Will Pfeifer's Blog, page 27
January 24, 2014
Books of the Year: Everything's Coming Up Profits: The Golden Age of Industrial Musicals
This is the sort of pop culture book I prize above all others: A beautifully designed, smartly written examination of a corner of culture so obscure I was barely aware that it existed at all. This volume, by Letterman writer Steve Young, focuses on "industrial musicals" -- elaborate live productions staged by corporations in the hopes of motivating (or at least momentarily entertaining) their employees. Sometimes, they were astonishingly elaborate affairs with music and lyrics by the same guys who brought you "Cabaret." Other times, these were done on the cheap, with small casts and songs that consisted mostly of taking a current hit tune and replacing key words with "sewing machine" or "ceiling tiles." Either way, they were tough to see then (you had to, after all, work for the company in question) and tougher to remember now, surviving only in the form of distant memories and increasingly rare soundtrack albums.
Thankfully, Young began collecting those albums to use as comic fodder for the "Dave's Record Collection" segments on Letterman's show, and as his interest grew, he became an accidental expert on this forgotten subculture. He shares his knowledge in this brand-new book, a thick-as-a-brick, strikingly designed celebration of the industrial musical. The book traces the history of the, ahem, artform musical by musical, offering photos of the albums, samples of the lyrics and other ephemera, all presented with Young's witty observations. Every so often, fellow collector Sport Murphy chimes in with a subject-specific sidebar, offering more thoughts and a few additional jokes. (Young met Murphy when they were bidding on the same LPs.) The book is very funny, but it never gets too jokey, letting the absurdity of full-blown musical numbers devoted to, say, bathroom fixtures find their own humor. As a bonus, the book looks great, using the vintage graphics and photos to create a real sense of just how damn stylish things looked back in those days. It's really a tremendous tome, one of the most interesting and pure fun volumes I've read in a long time. If I had one minor criticism it's that, this being a book, you can't actually hear any of the songs from the musicals...
... except, wait, you can. Young, Murphy and company have thoughtfully created a website devoted to the sounds of these shows. Just go to www.industrialmusicals.com, and before long, you too will have the tunes of "I've Got a Lot of Features" and "An Exxon Dealer's Wife" permanently lodged in your brain. Have fun!
January 22, 2014
Books of the Year: Weasels Ripped My Flesh!
In recent years, several websites and at least two excellent books ( this one and this one ) have celebrated the legend and lore of what were once called "men's sweat magazines," manly periodicals with names like Real Men, Male, Man's Magazine, True Men, Man's Look and just plain Men. These were publications that mixed slightly naughty pictures of slightly naked women with overblown prose celebrating what it meant to be a man in a much manlier world.
They were fascinating, fun magazines, offering a strangely revealing look on a culture that's all but disappeared in this modern era. But the trouble with the the books I linked to above (and don't get me wrong, they're great books) is that they mostly celebrate the lurid cover paintings that adorned the mags and almost completely ignore the contents themselves. Thankfully, "Weasels Ripped My Flesh!" (with the subtitle "Two-Fisted Stories from Men's Adventure Magazines of the 1950s, '60s and '70s") takes a peek inside those mags and shares what it sees. Within its more than 400 pages, editor Robert Deis reprints vintage stories by such well known authors as Lawrence Block, Harlan Ellison, Mario Puzo, Robert Silverberg and Bruce Jay Friedman.
What's more, he does it with a sense of wit and style, starting each story off with a reprint of the original spread from the magazine, including the lurid lead-off art. Then, breaking up the pages of text, he includes several actual ads from those mags, sly and sleazy come-ons urging readers to "Make Money Selling Hamburgers," "Investigate Accidents" and order an LP featuring the alluring vocal recordings of someone calling herself "Pussycat." Plus, each story comes with an introduction that includes background information and interviews, and he even tosses in a special feature explaining how "Weasels Ripped My Flesh!" went from a headline on the Sept. 1956 issue of Man's Life to the title of a famous Frank Zappa record -- and he reprints the original story. If you have any interest at all in offbeat pop culture, crazy journalism, hidden history or stories like ""Beat Girls: Worshippers of Zen and Sin?," "The Stewardess Call Girl Slave Ring," "I Went Insane For Science" or "50 Days as an Amazon Love Slave" -- and really, how could you not? -- then this book deserves -- nay, demands -- a place on your shelf.
(By the way, be sure to check out Robert Deis' website, MensPulpMags.com.)
January 19, 2014
Best Books of the Year: Bleeding Skull! A 1980s Trash-Horror Odyssey
When I page through a book about horror movies -- even obscure horror movies -- odds are, I've seen most of them. You might not be familiar with "Xtro" or "Messiah of Evil" or "Scream and Scream Again," but I am. It's just the choice I've made, to spend hundreds of otherwise worthwhile hours climbing deeper and deeper into the depths of oddball cinema. But I have to admit, I never climbed nearly as deep as Joseph A. Ziemba and Dan Budnik, the guys behind this book (and the website that spawned it). Their speciality is trash horror cinema of the 1980s -- though, because the term "cinema" implies these films played in a theater, that term is less than accurate. Most of these movies, with titles like "Rocktober Blood," "Las Vegas Bloodbath" and "Invocation Satanica" never came within spitting distance of an actual theater screen. Instead, they were released on home video -- meaning tape -- back in those glorious days of the 1980s when video stores were dying for product and dozens (hundreds?) of bargain-basement producers will willing to supply it.
Admittedly, very few of these movies were any good, but that doesn't mean they're not interesting (just the opposite, in fact). That's why Ziemba and Budnik take the successful tactic of celebrating these movies without actually praising them. The prose is snarky and smart-ass, true, but it's so enthusiastic that it just about guarantees when you're done reading a review, no matter how awful the movie sounds, you're going to want to see it.
Good luck, incidentally. A very few of these movies have managed to land on DVD, but most slid back into the obscurity they managed to emerge from a few decades ago. If you find yourself lying awake at night demanding to know what it would be like to experience, for instance, "Splatter... Architects of Fear," start surfing those dark corners of the web. Of, if you're old fashioned (like me) and would prefer and actual hard copy, you might want to start with the VHS Preservation Society. They stock a surprising number of these movies -- and the logic they use to explain why they are not bootleggers is worth the price of admission all by itself.
January 17, 2014
Great Moments in Comics History, Part 38
The Starchild -- aka Paul Stanley of Kiss -- defeats Dr. Doom.
Marvel Comics Super Special: Kiss; script by Steve Gerber, pencils by Alan Weiss, inks by Sal Buscema, colors by Al Milgrom, letters by John Costanza
Read a fascinating except of it here , including an explanation of how the issue was printed with blood drawn right from the arms of the members of Kiss. (And according to Snopes.com, that's true!)
January 13, 2014
You know, Leonardo DiCaprio has received a lot of praise for his performance in 'The Wolf of Wall Street'...
... and rightfully so. But if you examine this clip from the movie carefully, I think you'll agree the real star of the show is the guy in the pink pants. Just check out those moves!
January 11, 2014
Best Books of the Year: Xerox Ferox
They still print books, you know, and Lord knows, I still buy 'em. Mostly books about movies and other pop culture, which probably doesn't come as much as a surprise if you read this blog. Over the next couple of weeks or so, I'll share my picks for some of my favorites that landed on my shelves in 2013. Consider any appearance in this space my highest possible recommendation. In other words, if you like the subject, you're gonna love the book.
I read a slew of low-circulation zines back in my formative years, and even published a few of my own, so it's no shock that John Szpunar's thick-as-a-brick celebration of horror fanzines would find a place in my heart. In its nearly 800 (!) pages, Szpunar interviews dozens of folks who shared their love of horror and exploitation films in the pages of publications with titles like Crimson Celluloid, Stink, Shock XPress and Subhuman. The films may be disreputable, but the people behind the zines seem like a swell group of guys, telling tales of bootleg videos, late-night screenings and stolen office supplies with enthusiasm and fond nostalgia.
My favorite movie magazine of all time is Michael Weldon's Psychotronic Video (after finally completing my run, I had the whole thing bound in four volumes, for Pete's sake), so I'm as disappointed as Szpunar that he wasn't able to land an interview with Weldon. That disappointment, though, didn't last long, because the book is so full of other fascinating discussions. Szpunar did a yeoman's job of (a) tracking these people down and (b) asking them interesting questions, and it's virtually impossible to complain about any admissions -- this book is chock full! Like many of my favorite volumes, this is one of those books I can barely believe exists at all, much less manages to be so comprehensive and entertaining.
I read a slew of low-circulation zines back in my formative years, and even published a few of my own, so it's no shock that John Szpunar's thick-as-a-brick celebration of horror fanzines would find a place in my heart. In its nearly 800 (!) pages, Szpunar interviews dozens of folks who shared their love of horror and exploitation films in the pages of publications with titles like Crimson Celluloid, Stink, Shock XPress and Subhuman. The films may be disreputable, but the people behind the zines seem like a swell group of guys, telling tales of bootleg videos, late-night screenings and stolen office supplies with enthusiasm and fond nostalgia.
My favorite movie magazine of all time is Michael Weldon's Psychotronic Video (after finally completing my run, I had the whole thing bound in four volumes, for Pete's sake), so I'm as disappointed as Szpunar that he wasn't able to land an interview with Weldon. That disappointment, though, didn't last long, because the book is so full of other fascinating discussions. Szpunar did a yeoman's job of (a) tracking these people down and (b) asking them interesting questions, and it's virtually impossible to complain about any admissions -- this book is chock full! Like many of my favorite volumes, this is one of those books I can barely believe exists at all, much less manages to be so comprehensive and entertaining.
January 7, 2014
Movies I Watched in December
The combination of the holidays, a visit from my mom and a brand-new job meant fewer movies this month, but I'd say it was an eclectic lineup, with everything from classic comedians to pro-wrestling to an oddball tribute to Italian giallo movies. Here's how it played out...
I've seen this classic more times than I can count, but I decided to introduce Allison to the timeless glories of the Marx Bros., and the experiment was a surprising success. Allie loved the movie and not only insisted on watching it again, but she called it up all by herself on Netflix. Her favorite scenes, naturally, involved the physical comedy of Harpo -- especially when he stomps his bare legs in Edgar Kennedy's lemonade and the startling moment when an actual, live-action dog pokes its head out of the doghouse tattoo on Harpo's chest. She's got good taste, that daughter of mine.
This is the sort of movie you used to see a lot in the mid 1990s, sometimes based (loosely) on actual events, usually with a distinctly British pedigree and often combining a gentle sense of humor with heartwarming drama and maybe a touch of tragedy. It's fine as far as that sort of thing goes, but the likeable leads (Ewan McGregor and Emily Blunt), striking scenery and even a certain off-kilter sense of humor can't do much to raise it above the level of "mildly entertaining." You know the plan to bring fish to the desert is going to succeed, and you know that these two crazy kids are going to wind up together no matter what obstacles (veteran boyfriend, annoying wife) stand in their way. There's nothing wrong with "Salmon Fishing in the Yemen," but not long after watching it, I can barely remember it. I guess that's an accurate review all by itself.
Once again, Amy and I hear about a horror movie that's supposed to deliver some serious scares, and once again the end credits roll with us disappointed -- and distinctly unfrightened. I appreciate the effort to make a horror film that doesn't rely on gore, postmodern tricks or nasty torture devices, but "The Conjuring" delivers little more than standard-issue ominous atmosphere, some loud sound effects and several shots of someone being dragged, well, somewhere by something. I realize this got solid reviews and was praised as being genuinely frightening, but I found it pretty weak tea. Your mileage, obviously, may vary.
I recall watching G.L.O.W., the even cheesier offshoot of pro-wrestling that aired at off-hours (and on off-channels) back in the 1980s. It was silly enough to be entertaining, and the "plots" were even more ridiculous than the stuff on WWE in its Hulk Hogan-era prime. (I distinctly remember one episode where a wrestler's little brother walked into the arena and tossed his crutches aside, inspiring his sister onto victory). This documentary catches up with the wrestlers who donned the spandex all those years ago. It's amusing and emotional in the way these docs often are, with middle-aged women looking back fondly on the silly things they did in their younger days. Trouble is, aside from some still-strong personalities on display, it's just not that interesting. We see some clips, we hear some memories, then we watch them all get together for a reunion. It obviously means a lot to the women, and that's great, but the flat directing and by-the-numbers editing mean it just doesn't mean that much to us.
Still holds up, I'm happy to say, and what once looked like a breakneck pace now feels laid-back and classic in this age of hyperactive editing and nonstop CGI enhancements. Harrison Ford, who can be a pretty humorous actor these days, really seems to be having some fun playing Indiana Jones, and he gets strong support from Karen Allen and Denholm Elliot (I really wish they hadn't made his character a clumsy boob in "Last Crusade" -- there's nothing to back up that characterization in this movie.) Paul Freeman's Belloq is one of the grear movie villains of recent years, with brains and charm to spare, and did you realize that William Hootkins, who plays one of the government guys, also played Lt. Porkins in "Star Wars" and played Lt. Eckhard in Tim Burton's "Batman" and appeared in "Flash Gordon." That's pretty impressive, in a geeky sort of way.
Yes, we watched it again because Allie insisted on it. So proud that this has taken the heavy rotation spot once occupied by "Finding Nemo" and "Cars." Allie still isn't quite sure how to take the anarchistic satire of the film though -- she kept asking me why Chico and Harpo were on Groucho's side or spying for the rival country of Sylvania. I told her to relax and enjoy the jokes. And she did. Especially the mirror scene with Harpo and Groucho. Told you she has great taste.
This is a picture of Edmund Lowe as he appeared in 1932's "Attorney for the Defense," a pre-Code movie I could not find a poster for. I watch a lot of these pre-Coders on TCM, and they're always interesting from a historical angle. Unfortunately, sometimes (like, for instance, in this case), they're much less interesting from an entertainment angle. The plot involves a win-at-all-costs prosecutor (Lowe) who changes his ways after sending a largely innocent man to the chair. There are a few interesting plot twists, and Lowe has a certain dated charm, but the movie never hits the heights of pre-Code frenzy I'm always hoping for when I tune in on one of these movies. The best scene comes at the beginning when Dwight Frye cranks up the craziness as the condemned man reacting to his death sentence. Too bad his character didn't come back from the grave and lend some much-needed life to this melodrama.
This one has a great premise: A meek sound engineer (Toby Jones) lands a gig working on an Italian giallo film and begins to wonder what's really causing those women to scream. Writer/director Peter Strickland wisely never shows us the movie (except for a wonderfully evocative opening credit sequence), focusing instead on the eerie sounds emanating from the soundtrack and the voices of the women post-dubbing the terrified yells. "Berberian Sound Studio" builds an effectively unnerving atmosphere and delivers at least one thrillingly nightmarish dream sequence, but the ending was so muddled that I wasn't even sure it did end. Frustrating for a movie with so much promise.
And last but not quite least, the final film of 2013: "Massacre Mafia Style," a jaw-dropping, blood-soaked schlock epic written by, directed by and starring Duke Mitchell, a guy best known for playing the ersatz Dean Martin to Jerry Lewis imitator Sammy Petrillo in the early 1950s. (And if that's what you're best known for, you know you've had an obscure career.) Released in 1972, "Massacre Mafia Style" tells the story of a gangster (Mitchell, of course, who was born Dominic Miceli) building a crime empire as he follows in his (God)father's footsteps. Mixing extreme (but cheesy) violence with heartfelt speeches about Mitchell's Italian heritage and (no kidding) the nobility of Sicilian grandmothers, it's like nothing else I've ever seen. On many levels, it's an awful movie that makes little sense, but it's also such a personal statement that it's never not fascinating to watch. Plus, if you're a fan of over-the-top violence and ketchup-red blood, you'll no doubt find this endlessly entertaining. Hell, I know I did.
I've seen this classic more times than I can count, but I decided to introduce Allison to the timeless glories of the Marx Bros., and the experiment was a surprising success. Allie loved the movie and not only insisted on watching it again, but she called it up all by herself on Netflix. Her favorite scenes, naturally, involved the physical comedy of Harpo -- especially when he stomps his bare legs in Edgar Kennedy's lemonade and the startling moment when an actual, live-action dog pokes its head out of the doghouse tattoo on Harpo's chest. She's got good taste, that daughter of mine.
This is the sort of movie you used to see a lot in the mid 1990s, sometimes based (loosely) on actual events, usually with a distinctly British pedigree and often combining a gentle sense of humor with heartwarming drama and maybe a touch of tragedy. It's fine as far as that sort of thing goes, but the likeable leads (Ewan McGregor and Emily Blunt), striking scenery and even a certain off-kilter sense of humor can't do much to raise it above the level of "mildly entertaining." You know the plan to bring fish to the desert is going to succeed, and you know that these two crazy kids are going to wind up together no matter what obstacles (veteran boyfriend, annoying wife) stand in their way. There's nothing wrong with "Salmon Fishing in the Yemen," but not long after watching it, I can barely remember it. I guess that's an accurate review all by itself.
Once again, Amy and I hear about a horror movie that's supposed to deliver some serious scares, and once again the end credits roll with us disappointed -- and distinctly unfrightened. I appreciate the effort to make a horror film that doesn't rely on gore, postmodern tricks or nasty torture devices, but "The Conjuring" delivers little more than standard-issue ominous atmosphere, some loud sound effects and several shots of someone being dragged, well, somewhere by something. I realize this got solid reviews and was praised as being genuinely frightening, but I found it pretty weak tea. Your mileage, obviously, may vary.
I recall watching G.L.O.W., the even cheesier offshoot of pro-wrestling that aired at off-hours (and on off-channels) back in the 1980s. It was silly enough to be entertaining, and the "plots" were even more ridiculous than the stuff on WWE in its Hulk Hogan-era prime. (I distinctly remember one episode where a wrestler's little brother walked into the arena and tossed his crutches aside, inspiring his sister onto victory). This documentary catches up with the wrestlers who donned the spandex all those years ago. It's amusing and emotional in the way these docs often are, with middle-aged women looking back fondly on the silly things they did in their younger days. Trouble is, aside from some still-strong personalities on display, it's just not that interesting. We see some clips, we hear some memories, then we watch them all get together for a reunion. It obviously means a lot to the women, and that's great, but the flat directing and by-the-numbers editing mean it just doesn't mean that much to us.
Still holds up, I'm happy to say, and what once looked like a breakneck pace now feels laid-back and classic in this age of hyperactive editing and nonstop CGI enhancements. Harrison Ford, who can be a pretty humorous actor these days, really seems to be having some fun playing Indiana Jones, and he gets strong support from Karen Allen and Denholm Elliot (I really wish they hadn't made his character a clumsy boob in "Last Crusade" -- there's nothing to back up that characterization in this movie.) Paul Freeman's Belloq is one of the grear movie villains of recent years, with brains and charm to spare, and did you realize that William Hootkins, who plays one of the government guys, also played Lt. Porkins in "Star Wars" and played Lt. Eckhard in Tim Burton's "Batman" and appeared in "Flash Gordon." That's pretty impressive, in a geeky sort of way.
Yes, we watched it again because Allie insisted on it. So proud that this has taken the heavy rotation spot once occupied by "Finding Nemo" and "Cars." Allie still isn't quite sure how to take the anarchistic satire of the film though -- she kept asking me why Chico and Harpo were on Groucho's side or spying for the rival country of Sylvania. I told her to relax and enjoy the jokes. And she did. Especially the mirror scene with Harpo and Groucho. Told you she has great taste.
This is a picture of Edmund Lowe as he appeared in 1932's "Attorney for the Defense," a pre-Code movie I could not find a poster for. I watch a lot of these pre-Coders on TCM, and they're always interesting from a historical angle. Unfortunately, sometimes (like, for instance, in this case), they're much less interesting from an entertainment angle. The plot involves a win-at-all-costs prosecutor (Lowe) who changes his ways after sending a largely innocent man to the chair. There are a few interesting plot twists, and Lowe has a certain dated charm, but the movie never hits the heights of pre-Code frenzy I'm always hoping for when I tune in on one of these movies. The best scene comes at the beginning when Dwight Frye cranks up the craziness as the condemned man reacting to his death sentence. Too bad his character didn't come back from the grave and lend some much-needed life to this melodrama.
This one has a great premise: A meek sound engineer (Toby Jones) lands a gig working on an Italian giallo film and begins to wonder what's really causing those women to scream. Writer/director Peter Strickland wisely never shows us the movie (except for a wonderfully evocative opening credit sequence), focusing instead on the eerie sounds emanating from the soundtrack and the voices of the women post-dubbing the terrified yells. "Berberian Sound Studio" builds an effectively unnerving atmosphere and delivers at least one thrillingly nightmarish dream sequence, but the ending was so muddled that I wasn't even sure it did end. Frustrating for a movie with so much promise.
And last but not quite least, the final film of 2013: "Massacre Mafia Style," a jaw-dropping, blood-soaked schlock epic written by, directed by and starring Duke Mitchell, a guy best known for playing the ersatz Dean Martin to Jerry Lewis imitator Sammy Petrillo in the early 1950s. (And if that's what you're best known for, you know you've had an obscure career.) Released in 1972, "Massacre Mafia Style" tells the story of a gangster (Mitchell, of course, who was born Dominic Miceli) building a crime empire as he follows in his (God)father's footsteps. Mixing extreme (but cheesy) violence with heartfelt speeches about Mitchell's Italian heritage and (no kidding) the nobility of Sicilian grandmothers, it's like nothing else I've ever seen. On many levels, it's an awful movie that makes little sense, but it's also such a personal statement that it's never not fascinating to watch. Plus, if you're a fan of over-the-top violence and ketchup-red blood, you'll no doubt find this endlessly entertaining. Hell, I know I did.
December 19, 2013
It won't be Christmas without Jay, but at least Darlene will be there
For the first time in 14 years, Jay Thomas will not -- I repeat, will not -- visit "The Late Show With David Letterman" to tell his story of driving the Lone Ranger and try to knock the meatball off the Late Show Christmas tree with a football.
According to an article in the Chicago Sun-Times, Thomas said: "I'm recovering from some minor surgery to take care of an old football neck injury."
For this one-time devoted Letterman fan who rarely watches these days but makes a point of tuning in for the annual Christmas show, the holiday's going to be just a little bit more blue this year. There are so few moments on TV that seem to exhibit a genuine Christmas spirit that it's a disappointment to see one -- even one as gloriously goofy as this one -- skip a year. Hopefully Jay will be mended and all set to tell that story and toss that football for Christmas 2014.
And thankfully, Dave will keep at least one Christmas tradition going this year. On tomorrow's show (that's Friday, Dec. 20), music legend Darlene Love will stop by and blow the roof off with her annual rendition of "Christmas (Baby, Please Come Home).") I was just listening to "A Christmas Gift for You From Phil Spector," the classic 1963 album that first featured that single during my drive home tonight, and I can't wait to hear Ms. Love sing it on the Late Show. Here's her rendition from last year's show...
And hell, as long as we're at it, here's Jay Thomas' appearance from that same show. Watch it and start counting down the days to Christmas 2014.
According to an article in the Chicago Sun-Times, Thomas said: "I'm recovering from some minor surgery to take care of an old football neck injury."
For this one-time devoted Letterman fan who rarely watches these days but makes a point of tuning in for the annual Christmas show, the holiday's going to be just a little bit more blue this year. There are so few moments on TV that seem to exhibit a genuine Christmas spirit that it's a disappointment to see one -- even one as gloriously goofy as this one -- skip a year. Hopefully Jay will be mended and all set to tell that story and toss that football for Christmas 2014.
And thankfully, Dave will keep at least one Christmas tradition going this year. On tomorrow's show (that's Friday, Dec. 20), music legend Darlene Love will stop by and blow the roof off with her annual rendition of "Christmas (Baby, Please Come Home).") I was just listening to "A Christmas Gift for You From Phil Spector," the classic 1963 album that first featured that single during my drive home tonight, and I can't wait to hear Ms. Love sing it on the Late Show. Here's her rendition from last year's show...
And hell, as long as we're at it, here's Jay Thomas' appearance from that same show. Watch it and start counting down the days to Christmas 2014.
December 15, 2013
Movies I Watched in November, Part 2
Continuing the recap of last month's movies...
I remember seeing this in the theater a few years ago, sitting behind a bunch of goofballs who wouldn't shut up during the trailers about how much they loved the "Twilight" films. I envisioned hearing them blather through the entire movie, but the magic of Wes Anderson's stop-motion movie won the entire theater over. It's completely charming. Roald Dahl's tale of an ambitious fox and his family and friends fits perfectly with Anderson's fastidious style, and the attention to detail is frequently breathtaking. Plus, like Anderson's other movies, all that wit and style occasionally makes room for some genuinely touching moments -- my favorites are when Mrs. Fox announces she's pregnant, and her figure is briefly replaced with a plastic doll who, fittingly, "glows." Good news for fans of "Fantastic Mr. Fox": Criterion has a deluxe edition arriving in Feburary.
Believe it or not, this is one of my mom's favorite movies. And why not? It's a tense, smart thriller that takes a compelling premise -- a master assassin is hired to kill French President Charles de Gaulle. It doesn't muck about with romance or personality conflicts or distracting subplots. Instead, it methodically follows the assassin (Edward Fox) as he prepares for the kill and the authorities as they get wind of the plot and desperately try to stop him. I read somewhere that one of the most compelling things to watch is a person doing their job well, and that's what "The Day of the Jackal" delivers in spades. Fox is determined, intelligent and oddly likable, and seeing him put all the pieces in place is fascinating, even -- especially? -- if he's trying to commit a horrible crime. It's just one reason of many I love that movie ... and, of course, love my mom.
Funny, fast-paced comedy about a career criminal (Eddie Quinlan) who's sprung from prison to play quarterback for a college's struggling football team. As is the case with many early 1930s movies, the plot doesn't make a whole lot of sense and serves mainly to move things from one entertaining set piece to another, but I'm not complaining. Quinlan is a lot of fun in a fast-talking, semi-Cagney way, and the supporting cast is a who's who of second-banana characters from the golden age of movie comedy: Margaret Dumont (of Marx Bros. fame) plays (what else?) a rich woman, Edgar Kennedy (of "Duck Soup" and Laurel and Hardy films) plays a campus cop, and Grady Sutton (of "The Bank Dick") plays a fellow football player. There's even Clarence Wilson, an actor who played a mean old guy in dozens of old movies (including some Our Gang shorts) showing up to add to the fun. It's movies like this, forgotten showcases for long-dead actors, that make me grateful for Tuner Classic Movies.
Straightforward documentary about talk show host Morton Downey Jr., whom I wasted plenty of hours watching in the 1980s during my misspent college days. Like the guys interviewed in this doc, we tuned in to see how crazy things could get -- and believe me, they got plenty crazy, with guys like Al Sharpton (back in his chubby days) getting physically violent with other guests. Downey was the smoke-breating center of the whole thing, stirring up trouble and shouting at the "pukes" who went against his all-American, largely right-wing philosophy. If you wonder how we got where we are, with jerks like Rush Limbaugh and Sean Hannity somehow shaping national policy, look no further than this movie. Then start weeping.
Here's a much cheerier documentary about 1980s pop culture, this time focusing on the rise of home video and the dedicated souls who still collect actual tapes and treasure their memories of those glory days. The format itself, as everyone agrees, was pretty terrible, but videotape deserves to be remembered -- and saluted -- as the technological development that made it possible for ordinary, non-wealthy film fans (you know, people like me and you) to not only collect movies, but to actually see many films in the first place. I try to tell my daughter that when I was a kid, if you missed a movie in a theater, you had to just hope it might show up on TV someday. Otherwise, you might never -- ever -- see it again. When I was in high school and my dad bought our family's first (huge) VCR, it opened a whole new world of cinema. I'll never forget walking into those old mom-and-pop video stores and staring at the walls of boxes, figuring I could never live long enough to see all those tantalizing movies. If you remember feeling the same way, you'll love this movie. Check out the official site for information on ordering it online.
Entertaining melodrama that doesn't quite live up to its title (really, what movie could?) about a group of clean-cut teen types who find a suitcase full of heroin and decide to make a fortune selling it. Naturally, everything goes wrong, though this being a 1958 mainstream movie, things don't go as wrong as they do in, say, "Requiem for a Dream." The only cast member I recognized was Jonathan Haze, two years before Roger Corman's classic "Little Shop of Horrors." The highlight of the movie comes midway through, when recovering junkie Danny (Allen Kramer) describes heroin addiction in a horrifying scene bordering on the surreal. If the rest of the movie had that intensity, this would be some kind of classic.
I'd never seen this much-praised 1973 chiller, despite the fact that it shows up consistently in horror best-of lists and TV retrospectives. Unfortunately, because I had seen clips of the movie in those retrospectives, I had the genuinely unnerving last-second twist spoiled for me -- but it's still a damned good movie. A couple (Donald Sutherland and Julie Christie) are in Venice, trying to cope with the death of their young daughter, when all sorts of strange things start to happen. Director Nicolas Roeg generates an almost overwhelming sense of paranoia using little more than camera angles and lighting, and it all builds to a bracing finale (that, again, I had spoiled). The film was controversial in its day for the extended sex scene between Christie and Sutherland, and it's easy to see why -- they really don't make 'em like that anymore. (Between this and parts of "Animal House" I've watched recently, I've seen way too much of Donald Sutherland's body.)
I'd heard criticism of this 2012 drama about the tsunami that hit Thailand in 2004, most of it centering on the fact that the movie focuses on a family of wealthy tourists and not the Thai natives. It's a valid argument, I suppose, but this is the story the movie is telling and director J.A. Bayona (who also directed the excellent horror film "The Orphanage") tells it very well. The destruction hits early in the film, separating Maria (Naomi Watts) and Henry (Ewan McGregor), dividing their sons between them. The rest of the film is a grueling (but compelling) view of how they manage to survive, find civilization and desperately try to find each other. Their story expands to include many other stories as they witness the almost unimaginable destruction and misery left in the tsunami's wake. Special praise to Tom Holland, who plays the couple's oldest son. The scenes of him saving his mom, discovering a way to help in the hospital and then almost losing everyone are some of the best in the movie.
I remember seeing this in the theater a few years ago, sitting behind a bunch of goofballs who wouldn't shut up during the trailers about how much they loved the "Twilight" films. I envisioned hearing them blather through the entire movie, but the magic of Wes Anderson's stop-motion movie won the entire theater over. It's completely charming. Roald Dahl's tale of an ambitious fox and his family and friends fits perfectly with Anderson's fastidious style, and the attention to detail is frequently breathtaking. Plus, like Anderson's other movies, all that wit and style occasionally makes room for some genuinely touching moments -- my favorites are when Mrs. Fox announces she's pregnant, and her figure is briefly replaced with a plastic doll who, fittingly, "glows." Good news for fans of "Fantastic Mr. Fox": Criterion has a deluxe edition arriving in Feburary.
Believe it or not, this is one of my mom's favorite movies. And why not? It's a tense, smart thriller that takes a compelling premise -- a master assassin is hired to kill French President Charles de Gaulle. It doesn't muck about with romance or personality conflicts or distracting subplots. Instead, it methodically follows the assassin (Edward Fox) as he prepares for the kill and the authorities as they get wind of the plot and desperately try to stop him. I read somewhere that one of the most compelling things to watch is a person doing their job well, and that's what "The Day of the Jackal" delivers in spades. Fox is determined, intelligent and oddly likable, and seeing him put all the pieces in place is fascinating, even -- especially? -- if he's trying to commit a horrible crime. It's just one reason of many I love that movie ... and, of course, love my mom.
Funny, fast-paced comedy about a career criminal (Eddie Quinlan) who's sprung from prison to play quarterback for a college's struggling football team. As is the case with many early 1930s movies, the plot doesn't make a whole lot of sense and serves mainly to move things from one entertaining set piece to another, but I'm not complaining. Quinlan is a lot of fun in a fast-talking, semi-Cagney way, and the supporting cast is a who's who of second-banana characters from the golden age of movie comedy: Margaret Dumont (of Marx Bros. fame) plays (what else?) a rich woman, Edgar Kennedy (of "Duck Soup" and Laurel and Hardy films) plays a campus cop, and Grady Sutton (of "The Bank Dick") plays a fellow football player. There's even Clarence Wilson, an actor who played a mean old guy in dozens of old movies (including some Our Gang shorts) showing up to add to the fun. It's movies like this, forgotten showcases for long-dead actors, that make me grateful for Tuner Classic Movies.
Straightforward documentary about talk show host Morton Downey Jr., whom I wasted plenty of hours watching in the 1980s during my misspent college days. Like the guys interviewed in this doc, we tuned in to see how crazy things could get -- and believe me, they got plenty crazy, with guys like Al Sharpton (back in his chubby days) getting physically violent with other guests. Downey was the smoke-breating center of the whole thing, stirring up trouble and shouting at the "pukes" who went against his all-American, largely right-wing philosophy. If you wonder how we got where we are, with jerks like Rush Limbaugh and Sean Hannity somehow shaping national policy, look no further than this movie. Then start weeping.
Here's a much cheerier documentary about 1980s pop culture, this time focusing on the rise of home video and the dedicated souls who still collect actual tapes and treasure their memories of those glory days. The format itself, as everyone agrees, was pretty terrible, but videotape deserves to be remembered -- and saluted -- as the technological development that made it possible for ordinary, non-wealthy film fans (you know, people like me and you) to not only collect movies, but to actually see many films in the first place. I try to tell my daughter that when I was a kid, if you missed a movie in a theater, you had to just hope it might show up on TV someday. Otherwise, you might never -- ever -- see it again. When I was in high school and my dad bought our family's first (huge) VCR, it opened a whole new world of cinema. I'll never forget walking into those old mom-and-pop video stores and staring at the walls of boxes, figuring I could never live long enough to see all those tantalizing movies. If you remember feeling the same way, you'll love this movie. Check out the official site for information on ordering it online.
Entertaining melodrama that doesn't quite live up to its title (really, what movie could?) about a group of clean-cut teen types who find a suitcase full of heroin and decide to make a fortune selling it. Naturally, everything goes wrong, though this being a 1958 mainstream movie, things don't go as wrong as they do in, say, "Requiem for a Dream." The only cast member I recognized was Jonathan Haze, two years before Roger Corman's classic "Little Shop of Horrors." The highlight of the movie comes midway through, when recovering junkie Danny (Allen Kramer) describes heroin addiction in a horrifying scene bordering on the surreal. If the rest of the movie had that intensity, this would be some kind of classic.
I'd never seen this much-praised 1973 chiller, despite the fact that it shows up consistently in horror best-of lists and TV retrospectives. Unfortunately, because I had seen clips of the movie in those retrospectives, I had the genuinely unnerving last-second twist spoiled for me -- but it's still a damned good movie. A couple (Donald Sutherland and Julie Christie) are in Venice, trying to cope with the death of their young daughter, when all sorts of strange things start to happen. Director Nicolas Roeg generates an almost overwhelming sense of paranoia using little more than camera angles and lighting, and it all builds to a bracing finale (that, again, I had spoiled). The film was controversial in its day for the extended sex scene between Christie and Sutherland, and it's easy to see why -- they really don't make 'em like that anymore. (Between this and parts of "Animal House" I've watched recently, I've seen way too much of Donald Sutherland's body.)
I'd heard criticism of this 2012 drama about the tsunami that hit Thailand in 2004, most of it centering on the fact that the movie focuses on a family of wealthy tourists and not the Thai natives. It's a valid argument, I suppose, but this is the story the movie is telling and director J.A. Bayona (who also directed the excellent horror film "The Orphanage") tells it very well. The destruction hits early in the film, separating Maria (Naomi Watts) and Henry (Ewan McGregor), dividing their sons between them. The rest of the film is a grueling (but compelling) view of how they manage to survive, find civilization and desperately try to find each other. Their story expands to include many other stories as they witness the almost unimaginable destruction and misery left in the tsunami's wake. Special praise to Tom Holland, who plays the couple's oldest son. The scenes of him saving his mom, discovering a way to help in the hospital and then almost losing everyone are some of the best in the movie.
December 14, 2013
TCM Remembers 2013
Here's the annual "In Memoriam" montage from Turner Classic Movies, which, as a rule, is leaps and bound better than whatever the Oscar folks cobble together for their telecast. For one thing, TCM has a much greater sense of film history, meaning less well known actors like
Also, whoever edits the sequence for TCM has a real sense of poetry and grace. When you watch the short video below, you'll see that famous scene in "Smokey and the Bandit" where the Trans Am jumps the wrecked bridge. I'm guessing you've seen it before, but I'm also guessing you never saw it deliver such a sense of emotional release. It's not cheesy here -- it's damn near glorious.
Also, whoever edits the sequence for TCM has a real sense of poetry and grace. When you watch the short video below, you'll see that famous scene in "Smokey and the Bandit" where the Trans Am jumps the wrecked bridge. I'm guessing you've seen it before, but I'm also guessing you never saw it deliver such a sense of emotional release. It's not cheesy here -- it's damn near glorious.
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