Sunset Gun

Three Obsessions: Venus, Jason and Carnies

More obsessions and more DVDs -- I'm so behind that there's too many to mention. So since I've never discussed it at length, I'll ask you to check out the Fox noir titles Road House (a classic starring Ida Lupino, Richard Widmark and Cornel Wilde) on which I provide commentary with friend and colleague, "Czar of Noir" Eddie Muller. I also contributed to featurettes on Road House and the bizarre but beautiful Moontide (starring Lupino, Jean Gabin and Claude Rains).

And added bonus -- Ken Tucker of Entertainment Weekly rated Road House as the number three best DVD release of 2008 (here's his review) stating: "Guaranteeing its place on this list is the info-packed, hard-boiled, sometimes raucous commentary track by film-noir experts Eddie Muller and Kim Morgan." Thank you EW.

As always, you can read all my DVD and Theatrical reviews at Strange Impersonation and check out whatever else I'm thinking at Pretty Poison.

For now, three obsessions.

1. Blonde Venus (1932)

At the same time of Jean Harlow’s popularity, Josef von Sternberg was crafting his own goddess in the very German form of leggy, sunken-cheek-boned and languid Marlene Dietrich. Sternberg made many iconic blonde movies for Marlene (The Blue Angel and The Scarlet Empress just to name a few) but Blonde Venus stands out as the ultimate in blonde ambition. Dietrich plays the full spectrum of the blonde. She's an ex-German café singer who marries a good-hearted Englishman. She's a happy hausfrau and adoring mother. Then, she's a cabaret star and harlot who dances in a gorilla suit and becomes really, really famous. You know, the whole blonde journey. The film features two iconic blonde numbers: There's Marlene in her famed white tux, tails and top hat and, Marlene in a gorilla suit. In one of film's most surreal moments, Marlene removes a gorilla head revealing her blonde-haloed face. To make herself even more eye-popping, she grabs a blonde Afro wig, places it on her head and sings "Hot Voodoo." Describing this moment requires two words you don't often see together: blonde genius

2. Jason Statham

I recently saw the trailer for Crank 2 and it left me…swooning. I mean, Jason Statham. I think one of my highlights of last year was meeting him and talking about my Torino. My heart went all auto-erotic when Statham (who drives a white 208 GT2 Porsche) rhapsodized over American muscle cars and so perfectly understood the awesomeness of a 1971 Torino with a 351 Cleveland. He leaned closer to me and asked with that distinctive Statham voice: “Where's your keys? You don't want to lend that to me on the weekend.” (Uh ... go ahead and take the keys, Mr. Statham, as long as I'm in the passenger seat.) Jesus.Yes the gruff voiced toughie has lived a life almost as interesting as some of the parts he’s played with a backstory that might be apocryphal but who cares if it is? In his teens, he joined the British National Diving Team, finishing 12th at the World Championships in 1992. But that was perhaps just a bit too square for the rough and tumble Brit who moved into the street world (allegedly, but again, who cares?) as a black market salesman. He then became a model which led him to audition for Guy Ritchie’s action quirk fest, Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels. From then on Statham was in demand appearing in, among other pictures, Ritchie’s popular Snatch, The One (with Jet Li), Mean Machine (with Vinnie Jones), the incredibly entertaining Transporter films that I love so, so much, the high-adrenaline Crank pictures and the impressive, highly underrated The Bank Job (which almost cracked my top ten)  Though Death Race (Paul W.S. Anderson’s re-make of the cult film Death Race 2000) failed to impress, Statham still remains a curious cross between Bruce Willis, Anthony Hopkins and Bob Hoskins which means, I’m waiting to see him flex his acting range, something I’m sure he could do. But I’d be fine just seeing him drive around in a car for the rest of his career. Or you know, my car.

3. That Desert Carnival

I can’t stop thinking about my desert carnival experience in late November. As The Seekers and Nick Cave so eloquently sang, the carnival is over, but man do I miss it. There’s nothing like all of those rigged games, scary cracked up rides, cheap stuffed animals, bright colors, and that whooshing sound of so many contraptions beckoning you in a methamphetamine haze. Smack in the middle of nowhere-ville, Yucca Valley, made the adventure even more surreal.  And I love the carnies. If there is ever a carnival in your area, go. Who cares if you're cheated from a game or don't trust the rides or can't stand pot smoking teenagers (and really, you should get over that, because we all smoked pot out of coke cans at one point in our lives). Anyway, keep this world in business, no matter how crooked it is.

And the above charming, fascinating older fella (and prince) with the greatest rings I'd ever seen became my fast friend after we talked for nearly an hour. His name (for real) is Andy Hardy, and not only had he met Mickey Rooney ("nice man") but he voted for Obama. An 80-year-old carny voted. See why Obama won?

Here's my experience, in under eight minutes. I love that stuffed dog playing poker... Watch here.

See all my Desert Carnival pictures here.

Khan Baby, Gone: Ricardo Montalban, 1920-2009

There are three things most people think of when hearing the name Ricardo Montalban: "Fine Corinthian leather," Khan and, "Smiles, everyone, smiles." Though all three signature moments made him iconic, and all were excellent in their own way, there was much more to this dapper, groundbreaking actor and proud Mexican-American.

Born in Mexico City, Montalban wore many suits in his life, and all were not white, Mr. Roarke attire. He was a star in Mexico, a Broadway actor (he acted onstage opposite Tallulah Bankhead in Her Cardboard Lover), and an MGM contract player making pictures like Fiesta (with Esther Williams and Cyd Charisse -- lucky), The Kissing Bandit, Battleground, Latin Lovers and Sombrero, a movie I hold dear as it hangs in six sheets across my apartment's entry room hallway. Nothing like walking out of the sometimes grungy, depressing Hollywood streets to be greeted by the sultry glamour of Charisse, Yvonne De Carlo and Mr. Montalban, midclench.

Though Hollywood didn't offer him enough roles and mixed his ethnicity around various parts (something that annoyed the proud Mexican), he tirelessly fought for the rights of Latinos in Hollywood, serving as president of Nosotros, an organization he founded for the advancement of Hispanics in the entertainment industry and one he ran for 20 years. In spite of the limitations placed on him, he did show great range. He could sing, he could dance, he could play the heavy, the leading man, the odd bon vivant, and he could talk. Boy could he talk. His debonair, perfectly pitched, richly smooth voice was unmistakable, something that surely helped after a bad spinal injury from the early 1950s worsened as he aged.

One of my favorite Montalban roles is as a tough, soulful federal agent from Mexico, working with U.S. agent George Murphy in Anthony Mann's tight, hard-hitting, beautifully shot 1949 noir Border Incident. He's also terrific in John Sturges' Mystery Street, William Wellman's My Man and I (opposite Shelley Winters), John Ford's Cheyenne Autumn, and Bob Fosse's Sweet Charity. (Look at that list of directors...)

And then there's Star Trek: The Wrath of Khan, the superior Star Trek movie, and one that was elevated by his presence alone. His titular character, the genetically engineered supervillain Khan, hell bent on vengeance, confronted Captain Kirk (William Shatner, need I remind you) with delicious grandiloquence. As director Nicholas Meyer said, Montalban's Khan was “Ahab, Lear, and Lucifer all rolled into one.”

He was also, of course, legendary in the role of Mr. Roarke on TV's Fantasy Island, surely one of the strangest (and, in my opinion, greatest) shows that Aaron Spelling ever created. Kitschy, even in its own time, and with revolving stars like Sonny Bono, David Cassidy and Charo, Montalban was still impressive, creating such a mysterious character in Roarke's puppet master/island god that you were always just slightly disturbed by his actions. What was he up to? And why did these people have to go through such extreme lengths to learn their valuable lesson: Be careful what you wish for? I always wondered what Mr. Roarke was up to (bedding babes, or pulling strings – or both). There were episodes that played more like David Fincher's The Game than escapist weekend drama. And then there was Montalban, ever cool, ever gracious, ever smiling, ever sly, a bit hammy and yet, never fake. That cannot be easy to do. 

In 1993, with his injury increasing, he worked mostly from a wheelchair, but, always the professional, always the class act, did not quit acting or giving wonderful interviews. My friend and colleague Eddie Muller, the ultimate film noir historian and mystery writer, recalled a Noir Festival interview with Montalban as one of his favorites: “Ricardo Montalban with Mystery Street, declaring how angry it made him that Hollywood called him 'Latin, Hispanic, Cuban, Venezuelan -- everything but what I am! A Mexican! I am a Mexican! And proud of it!' [He had] great nobility. He really impressed me.”

Eighty-eight years makes for a long life, and Montalban had an eventful, artistic, important one, but he will be missed. Thank goodness I can look at him every day when I open the door, take off my coat and turn on the light before retreating to my sanctuary: “Smiles, everyone, smiles.”

Montalban with the magnificent Cyd Charisse. Gorgeous... 

*From my MSN column Hollywood Hitlist.

Clint, Mon Amour

Robert Mitchum, Lee Marvin, Steve McQueen -- fantastic faces, wonderful actors and the absolute kings of cool. They're gone. They're almost all gone. Leaving an empty hole and extra large snakeskin boots to fill for any other hepcat actors (which are few and far between. With few exceptions, are actors even cool anymore?), these kinds of guys (men, damn it) not only rarely walk among us any longer but barely even flicker on the screen anymore. So, I have to ask, is Clint Eastwood the last man standing?

The 78-year-old actor/director/icon (that's right, he's 78, and he could still kick your ass) Clint Eastwood is currently starring in Gran Torino, a movie he reportedly directed as his last starring role -- something that puts me in varied extremes of raging wistfulness and bittersweet overload. The movie is weirdly lovable -- not the greatest picture of Eastwood's oeuvre (it's not Unforgiven), but then, so unique, daring, touching and personal that, well, maybe it is one of the greatest movies he's ever made.

The story of a Korean war veteran and recent widower (and ahem, proud Ford Torino owner, how could I not see this movie?) facing his own racism and general grumpy, growling demeanor while befriending his Hmong neighbors is oddly toned -- disarmingly funny at times (who knew Eastwood was as cute as Sarah Silverman in the shock department?) -- and then, overwhelmingly poignant. It's Clint facing his own persona, poking some fun at it, apologizing just a little, but maintaining his realness while making himself absolutely mythic. It's steadfastly American while being strangely exotic -- there's nothing like it.

And there's no one like Eastwood. I recently rewatched (for the umpteenth time) the great Sergio Leone Dollars trilogy (where Eastwood dominates as the "Man With No Name" or "Blondie" -- next to Angel Eyes Lee Van Cleef, who of course is no longer with us, and who I also revere with almost sick intensity) and was once again, awestruck by his less-is-more approach to acting (the jazz lover in him). Not surprisingly, Eastwood understands the art of the close-up (that grimace!) and what to do with your body (that oh-so-subtle swagger of his!), and he uses it to great effect in everything from his Dirty Harry movies to Every Which Way But Loose, a movie that, opening credits alone (that Eddie Rabbit song accompanying his workday kills me every time -- and when he knocks on the window to the very happy secretary --  why does this move me so?) simply proves how much he brings to jeans, a T-shirt and an old truck (not to mention great hair). And who looks cool hanging out with an orangutan? Clint does.

So damn. Clint's turning me into perpetual father/brother/mentor loser Brandon De Wilde here. Is Gran Torino really going to be his last acting appearance? Clint, don't go!

Tweaked from my MSN column Hollywood Hitlist.