Sunset Gun

Top Ten Trilogies

Are three films better than one? Given the threesome craze raging through this summer's cinema (Spider-Man, Shrek, Pirates of the Caribbean, the Oceans films) I’m going to easily answer that question with a declarative N-O.

Though movie fans get excited over their final Matrix or or X-Men or Lord of the Rings, trilogies, planned or unplanned, frequently leave the viewer disappointed, stuck in a maddening state of comparison. And I can only think of studio execs drooling over the prospect of not only cashing in on continued big screen success but the marketing coup of endless DVDs—single editions, special editions, box sets, extra special box sets and more. But all cynicism aside, there’s still some worthy, even, masterful trilogies that have graced our screens. Here are ten of my favorites.

10. The Dead Trilogy
Night of the Living Dead, Dawn of the Dead, Day of the Dead

Director/horror master George Romero followed up his 1968 black-and-white masterpiece about flesh-eating zombies with a pair of terrific pictures that were both inventive and surprising. Rather than continue with the same old, same old (after all, his original movie had been copied countless times), he made a brilliant parody. 1979's Dawn of the Dead is a sardonic take on consumerism. The recently dead stalk a massive shopping mall as our four heroes barricade themselves in the various stores. The third film, Day of the Dead (1985), is set in an underground missile silo, where the last humans on Earth study the undead. The film's perfect setting is a place where, even pre-election, American confusion reigns: Florida. A female scientist fights the zombies with gusto, gore and more talk than we're used to in a Romero film. Not as good as the first two, Day of the Dead is nevertheless entertaining and absorbing. You could say Romero made his own Godfather here, though many would argue Day of the Dead is better than The Godfather Part III.  Maybe Romero and Francis Ford Coppola should join forces and make a Mafia zombie movie? Considering how many zombie movies are made these days, that doesn’t even sound so far-fetched.

9. Star Wars Trilogy
Star Wars, The Empire Strikes Back, Return of the Jedi

I’m going to forget the whole Phantom Menace, Attack of the Clones, Revenge of the Sith thing ever happened. If you're a true Star Wars fan, or simply someone who understands what a good movie is, then George Lucas' first three Star Wars are still the best. And it's so much fun to watch where the series goes in its first incarnation. Star Wars is like a charming B-movie space western, chock full of bad acting (except for Harrison Ford and Alec Guinness), wonderfully old-school special effects and those fantastic cinnamon buns on Princess Leia. Also, Darth Vader was actually scary, a movie bad guy who could really make you tremble. The Empire Strikes Back is the best of the three; it's Yoda-filled and darker, and Luke (Mark Hamill all grown up and bereft of baby face after his real-life car accident) learns that Darth is his father. No Star Wars since has out-done the light-saber fight sequence at the film's end. The third? Well, Leia certainly looks hotter (and she's chained to Jabba the Hut which is all kinds of mad-hot in that Carrie Fisher coke-head way) and we're all relieved that Han's removed from space cement, but what of those alien Teddy Bears, er, Ewoks? As they fly around in their space speedsters, any cynical kid was hoping they'd hit the trees (I might be biased because I was forced to sing the Ewok song in choir every damn day for warm-up. And yes, I still know the entire tune, something that comes out perfectly when under the influence). Still, it was a fun ride, with terrific special effects and the joyous annihilation of the Death Star. And hey, thanks to Lucas' newest installments, it's kind of a masterpiece.

8. Three Colors Trilogy
Red, White, Blue

Filmmaker/artist Krzysztof Kieslowski gives a shout out to France with his Three Colors Trilogy, named for the colors on the French flag and what they represent: liberty, equality and fraternity.  The somber Blue (1993) chronicles the heartbreak of a woman (Juliette Binoche) who loses her husband and son in an auto accident. With liberty, she attempts to put her life back together and start again. White (1994) turns to comedy, as a bewildered Polish husband (Zbigniew Zamachowski) seeks wacky revenge on his beautiful ex-wife (Julie Delpy) who's taken him to the cleaners. The husband works his way to wealth and then, ironically, leaves his money to his ex-wife. This is equality, Polish style. Red (1994), the best film of the three, finds a Swiss model (Irène Jacob) becoming friends with a crusty, eavesdropping retired judge (Jean-Louis Trintignant). The two bring out surprising depth in one another, and the odd pairing enriches their lives. To tie things up, Kieslowski brought Binoche and Delpy back for visits and employed gorgeous uses of the color red. Don't let the film's artistry scare you away; the trilogy is an evocative, stunningly beautiful and multi-faceted look at European life. It is superb, and (seriously), not pretentious and eminently watchable.

7. Evil Dead Trilogy
Evil Dead, Evil Dead 2: Dead by Dawn, Army of Darkness

God bless director Sam Raimi. Not only did he create Evil Dead, a horror work that managed to be both scary and funny, but he brought the world Bruce Campbell, a cult hero you can't possibly dislike (see the great Bubba Ho-Tep for further evidence). Using innovative stop-motion action effects, Raimi injected the horror genre with inventive pluck. The influential, low budget Evil Dead was flat-out scary though endlessly amusing and weirdly charming, assault by trees and all. He went full-throttle funny with the Three Stooges-inspired Evil Dead 2: Dead by Dawn. After a quick re-cap of the first film, the second quickly dives back into Campbell fighting supernatural demons, and in one hilarious sequence, his own severed hand. Raimi moves into even nuttier territory by the trilogy's third act, Army of Darkness (1992). Campbell returns again as the sarcastic Ash, this time in a medieval fantasy with a chainsaw for an arm, a Remington shotgun and an Oldsmobile '88. Damn. I want one.

6. Mad Max Trilogy
Mad Max, The Road Warrior, Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome

Yeah, yeah, there's the whole Thunderdome factor, but dammit, I like the final Mad Max. And Tina Turner needs to appear in more movies.  Mad Max (1980), the great George Miller's taut, low-budget car/motorcycle/futuristic film depicts a pissed-off cop (Mel Gibson in his star-making role) seeking vengeance for the murder of his wife and kid at the hands of outlaw bikers. The restless camera and stunt work is above and beyond the film's B-movie potential. Serious invention was at work. 1982's The Road Warrior (which some think is superior to Max) followed. The second film in the trilogy finds our hero living in an Australia annihilated by nuclear war. Max aids oil-drilling survivors who've been pursued by murderous outback gangs (how scary is that?). The film's amped-up intensity made this one of the most talked-about films of the '80s. And Thunderdome (1985), well, you've gotta love that Tina Turner rules an evil town, plus Max becomes a gladiator and hangs with orphans. And contrary to Turner's song, we did "need another hero." Wow, with talks of another Mad Max and without Mel Gibson (which is an absolute shame—I don’t care how you feel about him) this might not be a trilogy anymore. 

5. The Lord of the Rings
The Fellowship of the Ring, The Two Towers, The Return of the King

I’m always hearing contrary stances on The Lord of the Rings trilogy and I’m frankly, sick of them. Director Peter Jackson’s Middle Earth pictures remains one of the greatest of threesomes—a massive achievement of technological brilliance and emotion, something you rarely find in movies with such a reliance on effects, design and creatures.  That the odds -- and thousands of nit-picky J.R.R. Tolkien fans waiting to string him up if he screwed it up -- were against him from the start makes the scale of this accomplishment even more mind-boggling. Unlike most trilogies, Jackson’ s venture into Middle Earth is essentially one big film cut into three parts (he filmed them simultaneously), and yet each part also can stand completely alone as its own mesmerizing, fulfilling movie. To see each of these films is to experience a filmmaker at the absolute peak of his creative powers. Everything that we love about the movies, from heart pounding drama and action and tension to meticulous, loving character development to breathtaking visuals, can be found here. It truly is a reminder of why we go to movies.

4. Apu Trilogy
Pather Panchali, Aparajito and The World of Apu

Satyajit Ray isn't the first name that comes to mind when most people think trilogy (though he should), but the Indian filmmaker made one of the greatest, most beautifully filmed entries in the genre with his Apu Trilogy. The first film, Pather Panchali (1955), concerned a boy named Apu, who grows up in a Bengali village in the early part of the century. His encounters with his impoverished family offer a gorgeously rendered child's eye view of the world without condescension. 1956's less joyous Aparajito follows Apu as he deals with his father's death, then, in a memorably tragic scene, his mother's. Apu leaves for the city, going against the wish that he follow in his father's shadow of priesthood. The next film, The World of Apu (1959), finds him living in Calcutta, alone and in shabby conditions. Apu wants to be a writer, but instead marries a would-be spinster, until she dies while bearing their son. Grief stricken, Apu hides away, never seeing his son until the film's sob-inducing finale. Interestingly, Ray never intended to make a trilogy, but feeling pressured by the first film's success, crafted this masterful final film, something all pressured trilogy makers should turn to.

3. Dead or Alive Trilogy
Dead or Alive, Dead or Alive 2: The Birds, Dead or Alive: Final

If you thought Mad Max was violent, you obviously haven't seen Japanese cult director Takashi Miike's Dead or Alive trilogy (one of many who inspired some of Quentin Tarantino's Kill Bill and Eli Roth’s Hostel series. Miike makes a cameo in Roth’s first Hostel). Not merely nihilistic, but an absurdist, Miike swirls glamorous madness, muddled morals, questionable allegiance and satire into a potent pulp. And you can't take your eyes off his images (I swear, I've watched the delirious opening sequence to the first Dead or Alive about 25 times). The first film, Dead or Alive (1999), involves a war between the Yakuza and the Chinese Triad in Tokyo and the world-weary detective who pursues them. The second, Dead or Alive 2: The Birds (2002), changes gears as an aspiring magician aspires to kill a Yakuza crime lord but loses the chance when a rival hitman kills the guy first. After the two hitmen discover they were actually childhood friends, the two join forces to ice people for a purpose. Dead or Alive: Final finds the friends squaring off after one kidnaps the other's son. Cultists disagree on which film is best, but they all maintain Miike's anarchic style has the audacity to cram together elements of realism, fantasy, sex and repulsion. Miike's ferocious and funny trilogy is a bloody work of art. And it's supremely, well, bad fucking ass.

2. The Godfather Trilogy
The Godfather, The Godfather Part II, The Godfather Part III

How can this be number two, you say? Because it's just not perfect enough. Francis Ford Coppola, who, with The Godfather (1972) and The Godfather Part II, (1974) made two of the greatest films ever made, had his trilogy marred by its finale, a film that's not as bad as originally skewered, but certainly nowhere near the brilliance of its predecessors. Adapted from Mario Puzo's novel about a Mafia family (though the word "mafia" is never uttered in the first film, thanks suds) led by cotton-mouthed patriarch Vito Corleone (Marlon Brando), the first film sees young, intelligent and levelheaded Michael (Al Pacino) taking control but becoming colder in the process. The second film tells two stories concurrently: a flashback of Vito's rise in America as a young Sicilian immigrant (Robert De Niro) and Michael's spiritual fall as head of the family. The second film contains the famous and tragic killing of Fredo ("You broke my heart") that haunts Michael into the third film. In The Godfather Part III (1990), an aged Michael is so consumed by guilt that he seeks redemption by investing in the Catholic Church. He quickly learns that the Church is also corrupt.  Though critics mocked Coppola's choice of casting his daughter Sofia as Michael's movie daughter, she was, as looks go, more fitting than his first choice, Winona Ryder. Nevertheless, I’m glad Sofia skipped acting and went into directing, where currently she's getting more attention than her father. Like the epic scale of the Godfather films, there's something Shakespearean about that.

1. The Dollars Trilogy (The Man With No Name)
A Fistful of Dollars, For a Few Dollars More, The Good, the Bad and the Ugly

OK, I’m going to be plain and simple here -- there is nothing wrong with this essentially unplanned "Man With No Name" trilogy. Italian director Sergio Leone's trio of spaghetti Westerns is operatic, elegiac, often silent, brilliantly scored (by the master, Ennio Morricone) and gorgeously filmed. It not only made an international star out of Clint Eastwood, but was a stunning entry into the Western genre that hasn't been replicated since. With a plot taken from Akira Kurosawa's samurai tale Yojimbo, the series begins with A Fistful of Dollars (1964) as “The Man with No Name" (Eastwood) rides into a Mexican border town where two outlaw gangs battle for control. Shifting allegiances from one gang to the other, Eastwood eventually double crosses both sides in one of the smartest deceptions in film. Here we see what marks Leone's films: camera work. Wide screen, wide-angle lenses, bizarre angles and close-ups all belie an anarchy and openness not seen in cinema. His follow-up, For a Few Dollars More, (1965) teamed Eastwood with Lee Van Cleef as a pair of bounty hunters looking to kill the psychopathic Indio (Gian Maria Volonte). Revenge oriented, the film features the memorable touch of having a Morricone tune playing on Cleef's watch. The final (though a prequel to the previous two), and perhaps most masterful, is The Good, the Bad and the Ugly (1966), in which Eastwood, Eli Wallach and Van Cleef pursue a cache of stolen gold. Double and triple crosses ensue, along with a heady take on the pointlessness of war (the Civil War booms around the men). Amazing widescreen shots of Eastwood's squinting eyes, not to mention Cleef's unrelenting (and downright sexy, something I’ve talked about many, many disturbing times) badness, appear throughout the film. This trilogy ushered in a new kind of Western: super violent, incredibly cynical, almost hyper-stylized (but with substance) and mythically potent. Perfecto.

Extended and tweaked from my MSN piece

Movie's Memorable Dads

One of my favorite dads in cinema is one of the most obvious -- Gregory Peck’s Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird.  The picture of patience, justice, tolerance, intelligence and grace, he’s so damn perfect that it’s almost maddening. Where in life would one ever have a father like that? And how could one make their own father act accordingly? If Atticus is even partially based in reality, Harper Lee was a very lucky girl.

But Atticus isn’t the only memorable movie patriarch who’s moved me -- positively or negatively. There is, among many others, Max Von Sydow in The Virgin Spring, Victor Mature in Kiss of Death, George C. Scott in Hardcore, Lamberto Maggiorani in The Bicycle Thief, Mel Gibson in Mad Max, Donald Sutherland in Ordinary People (and Don't Look Now), Seymour Cassel in Rushmore, and Geppetto in Pinocchio. Thinking about all these good dads led me to other dads, dads who weren't so perfect (but dads who, in some cases, I love just as much as Mr. Finch). With that, here are five screen dads who’ve touched me (not literally of course), confused me or, in the case of Max Showalter in Lord Love a Duck blew my freaking mind.

Nicolas Cage in Raising Arizona

So he’s not really a traditional father in this movie --- he’s the father of a kidnapped baby. But when it comes to Nicolas Cage’s H.I. McDonnough in Joel and Ethan Coen’s brilliant Raising Arizona, I’m not going to split hairs. In spite of a few stumbles along the way, H.I. really does love his wife Edwina (Holly Hunter) even when they learn that, as H.I. states, “her womb was a rocky place where my seed could find no purchase."  Nabbing a baby from Nathan Arizona (of Unpainted Arizona) seems like the right thing to do, or at least Edwina thinks so, but the plan goes seriously awry in many screwball and unforgettabel ways. I’m going to assume you’ve seen Raising Arizona so I’m not ruining anything when I say that I kind of always wish they could have kept that kid. Their devotion is pretty remarkable -- especially when the new daddy is shopping for Huggies.

Ryan O'Neal in Paper Moon

Remember how much fun it was to watch movies on TV pre-cable? Peter Bogdanovich’s gorgeously crafted Paper Moon fits into that warm memory for me since it was one of my favorite movies as a kid and I delighted whenever it appeared.  The movie had everything for me -- it took place in the 1930’s thus, looking like all the old movies I was so drawn to, it co-starred one of my favorite actresses, the hilarious one-of-a-kind Madeline Kahn as a woman named Trixie Delight and it starred young Tatum O’Neal as a 9-year-old who smoked, cussed and swindled people. She also got to drive around with a crooked travelling Bible salesman (Ryan O'Neal, Tatum's dad), a man who might be her father. The interplay between scammer O'Neal and his young, wise-beyond-her-years protégé Tatum is charming and, by film end, incredibly touching, not only for the story, but because these people really are father and daughter. And considering all of the O’Neal’s troubles, it plays even more poignant today. 

James Mason in Bigger Than Life

Jack Nicholson’s deranged daddy in Kubrick's The Shining may be the all time scariest movie father–we all know that. But allow me to present James Mason’s Ed Avery in Nicholas Ray’s criminally underseen Bigger than Life. A picture perfect 1950’s schoolteacher at first, his personality changes drastically after discovering he’s suffering from a potentially fatal illness. He becomes a guinea pig to the new drug cortisone and essentially, loses his mind. It’s great when he starts feeling better but the side effects are worse than anything you’ll hear listed during a Lipitor commercial. He turns into a megalomaniacal psychopath with murder on his mind -- chiefly the murder of his little son. Shot in bold, brilliant color and beautifully composed (the shots of Mason lording over his son in shadow are especially powerful), the father as God story is horrifying and truly sad.  A terrifically dark explication of the 1950’s family and an interesting indictment on prescription drugs, (nothing is as simple as just popping a pill), the picture was of course, a massive flop upon release. I have a feeling the whole daddy’s gonna kill you aspect was particularly hard for audiences to swallow within these glorious Technicolor frames. 

Max Showalter in Lord Love a Duck

If you’ve read this blog, you’ll know that I’m not overstating my feelings for Tuesday Weld when I say that my love for the beautiful blonde actress knows no bounds. So much that, in one of my favorite Weld movies, Lord Love A Duck, the insane adoration that her father (played by the gleefully nuts Max Showalter) showers on her while the comely teen shops for sweaters almost makes sense to me. Underscore almost because, you know, I don’t want readers to think I’m that big of a pervert.  But I think director George Axelrod wanted us to feel both excited and uncomfortable in this orgasmic moment during which Tuesday purr’s to daddy, “Pink put on” while trying on various cashmere sweaters. The darkly comedic movie concerns Weld as she works her way towards high school popularity via the help of an eccentric Roddy McDowall but her decidedly modern relationship with her floozy mother and freaked out father is one of the picture’s highlights. Watching Showalter’s eyeballs nearly pop out with lust and hearing his continuous maniacal laugh over Weld’s sweater fetish (or, rather his sweater fetish) remains one of the most subversive father daughter moments in the history of cinema. What the hell were people thinking while watching this scene?

Gene Hackman in The Royal Tenenbaums

Even if, as Danny Glover’s Henry Sherman says, he’s something of a “son of a bitch,” Royal Tenenbaum (as played by Gene Hackman) is the dad one always wants to have. He’s a rascal, a cheater and he’s pretty dismissive of poor Margot but when he realizes he cares about his family (directly after being busted for lying about stomach cancer), his attempts to reconnect are so damn touching that, no matter how many times I watch this movie, I absolutely lose my cool. Wes Anderson taps into that childhood yearning we have for our past, how it's as rose colored as Royal's dress shirts but at the same time, lonely, bitter and neglected. Anderson makes something beautiful about all this, without being sloppy and we come to not only adore Royal but trust his advice. Like when he tells Ethel that Chad's sons need a little recklessness in their lives, that their father has them cooped up like “a couple of jack rabbits”--he is absolutely right. And I can never hear “Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard” without thinking of Royal and his wonderfully natty suits.

Marilyn's Hard Knocks: 'Don't Bother To Knock'

Oh Marilyn. I know, I know, we all love Marilyn Monroe (or are supposed to) but I’m not going to stray from her simply because she’s so damn popular. The tragic heroine princess to every aspiring starlet or little girl or grown woman is our coffee mugged goddess, so ubiquitous that, I think, we sometimes take her for granted. Especially in her early and later roles (my two favorite periods for Marilyn). From the fresh faced, sublimely natural starlet sporting jeans in Fritz Lang’s Clash By Night to the methody, tired, tragic and lonely lady of John Huston's The Misfits, I find Marilyn’s first and last hopes at proving herself on screen immensely powerful.

Such is the case in Monroe's first starring vehicle, 1952's Don't Bother to Knock. There’s a prophetic sadness permeating her nuanced, fascinating performance, and for a picture of this period, her delusional babysitter (freshly released from an insane asylum) is surprisingly sympathetic. Knowing all we do about the troubled star, it most likely wasn't a stretch for the then-relative newcomer to understand the pathology and despondency of her character Nell, a beautiful young woman burned by love who can't handle the breach between reality and fiction. A film noir of sorts, though not containing enough elements of that genre to be classically considered as such, director Roy Baker's part-thriller, part-character-study is a tense tale with plenty of pathos geared toward Marilyn, who wasn't the full-blown MM superstar yet. As Nell, a mysterious girl who takes on a babysitting job in a hotel where her creepy, sad-sack uncle (Elisha Cook Jr. — who else) works, Monroe enters the picture in plain clothes, dark blonde hair, and little makeup. Though she's no plain-Jane, she looks like a "nice girl" — nice enough for hotel guests the Joneses (played by Jim Backus and Lurene Tuttle) to allow a stranger to watch over their cute little daughter Bunny (Donna Corcoran). After quickly putting the girl to bed (clearly she's not interested in the kid), Nell plays dress-up in Mrs. Jones' fine silk robe, perfume, and diamond jewelry.

Meanwhile, cocky, self-absorbed airline pilot Jedd Towers (the always terrific and personal favorite Richard Widmark) is stinging from rejection after the hotel chanteuse (a young, gorgeous Anne Bancroft) dumps him.  Spying the beautiful Nell from his window to hers (which is damn sexy) he finds some new action when the lonely Nell signals him from her room. He comes over for a good time, likes what he sees, and basically puts up with her strange behavior until it gets a little too freaky. A man, even Richard Widmark, can only take so much, and when Nell hangs Bunny out of the hotel window, he starts thinking she might not be worth the tumble. But here’s the poignant part—Nell doesn't really mean any harm. She's just disturbed and frequently suicidal. And here’s a novel idea—she desires a man to take care of her without hitting or hollering at her desire to look gorgeous. She should be normal dammit!

But, why? Why must women have to be so normal? Though suffering from deep seated psychological problems, I sense that it’s this type of "normal" pressure making her crack (the punishing and smarmy Cook Jr. doesn't help either). Monroe portrays these ideas beautifully, so much so, that I wondered how much of her real life was seeping into her performance, it plays so real. I kept wishing that she could just get out of that hotel, doll herself up and have some fun with a man who might understand her. Widmark isn't really the one, even though underneath his smirk and swagger, he’s essentially a good heart.  Interestingly, however, the moral of the story comes at Nell's expense — Widmark’s Jedd becomes a better person by not giving into temptation with a supposed psycho. Poor Nell, and poor Marilyn. In real life, most men wouldn't so sensitively resist.

On DVD, Game, Rain and Funhouse

This week's DVD releases offered a nice selection for every taste. There's The Dean Martin & Jerry Lewis Collection, Mott the Hoople: Under Review, The Outer Limits (The Original Series): Season One, the six disc set of The World War II Collection: Heroes Fight For Freedom and the must for anyone who loves this director as much as I do, the 8 disc Sergio Leone Anthology.

Check out my Film and DVD reviews at Strange Impersonation and anything else I'm thinking at Pretty Poison.

As for now, Three Obsessions:

1. The Only Game in Town (1970)  I recently put together a list of top ten Vegas movies, and to some surprise, The Only Game in Town was among the greats. But I'm fascinated by the saggy, depressing, accidentally (maybe not accidentally?) quirky picture. Something of a disaster in its day, the movie deserves consideration not only for its interesting and downright strange performances by Warren Beatty and Elizabeth Taylor but for its effectiveness in showing just how lonely and depressing the idea of winning can be. Any kind of winning. Earning tremendously bad buzz for going over budget and for catering to Elizabeth Taylor’s location demands (the film wasn’t shot in Vegas but in Paris so the star could be with Richard Burton while he was making another movie), the picture is indeed bizarre at times, but its claustrophobic weirdness and poignant sadness gives it a power that wasn’t appreciated in its day. Both Taylor’s ex Vegas showgirl and Beatty’s compulsive gambler are losers waiting for their jackpot (Taylor to marry a rich guy, Beatty, to simply win big) which makes their relationship understandable even while being somewhat off. Directed by George Stevens (his final film), the film moves slowly, but it’s peppered by some terrific dialogue and memorable interplay between Taylor and Beatty. Incidentally, I own the original one sheet, it comes with the tagline: “Dice was his vice. Men, hers.”

2. Rain (1932)  Writing a piece on W. Somerset Maugham brought me back to this picture and the film continues to entrance. An early pre-code talkie, Rain, directed by Lewis Milestone contains all the qualities of a silent film--gorgeous close-ups of nature, stormy, exotic weather and some sizzling, almost disturbingly sizzling, shots of Joan Crawford's eyes practically burning a hole through the screen. Adapted from Maugham's story, Miss Sadie Thompson, Rain, though a box office failure in its day, remains fascinating not only for its controversial story (that of a streetwalker tempting all the men of Pago Pago, including a fire and brimstone preacher) but for its early look at Crawford who was still in her jazz baby stage and about to re-invent herself. Before becoming the put-upon shop girl audiences adored, this is a harsh, intense but still sympathetic Joan, something she would perfect later in The Women, Mildred Pierce and Possessed. Like Bette Davis' star turn in that other Maugham masterwork Of Human Bondage, Rain is a glimpse of the Joan to come.

3. The Funhouse (1981)  This movie holds a special place in my heart because 1. It's about Carnies, and movies about Carnies and freaks tend to be great (Freaks, Nightmare Alley, Carny and The Elephant Man) and 2. At ages 12 and 13 I was trapped on not one, not two but three rides (the Octopus, the Squirrel Cages and that Rocket thing that holds you upside down, seemingly forever) by speed addled Carny workers with screwy ideas concerning the courting of young ladies. Nevertheless, those memories only make films about the subject seem scarier and more mysterious. So I ask: Why aren't more movies set in carnival fun houses? Tobe Hooper well understood the magically seedy setting with The Funhouse, a movie that, outside of horror fan circles, has remained relatively unnoticed. It's baffling since the picture is a tight little horror film imbued with some tremendously scary (and funny) sequences. Dig this idea -- a group of teenage friends decide it'd be a kick to stay the night in a fun house after closing time. Yeah, such a kick -- especially when a deranged, hideously deformed albino fond of wearing a Frankenstein monster mask begins terrorizing you. Something of an under-looked classic, The Funhouse makes me long for those creepy Carnies of my past. Do they roll into small towns and terrorize teenage girls anymore? It's such a shame if they don't.

Bugs In The Belfry: The Crazy Genius of 'Bug'

“Guess I’d rather talk with you about bugs than with nothing with nobody.”

There’s a moment in Bug during which I was so significantly moved, I almost crumbled in my theater seat. It comes when Agnes (Ashley Judd), the worn out, drug abusing, but still beautiful (in that way only certain kinds of damaged women can be) realizes she might be a alone again. As her newfound future partner in psychosis, Peter (Michael Shannon) leaves her; she closes herself in her seedy motel bathroom and sobs. In spite of presenting herself as a tough cookie -- she needs this guy. He’s a lot smarter and sensitive than her ex-husband (a bullying, abusive Harry Connick Jr.) and in spite of some of his crazy rants, she likes the way he talks.

And then…he returns and reveals his distinctly special problem. The reunion of these lovers is so weirdly romantic and such a relief, that you almost forget it will be poor Agnes’ undoing. If love is mad, if love is crazy, then Agnes and Peter are, as Laura Dern stated, “wild at heart and weird on top.”

So begins their folie à deux but one that moves beyond these lost soul’s tortured union and into modern ideas of conspiracies, post war insanity, disease, infected blood and the kind of paranoia that can spread like wildfire once the flame is (quite literally) ignited. And of course, it’s also about bugs, aphids to be specific, though they’re not swooping down on the pair a la Mimic -- they’re horrifyingly in their blood, brain, skin, teeth and, even more terrifying, we can’t see them. We simply have to believe. Or rather, we have to want to believe. I certainly wanted to believe, just so these people’s lives would make the labyrinthian sense they so desire.

Directed by William Friedkin and adapted from Tracy Letts’s stage play, Bug is a movie that will baffle, excite, horrify and anger those who can’t stay with its unwavering intensity. It will even in moments provoke titters, purposefully so, which should be honored rather than mocked -- obsession can be very, very funny. Bug is a rare picture that balances realistic, literal psychological horror with metaphorical meaning with small punches of satirical wit. It’s nothing like you’ve ever seen and so skillfully, artfully executed and so brilliantly acted (especially by Judd ) that the result is less movie and more wide awake fever dream. If you can relate to paranoia and desperate love in any way, you will meld into this movie -- and that only lends to its horror. It is (I’m not going to mince words here), a masterpiece.

The drama begins via the way most people hook up -- through a friend. Judd’s Agnes meets Shannon’s Peter after her lesbian friend R.C. (Lynn Collins) introduces the two and drops him at Agnes’s depressing hovel. She’s immediately intrigued but aware he’s a bit strange (after overhearing the women argue about his weirdness, he repeats “I’m not an axe murderer”). He admits that he makes others uncomfortable (“I pick up things unapparent”) but Agnes is refreshed by his shy, though straightforward sweetness. She’s also, eventually open to his unending beliefs about bugs, egg-sacks, insects implanted in his body via the military or whatever else. And though she argues at first, she will more than believe, becoming necessary and complicit -- partly out of love for her man, partly out of her own burgeoning psychosis (which we question is brought on by speedy drugs and her own past trauma) and partly because, well, maybe there’s something to this bug thing. She is hearing crickets in her room, she’s being bitten and helicopters are flying overhead. Or maybe not.

The fact that Friedkin leaves a small crack open for interpretation (and I really think he does -- especially when the weird-o drug taking doctor comes for a visit) gives the film an extra power and poignancy. Friedkin is a master with sound (you hear those damn bugs so much they burrow into your brain too) and, when in top form, showcases a kind of visceral suspense that, like The Exorcist, feeds from possession. These lovers are quite obviously, afflicted, and so the tension doesn’t come in simply their journey to the other side of sanity, it comes in how far they will go. And where will they go? And will they figure it out? And what are they going to carve out of their body next?

He also bleeds powerhouse performances from his actors, notably Judd, who might possibly be the greatest, bravest and most electrifying actress working. In Bug, she is sheer genius. Moving from a quiet, seen-it-all cynicism to a deranged, focused conspiratorial rambling, her transformation is without question. In her earlier moments, you can see that spark of insanity so when it blooms to full flower, you truly believe she’s exiting the smothering cocoon of her life. She’s found her purpose. She’s so good, so real, so with her character (my God, just the way Judd sits on a couch is remarkably natural) she becomes, in a tragic, twisted way, inspirational.

Some critics believe her character not too bright -- easily led by a sick manipulator who feeds off her to justify and complete his mental illness -- but I don’t see her in such simplistic terms. The real tragedy is she’s stuck in a dead end, trashy life and like a lot of smart “crazy” people, able to make that leap, able to embrace the bizarre, able to question the very nature of things, be it love or the government or some other vast conspiracy, to the point of no return. Like the movie, Agnes knows that nothing, even bugs, can be that easy -- nothing. And, depending on how you express it, understanding such complications is both comforting and crazy.

Here I Am Baby

--I'm celebrating Marilyn Monroe's birthday (and, yes, my birthday as well) by revisiting my ode to Ms. Monroe, an actress who remains timeless for a reason.

--And watch me today on the show "The Dailies" on the Reelz channel (I was also on a month ago but forgot to mention). It's a short segment, and I really wanted to get into the movies I'm most excited for this summer (Rescue Dawn, The Simpsons, Hostel II, Live Free or Die Hard) but alas, time didn't allow. I need time.

--And, as for my birthday (which I never ever bring up but, you know what? Why the hell not?), I'm celebrating at Clifton's, taking in Barbara Stanwyck pictures and listening to lots and lots of Al Green, The Impressions, Slim Harpo and Marc Bolan. Actually, my birthday wish is that I could just turn into Al Green in the performance below. That's right, not only do I frequently want to be a man, but I want to be a man performing on Soul Train. And also, I'd like to speak like one of my heroes, Bobby Seale. If my wish comes true, I'll attempt it next time on TV. Dig?