Sunset Gun

Three Obsessions: Hulk, Tallulah, Angie

Some long overdue obsessions. A lot of DVDs released but for me, it's all about the Dirty Harry Ultimate Collector's Edition -- which is getting even more coverage due to the Eastwood/Lee feud -- did they plan this? 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.

As for now, Three Obsessions:

1. Hulk  No, not that Hulk -- not the one with Edward Norton opening this weekend. I'm talking Ang Lee’s Hulk. A movie I revere with loneliness, this criminally underrated, unfairly maligned comic book picture managed to be serious and seriously fun. Musing on that green, mean Marvel comic fighting machine, Lee took a repressed Eric Bana and turned him into a frightening vision of male rage haunted by paternal alienation (via a crazed Nick Nolte). Shooting with exaggerated close-ups and with a keen eye for nature (something Lee's expert at -- check The Ice Storm and Brokeback Mountain) Lee purposefully created a CGI Hulk that ran through cement, sand and dirt with the agility of Shrek (Hulk trips around a lot). Lee made one of the first truly artistic comic book adaptations -- Shakespearean, really. Mark my words  -- Hulk will be better appreciated through the years. And...if you watch me tonight gabbing on the STARZ documentary Comic Books Unbound (8 PM PST and 10 PM ET), I will be praising it to the holy high heavens. Unless they cut that part. They probably did.

2. Lifeboat   Forget Lost. Alfred Hitchcock’s Lifeboat (1944) is one of his earlist forays in a certain kind of claustrophobic experimental filmmaking (Polanski must have studied this picture). A masterful example of confined tension, the picture opens with a handful of people climbing aboard a lifeboat (after their ship has been torpedoed by a German U-Boat). When a German is pulled on board the group’s cramped little boat, they have to work with the enemy while keeping a wary eye on the fellow. An excellent study of understandable fear, mob mentality and those who resist it, the picture is both cinematically exquisite and psychogically intriguing. And who can forget a stand-out, brilliant Tallulah Bankhead? She's lost at sea in her damn mink coat, no less. Perfect.

3. The Killers  Though Robert Siodmak's 1946 version of Ernest Hemingway's The Killers is superior, I love Don Siegel's 1964 The Killers. I love the cars, the Cassavetes,  the Clu Gulager (oh, how I love him in this movie), the cool Lee (that's the endlessly cool Lee Marvin), the cruel Reagan (as in future president Ronald, and a man with a great head of hair), the kind Claude Akins, the cretinous Norman Fell (as in future "fairy" teasing landlord Mr. Roper) and the comely, comely Angie Dickinson.

Having just watched the picture on the big screen (and meeting the charming Miss Dickinson -- a thrill) while presenting at the Palm Springs Noir Festival, I'm still thinking about Siegel's fast moving auto-erotic slap fest. And Angie gets slapped -- a lot. But according to her, Reagan would forever apologize for the smack -- he was a nice guy. That being said, he sure knows how to lay one on her. And is it just me or is it kind of hot that JFK slept with Angie while RWR slapped her? Maybe it's just me.

Three Obsessions: Dassin, Dietrich, Dirty Mad Dog

After a curious absence from my usual triad of obsessions, I'm back at it, with DVDs I'm excited about and a few return offenders that are getting, as one horny old lady from Elvis: That's the Way It Is so eloquently put it, "my Phi Beta Kappa key a jangling" (You remember her, right?).

But, again, discs -- there's been some pretty choice DVDs released including The Bette Davis Collection, Volume 3 and last week's Gangster Collection, Volume 3 (finally, The Ladykiller!) as well as the new Bonnie and Clyde special edition. You can read all my DVD and Theatrical reviews at Strange Impersonation and check out whatever else I'm thinking at Pretty Poison.

As for now, Three Obsessions:

1. The Siren's Take on Jules Dassin's AP obit  First Richard Widmark and Abby Man, and now Jules Dassin -- one of film's most inventive, raw, soulful, intelligent auteurs.  With titles like Thieves' Highway, Brute Force, The Naked City and my favorite, Night and the City (featuring Richard Widmark's greatest, most desperate, most quintessential noir performance) and the brilliant Rififi and Topkapi, as well as Never on Sunday, a popular picture that served as a valentine to his talented wife, actress Melina Mercouri, Dassin was a seminal figure who deserves the respect of a Hawkes, a Ford, a Hitchcock or a Kazan. And speaking of Kazan...Dassin suffered the vile witch-hunt of HUAC, and was blacklisted from Hollywood after director Edward Dmytryk named him as a communist. Dassin would fashion his aforementioned greatest work -- Night and the City, in London, and later the influential Rififi, made in France. There's many terrific tributes to Dassin online, and I'm working on my own (I'm still reeling after Widmark) but I love (love, love, love) Self-Styled Siren's passionate objection to the AP's lame-brain Dassin obit. Sayeth Siren:

"Did you get the part where he was a leftist? Are you sure? Should we mention it again? Lefty-left-left-leftist, got that? How about the fact that Dassin left the Communist party in 1939? Oops, no space for that. He moved to London to do Night and the City, who knows why. Then Dassin 'abandoned' the U.S. after being denounced by vaguely plural 'contemporaries' and put on the blacklist. They wouldn't let on just anybody, you know, you had to be 'Communist enough.' Then Dassin lived in Italy and France and after soaking up the Euroscene he returned with Rififi...  It is worse to hear that an American director of exceptional talent...has died at the ripe old age of 96, and then see that the obituary flashing across the newswires is a slanted piece of crap."

Siren has riled me up over this -- like prison-riot riled up. I need to break a bottle or something. Or watch Brute Force again. That's probably the superior alternative.  Rest in peace Mr. Dassin.

2. Marlene Dietrich's ABC  From her leggy Lola in The Blue Angel to the tux and tails and later, gorilla suit and blonde Afro in Blonde Venus to the brilliant documentary Marlene -- as I've discussed before, I never thought I could love Marlene Dietrich any more that I already do. But while working at a book store years back, I came across this keeper -- not an autobiography but Miss Uber Blonde's own personal dictionary entitled Marlene Dietrich's ABC. Originally published in 1961, the reference book (and it really is a reference book) allows the reader to think of a word or term and look up Marlene's own special, specific definition.

You're not going to find the meaning of say, impugnable or dislogistic but you will find Suave ("I can get along very well without the use of this word."). You'll also flip through to find Morocco ("Looks better in films"); Credit System ("The American Tragedy"); Hardware Store ("I'd rather go to the hardware store than the opera. And I like the opera"); Medical Ethics ("They make me sick"); Pouting ("I hate it, but men fall for it so go on and pout") and Necking ("a dirty pastime."). (Oh Marlene, surely you mean good fun dirty?) But within her specific list is this oh-so-true statement regarding my own personal junkie paradise, Stationery Stores: "People who adore stationery stores are like dope addicts about paper clips, paper clamps, felt tip pens...paper...thick stiff, hard, soft, rough, large like canvas, surfaces like linen or pigskin... I remember buying the most beautiful pale blue legal paper, which almost felt like silken blotting paper...I look at it every once in a while and it sends me." Proof positive of her simultaneously mysterious and down-to-earth erotic potency, Marlene manages to make felt tip pens sound sexy. This gem is out of print but look for it. You never know when you might need to quote Dietrich's take on soda pop: "The gooey, bubbly sea drowning our American children." She's right.

3. Born to Kill (1947)  After re-watching the brilliant Night and the City twice in one week, taking in all of that "artist without an art" (such a great line) Harry Fabian, and feeling especially moved by not only the picture, but both Widmark and Dassin's recent deaths, I yearned for something I couldn't sympathize with. I wanted to feel hard. So who do I turn to for such necessary nastiness? That down and dirty mad dog hard-boiled hero Lawrence Tierney. Specifically, Lawrence Tierney in Born to Kill. Violent, black-hearted and disturbingly sexual Tierney is at his brutal best, especially when paired with Claire Trevor, the amoral climber who falls for the similarly ruthless Tierney (their chemistry is deeply sick yet wonderfully sexy). Adapted from the novel by James Gunn and directed by Robert Wise, the picture utilizes everything Wise learned from Val Lewton to stunning effect with, not only gorgeous noir lighting but genuinely nightmarish, violent attack sequences. A scene in which Tierney beats up and kills his ex-girlfriend and her lover will shock you much more than your modern eyes would expect. And Trevor (whom I worship) -- is one sizzling snake. I love how she cooly discusses the pain of death, as if explaining dental work or a hat sale at Bloomingdales: "A piece of metal sliding into your body, finding its way into your heart. Or a bullet tearing through your skin, crashing into a bone."

The  supporting cast is stellar (Walter Slezak, Esther Howard and the noir fixture Elisha Cook Jr.) but Tierney, good GOD, is he wonderfully evil here. Known to many (and to too many) as the rough talking oldster in Reservoir Dogs, young Tierney is a man with immense sex appeal, the ultimate alpha male, the ultimate tough guy just dripping with testosterone of the ticking time bomb variety. His flashes of anger are potently scary, intense and real. He's an odd cross between smoothness (his voice is more punctuated and level, not overtly gravely) and harsh moodiness ready to explode. And nothing he does seems fake -- especially killing. But we are talking about a guy who, in real life was arrested more times than the character he played (John Dillinger) and who was knifed in a bar fight. Aw, dammit...now I'm sad again. All of these guys really are gone. OK. We've still got Ernest Borgnine (and I'm counting him for The Mob, Johnny Guitar, The Stranger Wore a Gun, Bad Day at Black Rock and The Wild Bunch) but he's not really the same thing. Maybe everyone should have married Ethel Merman for 32 days just once?

On DVD, James, Harry, Bing and Fred

I’m so behind on this obsessive column that too many DVD’s have passed by to recommend. You know which ones to buy. So I’ll just get right into, as Liz Taylor would say, the meat of things.

I'll try to stay on top by next week but in the meantime, check out my Film and DVD reviews at Strange Impersonation and anything else I'm thinking, or rather my relationship with stuffed animal claw machines at Pretty Poison.

As for now, three obsessions:

1. Bigger Than Life   Why oh why is this Nicholas Ray classic not on DVD? It never even found its way to VHS either, sad since Bigger than Life is one Ray’s most interesting, sociologically damning pictures. It also boasts one of cinema’s most horrifying fathers, James Mason’s Ed Avery. 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 marbles. Like many drugs, it’s wonderful at first -- he feels better -- but the side effects are worse than anything you’ll hear listed during a Lipitor, Zoloft or Wellbutrin commercial. It’s not that he loses his sex drive (though that’s not addressed in the picture) no, 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 but in the end, incredibly sad.  A terrifically dark explication of the cookie cutter 1950’s family (was anyone really that perfect cookie? No.) and an interesting early indictment on prescription drugs, the picture was of course, a massive flop upon release. The whole daddy’s gonna kill you aspect was more than likely tough going for audiences taking in those glorious Technicolor frames.

And... is it me, or is it strangely refreshing to watch repression unleashed in such a psychopathic way? It may be related to recently watching Interiors and secretly wishing someone like Mason would just smash all of those clay pots Geraldine Page is so fucking obsessed with. Or drug that drippy Sam Waterson with some cortisone. Anything.

2. With A Friend Like Harry (A.K.A. Harry He’s Here to Help)  Dominik Moll directed this superb thriller that turns a family’s summer vacation into not only a dance with death but an existential breakdown. The story finds married man Michel (Laurent Lucas) meeting a strange guy in a roadside men’s room (which is already off – meeting a man while washing your hands). That guy is the well to do Harry (a brilliantly beguiling Sergi Lopez) who claims to have been high school friends with Michel – or perhaps not. Though Michel doesn’t remember Harry, he half heartedly, though curiously allows the man and his girlfriend to visit their in-progress summer house. Harry will then uncomfortably insinuate himself on the family leading to all sorts of behavior that reveals not only how off Harry is, but Michel’s beleaguered family man existence. Harry’s obsessed with Michel, and with that, unleashes contempt for anything in Michel’s way – especially the wife and kids – something Harry views as soul suckers, taking away Michel’s artistic power. But is it really Harry, or is he some manifestation of Michel’s stunted creativity and familial bitterness? And that is all I’ll reveal about this splendid, darkly humorous yet almost blissfully horrifying picture – a movie that earns bonus points for making a sociopath “friend” almost as hellish as working on home repairs. And there’s a screaming moment in a car (I love automotive mental breakdowns on film) that is so fiendishly satisfying that, many of us, even us non-sociopathic mystery men intent on offing another man’s family, will understand. Some of my most homicidal moments have occurred in an automobile.

3. Crosby and Astaire in Holiday Inn   Everyone loves White Christmas but I prefer the messier, dysfunctional Holiday Inn, the movie in which that famous tune is first heard (though Bing Crosby only hums “White Christmas”). Sexy crooner Crosby (Yes, Bing Crosby is cool-eyed hot. Just don’t read Donald Shepherd’s The Hollow Man in which Bing comes off an alcoholic sadist, but... that just makes him even hotter..) plays a retired singer whose idyllic existence managing a Connecticut Inn becomes tangled up in drama (very light drama, mind you) when his ex-partner (Fred Astaire) comes to visit. The movie is thin but with Bing and Fred overflowing, it manages to become that annoying word your Aunt might use: delightful. (Wait, I’ve used that word. Give me a viral slap me next time I do that). Peppered with festive songs like “Happy Holidays” and “Let’s Start the New Year Right,” it’s a blast, but it’s Astaire’s dancing-- chiefly (and quite literally) his “don’t try this at home” “Say It With Firecrackers” number, during which the graceful hoofer throws lit firecrackers on stage and tap dances to their sparkly pops, that is absolutely sublime. And yeah, hot.

On DVD, Breezy, Witches And Cheap Trick

Not many memorable DVD’s were released this week so I’ll stick to a few standouts. The Eyes Without a Face (a movie that still shocks me) re-tool The Blood Rose, the comedy Blades of Glory (yes, I find the movie amusing, and yes, I enjoy ice skating) and the original 3:10 to Yuma (directed by Delmer Daves) with Glenn Ford and the fantastically named Van Heflin, whom I revere, especially in The Strange Love of Martha Ivers.

I'll try for more DVD's next week but in the meantime, 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. Breezy (1973)  I have this small fascination with May December romances, especially when they border on highly inappropriate. But, to quote Woody Allen, who said (perhaps selfishly) “The heart wants what it wants.” So after recently watching that bizarre-o ,kind of horrible, but compulsively watchable bit of underage love called Twinkie (starring Charles Bronson and Susan George—and directed by Richard Donner! It’s worth looking at.), I returned to one of Clint Eastwood’s earliest efforts, Breezy. What an odd movie. And one of Eastwood’s reported personal favorites. Breezy is named for its title character, a teenage hippie chick who leaves her hometown of Intercourse, Pennsylvania (yes, that’s the name of the town) for Los Angeles, only to be hassled by a pervert while hitchhiking in Laurel Canyon. After evading the creep, she’s wandering the Hollywood Hills and comes upon an older professional (much older) played by William Holden. She charms him, beds him (in his fantastic house) and then attempts to get a relationship out of the guy, but the cocktail hour vs. age of Aquarius aspect gets in the way as does the whole Holden feeling like a creep (sort of). Indicative of its early 1970’s time period, this was Clint’s version of Petulia. And I love the scenes of Holden at his office. Though I'm not sure why.

2. The Witches (1990)   Along with Danny DeVito’s wonderful Roald Dahl adaption Matilda, The Witches is an overlooked mini-masterwork. Fun, frightening, sad and perfectly weird, it’s a kid’s movie that doesn’t talk down to them—it knows they know about good, bad, evil and whatever else in between. Directed by Nicolas Roeg, the master who made both the infinitely more adult fare The Man who Fell to Earth, Walkabout and the brilliant Don’t Look Now (a movie that puts me in the verge of a nervous breakdown in its final scene), the film features a nine-year-old boy who finds himself stuck smack in the middle of a witches’ convention. The High Witch (played by a deliciously evil Anjelica Huston) reveals her master plan to turn all children into furry little animals. With the help of his grandmother, who just happens to be a good witch, they battle the dark ones’ nefarious plans. Filled with unique special effects, impressive, scene-chewing acting and creative use of mice, The Witches (which maintains the darkness from Dahl’s classic children’s story) is subversive and frighteningly fun.

3. Cheap Trick "He's A Whore"  Last time I rhapsodized about Cheap Trick, a few readers thought I was abusing cocaine which made no sense and, you know, come on. I'm much too nervous a person for that stuff. Dolls, now those are fine. But they're legal. Last thing I want is some crappy drug cut with baby powder or worse, baby laxative. O.K., I'm sick of this not funny joke. So...back to Cheap Trick, a band I love with the intensity of a born again Christian (I will obnoxiously attempt to convert everyone, including a friend in high-school who only listened to hardcore and thought Robin Zander's suits were poofy -- which made me basically drop said "friend"). Anyway...Robin Zander is one of my heroes. So is Bun E. Carlos. Well, they all are. Aside from the fact that these guys are brilliant musicians and songwriters (especially Rick Nielsen), they're also the original freaks and geeks. Two hot cool boys tailor made to be rock stars who start a band with two nerds (the coolest of nerds) equals magic. When you think about it (or when I do anyway), Cheap Trick is like a beacon of light in our narrow minded snobby hipster world. That these guys merged these sensibilities makes me think greater events could happen...in life. Like world peace. Yes, I'm tired. Nevertheless, here’s an early 1977 look at “He’s a Whore” from their brilliant debut album. I must have Robin Zander’s pink pants and vest. I must.

On DVD, Bette, Joan And Jackie

I finally left the apartment. But only to hunt down the Criterion release of Samuel Fuller's first films (alright, I did a few other things but who cares?). Back to this week's DVD releases. Many of them were treats including David Lynch's Inland Empire, a special edition of Taxi Driver and Takashi Miike's Graveyard of Honor.
 

I'll report more DVD's next week (if I'm on the ball) but in the meantime, 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.Of Human Bondage (1934)  Bette Davis always benchmarked her career as "before Maugham" and "after Maugham." "After Maugham" related to this film, Of Human Bondage, a movie the actress begged to do on loan out to RKO from Warner Bros. As often reported in Hollywood lore, no one thought much would be made of this movie, in fact, some thought Davis' character, the cockney, slutty, bitchy waitress Mildred would play too unsympathetic and harsh for viewers. But proving her detractors wrong, Davis went on to her first leading lady triumph showing her beauty and ugliness (this is famously, the first picture in which Davis refused to look pretty in her less glamorous moments) earning her the esteem of her peers and public fascination. The story is indeed, tragically commonplace, Davis' Mildred gives Leslie Howard's kindly doctor (who dreams of being a painter) the run-around causing him to endure a set of emotional traumas that nevertheless, bring him back to her no matter what. Like no matter what. It's the classic case of loving what you can't have to the point of masochism, even when you finally settle down with a good woman (played by Frances Dee). Though all of the actors are powerful, it's Davis' show all the way, an actress so Maugham-ian that all other Maugham actors should be judged against this performance. And dig her final scene—in attitude and looks Bette is so punk rock.

2. Harriet Craig (1950)  It’s not really surprising but dear Lord Joan Crawford was good at playing controlling, conniving c-words. And in Harriet Craig she’s just sickeningly splendiferous. A daring portrait that revealed the dark, spirit-breaking side of marriage, this 1950 picture directed by Vincent Sherman (who really dug into Joan and Bette) has remained woefully under-seen. Featuring one of Joan’s most riveting and true-to-life on-screen beotchs, the picture will get under your skin in ways you might not have imagined—even if you’re like me (unmarried). If you are married, think about your happiness before watching this domestic horror-show of passive aggressive manipulation. Adapted from George Kelly's play, the movie was in fact a remake of the 1936 Rosalind Russell film Craig's Wife, directed by Dorothy Arzner. Though that movie is usually considered the better picture, I’m fond of Crawford’s special kind of bent.  Not only does she bring something more to the role of a borderline sociopathic wife but she brings more inner turmoil and even a tad bit of sympathy (a tad). She also brings more order, coldness and an especially annoying obsession for perfection. Poor old Wendell Corey plays the hen-pecked husband whose personal life and interests are sapped by wifey Joan who throws a fit if he puts his feet anywhere near the furniture, smokes a cigar, visits a friend or has a friendly conversation with the widow next door. When she sabotages his chances for a promotion, the smothering domination reaches an all time high—and horror. A terrific precursor to Mary Tyler Moore's character in Ordinary People, Harriet Craig is a must-see for Crawford fans. And for anyone seriously questioning that walk down the aisle.

3. Jackie Wilson  I’ve been talking up Elvis and as I’ve written, I love the man. But you can’t appreciate Elvis without understanding his influences, and one major artist who knocked the King for a loop was the sublime Jackie Wilson, a performer who burned bright and had one hell of a tragic ending. I’ve written about Jackie before (he was featured in my list of the tragically musically departed) and for good reason—the man with the operatic range, boxing background and spine tingling octaves was one of entertainment’s greatest innovators. There are countless acts I would kill to have seen live and Wilson, a.k.a. “Mr. Excitement” (whom Elvis attributed much of his style to) is very near the top of the list. Check out genius Jackie working it with a more organ whirling, soul stirring version of  his "Lonely Teardrops" on Shindig! Oh to be a Shindig dancer. And if those floorboards could talk...

On DVD, Ossessione, Being There And Une Femme

I'm still processing the ten movies I watched (and in a short period of time, I literally have not left my apartment in over a week) from Warner's film noir set which includes Act of Violence,  Mystery Street, Crime Wave, Decoy, Illegal, The Big Steal, They Live By Night, Side Street, Where Danger Lives and Tension. I've seen most of these pictures in some form or another but discovering Decoy was the revelation. Not only is the story wonderfully insane, but so is Jean Gillie--one of the meanest femme fatales in noir history. A shiny, sexy, sociopathic murderess, I can't get her crazed laugh out of my head.

This week's DVD releases gave some of my favorites talents worthy box sets and special editions. William Powell and Myrna Loy, Brigitte Bardot, Luis Bunuel, Flash Gordon and Elvis Presley all receieved DVD love this week. 

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. Ossessione (1943)  Double Indemnity, The Postman Always Rings Twice, Slightly Scarlet, Mildred Pierce, hardboiled crime novelist James M. Cain made for some classic entries in the genre of film noir. But looking at Luchino Visconti's 1943 noir Ossessione, a gritty take on Cain's The Postman Always Rings Twice the writer's tough prose also aided in the advent of Italian neorealism. Considered by many film scholars the first neorealist picture (or at least an important example of the neorealist aesthetic)  Osessione’s story of two hapless lovers plotting murder is grittier and more Italian-centric than the American 1946 version starring one of my favorite actors of all time, John Garfield and a delicious Lana Turner (clad in white). Visconti’s vision is more political and class-conscious in its unforgiving depiction of working-class life in postwar Italy and in some ways, closer to Cain’s source novel, with leads (the powerful Clara Calamai and Massimo Girotti) who aren’t quite as beautiful as Garfield and Turner.  Not that I don’t love the ’46 version (I also admire the Nicholson, Lange, Rafelson take as well) but this one feels even more desperate, greasy and grubby. You truly feel Calamai'd sagging existence and her harsh reality is perfectly suited for the director’s vision of “anthropomorphic cinema.”

2. Being There (1979)  This was one of my favorite movies as a kid, all the more memorable for being one of the first pictures I saw on my birthday. "I like to watch" says Chance the Gardener, as brilliantly played by Peter Sellers in director Hal Ashby's magnificent 1979 Being There. Adapted by Jerzy Kosinski from his satirical novel, the film tells the story of a gardener whose only knowledge of the world comes through gardening and television. When the old man he works for passes on, Chance is left to fend for himself in an outside world that's so foreign to him that he thinks he can change it with a TV remote control. Luckily (I suppose) he runs into a wealthy Washington insider who takes his simple gardening metaphors as deeply felt life musings, and Chance (now named Chauncey Gardner) is eventually giving advice to the president of the United States. It’s just so beautifully filmed, hilarious and poignant and superbly acted by Sellers, who imbues naïve Chauncey with an untapped sadness that, as a kid, seemed on the edge of bursting. But he wasn’t. And as an adult, it makes the movie all the more powerful. And always, always watch the credits—the outtakes of Sellers attempting to deliver his white man talkin’ jive speech without laughing are priceless.

3. A Woman Is a Woman (1961)  It’s almost annoying and yet, I enjoy repeat viewings of this movie, it’s so…gorgeous. Jean-Luc Godard's second and fluffiest film, A Woman Is a Woman (1961), works as a nutty exercise of mixing cynicism with loopy feel-goodism. With its sparkling lead in the sublime Anna Karina, cute musical montage moments and sweet expressions of womanhood, young love and straight-ahead movie love (inside jokes and all), Godard is certainly up to something –surely the director couldn’t have felt this happy. Made after his groundbreaking Breathless, the film has Karina (then Godard's wife) as Angela, the most beautiful stripper you'll never see (maybe in France), a woman eager to have a baby with her live-in lover Emile Recamier (Jean-Claude Brialy).

Emile's not up for baby-making, which leads Angela to his best friend, Alfred Lubitsch (Jean-Paul Belmondo), who's more than willing. Now, pondering the "reality" of this picture is missing the point. Godard crafted it as a tribute to the Hollywood musical, with leads singing and dancing, fighting and then…running around the city streets as carefree as Gene Kelly stomping in rain puddles (albeit much more casually rendered). Shot in glorious color, the picture is eye-popping vibrant—and not just for Karina and the two rakish male leads or for Godard's inventive direction, but also for the general aesthetic of the time. Quite simply, I love watching these people in their surroundings, especially in little moments like Belmondo bumping into Jeanne Moreau playing herself. He asks: "How is Jules and Jim coming along?" I so wish I could just wake up one morning and have this film's style turn into my outside life reality. But as I've said, I don't get out much.

On DVD, Unholy, Animals And All That Jazz

Since vacationing in Pennsylvania and New York City (and the drama of Lindsaygate) I’ve been a little off the radar when it comes to DVD releases. All I can think about is the newest, enormous Warner Brothers Noir Set, the Criterion Edition of Billy Wilder’s masterpiece Ace in the Hole, Zodiac and The Host.

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 Unholy Three (1925, 1930)  I wrote a story on creepy dummy movies (a small but intriguing genre) which led me to both versions of this picture. They were so unsettling that director Tod Browning decided to make them twice—and with the same cast. Though the movies (one silent, the other most famously Lon Chaney’s first and only talking picture) aren’t technically dummy stories, ventriloquism plays such a key role in the picture’s dirty deeds that it can’t be ignored. Discussing the talkie--the ventriloquist here is named Echo (Lon Chaney—whom I revere), a man who forms the triad of unholy thieves with Hercules (Ivan Linow) the strong man, and Tweedledee (Harry Earles) the midget, after their carnival is closed down. Disguising themselves to scam people, Tweedledee dresses up as a baby, with a pretty pickpocket named Rosie (Lila Lee) playing his mother while, in the picture’s most impressive twist, Echo disguises himself as a little old lady named Mrs. O'Grady. Working a pet shop, Echo throws his voice to sell "talking" parrots among other misdeeds. Though the silent version is considered the superior film, the talkie is interesting, graced by the presence of that genius Chaney. It’s especially tragic that his last role was in a talkie, proving the brilliant man had a career ahead of him outside of silent pictures. Still, it’s the silent version that boasts the picture’s scary/sad ventriloquist ending in which Echo’s dummy bids an sad farewell.

2. Day of the Animals (1977)  I love it when Leslie Nielsen goes berserk—and not as a joke. And he goes so damn berserk in this movie that you really do sympathize with all the crazed animals lurking about. I suppose you could call Day of the Animals a silly movie but while being loads of fun it, I swear to God, really does tackle some serious issues—chiefly, our depleted ozone layer (and in 1973) which causes all the animals to go bat-shit crazy. The animal’s ire doesn’t bode well with the unlucky group of backpackers blithely attempting to enjoy their day hike, also unaware of just how freaking nuts Leslie Nielsen is. Now I’ve heard that this picture might be re-made, which, in this age of An Inconvenient Truth, makes a lot of sense. I only hope they cast Nielsen again (or perhaps Al Gore). But I’d really love to hear Neilsen bellow:  “My father who art in heaven you've a made a jack ass out of me for years… You see what you want you take. You take it! And I am going to do just that!” To Nielsen, this means rape, of course, as Neilsen is becoming an animal himself. Of course.

3. All That Jazz (1979)  I’ve got this thing for Bob Fosse. Bad. I’ve read everything I can get my hands on about the womanizing dancer/choreographer/director/innovator and he never fails to fascinate. But I always wonder if my love for the man, the ultimate macho fey (and there’s not many of those out there) is really based on Roy Scheider playing Fosse’s alter ego Joe Gideon in All that Jazz. Scheider is so bad and good and sexy and human, and he can move (and God, how I adore those black pants and black boots). I love his whole, greet the day—“It’s Show Time folks!”  after his daily ritual of showering, popping Dexedrine, and facing his still sinewy and handsome but now grizzled image in the mirror every morning. And indeed, Gideon’s life is all about the show, something that blends into his waking life with such a blur that he even dreams of his own death as a musical number (or is it a dream?). Fosse’s direction is brave and vain all at once in this autobiographical tale of a womanizing movie maker and choreographer who’s balancing the tasks of making a motion picture, auditioning dancers for a show and juggling girlfriends. And then there’s his actual health, and morbid fascinating with his upcoming real life death. Incredibly revealing and brilliantly directed, you won’t know whether to smile or cry at the end number of “Bye Bye Life” (that moment puts me in such a state). Fosse wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

On DVD, Green, Changeling and Foxes

This weeks DVD's were a notable lot. There was La Jetée/Sans Soliel: The Criterion Collection, Shooter, Warner's Cult Camp Classics 1-4 which includes, among other gems, Caged, Hot Rods to Hell, Attack of the 50 Foot Woman and Joan Crawford's favorite movie, Trog. And then there's my favorite release, the Southern fried, radiator romp Black Snake Moan. Make sure to read my original review of Craig Brewer's picture here. Decide for yourself if I'm way too into this shit.

And check out my Film and DVD reviews at Strange Impersonation and anything else I'm thinking at Pretty Poison (specifically, my take on Nancy Drew).

As for now, Three Obsessions:

1. The Boy with Green Hair (1948)  I recently came back to this movie after writing a story on green characters in cinema (yes, green characters in cinema) and though it verges on heavy handed, the picture contains such an odd, yet human feel that for me, it never teeters over the edge. First off, there’s runaway boy Peter (an impossibly cute Dean Stockwell), a war orphan who moves in with the kindly old gramps (played by Pat O’Brien) and whose hair inexplicably, shockingly turns manic panic green. Taunted by the townsfolk, Peter runs away in sadness. But when he’s visited by other war orphans in the woods (remember, this is a strong allegory and message film) he’s galvanized and returns home to deliver the message that war is not only wrong, but, get this, bad for children. But fear of the unknown, a.k.a., that green hair is just something the townsfolk cannot accept and the jerks chase poor Peter down. The picture has remained both a cult curiosity and an intense fable regarding our nuclear program, war and, of course, the power of being different. Kind of covers it all—should be required viewing in every middle school. It also stars Robert Ryan and anything with Robert Ryan is worth watching.

2. The Changeling (1980)   God this movie is sad. It’s truly more melancholic than scary but the melancholic tone just underscores the terror – its depressive darkness is what rattles me so much. Peter Medak directed and a powerfully lonely George C. Scott stars as a musician who moves into a house haunted by what he learns is a dead little boy. When we discover what happened to the child and all those sounds of loud knocking are not coming from something like, say, the radiator, the revelation isn’t one that makes us feel any better. This isn’t let’s solve the ghost story and move on with our lives but, let’s solve the ghost story and learn how truly monstrous a parent can be. And then there’s that red rubber ball—something that scared the crap out of me when I was a little kid. One of the film’s creepiest moments has Scott throwing the thing over a bridge only to return home to that same ball, bouncing down the stairwell, wet.

3. Foxes (1980)  And we think young girls today are over-sexed, coked up and wild. Please. Take a look at Adrian Lyne’s entertaining yet telling and I think incredibly realistic debut film Foxes, an intriguing picture for having such a sympathetic take on female rebellion (this wasn’t simply a scare tactic picture a la 13). Starring Jodie Foster, Marilyn Kagan, Kandice Stroh, and Cherie Currie (appropriately famous for helming the great all-girl rock band The Runaways), the movie follows four San Fernando Valley girls as they venture into the mean streets of Hollywood for parties, boys and concerts. Some, like Foster, have a pretty good head on their shoulders while others, Currie, are on the road to ruin. It’s a sexy movie (remember, it’s Adrian Lyne of 91/2 Weeks, the underrated Lolita and Fatal Attraction fame), but again, quite sensitive towards these girls, as they are not depicted as a bunch of airheads—they’re restless for a reason. And truly, Cheri Currie was the (cherry) bomb. Below shows the irrefutable evidence.

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.

Kim Morgan on DVD, Tenant, Edge and The Lost Weekend

This week's DVD releases are a Criterion delight (sounds like a dish). There's the brilliant Brute Force, there's La Haine (which my friend and colleague DK Holm claims is a movie tailor made for me) and there's Overlord all getting the special Criterion treatment. Other notable discs are Mike Hodges' Pulp, Robert Altman's Thieves Like Us and last year's Notes on a Scandal, a movie I love in spite of its weak ending that rejects the novel's darker bite. But no matter, I have a thing for Judi Dench as the cynical spinster and find value in some of what she says--no matter how deranged. But I need to get out of my apartment more.

If you feel the need, read my entirely not updated Film and DVD reviews at Strange Impersonation and anything else I'm thinking at Pretty Poison. Or don't.

As for now, Three Obsessions:

1. The Tenant (1976)  Though Rosemary's Baby remains Roman Polanski's classic horror film, for psychological horror, hysterical paranoia and a man in a dress, I'm partial to The Tenant. Polanski cast himself as Trelkovsky, a beleaguered, nervous Polish file clerk who takes an apartment after the previous tenant commits suicide. His neighbors are all kinds of creepy (gotta love a thoroughly disagreeable Shelley Winters), he's seeing strange things in the bathroom across the courtyard and, in one of the picture's more memorable moments, he's found a tooth in the wall. And then, for reasons we can only surmise as ghostly (or, he's totally crazy), he begins dressing in the prior tenant's clothes, including a dress, wig and a thick smear of lipstick. Darkly funny (watch Polanski smack a kid! Try not to laugh!), frightening and imaginatively directed (Polanski's head bouncing like a basketball), the Dostoyevskian The Tenant remains supremely creepy.

2. Over the Edge (1979)  The Cheap Trick songs get me every time. An under-looked teen classic (I first saw it on TV as a young one and it never left me) directed by Jonathan Kaplan, Over the Edge is not only one of the most realistic movies about teenage rebellion it's also a scathing indictment against some of the more ill advised methods of Urban planning. The story has young Carl (Michael Eric Cramer) moving to an ugly subdivision called New Granada (somewhere in the Southwestern United States) where kids are doing what they do best when bored, alienated and disgusted--rebelling. Smoking dope, carrying switchblades, fighting, taking acid in school (one of the film's funnier moments), these kids aren't dropping out simply because they're thoughtless, they are, in fact, deeply unhappy with how life is turning out. New Granada is a shit-hole, a place where even the nice houses look like you could put your fist through a wall, and their varied families (Carl's is liberal, which underscores the frustration going on with his sell out, though sympathetic parents) seem to be kidding themselves. It's a depressing place, a depressing new world and the teens are the only ones who can truly verbalize (or act upon) this. Kaplan completely gets why kids need to find an alternate world within their icky planned community, even if it's a destructive one. Check out both a young Matt Dillon and Vincent Spano who are especial stand-outs here. If you hated junior high, hated high-school, swilled Boone's wine and bummed around abandoned houses while rocking out to Cheap Trick, you will relate.

3. The Lost Weekend (1945)  I watch Billy Wilder's The Lost Weekend so much that it confuses me. I'm not entirely sure why I must view it at least once a month and yet, I do, especially in the wee-hours when I'm suffering from insomnia. There are obvious reasons why the film is so engrossing- it's a deserved classic and Ray Milland is absolutely brilliant--funny, tragic, sexy, mean spirited, sneaky--everything an alcoholic you love would act. The story is important within the history of addiction movies and told in many ways, like a horror film--the creepy use of the Theremin is especially powerful. And yet in spite of the film's tough subject matter, it's infinitely watchable (in my case, over and over again). I re-view most Billy Wilder movies frequently (The Apartment, Double Indemnity and Sunset Boulevard are repeat re-watchable offenders) but damn if The Lost Weekend isn't always the one I return to. Why is Ray Milland so strangely comforting? Why is Jane Wyman so adorable here (and that leopard coat!). Why is that drunken hallucination at the opera still so damn entertaining? Why do I get a simultaneous kick and a chill when Milland is confronted by the very homo-erotic dry out nurse named Bim? Why does the film (and this is going to sound terrible) make me want to pour a stiff one? Even in the below horrifying scene? As the spunky, sexy Doris Dowling might answer, "Because I'm just crazy about it. Don't be ri-dick."