chillers of Bill Rebane, and more. Finally, we've also reviewed independent films and videos that have been sent to us- if you would like us to review your film in an upcoming issue, please drop us a line.

After being cooped up for most of this year, and presently rejuvenated with a renewed energy and purpose, my head is now swimming with ideas on how to move further with this little project, and we hope that you, dear reader, will continue the journey with us, and enjoy it as much as we do.

These past ten years still were only made possible because of the contributions of many. I'd like to offer my deep thanks to Brian, Chris, David, Dion, Gordon, Jason, Jason (yes there are two), Jonathan, Leo, Rob, Simon, Skot, Vicky and Will, who have written articles for us over the years, thus adding fresh and different dialogues to these pages. Also my gratitude is for you, dear readers, for the support, interest and acclaim you have given us to encourage the continuation of our journey. Finally, my greatest thanks goes to Susan, my wife, best friend and right arm, who was always there to give me a little push when needed. Thank you for believing in what I do- I love you.

The Eclectic Screening Room is Back For More Late Night Viewing

2011-09-09T11:05:00.008-11:00

Friends,

A couple of weeks ago we added a little teaser with the opening titles to the second season of our rebooted podcast, "The Eclectic Screening Room" (formerly known as ESR Late Nite).

I am proud to announce that today, the show has officially begun, with the launch of our first episode. Since this is back to school week, we thought it was appropriate to devote the first episode of our new season to misspent youth. Our main feature tonight is the 1957 film Teenage Thunder. Poor young Johnny wants a car, but his dad won't give him one. Further adding insult to injury, his girlfriend has to drive him around, and he gets picked on by the gang in the local malt shop. What does Johnny do? This movie is a lot of fun, and has its share of rumbles and hot rod racing, so common to teen exploitation films of its day.

Prior to the feature, we also present the educational film howler, What About Juvenile Delinquency, about a member of a so-called tough gang finds out his friends had beat up his own father, and the complications that follow. Don't miss the climactic scene where he rips that horrible gang crest from his jacket. To start the evening off there are also some vintage trailers of juvenile delinquency films.

Enjoy...

Choppy playback? Download it instead, by subscribing via iTunes with this RSS feed: http://screeningroom.blip.tv/rss/itunes

The Eclectic Screening Room is Returning to a Computer Screen or iPod Near You!

2011-08-25T04:29:00.005-11:00

Friends--

Some of you may remember a while back that we did a short run of video podcasts under the banner "ESR Late Nite", in which we would feature a movie, introduced by yours truly. In keeping with the old tradition of the late night movie show (hence, the title), we would pepper the feature with a little talk, vintage commercials and trailers. After much time spent thinking about it since we produced those six episodes, I am excited to report that once again we will be entering the wonderful world of downloads and streaming on a more full-time basis this fall. For season two of this show, now renamed (guess) "The Eclectic Screening Room" will be a reboot of what we wanted to achieve with the earlier program. While there's still much work to be done before we completely let the cat out the bag, below you can watch the new series opening- we're still retaining the late night vibe, and perhaps giving it the more intimate kind of tone I had been seeking. Enjoy, and see you soon.

Also, you can subscribe to the show via iTunes with this feed: http://screeningroom.blip.tv/rss/itunes/

The Night I Met Elwy Yost

2011-07-29T09:19:00.001-11:00

In the 1980's, CTV used to run a television program called "Thrill of a Lifetime". Viewers would mail in their once-in-a-lifetime dream, and whichever ones were picked by the producers would be made a reality. Thus, every episode would feature a lucky contestant living out their ambition of rock-climbing or recording a song. In the summer of 1987, when I was devouring Elwy Yost's programs "Saturday Night at the Movies"and "Magic Shadows", as well as his book Magic Moments From The Movies, I had seriously considered writing in, in the hopes that they will fulfill my modest ambition of simply sitting down and spending a day with Mr. Yost and chatting about movies.

No, this lofty request was never mailed. However, this would-be "thrill of a lifetime" did occur in the fall of 1989, during my first year in the big city, at school, away from home. One Thursday night, after seeing a double bill of Night of the Living Dead and Murnau's Nosferatu at the Nostalgic Cinema, while standing on the platform at Kingsway Station waiting for the subway to take me back to my university residence, who should walk by but Elwy Yost and his wife Lila!

"Elwy Yost sightings" were hardly rare in Toronto, however this one was all the more precious because he had just entered semi-retirement, and had moved to Vancouver. He and I exchanged glances as they walked by, and after my first reaction of wonder that my idol was within my proximity, my second reaction was of how tall he was. Because of his round face and that we mostly saw him on television in a seated position, his onscreen presence deceived me into thinking he was perhaps a head shorter. Although the Yosts and I had entered the same car on the subway train, at first, I wasn't going to say anything to him, because I have never been (then as now), a celebrity hound (or as they say in my biz, "a star f***er"). But this was Elwy Yost, man! This was the single driving force more than any other who influenced my love for cinema, which I was studying in the big city no less- how could I not?

Thus, I humbly went up and asked him if he was Elwy Yost. He said, "No I'm not-- I get asked that a lot", then said he was only kidding. So, for the next thirteen subway stops, I had the above "thrill of a lifetime" of talking to the legend about cinema. I should add at this point that while Elwy was-is obviously a beloved icon in this province, never once in the conversation was there the impression of "celebrity and spouse"-- his charming wife Lila was-is just as much of a cinema lover as her husband, and was equally involved in the conversation. They were a team-- acting as each other's rock.

I mentioned that I had seen Nosferatu at the Nostalgic, (by the way, this was a film I had wanted to see for years-- a lot of long held ambitions were being fulfilled on this night!) and that I was disappointed, and he concurred that when he had seen it, "I didn't know what to think of it either-- when I saw the monster in it, I didn't know whether to be scared or laugh." (Okay- we have on record at least one film the always ebullient Mr. Yost didn't like). This in turn got us on the subject of Murnau, in which we discussed The Last Laugh (he hadn't seen it!) and Sunrise, which was upcoming in the Nostalgic's schedule, and was highly recommended by both of the Yosts.

Throughout this delightful twenty minutes, other movies were discussed, such as The Killing, which was on his show the coming weekend, but the pinnacle of the conversation was perhaps when Mr. Yost said how surprised he was at the number of films I had seen. St. George Station was on the approach and before the dream ended, and I asked for his autograph. "You're a living legend to me," I said. "You're very kind," he replied. He signed the back of a little card that the Nostalgic had made to plug an upcoming program of science fiction films. As I shook hands of both the Yosts and made my way to the subway doors, I thanked him for showing the restored version of Gunga Din.

While subway whizzed by me, both Yosts gave the "Elwy wave" out the window. What a class act. I switched onto the northbound train to campus, with tears in my eyes, joyous at having met one of my personal heroes, and also elated upon the discovery that he was as exciting, charming and down-to-earth on or offscreen. Over the years, I've met with and interviewed other celebrities, but this was the brush with stardom I shall always cherish. "Thrill of a Lifetime" indeed.

(edited from an article published way back in ESR #7)

Elwy Yost (1925 - 2011)

2011-07-22T13:01:00.000-11:00

This post is assuredly not unique, as many movie fans in Southern Ontario can attribute their love of cinema in some way to Elwy Yost, the affable host of TVOntario's "Saturday Night At The Movies". This program not only nurtured that passion, but also showed the rich diversity of film history.

From 1974 to 1999, Mr. Yost gave viewers the best date in town (even giving CBC's "Hockey Night in Canada" a run for its money in the ratings), presenting a double bill of films from the Golden Age of Hollywood, (which were paired for similar themes or genre studies, or simply because they shared the same star, writer, or director). After each of the two films he would present his own interviews with a veritable "who's who" of Movieland, taken from his mighty archive that grew with each annual pilgrimage to Hollywood.

This weekly program took one increasingly deeper into the magic of the movies, with a substance far exceeding most of the celebrity-obsessed pap that passes itself off as entertainment journalism these days. It wasn't enough that generations young and old would know such luminaries as Bette Davis or Henry Fonda. One came away learning about Preston Sturges, Franklin Pangborn, Nunnally Johnson, Powell & Pressburger, to name only a few. Over the years, one would also go behind the scenes to learn about how the bullet holes were made for The Wild Bunch, or the stop motion animation effects of 1960's The Lost World.

"Saturday Night At The Movies" however would still not be as high-caliber a program were it not for its host. Elwy Yost possessed an "everyman" quality: with his moustache, glasses and pipe (in the older shows), he could be our neighbour or a relative. With his warm demeanour, gift for storytelling (reminding us how much learning is fun), and his trademark enthusiasm, however, he became a surrogate friend to countless people. Despite how learned he was, Elwy still nonetheless appeared as a film fan more than a scholar, and his joy was always felt in his introductions and interviews. Through him, one realized that all cinema mattered: whether he showed Ingmar Bergman or a Dorothy Lamour sarong picture, one learned how each feature that ran through TVO's projectors was in some way part of the history of cinema.

Before "Saturday Night at the Movies" even began, Elwy McCurran Yost was already a veteran in broadcasting and education. Born in Weston, Ontario, on July 10, 1925, he was a child of the depression, whose love for the movies started at an early age when his father would give the boy money to attend the matinee, and since the man could only afford to send one person to go to the cinema, Elwy would in turn regal his father with stories about what Tom Mix did that particular week. However, Yost's further association with the movie world would wait, as he graduated from the University of Toronto, had a stint in the Toronto Star's circulation department (and met his future wife Lila in the cafeteria), worked in the Avro Aircraft project until the Arrow was cancelled, and even taught English at Burnhamthorpe Collegiate in Etobicoke, before acting as a panelist on CBC's game show "Flashback" in the 1960s. In the early 1970's, Elwy Yost was hired to put together a show wrapped around the three Ingmar Bergman films that TVO had acquired rights to show, and thus "Saturday Night at the Movies" was born. (In these intervening years, Elwy did have at least one liasion with cinema, as an extra in John Huston's Moulin Rouge.)

My first encounter with Elwy Yost was during my public school years, upon discovering his sister show, "Magic Shadows", which ran from 1974 to the late 1980s. Every weeknight at 7:30 PM, he would serialize a feature film in half-hour installments. And since the film would likely not be long enough to fill all five nights, the duration of the week would be filled with ongoing chapters from a classic matinee movie serial. Thus, The Adventures of Captain Marvel could take several months to see, as one would wait for it to air in the available time slots. Over the years I had seen The Yellow Balloon, Son of Kong, Belle Starr, My Darling Clementine, The Cat People, A Night in Casablanca, as well as the great serial The Crimson Ghost in this fragmented presentation. Such a program is lost in today's "on-demand" environment, as in those pre-VCR days, "Magic Shadows" necessitated one to be home every night at 7:30 to catch all the parts of the movie. But like "Saturday Night....", "Magic Shadows" also made for fun viewing for its host and the guests.

The set for "Magic Shadows" consisted of a homey-looking backroom, which could have been in your house or mine (all that was missing was a fireplace and a dog sleeping in front of it). The pipe-smoking host would welcome the viewer, and after his typically enthusiatic and knowledgeable introduction, the camera would slowly zoom in as Elwy turned on the film projector next to him, move further into the light emanating from the lens, rack focus, and we were in the land of movies. And perhaps because the time slot for the program appealed more to youngsters, the guests on this show were more there for fun than historical posterity- which is why he was visited by someone dressed as Captain America. One of my earliest memories of the show was in early 1978 where he showed Charlie Chaplin's The Adventurer while a bunch of kids sat around his easy chair. (I believe they also referred to him as "Uncle Elwy"). During the Halloween 1984 broadcast of The Cat People, he even had trick-or-treaters appear at his door! When he showed a Laurel and Hardy movie, a member of the "Sons of the Desert" fan club stopped by. "Magic Shadows" bewitched many a young viewer during its reign, leaving an impression with its trippy animation evocative of Yellow Submarine, and memorable theme song (a fond personal memory was in finding a university classmate ten years later with whom I could sing it).

As I grew older, and stayed up later (or, more to the point, when I became old enough to no longer need a babysitter who wanted to watch "Love Boat"), I eventually discovered "Saturday Night at the Movies". During the 1980s, as my interest in cinema increased, Elwy Yost was my surrogate teacher. I was among countless viewers who would look forward to learning something new about film history every week while being entertained. In smaller towns and cities during those days, one didn't have the internet, nor a well-stocked library or store on books of the cinema- Elwy Yost was a veritable institution, upon whom film enthusiasts could hungrily rely for information and entertainment.

Although he had also published a few novels, Elwy Yost only wrote one book about cinema. Magic Moments of the Movies was a nostalgic work in which he would describe his favourite moments of cinema- through his prose one could vicariously relive the movie, and for that matter, his diction in print matched that onscreen- this lovely little tome was a "portable Elwy Yost" that one could enjoy between the Saturday night viewings. During the summers of 1984 and 1987, I borrowed this book from the library incessantly. In between the lines of his reminisces, one also learned about the times in which his chosen films of affection were made, and the craftspeople who made them.

In 1989, Mr. Yost had scaled down his workload, and attempted to semi-retire to Vancouver, in his wife's home province, only presenting one film every Saturday night. The time slot for the second film would be filled with an installment of Jay Scott's "Film International". However, in short order, he was back introducing a double bill of cinema for several more years, before finally taking his last bow in 1999, and spending his remaining years in British Columbia. Elwy's final episode of "Saturday Night in the Movies" was an emotional affair in which he and his trusty producer Risa Shuman shared memories and clips from his 25-year legacy, and then presented the 1994 film, Speed, which was written by his son, Graham.

Yes, that is a film projector.

"Saturday Night at the Movies" continued the following season with Shelagh Rogers, whom I believe was handpicked by Elwy Yost, and did a superb job filling his shoes, until her complications with CBC forced her to leave the show. The program continues, and even after a revolving door of hosts (and also several years without one)- it sadly has become the antithesis of everything Elwy had built it up to be. Regrettably, the program has become cold, impersonal and pedantic. The warmth and enthusiam has been replaced by title cards and soundbytes.

In our current age, we must contend with hipster film critics that can only speak of cinema with a detached pseudo-intellectual post-modern irony, and so-called entertainment journalism that is as light and disposable as a plastic razor. There was none of this with Mr. Saturday Night: like all the giants in broadcasting (most of whom are sadly now gone), Elwy Yost never talked down to his audience, and never shot for the lowest common denominator. He understood the medium of television through which he communicated his love of another visual medium: the cathode ray tube allowed people to communicate with their viewers on an intimate level- he was a scholar, but he acted more like a good friend. But even more than a familiar face that people allowed in their homes, he was a role model who shaped audiences young and old. Elwy Yost indeed left a long shadow in television after his retirement. The intervening years have only further increased the need for someone of his stature to keep alive the history of the cinema.

In the next few days, I'll be posting some more memories and archival pieces about Elwy Yost, as well as a page linking to online tributes and articles. His legacy has influenced me on such a personal level, and for that matter, has shaped much of how The Eclectic Screening Room approached film writing, that we can only repay our gratitude for having learned from this man.

Off Beat Cinema Presents.... The Beach Girls and The Monster

2011-07-20T12:29:00.002-11:00

"What I give form to in daylight is only one per cent of what I have seen in darkness."
-- M.C. Escher

ABOVE: hosts of Off Beat Cinema (l-r): Bird, Zelda and Maxwell Truth

This past Saturday night, according to the handy online Zap2It listing, WKBW's broadcast of the long-running late-night movie show "Off Beat Cinema" was supposed to be showing Blacula. On Sunday morning, I checked the VCR in the hopes that what indeed aired was that film, as OBC's episode of it likely dated from the late 1990s, when their format was a lot different from now. Despite that our friendly beatnik hosts, Maxwell Truth Zelda and Bird, those hepcats from the Hungry Ear Cafe who have been showing us way gone B movies late at night for (gasp!) nearly 20 years now, have pretty much found a comfortable pattern in recent times, it is a treat to be able to sometimes see their shows from the early years, as the format was perhaps more loose and freewheeling than now. Instead, what I got was the beatniks introducing the 1965 horror flick The Beach Girls and The Monster. This, however, was a joyful surprise.

I won't get into a review of the film itself right now (as I'm planning to elaborate more about it in a future project), but suffice to say it is one of the most delightful pieces of drive-in junk that I've viewed in many moons. To paraphrase what Mr. Truth himself said in a telephone interview I conducted with him (for ESR's "Late Night Television" issue way back in 2008), it isn't just about the movie whenever one tunes into their show. The film is just part of the whole package. By all means, one can tune into OBC to watch Attack of the Giant Leeches, but the show also exists on a deeper level. Off Beat Cinema is one of the few existing bastions to carry on that almost folklorish tradition of the late night movie.

Although the late late show was a way for TV stations to fill the midnight-to-dawn slot with inexpensive programming (paid for by low-budget commercials) since so few were watching anyway, it however spoke to those people who were displaced from the regular 9 to 5 routine, and for that matter those who were displaced from whatever mainstream pop culture currently feeds everyone else. While the majority of the world slept, these people would seek solace in the retroactive programming of old movies and television shows, which, if they were likely, would also be hosted by someone who was sharing the experience with them at the other end of the transmission. The late late movie would keep the past alive for generations new and old, but this nostalgic look at history also offered a surrogate companionship and shared feeling of community among those who upheld it.

However, as we know, in the late 1980s and early 1990s, when independent stations began to merge into faceless conglomerates, programmers decided they could be even cheaper by showing the same infomercials night after night instead. Thus, Off Beat Cinema's birth in 1993 was a welcome relief: correctly touting itself as a revolt against the ads for spray-on hair, one could be reminded every week what it was like in the good old days, as this espresso-drinking trio endeared us fellow nocturnes with their choice programming from yesteryear, enforcing why it was so much fun to stay up late. And every so often, OBC produces an episode like the other night's airing of The Beach Girls and the Monster.

This instalment (originally produced in 2008) crystallizes everything that one holds dear in the late late movie experience. While the main attraction was a movie which delivered a non-stop parade of fun, the program also featured vintage movie trailers (Flight to Mars; Invaders From Mars), and even an interview with former "Beach Party" movie star Frankie Avalon(!). It was a bang-on, non-stop collection of memories, served by our affable hosts who have now become surrogate friends who preach to the converted.

This enjoyable experience also gives one pause to sorrow, as the younger generation, so weened on instant downloads and on-demand programming, has no idea what it was like to stay up in the middle of the night in pre-VCR days. Granted, accessibility to entertainment, new or old, has never been more easy, but in the bargain we've lost the mystery and anticipation of discovery, and in some ways we've lost that sense of community which is a little less artificial than what "social networking" provides. Saturday's rock-solid presentation of "Off Beat Cinema" reminds us once again why such a piece of pop culture is so essential to preserve.

DVD Releases We Dig This Week (06.07.11)

2011-06-06T23:59:00.000-11:00

This week features some more drive-in fun debuting on DVD. From Code Red, comes the revenge-trash classic Brute Corps (1972); and for all you supporters of CanCon, don't miss the Lee Majors futuristic drama, The Last Chase (1981) .

Good old Alpha Home Entertainment has several releases of thrills and chills from yesteryear this week, but the one that especially catches our eye is the 3 DVD set, Douglas Fairbanks Silent Rarities, featuring the dashing swashbuckler in: When The Clouds Roll By (1919), The Americano (1916) and Wild and Wooly (1917).

A Confessional and A Prelude

2011-06-06T10:35:00.000-11:00

The Confessional

Several times in the past, after long periods of inactivity on this blog, I've posted an apologia, with the promise to begin blogging more frequently. In short order, however, that new stream of activity would trickle down to another long period of drought. And in those same posts, I would offer some kind of excuse for the dearth of writing (usually I'd blame it on the day job). After some spotty activity on here in the past few months, this time I can offer no better excuse than to say, well, I didn't feel like it. The fall of 2010 was our worst season ever for sales: in the past, poor monetary returns never discouraged me from writing (if anything such obstacles fuelled my fire even more), but after nine years of chanting the faithful mantra "not for money but for love", one could fairly say that I just got tired. Over the winter and spring, most of my time was spent recuperating from another bout of sciatic pain, further putting ESR on hold.

However, it is my hope to continue building ESR's web presence over the next months, as we approach our tenth anniversary this coming fall. The magazine has published far less frequently in recent times (usually one new issue a year), and as it gets increasingly difficult to maintain an identity in the analog world of print, it is becoming more sensible to build a greater profile in the digital world. Most zines don't survive ten issues, let alone ten years, so I'm proud that ESR has been around this long (granted, in some obscurity)- even so, reaching an anniversary number with a "zero" on the end causes one to be reflective. While I may regret that I didn't go wider with the magazine (and especially didn't cross over into the American market), still, I think we've accomplished a lot within our small world. Most importantly, many of the people in my present social circle are here, one way or another, due to the magazine, which is a reward that exceeds any monetary success.

To date, ESR's peak was in 2006, when we were still publishing two tabloid-sized issues a year, attending several trade shows annually, winning new customers through the DVD line, and hosting monthly screenings at Centre For The Arts. All of these contributed to a marvellous little community of regular supporters who kept this dream alive. That valued community gradually dissipated over the years, as I gave up my own screenings to join the Trash Palace family (and sadly, my own supporters did not follow me there), I began publishing far less, and the venues I've previously attended began to shrivel.

But you know what? I'm tired of building other people's empires-- I want my own back. Over the next few months it is my intention to create a greater web presence for ESR: the objective is not for the web component to replace the print, but to work alongside it, and fill in the gaps that print cannot (or vice versa). (The company name is after all, ESR Media- plural). In the past few days, ESR has opened accounts on such social networks as Twitter, Mubi, et al., for dual purposes. At the most basic level, it will keep our reader(s) informed of new activities as we develop them, but it will make yours truly keep his nose to the grindstone by creating things to even report on.

The Prelude

The new ESR issue will debut (as always) at Toronto's Word on the Street this September, and we can say with confidence that this 10th anniversary issue will be the biggest and best we've had in a long time. Several of our regular contributors are already on board with works that exercise their certain areas of expertise, and the combined efforts will surely bring out the "eclectic" in ESR.

In 2008, we shot six episodes of a vidcast entitled ESR Late Nite, which was to increase our exposure online. This show featured yours truly introducing a movie, and in reverence to the age-old format so dear to our hearts (the late late movie), peppering the shows with vintage TV commercials, trailers, etc. In no way do I mean this as a slight to the hard-working, talented people that contributed to the show, but overall I was dissatisfied with the results- and firmly lay the blame on myself. It just ended up being a hollow mutant offspring of the original intention. The shows were not disasters -they're not bad actually- but they missed the mark of what I wanted to achieve. (I'd like to offer you hyperlinks of the shows, but for some reason they no longer play on Blip TV, except for the first episode, which is viewable on the website.) Happily, in part of our online facelift, it is our plan to reboot the series in the fall, with a new look and new direction. We can't quite let the details out of the bag just yet, but we're excited about how things are coming together.

In the past couple of years, I've been impressed with how such film-related podcasts as "Cult of UHF" and "B Movie Cast" have managed to attain a loyal audience, and with our show's new mandate, we hope that ESR will likewise win the respect and regularity of viewers. For years, I had resisted giving ESR completely over to the Internet: that person-to-person connectivity which can only be wrought from across a table or at screening venues, is still the most meaningful way of interacting with our supporters. However, as community and networking become more web-based, it has increasingly become a necessity to create more of an online presence. The communal feeling is virtual, but there is a feeling nonetheless. We haven't forgotten about you-- we hope you haven't forgotten about us.

DVD Releases We Dig This Week (05.24.11)

2011-05-24T06:21:00.001-11:00

Whether your cinematic tastes lean towards the drive-in or the arthouse, there are a few goodies to check out this week.

Shout! Factory's impressive project to properly release Roger Corman's New World catalog to DVD continues this week with the release of two double-feature sets. The Ron Howard Action Pack features the "Happy Days" star in two road-ripping chase films: the Charles Griffith opus Eat My Dust (1976), followed by Grand Theft Auto (1977), which also marked Howard's directorial debut (and the only time in which he would direct himself, not counting cameos). In the Action Packed Double Feature, Stephen McHattie and Kay Lenz star in the chase flick Moving Violation (1976), and Fighting Mad (1977) teams Peter Fonda and Lynn Lowry in a revenge tale. The latter title was long a collector's favourite on VHS, still garnering a hefty price on eBay auctions, so its debut to DVD is quite welcome among cult movie fans. Just in time for summer, these double-feature DVDs are "must-owns" for drive-in movie fans.

And if you still haven't had enough of fast cars, Paramount is releasing Steve McQueen's underrated Le Mans (1971). Although short on the story department this is an intricately detailed, superbly edited "you are there" account of an ineffectual driver at the fabled Le Mans racetrack.

This week, Criterion releases their highly-anticipated DVD of Charlie Chaplin's wartime classic The Great Dictator (1940). In addition to the stunning transfer of the film, there are loads of extras; however the one that looks the most intriguing is the documentary The Tramp and The Dictator (2001), a documentary by Michael Kloft and recent Oscar-winner Kevin Brownlow, paralleling the lives of Chaplin and Hitler.

And since there quite simply isn't enough Chris Marker on DVD, it is thrilling to report Icarus Films' release of the documentary One Day In the Life of Andrei Arsenevich (1999), which pays tribute to Marker's friend, director Andrei Tarkovsky. Included on the disk are the shorts In the Dark, by Sergey Dvortsevoy, and Three Songs About Motherland by Marina Goldovskaya.

Shock (1946)

2011-05-23T03:39:00.000-11:00

Director: Alfred Werker
Writers: Eugene Ling (screenplay); Albert deMond (story); Martin Berkeley (additional dialogue)
Producer: Aubrey Schenck
Cinematographers: Joe MacDonald, Glen MacWilliams
Music: David Buttolph
20th Century Fox; 70 min; B&W

Cast:
Vincent Price (Dr. Richard Cross), Lynn Bari (Nurse Elaine Jordan), Frank Latimore (Lt. Paul Stewart), Anabel Shaw (Mrs. Janet Stewart), Michael Dunne (Dr. Stevens), Reed Hadley (District Attorney O'Neill), Renee Carson (Miss Hatfield - Head Nurse), Charles Trowbridge (Dr. H.J. Harvey)

While under contract for 20th Century Fox, Vincent Price was receiving good notices for his supporting work in historical pictures, as well as for his "cads" in Laura and Leave Her To Heaven. Aubrey Schenck thus decided to give the actor a leading role in this modest picture, which, despite the appearance of Price and the psychoanalysis theme, isn't a horror film, but a noir with psychological overtones. (Screenwriter Eugene Ling would also pen the classic noirs, Scandal Sheet for Phil Karlson, and Behind Locked Doors for Budd Boetticher.)

In his first top-billed role, Price plays Dr. Richard Cross, who kills his wife during an argument over an impending divorce. His deed is witnessed from a neighbouring hotel window by Mrs. Janet Stewart (Anabel Shaw). Already in a weakened mental state, she is discovered by her husband the following morning in a catatonic state. As coincidences in film noir would have it, she is treated by Cross himself, who has her committed to his own sanitarium in an effort to convince her that she is truly insane, having only imagined the murder scene.

According to the highly enjoyable but typographically challenged book Vincent Price Unmasked (by James Robert Parish and Steven Whitney), Shock received some bad notices upon its initial release for its negative portrayal of psychiatrists! Well, such controversy has receded over the years, but time hasn't been kind to this little film due an early, laughably bad dream sequence early where Janet is hearing the voice of her long-lost husband, and dashes to a giant doorknob (how Freudian): she is clearly seen running on one spot!

ABOVE: Vincent Price, Lynn Bari

More interesting is the relationship between Cross and his lover, Nurse Elaine. After five decades of roles in which Vincent Price commits many ghastly, vengeful acts onscreen, it is refreshing to see that this lead role features him not as a monster, but rather a remorseful man who nonetheless attempts to cover up his fatal mistake. However, he still has a moral center dictating to what measures he will carry out his deeds: "There is a limit beyond which even I can't go". It quickly becomes clear that Elaine is pulling his strings, convincing him to perform even more insidious things like shock therapy to drive Janet beyond the brink.

ABOVE: Vincent Price, Anabel Shaw

This modest programmer is also helped along by some moody photography (which I'd perhaps attribute to Joe MacDonald, as the deep blacks are similar to those in My Darling Clementine, released the same year), and some effective mise-en-scene (where it conveniently rains and storms during suspenseful moments). The supporting performances by some familiar players are decent if unspectacular. Anabel Shaw's smallish frame captures the essence of the victimized Janet, although the actress is largely given little to do but hyperventilate and stare slack jawed. Still, it is Vincent Price's movie all the way: his solid performance carries this inoffensive second-feature. While Shock is a minor time killer, it is however an interesting footnote in his developing screen career- it would be among the few lead roles where he plays a human monster that still has a heart.

Yvette Vickers (1928 - 2010?)

2011-05-04T04:04:00.002-11:00

B-movie starlets seldom have long filmographies: their enduring fame often rests on a mere handful of performances. And so it was with Yvette Vickers. Her place in Drive-In Movie Hall Of Fame is assured merely on the basis of two titles in her decade-long career as an actress.

She turned on the heat in the camp favourite Attack of the 50 Foot Woman (1958) as the other woman who draws the wrath of the title femme fatale. When you have a stunning lead actress like Allison Hayes (and at fifty feet tall, no less) who has a philandering husband, one would ensure that the female antagonist would still be able to turn the man's head, and she succeeded in spades as the good-time girl named Honey. And in the creepy Attack of the Giant Leeches (1959), she was the adulterous Liz Walker, who is caught cheating by her husband (Bruno VeSota), who decides to punish her and her hapless lover by forcing at gunpoint into the swamp inhabited by the title creatures! Yikes!

ABOVE: Yvette Vickers with William Hudson in Attack Of The 50 Foot Woman (1958)

Born in Kansas City, Missouri, to jazz musicians Charles and Iola Vedder, and growing up on the road, the young Yvette Vickers initially pursued a career in journalism until getting the acting bug. She began the 1950's with an uncredited minor role in the classic Sunset Boulevard, and after several supporting roles in various films and TV episodes, she ended the decade with her two hallmark roles above, and another big for lasting fame as the Playmate of the Month for July 1959 (her photos taken by none other than Russ Meyer!).

ABOVE: Bruno Ve Sota and Yvette Vickers in Attack of the Giant Leeches (1959)

Her movie roles would soon be fewer, smaller and further between, however later in her career she worked with Paul Newman in the classic Hud (1963) and for director Curtis Harrington in What's The Matter With Helen? (1971). Her final screen credit was a role in Gary Graver's Evil Spirits (1990). Nonetheless, her fame endured thanks to her sultry portrayals in those two monster movies, and in later years she was known for her vivacity and friendliness towards her fans. She gave a fun interview for Fangoria magazine in 1989, and recorded a lively and informative commentary track with cult film writer Tom Weaver for the 2007 Warners DVD of Attack Of The 50 Foot Woman, which preserves her oft-reported generosity.

ABOVE: Paul Newman (left) and Yvette Vickers (center) in Hud (1963)

Sadly, it has been reported that Ms. Vickers' body had been found in her home by her neighbour, and apparently had been dead for almost a year. (Tom Weaver first broke the story on a message board, but now the news is official.) Such a ghastly and sad fate is unbecoming for anyone, especially for someone as full of life as Yvette Vickers. Her enduring fame is assured thanks to her appearances in these entertaining genre films.

Trailer for Attack of the 50 Foot Woman:

Trailer for Attack of the Giant Leeches:

Dog Day (1984)

2011-02-19T22:42:00.002-11:00

On what would be tough guy actor Lee Marvin's eighty-seventh birthday, I thought it fitting to finally give a spin to this 99-cent DVD of Dog Day, the odd duck of his career. Long available in North America on cheap video labels, this French thriller is so bizarre that its haphazard presentation seems to add to its oddness and obscurity.

Few films in Marvin's career really investigate his larger-than-life mythic status in cinema (Point Blank is an exception), however this scruffy, bizarre melodrama explores the iconography of the American movie gangster while in an unconventional setting. Truly, it feels like this all-American archetype stumbled onto the set of either a Luc Moullet or Pasolini film.

Lee Marvin plays Jimmy Cobb, a crook known for wearing boutonnieres in his lapel and shooting people in the knee, who, after a botched robbery and on the run from the law, hides out on a farm occupied by a truly dysfunctional family. This brood consists of a patriarch is a pig who barks at his servants, and treats his wife (Miou Miou) as no greater than one (witness the ritualism of his after-dinner pokey), a man who dresses as a scarecrow in the cornfield so he can spy on topless hippies camping nearby, a near psychotic nymphomaniac woman, and the teenaged stepson who finds some of Cobb's hidden loot and takes off to the brothel (where incidentally, the cops are also staying)! Plus, there's a white-suited panama-hatted pencil-thin moustachioed gangster who also has an interest in Cobb's hidden money. The wife offers to spirit Cobb to safety if he'll kill her husband. However, as we know in these types of movies, nothing goes to plan, and this melodrama becomes even more bizarre and surprising as it goes along.

This screenplay (credited to five writers!) is more an allegory of class structure than a traditional mobster-on-the-run plot, as those of the lowest social order regard the ruling class (namely the law) as pigs, and throughout this narrative, the police are always depicted as hypocritical and buffoonish. Also importantly, the myth of the American gangster is explored through the character of the stepson, who is enamoured with American culture and its spectacle of fame and fortune that he both idolizes and manipulates Cobb. (Posters of such iconography as Once Upon a Time in the West and James Dean in Giant hang on his walls.)

Marvin looks admittedly haggard throughout this film (perhaps he was of failing health during its production), but the actor still, refreshingly, plays the role with his usual stoicism, offering a counterpoint to the surrealist cartoon that unfolds around him. (And perhaps his tired appearance compliments Cobb's world-weary behaviour.) Co-star Tina Louise has basically a glorified cameo as Cobb's partner, however it is great seeing the two play off each other in their one scene together. (Interestingly, compare this sequence to a later one where Cobb also speaks to Miou Miou in her car.)

Literally and figuratively, this is a film of contrasts, no less emphasized in the central relationship of Cobb and the wife. She rightfully reveals that in addition to their common behaviour of "hating something enough to do anything", and that this American man and Dutch woman in a French farm house are both strangers in a strange land.

Like the films of Luc Moullet, it is a scruffy valentine to American iconography, and those of Pasolini, it is a scatological look at social structure gone awry. One genuinely feels the dirt and grime so abundant in this decrepit environment. The latter is indirectly aided by the dark video transfer (at least on the DVD I viewed), and the full frame presentation, where actors (often those currently speaking) are squeezed to the edge of the picture, add to the claustrophobia.

I'll have to hunt down my copy of Lee Marvin's biography written by his widow to learn of any back story on this film's making. Despite its general availability (however haphazard), this is truly a unique movie. There is simply nothing else like it in his career. Dog Day is strong stuff, and isn't for everyone, but is a fascinating excursion for those willing to explore what exists beneath the muck.

The Snow Bunnies (1972)

2011-02-19T04:22:00.003-11:00

It isn't every day that people go see a skin flick... to hear the dialogue.

But so it was with The Snow Bunnies, a surreal poverty-row sex romp, co-written by the one, the only Edward D. Wood Jr., made available for cult movie fans at a rare public screening, presented by ESR's good friend, Mr. Dion Conflict. Many who love the naive innocence of the writer-director's work of the 1950's usually deplore his subsequent efforts for the next two decades, in which he largely paid the bills by penning pornography, often contributing scenarios for director A.C. Stephen (AKA- Stephen Apostoloff). The few Stephen-Wood romps I have seen are enjoyable for their strange combinations of sloppy eroticism and meretricious writing. (As of this writing, I STILL haven't seen Orgy of the Dead.) One needn't watch this for long to realize that it came from the pen of everyone's favourite spacey visionary, but for those who still need a clue, later on one of our female leads suggests that her limp boyfriend should wear ladies underwear.

This epic begins in Warhol-level grubbiness, with an endless close-up of soapy bosom as buxom starlet Marsha Jordan lathers herself in the shower. But all it takes is one phone call, and we realize we're in the hands of a master. Marsha is a vacationing nurse whose shower is interrupted by a phone call from someone at the hospital who has the nerve to call on her time off ("You BASTARD!"). To avoid any more intrusions by those capitalist pigs who want her to spend her holiday time at work, she decides to get away from it all to a "Canadian Winter Wonderland", and recruits a few friends to come along, all of whom have the same white telephone and fake flower arrangement on their night stands.

So for the next hour, this randy bunch has casual encounters at a ski resort: the buck-toothed Joni Mitchell clone gets it on with a Bobby Vinton look-alike (check out that belt buckle!), the strawberry blonde has some fun with some dopey blonde ski bum in a sauna, and then of course the sun dazed brunette has a roll in the hay with a guy who could pass as John Ashley's younger brother. But if this isn't busy enough, there is also the ubiquitous Rene Bond as a waitress who prostitutes herself on the side, and most puzzling, some voyeur is capturing the girls’ fun in snapshots. The latter subplot is NEVER RESOLVED, however maybe the mysterious disappearance of Ms. Jordan for an hour of screen time has something to do with it. (And speaking of ubiquitous, that same horrible leather couch appears in most of these sequences- alas, the one telephone we see is red.) For me, the cinematic highlight had to be scene of the lovebirds by the stream, where the sound of the cameraman's feet crunching on the snow is heard on the soundtrack! This could be a deliberate inclusion on the filmmakers' part to add to the voyeuristic subplot, or merely a technical gaffe, but moments like this make this picture so alive.

The lucky patrons of the Snow Bunnies screening were further given to explore the film's unusual structure, as some scenes are later repeated, one assumes due to a reel jumble in the projection booth, however causing the viewers' head to explode with ideas, evoking comparisons to Resnais' upheaval of time and space, and Wood's own Brechtian leanings in his signature film Plan 9 From Outer Space. But fear not, amidst the mechanical eroticism, and bountiful second-unit ski footage filled with blurry pans and stuttering zooms, there are some true Woodisms heard in between. One wishes this film was on DVD alone for the benefit of pausing to write down some of the gems uttered by this wooden bunch of hopefuls who often glance to the camera for direction (further calling attention to the film's artifice). It was hard for yours truly to scribble many of them down, since the movie leaped from one head-spinning moment to another, but here is one jewel: "Work is the curse of the modern system."

Once again the over-achieving Mr. Wood attempts to transcend the tawdry requirements of a sex film with socialist mumblings and a strange moral of how pleasure can lead to unhappiness, but what also remains in memory is the film's randy celebration of hedonism, captured as best as could be in varying shot-to-shot colour temperatures (reminding one of Wong Kar Wai) from the diverse short ends they scratched together for this epic, and scored with familiar up-tempo lounge stock music. One is quickly reminded why we must track down every lost 70s film we can: even a poverty-row quickie like Snow Bunnies feels more organic and vivacious than most clinical product made today. I haven't been to such a liberating screening since, well, Satan's Blade. Viva Conflict! Viva Cinema!

The Killer That Stalked New York (1950)

2011-01-15T06:37:00.011-11:00

In the late 1940's and early 1950's, many films noir were made with a pseudo-documentary approach, whose realism was heightened with a dry voiceover narration, and shot on authentic urban locations. While this movie is not the best example of this style, it is an interesting mosaic. The deceptive title does not refer to a psycho killer, but rather tells the story of a woman on the lam from the police, who unknowingly is carrying the smallpox epidemic. This inferior B-movie cousin to Kazan's Panic In The Streets (released the same year) is ambitious in theory, if not scope.

It is a very interesting concept to see Evelyn Keyes being trailed by both the police and the health organization (neither body is aware the other is also after her), and as such, this no-frills package instead spends time on exposition than characterization. Evelyn Keyes has had more impressive showcases in other noirs (see my reviews of 99 River Street and The Prowler), as she is given little to do but wander from one vignette to the next. However, this little movie is engaging filler for a lazy Saturday afternoon. B movie addicts will likely react to many familiar faces that appear throughout this busy mosaic (Dorothy Malone, Lola Albright, Harry Shannon). Whit Bissell is most memorable, appearing as Keyes' estranged brother who briefly offers her shelter in his flophouse.

99 River Street (1953)

2011-01-14T21:57:00.001-11:00

Open on grainy footage inside a sweaty, crowded boxing arena. Cut to closeup of boxer Ernie Driscoll getting hit in the face- sweat sprays onto the camera. Cut to a shot of Driscoll watching himself box on the television set. The television narrator remarks that this was Payne's final fight. Cut to an extreme closeup of Ernie's eyes and sweaty forehead. His eyelids blink when the narrator explains that an eye injury ended his career.

This decoupage, which opens 99 River Street, is compact storytelling at its best. We learn all we need to about our flawed hero in little screen time, and have had that communicated visually. Within these few moments we learn that our protagonist has had a fall from grace, and is prone to violence: classic traits of a film noir anti-hero. These first few moments also personify the economy of B-movies at their best: lean, no-nonsense prose with not a moment wasted- a perfect example of achieving much by working with so little.

Driscoll (John Payne) now works at night driving a taxi, and on the surface he seems to enjoy his new environment: trading quips with his dispatcher (Frank Faylen- best remembered today as the sadistic orderly in The Lost Weekend and the cab driver in It's A Wonderful Life) and struggling actress Linda James (Evelyn Keyes) who likewise hangs out at the local diner. But as that opening sequence also suggests, all is not well below the surface, which is about to erupt. He just discovers that his wife Pauline (blonde bombshell Peggie Castle) is cheating on him with a two-bit mobster (Brad Dexter), who then kills her over complications with obtaining stolen jewels and plants her body in Ernie's taxi! For the rest of the film (which takes place entirely in one night), Payne, with the help of Keyes, tries to track down the hoods who were involved with her death, and evade the police in the process.

From those opening shots, this movie simply does not let up, save for the rushed resolution. The story seems to change with every other scene, and no matter how outrageous this scenario escalates it is always kept believable, not that we are given much time to ponder such things. The cast reciprocates with game energy for the colourful roles they are given. Evelyn Keyes is given a great scene that most thespians would starve for, describing the sensation of being forced to kill someone out of defense-- all presented in one single take. While the camera remains on her throughout this scene, we "see" the act in our minds. This deceptively simple approach is a marvel of cinema. There is also a good supporting role for Jack Lambert (a familiar character player of the decade) as a mob flunkie who often crosses paths with Payne in this long night.

99 River Street may be the best of director Phil Karlson's noirs, made on a roll in the 1950's, and bears his distinctive docu-realism style (exemplary also in The Phenix City Story). This film is largely a symphony of close-ups and low angles, offering a lean, mean depiction of the world of violence and deceit into which Payne is thrown.

Juan Piquer Simon (1935 - 2011)

2011-01-10T11:53:00.000-11:00

Peter Yates (1929 - 2011)

2011-01-10T10:10:00.003-11:00

Commandos (1968)

2011-01-09T23:00:00.000-11:00

Every Jan. 9 is Lee Van Cleef Day at the lounge, to honour the birthday of the G-Man's favourite actor. (My friend Mike shares his birthday, and sometimes gets a card from me with Colonel Mortimer or somebody on it.) While Van Cleef was enjoying a career renaissance in Italy starring in many spaghetti westerns, he would also appear in other action-adventure films. Commandos is one the innumerable WW2 action movies produced in Europe during the late 1960's (likely to cash in on the success of The Dirty Dozen) in which our hero plays Sergeant Sullivan, who whips together a troop of Italian-Americans to infiltrate a camp in North Africa run by the Italian army. Along for the ride is Capt. Valli (Jack Kelly), who periodically locks horns with Sullivan. In fact, how many war movies feature a battle-scarred sergeant clashing with a superior officer who doesn't know dick about combat? Well, Ski Troop Attack for starters…

To be fair, Commandos has lots of action, but it is all routinely directed by Armando Crispino. It is always amusing to see how even the slightest of screenplays in European genre films had several contributors: this one boasts four writers (one of them is Dario Argento!), based on a short story by future Cannon exec Menahem Golan! However, this routine, by-the-numbers affair gets a few shots in the arm from our main man Mr. Van Cleef, who admittedly overacts the sweaty borderline-psychotic Sullivan character. (Watch the scene where he lunges at a soldier's throat in a lineup!)

To date, I've seen Commandos three times- and I always have trouble remembering it the next day. Despite that it's a welcome change of pace for our hero, the movie is rather routine. But will I see it a fourth time? Hell, yes!

True Grit (2010)

2011-01-09T21:30:00.000-11:00

Upon first hearing the announcement that Joel and Ethan Coen were doing a remake of the John Wayne classic True Grit, I was wary. Not only does Hollywood need another remake like a hole in the head, but one was perplexed at why the Coens of all people had succumbed to the recent trend of remaking any property that has made a splash within the last half century. (And no, I wasn't even thinking about their ill-fated update of the classic British black comedy The Ladykillers.) However, my fear had turned into desire upon seeing an early trailer for this new film, which showcased its darker and moodier moments. And upon finally viewing this movie after all its acclaim, one must say: believe the hype- it's real, for once.

For this 2010 "reboot" of this piece of American pop culture, in which John Wayne won his only Oscar for his role as the one-eyed rascally marshall Rooster Cogburn, the Coens wisely sidestep all of the iconography surrounding the 1969 movie, and instead return to the source (Charles Portis' novel) which had inspired that film. I seem to recall picking up Portis' book in my teens (during my western paperback craze), and not finishing it because the novel was less action-oriented than the Hollywood movie, more humanistic and poetic. As a result, the Coens' have written and directed a film that is truer to the essence of the novel than the John Wayne movie. Those looking for a slam-bang action western (along the lines of, say, the recent remake of 3:10 To Yuma) will be disappointed. Instead this version of True Grit is a refreshingly low-key, meditative tonal poem on mortality and memory, seen through the eyes of 14-year-old Mattie Ross, who hires US marshall Rooster Cogburn to go after desperado Tom Chaney, who killed her father.

For his portrayal of Cogburn, Jeff Bridges wisely avoids imitating the Duke, and instead is less loveable, has less easy going charm, is crustier, with more sardonic humour (and perhaps racist?). It is a colourful performance. Award-winning? Perhaps not. The soul of the movie truly belongs to Hattie Steinfeld, who is superb in her debut role as Mattie Ross. Hers is far superior to the portrayal by Kim Darby (who was 22 when she played the role). In Steinfeld's stoicism one truly sees the maturity beyond Mattie's years as she capably survives in the harsh frontier. (Matt Damon is also much better than Glen Campbell in the role of Texas ranger LaBoeuf, who tags along for the bounty.) Mattie is perhaps exemplary of youths in the days of the old West, who had to grow up real fast. Plus, I love how they depicted Josh Brolin's character (Tom Chaney). He is really only in two scenes; in the first, when we see him trade insults across a river with Mattie, it is clear that he is more childish than this young girl. (I kept waiting for him to say: "I know you are but what am I?")

This movie is also remarkable for its realistic depiction of frontier life, captured in earth tones by cinematographer Roger Deakins. Many characters within are with dirty clothes and bad teeth, and just a little mad. Like the 1972 western Bad Company (also starring Jeff Bridges, and perhaps may have inspired this film- who knows?), one would have to be slightly tetched in the head to want to live here. For a change, the Coens downplay the characters' eccentricities (the brothers are always better when they're subtle) and even the guy making animal noises seems authentic. Refreshingly, the Coens present a naturalistic view of frontier life without being as quirky as Philip Kaufman's The Great Northfield Minnesota Raid.

What can I say? I absolutely loved this movie- it is the Coens' best film in years: I certainly prefer it to their overpraised No Country For Old Men and A Simple Man.

Codename: Wildgeese (1984)

2011-01-09T07:46:00.010-11:00

For a quick timeline as to what subgenres were popular in European exploitation cinema at a given time during 1960 to 1990, one would do well to check the filmography of director Antonio Margheriti (whose name was often Anglicized on the credits as "Anthony M. Dawson"). Whenever such fare as spaghetti westerns, science fiction, Gothic horror, secret agents, mondo, peplum or gialli were fashionable, one could expect to see at least one such movie helmed by this workmanlike filmmaker. (Curiously, one of the few genres he missed out on was the boom of WW2-themed actioners of the late 1960's.) Unlike, say, Umberto Lenzi or Enzo Castellari, who also dabbled in many kinds of films during this period, Margheriti never truly specialized in a genre (however, his Gothic horror movies are generally considered to be his best). And to be certain, during the mid-1980s when producers on both sides of the Atlantic were making low-budget commando-type movies, following the success of Rambo or Missing In Action, Margheriti contributed several films to the fold.

Code Name: Wildgeese is perhaps better remembered today, due to its bigger-than-usual cast of veterans who had second careers in European genre films. 25 years later, it still holds up rather well, less for its actors than for the fair bit of excitement onscreen. In this tale, Lewis Collins whips together a band of commandos to knock out an opium compound in southeast Asia. Lee Van Cleef appears as Travis, who is sprung from prison to pilot the helicopter. His old co-star from For a Few Dollars More, Klaus Kinski (with a British dubbed accent!) appears as Charlton, who spearheads the operation. Also in the interesting cast is strawberry-blonde American expatriate Mimsy Farmer as a drug slave(!) who gets rescued along the way. Familiar Euro-genre actor Alan Collins also appears as a priest (his crucifixion is one of the film's several bizarre stop points). But despite all of this star power, the acting is rather tired (or perhaps due to inspired dubbing). Only Ernest Borgnine seems to get into it.

Still, this flick moves along at a good pace for its 105-minute running time, bringing in some good action setpieces. (We'll ignore the hilariously edited sequence where a car drives along the side of a tunnel.) Plus, what's an Italian genre picture without a double-cross or two? It's a workmanlike action movie that is rather exciting, and is also interesting in that characters spend as much time in business suits as army fatigues, reminding one that the bloodshed in the jungles is controlled by so-called civilized men.

Thoughts of Late Night TV While Thinking of Gerry Rafferty

2011-01-08T04:39:00.001-11:00

Music conjures images in our minds; songs are road maps to our private caches of memories. When we hear a cherished tune, we instantly recall the time we first heard it, or a time and place with which that piece is most synonymous with our individual experience. Thus, the opening sax riff on Gerry Rafferty's hit 70's song "Baker Street" will always conjure for me the beginning moments of the all-night show "The Cat's Pajamas", as that familiar instrumental intro was heard while a camera panned the blue night cityscape of Buffalo New York. Gerry Rafferty was formerly in Stealers Wheel, who made the AM radio chestnut "Stuck in the Middle With You", before doing his own well-received LP's, which gave us the hit singles "Right Down The Line" and of course, "Baker Street". Upon hearing of his passing this week at the age of 63, once again, the familiar strains of the latter song echoed in my mind, as did the comfortable images of those nights I often spent with Barry and the gang on "The Cat's Pajamas".

When I began publishing The Eclectic Screening Room in 2001, it was a deliberate choice for the very first article in the very first issue to reminisce about the bygone days of "The Cat's Pajamas" and the late night movie experience in general. Since we're once again reminiscing about this show, I only thought it appropriate to reprint that piece for the interweb. Here it is (slightly updated):

God, I miss The Cat’s Pajamas.

Film fanatics 30-plus years of age living in a city or town probably had access to at least one late show host. Back in the days when watching the tube after midnight didn’t mean sitting through incessant infomercials for exercise machines and salad spinners, instead you had some guy introducing the 12:30 AM broadcast of It Came From Pluto. And maybe in order to pay for the plumbing at the station, he unabashedly plugged a nearby pizzeria, whose staff hoped that their cheap advertising would reap revenue from orders by the stoned-out teenagers with the munchies who were watching because they had already seen the episode of "Tales from the Darkside" on Channel 12.

Every metropolitan centre big or small had some local celebrity who flirted with the cathode ray tube- maybe you saw this guy at some hardware store’s grand opening at a shopping plaza. He wasn’t some packaged-up host like the syndicated pre-sold musings of Zacherly or Elvira- he was a real human being, someone who was talking to you that minute from across town or the nearby metropolis. He seemed to be in the same room that you were- the congenial face in the box was a rare stranger that you allowed in your home on regular intervals. You may never know this person in the flesh, but night after night it was comforting to know that they were on the opposite end of the transmission, sharing this moment with you. My late-night movie watching experience of this nature begins and ends with Barry Lillis, the host of "The Cat's Pajamas", which ran in the mid-to-late 1980s on WGRZ-TV, Buffalo's NBC affiliate.

Well after Johnny Carson said good night, one would just be able to put a ham and cheese bun in the oven before sitting down to see a camera pan of the blue snowy city with the opening sax solo on "Baker Street", which was the call to form. Barry (also TV 2’s veteran weatherman) would appear as the affable host, introducing the old movies and TV shows. In between reels, he would also plug Mike’s Subs for the hungry insomniacs, and then another gentleman would pop up with a news brief about an accident down on Main Street. Then a still of slumbering cats perched in a crescent moon would appear as "Journey of the Sorceror" or Steely Dan’s version of "East St.Louis Toodle-oo" played. Then we were transported back to the show. Sometimes even the odd newsreel or serial chapter would pop up unannounced to fill some airtime before they began the morning daypart. With such a busy programming schedule, it was little wonder that a 73-minute TV-movie (remember when TV-movies used to be this long? used to be good?) would actually fill a two-hour timeslot. Of course, the impromptu scheduling was time-approximate anyway, but to ensure that all of their intended entertainment did unveil, the second feature would likely be shown without commercials.

ABOVE: Barry Lillis

Friday and Saturday nights were the busiest of all- in between the standard plugs for Mike’s Subs, as well as giveaways (one time the love scene early in The Hustler was given a Brechtian notion when a subtitled appeared: "We have our winner- please hold your calls"!) and reading fan mail (yes!) sometimes the movies were secondary. One busy Friday night, the 74-minute It's a Gift took up two-and-a-half-hours! Nonetheless, they followed with Million Dollar Legs... uninterrupted (although sometimes the Cat’s Pajamas logo would appear if there was a delay in changing reels). This loose scheduling would drive prime-time programmers mad. Truthfully, this kind of practice on The Cat’s Pajamas was not at all upsetting. Usually, the movie you were watching was just another facet of the entire package. The point is, to all of those insomniacs, lonely people, babysitters, janitors and security guards, this show was a nightlight with a lot of warmth. These people were our friends!

Early in 1986, Barry turned the reins over to Randi Naughton, a ravishing brunette who would have "Randi’s Pajama Party" on Friday nights, and, like her mentor, would read fan mail (often from Ace & Rob- forerunners of Wayne & Garth), hawk Mike’s Subs and have contests. However, the other six nights had become host-less. The programming, nonetheless, did not change. Theme nights started; Mondays showed kung fu flicks, and Sunday night was science fiction-horror night. Each night, the festivities started with a cartoon still of a cat dressed as Dracula or Indiana Jones (or whatever was relevant), married to a cheery voice-over (announcing the theme of the evening):

"Welcome to The Cat’s Pajamas, the all-night show on TV 2! Sit back and relax with your favourite movies and old time TV shows! Each night of the week, it’s a different theme! And tonight, it’s...
SCIENCE FICTION HORROR NIGHT!"

Then in 1987, the weeknight programming would consist of an old television show, followed by only one movie at 3 AM (broadcast without commercials, or at least the famous default: showing "Cat’s Pajamas" bumpers while reels changed). Soon even Randi would disappear from the Friday night line-up, and then the writing shouted from the wall. In the fall of 1989, Chamber of Horrors was shown on the Friday of Labour Day weekend, and it was all over. After that... infomercials!

The same instance when I moved away to university, the Cat’s Pajamas became a soft-focus memory. Symbolic, maybe; poetic, perhaps; but certainly this affair ended with an irony for which most Hollywood screenplays starve. It’s another way in which life reminds us that nothing is permanent except for memories. Barry even stopped being the weatherman (in 1997) and went on to be a respectable voice in the community with his co-founded Kids Escaping Drugs campaigns (one had seen advertisements of this very thing in between his on-air plugs for submarines), and most significantly, becoming an ordained minister in Niagara Falls! The Cats Pajamas is probably something he would prefer to leave behind.

It may sound like mush to be whining about a late-night show of yesteryear when -even though infomercials do persist on many stations- Showcase, Bravo and specialty stations still show movies in the wee hours. But it doesn’t take long to see how often they recycle their programming. The worst offender of this of course is the A&E 4 o’clock movie- just how many times does one need to see The Angel and The Badman (one of John Wayne’s lowlights)? Even so, all of this programming misses the point. Where is the spontaneity? Where is the voice from the other end of transmission?

The Cat's Pajamas provided a good history of non-silent, non-subtitled cinema seven nights a week: it was as likely to find Penny Serenade as it was When Tae-Kwon-Do Strikes. Besides the communal warmth, another appeal of The Cat’s Pajamas was the wealth of nostalgia for any persuasion: Cary Grant in Room For One More, a trio of Vincent Price movies on Halloween night, It's A Wonderful Life after "Saturday Night Live", almost complete catalogs of movie series with Blondie, Charlie Chan, Bomba The Jungle Boy and Abbott & Costello; W.C. Fields addressing the ball, Ice Castles, David Janssen TV series, The Rose, Mario Bava movies, a 1944 newsreel showing how the Allies are doing, early-70’s made-for-TV thrillers with Cloris Leachman, John Wayne B-Westerns, kung fu flicks with Bruce Li, Bruce Le, etc., "Our Gang" shorts, Papillon, a chapter from a 1932 serial with Bela Lugosi’s name way down in the credits...

It at least felt like Barry and the gang were in my living room sharing memories over the nostalgia on the air. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t being shown Gone With The Wind. I would just as easily see an equally worthy gem as a diverting turkey. Yet I was witness to artifacts of other parts of cine-culture which are still vital to history, if we are not to believe the faceless specialty channel’s doctrine that cinema began in 1985,. But where are these titles now? It’s like the mournful melody of Don Henley’s song "The End of the Innocence" (which coincidentally was popular during the time of The Pajama’s final sigh), like the 30-year-old former dragstrip king driving his old car down Main Street seeing the empty buildings- catacombs of what used to be his youth. Did we outgrow those flickering images? Are they not important anymore?

Today, surrogate companionship is more prevalent than ever, but now it's with laptops and Youtube. In an age of computer video games, downloading from the Internet, seeing Anthony Robbins with the same suit every night, and getting voicemail instead of a live person on the phone, it is no wonder we’re becoming just as impersonal as a machine. But at least I can remember a genuine feeling of community- knowing that I was sharing something with an actual human being on the other side of the screen.

The film has ended. On screen, TV-2 emits a cartoonish-still of a sun rising behind tall buildings. They’ve put it to music by something from George Benson’s “Breezin’” LP. Turn your head. Through the crevice between the drapes the ashen sky is now magenta. Communion has ended. The 325-lined sunrise has transported you back to a physical one. Take your fuzzy slippers off the footstool. Throw the aluminum foil in the trash. Go to bed. Dream.

Thanks, Barry. You were a true friend.

New Year's Day (1989)

2011-01-01T17:37:00.012-11:00

January 1st is the first day of the new year, and for many, the first day of a new life-- when people resolve to make changes to their current situations. Yet for some, despite their ambitions to change, there is still an uncertainty as to where to go from here. Such are the confusions of the four lead characters in writer-director Henry Jaglom's New Year's Day. Jaglom also stars as Drew, a late forty-ish writer who moves to New York on January 1, to begin a new life as he's tired of being miserable in LA. However, he discovers that the previous female tenants still have not moved out, as they believed their lease to state that they could stay there "through the first." The remainder of the film consists of Drew's observing and interacting with the three roommates, until everyone goes their separate ways after this one day. Since this is a Henry Jaglom film, the three women are all neurotic as hell. Winona (Melanie Winter) wants to have a three-month old baby next New Year's Day, however has no idea who the father will be; the clingy, unbalanced Annie (Gwen Welles) mostly cries about the girls' separation; and Lucy (Maggie Wheeler, billed here as Maggie Jakobson), seems to be the catalyst for the womens' departure, as she wants to escape New York for LA.

New Year's Day is structured much like his previous two pictures which likewise probed the hang-ups of lonely, frustrated people (Always; Someone To Love). These pictures all work better when they're smaller- analyzing only a handful of people. All of these movies have a weak second act when the typical Jaglom stock company of philosophers and hangers-on show up to banter about life, love and everything. In this film, we see a revolving door of people who drop in on the ladies for their final day together, including Lucy's parents (separately), various middle-aged academics that naturally these wounded females swoon for, and especially Lucy's ex boyfriend (David Duchnovy in his film debut).

Typically in Jaglom, the experiment is more interesting than the result. Seemingly shot with a big flow chart demonstrating whom the characters will meet with, and having only a few scenes worked out in advance, the actors were given to improvise, and bring a little of themselves to the scenes. His films usually blur that thin line between "real life", "reel life", narrative and documentary. This results with segments playing out in roving master shots, with mismatched cut-ins; while technically this may look poor, understandably, Jaglom is foregoing polish to capture a realism not found in a conventionally scripted movie. The movie experience is further blurred with a choppy structure and story continuity (how long does the delivery guy stay there?). But even so, one questions exactly how much freedom Jaglom gives to his players (or characters, or both). Once one observes his work as a whole, it always seems that his scenarios involve whiny, neurotic females, seldom more formidable than wounded little creatures. (Is it any accident that Winona is given the less screen time of the three women? She's the only one who seems to have confidence in her future plans, no matter how shallow they may be.) While one commends Jaglom for making so many films with female protagonists, they appear less like an honest presentation of women, than a male's stereotypical view of how he thinks females should talk and feel. (To his credit, Jaglom's work from 1995 onwards seems to portray stronger female characters, perhaps due to the participation of his wife Victoria Foyt.)

The movie is largely seen through Drew's eyes (the film is bookended with Drew discussing this day to the camera), as he observes and interacts with the people who mysteriously blur in and out of the ladies' final day together. If anything, his slightly creepy character seems to blend well with this room of neurotics and social misfits. And since Drew is played by the writer-director, one needs not wonder why he gets to snuggle with Lucy. Hey, if Gene Wilder and Woody Allen can write themselves scenes with gorgeous women, why can't he?

One admires Jaglom's ability to make the viewer like a fly on the wall- only gradually do we figure out people's connections with one another, just as one would in real life, as there is no expository dialogue which reveals these things early for the convenience of the viewer. And despite that this film takes place in one apartment (save for its opening shot in the lobby, and a few pans by the window looking into the snowy street), few films capture urban loneliness as well as this. Jaglom's work indeed has its virtues, although one must surely work to obtain. Nonetheless, New Year's Day is more approachable and entertaining than others of his oeuvre.

Who's Singing Over There? (1981)

2010-12-30T04:00:00.001-11:00

In the few years before his death in 1993, the late, great "Globe and Mail" film critic Jay Scott also lent his talents to the television medium for TVOntario's "Film International", which would show some unsung foreign films every Friday night. Before this show became a weekly entity in 1990, "Film International" simply existed as an annual six-week mini-series shown on Wednesday nights in the late 1980's. No doubt this venture exposed international cinema to a lot of people in southern Ontario who would not normally have access to it.

Even more, "Film International" offered immeasurable insight into foreign film which still remains elusive-- even to those in the big city. One of the true joys of the six-week seasons was the broadcast of the superb Yugoslavian film, Who's Singing Over There? (1981). Many consider this to be the finest film made in that country. North American cinephiles mostly associate the nation's cinema with the works of Emir Kusturica (Underground) or Dusan Makavejev (WR: Mysteries of the Organism)- not exactly inaccurate mind you, but I am told by a Yugoslavian native that this picture was a phenomenon in its own land. It is a crime that this gem is not commercially available (save, perhaps, from those dealing in imported DVDs). I am happy that I still kept my off-air VHS copy from "Film International" in 1988.

For his maiden effort, director Slobodan Sijan was inspired by, of all things, Roger Corman biker movies and Russ Meyer's southern-fried sexploitation films. In truth, this film seems to be crafted by someone immersed in Luis Bunuel. This funny, surreal, bawdy, harsh, violent road movie has a lot of trademarks of that director's work, yet transposed to an Eastern European milieu. However, the emphasis is less on religion than politics.

The film opens on April 5, 1941- one day before the Nazis would bomb Belgrade. As fate would have it, the story concerns a busload of eclectic characters who are travelling to that city. The old bus owner and his klutzy son (who does most of the driving-- sometimes even blindfolded) are joined by a fancy dan singer, a hunter (whose gun always fires at the least appropriate times), a retired Army veteran, a salesman, a newlywed couple, a TB sufferer, and two gypsy musicians.

Four times in the film, the musicians break from the story to sing to the camera- chiefly to advance the plot. This device is not new by any means, but it makes perfect sense in context with the rest of the film. A consistent verse in the gypsies' sung narration is "But to have dreamt it all." We are seeing this film through their eyes (they appear in every scene). As the movie escalates with hatred (especially towards them), they wish that this voyage was nothing but a dream after all. By the same token, the movie itself looks dreamlike. Almost entirely shot in hazy gray overcast, it has a slightly unnatural look to it. This is also complimentary of the metaphor of war, itself an act that is unnatural, yet a fact of life. It is not only ironic that these two are the sole survivors at the end once a bomb drops on the bus, but the gray haze of the day is replaced by gray smoke from which they emerge, wishing this life was but a dream.

But still, Who's Singing Over There? is worthy of Bunuel. The simple premise of a busload of strangers whose destination is consistently frustrated by the most outlandish of events is right out of Mexican Busride or Discreet Charm of the Burgeoisie. In most cases, however, the delays are politically motivated. Initially, the road is blocked by the army, so the bus has to detour over a farmer's field. The property owner, however, who is suing the government anyway, is making back revenue owed him by the state by charging people to travel across his land because of the barricade. Also, a bridge is out of service because it was weakened by the army carrying cannons over it. Then, the bus is commandeered by the army-- they even enlist the son!

Further, there is a subtly subversive tone to the whole piece. When the funeral procession appears, the dapper singer throws a stone at the horses drawing the casket to make them go faster-- suddenly the procession of mourners (on foot) is running to catch up to it! It is also at this point that the immature newlywed groom takes his bride to a meadow to consummate their marriage!! Naturally, all the passengers come to watch-- thus, their "holier-than-thou" behaviour gives way to expose the primitive beings they really are.

Another delightful moment occurs when the roly-poly man falls from the bridge that has been weakened by drawing cannons, the other passengers are unable to find his body. They put his bowler hat on his knapsack as a place for him on the bus! When the busload later stops to have lunch by the river, the man is spotted floating in the current! Alas, he runs into more bad luck when the hunter shoots him in the rear end while trying to bag a rabbit.

Throughout the movie, the people's petty conflicts are compounded by an unseen entity that all of the characters must pledge allegiance to. The old bus owner continuously grumbles that he must follow regulations to the letter or get reported (he even forces the hunter to walk another 200 metres to be picked up at the next designated bus stop, instead of taking him in right then). The army is continuously affecting their route -one man mutters that the impending German takeover would be a good thing because "at least we would have some order over here".

Another amusing facet of this journey is always the symbol of money as power. "Following regulations", the older bus driver rechecks everyone at a certain point to make sure that they still have their ticket stubs. The old farmer won't let them cross his field without paying -the wizened old man's goliath sons start to let the air out of his tires until he does- and then in order to leaven the pressure from that deflated wheel everyone has to stay on one side of the bus. This is already after they have been herded to the front after the old man has blocked off the last row of seats to put in pigs ("I make more on one pig than on all of you."). The gypsy musicians are always being accused of theft- the dapper singer makes sure the old man's wallet doesn't fall out of his pocket before the gypsies lift it. However, the owner of the bus pays them to play music while he sells food and drink to the passengers, and even promises a bonus if he sells everything! And of course, in the final fateful conflict, once a man's wallet does disappear (it has actually fallen on the road), everyone beats up the gypsies who are accused of theft.

In this one day, we get to see the characters evolve. The foppish son of the bus driver becomes a "man" (he surprisingly shows pride for his son). The suave singer puts the moves on the lovely young bride and tries to convince her that her new husband is a waste of her life. And the hunter... well, he's just trying to get back on the bus.

In this microcosm, we see people squabble over money, race, religion and class. (That the gypsies are constant butts of their derogatory comments are ugly reminders of the acts of genocide in World War II, and Bosnia's ethnic cleansing in the 1990's.) However, all of that is shockingly silenced by a bomb. The violence towards the gypsies is slowed as the sound of offscreen planes gets louder. The invading forces are treated as some invisible force-- an evil one to be certain, but they almost seem biblical in a sense, because the passengers' insolent behaviour is rendered meaningless by a (literally) higher power.

Who's Singing Over There? is a very funny, quite surreal black comedy, yet also a harsh portrait of human cruelty. Although this is set in the early 20th century, this film nonetheless has a medieval quality about it-- if you take away the bus and the sound of planes, there is really very little that is modern. People still live off the land, and the road is merely two little brown lines. The look of this film also has an engagingly primitive aspect. Many times it gives the illusion of being shot merely with available light, further adding to its gritty feel.

With such an ambitious storyline, scenes of hilarity and pathos, and, during a time of (more) war, it is a moving portrait of ordinary citizens always living under the threat of combat. Nearly thirty years later, we still can't find Who's Singing Over There? under the "Foreign" section at the video store. This is a real shame. This may be one of the greatest films you will never see.

(Adapted from a review originally published in ESR #9)

What Price Hollywood? (1932)

2010-12-28T16:44:00.000-11:00

The first time I went to The Nostalgic Cinema in 1989, that one guy (who was there every time I went there) in some loud, loud sports jacket thanked the projectionist / owner for programming a certain film the night before. This was the movie. Finally, after years of tracking it down, I see why. This movie is of special interest to me as I am fascinated with movies about moviemaking, especially the peculiarly unglamourous ones that Hollywood makes about itself. This effort is irresistible. Not only is it an amusing look at how Tinseltown chews up and spits out its great talents, but it is also a glorious representation of the Hollywood schmaltz that it also satirizes. It is also a high achievement so early in the career of director George Cukor, who would be renowned for several decades in helming pictures with strong female roles.

In a superb opening sequence, Constance Bennett is a waitress in the famed Brown Derby (what a great set!), who dreams of becoming a star. For now, she is basically serving coffee to the drunken movie execs. Then, a big Hollywood director (soused at the time, naturally) gives her a small role in his latest picture. Her tiny scene is however woeful, and she is to be replaced by another star, until the completely implausible "Give me another chance" scene, in which she does a retake, and suddenly the Hollywood brass think they have a new major star on their hands! This slightly comic fare, with superb dialogue and great dreamlike sets is at first a witty satire on Hollywood (with a neat look at the filmmaking process), then it suddenly turns tragic, as scandal ensues, and the once-great director who got her started hits the skids. Joan Bennett is cute and spunky in the lead role, but Lowell Sherman positively steals the film as the drunken big shot director. With his sardonic wit, slightly lofty demeanour, his combination of humor and pathos is astounding. His is one of the best performances of its decade-- no kidding.

Pretty much any "Hollywood biopic" cliché you can think of is in full view here-- in fact, this fictitious film probably invented them! (All it's missing is the bottle-thrown-into-a-mirror sequence) But What Price Hollywood is a wicked satire on how easily attained (or lost) stardom is, and the prices paid for it are indeed dear. And if the ending suddenly becomes too schmaltzy and optimistic for its own good, remember that this is what the formula demanded, and at the same time this is also a satire about those very pictures.

(Originally presented in ESR #9)

West of Zanzibar (1928)

2010-12-28T13:10:00.000-11:00

Lon Chaney Sr. once again displays his histrionic talents to the screen as a phony magician who becomes crippled due to a scuffle arising from his discovery that his wife is running away with Lionel Barrymore to Africa. Fifteen years later, Chaney leads a motley group of people towards a meticulous revenge plot.

Apparently his wife's extramarital union sired a daughter, whom he had raised in a brothel (!) and has now summoned her to his lair to meet her father. This is an example of how sadistic Chaney's character really is. Plus, he purposely has Barrymore's ivory stolen in order to lure him into his web. Throughout there is a subplot of the natives burning the wife or daughter of any recently deceased man, which foreshadows Chaney's diabolical scheme.

This outrageous melodrama is one solid hour of cruelty. It is held together by Chaney's momentous command of the material. Seeing him twist his body around on the floor is once again another demonstration why he is considered to be the finest actor of the silent screen-- a time when acting meant body language over dialogue, he inhumanly contorted his own body to convey memorable portraits of twisted human beings. Also the drama is strengthened by a striking visual style which emphasizes the savagery. The high-contrast black and white, plus an expert use of lighting makes for a memorable moodpiece of sadism.

This is another of several collaborations between Chaney and director Tod Browning, some of which are now lost (most famously, their 1927 effort London After Midnight).

(Edited from a review originally included in ESR #9)