Sunset Gun

My Film Experience

Nathaniel R. is one of my favorite film bloggers. He runs the fantastic Film Experience Blog, a place I visit daily for its snappy writing, classic cinema amour and up-to-date, intelligent reviews of current releases. And (and I love this) he shares many of my obsessions. We both love Michelle Pfeiffer (though he is the official expert -- the man needs to write the ultimate Pfeiffer book), we both revere Montgomery Clift and we both get Josh Brolin, among other film-centric things. So naturally, I was game when he asked for an interview. Talk movies with another movie freak, and a Monty lover at that? You're on Mr. R.

Below is part of our conversation:

It was high time to have another writer-to-writer chat. There are days in which Kim Morgan wants to be Tuesday Weld. There are days in which I want to be Kim Morgan. Her fine movie prose can be found at Sunset Gun and at MSN's Movie Filter and you may have even seen her on your television sitting in for Roger Ebert once on Ebert & Roeper. Chase any of the links in this article to some of her pieces. We're jumping right in since Kim has a lot to say about cinephilia, actress worship, classic films --I know my rental queue is already reordered after speaking to her....

10+ Questions with Kim Morgan of Sunset Gun

Nathaniel: How often do you go to the movies and/or watch at home?

Kim: If I'm out of a shut-in spell, I go to the movies about once a week. If there's a great film series going on or screenings I have to attend, more. As for in home viewing...I think (of late anyway, I've been watching movies like crazy) I average three movies a day, sometimes four. If I get anything that says "Film Noir Box Set" or "Women in Peril" I'm in trouble. And I always re-watch a movie I’ve seen a million times before I go to sleep. I go through phases. I used to watch Marnie constantly. And All the President's Men. And then I went through this They Shoot Horses, Don't They? obsession. Baby Doll was another. I'd wake up with Karl Malden screaming "Baby Dooolll" in a continual brain loop. I think that's slightly healthier than Gig Young's depressing, mocking "Yowza, yowza, yowza."

Nathaniel: I can't fall asleep if a movie is on myself (i need pitch black and silence... so fussy) but i envy you. ... well, not the Gig Young or Karl Malden hauntings.

Kim: I recently spent time in the desert and became reacquainted with darkness, silence and deep sleep so I really should change my habits. But then I live right off Hollywood Blvd. so it's never exactly quiet.

Nathaniel: Do you dream about movies too?

Kim: Unless the movie is bleeding into my sleep, I don't think I've ever had a dream about a specific movie. But since I always take a movie to bed, I'm not so sure. Maybe I'm never getting proper REM sleep. I have had two dreams about Gene Hackman though, those were good dreams. I wish John Garfield would find his way into my slumber.

Nathaniel: When and how did you first discover your cinephilia?

Kim: In terms of cinephelia, probably when I was seven-years-old and saw High Sierra on TV. I had to see every Humphrey Bogart movie after that. I also kept a journal listing actors, directors and movies (old and current) I liked. Oh god, and when I saw Rebel Without a Cause at a revival showing, not only was I knocked out by seeing all those colors and angles and chicken races on the big screen but I had to find that red jacket James Dean wore. I wore that red coat all through middle school. I wish I still had that jacket.

Nathaniel: I think a lot of movie obsessives wait patiently (or im) for movies that remind them of those initial heady all enveloping thrills. Any recent movies or movie objects trip your switch in this way?

Kim: Whenever I see a movie I love on the big screen for the first time, it’s incredibly thrilling. Like when I saw Baby Face at UCLA a few years back or Cisco Pike at the American Cinemateque or nearly everything at the Noir Fest (The Crimson Kimono and Pickup on South Street writ large? Watching close-ups the way Samuel Fuller intended? Richard Widmark and JeanPeters’ faces when Widmark’s lifting that microfilm from her purse? Chills). When I first saw Vertigo in re-release – I was in a state of total bliss. I wanted to pull a Mia Farrow Purple Rose of Cairo and step into the screen (though I don’t know if I’d want Jimmy Stewart following me outside and telling me how to do my hair. Oh, who am I kidding? Of course I’d want Jimmy Stewart following me around and dressing me in crisp grey suits).

As per current films, I was nutty over I Heart Huckabees (if that counts as current). I went to that movie over and over and over again. It wasn’t just that it was brilliant, or that it merged some of my favorite things in the world: perfectly timed screwball comedy, existential philosophy and Lily Tomlin, but it was gorgeously filmed and scored in this bittersweet, off kilter way that got me in all these mysterious places. Zodiac, Bug and The Darjeeling Limited were also on that level. And I want that train car in Darjeeling. I’ve taken two cross country train trips this year in a sleeper car but to have a car that detailed and that beautiful, well, is it even possible? What other movie items have I recently coveted? More from Darjeeling, I want Adrien Brody’s sunglasses. I want the Dodge Charger from Death Proof. And I want any dinner Samuel Jackson cooks for Christina Ricci in Black Snake Moan.

Nathaniel: Hallelujah and amen. Listening to you I felt like I was in a revival tent just then. I believe! ...in the cinema. Any thoughts on why it's such a challenge to get the industry or the public or even young film fans more interested in the classics? Why do you suppose film culture is so narrowly focused on the now?

Kim: Actually, I think it’s a pretty good time for classic film lovers. There’s some lovely restored pictures being released, things we’ve never seen on DVD (like Barbara Stanwyck and Ralph Meeker in the great John Sturges picture Jeopardy), there’s lots of film discussion, especially online, and obviously Hollywood, usually to their folly, looks to classics for re-makes. Like Michael Bay’s ridiculous idea to re-make The Birds. Ugh. Why is Naomi Watts agreeing to do that? But you are right -- living in Los Angeles, I’m amazed by how many people working in the film industry have either no interest or very little knowledge about older, classic cinema. There are exceptions of course, and there are those with a base knowledge, but it’s really depressing. I’ve met a few film majors turned “filmmakers” who’ve seen nearly nothing. They think watching Garden State is the kind of inspiration they need to make their first movie over say, I don’t know…the early work of Polanski (which every aspiring filmmaker should watch, in my opinion).

And kids, well, I don’t know what to do about kids these days. All the teenagers who went to Saw IV – go see Saw, but in addition to that, I really wish they’d watch Eyes Without A Face. Just observe how truly horrifying and weirdly poetic it is when you watch a face being ripped off (and in French). That might pique their interest. That, and anything with a young Ann-Margret. Ann-Margret in The Swinger? Or Kitten With a Whip? What kid could resist that? And it might lead them to Carnal Knowledge. And if Lindsay Lohan can watch all of Ann-Margret’s oeuvre (with all of her shit to deal with), I think other young ones can follow suit. Maybe then Fox will finally release The Pleasure Seekers on DVD.

Nathaniel: Good for you for avoiding my negativity. My brain got stuck there once I realized how many Montgomery Clift performances were getting hard to find.

Kim: Wait, you're right about that. There's so many movies not on DVD it's sickening.

Nathaniel: Popcorn or Candy?

Kim: I'll stay positive and say popcorn. Popcorn without a question.

Nathaniel: On Sunset Gun you seem to have no aversion to lists. I'm not going to torture you with something huge like a top ten that would make a big article on your on blog. But humor us a little. Name your favorite film, director, actor, and actress ... or if you're feeling really generous two for each (one classic, one modern)

Kim: Oh, you are trying to torture me here. I don't know if I can answer that! Hmm…well I just re-watched Bring Me the Head Of Alfredo Garcia, so at this very moment it would be Sam Peckinpah and Isela Vega, but then she’s made all the more powerful with wily Warren Oates at her side. (I have an enormous crush on Warren Oates which I’ve talked about frequently, probably too much.)

Also, have you ever heard the story about Peckinpah wanting to direct the adaptation of Joan Didion's great LA novel Play It As It Lays? It eventually starred Tuesday Weld (whom I worship) and was helmed by Frank Perry and turned out to be an intriguing picture that's now very hard to see, but imagine Peckinpah dancing with Didion. Maybe that would have been absolutely perfect, I'm not sure. But anyway...back on track here, favorite director and actress. That's immediately making me think of all the great directors of women like Sirk or Cukor or Fassbinder or Robert Aldrich for Autumn Leaves alone, an incredibly sensitive look at female loneliness. I'm currently working on an essay discussing Sam Fuller as one of cinema's great, unsung directors of the female animal, from Thelma Ritter and Jean Peters in Pickup on South Street (Ritter is stunning in that picture and I love the part because it could have just as easily been played by a man); to Constance Towers in The Naked Kiss (how many films open with a bald sexy woman beating the crap out of some guy? And then that woman becomes the heroine? And in 1964?); to the extraordinarily adult, complicated and touching way he shows Victoria Shaw fall in love with James Shigeta in The Crimson Kimono. And then there’s Stanwyck in 40 Guns, where she’s this ass-kicking, whip wielding force of freaking nature.

Did I answer the question?

Read the rest of my interview, including what I would title the movie of my life here.

Also, check out all of Nathaniel's writing at Film Experience. And many thanks to Nathaniel for creating an especially creepy photo in which Tuesday Weld is hanging on to me like Steve McQueen. If I can't be Tuesday, Steve is just fine with me.

Eat Drink Watch Movie

For many of us, especially those of us who love movies, there are four great pleasures in life: Food, sex, books and cinema ... though not necessarily in that order.

Of the four, cinema is the pleasure which can consistently roll food, sex and countless other feelings, themes and experiences into one interesting batch of tiramisu -- and, more importantly, you can look at it (I always crave steak when Glenn Ford bites into that slab of meat in The Big Heat; Lee Marvin's special serving of steaming hot coffee, not so much). Food on film elicits all kinds of reactions and yearnings that underscore just how much emotion we sometimes invest in day-to-day eating or... binging or whatever sensible eaters do. I wouldn't know, especially around Thanksgiving because I just want to eat something. And watch something too. So with that, I've thought of some of my favorite food on film moments -- moments that make me hungry, sick, amused and ready to try new, exotic things (see Ravenous). Dig in.

Food Fight: The Miracle Worker (1962)

Though Arthur Penn’s The Miracle Worker received acclaim in its day, it now seems relatively underappreciated – especially in terms of how strikingly visceral and in many ways, avant-garde it is. The story of Helen Keller, a woman who found herself in the unfortunate position of being blind, deaf and mute is directed by Penn with a refreshing lack of hokey sentimentality and a lot of in-your-face realism.  Penn (who also helmed Bonnie and Clyde) prefers to showcase the real life account in a shockingly straight forward manner mixed with a lyrical sadness and beauty. It’s an unsettling combination that’s surprising even today, especially when we get to the infamous dinner table scene. A game Anne Bancroft plays Helen's teacher Annie Sullivan, who tries valiantly to teach stubborn Helen (a remarkable Patty Duke) how to sit down and eat at the table like a regular little girl. The lesson results in not only a food fight, but a smack-down that would make Vince McMahon envious. I mean, just watch…it’s actually amazing how much these women wrestle, slap and fork food in their mouths without missing a beat. It's sad but also (and I think this is intentional) a little hilarious. Jesus, how many times did they shoot this scene?

Sugar High: Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory (1971)

Though the much loved and romantic Chocolat will pop into many a sweet tooth's head, I find that film much too corny and not really all that scrumptious when it comes to whetting my appetite for candy. And yes, yes, I know the chocolate in said film is of a finer quality and, I presume, magically enhanced by the charm of Juliette Binoche, but please. When it comes to wishing Halloween came twice a week, it's all about Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory. The story of five lucky kids winning a visit to the famous and magical candy factory run by the wild and weird Willy Wonka (a tremendous Gene Wilder) is a confectionary dream that turns nightmarish once the kids (sans Charlie) reveal their varied and insufferable personalities. But no matter how many of the children endure dire consequences for their gluttonous temptations, we still want, as the song goes, candy. Which is why I cut some of these spoiled brats a break. One of Wonka's rooms is entirely edible. Would you be acting normal after shoving your face in a river of chocolate?

Best Restaurant Order: Five Easy Pieces (1970)

Sorry. I'm not going with the obvious -- When Harry Met Sally. First off, contrary to popular opinion, Meg Ryan's fake orgasm, "I'll have what she's having" -- diner display is the least funny moment in the otherwise charming romantic comedy. And secondly, no one beats Jack Nicholson in terms of inappropriate, though completely understandable restaurant behavior (think of other great Nicholson at-the-restaurant-moments: making Randy Quaid order his food the way he wants in The Last Detail and his endless, OCD eating specifications in As Good As It Gets). And though the masterful Five Easy Pieces (directed by Bob Rafelson) really has little to do with food, but it makes my list simply for Jack's iconic way of ordering a side of toast. Nicholson plays a slumming oil rigger/talented pianist who embarks on a trek to visit his dying father with a saucy girlfriend (Karen Black) and, at one point, two memorably surly female hitchhikers in tow. The four make quite a tall order when a seen-it-all waitress won't bend the rules ("no substitutions") on a breakfast order of a "plain omelette, no potatoes, tomatoes instead, a cup of coffee, and wheat toast." When the waitress insists she can only bring Nicholson a roll or an English muffin, he asks the perfectly reasonable question, "You make sandwiches don't you?" and proceeds to order a chicken salad sandwich, hold the butter, mayonnaise and lettuce. But where to hold the chicken? "Between your knees," Jack famously and disdainfully coos. I never tire of this moment. And right now I'd really enjoy some wheat toast.

French Kiss: Babette's Feast (1987)

Babette (Stéphane Audran) is some family cook. The French woman, who originally fled Paris after her son and husband were killed, has worked for a family in Denmark for 14 years, preparing food with little zest. But when she wins a lottery, she decides to use her winnings on crafting an elaborate "real French dinner" for her employers in honor of their deceased father's 100th birthday. What transpires is an overwhelmingly tasty, exotic and even, at one point, scary French meal (the sisters suspect Babette might be a witch in one scene). As a result of her luscious meal, filled with French delicacies that'll make even food philistines wish to sample the country's cuisine, all kinds of emotions are revealed, prejudices are broken and the family is bonded.

Prison Food: Goodfellas (1990)

From stirring the Sunday sauce just right (no matter if helicopters and cops are on your tail), to dinner with Joe Pesci's ma (actually Scorsese's), to shoving the mailman's head in a pizza oven, to Ray Liotta's telling diner meeting with Robert DeNiro, there's no shortage of delicious and murderous food sequences in Martin Scorsese's perfect Goodfellas. But the primo moment has to be when the bosses go to a prison so cushy, not even Martha Stewart could have conceived it. As Ray Liotta genially narrates, we watch the delivery of a ridiculously plentiful assortment of food -- delicious, hearty Italian food -- to the delight of the drooling but discerning jailbirds. The topper is when Paul Sorvino slices strips of garlic with a razor blade to such thin, such translucent perfection that when you see it gently combine with the olive oil and sizzle in the pan, you can practically smell the delectability. Makes you want to go to jail for one second...as a gangster. And, to enter the club in the most romantic way possible, through the kitchen.

Revenge is A Dish Best Served ... : The Cook, The Thief, His Wife, and Her Lover (1989)

Working like the anti-Babette's Feast, Peter Greenaway's brilliant though at times deeply repulsive film will make many never want to eat French food ever again. The story concerns the deviant (and, symbolically, political) happenings at a fine French restaurant in which the gastronomically gifted chef, Richard (Richard Bohringer), crafts elaborately artistic meals while the restaurant's boorish owner (Michael Gambon) holds obnoxious court with his abused wife (Helen Mirren). When the wife takes a lover, things, as they say, heat up, but not in any way you have or ever will imagine. Gorgeously shot and costumed and filled with succulent and sickening examples of cuisine, the film's (spoiler alert!) special of the day involves the murdered corpse of the wife's lover served up for her husband to eat. There's many lessons to be learned from this picture, but here's a simple one -- don't mistreat the cook, the waitstaff and a woman who is deservedly cheating on you. Also, didn't you see Fight Club? You know what people can do to your soup.

It's People!: Ravenous (1999)

This one's tough. There's some great cannibal contenders in this category, chief among them, the classic The Silence of the Lambs, the hilarious Eating Raoul, the weirdly touching and environmentally-friendly Motel Hell, the remarkably disturbing Parents and, of course, Soylent Green, which always sounded kind of good to me. But I'm partial to that brilliant, underrated war/vampire/horror picture Ravenous, directed by Antonia Bird with flesh eating flair. The title itself is wonderfully evocative, even while being blatant, and the movie, about a Mexican-American war captain (played by Guy Pearce) who's sent to an outpost in which the inhabitants are cannibals (led by a terrifically devious and sexy Robert Carlyle), is clever, scary, gory and deeply layered. It may be people, but it's good eating. And oddly arousing. Makes me want to try a bite of that stuff.

Top Ramen: Tampopo (1987)

Juzo Itami's Tampopo truly is a Spaghetti Western. Well, maybe more a noodle Western ... but its humorous blending of the old school Western with the, in this case, dizzyingly creative task of creating a perfect bowl of ramen, is giddy, delirious fun. The story has an aspiring restaurateur receiving aid from a cowboy drifter whose mission becomes noodles. From this fanciful plot, short sub stories evolve with meditative gusto, including a supermarket manager chasing an elderly woman who squeezes too much produce, a gangster's kinky fun with food and sex and an old man who nearly chokes to death on noodles only to be saved by a restaurant patron with a vacuum cleaner. It's a wonderfully inventive essay underlining that our passion for food can invoke innumerable and often bizarre scenarios. And it really, really makes me yearn for some noodles.

Mangiare: Big Night (1996)

Big Night is a filling, high calorie, good for you movie in more ways than one. The story of two Italian brothers, Primo (Stanley Tucci -- who directed the film alongside Campbell Scott) and Secondo (the poignant Tony Shalhoub), attempting to save their wonderful New Jersey restaurant is funny, touching, musical, heartbreaking, sexy and yes, absolutely, almost painfully mouthwatering. The brothers argue over just how to save their establishment in a greedy world that doesn't care for quality and artistry. But, after learning jazz great Louis Prima will be stopping by, they set out to create the ultimate multiple-course Italian meal. The centerpiece dish is Timpano, a layering of meat, pasta and pastry that requires two days of preparation, but all of the picture's food is staggeringly delicious. Though our favorite scene is the film's finale, a quiet moment where the fighting brothers wordlessly forgive one another over the simple act of making eggs and eating bread. Perfecto.

All You Ever Needed to Know About Chicken but Were Afraid to Ask: To Catch A Thief (1955)

For most people who enjoy a good meal (and a good roll in the hay) food and sex are so inexorably linked, we're frequently uncertain what's more tempting. In simple terms -- which would you rather gorge on? The greatest sushi you'll ever eat in your life or the greatest sexual gymnastics you'll ever perform with ... let's just say a young Brigitte Bardot? I'd probably pick the sushi, but what if Bardot was the chef? That's where movies happily come into play. Though there are many classic food and sex films and moments, including the egg incident from In the Realm of the Senses, the fridge raiding sequence from 9 ½ Weeks and the "I can't believe it is butter!" milestone of Last Tango in Paris, our favorite has to be Alfred Hitchcock's To Catch a Thief. Eating their chicken lunch picnic, Cary Grant and Grace Kelly are at their most sensual and human when the question of which piece of chicken arises. When he asks, "You want leg or breast?" and she answers "You make the choice."  Unless chicken means something else to you (and I'm not going further with that), only Cary Grant and Grace Kelly can make fowl so erotic.

Service With a Cackle: What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?  (1962)

Bette Davis could be the queen bitch of all queen bitches. As the aging child star Baby Jane Hudson caring for her ex movie star, wheelchair bound sister (played with aching martyrdom by Joan Crawford), she’s the picture of creepy cruel -- spackled white makeup, overdrawn mouth, baby doll ringlets, ratty old robes and little girl clothes (Davis insisted on looking this way -- even director Robert Aldrich was concerned about how scary she appeared). But this isn't about how Bette dresses, this is about how Bette serves a lunch. With gusto and flair! Everyone should prepare this kind of a meal at least once. Right?

Just As Good:

Mae Clark's grapefruit surprise in Public Enemy.

Catherine Deneuve's rabbit insanity in Repulsion.

Charlie Chaplin eating his shoe in The Gold Rush.

The maple syrup moment in To Kill A Mockingbird.

Mickey Rourke’s popcorn surprise in Diner.

Sex and food and sex and food and sex... Tom Jones.

That steak I mentioned, served up by Glenn Ford's perfect wife in The Big Heat.

The great rare steak stand-off in Mommie Dearest.

Marilyn Burns's meal with Grandpa in The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

Woody Allen and Diane Keaton attempting to cook lobster in Annie Hall.

Chianti, Fava Beans and liver from The Silence of the Lambs.

The drugged, demonic chocolate "mouse" served to Mia Farrow in Rosemary’s Baby.

Cool Hand Luke’s Paul Newman eating fifty eggs in one hour.

Extended from my piece at MSN Movies,

Beowulf, Babs And Eartha Being Evil

--Check me out tomorrow (that's this Friday) at 3 PM and 6 PM ET (and through the weekend) on the TV Show Dailies (on the Reelz channel) where I discuss Bee Movie, Beowulf and Baio (well, my co- guest, Eric Campos brings up Scott B). And nice try Beowulf, you’re not 300. Though, in my world, Ray Winstone is welcome anywhere – even while trapped in an unrecognizable hybrid of live action and animation.   

--Buy the Barbara Stanwyck Signature Collection DVD Box set but make sure to see Jeopardy. The John Sturges directed daylight noir thriller is not only a tense, daring ride, but a deliciously good time. Here's the predicament: While vacationing in Mexico with hubby Barry Sullivan and their young son, Stanywck is put to the test after Sullivan is trapped in the surf and she must find anyone (anyone) to help her. Aid arrives in smarmy Ralph Meeker (read more Meeker in the preceding post) a fugitive who has a few other things on his mind. And off it goes. The repartee between Stanwyck and Meeker is absolutely priceless with standouts involving the triple slap Meeker lays on tough Babs, or Meeker’s proud preference for cheap perfume: “it doesn’t last as long,” or my favorite moment – when Stanwyck realizes she must make the ultimate sacrifice. She faces Meeker all hard and seductive to say, “I’ll do anything for my husband. ANYTHING.” And she does. Hardcore Babs.

--Watch Eartha Kitt. A tiger head rug. Pig tails. Evil, evil evil. I can’t stop watching this bizarre, beguiling, erotic bit of brilliance -- it's inspired naughtiness and perfectly shot. That underneath angle. The glass. Her gorgeous crazy expressions! I'm in love. If you are too (and you should be) check Kitt out in the problematic though fascinating Anna Lucasta where she gives a sexy, stellar performance. She's what the overused phrase "force of nature" actually means. The big screen really needed extra Kitt. But to repeat, watch..."I wanna spit tacks!"

Sexy Beast

Some unforgettable private dicks have graced cinema through the years, many of them played by remarkable actors with varied takes on their tough-talking, hard-drinking, darkly shaded PIs. From the star-studded stabs at Raymond Chandler’s Philip Marlowe (Humphrey Bogart, Dick Powell, Robert Montgomery, Robert Mitchum, Elliott Gould) to Bogart’s iconic turn as Dashiell Hammett’s Sam Spade (The Maltese Falcon) to a wide gallery of gumshoes (Edward Arnold in Meet Nero Wolf, Jack Nicholson in Chinatown, and the various incarnations of Charlie Chan), big-screen shamuses make for intriguing, complex and exciting entertainment — big-time.

But even with all of these terrific tailers to choose from, for my money (and money means a lot when dealing with such sleuths) the greatest hunk o’ hard-boiled heaviness was Ralph Meeker’s Mike Hammer in Robert Aldrich’s super-stylized, brilliant Kiss Me Deadly (which I rhapsodized about, opening shots alone, here). With his sleazy cat-that-ate-the-canary grin, his swaggering, selfish, slaphappy demeanor, and his eye (though not heart) for the ladies, Meeker (so extraordinary and different in Something Wild – a movie I’ll discuss in the near future) was such a hard Hammer that he oozed single-minded contempt. And you kind of love the shit-heel. I do anyway.

Within Aldrich’s wild, fatalistic noir, a noir that becomes so apocalyptic that it borders on science fiction, Hammer should be a smug SOB, a self-indulgent man who, as the hysterial Cloris Leachman says to him, “thinks about nothing but his clothes, his car, himself. Bet you do push-ups every morning just to keep your belly hard.” And he’s not going to disagree. Meeker’s Hammer isn’t below threatening to chuck poor, tragic Leachman off a cliff, even if he just picked her up in his speedy little Jaguar for possibly something else. It’s that woman — a hitchhiking psychiatric-ward escapee — who leads Hammer to his craziest, deadliest mystery and when she’s murdered, Hammer’s off to investigate her death.

But he does a lot more. In the course of his investigation he will make out with his hot-to-trot secretary, slam a guy’s hand in a drawer, smash another man’s head in a wall and swap barbs with maybe the most important person in his life — his overly excitable car mechanic (“va va voom!”). And that’s just the half of it. When he’s dealing with a glowing, radioactive suitcase (hat-tipped in both Repo Man and Pulp Fiction), the cool, sordid “bedroom dick” turns out to be a man contending with the end of the world (with two endings). Which in Meeker’s hands means that…my lord, Robert Aldrich really was cynical. What a perfect pair.

Originally published at MSN Movies.

Big Bad Patty

Ah…the baby blonde. That symbol of purity, beauty and goodness. In 1950’s America who wouldn’t want to have a lovely, flaxen haired child to adore and spoil? Everyone, of course. But by 1956, two important films emerged -- showing the underbelly of these perfect specimens. The more esteemed, and notorious (it was condemned by the Legion of Decency) was Elia Kazan’s Baby Doll, in which the gorgeous child bride Carroll Baker destroys Karl Malden’s masculinity whilst sleeping in a crib and sucking her thumb (never mind she’s 19 going on 20). While other relevant issues pervade Kazan’s masterful take on Tennessee Williams, the lingering image is of Ms. Baker in that crib…an iconic vision of arrested sexuality.

But just as viewers took a gander at Baby Doll, they had another blonde to contend with -- a much younger, smarter and deadlier one -- The Bad Seed. Pretty 10-year-old Patty McCormack playing an 8- year-old in pig tails and pinafore skirts as Rhoda Penmark, a curtsying, cutie-pie brat who’ll manipulate, terrorize and kill anyone who gets in her way. Both actresses’ were deservedly Oscar nominated for their performances but it's Mervyn LeRoy’s picture, though much loved by cultists, that remains highly underrated.

Part of the problem may lie in the transfer from play to film. LeRoy rightfully transported nearly all of the actors from the successful stage play (most likely to the annoyance of Warner Brothers who probably desired a bigger star for Rhoda’s mother) but was forced to change the ending. In the play, an unstoppable Rhoda continues her evil while after her killings, she chillingly plays her continual practice piece, "Claire de Lune" on the piano. Perfect. In the picture however, she is socked with a lightning bolt. O.K, also perfect. But, (and I'm not endorsing the harm of children here, even evil children), Warner Brothers made LeRoy further punish Rhoda, or in this case Patty, by having cast members spank little McCormack --assuring the audience this was all a bunch of fun. You know, burning, drowning, murdering kids with tap shoes -- fun!

And yet, in an early bit of camp -- The Bad Seed is fun. Gleefully, unapologetically and relevantly fun. In its own way, the end changes just make the picture even more inadvertently subversive. How we love to hate little Rhoda. And for some of us (myself included), how we love to love her…she’s just too damn full of vicious personality. I even go so far as to nearly (I say nearly) champion her actions and wish she would invoke more harm (film wise) before her inevitable demise.

But enough of my sick adoration and to the movie itself. Living with her mother Christine (an understandably neurotic Nancy Kelly) and mostly absent father (William Hopper -- Hedda Hopper's son) Rhoda's life is one of privilege and attention. When kissing her father goodbye he asks “What would you give me for a basket of kisses?” Rhoda coos back: “A basket of hugs!” Landlady and supposed expert in psychology, Monica Breedlove (Evelyn Varden) dotes on Rhoda, applauding her out-moded manners and showering her with presents -- one being rhinestone movie star glasses that Rhoda, of course, loves. As she prattles on about Freud and abnormal psychology, the rather ridiculous Breedlove cannot see the freakish behavior in front of her. She's blinded by all that bright, beauteous blonde.

But Leroy (a scene stealing Henry Jones), the disturbed, somewhat perverse handyman disrespected by the household can see right through Rhoda (you even get a sense he's got a thing for her), leading to some of the picture's most inspired moments. Man does Leroy dig into snotty Rhoda after a fateful class outing leaves one child dead; not coincidentally, the class-mate who won the penmanship medal over the all perfecting Rhoda (“Everyone knew I wrote the best hand!” she hollers in sour grapes dramatics). The little boy is drowned and Rhoda returns home as if nothing happened. "Why should I feel bad? It was Claude Daigle got drowned, not me" she insists. And then she goes roller skating. Meanwhile, her mother becomes increasingly rattled and the boy's mother (an inspired, heartbreaking Eileen Heckart).

Though some have a tough time with The Bad Seed’s talkier sequences (especially when Rhoda’s not around), to me they are an intriguing look into ideas that would later be seriously considered, scientific even. They also point out how psychology can’t explain everything (hence, a bad seed) as the one woman (Breedlove) who brags of her knowledge, fails to sense anything wrong with a child who is, at the very least, self obsessed to the point of vapid narcissism. Never mind she’s a murderer.

And, the golden moments come, again, between Leroy and Rhoda who argue like two prison inmates waiting for lockdown. Though Rhoda finds him revolting, he’s the only adult who can actually frighten the child with his taunts of “stick blood hounds” or the dreaded electric chair, a fate he swears she'll meet. “They don’t send little girls to the electric chair!” Rhoda protests. “Oh they don’t?” He answers. “The got a blue one for little boys and a pink one for little gals!”

Though films like The Omen or The Good Son have tried, nothing compares to The Bad Seed -- and no child actor has out-seeded McCormack. Calm and cool, she can also rip into fits of rage that are both terrifying and hilarious. Perfectly balancing a disarmingly adult demeanor with the tantrums of a little girl, her performance is even more impressive in that it’s the blueprint. Where did McCormack learn this wonderful balance of over-theatrical camp with an icy, realistic serenity? And before John Waters became obsessed with her?

A classic and first of its kind, the then shocking Bad Seed holds up, albeit with a tad more camp, but with just as much psychotic gusto (I'm not sure what to think about the talked about re-make). Revel in McCormack’s Rhoda, a character even the obnoxiously talented Dakota Fanning couldn’t play. Agree with Leroy who spits out: “I thought I saw some mean little gals in my time, but you're the meanest!” And, what the hell, worship little Rhoda -- the itty bitty ultimate queen bitch goddess.