Some Came Running

Deanna Durbin, 1920-2013

The great Durbin in Robert Siodmak's 1944 masterwork Christmas Holiday, which I wrote about at greater length here. 

Like Garbo, like Brigitte Helm, not quite like Luise Rainer (who is over 100 and still walks among us), Durbin retired and stayed retired; her abandonment of showbiz is the linchpin of a wickedly amusing (and unsourced) anecdote the late Gore Vidal relates in his memoir Palimpsest: "Deanna Durbin [was] a child soprano and competitor of Judy Garland, whose imitations of her rival were marvelously cruel, invoking a crooked arm and a radiant mad smile to match luminous crossed eyes. But Garland could be equally mordant about herself. When she had made her triumphant comeback at the Palladium in London, inspired by merry schadenfreude, she rang her now-forgotten rival. After many delays and false starts, Garland got the sleepy, ill-tempered Durbin at home in the French countryside. 'Tonight I had the greatest audience of my life!' At length, Judy recounted her triumph. Finally, out of breath, she stopped. There was a long silence. Then a pitying voice said: 'Are you still in that asshole business?'"

Literary interlude

But Professor Skizzen had noticed that God was always excused. Any and every God. For any and every thing. A tornado might trash a trailer park and the poor wretches who survived would think to thank him for sparing them, as well as preserving a children's plate and one photo of the family grinning at the Falls asif they'd pushed the water over by themselves. 

Perhaps the Gods alternated fucking off. "I won't interfere with the destruction of the temple, if you won't prevent the crucifixion of the Savior." The pagans, the Christians, and the Muslims had taken turns burning the Library of Alexandria, but it was a moment of rare cooperation. Most of the time the celestial bodies were at one another's throats. The thought of burning drove Joseph to his attic where there was nothing but paper, sticky strings of clippings, rows of books, piles of magazines, stacks of newsprint, rolls of placards and posters, so he was always frightened by any word that implied ignition. The fact that burning had occurred to him was significant. Set those mountains of painful testimony ablaze, shred the evidence, erase the stories: of the young woman who was raped by her judges in punishment of the adultery of her brother, for instance. Out of what dark corner of the human mind...? or is it all dark, even in the light? or do our murderous desires lie hidden in the closet of the entry? under the runner unrolled down the hall? or disguised as that spot under the dining table where the rug is stained? By whom are we ruled if not by our nature? Remove all signs of those murderers who now make movies of themselves going through their grisly motions; and there will remain the badgering of sweet maids by their horny masters or the drowning of babies in their baths. It is impossible to conceal all the evidence. Yet how easily we forget who we really are. Because it should give us the creepts. His father's plight had been desperate indeed, for where could one go, really, to stay clean—worse, who could one be to be tolerable?

—William Gass, Middle C,  Alfred A. Knopf, 2013

Toward a unified field theory of "Pain & Gain"

One of the things I admire about Michael Bay's Pain & Gain is how it functions as a critique of itself. "Bosh," some have replied to my tentative musings in this area, "Bay's not that sophisticated a filmmaker." I dunno, or, more to the point, I don't believe that he has to be in order for the film to be imbued with this quality. I do a bit more theorizing in my review for MSN Movies. 

Lessons of "From Beyond"

1) Psychedelic pink works;

2) while Jeffrey Combs and Barbara Crampton are not names you necessarily associate with the condition, amour fou is where you find it. 

Blu-ray Consumer Guide: April 2013

I was working on a March Consumer Guide when I got called up to do the De Niro book. I duly accepted and submerged in De Niro studies, and left you all relatively blogless for over a month. Well. Now I’m up for air…and feeling rather like Steve Brody at the end of the Arthur-Davis-directed Looney Tune “Bowery Bugs,” when the lug is all like “Everybody’s turning in to rabbits!” only in my case it’s “Everybody’s turning into De Niro!”  So for a break, I thought, why not finish what I started, throw in a couple of newer titles, get a nice twenty-disc (no, wait, twenty-one!) Consumer Guide up? It’s fun! Because I don’t WORK enough, you see.

Equipment: Playstation 3 for domestic discs, OPPO BDP 83 for import discs, Panasonic Viera TCP50S30 plasma display, Pioneer Elite VSX-817 AV amplifier/receiver. 

Black Sunday (Arrow, Region B U.K. import)

I don’t wanna seem ungrateful for the decent Kino/Lorber high-def edition of this ineffable Mario Bava work, but it’s plain that the U.K. concern Arrow has a more personal stake in the presentation of this movie, given the extensive care displayed in this presentation. This three-disc set—one Blu-ray disc, two standard-def discs with various extras AND Freda’s I Vampiri, to which Bava contributed considerably—is a protean package that, most notably, features a transfer of the European release version that’ has more contrast and detail than the Kino/Lorber version, and thus brings it way closer to the Black Sunday of one’s dreams/imaginings than was the domestic issue, which to my eye suffered from too-low contrast, among other things, in the prior high-def incarnation, And we’ve still got the Tim Lucas commentary and a huge number of enjoyable/informative extras besides. If you’ve got a multi-region player this is the no-contest way to go.— A+ 

Cabaret (Warner)

Pretty exquisite. The lighting, diffuse or direct, is captured with excellent grain and almost no noise. Immaculate flesh tones and color all around. An exemplary example, at time, of a kind of gauzy  but quasi-documentary style of ‘70s cinematography, with Geoffrey Unsworth adapting with the times while also refining his ever-first-rate eye, with director Bob Fosse clearly getting the most out of him with some unusual challenges, as in the reverse zoom shot that takes up much of the standout Liza number “Maybe This Time.” Speaking of Liza, The Huffington Post could probably milk an entire standalone sideboob gallery of the Oscar winner from this motion picture. Confession: I’m not sure whether I’d ever seen it in it entirety prior to watching this Blu-ray. It’s a worthwhile film, really!—A+

China Gate (Olive)

A long time hard-to-see Samuel Fuller fave, this 1954-set 1957 Prophetic Book On The Vietnam War, made under the aegis of Daryl Zanuck and God bless him for it,  gets its anti-Commie hooks right into you with its voiceover narration, and then in one fabulous crane shot reminds you that nobody shot bombed-out ruins like Fuller. Black-and-white Cinemascope, and the excellence of the transfer makes the frequently clumsy interpolations of stock footage look clumsier still.  (Occasional composite shots also look pretty obvious, and Fuller’s inability to integrate them into his usually fluid action style is, well, unfortunate albeit possibly unavoidable.) Although as the picture goes on there are brief instances of scratching and such that crop up, it’s nothing you wouldn’t see at a rep screening…and there’s not that much of it. By the time Fuller pays tribute to his beloved “Big Red One” outfit in the dialogue, you should be thoroughly engrossed in SamWorld.  For the most part it’s an excellent presentation. Good to see one of Nat “King” Cole’s relatively scant efforts at dramatic film acting get such a release, too. —A

Chronicle of a Summer (Criterion) 

“We’re young and the sun shines;” thus one of the young people interviewed at the beginning of this documentary shrugs off a question about happiness. This 1961 collaboration between Jean Rouch and Edgar Morin brought the phrase “cinema verité” to the forefront of critical consciousness. As Richard Brody has pointed out, it’s a social survey of Paris that becomes a Holocaust documentary in the middle—inadvertently presaging Georges Perec’s great literary works Things: A Story Of The Sixties and W, or the Memory of Childhood simultaneously. Not that this would, or should, necessarily occur to you while watching the film, which is all kinds of excellent, not least for the fleet way it acknowledges its myriad of concerns— the problem of getting people to not “act” before the camera, for example—and in so doing assembles something as narratively engaging as a more conventional fiction. The stuff of which the actual film is made of is a tough but never ugly black-and-white, and the transfer is a marvel of clarity. The extras represent an exemplary journey further into, and then past, the movie. Great stuff. —A+

Deadly Blessing (Shout! Factory)

Most of the time when know-somethingish would-be film assessors say that something looks “like a TV movie” they’re complaining about a picture that appears shot without some requisite flash. THIS 1981 movie, from the cheesy title font and beyond, looks like a TV movie. And it looks like a TV movie, not to beat a soon-to-be-dead horse, from precisely that cheesy title font...to the sepia-tinted stills from shots later in the movie images over which the titles appear… to the actual title that reads (no kidding)“introducing Lisa Hartman”…and beyond and beyond and beyond (hey, look, music by James Horner!). (DP Robert C. Jessup did Dallas and a bunch of other TV stuff). Then there’s the nighttime soap production design. Let’s face it kids: for a filmmaker such as Wes Craven, these touches at this time represented “polish.”  But the dialogue is, um, kicky (“Incubus!” “Retard!” goes one exchange), Maren Jansen is cute, early Sharon Stone is funny, Ernest Borgnine in his Mennonite costume is always thrilling (he’s not the heroic figure here that he was in Violent Saturday) and the shocks in this thriller are sufficiently diverting to make one finally not care that it’s yet another religion-debunking horror pic without the courage of its contingent convictions.  (To my shame I hadn’t seen Shivers/ It Came From Within at the time I first saw this, so didn’t realize what a stone ripoff of Cronenberg's movie the snake-in-the-bathtub scene in this movie is.) Good transfer of a so-so looking but not-without-genre-value picture.  —B- 

Don Giovanni (Olive)

Joseph Losey’s vision is still about neck in neck with Bergman’s Magic Flute as far as second-best-filmed-opera goes, their highly different approaches notwithstanding. Bergman’s is a filmed staging, while Losey brings his Don out into the world, specifically Venice and the Veneto region of Italy. It’s a sensual, erotic, vision that turns magnificently dire when the stone guest does his business. Losey the sybarite and Losey the dispenser of doom are both at their inspired best here. Only occasionally do you get the sense of his feeling constrained by having to use the actual opera singers in the roles of the characters (something Syberberg did not feel compelled to do in his Parsifal, which is my oick for BESTEST filmed opera; Straub and Huillet’s Moses und Aron gets close third place, if you’re interested).  Olive’s presentation is at a pleasing and correct 1.66 ratio, and visual highlights abound: Very beautiful night scene in the opening, the shots of a boat journey through  reeds as Don Octavio vows to avenge Donna Anna; Giovanni’s consideration of the nudity of a bathing milkmaid; and so on. Super nifty. —A

 Easter Parade (Warner)

Another glorious Technicolor triumph for Warner Home Video. At first you might feel that’s the best thing to be said about it, because in its first sixth or so it seems like a heckuva treacly picture.  Once its Pygmalion-out-of-spite backstage musical storyline starts it picks up and turns into a pretty good one (backstage musical that is) at that. I haven’t too much overt experience with so-called “lossless” audio soundtracks but I paid special attention to this one and the mono is indeed glorious, clean and bright. Astaire and Garland’s combo magic is potent throughout, particularly on  “A Couple of  Swells” of course. And Astaire’s slo-mo simulation on “Steppin’ Out” is even more of a “how did he do that” thing than his ceiling dancing in Royal Wedding. All this IS better seen in its proper context (which includes some odd casual racism in the portrayal of a scheming maid) than on a YouTube video or even That’s Entertainment, and the clips in Entertainment haven’t been remastered like this one, which I cannot emphasize enough is lovely. —A

Experiment in Terror (Twilight Time)

Super-incredible widescreen black-and-white image quality attached to an excellent thriller that makes you sad Blake Edwards didn’t do more of them. Man, was that guy one hell of a director. The control he has over this material is magnificent, and he imbues every scene with sharp observation, vivid characters, engaged intelligence. Lee Remick is superb in her understatement and Glenn Ford exactly right. And again, this transfer: not a smidgen of noise, and the  materials seem completely pristine  Can’t figure why the soundtrack is in full surround; I don’t know much about Columbia Pictures’ sound processes in the early ‘60s (this is a ’62 film), whether the studio was experimenting with multi-channel sound as Fox did, so I can’t figure out what’s the deal. But the surround soundtrack isn’t bad at all, doesn’t feel tacked on, not does it have irritatingly/obviously simulated effects. Highly recommended. —A

Gypsy (Warner Archive)

My first time out with a Warner Archive Blu-ray and I am positively impressed. It’s very solid.  Not that this well-liked musical is a feast of varied color or any such item. Man, between this and Quo Vadis you’d think director Mervyn LeRoy had a fetish for lavender or something. He doesn’t seem terribly inspired here, so the resulting movie comes off more or less like a filmed play. But. Good songs, committed performances all around, and Natalie Wood is SO cute. "How is it a less-than-deluxe disc in the bare-bones Warner Archive mode?” you ask. Well, there is no “scene selections” option on the main menu, so you just have to go through chapters manually. No extras either. Still, for twenty bucks it’s a solid value if you’re sufficiently invested in the movie. I’ll get to Hudsucker Proxy next go-round. —B+

Hannah and Her Sisters (MGM)

A little disappointing, image-wise. The flushed skin tones that abound on this Blu-ray are not in keeping with the burnished warmth I associate with cinematographer Carlo Di Palma. This suggests a materials issue, and also a transfer issue. It’s hardly a disaster, just not as good as prior Woody Allen Blu-rays. Given how beloved this movie is among his fans I’d expected something more special. Then again, the movie didn’t hold up as well as I remembered either—some of the interior monologues are super awkward, and the scene, say, in which Michael Caine interrogates Barbara Hershey about AA meetings suggests Allen’s occasions of cultural out-of-it-ness are not an entirely recent manifestation. On the other hand, in who else’s movies will you come upon Lewis Black, Julia Louis Dreyfus, J.T. Walsh and  John Turturro not just in the same scene but the same shot? (Also, I noticed this time around that Joanna Gleason is in it.) — B

In Like Flint (Twilight Time)

Did you know this was the last Cinemascope picture? Me neither. Fox went widescreen differently after this. Anyway, this looks great. Weird movie though.  Gordon Douglas, who HAD had some experience with comedy (“From the director of The Great Gildersleeve!”), directs the 1967  007 pastiche as if it’s not a spoof. And he’s still abler than Daniel Mann, who made Our Man Flint the year before. James Coburn is droll, Lee J. Cobb is flustered, the plot is sexist, Yvonne Craig is adorable, it moves fast and the sets and cinematography are good eye candy. I can’t tell you why every time someone lights a cigarette in this movie, the matches look like road flares. Funniest line: “The John C. Calhoun High School in Roanoke Virginia.” You know you want it.  —B

King of the Pecos (Olive) 

Olive seems to be putting out early John Wayne republic Westerns by the truckload lately. These morsels tend to be fast-paced, no-nonsense affairs not entirely lacking in production, or at least scenic, value. Cinematic historical appeal aside, they really do the trick when a film lover of a certain age wants a brisk entertainment. I picked one at random to look at for Consumer Guide purposes, ‘cause I liked the title, and am pleased to report that Pecos has a really pleasing look to it, yielding a black-and-white picture of excellent contrast and detail. Much of this action of this tale is set in shadowed geological nooks and crannies, with shrub as pictorial garnish, and all these are rendered well. The materials themselves seem in excellent shape. Very pleasing. This was the sixth, by my count, of the approximately three hundred (OK, not that many) Republic Westerns Wayne shot before the Stagecoach breakthrough, and if you watch a couple you’ll be able to understand their appeal. I am particularly partial to the “no Indians, no Cavalry, just evil cattle rustlers and the lone men who mobilize the community against them” storylines, and I rate this slightly higher than its immediate predecessor, The Lawless Nineties, the novelty presence of a coherent and relatively dignified George “Gabby” Hayes in that one notwithstanding. Good stuff. —B

Laura (Fox) 

Goddamn this looks good.  Everyone should get this. The enhanced detail of high-definition provides the depth that the moving camera wants to convey, so the visual relief in every cinematic sentence is completely realized. Fabulous blacks. I don’t think I need to sell you on the movie itself. At least I hope not. —A+

 Naked Lunch (Criterion) 

I remember not being crazy about the look of this, theatrically, back in the early ‘90s. Too bright, making the undulating Mugwumps look rubbery in an unconvincing non-meta fashion, and so on. The Criterion standard-def had a burnished quality that ameliorated this issue to a substantial extent…and the Blu-ray continues this improving trend commendably. The confluence of Burroughs and Cronenberg resulted in one of the clammiest (and most horrifically funny) of Cronenberg pictures. And the Mugwumps for some reason look better. —A+

Nicholas and Alexandra (Twilight Time)

Really quite a fantastic looking movie. (Freddie Young lensed, and should have been awarded the Nobel.) The snows and the forests and the architecture; each shot more beautiful than the last.  Shame about the movie itself though. My friend Robert A. Harris, who’s similarly crazy about the disc, rates it higher as a movie than I do; and yes, it is an exemplary Sam Spiegel superproduction in every respect that makes for an amazing cinematic experience on a particular level. But the story is a huge bummer to the extent that it’s almost impossible to dramatize in a compelling way, or at least impossible from this particular epic angle. And the never-not-heavy-handed Franklin Schaffner is hard-pressed to bring to life material that David Lean himself would have had hassles with. (Many insensitive souls consider Dr. Zhivago a slog; I imagine compared to this Zhivago looks like, well, Lawrence of Arabia.) Anyway, other visual highlights include rooms illuminated by red candlelight, a protest in the snow, and Brian Cox as Trotsky. Demo disc material, and actually not a bad movie if you’re in the mood for gargantuan, slow, and old-school picturesque.—A 

The Opening of Misty Beethoven (Distribpix/Video X Pix)

A sentimental favorite…for reasons mostly revealed in my yet-to-be-published memoir My Life In Pornography, so I don’t want to give too much away. It’s no secret that my “Erotic Connoisseur” character in The Girlfriend Experience quotes a bit of dialogue from this in a crucial “pan” for the film’s central figure. The 1975 picture—another Pygmalion variation, this one featuring a Higgins who wants to mold a perfect sex worker—is an important “porno chic” landmark, directed by Radley Metzger under the nom du porn Henry Paris. Featuring, among other things, the first screen appearance (non-sex, we are compelled to reassure) of future Darren Aronofsky regular Mark Margolis. Metzger was/is, for lack of a better term, a “real” narrative filmmaker, which means he’s often more concerned with choreographed gags and character momentum than the actual lubricious content, which makes this a not uncompelling study in how narrative porn often ends up as neither fish nor flesh nor good red herring, the exceptional attractiveness of lead actress Constance Money notwithstanding. This super-special Blu-ray edition boasts a 2K transfer from the original negative and this mostly-shot-in-Super-16-by-a –guy-who-knew-what-he-was-doing film looks pretty damn great, right in step with the likes of more ostensibly respectable Metzger fare such as The Lickerish Quartet. Winner of the first AVN Award, I read. As much care has been applied to the disc itself, the manufacturers only printed the liner notes book in standard-def packaging size, which makes for awkward filing. But the essays within are revelatory, the other extras (including an audio commentary from Metzger) are invaluable for the adult scholar.—A

Richard III (Criterion)

I do not joke when I say this would make a spectacular double feature with the 1959 Disney Sleeping Beauty, which, unlike this, is an animated film. Olivier’s VistaVision-shot 1955 veritable orgy of color and design and lighting simulating rococo post-medieval times is just as dazzlingly regal a contrivance, and this Blu-ray of it is remarkable, every frame like a particularly unnerving stained-glass window. Its kaleidoscopic appeal is nicely augmented by the, you know, good acting by Olivier, Claire Bloom, and the usual gang of expert British Shakespearean Actors, and of course the story and the words and stuff. Two hours and forty minutes and sometimes I wish it twice that length. Super-exciting and essential. —A+

Ruthless (Olive)

A weird Edgar G. Ulmer. Unlike most of his pictures, it looks like he had some money to use here, and Ruthless is very elegantly crafted. He doesn’t seem quite as fully engaged with the material as with, say, Detour, largely maybe because the material is so…one wants to say “schizoid,” but the less offensive and probably more accurate word is “tentative.” Is this about Louis Hayward’s obsession with his one-time best friend, is it a portrait of a morally warped Man of Power in the tradition of The Power And The Glory and/or (not so much, really ) Citizen Kane? There’s also the matter of its structural bifurcation and…well, that the picture holds together as well as it does CAN be credited to Ulmer, and to a remarkable performance by Sydney Greenstreet, whose performance has distinct echoes of Emil Jannings in The Last Laugh, the Murnau film Ulmer was a not insubstantial component of. Greenstreet looking in the mirror and walking out of the bedroom after a dressing-down from Lucille Bremer is an indelibly pathetic image, and a prior look at him pulling her head up by her hair is Ulmer at his most mordantly perverse. And the disc itself is quite handsome, even though the movie does wind up being more a super-wonky business thriller than a noir. Inspirational dialogue: Greenstreet: “$300,000 is a lot of money to some people.” Zachary Scott: “Not to me. My nuisance value is worth more than that!”—A

Skyfall (Sony) 

Storied cinematographer Roger Deakins’ inaugural foray into digital lensing gets its high-def home video manifestation, and, relatively predictably enough (although you never really know), there’s no news here. It looks great. You can kind of tell how much he amused himself with the new technology in the Shanghai scenes, ever pushing the overlaying of the neons and reflective surfaces and so on. Everything holds, steady as a rock. Also, in the subsequent casino scene, the darkness from which out of nowhere a komodo dragon rushes: very impressive. I like the movie, too, but the look of this disc is the real treat. —A 

Westworld (Warner)

Another movie about the near future that didn’t predict widescreen TV! J’accuse! This was Michael Crichton’s first theatrical directorial effort, and MAN, did he learn a lot between this and The Great Train Robbery.  This legendary test of Asimov’s Law of robotics, with it hilarious casting of Yul Brynner as his Magnificent Seven character as an android, is not a very smooth cinematic ride but it’s got its moments. Whoa, were these chroma key effects REALLY state of the 1973 art? Who can say. Well, I guess I could if I did more research, But, you know.  Richard Benjamin as the schlemiel character and James Brolin as, well, the James Brolin character (and here you’ll see the extent to which Josh is really a chip off the old block) are fun, as are the pixilated (actually part of the visual scheme this time) POV shots from the robots eyes. A good looking disc. I did not notice what the DVD Beaver review cited as horizontal stretching, I admit. It retails cheap, though, so I doubt stalwart fans will be disappointed.—B-

Wild Geese (Severin)

There’s a remarkable high-def improvement here over the frequently pixilated (no, really)  standard-def version (you can compare them yourselves as this is a dual-format package). The alcohol-flushed faces of Richards Burton and Harris are ruddier still in the Blu-ray version. Which naturally ups the watchability quotient of the public-schoolboy-tooled antecedent of The A Team, whoo-hoo, which was not much to look at to begin with, but…Heck, it is a cinematic curio of note, I would argue. If pressed, I would insist it earns the respect one confers to amiable tripe produced by the once-great. Ish.  —B-

"To The Wonder," and others

So I wonder if Bardem's all like, "Great, I finally get to have a normal hairstyle in a movie and I'm playing a priest, figures." Probably not. 

I'm pretty high on Terrence Malick's To The Wonder, but I also have a theory about it. Details in my review for MSN Movies. 

42 is no great shakes, but it's a little rich, all the scolding it's getting from folks I had no idea were such baseball historians. I went a little easy on it. I believe I did right. 

Disconnect, on the other hand. Aiiieee. 

Roger Ebert, 1942-2013

When I composed this obit to put in the MSN Movies file, I did so hoping it wouldn't have to go up for a good long while. I didn't get my wish. 

I did not read Roger as voraciously as a lot of my colleagues did. And I can't say he was a seminal influence on me as a writer. I was already well on my way (in my own mind at least) with respect to what turned out to be an ultimately ill-advised career path when Siskel and Ebert became a television presence. And of course I watched, and of course I was impressed by the savviness of the whole enterprise. If you thought they were just about "thumbs up/thumbs down," you weren't listening carefully. The give-and-take of two first-rate minds is not something you associate with a lot of television programming, not then, not now. It was always there with those guys. The thumbs were a marketing tool. A lamentable one? I'm not one to say, especially as I get older. We are either of the world or opposed to it. Having opted to be of the world, they played by its rules, but also gave them some pushback. Roger was giving pushback to the right people until the end.

How could one not admire that? So of course I did. But as a critic, the thing I had the most admiration of Roger for was  something I sometimes flatter myself to think of as an affinity with him: his unflagging openness, aesthetic and otherwise. As I wrote in the obit, Ebert "understood genres but didn't truck in genre hierarchies." He could enjoy what some critics refer to as "trash" without making a big production out of making sure everyone reading understood he was the kind of critic who could "enjoy trash," if you follow me. And he was always a cheerleader for maintained intellectual curiosity. In fall of 2002, at the Toronto Film Festival, I was seated with Roger and his wife Chaz at a dinner with Denzel Washington, who had brought his film Antwone Fisher to the festival. This was also the year that an anthology film about the terrorist attacks of the prior year was showing, and I mentioned to Roger that my emotions concerning that picture were such that I understood, on some level, the perspective of ultra-religious folk who had condemned The Last Temptation of Christ without having seen it. Roger sarcastically said, "Well, that's a fine critical viewpoint," and I tried to explain that I was talking strictly about a knee-jerk emotional response that I was having trouble processing. Fair enough, he conceded, but he was still a trifle put out. Any kind of preconception, regardless of circumstance, was, I think, intellectual anathema to him. He showed that by example, and when he preached it directly to me, it stuck. (That 9/11 anthology ended up being pretty lame, as it happened, but that' s neither here nor there.)

It was 45 years ago today...

My old friend Joseph Failla emails:

"With all the distractions you have with assignments and deadlines, you may have missed that today is the 45th anniversary of the opening of the roadshow engagement of 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY at the now long gone Capitol Theatre in New York City. Beginning on April 3rd 1968 (although the film had it's world premiere the evening before in Washington D.C.) 2001 ran for a total of 24 weeks in Cinerama with reserved seating arrangements. 

"It may interest you to know the theatre was located at 1645 Broadway, which should sound familiar, as it's been replaced by the Paramount Plaza, the local home of Premiere Magazine (not to mention the offices of Jerry Langford in THE KING OF COMEDY). 

"I've included a few photos which should help us appreciate what the experience might have been like seeing 2001 in that wonderful setting. Note in the newspaper clipping, while 2001 was enjoying it's run at the Capitol, BELLE DE JOUR could have been seen at the Little Carnegie theatre just several blocks away. "

Here's one of the shots Mr. Failla attached:

Mere lads at the time, we were not able to make the trip into New York to see it at this house, instead we were obligated to wait until its run at Bergenfield's Palace Theater. A transformative experience, to be sure. 

The current cinema

Gun and Amy Seimetz in Upstream Color, the best of the three movies I review for MSN Movies this week.

The other two are enjoyable slices of sensationalism: Trance, and a surprisingly impolite (to the audience, not the source material) remake of Evil Dead. 

Jesus "Jess" Franco, 1930-2013

Diana Lorys in Gritos en la noche (The Awful Dr. Orloff), 1964.

Shirley Eaton in The Girl From Rio, 1969.

Janine Reynaud in Succubus, 1969.

Dennis Price and Maria Rohm in Venus In Furs, 1969. 

Howard Vernon in Countess Perverse, 1973.

Lina Romay in Lorna The Exorcist, 1974.

"Not an untalented man, by the way," Christopher Lee said to me apropos Jess Franco, whose name I had the mild temerity to bring up when I was interviewing Lee for TV Guide back in 1993 or so. (Of all the interview tapes I've ever lost, the one with Lee is the one I regret the most, as it also contains Lee regaling me with an impersonation of Foghorn Leghorn, in the context of a description of how he and his pal Peter Cushing used to entertain each other on set.) Lee's compliment seems overtly backhanded, but given Franco's relative ill-repute in the realm of straight-arrow cinephilia, it wasn't as insulting as it sounded. He really had little way of knowing I was a fan. 

I met him, and his soulmate/collaborator/eventual wife Lina Romay (whose death last year makes Franco's own passing rather less surprising than it might have been), back in 1997, at a Chiller Theatre Expo in Secaucus that I'd convinced Premiere to allow my pal Jewel Shepard, who in her role as a soon-to-be-former-Scream-Queen would be signing at a table there, to write about. It was the same Chiller at which Russ Meyer upbraided, in profane and definite terms, my photographer for trying to shoot him with a fish-eye lens. They were at a table near Jewel's, and neither of them looked quite their best, and they were kind of disoriented due to both jet lag and the intensity of the reception they were getting. Given the crush and the fact that their English wasn't all that hot, I wasn't able to convey much to them aside from admiration, but my photographer and I paid homage by turning up a few nights later at CBGB for a set by Killer Barbys, a Spanish post-punk combo featured in a recent Franco picture of the same name. 

Read the obit by my brother in Francophilia (among other things), Tim Lucas, who in fact really outstrips me in the pertinent department. As readers of this blog are aware, I'm currently consumed with other work (it's coming along nicely and some resurfacing in this space is imminent), but I'm hoping the above images convey a sense of my regard for the filmmaker. Not just "not untalented," but, in my estimation, a genuine artist.