By Todd Garbarini

In May 1977 my parents and I saw George Lucas’s Star Wars and my life changed forever. We saw it July with other family members and a third time in November prior to the release of Steven Spielberg’s Close Encounters of the Third Kind (henceforth abbreviated as CE3K). The trailer for CE3K was mysterious and intense to my young eyes and the prospect of seeing it again led me to turn down my parent’s offer to sit through Star Wars a second time after that afternoon’s showing. What frightened me about the trailer was not the chaotic scenes with Richard Dreyfus and Melinda Dillon, but rather the sequence wherein Bob Balaban and Francois Truffaut approach Richard Dreyfuss in a claustrophobic makeshift room to interrogate him about what he has seen, reminding me of my first trip to what I considered to be the Ninth Circle of Hell: THE PRINCIPAL’S OFFICE. In retrospect, I am amused by this memory and my initial impression of the film.

If you look at the history of Steven Spielberg’s work, his films are about many things, not the least of which is people’s impressions of the world around them. Additionally, a common theme that runs throughout much of his work is the notion of broken families or absent parents. Beginning with his film debut, The Sugarland Express (1974), and continuing with the father who is not around much for his young children in Jaws (1975), or a UFO-obsessed power plant worker who leaves his family for other worlds in the aforementioned CE3K, or a lonely young boy who feels a connection to an alien in E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial (1982), or the broken family that needs to come together to survive in War of the Worlds (2005), to name a few, authority figures are often anything but authoritative. His latest film, the wonderful and semi-autobiographical The Fabelmans, is a story that has existed in Mr. Spielberg’s mind all his life and finally needed to come out during the height of the coronavirus pandemic during worldwide downtime, if it was going to come out at all. Collaborating with writer Tony Kushner for the fourth time, Mr. Spielberg gives the audience a sense of what his turbulent childhood was like.

Although Mr. Spielberg was born in Cincinnati, OH, his family moved around due to his father’s position as an electrical engineer in the burgeoning computer industry. In The Fabelmans, Burt Fabelman (Paul Dano standing in for real-life father Arnold Spielberg) and Mitzi Fabelman (Michelle Williams standing in for real-life mother Leah Adler) take their young son Sammy (Mateo Zoryan) to see his first movie, Cecil B. DeMille's The Greatest Show on Earth, in Haddon Township, NJ in 1952. The spectacular train crash seen on screen both captivates and frightens him. Using his father’s 8mm camera with his mother’s secretive permission, he recreates it with his train set that he received for Hanukkah, and this gives Sammy the confidence to start shooting films involving friends and his three younger sisters.

Years later, Sammy is much older and now portrayed by Gabriel LaBelle. His father is offered a better job, and this takes them to Phoenix, AZ along with Burt’s friend and business associate Benny Loewy (played endearingly by Seth Rogen). Sammy shoots footage of them all on a camping trip, including a headlight-illuminated dance performed by his mother in her nightgown, which makes a deep impression on Benny. Following Mitzi’s mother’s passing and her subsequent sadness, Burt urges Sammy to create a little film of the camping trip to cheer her up, which he does begrudgingly while he is shooting a film with his fellow Boy Scouts. In the film’s most inspired moment, the family’s Uncle Boris (Judd Hirsch in a wonderful performance) briefly visits, giving Sammy a spirited monologue about the discord between art and familial responsibility. The turning point in the film comes when Sammy sorts through the campfire footage, only to discover that “Uncle” Benny is showing more than a passing interest in Mitzi: they are caught holding hands and getting too close for comfort in the background images. Sammy is shellshocked. After more strife, the family is uprooted yet again, this time to Southern California, where he encounters both severe antisemitism at the hands of two school bullies and experiences first love with a devoutly Christian girl who puts Jesus first. More turmoil ensues, and Sammy ultimately learns to use his natural gift for filmmaking to deal with personal traumas and bending others to his will.

Steven Spielberg is my favorite director, and he shares the number one spot for me in a tie with Stanley Kubrick. Both men have made extraordinarily entertaining and mind-bending films. It was a constant joy to watch The Fablemans as it gives the audience a window into the person who would go on to become the creative genius who not only makes great movies but is also and deservedly financially successful at it.

I met Leah Adler in November 2008 when I was getting ready to come home from a horror film convention. She owned a restaurant called Milky Way, which opened in 1977, and when I walked in, she was there to greet me. I began gushing about her son, how CE3K was the first film of his that I saw and how it blew me away, what Raiders of the Lost Ark and E.T. meant to me, etc. She guided me over to a table and listened intently to my rambling, and when I thanked her for encouraging Steven to become a filmmaker, she paused and simply said, “I don’t know where the hell he came from.” This made me burst out laughing as I have always thought of her son as the best friend I never met (not entirely true: I waited outside the Ziegfeld Theater in June 2005 for eight hours the day of the War of the Worlds premiere and managed to get his autograph and snap a few photos of him). If he and I grew up together, we would have been inseparable – watching movies, talking about movies, making movies, you name it. My own parents were not movie fanatics by any means, and they could just as easily have said the same thing about me! The few times that my family went on vacation, I was enlisted to shoot the home movies. When I was fourteen on vacation in Florida, I began shooting our home movies from a cinematic perspective. This is due to Steven Spielberg.

Todd Garbarini with Leah Adler, November, 2008. (Photo: Todd Garbarini).

The new 4K UHD Blu-ray and standard Blu-ray combo is now available from Valentine’s Day, appropriate as this film is a Valentine to Mr. Spielberg’s parents. It comes with some extras, and I had my fingers crossed that the director would have provided an audio commentary (something that he flatly refuses to do as he wants his films to speak for themselves and feels that it’s a way to lifting a curtain behind the magic), however he has stuck to his guns and I must respect his decision. It does feature some nice extras:

The first piece is called The Fabelmans: A Personal Journey and runs 11:00. It focuses on comments by producer Kristie Macosko Kriger, who is on board with the director for the ninth time; co-writer Tony Kushner, and how the film came about, the product of a conversation while the director was shooting Munich in Malta in 2005.

The second piece is named Family Dynamics and runs 15:28. Much of the cast of the film discusses their feelings and interpretations of the real-life people they portray in the film.

The third and final extra is called Crafting the World of The Fabelmans and runs 22:04. This is a bit more in-depth with input from Production Designer Rick Carter; Costume Designer Mark Bridges; Directory of Photography Januz Kaminski; Property Master Andrew M. Siegel; Editors Michael Khan (on his 30^th film with the director) and Sarah Broshar; Actress Chloe East; Actors Sam Rechner and Oakes Fegley; and Maestro/Composer John Williams.

The set also includes a digital version for streaming.

While the film is a no-brainer for Spielberg completists, being one is not a prerequisite as it can be enjoyed as a work of fiction for those who do not idolize the subject of the film.

The Fabelmans is an example of life not only imitating art, but art imitating life as well.

Click here to purchase from Amazon.com.

By Raymond Benson

One of the most talked-about and popular films of 1968 was Franco Zeffirelli’s adaptation of William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. Audiences in the UK were treated to the film early in the year (March), but the release date in the USA was held back to October. By then, the picture was a worldwide phenomenon. Nino Rota’s theme song (known in various markets as “Love Theme from Romeo and Juliet,” “A Time for Us,” and “What is a Youth?”) had been covered by numerous musical artists and was already a standard on the radio and other media.

A British-Italian co-production, the picture’s creative team consisted of mostly Italians, while the production/financing and actors hailed largely from Britain (with some Italian actors being dubbed into English). Director Zeffirelli had already enjoyed some success with his earlier Shakespearean adaptation, The Taming of the Shrew (1967, with Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton). It made box-office sense for the filmmaker to go a step further and bring more Shakespeare to the masses.

Zeffirelli made a canny decision to cast two young actors who were the same ages of the characters in the play. Productions of Romeo and Juliet in the past had always cast actors who were well into their thirties and beyond (the most notable being the 1936 George Cukor-helmed picture featuring Leslie Howard and Norma Shearer). Leonard Whiting and Olivia Hussey were 16 and 15, respectively, when they were cast, and 17 and 16 during filming. Not only were the two stars extremely attractive and likable, they were also competent and charismatic performers as well.

The film captured the zeitgeist of 1968—an era of youth rebellion, “free love,” and pushing the envelope in the arts. There was much ado of how Zeffirelli and his co-screenwriters (Franco Brusati and Masolino D’Amico) cut massive portions from Shakespeare’s text in order to release a movie that ran a little over two hours (and with an intermission, too, to mimic the experience of a stage play). Schools in America organized field trips to see the film, because for once, Shakespeare had been made “commercial.” Some markets, however, made cuts in the film to eliminate the brief nudity in the bedroom scene. This reviewer recalls that in West Texas, two different versions of the film played. The picture was released prior to the creation of the movie ratings system in America, but by the time it ran in West Texas, the ratings were in effect. The cinema where Romeo and Juliet was shown in late 1968 or early 1969 arbitrarily exhibited a censored “M” (for Mature Audiences) rated version during matinees, and an “R” (for Restricted Audiences) version in the evenings. All this seems rather silly in retrospect, because the film is, at worst, a “PG” in today’s rating sensibilities.

Filmed on location in Italy, the movie is gorgeous to look at (with Oscar winning cinematography and costumes by Pasqualino De Santis and Danilo Donati, respectively). As mentioned previously, the now classic score by Nino Rota had a great deal to do with the movie’s success. One must give Zeffirelli his due, though (he was nominated for Best Director but didn’t win). His direction of the film is superb, not only in guiding his two young stars into intense, utterly believable performances, but especially in the street brawls and sword fighting scenes. The sequence in which Romeo and Tybalt (Michael York) have at it is appropriately awkward, messy, and realistically choreographed.

The Criterion Collection has released a lovely Blu-ray disk (the first time in the USA and UK for a Blu-ray, although the film has been available on a Paramount DVD for years). The 4K digital restoration, with an uncompressed monaural soundtrack, looks magnificent with its expected 1960s-era film stock appearance. Supplements include an excerpt from a 2018 documentary on Zeffirelli, and interviews with stars Whiting and Hussey from 1967 after filming was complete and in 2016 at a retrospective screening.

Whiting and Hussey have recently made the news by filing a lawsuit against the studio for allegedly being pushed by Zeffirelli (now deceased) into doing the brief nudity. Interestingly, in the 2016 interview on the disk, they joke about the bedroom scene as “being fun” and there are interviews with the couple in recent years in which they defend the nude scenes as appropriate to the material. It will be interesting to see how this all plays out in the legal proceedings.

Regardless, Criterion’s release of Romeo and Juliet on Blu-ray is a landmark presentation of a classic, beloved motion picture. It is perhaps the definitive adaptation of Shakespeare’s play on film, and the disk is highly recommended for fans of the Bard, the play itself, Nino Rota’s music, Zeffirelli, and the two stars who light up the screen. As Romeo says of Juliet, “O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright.” They both do.

Click here to order from Amazon

By Darren Allison, Cinema Retro Soundtracks Editor

I always tend to get excited upon the arrival of a couple of new releases from Chris' Soundtrack Corner. They’ve been doing it a long while now, and they have found a seemingly smooth and reliable sense of confident continuity with every subsequent title. Their commitment to the works of composer Stelvio Cipriani has been a journey of discovery which continues with CSC’s two latest releases.

Peccato Senza Malizia (aka Sins Without Intentions, 1975) (CSC 038) certainly brings out the subtly romantic elements of Cipriani’s craft. Theo Campanelli’s film is the story of Stefania (Luciana Tamburini), an 18 year-old girl who leaves her orphanage in Ascoli Piceno to move in with her stepfather, a humble and simplistic fisherman. Seeing the girl as a wife and a lover rather than a daughter, the unnamed stepfather (Luigi Pistelli) (who had minor roles in Leone’s, For A Few Dollars More and The Good, the Bad and the Ugly) ignites an abusive relationship until Stefania escapes into a series of equally bad situations. Produced in Italy, the film falls into the general realm of erotica and remains widely unseen by a great deal of mainstream audiences.

When the movie was released, an inventive marketing campaign was launched to promote its arrival; foreign promotional campaigns played upon the film’s sexuality, focusing on the single (and comparatively tame) shower sequence in a series of lobby cards and posters. Unfortunately, Peccato Senza Malizia has all but disappeared from the public eye. The film never gained any form of cult status and remained largely ignored by home video labels. It was director Theo Campanelli's only film, and as such, it simply became just another Italian film with the Cipriani score providing more interest than the movie itself.

It’s an old and familiar tale, but one that at least offers a form of longevity and respectability towards the composer's work. Stelvio Cipriani’s score is light, breezy and charming, and weaves its way delicately via the ‘variations of a theme’ approach. Cipriani was well versed in this romantic, playful style of scoring, and it still works well some 50 years on. Cipriani’s composition makes good use of smokey saxophones, loungy sounding piano, trumpets and foreboding harpsichord. Peccato Senza Malizia tries to achieve parallels between Cipriani music and the paintings presented on screen and featured within the film. His score relies upon two basic themes, with its first half building almost all of its cues around the main theme with a strong focus on Stefania's character. Here, Cipriani uses his array of orchestral tricks to showcase the emotional rollercoaster of the main heroine. When Stefania hooks up with her inspiring music teacher, Maurizio, a trumpet is used to suggest his masculine swagger; as their relationship blossoms, Cipriani introduces his love theme. This motif draws upon Stefania's innocence to showcase the transformative power of their romance.

Chris' Soundtrack Corner has worked wonders in making this a really credible listen as well as making the score available at all. This CD marks the soundtrack’s worldwide debut. Given the fact that the first half of the movie is on the more monothematic side, CSC has opted to create a better listening experience by either merging shorter cues together or by simply changing the order of the cues. Peccato Senza Malizia is arguably the label’s most obscure movie soundtrack it has ever released, but it's well worth picking up, especially as a virtually forgotten Cipriani gem. The album is produced beautifully as always by Christian Riedrich and mastered by Manmade Mastering. The packaging is again impressive for such a minor film title and consists of an 8-page illustrated booklet designed by Tobias Kohlhaas and featuring exclusive and detailed notes by Gergely Hubai, who explores the making of the film and its score. An excellent release which I hope is rightfully rewarded.

For their second Stelvio Cipriani score Chris' Soundtrack Corner turned to the ‘Comisario Mendoza’ trilogy from Spanish filmmaker José Antonio de la Loma. El último viaje (1974) (CSC 039) was the second film in the trilogy and featured Eduardo Fajardo as Mendoza.

El último viaje has been described as the sleaziest instalment with the drug plot inviting casual orgies and a fair share of topless women. Whether it's an urban crime thriller, a drug bust movie, or a cross-country manhunt, Comisario Mendoza is always hot on the trail of the criminals even if his screen time varied greatly from mission to mission.

Stelvio Cipriani's musical legacy with the Comisario Mendoza movies is as convoluted as the constant recasting of the trilogy's central hero. Whilst the first two movies were scored by Cipriani, the third movie used pre-existing compositions from the C.A.M. archives. The film also used tracks from other composers, but overall the majority of compositions were previously written by Cipriani (these soundtracks are also available from Chris' Soundtrack Corner). El último viaje's score is largely based around two themes, each representing a different aspect of gangster life. The key idea for the central love theme is deception, as the film spends a good portion of its running time highlighting the fake criminal lifestyle. Interestingly, a recurring feature of Cipriani's score is that it provides some self-contained, almost isolated cues for certain sequences that seemingly separate themselves from the film’s general narrative style, and as a result, seem unrelated to the overall theme of the score. This is more prominent towards the middle section of the movie where the score suddenly throws a couple of unrelated tracks into the mix, one being for a drug-fueled orgy sequence. Here Cipriani provides music for bass guitar, flutes, and percussion and is only interrupted by a sudden burst of violence when somebody is dragged out towards a clifftop. Whilst such sequences proved to be challenging for the composer, Cipriani resolves and fulfils the tasks admirably.

Rather curiously, no soundtrack album was ever issued for this beautiful and immersive score, so Chris' Soundtrack Corner is particularly proud to present a world premiere release of the full soundtrack. With his usual sense of artistic flair, Cipriani provides a memorable and rich 45 minutes of music and also contains a couple of bonus tracks.The album is again impressively produced by Christian Riedrich and mastered by Manmade Mastering. The CD packaging consists of a 12-page illustrated booklet designed by Tobias Kohlhaas and featuring exclusive notes by Gergely Hubai, who explores the making of the film and its score in detail. Chris' Soundtrack Corner have again chosen wisely and intelligently and we can only hope that their Cipriani quest continues to blossom.

Click below to order:

http://www.soundtrackcorner.de/

By Fred Blosser

Edgar Rice Burroughs’ Tarzan first appeared in the October 1912 issue of the pulp fiction magazine “All-Story.”  This inaugural novel, “Tarzan of the Apes,” introduced the character as a British peer, Lord Greystoke, who was reared by great apes in Africa as an orphaned infant, and then assimilated into European society in adulthood as a sophisticated adventurer and conservationist.  Burroughs was ingenious in working out the details of the premise (for example, how Tarzan taught himself to read and write), which bordered on science-fiction even by the standards of 1912.   

The story was immediately popular, and a hardcover edition followed in 1914.  It’s important to term the character “Edgar Rice Burroughs’ Tarzan,” as he was typically labelled in media credits, because the author shrewdly trademarked the name.  That way, he could control all uses of his creation, reap the profits, and legally stop any attempts by others to hijack it.  As Burroughs realized, the birth of the motion picture industry and the growth of newspaper syndication in the early 1900s offered access to unlimited audiences.  Many middle-class people in small towns might never buy a magazine or a book, but they were sure to be movie-goers and newspaper readers.  Securing Tarzan as his Intellectual Property allowed Burroughs to exploit those opportunities and ensure they didn’t fall into the hands of others.  He incorporated himself as Edgar Rice Burroughs, Inc., and wrote twenty-two more Tarzan novels over the next thirty-five years, along with many other science-fiction and adventure series.  Burroughs—and then after his death in 1950, his heirs—licensed Tarzan to numerous other media platforms, including movies, radio, a newspaper comic strip, comic books, toys, and television.  If podcasts, Twitter, YouTube, virtual reality, video games, and streaming video had existed back then, we can be certain he would have utilised them too.  Today, when we think of creators who wisely kept a tight commercial grip on their creations, Walt Disney and George Lucas are likely to come to mind, but Burroughs led the way. 

Over the years, movies’ portrayals of Tarzan have varied from the wily, masculine, powerful, articulate, principled character of Burroughs’ original vision to a muscular but asexual simpleton with the verbal skills of a two-year-old.  The latter version was popularised for one generation by MGM’s Johnny Weissmuller movies in the 1940s, and reinforced for the next by years of reruns on television.  The Weissmuller films began promisingly with the violent, sexy “Tarzan the Ape Man” in 1932 and “Tarzan and His Mate” in 1934, but over time at MGM (and then at RKO, where the series moved in 1943), they became increasingly simplistic.  Under the fierce censorship of Hollywood’s Production Code, MGM tightened down on the semi-nudity and mayhem of the first two films, aiming instead for a juvenile demographic.  The studio reasoned that kids were an easier audience who would laugh at the antics of Tarzan’s chimpanzee and not wonder why Weissmuller’s Tarzan never had intimate relations with Jane.  

The last seven decades have seen a variety of Tarzans.  Some producers adhered to the Weissmuller model, beginning with five features from RKO starring Lex Barker, who inherited the role after Weissmuller retired his loincloth.  Others redesigned the concept to meet changing trends in society.  In the James Bond era of the 1960s, a character closer to the Burroughs prototype appeared in two features starring Jock Mahoney and three with Mike Henry.  This peer of the jungle realm was a suave, jet-setting trouble shooter.  The image of an articulate ape man carried over to a 1966-68 NBC-TV series with Ron Ely in the role.  Where Mahoney’s and Henry’s character travelled to India, Thailand, Mexico, and South America to solve jungle crises, Ely’s remained in Africa, in one episode coming to the aid of three nuns from America played by Diana Ross, Mary Wilson, and Cindy Birdsong, better known as the Supremes.  Even with those attempts to appeal to a more contemporary audience, popular interest waned.  In part, this was because the Weissmuller image was the one that stuck in the popular memory, lampooned by television comics.  What can you do with a hero once your audience laughs at him?  Even more to the point, enormous cultural changes around racial issues occurred with the advancements of the Civil Rights era.  Many critics now saw Tarzan as a worrisome symbol of white entitlement, despite the prominent casting of Black actors and a more nuanced portrayal of African tribal societies in the Ron Ely series. 

Nevertheless, with a brand name that older viewers still recognised at least, the character continued to appear sporadically.  If you gathered around the VCR with your family as a kid in the Reagan years, the Tarzan you may remember best was Christopher Lambert’s portrayal in 1984’s “Greystoke: The Legend of Tarzan, Lord of the Apes.”  “Greystoke” had the good fortune to appear as VCRs became standard fixtures in American television rooms; on home video, the movie enjoyed a long life as a VHS rental.  Adapted by Robert Towne from “Tarzan of the Apes” and directed by Hugh Hudson, the film was promoted as a return to Burroughs’ concept of a feral but innately intelligent man who attempts to blend back into polite society.  Some Burroughs fans, primed to embrace a virile Tarzan close to the commanding pulp-fiction character, were disappointed.  In trying to rectify the prevailing Weissmuller image from decades past, Towne and Hudson may have overbalanced in the opposite direction.  Burroughs’ Tarzan dominated whatever environment he chose to be in; Lambert’s was a sad figure, overwhelmed and lost,once he left the jungle.  Nevertheless, lavishly produced, the movie was popular with critics and general audiences.  There were Academy Award nominations for Towne’s screenplay and for Rick Baker’s costuming effects for Tarzan’s adopted ape family.  Another live action movie (“Tarzan and the Lost City,” 1998), two short-lived, syndicated TV series, and Disney’s animated “Tarzan” (1999) were released through the 1990s.  

The latest iteration as a live-action feature, “The Legend of Tarzan” (2016), drew tepid reviews and disappointing box-office.  Although the producers cast Samuel L. Jackson in a prominent role alongside Alexander Skarsgard’s Tarzan above the title, the strategy probably did little to attract younger, hipper, and more diverse ticket-buyers as it was intended to.  Jackson’s American envoy remained little more than a sidekick to Tarzan in an 1885 period setting.  If you hoped to see Jackson’s character shove Tarzan aside to get medieval on somebody’s ass, you were disappointed.  In contrast, Marvel Studios’ “Black Panther,” with a modern Black jungle hero, a largely Black supporting cast and production team, and James Bond-style action situations, emerged two years later with a whopping $1.3 billion in ticket sales and a place on many critics’ Top Ten lists.  The 2022 sequel, “Black Panther: Wakanda Forever,” performed nearly as well with an $838.1 million return. On a $50 million budget, another 2022 Hollywood production with a prestigious Black cast and exotic action in the Burroughs style, “The Woman King,” nearly doubled its investment with $94.3 million in revenue.

In late 2022, Sony Pictures acquired the latest screen rights to Tarzan and promised a “total reinvention” of the character. What the studio has in mind, and whether it will actually follow through, appears to be up in the air right now. Would anybody be surprised to see Tarzan “reinvented” as a role for a Black actor the next time out, if there is a next time?  Popular culture is already there. Vintage movies (“A League of Their Own”) and TV series (“SWAT”) once cast primarily with white actors are remade now, routinely, with Black stars or all-Black casts. On the hit Netflix series “Bridgerton,” actors of color portray British aristocrats in Jane Austen’s Regency-era England, in reality one of the whitest of white societies ever.   

As we wait to see what the next Tarzan, if any, will look like, The Film Detective has released “The Tarzan Vault Collection,” a three-disc Blu-ray set that includes the first Tarzan movie, “Tarzan of the Apes” (1918); “Adventures of Tarzan” (1921), a re-edited feature version of a 10-chapter serial; and “The New Adventures of Tarzan” (1935), a 12-chapter serial presented in its entirety.  The first two pictures starred Elmo Lincoln, a stocky actor who had appeared in several of D.W. Griffith’s milestone silent films, including the ambitious “Intolerance” (1916) as a Biblical strongman, “the Mighty Man of Valor.”  Although it’s said Burroughs wasn’t particularly fond of Lincoln’s casting after another actor was chosen but had to bow out, the films were relatively faithful to the source novels.   Outdoor filming locations in Louisiana for “Tarzan of the Apes” stand in acceptably for equatorial Africa, at least to the satisfaction of moviegoers in 1918 who had no idea what Africa really looked like, and certainly better than the studio backlots used in the Weissmuller films.  Actors in shaggy anthropoid costumes portrayed Tarzan’s ape friends.  Although primitive in comparison with the modern CGI in “The Legend of Tarzan,” the makeup effects aren’t bad for that early era of cinema. 

“Adventures of Tarzan,” based on Burroughs’ “The Return of Tarzan” (1913), finds Tarzan in pursuit of a villain named Rokoff, who has kidnapped Jane in a plot to find the treasure vaults of the lost city of Opar (an idea later reiterated in “The Legend of Tarzan”).  In “The Return of Tarzan” and subsequent novels, Tarzan blithely removes gold and jewels from Burroughs’ imaginary Opar to help support his African estate, reasoning that otherwise the treasure would just lie there.  In the books, the underground vaults are vast, cavernous, and sinister.  In the movie, where the 1921 budget was too low to keep up with Burroughs’ staggering imagination, they look more like somebody’s root cellar.  Good try anyway.  As an hour-long feature truncated from a much longer serial version, “Adventures of Tarzan” is a succession of chases, rescues, and fights from the final chapters of the serial.  A title card at the beginning brings the viewer up to speed on the action already in progress, much as the “Star Wars” movies do now.   

It may be confusing to watch an old serial after most of its continuity has been removed, but the third movie in the Film Detective set, “The New Adventures of Tarzan,” represents the other side of the coin as a serial presented in its original, multi-chapter format.  The serials were designed to be taken one chapter at a time each week.  That remains the best way to experience one.  Otherwise, watched in a binge, repetition becomes a problem.  It’s difficult to work up much concern when Tarzan falls into a crocodile-infested river in Chapter Seven, if, an hour earlier, he’d already escaped the same danger in Chapter Three.  Still, taken piecemeal or in one long sitting, fans will be happy for the chance to see this original version of “The New Adventures of Tarzan,” which is better known in its truncated feature version, “Tarzan and the Green Goddess,” a one-time television staple.  Co-produced by Burroughs, it introduced Herman Brix, a 1928 Olympics finalist, as the title hero.  Trimly muscular, Brix was offered as an alternative to Johnny Weissmuller’s monosyllabic Tarzan; his version, endorsed by Burroughs, spoke in whole, commanding sentences and looked equally comfortable in a loincloth or a dinner jacket.  The serial was set and filmed on location in Guatemala, where Tarzan and his friends race against the bad guys to find a Mayan statue with a valuable secret.  Fans often rank Brix with Jock Mahoney and Mike Henry as their favourite Tarzan.  He later changed his screen name to Bruce Bennett for a long career in Westerns and crime dramas.  Humphrey Bogart fans will remember him as Cody, the drifter who tries to steal Fred C. Dobbs’ gold mine claim in “The Treasure of Sierra Madre.”  

The back story of the serial is more intriguing than the plot about the Mayan statue.  Burroughs fell in love with the wife of his co-producer, Ashton Dearholt, eventually marrying her after she divorced Dearholt and Burroughs divorced his first wife.  In turn, Dearholt had carried on an extramarital affair with Ula Holt, the lead actress in the serial, and they married after Dearholt’s divorce.  It’s the kind of Hollywood story that TMZ.com would love today. 

“A MAZE OF MIRRORS”

By Raymond Benson

Poor Orson Welles. After the critical success but box office failure that was Citizen Kane (1941), it seemed as though the “boy genius” could never again get his ultimate vision on the screen when he was working in Hollywood. The studio butchered his second picture, The Magnificent Ambersons (1942), although the version released is still pretty much a masterpiece and earned an Oscar Best Picture nomination. Still, it didn’t make money. After that, Welles was persona non grata in Hollywood, at least as a director. The studios were happy to have him as an actor.

Nevertheless, he continued to squeeze his way in and make more Hollywood pictures. He produced, co-wrote, and acted in Journey Into Fear (1943), and the story goes that he directed some of it uncredited (Norman Foster was the credited director). Welles then made The Stranger (1946) as an attempt to prove he could deliver a movie under budget and on time—and he did. The Stranger is perhaps Welles’ most “conventional” motion picture and it made money. Unfortunately, RKO (the studio that had made his previous three films) still turned its back on Welles.

The filmmaker’s next title, The Lady from Shanghai (1947), was made for Columbia Pictures. Legend has it that Welles, who in 1946 was producing with Mike Todd a Broadway stage musical based on Around the World in Eighty Days, needed $50,000 to complete the budget so that the musical could open. He called Harry Cohn, the head of Columbia, and offered to write and star in a movie for that amount of money,and direct the picture for free and with no credit. Cohn asked, “What do you have in mind?” It may be an apocryphal story, but Welles, who was calling Cohn from a phone booth, either saw a woman reading a pulp paperback or he spied it on a rack of books. It was called If I Die Before I Wake, a 1938 potboiler by Raymond Sherwood King. Welles, off the cuff, grabbed the book and read the blurb on the back to tell Cohn what the movie was about, but he improvised the title, calling it The Lady from Shanghai. (And, indeed, Welles does not receive a credit for directing—there is no directing credit at all.)

Cohn made the deal, but on one condition—it had to star Rita Hayworth, who was at the time Columbia’s biggest star. The problem with that was that Hayworth and Welles were married, but their union was on the rocks. They were estranged from each other.

But, hey, both Welles and Hayworth were professionals. They could work together. And they did. Welles assembled the cast, wrote the script, and proceeded to film on location (New York, San Francisco, out at sea) so that no one would interfere with the work. Of course, he went over budget and delivered a movie that was three hours long. Cohn went berserk, took the film away from Welles, and cut it down to approximately 90 minutes. Once again, Welles’ “vision” was hijacked.

And yet… AND YET… The Lady from Shanghai is a MARVELOUS motion picture! No, it wasn’t well received by the critics or the public in 1948 when it was finally released (it had premiered in France in 1947)… but time is often kind to movies made by Orson Welles, and today The Lady from Shanghai is considered a film noir classic.

Film noir (not a term used at the time) was big in the late 1940s. Movies like Double Indemnity, The Big Sleep, The Postman Always Rings Twice, The Killers, and Out of the Past were coming out fast and furiously. The Lady from Shanghai and The Stranger are Welles’ contributions to that stylistic movement of dark shadows, high contrast lighting, Expressionistic design, cynical and hard-boiled characters, and crime that doesn’t pay.

Michael O’Hara (Welles) is an out of work seaman who meets gorgeous Elsa Bannister (Hayworth) in Central Park one evening. He immediately falls for her, even though she is married to one of the country’s most accomplished defense attorneys, Arthur Bannister (Everett Sloane). O’Hara is hired to be a crewman on Bannister’s yacht as the couple sails around North America, through the Panama Canal, from New York to San Francisco. Along the way, Bannister’s sleazy business partner, George Grisby (stage actor Glenn Anders, in an extraordinary, eccentric performance), asks O’Hara to “kill” him in a plot to fake his own death. O’Hara would be paid enough money for he and Elsa to run away together. Ah, but nothing is what it seems. Grisby is, of course, setting up O’Hara for a big fall, and Elsa is, you guessed it, a femme fatale.

The plot is rather complex and there was much critical lashing at the time of the movie’s release that it was “incomprehensible,” but this is simply not the case. Even though Columbia deleted 1-1/2 hours from Welles’ rough cut, the story still makes sense… and as film noir expert Eddie Muller explains on one of the Blu-ray disk’s supplements, what isn’t explained in the movie can easily be interpreted by audiences who are somewhat intelligent. (He calls it a “film noir poem.”)

The most memorable sequence is the famed climax that takes place at an abandoned amusement park outside San Francisco. The chase and ultimate shootout in an old fun house made up of a mirror maze has been copied many times in subsequent motion pictures (Enter the Dragon and The Man with the Golden Gun, for example). But the surreal quality of Welles’ direction of this sequence reminds one of the surrealist paintings of Salvador Dalí, and it is masterfully presented. Supposedly the scene was to have lasted nearly twenty minutes. If only we could see what ended up on the cutting room floor!

The new Blu-ray edition from Kino Lorber looks exquisite. The glorious black and white cinematography (by the credited Charles Lawton Jr., with uncredited work by Rudolph Maté and Joseph Walker) is sharp and clear. There are three different audio commentaries one can choose to accompany the film: one by film historian Imogen Sara Smith, another by novelist and critic Tim Lucas, and another by filmmaker Peter Bogdanovich, who spent a lot of his later career commenting on Welles’ life and work. An additional video supplement is an interview with Bogdanovich about the making of the movie. A video interview with Eddie Muller shines a light on the apocryphal tales of the movie’s production. Finally, the theatrical trailer rounds out the package.

The Lady from Shanghai is a top-notch gem, and the new Kino Lorber release is a good way to experience it. For fans of film noir, Orson Welles, and Rita Hayworth. Highly recommended.

Click here to order from Amazon

BY LEE PFEIFFER

The only commonal element among the films of director Nicolas Roeg is that there are no common elements. Roeg graduated from being one of the industry's most respected and innovative cinematographers to becoming an esteemed filmmaker in his own right. Among his disparate productions: the London crime film "Performance", the bizarre David Bowie starrer "The Man Who Fell to Earth", the cult favorite "Bad Timing" and his most accomplished film, the adaptation of Daphne Du Maurier's supernatural novel "Don't Look Now", which ranks as one of the most atmospheric and terrifying movies ever made. By the early 1990s, however, Roeg's penchant for making avant garde films with limited boxoffice appeal- combined with his insistence on not compromising his artistic visions in the name of commerce- put him at odds with studio executives. His movies were largely appreciated by the art house cinema crowd but that didn't endear him to the studio bosses in the corner offices. One of Roeg's most bizarre, ambitious and expensive films was the little-seen and even less-remembered "Eureka", a 1983 production that was bedeviled by bad luck. First the basics: Roeg initially approached screenwriter Paul Mayersberg to adapt a book titled "Who Killed Sir Harry Oakes?" by Marshall Houts. Sir Harry Oakes may have faded into historical obscurity but in 1943 he was certainly one of the most famous men in the world- and had been for two decades. It all began when Oakes, an American by birth, went north into the wilds of Canada in his quest to prospect for gold. He doggedly pursued this ambition for fifteen years before stumbling upon what became the greatest discovery and claim for gold in North American history. Overnight Oakes became one of the richest men on earth. He later moved to the Bahamas where he lived comfortably on a large estate with his wife and daughter. Enamored by the British gentry he interacted with, Oakes changed his citizenship and became a subject of England. Big money buys impressive friends and Oakes was quite chummy with the Duke of Windsor, who had made a wee bit of a splash himself a few years earlier when he was known as King Edward VIII- yes, that King Edward VIII, who abdicated the throne in order to marry the love of his life. Edward was by then relegated to being the Governor-General of the Bahamas, some theorized to get him off the front pages. Between his scandalous  marriage and the fact that he was deemed an appeaser to Hitler in the lead up to the war with Germany, which was now raging, the Duke was not "Flavor of the Month" in his native England. Still, he and Harry Oakes hit it off rather well and before long Harry was knighted, ostensibly because of his sizable contributions to charity, but some theorized the Duke had pulled some strings on his behalf. Sir Harry's bliss was short-lived. In 1943, he was brutally murdered in his own bed. How brutal was the crime? Well, he was bludgeoned, tarred and feathered, burned alive and beheaded.  As you might imagine, the cause of death was not listed as suicide. Clearly, at least one person in his orbit was not very enamored of him and it was decided that the person who liked him least was his son-in-law, who Harry had virtually disowned. A sensational trial took place that resulted in breathless international coverage but the suspect was found to be not guilty on the basis of flimsy evidence. The sensational case remains technically unsolved to this day, though amateur sleuths still debate who the real culprit was and what his motive might have been. 

Nicolas Roeg was understandably intrigued by this story and was delighted when screenwriter Paul Mayersberg had also read the book that Roeg wanted him adapt for the screen. He, too, had longed to make a film of it. With the two men in synch, they set out to make a linear retelling of the remarkable characters and events pertaining to Sir Harry's life. However, they realized that since several of the major players in his life were still alive, the production could be plagued by lawsuits. Thus, they decided to give fictitious names to the characters. This also liberated them in terms of using artistic license when desirable, as they were no longer attempting to present a purely factual study of Sir Harry's life and death. It also liberated Roeg by allowing him to bring more esoteric elements into the production. The central character was now named Jack McCann (Gene Hackman) and our first view of him is indeed striking: he in embroiled in a violent struggle with another man in the midst of a raging blizzard in the Canadian wilderness. An unidentified woman, presumably the other man's wife, pleads for the men to stop fighting and we learn that Jack, who has been enraged by something that is never explained, is splitting up his prospecting partnership with the other man. He eventually storms off into the intimidating landscape to continue to pursue his goal of finding a major strike. Ultimately he does just that by literally falling into a fortune when he slips through a crevice and finds himself in an underground cave that is literally raining gold dust. He rejoices in his triumph but his happiness is short-lived. He returns to the bordello where the love of his life, a local hooker and oracle (Helena Kallianiotes) is literally on her death bed and she dies in his arms. It's the first in a string of unfortunate incidents that will plague Jack's  life. The scene then abruptly switches to twenty years later when we find Jack comfortably residing in his Bahamian estate named, appropriately enough, Eureka. He's a hot-tempered man prone to violent outbursts. The only calming influence in his life is his twenty year-old beautiful daughter Tracy (Theresa Russell), who he clearly adores but who also brings him consternation because of her strong, independent ways. Tracy has married Claude Malliot Van Horn (Rutger Hauer), a handsome, charismatic European gigolo. Jack can immediately see through Claude's motives and calls him out for being an opportunist who is using Tracy to get access to the McCann fortune. The rift results in Tracy becoming estranged from Jack and her mother, Helen (Jane Lapotaire), a weak-willed woman who Jack treats as he would the hired help. A parallel subplot finds Jack being pressured by his friend and business associate Charles Perkins (Ed Lauter) to sell his beloved estate to a group of American gangsters headed by a man named Mayaofsky (Joe Pesci) and his second-in-command Aurello D'Amato (Mickey Rourke). Seems they want to expand their operations to the island Jack resides on and consider his land crucial to their plans. Typically, Jack not only rejects their offer but insults them in the process, leading to the gangsters deciding to take strong-arm tactics against him. In the film's most disturbing scene (and there are several), Jack is murdered in his bed by being bludgeoned, tortured with a blowtorch and (we learn later) beheaded. It's an incredibly gruesome sight to behold, as Roeg holds nothing back from the viewer except the decapitation. (We should be thankful for small favors). The balance of the film concerns the resulting murder trial, which mirrors the real life case in that Jack's son-in-law was arrested and charged with the crime. He had motive and opportunity- but so did many of his enemies including the gangsters. 

"Eureka" may have been an ambitious undertaking but it's also a highly unsatisfying one. The script provides us with a dearth of sympathetic characters. With the exception of Tracy (who is superbly played by Roeg's then-wife Theresa Russell, who made numerous other films with him), there isn't a single other character with any admirable traits. Hackman delivers a powerful performance as McCann but the character is sketchy. We all know money doesn't always buy happiness but we never get to the root cause of his dissatisfaction with life and everyone around him. The supporting cast is equally excellent with Rutger Hauer giving one of the best performances of his career as the vain, almost effeminate pretty boy whose charm makes Tracy blind to his vulgarities. These are demonstrated in a very haunting sequence in which Claude and two female companions secretly attend a voodoo ritual that becomes a pagan-like orgy which leaves everyone involved disgraced and emotionally scarred. Joe Pesci and Mickey Rourke are impressive as the gangsters, with Pesci uncharacteristically underplaying his role, while Ed Lauter does the same as Jack's wimpy friend Charlie. The main problem with "Eureka" is that Roeg values style over substance. The entire first section of the film involving Jack's quest for gold is compromised by Roeg dropping in metaphysical and supernatural aspects, implying that his seer girlfriend is somehow sending him psychic signals to find the gold even though this will inexplicably cost her her own life. Even when the story gets on more traditional footing in Jack's later years, Roeg still toys with the viewer by inserting artistic touches that are visually striking but which distract the audience and make things quite confusing to follow.  At times it's hard to figure out who is who and what everyone's relationships and motivations are. Roeg also can't resist making numerous analogies between the characters of Jack McCann and Charles Foster Kane, though the comparisons seem a bit obvious and heavy handed. Having said that, the movie looks beautiful and Alex Thomson's cinematography is top-notch, as is the lush musical score by Stanley Myers.  

If Jack McCann's fate seemed cursed, so did "Eureka" as a major film production. The movie was financed and was to be distributed by United Artists. However, during production the management team of the long-troubled studio changed and "Eureka" was treated as an orphan project that had been green lit by the previous regime. Not helping matters was the fact that a test screening proved to be very discouraging, with the audience overwhelmingly giving the quirky film a "thumbs down" verdict. UA sat on the movie for two years before giving it a very minor and abbreviated release, after which it fell into obscurity. Twilight Time has released the film as a special edition Blu-ray, limited to only 3,000 units- and kudos for them for doing so. Although the film is a misguided and unsatisfying enterprise, it still has enough impressive aspects to merit a look by any serious movie scholar. "Eureka" is an artistic failure in this writer's opinion but at least it's a fascinating one and certainly worth a look in order to draw your own conclusions.

The film is currently streaming on Screenpix, which is available through Amazon Prime, Roku, YouTube and Apple TV for $2.99 per month. 

Click here to order DVD from Amazon

By Paul Scrabo

Anne Francis was director John Sturges’ only female actor in 1955’s “Bad Day at Black Rock”, and she repeated her solo act ten years later on “The Satan Bug”. But on that production, she and many cast members felt a preoccupation, a distance, from the man who held together “The Magnificent Seven” and “The Great Escape”. Francis was certain “He was thinking about “The Hallelujah Trail”. This was Sturges’ next production, his entry into the world of roadshow presentations; a mammoth production with a huge cast and even huger backdrop: Gallup, New Mexico.

Bill Gulick’s 1963 novel, originally titled “The Hallelujah Train”, seemed a perfect story to upend all western movie conventions, with the cavalry, the Indians, the unions, and the Temperance Movement fighting over the transportation of forty wagons of whiskey. Sturges was comfortable making westerns, but this was a comedy western. He appreciated the Mirisch Corporation’s vision of straight actors trying to make sense of the silliness, but still wanted to persuade James Garner, Lee Marvin and Art Carney for major roles. Sturges knew these actors could handle comedy.

Garner passed. “The premise was too outrageous, not enough truth to be funny”, he said. The rest of Sturges’ dream cast was not available, but what he got seemed attractive: a pair of solid supporting actors, Jim Hutton and Pamela Tiffin, and Lee Remick and Burt Lancaster for the leads. Lancaster had previously worked with Sturges on “Gunfight at the O.K. Corral” and was impressed how the film turned out. The rest of the supporting cast included Donald Pleasence, Brian Keith, and Martin Landau. They were in for a tough shoot.

The weather was unpredictable (you can spot thunderstorms heading their way in the finished film) and the location had three hundred crew members miles away from the hotels. Scenes contained countless stunts, and fifty tons of Fuller’s earth was blown by several giant fans to create The Battle at Whiskey Hills. Bruce Surtees, son of Sturges’ cinematographer Robert Surtees and focus-puller on the set, recalled “All this and we’re shooting in Ultra-Panavision 70mm, which made life even more difficult!” Despite the difficulties, the director was loving what he saw on set; the film looked as breathtaking as any wide screen western ever could, the stunts were amazing, and thank God he was also laughing all through it.

The hilarity was cut short near the end of the shooting. For the sprawling wagon chase finale, stunt persons Buff Brady and Bill Williams convinced associate producer Robert Relyea to let them delay their jump from inside a catapulted coach. Permission was given, and in the attempt, Williams got tangled somehow during his planned escape. He was killed instantly. Relyea nixed including the footage in the finished film, but was overruled by Mirisch. It’s an incredible shot and it plays in every promotional trailer, probably the most famous footage from the production. Was including it a bad decision or a tribute? There is still a debate over this among retro movie fans.

“We all thought it was going to be a hit picture”, said Sturges, “until we hit an audience.” “The Hallelujah Trail” opened with a 165-minute cut that audiences and critics found “belabored and overlong”. Sturges overheard some patrons wondering if this was a straight western or a deliberate comedy. Screenwriter John Gay blamed much of the response on the performances of Brian Keith and Donald Pleasence. Gay wanted his lines played straight but the actors played it for laughs. The film was soon cut to 156-minutes (the version on this Blu-ray) and the reactions were much more positive; critics noted several inspired sight gags, audiences enjoyed the cartoonish atmosphere of the DePatie-Freleng maps, Variety found the film “beautifully packaged”, and the LA Times proclaimed “The Hallelujah Trail” as “one of the very few funny westerns ever made, and possibly the funniest.”

When the film finished its roadshow run, United Artists cut the film once more, to 145-minutes. It didn’t help. Compared to “Cat Ballou” and even “F Troop”, “The Hallelujah Trail” was unhip.Sturges was done with comedy, but not with roadshow Cinerama, though his future films would have checkered histories. He was set to direct “Grand Prix” but clashed with the original star, Steve McQueen. A year later Gregory Peck turned down Sturges’ “Ice Station Zebra’, wary of its weak third act. Rock Hudson, now middle-aged and wanting a strong lead role, came aboard for this Sturges voyage instead. The MGM release still had a confusing third act, but the film sails nicely mostly due to Patrick McGoohan and some clever dialogue.

Decades later, “The Hallelujah Trail” remains a nice memory to those who attended the Cinerama presentation; not much greatness to retain but a great experience at the movies. But that experience was tough to relive because the film remained in legacy format limbo for years: a letterboxed standard definition transfer. So when Olive Films announced a Blu-ray release in 2019, fans of comedy epics sung Hallelujah! Now this film can be viewed in 1080P! Retreat! Unfortunately, the quality of the Olive release resembled an upscaled version of the original standard definition transfer. But two years later “The Hallelujah Trail” was casually spotted on Amazon Prime, and it was a new HD transfer. And a year after that, it’s a new Kino Lorber Blu-ray release.

(Above: Dell U.S. comic book tie-in.)

Any Cinema-Retro reader worth their Cinerama Chops should have this Blu-ray in their collection. “The Hallelujah Trail” is an hour too long, but you get miles of lovely landscape. My favorite portrayal? Donald Pleasence as Oracle, who predicts the future in return for free drinks. And watch for his amazing jump off a roof! Certainly, the most impressive part of the film is the finale: the runaway wagon chase. There are sections where you swear it’s Remick, Keith and Landau handling those coaches but you know it has to be well made-up stunt people, at least for most of it. You’re also realizing that this sequence, and perhaps the entire film, is performed without any process work or rear projection.

There’s a legitimate debate on how the film may have been more successful if James Garner played the role of Colonel Gearhart, though only Lancaster could have pulled off that bathtub smile scene. There’s no disagreement on the music; Elmer Bernstein’s sprawling score contains so many themes that Sturges’ biographer Glenn Lovell qualifies the film as “almost a pre-“Paint Your Wagon” musical." And here’s your tiniest “Trail” trivia: decades ago, during the production of the laserdisc version, MGM/UA discovered that a few reels were mono sound instead of multi-channel, including the main title featuring the chorus. Yours truly was working on a project for the company at the time, and I happily lent them my stereo score LP. so the main title would be in stereo. That audio track mix remains on this new Blu-ray as well. (You’re welcome, America!)

Kino Lorber is kind enough to provide some expert guides to help you along the “Trail”: the perfect pairing of screenwriter C. Courtney Joyner and filmmaker/historian Michael Schlesinger. Joyner had already provided his Sturges bonafides with his documentary on the director for the recent Imprint Blu-ray of “Marooned”, and I can verify Schlesinger’s knowledge of film comedy, having been fortunate to join him, along with Mark Evanier, for the commentary track on Criterion’s “It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World”. Joyner and Schlesinger tackle and acknowledge “The Hallelujah Trail”s social and political incorrectness, but also deflate any virtue signaling by examining how the film is smartly an equal opportunity offender: the Cavalry, the Indians, the Temperance Movement, all up for farce. Thanks to this team, and the picture quality of this Blu-ray, I finally spotted the gag of the Indians circling the wagons as the cavalry is whooping and hollering. Both gents are in a fine fun mood to tackle this type of film, and It’s one of my favorite film commentaries of 2022.

“The Hallelujah Trail” now looks clearer and sharper than any previous home video release, and somehow it makes the comedy and the performances sharper as well. I think you’ll be entertained by this roadshow epic, and with Joyner and Schlesinger as your commentary companions you may indeed learn, as the posters proclaimed, “How the West Was Fun!”

Click here to order from Amazon

“IN THE SHADOW OF THE MASTER”

By Raymond Benson

The late Ingmar Bergman lived and worked on the Swedish island of Fårö, where he filmed many of his stark masterpieces such as Persona, Shame, and others. He had more than one house on the island, and the population there protected the filmmaker’s privacy with the fervor of a national guard.

Today, though, his estate is run by a foundation that allows artist-in-residency grants to writers, filmmakers, musicians, and painters, as well as activists working for free speech and democratic ideals. One merely has to submit an application at a specific time of year, and if one is lucky, grants/permissions are doled out to several people per year. The person gets to stay free of charge at one of Bergman’s abodes and work on a designated project (it doesn’t have to be related to Bergman or film) as long as some “contribution” is made to the community in terms of a cultural event. (For those interested, see https://bergmangardarna.se/application/.)

French filmmaker Mia Hansen-Løve uses this residency gift as a setting for a sensitive romantic drama that explores the relationship between art and real life, as well as the muses and inspirations that drive artists in their work. Bergman Island also displays in lovely cinematographic intimacy (shot by DP Denis Lenoir) the grounds of Bergman’s homes, which is, in itself, an absolute treat for any viewer who is a fan of the master’s movies. Note that although the film is mostly a French production set in Sweden, it is 95% in English. Some Swedish residents on the island speak in their native tongue and are subtitled.

Tony (Tim Roth) is an established filmmaker who has received a grant of residency to stay at Bergman’s Dämba property to work on writing his next project. Accompanying him is his wife, Chris (Vicky Krieps), also a writer, who has a work in progress but is experiencing writer’s block. Chris turns out to be the protagonist of the film, and the story is told from her perspective. There are cracks in the marriage, mainly because Chris feels that Tony doesn’t give her enough support or encouragement (but from what the viewer sees on the screen, this isn’t entirely true; nevertheless, Tony does tend to take phone calls in the middle of deep conversations and is easily distracted by what is apparently a major film production he’s working on). Ironically, they’re staying in the bedroom where Bergman’s Scenes from a Marriage was shot. The housekeeper tells them that the film was so popular that millions of couples around the world “got a divorce” because of it!

The couple, usually separately, take in sightseeing excursions on the island to Bergman’s other abodes and the film center where Tony delivers a talk. There is even a “Bergman Safari” bus that takes visitors around the island to film locations and such (and all this is real).

Chris finally relates to Tony the story she’s been struggling with so far. The movie then becomes a “film within a film,” illustrating Chris’ story, which involves Amy (Mia Wasikowska), a filmmaker, and a former lover, Joseph (Anders Danielsen Lie), both of whom are attending a wedding of mutual friends on Fårö. Mia and Joseph rekindle their love affair, and Mia would like for it to go further, but apparently Joseph considers the fling to be temporary. Interestingly, people that Tony and Chris have met during their stay on the island are transported into Mia and Joseph’s story, so there is cross pollination of ideas between the “real” tale and the “fictional” tale.

Bergman Island is told in a leisurely, dreamlike fashion that emphasizes the pastoral influence of the surroundings on the characters. There is also the strong (but unseen and unheard) presence of Ingmar Bergman’s ghost, who informs all the characters’ motivations. Tony and Chris are told that the late filmmaker believed in ghosts—for example, Bergman was firmly convinced that his late wife occupied the house with him after she had departed the earth. Thus, the ghosts of their own pasts are ever present in the lives of Tony, Chris, Amy, and Joseph. That said, the movie is not a Bergman homage or pastiche. Its style and tone is much gentler and more feminine.

The Criterion Collection has issued a top-notch package containing a 2K digital master of the movie, approved by the director, with a 5.1 surround DTS-HD Master Audio soundtrack. The colors of Fårö in summer are a striking contrast to the black and white imagery of the locations in Bergman’s 1960s and 70s pictures. Berman Island is indeed lovely to look at it.

The supplements include a lengthy interview with director Hansen- Løve in which she speaks about the history of the film, its casting issues (originally Greta Gerwig and John Turturro were to have played the roles of Chris and Tony), and the power of the island location on the choices she made for the picture; an interview with Vicky Krieps; and a short behind-the-scenes documentary shot by cast member Gabe Klinger during the production. The booklet contains an essay by film critic Devika Girish.

Bergman Island is a fascinating and meaningful little picture that is worth one’s time, especially for fans of the late Ingmar Bergman. Recommended.

Click here to order from Amazon

By Hank Reineke

In the autumn of 1963 the Macmillan Co. published Rohan O’ Grady’s third suspense novel Let’s Kill Uncle. The book’s appearance was certain to command some critical and public notice: the dust jacket and title page was adorned with the idiosyncratic illustrations of Edward Gorey. The cover blurb offered a small glimpse of what awaited readers: “In an idyllic, peaceful island setting two charming children on summer holiday conspire to execute the perfect murder – and get away with it.” Though a macabre premise, the book was well-received, the Baltimore Sun, Boston Globe, Pittsburgh Press, New York Newsday and Chicago Tribune singing its praises. Toronto’s Globe and Mail crowed Let’s Kill Uncle was “the jolliest thriller of any year.”

One fan of the novel was the producer-director William Castle, the undisputed grifting King of Ballyhoo. Castle optioned the property shortly after its appearance with no immediate plans for production set. After scoring handsomely with his 1959 indie House on Haunted Hill with Vincent Price, Castle had signed on with Columbia Pictures for a four-film deal in March of 1959 (later extended beyond the original four pics). Between 1959 and 1964 Castle delivered such popcorn-munching guilty-pleasures as The Tingler, 13 Ghosts, Mr. Sardonicus, and Strait-Jacket, amongst others. Then, in October 1963, Universal Picture’s Vice-President of Production, Edward Muhl, signed Castle to a three-picture deal for a series of “cost-control” films.

Castle’s trio of films for Uni were less celebrated and money-spinning than his earlier efforts. His second and most recent effort for the studio, I Saw What You Did (1965) did little to buffer his reputation as a filmmaker nor cash-cow guarantor. As one critic from the Los Angeles Times sulked, “I Saw What You Did, William Castle, and as usual I am not impressed.” Castle’s final film in his three-pic contract would be Let’s Kill Uncle. By all indicators, the production of Let’s Kill Uncle would be a rushed affair. One Hollywood correspondent – having already visited director Brian G. Hutton rehearsing his cast on the set of The Pad – chose to drop by the adjourning soundstage where first-day shooting of Let’s Kill Uncle was in process. The columnist was quick to note the film’s “rough edges” were already showing. The writer noted the fast and frugal Castle had already shot more film during his brief visit than Hutton would shoot in an entire day.

Castle had reason to work quickly. In October of 1965, Variety reported the director/producer was soon to again jump ship, having just inked a multi-picture deal with Paramount. That contract called for Castle to report to his new bosses on New Year’s Day 1966. Though Castle was scheduled to begin work on Let’s Kill Uncle on December 10, 1965, actual production evidently would not commence until December 20. The clock was ticking.

One reason for the delay was Castle’s decision to wait on the availability of “moppet Mary Badham,” the child actress cast as “Chrissie” in the film. The thirteen-year old was not yet finished completing work on Sydney Pollack’s drama This Property is Condemned with Natalie Wood, Robert Redford and Charles Bronson. Another thirteen-year-old, Pat Cardi, was to join the cast as Barnaby Harrison, the principal target of his black-hearted Uncle, Major Kevin Harrison (Nigel Green). Though Cardi’s name was a mostly unfamiliar one, his face certainly was. The child actor was frequently seen on television screens in a cavalcade of small roles. Linda Lawson, cast to play Chrissie’s aunt Justine, was a virtual novice looking for a break. Castle had met Lawson four years earlier when she delivered mail to him at his Columbia Pictures office.

It’s unclear if Nigel Green was originally sought out by Castle to play the “Uncle” role. There were reports as late as December that Leslie Nielsen “had worked out his shooting schedule on Beau Geste so he can accept a role in Uncle.” If indeed Nelson was Castle’s first choice to play the Major, the resulting film - as it stands - might have benefited from the actor’s gift for light-comedy. Whatever the case, Green – just recently seen as another “Major” in the Len Deighton/Sidney J. Furie production of the spy-thriller The Ipcress File (1965) – was brought on. Green’s comedic skills were not his strong suit, and it wasn’t the best bit of casting. But then everything about Let’s Kill Uncle seems a bit askew.

The shortcomings of this film weighed heavily on the scripting. Castle’s schedule 1963-1965 was a particularly busy one, so it’s not surprising his optioning of Let’s Kill Uncle was not exercised immediately. In April of 1965 things started moving, Variety reporting the playwright Robert L. Joseph had been conscripted to adapt O’ Grady’s book as a film treatment, with tentative plans to start production sometime “next summer.” Whatever the circumstances, Joseph’s treatment – if submitted at all – was found not up-to-snuff. The responsibility of delivering a workable adaptation fell to Mark Rodgers, a writer almost exclusively known for his work on television.

It was, to be fair, a tough work to adapt, as the grim humor and dark whimsy of O’ Grady’s novel was seamlessly embroidered into a textual tapestry – a bit of psychological chess-game plotting not easy to convey visually. Castle chose to dispense and/or modify many of the novels’ original elements. The setting of the novel is an island off of the Canadian Pacific coast, there are Mounties trooping about, the treacherous Uncle” is named “Sylvester,” and there’s even a “soliloquizing” talking cougar named “One-Eye.” The filmmakers of Let’s Kill Uncle chose to move the action to an un-named sub-tropical location of palm trees and bananas, there’s no Mounties or (worse yet!) a talking cougar. The killer Uncle’s moniker was changed from Sylvester to “Kevin Harrison.” (As has “Chrissie’s.” She’s “Christie” in the novel).

While these small name changes don’t really figure in or matter to the final product, the absence of “One-Eye” is unforgivable. As is the lack of suspense one might have expected. The only good thing about moving the locale from the Canadian coast to the tropics is the welcome – if brief - appearance of Nestor Paiva as the Steward of the steamer bringing Barnaby and Chrissie to their new island homes. Paiva, one might recall, was the captain of the Rita, the ship slow-trolling the wilds of the Amazon in search of The Creature from the Black Lagoon. It’s Nestor who informs young Barnaby that the island is cursed, which isn’t too far off the mark, at least for him.

The film never really catches fire. I was hoping to glean Castle’s thoughts on Let’s Kill Uncle in his memoir Step Right Up! I’m Gonna Scare the Pants Off America, but the director/producer makes no mention of the film’s production nor reception in the book. The slight filmography in his book’s back pages gives Let’s Kill Uncle only the briefest of notice: “Technicolor murder movie starring kids and Nigel Green.” (It should be noted Director of Photography Harold Lipstein delivers a film of eye-popping color saturation, the film’s singular saving grace).

The film was mostly dismissed by critics upon its release – but there were a few actually enjoyed it. One critic from Box Office mulled the film’s failure was due to the “scene-chewing and downright brattish character traits” of Cardi and Badham, that the “homicidal plans” of Uncle Kevin might have proved “a blessing in disguise” had they been carried out. I generally like William Castle’s shoestring 1960’s psycho-horrors as much as the next guy (assuming that “next guy” also has lowbrow tastes in cinema), but I found the ninety-two minutes of Let’s Kill Uncle a slow torture. Castle’s fans will at least enjoy the bonus featurette Mr. Castle and Me: An Interview with Actor Pat Cardi, which offer a small peek behind the curtain.

This Kino Lorber Studio Classics Blu-ray edition of Let’s Kill Uncle is presented in 1920 x 1080p, with a ratio of 1.85:1, dts sound, and removable English sub-titles. The film looks absolutely brilliant, Kino having struck the print from a “Brand New 2K Master.” The set rounds off with two theatrical trailers of the film as well as the commentaries of film historians Kat Ellinger (Diabolique magazine) and the (now sadly recently deceased) author of Teen Movie Hell, Mike McPadden.

Click here to order from Amazon

Cinema Retro has received the following press release. Since our magazine is edited in New Jersey, we look forward to seeing this ultimate “Jersey Guy” documentary.

Banded Together: The Boys From Glen Rock High

Reunite on Hometown New Jersey High School Stage 50 Years Later

You Never Know What Those Crazy Kids May Grow Up to Be!

Feature Documentary Makes World Premiere Oct. 29^th & 30^th at Montclair Film Festival;

Featuring: Lee Shapiro, Jimmy Vivino, John Feeney, Jerry Vivino, Frank Pagano, Uncle Floyd Vivino, Doug Romoff, Jeff Venho, Joe Sielski & Conan O'Brien.

LOS ANGELES — Oct. 21, 2022 — For Immediate Release: Having all established high-profile careers in the music industry, eight men reunite 50 years later to jam on their high school auditorium stage in idyllic Glen Rock, NJ, and look back on what a strange ride it’s been in Banded Together: The Boys From Glen Rock High.

Directed, produced and edited by Academy Award-nominated and Emmy Award-winning documentarian Barry Rubinow (Red Grooms: Sunflower in a Hothouse, Beakman’s World), this full-length documentary is an official selection of the Montclair Film Festival (Oct. 21-30). Moved to a bigger theater to accommodate demand, the film will make its world premiere Saturday, Oct. 29 at 6:30 p.m. and Sunday Oct. 30 at noon.

About Banded Together: The Boys From Glen Rock High ...

Once upon a time, in the small, Mayberry-esque town of Glen Rock, NJ, 25 miles and a world away from New York City, a group of friends from high school joined the music department—some commanded to do so by their parents or in lieu of receiving detention—with adolescent dreams of making it in “the biz.”

From the launch pad of their garage band gatherings and unassuming high school auditorium, each of them today—Lee Shapiro, Jimmy Vivino, John Feeney, Jerry Vivino, Frank Pagano, Uncle Floyd Vivino, Doug Romoff and Jeff Venho—perform at the highest levels of the music industry ... from the main stage of the Tonight Show With Conan O’Brien (who appears in the film) to hosting their own show to writing some of the industry’s most successful songs to performing in arenas with such iconic artists as Frankie Valli & the Four Seasons, The Allman Brothers, Bon Jovi, Bruce Springsteen, Donald Fagen and Jimmy Buffet, to name a few. [short bios, pg. 2]

The remarkable story of a true band of brothers, a group of close friends who bonded through music, reuniting for a concert in the same auditorium where they wowed their teachers and fellow students 50 years ago. Along the way, we learn about their individual journeys and their remarkable successes, all heavily influenced by their time at Glen Rock High School, under the tutelage of their beloved music teacher and bandleader, Joe Sielski.

The film explores the importance of music and arts education for all students and is a touching testament to the value of teaching and promoting the arts. The love and respect that these musicians have for one another and their teachers is on full display, as well as their drive, discipline, humor and sheer talent.  Though their careers have taken them all around the world, performing in front of thousands, there is no greater joy than returning to the hometown stage that defined them.

Documentary, Music / Running Time: 77 Minutes / Not Rated

Featuring Lee Shapiro, Jimmy Vivino, John Feeney, Jerry Vivino, Frank Pagano, Uncle Floyd Vivino, Doug Romoff, Jeff Venho, Joe Sielski and Conan O’Brien. Directed by Barry Rubinow. Produced by Barry Rubinow and Doug Romoff. Editor Barry Rubinow. Director of Photography Patrick Cone. Production Designer Richard Gardner.

About the Musicians ...

JIMMY VIVINO is a guitarist, keyboard player, singer, producer and music director. He began playing in NYC clubs in the early 1980s and started producing and arranging music for such artists as Phoebe Snow, Laura Nyro, John Sebastian, and Donald Fagen. Blues legend Al Kooper considers Jimmy one of his “discoveries” and he worked as Kooper’s musical director for 15 years. Jimmy performed with the house bands for The Tonight Show with Conan O’Brien as well as Late Night with Conan O’Brien. Jimmy led the house band for the late-night program Conan called Jimmy Vivino and the Basic Cable Band. Jimmy has recorded and played live with renowned musicians Johnnie Johnson, Hubert Sumlin and Levon Helm.

LEE SHAPIRO is a keyboardist, arranger and music director. He was studying at the Manhattan School of Music when he was discovered playing at a club in New Jersey by the manager of the band, Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons. Lee was age 19 at the time he was asked to join. He was the arranger on the hit songs, “Who Loves You” and “Oh What a Night.” Lee also worked with Barry Manilow on Copacabana, The Musical before starting Lee Shapiro Music, a company that created music for the media and advertising. He also created the “must have” toys of 2000, ‘Rock N Roll Elmo’ and ‘Rock N Roll Ernie’ for Fisher-Price. Lee formed the classic rock band The Hit Men with former Four Seasons bandmates Gerry Polci and Don Ciccone. The band has evolved over the past 12 years and is touring with band members who perform with the legends of classic rock.

JOHN FEENEY, principal double bass of the Orchestra of St. Luke’s, the American Classical Orchestra and Opera Lafayette, is a chamber musician and soloist of international renown. John has performed as a guest bassist with the Vienna Philharmonic. An avid Viennese violinist, in 2010 he co-founded The Serenade Orchestra and the Serenade Quartet, performing many dozens of concerts featuring the music of 18th and 19th century Vienna. John has recorded extensively for most major record labels and holds bachelor and master degrees from the Juilliard School where he was a scholarship student of David Walter. He began his bass studies with Linda McKnight.

UNCLE FLOYD VIVINO is a legendary comedian, musician and entertainer. He created and starred in The Uncle Floyd Show, a comedic variety show that can be equally read as a children’s program or a parody of a children’s program. The show aired for over two decades and featured character comedy, puppetry, audience participation, Floyd’s vaudevillian piano playing and a puppet sidekick named Oogie. The Uncle Floyd Show had musical guests including such renowned performers as The Ramones, Bon Jovi, Blue Öyster Cult, Joe Jackson and Cyndi Lauper. Uncle Floyd continues to perform his one-of-a-kind act around various northern New Jersey venues. Check out his radio show every Sunday at 9 a.m. EST on WFDU-FM 89.1 and WFDU-FM.

FRANK PAGANO is a drums and percussion musician and teacher. He graduated from the Manhattan School of Music to go on to work with Phoebe Snow and Concord Jazz recording artists Jackie and Roy. Frank has played music in Broadway shows since 1985. His performing and recording credits range from Smokey Joe’s Cafe and Escape to Margaritaville, to Darlene Love and Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band. Frank is currently recording drums, percussion and vocals with prog-rock band Renaissance. He also performs with the Jon Herington Band and The Harmonious Five.

JERRY VIVINO is a multi-talented reed player who attributes his mastering of seven woodwinds to his high school band director Joe Sielski. After graduating in 1972 he attended Manhattan School of Music aspiring to become a full-time musician. For 25 years he was the featured saxophonist for Conan O’Brien on NBC’S  Late Night, The Tonight Show and the TBS cable TV show Conan. As a sideman, Jerry has shared the stage or recorded with the likes of Tony Bennett, Donald Fagen, Johnny Mathis, Darlene Love, Dion DiMucci, Stanley Clark, Franki Valli, Keely Smith, The Allman Brothers, Bon Jovi and Bruce Springsteen to name a few. Jerry also performs with his brother Floyd’s The Uncle Floyd Show, brother Jimmy’s Blues Revue and as a leader with his own jazz quartet.

DOUG ROMOFF is a professional bassist, entrepreneur and film producer. He performed music in many Broadway shows as well as movie scores and commercial jingles. Doug founded Harmony 534, a full-service music production and video editing facility with clients such as Sesame Street and Criterion Films. Doug also founded the Paradiso Group, an advertising agency that creates multi-media presentations, live television broadcasts and classic TV, radio and print advertising. Doug was the executive producer and creator of Beyond the Crush, a docu-series about wine owners in Napa Valley. He is the co-owner and creative director for Adrenaline Films, a creative services company with clients such as Universal Studios and Xfinity.

JEFF VENHO attended the Juilliard School as a scholarship trumpet performance major, graduating with a master’s degree. Jeff has performed with the NYC Opera, the American Symphony, the Paragon Ragtime Orchestra and numerous Broadway Shows. In addition to his freelance activities, Jeff is currently employed as Trumpet Professor at Hofstra University and is the Winds Department Chair at the Rudolf Steiner School in Manhattan.

About the Mentor ...

JOE SIELSKI was the music teacher and band leader at Glen Rock High School from 1963 to 2003. In 1968, he started the orchestra program at the school, and served on the Middle Atlantic States High School Evaluation Committee. In 1976, Joe got his M.A. degree in conducting from Columbia University TC. He also served as Glen Rock High School Fine Arts Department Chairperson. Joe has been married to his wife, Carolyn, for more than 50 years. They hosted the reunion of the Boys From Glen Rock High and Joe played/ conducted at the reunion concert at Glen Rock High School.

About the Filmmaker ...

BARRY RUBINOW grew up in Glen Rock, New Jersey, and made his first film in eighth grade at Glen Rock Junior/Senior High School. With early aspirations to be a filmmaker, he moved to Los Angeles and attended the University of Southern California’s acclaimed school of cinema. The first documentary he edited, Red Grooms: Sunflower in a Hothouse, was nominated for an Academy Award for Best Documentary Short Subject. His career as a producer, director, editor and indie filmmaker has included winning an Emmy Award for editing the CBS science show, Beakman’s World. He was also a founding member of the Documentary Channel, which was in 25 million homes on Dish Network and DirecTV, and ran all creative endeavors of the channel, overseeing the branding and on-air IDs and promos. He produced over 100 episodes of the channel’s flagship original show, DocTalk, interviewing acclaimed documentary filmmakers from Werner Herzog to Alex Gibney to Errol Morris. Rubinow brings his unique background and experience and love of his hometown, to this powerful project.

(www.bandedtogethermovie.com)

For tickets and information about the Montclair Film Festival, click here. 

By Hank Reineke

In his collection of 1997, Who the Devil Made It?: Conversations with Legendary Film Directors, Peter Bogdanovich, trumpeted that no one in the film industry, “had ever made good pictures faster or for less money than Edgar Ulmer. What he could do with nothing (occasionally in the script department as well) remains an object lesson for those directors, myself included, who complain about tight budgets and schedules.” Bogdanovich, who befriended Ulmer when the latter was in his seventies, reminded readers the director of such gems as Detour (1945) and The Black Cat (1934) was rarely given more than six-days to shoot any of his features.

Ulmer was an interesting character, an oft-cited ego-centric with high aspirations and boundless energy. Indie Hollywood producers found Ulmer a dependable craftsman who made the most of what he was given – which too often was a pittance. He occasionally made great films. To his credit, he never delivered anything less than an efficient film. In a 2014 study, Edgar G. Ulmer: A Filmmaker at the Margins, biographer Noah Isenberg, conceded his on-set mission of seeking “clear-cut answers” was futile: Ulmer’s personal and professional life was nothing if not a bewildering “straddle [of] truth and fiction.”

Though Isenberg exhumed every interview with the director he could find, he acknowledged one couldn’t “accept without qualification what Ulmer himself presented as the truth when he was still alive.” According to film historian Gary D. Rhodes, Robert Clarke, the actor/producer of Beyond the Time Barrier – one of a trio films included here on Kino’s new Blu ray issue of the Edgar G. Ulmer Sci-Fi Collection - considered the writer-director “something of a genius, but also a troubled, difficult person.”

Ulmer was, inarguably, partly responsible for some of his travails. Working at Universal as an art director and set designer in the early ‘30s, Ulmer was given the opportunity to direct the studio’s art-deco atmospheric horror The Black Cat with Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi. But opportunities to helm future pictures for up-market Hollywood studios were derailed. Though married, Ulmer entered into a scandalous affair with a studio script supervisor – one already married to the nephew of Universal’s c0-founder, Carl Laemmle. The retribution for Ulmer’s affair-of-the-heart was his blacklisting from working at any Hollywood major. But as a filmmaker Ulmer was nothing if not resilient. He worked for the next thirty-odd years as a director-for-hire by independent producers and poverty-row studios.

As Bogdanovich noted, Ulmer was an able craftsman. He was a utilitarian director, successfully cranking out films in nearly every popular-market genre: westerns, gangster films, mysteries, adventure yarns - even the occasional comedy. Though the film noir classic Detour might be his greatest achievement, he is also beloved by fans of classic horror and sci-fi for a string of engaging pictures. He never approached films in the horror genre as toss-a-ways, stories unworthy of his talent. Though none of his subsequent horror pictures would ever match the iconic status anointed to The Black Cat, his occasional dabbles in “fantastic films” were solid efforts.

Some films were better than others. One especially well done was Bluebeard (1944, featuring John Carradine). Sometimes the films were simply off-the-charts exploitation fare as was Daughter of Dr. Jekyll (1957 with John Agar). His films tended to be, whatever their budgetary shortcomings, memorable. This new set from Kino offers fans a trio of his best sci-fi efforts: a well-regarded effort and two of the last films directed before his departure from the film business.

The “pick” of the set is, arguably, Ulmer’s The Man from Planet X (1951), a very early entry into the Silver-Age sci-fi film sweepstakes. It’s September 1950 and astronomers are puzzled by the sudden surfacing of “a strange astronomical phenomenon” which they describe as “Planet X.” The problem with Planet X is that its trajectory suggests it might be on a collision course with earth. The space craft lands somewhere in the gloomy, foggy moors of Scotland, not too far from the ancient, spooky watchtower where scientists Dr. Elliot and Dr. Mears (Raymond Bond and William Schallert, respectively) and journalist Jack Lawrence (Robert Clarke) just happen to be tracking Planet X’s path. Dr. Elliot’s daughter Enid (Margaret Field) is the unlucky first one to come face-to-face with the Man from Planet X, describing the alien as having a “ghastly caricature” of a human face. But now that he’s arrived on earth the question is why he’s here – and whether he’s friend or foe.

The Man from Planet X received a modicum of press interest in the last months of 1950. There were reports writer-producers Aubrey Wisberg and Jack Pollexfen’s modest Mid-Century production company was taking on a David vs. Goliath challenge. They were, after all, competing against a Hollywood big dog studio with their modest upstart picture. One month prior to the start of the filming of Planet X at Culver City’s Hal Roach Studio, Howard Hawk’s production of the iconic ‘50s sci-fi thriller The Thing was already in mid-production at RKO. Though tackling the same sort of space-invader subject matter, Planet X was scheduled to be shot – Ulmer-style – in six scant days with a budget of less than $50,000. As one Los Angeles daily noted the threadbare budget allotted “wouldn’t rate you a thing at RKO or any other film factory.” Perhaps not, but the hasty shooting schedule ensured The Man from Planet X would hit cinema screens long before than The Thing.

The producers of Planet X didn’t deny they had proceeded with budgetary economic caution since - they were two of the film’s principal investors and had a lot to lose. “As writers,” Wisberg defended to the L.A.’s Daily News, “we recognized and anticipated the time and budget limitations in our script in advance and are now able to cut corners on the set.” One such frugal measure was their re-using the “standing scenery” left erected of Ingrid Bergman’s Joan of Arc (1948) featuring Ingrid Bergman. (Much of the background scenery and effects in the film are comprised of impressionistic matte paintings and miniatures).

Following the film’s release, Pollexfen conceded while the film’s script was laden with a lot of scientific jargon, there was probably more fiction than science embroidered within. For starters, there was never a mention of exactly how far the visitor from Planet X had traveled to get his spaceship to earth. “We did it on purpose, he admitted. “If we had mentioned the distance some 12-year old with a slide rule would prove we were bums.” With its tight, seventy-one minute running time, The Man from Planet X proves to be a very serviceable thriller.

The scenario of the second film of this collection, Beyond the Time Barrier (1960) exploitatively springboards off the popularity of George Pal’s version of H.G. Well’s The Time Machine. The film was scripted by Arthur C. Pierce who brought us such other 50s and 60s low-budget sci-fi fare as The Cosmic Man (1959), Invasion of the Animal People (1959) and The Navy vs. the Night Monsters (1966). I really wasn’t expecting much from this film, but was surprised that, all things considered, it was actually a pretty decent futuristic adventure.

On March 5, 1960 Major William Allison (Robert Clarke), a research test pilot for the USAF, sets off on a jet that will straddle the border of earth’s atmosphere and outer space. The craft accidentally strafes the speed of light, catapulting Allison through the time barrier to the Citadel, a fortress protecting the inhabitants from a mutant population. The non-mutant population of the Citadel are all deaf and dumb – with the exception of the grandfatherly supreme leader (Vladimir Sokoloff) and his belligerent Captain (Boyd Morgan). Most of communication of the residents of the Citadel is done telepathically – a bit of bad luck for the bewildered test pilot trying to plot an escape.

Allison learns the year is now (gasp!) 2024. The residents are survivors of a plague brought on by cosmic radiation from too many nuclear explosions on earth. They are also part of a dying race. There have been no newborns in the Citadel in twenty-years since the plague left all of the men sterile. Among the last born were the supreme leader’s granddaughter Trirene (Darlene Tompkins), a nicely-formed ingénue. There’s a sort of cockeyed plan for Trirene to mate with Allison to promulgate the species. But that idea goes bust when double-crosses and carnage follow in the wake of the scheming scientists and rampaging mutants. There’s also a bit of a Twilight Zone twist to keep things interesting in the end. Despite the film’s low budget, Ulmer’s talents in art direction allows the film’s futuristic sets – all triangles, diamond-shapes and inverted pyramids – to give the film a glossy, moneyed appearance.

Clocking in a little more than 58 minutes, the final film of the set, The Amazing Transparent Man (1960), ties things up in perfunctory fashion – the running time adequate, I suppose, to tell its slim story. In 1959 the film’s screenwriter, Jack Lewis – whose previous scripting work was mostly of adventures and westerns – decided to try his hand at writing a science-fiction tale. His script, originally titled Search for a Shadow, was initially picked–up by indie Pacific International Pictures. Ulmer was tapped to direct the film – this time involving a master safe-cracker who is “sprung from prison by a ring of international spies.”

The spies are seeking copious amounts of atomic material X-13 so they can develop a ray that will transform an army invisible for the purpose of military supremacy. To that end Major Paul Krenner (James Griffith) and Laura Matson (Marguerite Chapman) orchestrate the escape of safe-cracker Joey Faust (Douglas Kennedy) to – under the cloak of invisibility - break into the government’s highly protected stores of fissionable material. Krenner is an unlikeable sort, manipulative and cold. It’s not clear whether he’s acting on behalf of a secretive U.S. agency or as a double-agent for a foreign power.

He’s assisted, under duress, by Dr. Peter Ulof (Ivan Triesault), an “eminent nuclear scientist” and developer of the special X-ray machine that turns both guinea pigs and escaped convicts invisible. Ulof is acutely aware of Krenner’s dark intentions, but is unable to do anything about it: his reasons for dutifully assisting in the Major’s schemes becomes evident as the film unspools. In the meantime, Faust incurs Krenner’s ill-will by enjoying an unsanctioned - but predictable – return to bank robbery – a side-benefit of his now being invisible. There are a few hand-to-hand combat tussles but little suspense as the tale unfolds. The story hastily wraps with Ulof’s breaking of the “third wall” with an earnest morality plea/request.

Lewis’s conjured invisible man/spy-ring scenario was intriguing but not without precedent. Curt Siodmak had already written a more successful variant of the idea for Universal during WWII. That film, Edwin L. Marin’s Invisible Agent (1942), didn’t cheat on the special effects as would The Amazing Transparent Man. Universal’s especial effects team (including the illustrious John P. Fulton) earned an Academy Award nomination for their work on this earlier project. The invisibility tricks as provided by special effects supervisor Roger George in Transparent Man are passable but not breathtaking.

To be fair, the script would undergo numerous tweaks. Ulmer and producers John Miller and Robert L. Madden liked the premise, but were not enamored with the script’s original title. Lewis reportedly offered them no fewer than twenty-three alternate titles, the filmmakers initially settling on The Invisible Invader. But this title too was tossed when Edward L. Cahn’s Invisible Invaders (1959, with John Agar and John Carradine) beat them to market. Other titles were bandied about (“The Invisible Thief,” “The Invisible Gangster”) until the whole “invisible” campaign was dropped in favor of The Amazing Transparent Man. Lewis’s script called for Faust’s character to - intriguingly - cast no shadow even when not in his invisible state. The screenwriter contended this element was quickly – and sadly - dropped when the filmmakers ordered him to “Take out the shadow part. The budget won’t stand all that special effects work.”

This new Kino Lorber Blu-ray set will obviously be of great interest to fans of Ulmer and 1950s/early 1960s vintage sci-fi. If you are a fan or collector of commentaries in particular then this release provides you with a bonanza of them. There are no hoary hack commentators present, these are folks who know what they’re talking about. The Man from Planet X features no fewer than three separate commentaries featuring the likes of Tom Weaver, David Schecter, Dr. Robert J. Kiss, Joe Dante, Gary D. Rhodes, Richard Harland Smith and Ulmer’s Daughter Arianne Ulmer Cipes. Weaver, Schecter and Rhodes do double-duty on Beyond the Time Barrier, with David Del Valle going it alone on The Amazing Transparent Man.

All three films are presented in their original black-and-white in 1920 x 1080p with DTS audio, Planet X in 1.37:1 and Time Barrier and Transparent Man in 1.85:1. The set also features the theatrical trailers for all three of the films and an option for removable English sub-titles. The films generally all look great, The Amazing Transparent Man looking a bit soft-focused in parts, but still better than anything we’ve seen so far of this title. Totally recommended.

Click here to order from Amazon

“ANESTHESIA ON FILM”

By Raymond Benson

Preston Sturges’ filmmaking career in Hollywood between 1940-1944 is unparalleled. He is often called the first “writer-director” who would helm his own screenplays (actually this is untrue, since Charles Chaplin had been doing it since 1914, and Orson Welles was also doing it in the early 40s), but there is no question that Sturges became an auteur of sorts in those glorious five years. His flame burned brightly for that short period, and then it sadly weakened and eventually blew out.

One of the reasons for the filmmaker’s demise was the unfortunate production of The Great Moment, a biopic of a 19th Century dentist named Dr. William Thomas Green Morton, who is (mostly) credited as discovering the use of ether as an anesthetic for surgery.

Sturges, who was known for his acerbic comedies like The Great McGinty (1940), The Lady Eve (1941), and Sullivan’s Travels (1942), was apparently obsessed with Morton’s story and had been working on a script as early as 1939 to be directed by Henry Hathaway. That project was shelved, and then Sturges began his run of directing his own scripts in 1940. He resurrected the Morton biopic on his own in 1942. It was based on the book Triumph Over Pain (1940) by René Fülüp-Miller, and that also became the title of Sturges’ script. The film was shot before the making of The Miracle of Morgan’s Creek and Hail the Conquering Hero! (both released in 1944). But Paramount, Sturges’ studio, didn’t like the Morton biopic Sturges had made, and they took control away from the writer-director, retitled it The Great Moment, and re-edited it. The film was finally released two years after its production in 1944, after Miracle and Conquering Hero. By then, Sturges had already left Paramount in disgust. The Great Moment bombed at the box office and critics hated it. Sturges made a few more films for other studios, but his career never regained the peak of his earlier Paramount successes.

The Great Moment exhibits how Dr. Morton (Joel McCrea) discovers that ether allows him to successfully pull a tooth from patient Eben Frost (Sturges’ stalwart character actor William Demarest), so he develops a specially shaped bottle from which patients can inhale the ether vapors. History has shown that Morton pulled pieces of his “idea” from other doctors and his mentor, surgeon Professor Warren (Harry Carey), and the story illustrates this. After Morton’s discovery, he endured attacks to his claim, especially when he attempts to patent the process. The medical profession is quick to condemn Morton for what they perceive as “monetizing” the method by patenting it, even though Morton has no intention of making a profit. He simply doesn’t want to reveal the ingredients of what’s in the bottle. Morton and his wife, Elizabeth (Betty Field), withstand hardships as Morton stubbornly pursues his claims in courts and even in a petition to the president of the United States.

Doesn’t sound like a comedy, does it? Well, it isn’t. There are humorous bits and pieces in The Great Moment (mostly from Demarest), but the studio was correct in determining that the film was not in keeping with the previous “Preston Sturges Comedies.” Never mind that Sturges had likely made a good biopic with a message about sacrifice. Paramount deleted scenes, rearranged the narrative flow, and emphasized the few comic bits—and then they marketed the film as if it were a Preston Sturges Comedy. It’s no wonder that audiences were disappointed.

In viewing The Great Moment today, one can see that it’s not a good film. It really is “anesthesia on celluloid.” It is, as the late filmmaker Peter Bogdanovich calls it in a supplement included on the new Kino Lorber disk, a “mess.” The thing is, Sturges can’t be blamed for it. But for Preston Sturges fans, it is an interesting document. We can see that there are indeed Sturges’ fingerprints all through the picture, and many of the Sturges “stock company” are present (such as Franklin Pangborn, Porter Hall, and others). The irony and bite that is pure Sturges is often there in the dialogue.

In short, The Great Moment is a great failure, but one that illustrates how Hollywood tended to squash talented auteurs who bucked the system in the 1940s (like Sturges and Welles).

Kino Lorber’s new Blu-ray edition looks pristine and sharp in its glorious black and white. The disk includes the previously mentioned supplement, “Triumph Over Pain: A Celebration of Preston Sturges,” which is a three-way Zoom call between Tom Sturges (Preston’s son), Bogdanovich, and film historian Constantine Nasr. This is a lot of fun and very informative (perhaps more entertaining than the feature film!). Also of interest is a lengthy Introduction by Nasr, which goes into the history of the problematic production. The theatrical trailers for this and other Sturges’ releases round out the package.

The Great Moment is for fans of Preston Sturges, to be sure, but also for historians interested in documentation of Hollywood’s miscalculations and bone-headed decisions when it came to filmmakers who likely knew much more about what they were doing than the studios behind them.

Click here to order from Amazon

“A FEAR OF FUGUES”

By Raymond Benson

David Lynch’s challenging 1997 feature, Lost Highway, has had a tortured home video release history. After an initial VHS release, and then one on DVD, rights issues and a lack of interest by media companies prevented a Blu-ray release in the USA for many years. Less-than-ideal quality imported Blu-ray editions from various countries were circulated among Lynch fans and collectors. Kino Lorber finally put out a decent Blu-ray in 2019, but it was criticized by home video review sites and by Lynch himself as having inferior quality, as it didn’t go through the stringent approval process to which the director was accustomed. Cinema Retro reviewed that edition, finding it not terrible and certainly adequate enough since it seemed that it was all that we were ever going to get.

Now, however, The Criterion Collection has issued a new, director-approved 4K UHD edition that is an astonishingly gorgeous digital restoration with a new 5.1 surround DTS-HD Master Audio soundtrack and an alternate one of uncompressed stereo. Criterion’s Lost Highway can be purchased as a 2-disk set containing a 4K UHD disk of the film alone plus a Blu-ray disk of the film and all the supplements, or in a single disk Blu-ray package.

Much of what this reviewer has to say about the film itself is repeated from the earlier 2019 review.

Lost Highway is a disturbing and surreal work of art from Luis Buñuel’s heir apparent, and it’s a doozy. Lynch described the film as a “psychogenic fugue,” which is a fancy term for a dissociative disorder. The story concerns musician Fred Madison (Bill Pullman), who is having marriage trouble with his beautiful wife, Renee (Patricia Arquette). An outside force seems to be watching and harassing the couple by leaving intimate videotapes of themselves on their doorstep. Throw in some nightmares and the appearance of a “mystery man” (the very creepy Robert Blake) with powers that could only exist as dream logic, and Fred eventually loses it. Suddenly he’s arrested for killing his wife. But then—uh oh—while he’s sitting in a jail cell, he becomes… someone else. The cops find Pete Dayton (Balthazar Getty) in Fred’s place. Puzzled, they let Pete go, since he’s not the man they want. Now there’s a kind of alternate universe thing going on, because Patricia Arquette now plays Alice, the mistress of the cruel Mr. Eddy (Robert Loggia), who may in truth be a porn producer named Dick Laurent.

Confused? Many audience members were baffled at the time of Lost Highway’s initial release. The picture marked the first in what might be called the “fugue trilogy” (the other parts being Mulholland Drive and INLAND EMPIRE), in which main characters become other people during the flow of the tales. After a second or third viewing and examining Lynch’s narrative conceits in the other movies, one can get a sense of what it’s all about.

And this reviewer is not going to tell you. Just know that Lost Highway is about a man who murders his wife, and he is unable to live with himself—or inside his own mind—because of it. The film generates a good amount of dread, and it is pure Lynch. It marks a transition from earlier, more narrative-friendly pictures, to more dreamlike, experimental works of art that defy description—other than that they are “David Lynch Films.”

Peter Deming’s cinematography is fully exploited in Criterion’s new restoration. His use of light and shadow is remarkable, and the bits in which Fred walks into a dark hallway and disappears, and then later reappears from the blackness, are canny metaphors for the themes in the movie.

As opposed to the earlier Kino disk, Criterion has included some choice supplements. Most notable is the 1997 feature documentary, Pretty as a Picture: The Art of David Lynch, which served as a behind-the-scenes “making of Lost Highway” piece as well as a look at Lynch’s career as an artist (painting/sculpture) and filmmaker. Highway cast members and crew are interviewed along with Lynch himself, and there are clips from earlier films, too. An audio-only excerpt from the audiobook of Lynch and Kristine McKenna’s biography, Room to Dream, covers the period in the mid-90s when Highway was made. Two archival featurettes about the making of the film and interviews with cast/crew are also welcome. The theatrical re-release trailer rounds out the package. The booklet feature interview excerpts from the publication Lynch on Lynch. Note that the feature film does not have chapter breaks, in keeping with other Lynch-approved Blu-ray and DVD releases.

Lost Highway has become more mysterious and admirable with age, and Criterion’s new release does the work justice. For fans of David Lynch, dark—very dark—crime dramas, surreal cinema, and bravura filmmaking.

Click here to order from Amazon

“RAIN, A BIKE, WALK-UPS, AND THE DELIVERY GUY”

By Raymond Benson

The filmmaker Sean Baker, who most recently gave us (along with co-producer Shih-Ching Tsou) such striking independent features as The Florida Project (2017) and Red Rocket (2021), began his career modestly with extremely low-budget indie pictures that take on a cinema verité style (a type of documentary-like filmmaking that is improvisational and attempts to capture “reality” in all of its harsh and spontaneous truths). Baker co-directed with Tsou his second feature film, released in 2004, Take Out, which is a slice of life tale that takes place within the twelve hours of a single day.

Ming Ding (Charles Jang) is an undocumented Chinese immigrant living in New York City’s Chinatown. He had come to America in search of a better way of life, leaving his wife and son in China until a later date when he could afford to bring them over legally. Unfortunately, he owes a great deal of money to an unscrupulous loan shark, whose muscle men show up at Ming’s apartment of squalor (where several immigrants also live) and demand that a payment of $800 be made by the end of the day or else Ming’s balance owed will be doubled. They strike Ming in the back with a hammer to emphasize their seriousness. Ming already has $500—his entire savings—so he must find $300 over the next several hours. Ming works as a delivery boy for a take out Chinese restaurant on the Upper West Side. One of his co-workers, Young (Jeng-Hua Yu), gives him $150. Thus begins a frantic, and tension-filled race against the clock for Ming to deliver enough orders to customers in an attempt to make $150 more in tips. Seeing that many customers barely tip anything at all, the task is definitely a challenge.

Compounding the situation is that Mother Nature has decided that this would be a day in which torrential rain must plummet New York all day long. So poor Ming must ride his bicycle in the downpour back and forth from the restaurant to customers’ residences. Sometimes the elevator in high-rise buildings is out of order. Many times he must trek up the stairs to walk-up apartments. Customers run the gamut—some are nice and friendly; more are cranky or racist or cheapskates or all of the above- and, this being New York City, Ming must also be wary of criminals who might target him for the money he’s carrying.

This is a riveting piece of cinema that is not only suspenseful but also quite revealing. Those of us who have ordered take out Chinese food in the big city perhaps do not appreciate what a difficult job it is for the delivery guy. It is hard, thankless work. We also get to see how a storefront Chinese take-out place (not a sit-down restaurant) works behind the scenes. The manager and counter person, Big Sister (Wang-Thye Lee), is the conduit between the kitchen and the public. She speaks English perhaps better than any of the other employees, but she’s not beyond throwing insults to or cursing out rude customers in Mandarin that the recipients don’t understand.

Shih-Ching Tsou, who has collaborated with Baker as a producer on his subsequent pictures, was instrumental in bringing Take Out to life. She not only co-produced the movie, but also co-wrote and co-directed it with Baker, who cannot speak Mandarin or Cantonese. The script was written in English, but Tsou translated it into Chinese for the actors, who were, for the most part, amateurs. Baker did all of the striking camerawork himself along with the editing. Take Out is truly a “homemade” production.

The acting is remarkably potent. Charles Jang as Ming doesn’t say much in the movie, but his inner turmoil and frustrations are clearly evident in his charismatic demeanor and stoic facial expressions. He rarely reveals his pain, but we know what he’s feeling. Of special note is Wang-Thye Lee as Big Sister, who is in many ways the beating heart of the film. She is a pleasure to watch in action.

The Criterion Collection’s Blu-ray release presents a new 4K digital restoration, supervised and approved by Baker and Tsou. It has an uncompressed stereo soundtrack and comes with an audio commentary by Baker, Tsou, and Jang. There are new English subtitles, as well as English captioning for the hearing impaired. Supplements include a fascinating new documentary on the film featuring interviews with Baker, Tsou, Jang, Lee, and Yu; a vintage documentary on the making of the film; deleted scenes; Jang’s screen test; and the theatrical trailer. The booklet comes with an essay by filmmaker and author J. J. Murphy.

Take Out is for fans of Sean Baker’s work, New York City locales, and independent filmmaking with a bite. Highly recommended.

Click here to order from Amazon

BY ERNIE MAGNOTTA

Although Robert Clouse will always be remembered for directing the immortal Bruce Lee’s 1973 martial arts classic Enter the Dragon, the talented filmmaker has quite a few more interesting movies in his filmography. Just hearing about a small portion of the man’s work is enough to impress any film buff. For instance, in 1970, Clouse directed the very well-done detective mystery Darker than Amber. He also helmed the 1974 cult classic action flick Black Belt Jones (starring martial arts champion Jim Kelly). In 1978, Clouse completed Bruce Lee’s fifth and final film (which was never finished due to Lee’s unfortunate death) by writing and directing Game of Death. He then directed the great Jackie Chan in the enjoyable 1980 actioner The Big Brawl; a movie he also penned. While taking a break from action, Clouse took a few stabs at the horror genre by first directing the enjoyable 1977 movie The Pack (starring the great Joe Don Baker) as well as the fun, rats-on-the-loose feature Deadly Eyes (1982). He has also directed action film icons Cynthia Rothrock and Bolo Yeung, and wrote the films Something Evil and Happy Mother’s Day, Love George which went on to be directed by Steven Spielberg and Darren McGavin, respectively. If all this info has gotten you interested in Robert Clouse, then you’ll be happy to hear that Golden Needles, a film Clouse directed in 1974, was recently released on Blu-ray.

In Golden Needles, the race is on as seven people frantically search for a priceless Chinese statue which contains seven needles that are guaranteed to grant the owner perfect health and vitality.

Filmed on location in Hong Kong, Golden Needles was distributed by American International Pictures and released on July 17, 1974. Although the movie is filled with plenty of action and adventure, it’s a tad more lighthearted than, say, Enter the Dragon. This entertaining film benefits from an engaging story, Clouse’s solid direction, the Hong Kong locations, another funky ‘70s score from the legendary Lalo Schifrin, and fun performances from the very talented cast. Besides Joe Don Baker and Elizabeth Ashley, who are both very likeable and seem to have some nice onscreen chemistry, we are also treated to humorous turns from Ann Sothern and Burgess Meredith. Super cool Jim Kelly shows up and, as always, it’s a joy to watch him kick ass. Last, but not least, as a cold-hearted villain, Roy Chiao (best known as Lao Che from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom) is appropriately intimidating. If you’re looking for a light, enjoyable adventure, this film really hits the spot.

Golden Needles has been released on Blu-ray by Kino Lorber in a widescreen (2.35:1) transfer from a brand new 2K master, and the movie looks and sounds fantastic. The Region 1 disc also contains the original theatrical trailer, TV spot, radio spots, an image gallery, newly commissioned art by Vince Evans, reversible sleeve artwork and an informative audio commentary by film historians Howard S. Berger and Chris Poggiali. Rounding out the special features are seven terrific action movie trailers: Mr. Majestyk; Newman’s Law; Brannigan; Thunderbolt and Lightfoot; Truck Turner; The Laughing Policeman and Revenge of the Ninja.

Click here to order from Amazon

BY LEE PFEIFFER

By 1966, playwright Neil Simon was already the toast of Broadway and had several hit shows running simultaneously. Simon was eager to expand his talents into screenwriting and had envisioned creating a spoof of some of the more pretentious European art house movies. Before long, a diverse number of impressive talents were involved with the project, now titled "After the Fox". It would be an Italian crime caper and would star Peter Sellers. As Sellers had the most clout, he reached out to esteemed Italian director Vittorio De Sica and convinced him to direct. De Sica, however, insisted that in order to capture the true feel of Italy, an Italian screenwriter- Cesare Zavattini- needed to collaborate on the screenplay with Simon. That was the first obstacle, as neither man could speak the other's language and they had to rely on translators to communicate. This was a true challenge when writing a comedy because jokes and gags that worked in English didn't play out in Italian and vice-versa. Then Sellers insisted that his wife, Britt Ekland, should play the pivotal role of his character's younger sister. By all accounts, the blonde-haired Nordic Ekland was hardly suited for the role, especially since there were so many Italian actresses with name recognition who would have been more appropriate. Things deteriorated once filming began. De Sica and Sellers didn't get along and Sellers wanted the famed director fired.  Sellers was producing the film with his partner John Bryan, who insisted that you don't fire a director of De Sica's stature. Thus, the shared dream of Sellers and Bryan producing future movies never happened, a result of the hard feelings on the set. As if these didn't represent enough challenges, Sellers's well-documented psychological problems, phobias and mood swings often resulted in major domestic rows between him and his future ex-wife Ekland.

The film opens in the desert outside of Cairo, where a shipment of gold bars is hijacked as part of a plan devised by criminal mastermind Okra (Akim Tamiroff). The caper succeeds but he now has to find a way to smuggle the imposing number of bars safely into Europe. For this, he approaches the esteemed Italian thief and con man, Aldo Vanucci (Peter Sellers), who is currently imprisoned. It becomes clear, however, that Vanucci can make good on his promise to leave the prison any time he wants to, as he's treated as a celebrity and enjoys most of the perks of the outside world. True to his word, Vanucci escapes with the help of his two klutzy henchmen and sets about plotting an audacious plan to smuggle the gold into Italy- right under the noses of the police detectives who are searching for him. He adopts the guise of a fictitious Italian director, who he convinces the locals is the nation's most esteemed filmmaker, and sets up a faux movie production titled "The Gold of Cairo", ostensibly a film that will exploit the recent high profile theft. In reality, the phony film production will allow Vanucci and his team to openly smuggle the real gold into Italy because everyone assumes the gold bars are simply props. Vanucci must also contend with looking out for his 16 year-old sister, Gina (Britt Ekland), who is obsessed with movies and film stars to the extent that she adorns her bedroom walls with posters of Marlon Brando, William Holden, Sean Connery and even a "Pink Panther" poster that mentions star Peter Sellers. Vanucci is obsessed with ensuring Gina maintains her virginity and to keep her safe from an endless stream of gigolos. To keep her nearby, he casts her as the female lead in the movie. To give his scheme more credibility, he also convinces aging American heartthrob Tony Powell (Victor Mature) to play the male lead, thus causing a media sensation. He appeals to the local's weakness for celebrity culture by fawning over them and casting the local police chief in the film. When production gets under way, neither Vanucci or his henchmen even know how to handle the cameras.

 "After the Fox" was a critical and commercial disappointment when first released but like so many other cinematic failures, it has built an appreciative following over the decades. It's a film that eluded me all those years until I recently discovered it is streaming on Amazon Prime. Although the madcap pace of the movie gets a bit out of hand during the finale, I found it to be inspired lunacy. Peter Sellers may have been  a nightmare to work with (he would soon be fired from "Casino Royale" in mid-production), but at his best he is a comic genius- and here he is at his best. The script is far better than the language logistics might have indicated and it provides a deft satire of the film industry, as well as a social commentary on celebrity worship and the desire for fame. Even De Sica is in on the joke, appearing as himself directing a ludicrous biblical spectacle with pyramids existing in the shadows of some apartment complexes. There are some marvelous supporting turns by everyone involved and the dubbing of the Italian cast into English is expertly done. Victor Mature, never known for his comedic abilities, was lured out of retirement for this film and he's sensational. Playing a hunky, idiotic screen idol, he manages to even upstage Sellers in the laughs department. Martin Balsam is also very amusing as his exasperated manager. Even the opening credits (remember what opening credits are?) turn about to be amusing with a Pink Panther-like theme designed by the great Maurice Binder, accompanied by the Hollies and Peter Sellers providing the infectious title song created by Burt Bacharach and Hal David. The talent even extended to the film poster design by the legendary Frank Frazetta.

"After the Fox" isn't a comic masterpiece but it is genuinely funny and deserved a far better fate back in 1966. Still, it's never too late to gain appreciation for an underrated gem.

(Photo: Paramount)

By Todd Garbarini

Film director Paul W.S. Anderson, not to be confused with film directors Paul Thomas Anderson or Wes Anderson, hails from Wallsend, North Tyneside, England and, like so many of his contemporaries, began shooting movies on Super-8mm in his youth. In his mid-twenties, he enjoyed professional success as a writer on the British series El C.I.D. Following the end of the show, he and producer Jeremy Bolt founded their own company, Impact Pictures and, after much toil, financed Shopping, which was released in the United Kingdom in 1994 and in the States in 1996. This put them on the map and brought him Mortal Kombat in 1995, a film based upon the popular video game of the same name. This led to the sci-fi/horror film Event Horizon, which is now available on 4K UHD Blu-ray, and it’s this film that I discussed with Mr. Anderson recently while he was promoting the release.

Todd Garbarini: I want to thank you for taking the time to speak with me and thank you also for the Resident Evil films. I enjoy those very much.

Paul W.S. Anderson: Me, too!

TG: How did you first see Ridley Scott’s Alien and what was the effect that it had on you?

PWSA: I saw [Sir] Ridley’s Alien when I was at school, and I saw it when I was far too young, and it terrified the living daylights out of me. I also had a real crush on Sigourney Weaver. So, it was a big, big impact. I had never seen a movie like it. I mean it was amazing, and the look of the alien and the alien spaceship, which I later realized was the work of [Swiss artist H.R.] Giger, was just spectacular. It was really like nothing I’d ever seen in cinemas before.

TG: I feel the exact same way. I was ten and-a-half years-old when Alien was released here in the States, two years to the day that Star Wars was released here…in fact, the financial success of Star Wars bankrolled Alien…and I was shocked to see that it was restricted to just adults! My parents would not take me to see it. Kenner had produced toys, games and puzzles in the stores based on the film. It took me another four years to see it on home video, but the power of that movie came through tremendously, even on a six-year-old 13” Sylvania television.

PWSA: I didn’t see it with my parents either. Like you, I had loved Star Wars and I thought, Wow, another space movie! Boy, was I wrong! (laughs)

TG: Was there one particular film that, or filmmaker who, compelled you to become a director?

PWSA: I can tell you that certain filmmakers have had a huge influence on me. Ridley Scott and Tony Scott in particular because I love their movies. I love the look of their movies and what their movies are about and how they are put together. They came from the same part of the Northeast of England as I did. I never knew anyone in the film industry, and no one made movies in the North of England. So, wanting to be a film director when I was growing up seemed like an impossible dream. But there were these two brothers who somehow managed to do it and they were very inspiring to me because of that. They didn’t know anyone in the film industry either. They built themselves from the ground up. I felt like I could do it as well.

TG: You derived inspiration from them.

PWSA: Exactly. Now, in terms of wanting to become a filmmaker, I used to watch a lot of westerns when I was a little kid. They used to have these things called “Saturday morning pictures” wherein your parents would drop you off at a cinema that was full of about 350 kids without any parental supervision. This would never happen today, and you would be there for about four hours to basically run riot while your parents went and did some shopping or went and had sex or did whatever they did on a Saturday afternoon without the kids around. Most of the kids were running around throwing popcorn at one another and beating each other up. I think I was one of the few kids who just sat and watched the movies. They showed a couple of Laurel and Hardy shorts because they were cheap and then some old westerns. I must have seen every John Ford western. John Wayne was my favorite actor because I watched all these westerns with him in them. I recall at the end of either The Searchers or Rio Bravo, I saw his name in the credits as they rolled and I suddenly made the link that he wasn’t a real cowboy, but rather an actor pretending to be a cowboy. Once I realized that movies were not reality and just recorded by a cameraman, that they were artifice, they were awesome and that’s what I wanted to do with my life. I had no idea how I was going to achieve that. I just knew that that’s what I wanted to do after seeing those amazing images on the big screen. That was the inception of me wanting to make movies.

TG: Do you consider yourself to be a genre director?

PWSA: Yes, I have worked almost exclusively in the sci-fi/horror genre. But like every director in the world, I want to direct a western. No studio wants to make a western, unfortunately, because they are just so uncommercial nowadays. I’m about to make a movie called In the Lost Lands based on a story by author George R.R. Martin [of Game of Thrones fame]. At its heart, it’s very much a western as it has all the iconography that one would associate with a western. It’s set in a post-apocalyptic land, so on the surface it’s not a western, but at its heart it is most definitely a western. It deals with a lot of western tropes and storytelling and imagery, so I am very excited to be doing that.

TG: I interviewed John Carpenter in 2010 and he is a big fan of westerns like yourself. When he came out of film school in the early 1970s, he really wanted to make one, but nobody was doing them in this country at the time. So, needless to say, he was very disappointed.

PWSA: Yes, but if you take a look at Assault on Precinct 13, the obvious influence of westerns is in that film.

TG: Yes, absolutely. I love how that film was edited by “John T. Chance” [the name of the sheriff that John Wayne plays in Rio Bravo]!

PWSG: Exactly! (laughs) And also people like Walter Hill, who was a big influence on me. I absolutely loved, loved The Driver and 48 Hours. But specifically, what I really liked about Walter Hill was when he was basically redoing the kind of Jean-Pierre Melville vibe of those French gangster movies. So, they had imported the American movies, and they did the French twist on them making them very existential, and then Walter Hill kind of reimported them back into America and didn’t bother giving the characters any names, which I absolutely love. So, for me Walter Hill is somebody who pretty much, with every movie he makes, is a western. Ironically, the films that work the least are actual westerns, but the ones that tend to work the best are these urban movies that are really westerns in disguise. So, I’m sort of hoping that it’s a “lightning strikes” moment for me when I do In the Lost Lands. It’s basically my western, but nobody will realize it!

TG: Event Horizon pits a lot of terrific actors in an ensemble piece, among them Sam Neill, Lawrence Fishburne, Jason Isaacs, and Kathleen Quinlan. Were they your first choices for their respective roles?

PWSA: Yes, it was a movie where I was very lucky that the studio was kind of willing to go with my personal choices. They never insisted that we absolutely had to have somebody who was a movie star who carried very big movies before. They were on board for doing the ensemble casting. I was very, very happy about it. It allowed me to get some really terrific actors together, playing roles that they didn’t traditionally play as well. Sam Neill at that point was very much in the minds of audiences as the heroic guy who saved the children from the dinosaurs in Jurassic Park. He was up there with Tom Hanks as probably the actor whom the audience could trust the most.

TG: Yes. I recall seeing Michael Mann’s Collateral wherein Tom Cruise completely plays against type.

PWSA: Exactly. Sam Neill was still sort of the guy who could look after your kids. So, the idea that he would be the one who goes insane and tears his own eyes out, at that point in time it’s probably the type of role that you would have expected Laurence Fishburne to play. And then Fishburne playing sort of the heroic Captain as well, that was not really a role that he had played before. So, both of them are amazing performances but both of them were kind of stretching, but in a good way.

TG: Have you ever seen Sam Neill in a film by Andrzej Zulawski called Possession?

PWSG: No, I haven’t.

TG: It was shot in the summer of 1980 in Germany and was released the following year internationally. It made its way here to the States in a highly butchered version in 1983, but it’s one of the most bizarre, cinematic experiences that I’ve ever seen. You should catch up with it if you can. The uncut version is readily available now.

PWSA: I will!

TG: What are some of the challenges that you encountered in making Event Horizon that you hadn’t foreseen?

PWSA: It was just the compacted time that we had to actually make the film. That was a big challenge. You know, I was young, and I hadn’t made many movies so I didn’t really know what I was doing. I was up for a challenge at the time, but nowadays I would probably say, “Hey, wait a second, I don’t know if that’s really a good idea.” I had another movie to make right after Event Horizon and it was with Kurt Russell [Soldier (1998)] with Warner Brothers, so I had to finish Event Horizon on a certain date, so we had to start shooting early. So, for such an elaborate movie with so many big builds, and really complicated things, like the third containment being a real spinning, gyroscope that was thirty-five feet high, I mean, this was really complicated stuff to do in the time frame allotted. Then the production got even more compressed when Titanic fell out of the summer and Paramount announced that Event Horizon would be taking its place, and then suddenly I had only three to four weeks to actually do my first cut of the movie before we started testing it. Those were the logistical challenges. The actual making of the movie was just a delight. I loved being with those actors on those sets. I didn’t even mind the challenges, to be honest. Like I said, now I would think twice about doing certain things in the movie, but back then I was just up for it.

TG: Thank you for your time and best of luck to you with In the Lost Lands!

PWSA: Thank you!

(Thanks to Deborah Annakin Peters for her help in arranging this interview.)

By Ernie Magnotta

Filmmaker Lewis Teague has some very impressive credits. In 1964, he directed an episode of The Alfred Hitchcock Hour. In the 70s, Teague worked at Roger Corman’s New World Pictures as an editor and assistant director before helming 1979’s crime drama The Lady in Red. He also edited an Oscar-winning short in 1976 titled Number Our Days, worked on classic TV shows like Barnaby Jones and performed second unit on Sam Fuller’s The Big Red One (1980). Teague is probably best known for directing cult classics such as the underrated 1980 monster movie Alligator; the vigilante film Fighting Back (1982); the Stephen King adaptations Cujo (1983) and Cat’s Eye (1985), and the romantic comedy The Jewel of the Nile (1985). Recently, Dirty O’Neil, the first feature film to be directed by Teague, has been made available on Blu-ray.

Dirty O’Neil concerns police officer/ladies’ man Jimmy O’Neil (Morgan Paull, Blade Runner) who must do everything he can to stop three dangerous criminals from terrorizing his small, peaceful town.

The entertaining film, which was co-directed and written by Howard Freen and distributed by American International Pictures, is filled with solid direction and features fun performances by wonderful talent the likes of Art Metrano (Police Academy series), Pat Anderson (TNT Jackson), Katie Saylor (TV’s The Fantastic Journey), Tara Strohmeier (The Great Texas Dynamite Chase), Anitra Ford (TV’s The Price is Right), Kate Murtagh (The Night Strangler), John Steadman (1977’s The Hills Have Eyes) and Playboy Playmates Jeane Manson (The Young Nurses) and Liv Lindeland (Picasso Trigger). Dirty O’Neil also benefits from a simple and engaging story, a catchy musical score by Raoul Kraushaar (1953’s Invaders From Mars), and contains enough action and laughs to fill its brief 89 minute running time.

Dirty O’Neil has been released in high definition Blu-ray from a brand new 2K master and is presented in its original anamorphic (1.85:1) widescreen aspect ratio. The great looking and sounding Region 1 disc also contains English subtitles, the original theatrical trailer and trailers for Dagmar’s Hot Pants, inc.; National Lampoon Goes to the Movies; Maria’s Lovers; Checkered Flag or Crash and Sunnyside.

Click here to order from Amazon

Joe Dante's "Trailers from Hell" enlists filmmaker Adam Rifkin to pay tribute to the 1966 Universal family comedy favorite "The Ghost and Mr. Chicken" starring Don Knotts in his first starring role in a feature film after leaving his iconic role as Deputy Barney Fife in "The Andy Griffith Show". Knotts enlisted plenty of talent from that show to bring "Chicken" to the screen. Andy Griffith helped write so much of the screenplay that he was entitled to a screenwriter credit, but he selflessly refused to do so. The film stands the test of time with Knotts in top form as the nervous wreck reporter who has to spend a night in a supposedly haunted house, a scenario inspired by a particularly memorable episode of "The Andy Griffith Show". 

CLICK HERE TO ORDER BLU-RAY FROM AMAZON

BY JOHN P. HARTY

Like his father director Ralph Thomas (Doctor in the House films) and his nephew Gerald Thomas (Carry on . . . film series), Jeremy Thomas always wanted to be a part of the British film industry. Unlike his relatives, twenty-year old Jeremy didn't want to make the typical British films. The young filmmaker saw himself as a "disruptor" and "sounding board" for new "unconventional ideas." His social connections in the early1970s with Philippe Mora, Mike Molloy and the artists' community of The Pheasantry at King's Road initiated his interest in Australian culture. In 1975, screenwriter Michael Austin contacted Thomas with a script proposal based on a short story entitled The Shout by Robert Graves. Thomas' interest in the story was aroused by Graves' ability to incorporate Australian aboriginal beliefs about the death-stone and the soul-stone into a psychological horror thriller set in a coastal English village. These native beliefs were rooted in the possibility of human souls awaiting reincarnation in the bough of a tree or the cleft of a stone.These story elements were unique in 1927 and became topical 50 years later as part of the Antipodean Fantasy Film genre then developing in Australia, spearheaded by director Peter Weir's films "Picnic at Hanging Rock" (1975) and "The Last Wave" (1977).

Graves' story concerned a psychiatric patient- Crossley- telling a story to a visitor. The story is told in flashback. In a little village a happily married couple Rachael and Anthony live in quiet harmony. Secretly, Anthony is having an affair with a local woman of the village. One day a stranger (the storyteller) appears at the couple's doorstep and announces that he had just returned from eighteen years in the Australian Outback where he lived among the Aborigines and studied their magic. The stranger tells the couple that he has learned the secret of "The Shout" (which has the power to kill) and possessed the power to steal the love of a woman by taking possession of some nondescript object belonging to her. The stranger moves in with the couple and makes the wife his sex slave- he steals her personhood using a soul-stone. The husband realized that he must find a way to combat the stranger seemingly implacable power- but how? This psychological jigsaw puzzle comes to a climax during a thunderstorm at a cricket match in which the truth of Crossley's possession of the power of the shout is revealed.

Thomas believed a foreigner with "new eyes" on the subject /location could bring something extraordinary to this unusual story. Thomas recognized in the vast array of hyper-active symbolic eccentricities in the film work of polish director Jerzy Skolimowski (Deep End) the ideal craftsman to fashion this highly unusual horror story. How the Polish director transformed Graves' short story into a classic thriller bares remarkable comparison to what Alfred Hitchcock did when he "reimagined" Daphne du Maurier's short story into the apocalyptic allegory film entitled The Birds. Both directors used creative techniques of sight and sound to fashion their unique visions of a world of impending danger and destruction. The special photography work of Ub Twerks, the matte pictorial designs of Albert Whitlock and the digital imagery of the craftsmen at Cinesite Studios bring to mind Hitchcock 's vision of the massive bird attacks. Skolimowski used jump-cuts, visual symbols, non-sequel editing and actual visual symbolism to introduce the Outback magic into the placid fabric of the English village. Both Hitchcock and Skolimowski had a deep preoccupation with the use of sound to enhance their stories. Guided by the musical mastermind Bernard Hermann, Hitchcock used the sounds created by the Mixtur-Trautonium of Oskar Sala with the assistance of composer Remi Gassmann. Skolimowski used the spooky chord of a section of the music piece known as "Undertow" written by Tony Banks, which was originally intended to be the introductory piece of the Genesis album "And Then There Were Three." Mike Rutherford and Banks used this music to heighten the pictorial images recorded by Molloy under Skolimowski's direction to create an atmosphere of existential dread relating to a haunted topography - an uncanny feeling caused by viewing something familiar (lovely English countryside) unnaturally distorted. Skolimowskli utilized the then relatively new Dolby Sound System to create the unique sound of the Shout. He explained it " had to be applied at just the right moment so that we would hear something special. The shock of the sound is not a question of loudness or richness - it is sudden and it is complex. . ." The brilliance of Skolimowski's method was highlighted by the way he choreographed how the stranger performed the Shout and the slow motion photography of the impact of the scream on Anthony.

Producer Thomas was very fortunate to have been able to assemble such a remarkable cast of actors to tell the story. If the three leads - Alan Bates as Crossley, Susannah York as Rachael and John Hurt as Anthony- had not been rightly cast, the story wouldn't have worked. The Shout won the Grand Prix de Jury at the Cannes Film Festival in 1978. The whole idea of a person having the ability to control his destiny - life and death - is appealing especially in this age of pandemics and government mandates of behaviour. At a time when most human beings feel helpless to determine their own future, the idea of such a power or ability seems very attractive. If nothing else The Shout will make one question their own mode of existence. If you are looking for something rewarding, unusual and different to view, your search is over.

Click here to order Blu-ray from Amazon UK (PAL format)

(John P. Harty's latest book is "The Cinematic Challenge: Filming Colonial America, Vol. 3- The International Era, 1976-2020."

BY LEE PFEIFFER

I know I'm not only getting old, but I'm there already. That's apparent in the fact that I remember seeing the 1981 comedy "All Night Long" at an advanced critic's screening in New York. Back in those prehistoric days before the internet, you had to read trade industry publications to get the background story or buzz on forthcoming films. Sure, the general public was always aware that expensive epics were experiencing production problems, but everyday movie fans were generally unaware of the scuttlebutt on mid-range fare. Within industry circles, however, the word-of-mouth was negative about the film despite the fact that it starred Gene Hackman and Barbra Streisand, both then very much at the peak of their acting careers. The film had gone through some almost surrealistic production problems that involved high profile people and had come in massively over the original budget estimate. I recalled thinking the movie was kind of fun but had the staying power of cotton candy in that nothing about resonated even a few days after seeing it. For old time's sake, I decided to revisit it through Kino Lorber's Blu-ray release. My observations will follow, but first some preliminary facts. The movie was optioned by Fox originally but for reasons unknown (premonitions?), it was dropped. It was then shepherded to executives at Universal by Sue Mengers, the "Super Agent" talent representative who was as famous as the names on her legendary clients. Among them was Gene Hackman, who had taken a leave of absence from acting due due to making so many films back-to-back. Tired of playing in action films, Hackman was eager to star in this quirky romantic comedy that had been scripted by W.D. Richter, who had written the brilliant 1978 version of "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" as well as the Frank Langella version of "Dracula" and the popular crime drama "Brubaker" with Robert Redford. The film was to be a modestly-budgeted affair costing about $3 million. Up-and-coming actress Lisa Eichorn was cast as the female lead opposite Hackman. The director was Jean-Claude Tramont, a Belgian filmmaker who had reed-thin credits in the industry. This was to be Tramont's first Hollywood film and it was very much championed by Sue Mengers, who "coincidentally" happened to be his wife.   

So far, so good. However, shortly after filming began, for reasons no one could ever interpret, Hackman began acting in a frosty manner opposite Eichorn, who by all accounts, was giving a fine performance. Because of Hackman's aversion to starring opposite her, their love scenes were less-than-convincing. Since Hackman was the big name, Eichorn was summarily fired, though she was paid her salary of $250,000 in full. Then Mengers stepped forward with what seemed like an outlandish idea: have Barbra Streisand assume Eichorn's role. The idea of Streisand taking over for another actress in a film that was already in production seemed surrealistic, but Streisand agreed- in return for a $4 million paycheck, which said to be the highest salary ever paid to an actor. (In return, she didn't object to Hackman getting top billing, which presumably he had been contractually guaranteed.) As the change-over was taking place, other members of the cast and crew were also replaced, including the director photography. The original composer was the esteemed Georges Delerue, but his score was deemed to be unsatisfactory and Richard Hazard and Ira Newborn were brought on board as the composers of record. (Bizarrely, Delerue is listed in the final credits as "conductor"with his name misspelled as "George", a final indignity.) By the time filming resumed, the budget had blown up to $14 million, a staggering sum for a low-key comedy and a figure that approached half the production cost of "Apocalypse Now".

So what's it all about? Hackman plays George Dupler, a middle-aged L.A. executive who is counting on a big promotion. When he is bypassed, he breaks down and throws a chair through the window. Because of his seniority, management won't fire him but instead demotes him and assigns him to a new job they are sure will result in his resignation. George is to manage an all-night pharmacy/convenient store that is staffed by misfits and patronized by wacky eccentrics. These scenes should be the funniest in the film, but director Tramont overplays his hand and presents over-the-top characters that would generally be found in sitcom episodes. None of the labored sight gags work at all and they seem out of place given the fact that Tramont had indicated his goal was to make a European-style sophisticated romantic comedy. The film improves considerably when it cuts to the main plot points, which involve George learning that his 18 year-old son Freddie (Dennis Quaid) is having a secret affair with cougar Cheryl Gibbons (Barbra Streisand), who is a distant relative. She's married to Bob (Kevin Dobson), a brusque fireman who is the fourth cousin of George's wife Helen (Diane Ladd). Still with me? A chance encounter with Cheryl leads George to have an affair with her. When Helen finds out, fireworks ensue and George spontaneously packs a few things and storms out of the house to find a new abode. He sets up a new home in a cavernous loft that adjoins a class for aspiring painters. He and Cheryl resume their affair, while she simultaneously carries on with Freddie. (A "Yuck! Factor" enters the scenario when George asks Cheryl if he is better in bed than his son.) Screenwriter Richter seems to have been inspired by the plight of Benjamin in "The Graduate", in that Cheryl is not only bedding her lover but his parent as well.

The biggest flaw in the script is that none of the principals are remotely sympathetic. Cheryl is an intentional home-breaker, Freddie puts his lust before any other priority and George is willing to break up his marriage spontaneously with no apparent regrets. Not much to admire there. Richter seems to have realized this and introduces a late plot device designed to excuse George's affair, but it comes across as a last minute contrivance that came to Richter in the middle of the night. Despite all of that, "All Night Long" worked better for me this time than when I originally saw it. The film is flaky in concept and execution but Hackman is always in fine form and it's great to see Streisand in a secondary role that she can play in a subdued manner. (There's a funny bit in which the ditzy Cheryl attempts to sing and can't hit a note, an irony for a Streisand character.) The supporting cast is very good, too, with Kevin Dobson terrific as the hot-tempered cuckolded husband who ignites when he discovers his wife is bedding both George and his son and William Daniels, very amusing as the staid family lawyer who isn't as staid as he seems.

When the film was released, it garnered a few enthusiastic reviews including from the usually grumpy Pauline Kael, but the general consensus was negative. Screenwriter William Goldman, a longtime critic of Hollywood studios (he famous said of the town, "Nobody knows anything") held up "All Night Long" as a prime example of a simple project that began bloated by ineptness, nepotism and egos. The film bombed at the boxoffice and Goldman estimated that when marketing costs were factored in, it would have lost $20 million- and that was in 1981 dollars. Streisand was said to be livid over the marketing campaign poster which implied this would be a zany, madcap comedy, when in fact, it is much more subdued. After the film's failure, Streisand dropped Sue Mengers as her agent. As for Jean-Claude Tramont, his career came to a screeching halt, never to recover before his death in 1996. 

The Kino Lorber Blu-ray would seem to call out for a commentary track, but there is none. However, there is an excellent 20-minute recent video interview with W.D. Richter, who candidly describes the experience as an unhappy memory and details some of the factors that led to disaster.  He does speak well of Streisand and said there was no evidence of the diva-like demands she is known for. She didn't even insist on any script revisions. Richter also said that Tramont seemed nervous and uncertain in dealing with Streisand and Hackman. He ponders why the film hasn't caught on as a legendary flop, as it certainly would today in the age of social media. My guess is that everyone was still talking about "Heaven's Gate".

The Blu-ray also contains the trailer and a gallery of other KL titles with Hackman starring and two radio spots, one of which is absurd and refers to the film as the "Barbra Streisand picture" without even mentioning Hackman. Recommended, if only for Richter's wonderful interview.

CLICK HERE TO ORDER FROM AMAZON

By Hank Reineke

Village of the Damned is the cinematic moniker of John Wyndham’s far less exploitative titled 1957 novel The Midwich Cuckoos. Wyndham’s writing specialty was science-fiction: he graduated from contributing short stories to such colorful genre magazines as Wonder Stories and Amazing Stories to publishing full-fledged novels. Though his stories were occasionally adapted for such television dramas as Alfred Hitchcock Presents, his cinematic credits were relatively few. Village of the Damned is perhaps his best remembered movie tie-in, but a 1951 novel was also filmed and subsequently released as Day of the Triffids (Allied Artists, 1962).

Village of the Damned was originally conceived to film in Hollywood, and American writer Stirling Silliphant was tapped to compose the screenplay for the movie – which was to be, more or less, a faithful adaptation of Wyndham’s novel. Though Silliphant had accrued a few film credits, he was primarily regarded as a television writer, having contributed a score of 1950s teleplays to a variety of programs ranging from The Mickey Mouse Club to Perry Mason to Alfred Hitchcock Presents.

Wolf Rilla, a German-born novelist but long-time a resident of London, was tapped to direct Village of the Damned. Rilla’s background too was mostly in television production, having written or directed a score of TV comedies and dramas over the span of a dozen years. Rilla was approached to direct Village when studio accountants deemed it far more economical to film in England rather than Hollywood. Rilla thought Silliphant’s scenario was workable. But he also thought the Yank’s grasp of contemporary British customs and vernacular was lacking. So Rilla and the film’s British producer Ronald Kinnoch (the latter writing under the pseudonym of “George Barclay”) reworked the original script to better authenticate and Anglicize.

The rewrite was successful in that regard. The atmosphere surrounding Village of the Damned is nothing less than stiff-lipped British in tone. In 2022 looking back, one could easily mistake Village as a Hammer Film Production (ala the Quatermass series).  Several prominent cast members of Village, including Barbara Shelley and Michael Gwynn, would be familiar to Hammer Films devotees, their faces having graced screens in such productions as The Camp on Blood Island, The Revenge of Frankenstein, Quatermass and the Pit, Dracula, Prince of Darkness, Rasputin, the Mad Monk, Scars of Dracula and The Gorgon. The venerable British actor George Sanders, the former star of The Saint film series, is fittingly at the center of the mystery. And there’s plenty of mystery about…

The tiny, sleepy hamlet of Midwich is the “village” referenced in the film’s title.  Nothing much ever happened in Midwich until, for an odd four-hour interval, time not only stops but is seemingly lost. The townspeople, for reasons unknown, all fall into unconsciousness.  Initially there doesn’t appear there was any significant fall-out from this strange time-warping aberration, but several months later every village woman of childbearing age - married, courting or celibate - finds themselves pregnant.  This collective simultaneously give birth to children unusual in both manner and appearance. The children, whom some suspect are the product of some strange “impulse from the universe,” are uniformly uber-intelligent, gifted beyond their years. While polite to their parents and other adults, the children also strangely distant, unusually formal and unemotional in manner.

The children are also endowed with several peculiar special gifts – not the least of which is the ability to read the minds of the adults. This ability has unnerved those members of the community who are forced to interact with these mysterious youngsters.  It’s soon revealed these children are, as suspected, the offspring of alien beings. They have been imbedded in the village to study the minds and culture of their earth-bound galactic neighbors. For what purpose? Well, no one is sure, but the worst is feared.  Once the British military gets involved their intelligence agents report the residents of Midwich are not alone.  Reports are coming in of similar alien birth-takeovers amongst rural Eskimo populations as well as countries sitting behind the Iron Curtain. 

Gordon Zellaby (George Sanders) and his wife Anthea (Barbara Shelley) are the parents of one such “special” child, David (Martin Stephens). David seems to be the spokesman of the children. He also is not shy in demonstrating the bad habit of telepathically coercing those he perceives as enemies to take their own lives.  The situation worsens when the school-age alien brood make the decision to abandon Midwich to imbed more widely among the populace.  The town elders and military realize they can’t allow these aliens, semi- contained in Midwich, to spread further afield.  But how does one plot against those with the ability to read every thought that crosses the minds of those wishing them destruction?

It’s a neat premise and Village of the Damned was a surprising hit for MGM, the B-film’s appeal amongst cinemagoers and critics alike having caught the studio off guard. When studio brass realized they had a commercial steamroller on their hands, the publicity department was free to go full throttle. MGM began to take out full page ads in the trades, boasting that “Village of the Damned Saturation Openings” were rollin-up “Sensational Grosses!” This wasn’t mere ballyhoo, it was the truth. So it wasn’t terribly surprising when MGM announced a follow-up feature was already in consideration.

Anton Leader was chosen to direct this sequel Children of the Damned. Similar to Rilla, Leader was best known for his directorial work on television, not in motion pictures. In fact, following a successful career in the 1940s as a producer of radio dramas, Leader had worked almost exclusively on the small screen. He would subsequently helm an episode or two of practically every iconic television series of the 1950s and 1960s. Leader had left the U.S. for Europe in February 1962, hoping to set up his own production company on the continent. This dream was deferred when Leader was asked to direct Children of the Damned and given a nifty $400,000 budget to do so.

Having worked almost exclusively in the penny-pinching television industry, Leader gladly accepted. He would tell a journalist from Variety that it had been good to get away from TV since a big screen filmmaker was “more respectfully regraded” and given more time and latitude to do a “respectable job.” The problem was Leader envisioned Children of the Damned as an “art picture.” The brass at MGM Britain was less interested in making a profit, not a point. They wanted Children of the Damned be a coattail-riding horror film, which wasn’t the film as delivered.

Variety recorded Leader’s chagrin when the director was first made aware of the “advertising campaign mapped out by MGM […] lurid billing as an exploitation special.” Indeed, the poster art played up only a ghastly sensationalism: “They Come To Conquer the World… So young, so innocent, so utterly deadly!” A second ad mat was no more constrained (nor honest) in its carnival-barking: “Beware the Eyes that Paralyze! All-New Suspense Shocker… even more Eerie and Unearthly than Village of the Damned!”

In truth there’s very little eeriness and only a bit of suspense in the film. Children isn’t a bad film, but it is a curious follow-up, one that wildly detours from the premise of the original. There’s only a smattering of sci-fi elements. The “children” number only six in this sequel and their provenance is multi-national. The children are, again, borne by unwed women “never touched.” All six are brilliant, each possessing “intellect beyond belief.” It’s this reason that makes them of great scientific interest to Dr. Tom Llewellyn (Ian Hendry), a psychologist and Dr. David Neville (Alan Bader), a geneticist. They suggest a UNESCO program should be commissioned to study the children.

The problem is that the children do not wish to be studied. They escape from their respective embassies to gather inside the bowels of an old church. There was no need for them to proactively discuss this decision amongst each other – or, at least, not in the usual oral method. Since they communicate with one another through telepathy, they already share a communal knowledge base. They have no separate nor distinct personalities and mostly, if not exclusively, communicate their wishes to be left alone through an intermediary they control through hypnotism.

A sector of both the scientific establishment and military believe it would be best to “destroy” the children, believing them to be the spearhead of an invasion of aliens. But the army discovers the children are well-equipped to defend themselves against any aggressive action. Unlike the Village children, this new group of moppets choose only to use their telepathic energies towards their own defense. They’re not interested in causing harm to anyone, even as the bowels beneath their church sanctuary are wired with explosives.

Children is, without doubt, a different animal than Village. John Briley, the U.S. born screenwriter would contribute an original screenplay for the sequel, one only loosely based on the premise of the Wyndham novel. Though early in his career, Briley was no hack merely trying to get along by writing B-pictures. In 1983, as the writer of Ghandi, Briley was awarded an Oscar for Best Original Screenplay.

But the folks going to the cinema to catch Children of the Damned wanted a horror film, and no doubt felt cheated upon exiting. This film was more of a preachy “co-existence not no-existence” exercise. Most reviews of the film were critical of the movie’s high-minded and obvious aspiration as being experienced as a “message film.” One critic thought the concocted scenario was simply too precious. The filmmakers were attempting to endow the film “with moral significance […] heavy-handed, unnecessary and too pretentious an aim for so relatively modest a production venture.”

Although Children of the Damned was Leader’s last feature film of significance, the British trades were reporting the novelist/director had already reworked Christopher Monig’s 1956 mystery novel The Burned Man into a screen treatment, pitching the idea of bringing it to the screen to Hammer’s James Carreras.  That project would not happen, for better or worse, and Leader soon returned to TV directing. Children of the Damned is more of a curio today, but Village of the Damned has enjoyed lasting notoriety, even having been remade by Horror-film maestro John Carpenter in 1995. But while Carpenter’s film easily bests any of the antiquated optical effects of the 1960 version, Rilla’s original remains the more iconic.

Village of the Damned and Children of the Damned are made available as BD-ROMS through the Warner Archive Collection. Village is presented in 1080p High Definition 16 x 9 1:78.1 and in DTS HD Master Audio Mono. Children has been made available in 1080p High Definition 16 x 9 1:85.1 and in DTS HD Master Audio Mono. Both films are relativity sparse with extras, though both offer each film’s theatrical trailer and removable English subs. The only true “special features” is Steve Haberman’s commentary track on Village and screenwriter John Briley’s commentary on Children.

Click here to order "Village of the Damned" Blu-ray from Amazon

Click here to order "Children of the Damned" Blu-ray from Amazon

By Hank Reineke

I confess to having difficulty understanding Corinth’s curious repackaging of three monochrome 1950’s science-fiction films. Pulling together this triad of films – all previously issued as single disc releases from the label’s Wade Williams Collection - seems to make sense on one level. We’ll discuss later on. But for the record this DVD of Drive-In Retro Classics: Science Fiction Triple Feature brings together such disparate Silver Age favorites as Kurt Neumann’s Rocketship X-M (1950), Nathan H. Juran’s The Brain from Planet Arous (1958) and Robert Clarke’s The Hideous Sun Demon (1959).

Though he didn’t have anything to do with the production of any of the films listed above, Wade Williams has served as curator of the analog and digital legacy of many ‘50s sci-fi and horror titles. Though Williams would aspire as a filmmaker himself, the titles appearing in the “Wade Williams Collection” are exactly that – films in his collection. Williams had prudently purchased the rights to a mostly moribund package of ‘50s sci-fi movie and TV shows from estates, from studios, or from producers/others holding ownership. The latter category would include films produced by such names as George Pal, Jack Broder, Harry M. Popkin and Richard Rosenfeld.

This decision to sell off their interests was an understandable (but ultimately bad) business decision on the part of the original rights holders. But it was the early 1970s and television stations – now the only outlet still providing a trickle of revenue for these old films – were abandoning their creaky old black-and-white libraries for color-TV programs. Few in Hollywood could have anticipated the stream of monies to be afforded by the home-video revolution only a few short years down the line.

To be fair, Williams was an enthusiast of these old sci-fi films, not simply a speculator who got lucky. Burgeoning consumer interest in home video product allowed opportunity for Williams to capitalize on his prudent purchases. The first of the “Wade Williams Collection” VHS videocassettes were issued as early as the late 1970s, mostly through such companies as Nostalgia Merchant and Starlog Video. In the 1999 Williams partnered with Image Entertainment, the latter dressing the new DVDs in bright-color slipcovers. These sleeves partly disguised the fact the movies contained within were black-and-white oldies. Sci-fi newbies unfamiliar with the histories of atomic age sci-fi films might have felt shortchanged by this creative - if somewhat duplicitous – bit of marketing.

But for those of us in the know, the Williams releases were a Godsend. We were the aficionados of old-school sci-fi, semi-aging folks who first caught the films during theatrical matinees in the 50’s or through fuzzy late-night TV broadcasts in the ‘60s. We no longer had to order wonky prints sourced from aged television screenings peddled by bootleg vendors advertising in the back pages of cult film magazines. When Laserdisc and DVD releases would supersede VHS cassettes in quality of presentation, Williams’ catalog was similarly trotted out in new formats.

It must be noted that Williams has also been, somewhat ungraciously, a target of criticism – often painted as a proverbial villain - over the last two decades by some collectors. As the rights holder to so many treasured classic – and not so classic – vintage sci-fi films, the just shy of eighty Williams has been reluctant in recent years to issue the films on Blu-ray. His reasoning for not doing, while disappointing, is sound. Answering critics of the handling of his catalog, Williams offered to contributors on the on-line Home Theater Forum while physical media sales remained important, “streaming, downloading, Amazon Prime, Netflix and TCM are the remaining outlets from classic films.”

He would also note that restorations were expensive undertakings. Factoring in public domain issues, the problem of outright bootlegging and copy-and-paste YouTube piracy, there was no longer any chance to break-even - much less garner a profit - from such an enterprise. It was a practical and understandable real-world estimate – but a response disappointing for those who preferred to stock their home video libraries with physical media.

Which brings us back, in a roundabout manner, to Drive-In Retro Classics: Science Fiction Triple Feature. Taking the series’ format history into account, the natural progression would have been to see these films released on Blu ray; to revisit them in spruced-up remasters with a dollop of bonus special materials tagged on. But, alas, this isn’t the case. Instead Drive-In Retro Classics: Science Fiction Triple Feature offers up a total of three films, running 222 minutes collectively, all crushed on a single disc. There are no special features, no new scans from better elements, no new bells or whistles of any sort. So buyer beware.

OK, with all this history out of the way I offer, for the uninitiated at least, a brief overview of the films in the Corinth set:

In The Brain from Planet Arous, Steve Marsh (John Agar), a technician of the U.S. Atomic Energy Commission, becomes the unwilling host of alien being named Gor. Gor is an evil levitating cerebellum with half-moon eyes who desires rule as “Master of the Universe.” He aspires to make all the people of the earth his slaves. The alternative is “death by intense radiation.” The earth is merely one stop on this quest… and he makes the most of the visit. Through his manipulation of his hypnotized subjugate Marsh, Gor unleashes a rash of attacks on military-bases and martial aircrafts.

Gor convinces the cowered American Generals to convene a summit with the earth’s six other nuclear powers, demanding all nations submit to his terms… or else. All seems lost until Vol, a second and far friendlier levitating brain from Arous, arrives at Indian Springs to offer advice. Vol explains the only way to stop the renegade Gor is by attacking the creature’s one weak spot, striking at the brain’s fissure of Rolando. But can Marsh’s girlfriend Sally (Joyce Randolph) and George the dog get this important info to Marsh in time?

The Hideous Sun Demon is the tour de force brainchild of actor/writer/producer Robert Clarke. Clarke plays Dr. Gilbert McKenna, an “obscure scientist” exposed to a type of radiation “far more dangerous than cosmic rays.” This turns out to be an unwelcome turn of events as such exposure has triggered a reverse evolution of his DNA, turning him into the Hideous Sun Demon, a half-human half-reptile biped. The movie is sort of a reversal of werewolfism. Clarke’s transformation is not triggered by the rising of the full moon but by exposure to the sun’s rays. When not lurching about Los Angeles and Santa Monica at night, McKenna sulks, drinks a lot of whiskey and hangs out a dingy nightclub where he listens to a buxom blond tickle the ivories and sing such moody jazz numbers as “Strange Desire.” Perhaps Little Orphan Annie desires for the sun to come out tomorrow, but its bad news for McKenna.

In Rocketship X-M, America is readying a sleek spacecraft for blast-off. The rocket is to carry a team of scientists – including a thirty-year old Lloyd Bridges – on a mission to the moon. Unfortunately, a combination of bad scientific calculations and an untimely meteor shower forces the craft off course. The space travelers instead land on Mars where, to their surprise, discover the ruins of an ancient civilization. They are received unwelcomingly, made targets by a gaggle of rock throwing Martian Neanderthals. Though they quickly and wisely abandon the Red Planet for a trip back home, they encounter yet another problem. Is there enough fuel left in the craft’s supply tanks to get them home safely?

Of the three films in this set, only Rocketship X-M aspires to loftier visions and high production values. Theobold Holsopple’s production designs are imaginative and iconic. The special-effects work of Don Stewart, I.A. Block and Jack Rabin is of similar high-caliber, especially when considering the era in which the film was produced.

To wrap up: the best thing I can say about this new DVD release is that it brings these films back into print, making them more easily available to new consumers. No more scouring through second hand shops or paying fifty dollar “collector” prices for the now rare original single-disc DVDs released twenty-odd years ago. But when one learns the MSRP of the Corinth release is $29.95… well, that price seems a bit stiff. But I’m confident the MSRP will likely not be the actual asking price when the disc hits online outlets.

I’d be remiss without at least mentioning one title, The Brain from Planet Arous, is reportedly being readied for Blu-ray release by another home video company, one known for bring loving attention to neglected films. This prospective Blu issue, slated for release in summer of 2022, promises a new restoration, an audio commentary, a booklet, and a special-features documentary as bonuses. So some may choose a wait-and-see approach before gambling on Drive-in Retro Classics.

CLICK HERE TO ORDER FROM AMAZON

BY TODD GARBARINI

The major question that I have about Douglas Heyes’s Kitten with a Whip, which opened in New York on Wednesday, November 4, 1964 on a double bill with Lance Comfort’s Sing and Swing (1963) with David Hemmings at some theaters, is this: where is the titular whip? We have the kitten, as embodied by the overly beautiful Ann-Margret as “bad girl” Jody Dvorak, but there is no whip to be found. Perhaps the “whip” is her personality? There certainly is an argument to be made for that. Jody has just made a break from a juvenile detention center but not before seriously wounding the head of the place who becomes hospitalized. Outwitting the police, she breaks into the semi-upscale home of David Stratton (John Forsyth), a stuffy, by-the-book political candidate hopeful twenty-three years her senior whose wife and daughter are conveniently away in a scenario determined to make him look very creepy. David discovers Jody asleep in his daughter’s bedroom and many questions ensue along with his disdain for her presence. He knows full well that people will talk should they find out he is harboring a fugitive dripping with sex appeal. Desperate to get rid of Jody, he appears to be uneasy about his own unchecked desire for her which she readily picks up on. A series of embarrassing situations that could reveal Jody’s presence in David’s house to his friends and family bring out David’s true nature, especially when Jody’s three friends (a 1960’s “tough girl” and cinema’s two cleanest male “goons”) force their way in to crash his homelife in a chain of events that lead them all to Mexico and a tragic ending.

Ann-Margret had already made a name for herself appearing in Frank Capra’s Pocket Full of Miracles (1961), José Ferrer’s State Fair (1962), and George Sidney’s Bye Bye Birdie (1963) and his Viva Las Vegas (1964) by the time she filmed this black-and-white outing. She sheds her ingenue persona with sex kitten ferocity in a tale (or tail) that was based upon the 1959 novel of the same name. Kitten is a showcase for her considerable talents in a performance that goes from sublime and demur to that of a fighting and snarling hellcat. The dialog dances around the issues of promiscuity and infidelity the way that it had to at that time, coming on the heels of Elia Kazan’s 1958 Baby Doll and Stanley Kubrick’s 1962 Lolita (in the novel Jody and David have sex, however that would have been a big screen no-no in 1964 something that Alfred Hitchcock knew all too well). Kitten comes just a little later than it probably should have, but it allows its star to alternate emotions in a performance that fluctuates from naïve innocence to verbally threatening David should he call the police on her. While we are not talking about anything so overtly sexual as the onscreen coupling of Marlon Brando and Maria Schneider in Bernardo Bertolucci’s infamous Last Tango in Paris (1972), the film no doubt raised some eyebrows at the time.

The movie is now available as a Region-Free Blu-ray from ViaVision Entertainment’s fine Imprint video label, with a brand new and beautiful high definition transfer.. The extras are as follows:

A very informative and entertaining audio commentary by film critics Alexandra Heller-Nicholas, author of the 2021 book The Giallo Canvas: Art, Excess and Horror Cinema, and Josh Nelson. They discuss how Baltimore filmmaker John Waters considers Kitten to be a failed art film, and there is a discussion of how the movie was seen as the low point of Ann-Margret’s career and how she struggled and came back gloriously in Carnal Knowledge (1971), earning her first Academy Award nomination for Best Supporting Actress in 1972 (losing out to Cloris Leachman in The Last Picture Show). Her second nomination was for Best Actress in Tommy (1975) in 1976 (losing out to Louise Fletcher in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest).

Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! is the aptly titled piece narrated by Kat Ellinger that runs about 29 minutes and is a commentary on how teenagers were not a force to be reckoned with until they possessed their own spending power. Juvenile delinquency was looked upon as an epidemic that required a response. Rock ‘n Roll and comic books were considered catalysts for juvenile delinquency, along with trashy movies at the drive-in that were filled with violence, sex and songs. Think the Beach Party films, Rebel Without a Cause (1955) and The Wild One (1957) as the type of fare desired by this new dollar-toting demographic. The Blackboard Jungle (1955) dealt with inner city school bullies and authority, while other films presented stories of redemption and salvation – themes that permeate much of the later cinema of Martin Scorsese. Ms. Ellinger also discusses Roger Corman’s 1957 outing Teenage Doll, a film devoted to girls which was released during an era of exploitation films featuring unknown actresses. Jack Hill’s Switchblade Sisters (1973) is also discussed as a film wherein the women use their sexuality as a weapon of aggression. She also mentions the Sukeban films of Japan, loosely translated to “girl boss”, a sub-genre of cinema wherein women weaponize their sexuality to get what they want. While this piece is very interesting, the music overshadows the narrator at times. I wish that this was addressed prior to pressing of the disc. There is also a look at the paperback books of the era, and Jody was at one time going to be played by Brigitte Bardot. The film falls into the “Bad Girl” subgenre of Juvenile Delinquent stories.

She Reached for Evil: Dissecting Kitten with a Whip is a video essay that runs about 18 minutes on pulp author Wade Miller by author and film historian Andrew Nette (2021).

There is also a photo gallery of black and white stills from the film.

MST3000 rips on the film as a parody in 1994 and is a hoot to listen to.

Click Here to order from Amazon USA and ignore Amazon’s caveat about regional encoding. This disc will play an any Blu-ray player. Non-U.S. readers can order the film directly from Imprint by clicking here.

“JUST THE DRIVER”

By Raymond Benson

Canadian filmmaker David Cronenberg has always managed to push the envelope with nearly every one of his striking pieces of work since he appeared on the scene in the mid-1970s. Known at first as primarily a director of unique “body-horror” films (The Brood, 1979, or The Fly; 1986), Cronenberg spread his wings in the 1990s and moved away from the genre to tackle more dramatic and varied subjects. His 2007 crime picture about the Russian mafia operating in London, Eastern Promises, stands as a milestone title in the director’s filmography.

Kino Lorber Classics has released a superb 2-disk (4K Ultra and Blu-ray) package of the film, and the results are impressive. The picture quality is so sharp and clear that it could be used as a demonstration product for high definition televisions.

Anna Khitrova (Naomi Watts) is a British-Russian who lives with her parents, Helen and Stepan (Sinéad Cusack, and filmmaker Jerzy Skolimowsky in an acting role). Stepan is an ex-KGB officer, and the family emigrated to the U.K. some years ago. Anna works as a midwife in a London hospital, where she treats a teenage Russian girl who dies in childbirth. The girl has a diary, written in Russian, as well as a business card for a well-known Russian restaurant. Anna is determined to find the girl’s family so that the baby can have a proper home. She visits the restaurant and meets the manager, Semyon (Armin Mueller-Stahl), but he is really an elderly but powerful Russian mafia chief. Semyon has a brash and reckless son, Kirill (Vincent Cassel), who runs brothels in London stocked with women trafficked from Russia. The family’s bodyguard/chauffeur is Nikolai (Viggo Mortensen). He is a formidable killer who insists he’s “just the driver,” and yet there is something good inside Nikolai that transcends his menace. As Anna digs deeper into the mystery, she discovers the truth about the organized crime going on in her city, and she also develops a dangerous mutual attraction with Nikolai. When Kirill authorizes a hit on a rival Chechen gangster without Semyon’s approval, a war between the two groups ensues, and Anna and her parents are caught in the middle.

Eastern Promises, written by Steven Knight, is one of the better organized crime pictures ever made. Cronenberg and Knight seriously did a deep-dive into the realism of the piece, and star Mortensen went so far as to hang out with real Russian mafia soldiers to learn the lingo and especially study the all-important tattoos that adorn the men’s bodies.

Viggo Mortensen is fabulous in his portrayal and he was Oscar-nominated for his efforts. For this reviewer’s money, he should have won (Daniel Day-Lewis scored the trophy for There Will Be Blood). For the fight scene in the bath house alone, in which an entirely nude Mortensen fights two clothed men armed with knives, the actor deserved every accolade on the planet. The sequence is the centerpiece of the film, and it’s one of the best directed and choreographed fight scenes of the last twenty years.

Watts is terrific, as always, and Mueller-Stahl delivers a chilling turn, too. However, the movie belongs to Mortensen and to director Cronenberg.

For Kino Lorber’s HDR Dolby Vision Master of the movie, Peter Suschitzky approved and color graded his own cinematography. It looks simply marvelous. There are several short vintage featurettes included as supplements, also in HD: interviews with writer Knight and director Cronenberg; a piece on the tattoos and their significance; and looks at the bath house scene and Naomi Watts’ motorcycle riding, plus two theatrical trailers and other Kino Lorber trailers.

Eastern Promises is for fans of riveting crime dramas, the films of David Cronenberg, actor Viggo Mortensen, and actress Naomi Watts. Highly recommended.

CLICK HERE TO ORDER FROM AMAZON

“

BY HANK REINEKE

It reaches from the grave to re-live the horror, the terror! More destructive! More terrifying!” (1958 ad campaign for Frankenstein’s Daughter.)-

Promises, promises. Even the most forgiving fans of low-budget 1950s horror concede Richard E. Cunha’s Frankenstein’s Daughter is a mess. It’s the sort of film where everything seems off-kilter: the script, the acting, the monster, the directing and flat lighting… well, everything, really. Ironically, this reality is also, perversely, the film’s single saving grace. If you go into Frankenstein’s Daughter with such knowledge aforethought and low-expectations, the resulting film – brought in on a budget of $60,000 - is actually pretty entertaining, if only in a manner of speaking.

In 1958 one New York tabloid chastised Manhattan’s Mayfair Theater for plummeting “to an all-time low in booking not one, but two, of the year’s worst films.” Describing the double-bill of Frankenstein’s Daughter and its co-bill Missile to the Moon as nothing less than “pathetic,” the critic opined producer Marc Frederic and Cunha might have be better suited as “shoemakers” than filmmakers. I would say that assessment is an unfair one… with the caveat that my tolerance for bad movies is pretty high.

Director Cunha’s previous double-bill of low budget horrors Giant of the Unknown and She Demons had performed reasonably at the box office. Well enough that in April of 1958 the Hollywood Reporter noted Fred Ballin, the President of Astor Pictures, had brokered a deal with Marc Frederick’s [sic] Layton Productions to deliver no fewer than ten feature films in a twenty-four month period. The first two films of this partnership were to be Frankenstein’s Daughter and a sci-fi epic provisionally titled Satellite (later changed to Missile to the Moon). Cunha was tapped to direct both films, the former title to begin shooting on April 30.

I would only catch Frankenstein’s Daughter some fourteen years on. The film was featured on New York City’s WPIX-TV’s Chiller Theatre in the early winter of 1972. I can’t remember with any accuracy now, but I’m sure I sort of enjoyed the movie back then, at least in a more or less manner. The film’s primary monster (this film generously sports two) was sort of cool looking: ping-pong ball sized eyes, a fright wig, acid scarred skin and a set of eyebrows befitting Soviet leader Leonid Brezhnev. The face of the film’s secondary creature, also a creation of the picture’s mad doctor, seems less Frankenstein’s monster and more Mrs. Hyde in appearance, but that’s nit-picking. To Cunha’s credit there’s no suspenseful long drag as we await the ghastly reveal of the first monster. “Trudy” (Sandra Knight), the film’s secondary fiend, appears on screen within a minute or so into the movie during a nightmare sequence.

Frankenstein’s Daughter centers around the experimentations of Dr. Oliver Frank (Donald Murphy) whom, we learn, is actually the grandson of the original Dr. Frankenstein. Frank, in all truth, is a pretty awful guy, cynical, intense, lecherous and high-strung.  He’s working with the doddering Carter Morton (Felix Locher) who, quite frankly, is no prize himself.  Though dismissed from his former position at Rockwell Laboratories, Morton occasionally manages to break into and steal from the office of his former employer whenever he’s in need of additional materials. 

Dr. Frank also has an assistant, Elsu (Wolfe Barzell), a creepy old colleague of his grandfather’s. Interestingly, Elsu seems far less weird than the two egghead scientists he assists in the secreted basement laboratory of the Frank home. But then again - and given his history - Elsu has seen it all, I imagine.  But even with the help of two his assistants, Dr. Frank’s recent experiments have brought about a disappointing a combination of mixed results and outright failures. 

The mad doctor ascertains his two most recent misfires were caused by his having created strong-willed male monsters.  So he’s chosen to re-jigger his experiments by turning female candidates into full-fledged monsters. This, he reasons, is sure to correct past mistakes since a woman’s brain is more “responsive to command.” To this end he’s already turned Morton’s lovely niece Trudy, into a drug-addled half-monster. 

But his most frightening monster is his newest creation, a huge, skulking and violent creature whose feminine features are all but indiscernible. (It was only after reading Tom Weaver’s old interview with Cunha that I discovered make-up artist Harry Thomas was simply unaware he was to craft a female monster for the film. So, due to time constraints, the filmmakers simply went with the androgynous monster supplied).

Regardless, Trudy and boyfriend Johnny (John Ashley) eventually come to suspect there’s something odd going on in the basement and decide to have a look.  When the two teens manage to thwart Dr. Frank’s evil schemes, the mad doctor scornfully bellows, in classic Scooby Doo fashion, “Are you satisfied now, you meddling kids?”        

Yes, this is a bad movie, but not an unentertaining one. H.E. Barrie’s (the nom de plume of a writer who understandably asked for anonymity) script is chock full of head-scratching improbable turns and purple prose passages. As low budget 1950s sci-fi goes, I guess some of the dialogue and plot contrivances might have been tempered, if not salvaged, by the delivery a more capable ensemble. But as so much of Barrie’s dialogue is delivered in wooden fashion, many of the scripted exchanges invoke only laughter and head shakes.

Moving the traditional Frankenstein setting from a gloomy old European castle to a modern suburban American home (the establishing shot is actually the home of producer Frederic), was one way for the production team to shave a few dollars from the budget.  It is also allowed for the inevitable ‘50s teenage dance party to be dropped into the picture’s middle without much fuss.  One bit of curious casting is that of Harold Lloyd Jr. as “Don.” Lloyd, the son of the legendary silent film actor-comedian, had also tried his hand at acting and singing prior to his untimely death at age 40. The Page Cavanaugh Trio, a well-scrubbed electric jazz combo, backs Don on his scat-singing solos on “Special Date” and their own “Daddy-Bird.”

So that’s the honest criticism. But this movie (shot in six ten-hour days according to Weaver) is actually a fun popcorn-munching effort if you’re in the right mood and tend to wallow in B-movie nostalgia. This “Special Edition” Blu-ray from Film Detective offers Frankenstein’s Daughter in all of its 85 minute B &W glory in a 1.85: 1 aspect ratio and DTS monaural sound. It looks as good as it likely ever will.

Film Detective also, much to their credit, pulls out all the stops on this set. There are two separate commentary tracks, one by Weaver, one by filmmaker Larry Blamire, as well as two featurettes: Richard E. Cunha: Filmmaker of the Unknown and John Ashley: Man from the B’s. There’s also a twelve-page booklet written by Weaver, with accompanying photos. The booklet neatly condenses and distills much of the info offered in the expansive commentaries. Final verdict: this release is worth a shot, just as long as you know what you’re getting into.

CLICK HERE TO ORDER FROM AMAZON

“YOU GOTTA GET A GET”

By Raymond Benson

(NOTE: Much of this review is repeated from an earlier Cinema Retro review of a previous Blu-ray release.)

In the world of the Jewish Conservative Orthodox community, a divorce is truly final only when the husband presents his wife with a “get”—a document in Hebrew that grants the woman her freedom to be with other men. Likewise, the wife must accept the get before the man can re-marry, too.

This is the crux of the story behind Hester Street, an independent art-house film that appeared in 1975, written and directed by Joan Micklin Silver. Starring Carol Kane, who was nominated for Best Actress for her performance as Gitl, a newly arrived immigrant to New York City in 1896, and Steven Keats as her husband Yankl, who, in an attempt to assimilate, in public goes by the name “Jake.” Jake has been in America for a while and isn’t looking forward to the arrival of his wife and son from Europe, for he has begun an affair with a wealthy, assimilated actress in the Yiddish theatre named Mamie. When the very traditional Gitl arrives with her son, the marriage disintegrates.

Luckily, Gitl meets Bernstein, an Orthodox man who is much more suited for her requirements, seeing that Jake has become something of a capitalist cad. Therefore, she needs a “get” from Jake so that both husband and wife can divorce and go their separate ways. That’s when Mamie’s money comes into play.

Silver beautifully rendered this period drama on a miniscule budget. Location shooting took place in and around New York’s lower east side, where much of the flavor of the late 19th Century Jewish Orthodox community is still pretty much the same. Replace the cars with horses and buggies, get the correct vintage costumes, and you’re more than halfway there. The dialogue is mostly in Yiddish (with English subtitles), thus making it an American foreign language film—an oddity in 1975, to be sure (although Coppola’s The Godfather Part II appeared a year earlier with a great amount of its dialogue spoken in Sicilian).

Keats plays Jake as a rake and a rascal, but our perception of him is not that of a villain. In many ways, he is the generic immigrant who came to America and sincerely tried to assimilate, become “American,” and leave the Old Country traditions behind. His fault is that he dreams of making big money in the States and this becomes his all-consuming desire, forgetting that he has a wife and son. Kane’s character and spot-on portrayal not only illustrates the role of females in the Orthodox community, but in many ways is a commentary on the women’s liberation movement of the 1970s.

Hester Street is a terrific little film that went out of print on DVD years ago and became a collector’s item on the resale market until a Blu-ray release appeared in 2015. With that also now out of print, Cohen Media Group has issued a welcome new edition in a 4K restoration. Filmed in black and white by Kenneth Van Sickle, the picture is grainy and flat—much like the early silent cinema of the that era!—which actually is quite appropriate for the movie’s setting. That said, the new restoration considerably sharpens the images and the display is the best seen since the movie’s 1975 theatrical release. The feature comes with an archival audio commentary with director Silver and producer Raphael D. Silver.

Also new to this release is supplementary material not present on the previous Blu-ray. Approximately eight minutes of an alternate opening sequence, with commentary by Daniel Kremer (author of an upcoming book about Silver and her work), is an interesting find. There are two relatively recent video conversations with director Silver and film historian Shonni Enelow about the making of Hester Street and Silver’s career as a filmmaker (Silver died in 2020). There are also vintage interviews with Carol Kane, Doris Roberts, and both Joan and Raphael Silver, likely ported over from the old DVD release. The restoration trailer rounds out the package.

Hester Street is an excellent synagogue discussion-group item for American Jews who want to explore the immigration scene and the topics of tradition and assimilation; but it is also a good educational piece for non-Jews who want to learn a little bit about New York history and the Jewish Orthodox religion. Recommended.

CLICK HERE TO ORDER FROM AMAZON

Cinema Retro has received the following press release:

First 4K Ultra HD in the Paramount Presents Line Debuts May 17, 2022
with New and Legacy Bonus Content

One of the greatest Westerns in cinematic history arrives for the first time ever on 4K Ultra HD with High Dynamic Range (HDR) as part of the Paramount Presents line when THE MAN WHO SHOT LIBERTY VALANCE debuts May 17, 2022 from Paramount Home Entertainment.

Four-time Academy Award®-winning^* director John Ford brought together an all-star cast for what is considered by many critics to be a quintessential—and yet pioneering—Western late in his storied career.  Starring James Stewart and John Wayne (together for the first time), alongside Vera Miles, Lee Marvin, John Carradine and Lee Van Cleef, THE MAN WHO SHOT LIBERTY VALANCE tells the engrossing story of a senator (Stewart), his old friend (Wayne), and a despicable outlaw called Liberty Valance (Marvin). 

THE MAN WHO SHOT LIBERTY VALANCE was selected in 2007 for preservation in the United States National Film Registry by the Library of Congress for being "culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant.”  Adapted from a short story by Dorothy M. Johnson, the screenplay by James Warner Bellah and Willis Goldbeck gave us the often-quoted line “When the legend becomes fact, print the legend.”

Meticulously remastered in stunning 4K Ultra HD for its 60^th anniversary this year, THE MAN WHO SHOT LIBERTY VALANCE is presented in collectible packaging featuring a foldout image of the film’s original theatrical poster and an interior spread with key movie moments.  The release also includes access to a Digital copy of the film and a Blu-ray Disc™ with a new Filmmaker Focus featuring film historian Leonard Maltin discussing John Ford, the film, and its legacy.  The Blu-ray™ also includes legacy bonus content as detailed below:

· Filmmaker Focus - Leonard Maltin on The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance—NEW!

• Feature commentary by filmmaker Peter Bogdanovich, along with his archival recordings with John Ford and James Stewart                                  
• Selected scene commentary with introduction by Dan Ford, along with his archival recordings with John Ford, James Stewart and Lee Marvin                                  
• The Size Of Legends, The Soul Of Myth                                 
• Chapter 1: Changing Of The Guard                                           
• Chapter 2: The Irascible Poet                                     
• Chapter 3: The Hero Doesn't Win, The Winner Isn't Heroic                                            
• Chapter 4: Most Things Happen By Accident                                       
• Chapter 5: The Great Protector                                 
• Chapter 6: Spotlight - Lee Marvin                                             
• Chapter 7: Print The Legend                                       
• Original Theatrical Trailer           

About Paramount Presents

This collectible line spans celebrated classics to film-lover favorites, each from the studio’s renowned library.  Every Paramount Presents release features never-before-seen bonus content and exclusive collectible packaging.  Additional titles available in the Paramount Presents collection on Blu-ray include: Fatal Attraction, King Creole, To Catch a Thief, Flashdance, Days of Thunder, Pretty In Pink, Airplane!, Ghost, Roman Holiday, The Haunting, The Golden Child, Trading Places, The Court Jester, Love Story, Elizabethtown, The Greatest Show on Earth, Mommie Dearest, Last Train From Gun Hill, 48 HRS., Another 48 HRS., Almost Famous, A Place in the Sun, Nashville, Bugsy Malone, Breakdown, The Sheik, Vanilla Sky, Ragtime, Harold and Maude and Ordinary People.

CLICK HERE TO ORDER FROM AMAZON

“BYE-BYE TO THE BAND”

By Raymond Benson

One of the most celebrated and critically acclaimed rock concert films is Martin Scorsese’s documentary, The Last Waltz, which was unleashed in the spring of 1978. The movie documents the final concert performed by The Band, the legendary session group for Bob Dylan and others that became a recording and touring entity in their own right in the late 1960s and early 70s.

The Band, hailing from Canada, got their start as The Hawks, the backup band for rockabilly singer Ronnie Hawkins. By the mid-sixties, they were working for Dylan with the name change to The Band, and also started recording on their own (Music from Big Pink was their debut in 1968). At the time of their breakup, the group consisted of Robbie Robertson (guitar, vocals), Rick Danko (bass, guitar, fiddle, vocals), Richard Manuel (keyboards, vocals), Garth Hudson (keyboards, sax), Levon Helm (drums, guitar, vocals), and unofficial sixth member John Simon, who was their record producer and occasional musician.

By late 1976, Robertson had become weary of touring and wanted to do a final concert (and ultimately leave the group). The rest of The Band went along with it, even though they didn’t particularly want to end their partnership. Robertson enlisted the help of concert impresario Bill Graham, and they secured the Winterland Ballroom in San Francisco for a “celebration” on Thanksgiving Day (November 25), 1976, that even included a turkey dinner for attendees. Both Bob Dylan and Ronnie Hawkins were invited to perform, but as the event was being planned, more guest stars were added, culminating in a who’s who roster of top musicians, including Eric Clapton, Neil Young, Van Morrison, Neil Diamond, Joni Mitchell, Ringo Starr, Ronnie Wood, Paul Butterfield, Dr. John, Muddy Waters, and others. Even more guests were filmed in studio settings later. (Not widely known is that Stephen Stills was supposed to join the concert, but he arrived late toward the end of the evening, only to participate in a group jam that was deleted from the final film. This can be seen as a bonus supplement outtake on home video versions of the movie.)

A mere six weeks prior to the concert, it was decided that the event should be documented on film, and so Robertson, impressed with what he’d seen of Martin Scorsese’s work and knowing that the man had been assistant director and co-editor of Woodstock (1970), called the filmmaker. Scorsese, busy with New York, New York (1977), somehow found the time to fit the shoot into his schedule. With minimum preparation, Scorsese hired such cinematographers as Michael Chapman, Vilmos Zsigmond, László Kovács, and others to strategize and film the complicated live show in which anything could happen.

They got the job done, and the result is indeed remarkable.

Scorsese and Robertson (also acting as co-producer) decided to intersperse the concert footage with backstage interviews, a tour of The Band’s recording studio and HQ, and a couple of extra performances shot on a sound stage with Emmylou Harris and the Staple Singers.

Indeed, The Last Waltz is a wonderful concert film—the photography and sound is exceptional and the performances are fun and enjoyable. However, this reviewer has always had a minor quibble with the movie—and concert films like it—when the flow of the concert is broken up by inserting backstage interviews. When compared to something like Stop Making Sense (1984), which is a Talking Heads concert from start to finish without interruptions, The Last Waltz feels choppy. Aside from that, The Last Waltz deservedly belongs on the list of four or five greatest rock concert documentaries.

The Criterion Collection’s new re-issue comes in two flavors—4K Ultra + Blu-ray Combo (2 disks), or the single Blu-ray only package. The movie is a new 4K digital restoration, supervised and approved by Scorsese, and it looks beautiful. The 5.1 surround DTS-HD Master Audio is supervised and approved by Robertson. There are two alternate soundtracks—the original 1978 2.0 surround mix, and an uncompressed stereo mix from 2001.

Two previously issued audio commentaries accompany the movie. Both feature Scorsese and Robertson and/or other members of The Band, the production crew, and performers Dr. John, Ronnie Hawkins, and Mavis Staples.

Most of the supplements are ported over from the previous 2002 “special edition” DVD, including the aforementioned “Jam 2” outtake, a TV interview from 1978 with Scorsese and Robertson and a featurette, “Revisiting The Last Waltz.” New to the Criterion edition is a recent half-hour conversation between Scorsese and Rolling Stone writer David Fear as they discuss rock concert movies in general, Scorsese’s history with rock music, and The Band’s legacy. The trailer completes the package, along with an essay by critic Amanda Petrusich in the booklet.

The Last Waltz is a must-have for fans of rock concert movies, The Band, Martin Scorsese’s filmography, and pretty much any of the guest performers who appear in picture (Bob Dylan, Neil Young, Joni Mitchell, Neil Diamond, Eric Clapton, etc.). The film documents what truly was, as Scorsese claims, “the end of an era.”

CLICK HERE TO ORDER FROM AMAZON

BY HANK REINEKE

A March 1945 notice in the Los Angeles Times reported that following his return to Hollywood from a USO camp tour, Boris Karloff was to begin work on a RKO Radio production titled Chamber of Horrors. The film was to be produced by Val Lewton, the producer who had already brought to the screen such psychological-horrors as Cat People (1942), I Walked with a Zombie (1943) and Curse of the Cat People (1944). Karloff had already appeared in a pair of Lewton’s horror-melodramas for RKO, The Body Snatcher (1945) and Isle of the Dead (1945). The actor had been enjoying his freelance status of late. Recent castings in a series of mad scientist films (1940-1942) for Columbia solidified Karloff’s reputation as cinema’s preeminent boogeyman - even in roles sans grotesque makeup appliances. So the engagement of the actor for Chamber of Horrors was properly trumpeted in a 1945 Variety notice as something of a given: “Karloff Goes Mad – Again.”

By August of 1945 the pre-production title of Chamber of Horrors was abandoned, the film tentatively re-slated as A Tale of Bedlam. It’s not entirely clear why the earlier title was dropped. One can speculate that RKO wished to differentiate their new film from the 1940 British Edgar Wallace thriller of the same name. But this second title too was soon shortened, the resulting film eventually released simply as Bedlam.

The origin of the film’s scenario was certainly original, one inspired by a painting of the sixteenth century British artist William Hogarth. In the years 1733-1734, Hogarth would brush a series of eight plates depicting the plight of a doomed character’s commitment to London’s notorious St. Mary’s of Bethlehem Asylum. The most famous of these portraits was Plate #8, titled “The Rake’s Progress,” a snapshot depicting madness on the ward’s floor. If Lewton’s films are best recalled for their psychological-horror element, the scenario of Bedlam illustrates the sorry fate of those irreversibly afflicted. Particularly the lurid, inhumane conditions to which they’re subjected following internment.

In the case of Bedlam, Lewton (under the nom de plume of “Carlos Keith”) and director Mark Robson would craft a provocative, class-conscious screenplay. Though the film is a historical-melodrama in construction, the picture was marketed as a thinly disguised Boris Karloff horror vehicle. Robson was a favorite collaborator of Lewton’s. He helmed Karloff’s previous film for RKO Radio, Isle of the Dead, as well as two earlier Lewton productions, The Seventh Victim (1943) and Ghost Ship (1943). The latter title, in fact, appears here as one half of the double-feature Blu ray made available here through the Warner Archive.

The budget for Bedlam was kept reasonably low since the filmmakers were able to make use of an existing set at RKO-Pathe’s studio in Culver City. Eagle-eyed admirers of the classic Ingrid Bergman-Bring Crosby movie The Bells of St. Mary (1945) will notice that film’s convent school setting has been repurposed for the darker explorations of Bedlam. The existing set’s availability allowed the production and costume designers on Bedlam some economic freedom to properly – and lavishly - dress the costumes and settings. The film has a very elegant, high-budget feel despite it’s small bankroll, and Robson does an admirable job of contrasting the privileged world of London’s elite against the poor souls who suffer the dank, dark asylum chamber of St. Mary’s.

The film takes place in the year 1761, an era cynically described here as “The Age of Reason.” Karloff’s unpleasant character, Master Sims, serves as the particularly cold and malevolent Apothecary General of the asylum. He’s a man without morals, interested only in satisfying his own selfish desires and lining his pocket. To this end, Sims continually toadies and fawns to those of regal or high political import, such as the corpulent and equally repulsive Lord Mortimer (Billy House). To gain favor with those of high position, Sims coldheartedly showcases “performances” of interned “loonies” for amusement and monies.

Things start going bad for Sims when he’s challenged by Nell Bowen (Anna Lee), a mistress of Mortimer’s whose earlier haughtiness and indifference has softened by the grotesque showcases. Rightfully seeing Bowen as a threat to both his position and pocketbook, Karloff does what he can to break the woman’s spirit. He cynically and falsely charges her with derangement, leading to a commitment to the ward at St. Mary’s. Her only hope in breaking free – and continuing her fight for the well-being and humane care for fellow inmates interred in this “bestial world” – is through the interventions of a pacifist Quaker (Richard Fraser) and a sympathetic, anti-Tory Whig politician Wilkes (Leland Hodgson). But the malevolent Sims will do all he can to silence and destroy the determined woman to prevent that from ever happening.

The film’s monochrome cinematography looks great, Director of Photography Nicholas Musuraca atmospherically capturing and juxtaposing the elegant lifestyles of the rich and powerful against the sorrowful living conditions of the mental and emotionally disturbed inmates of the asylum. Such attention to detail is particularly impressive when considering the production of Bedlam was shot quickly, photography wrapping by the end of September 1945.

The Hollywood trades would report shortly afterward that Karloff was scheduled to appear in yet a third film for the team of Lewton and Robson, Blackbeard, presumably a swashbuckling pirate epic. RKO executive producer Jack Gross was to supervise this new production, one scheduled to commence filming in spring of 1946. That film would, sadly, not see the light of day. Lewton’s relationship with Gross was reportedly an unfriendly one, and the box-office for Bedlam wasn’t what the studio had wished it to be. The revenue shortfall was partly attributed to troublesome distribution issues.

Such issues aside, it was also true that public interest in horror films had diminished. Such changes in taste had allowed Karloff to - briefly – be free of playing roles that exploited his reputation as cinema’s man of menace. This respite, however, wouldn’t last long. The gentlemanly, lisping actor was soon back to playing villains, mad scientists, and mysterious Swamis before decade’s end - even terrorizing Bud Abbott and Lou Costello as an acrobatic Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

Lewton would go on to produce four subsequent films following Bedlam, but the filmmaker would pass on in March of 1951, a somewhat uncelebrated figure in Hollywood. It wasn’t until the late 1960s that film scholars would reassess his contributions to cinema, anointing several of his earliest 1940’s efforts as classics of the horror genre. Robson’s career would continue unabated for decades, scoring big successes with such films as Von Ryan’s Express (1965) and Earthquake (1974).

Though this Blu ray’s second film lacks a star player of Boris Karloff’s caliber, Robson’s The Ghost Ship is certainly worth a watch. Despite its titillating supernatural title, this film too is not a horror-vehicle. Tom Merriam (Russell Wade), a newly hired third mate to Captain Will Stone (Richard Dix), suspects the cargo freighter’s commander is not only mentally disturbed, but possibly homicidal. The problem is no one on the crew or at the shipping company seems to agree with him. This despite mounting evidence of the Captain’s increasingly suspicious actions and demonstrably bizarre behavior. In some respects, The Ghost Ship is similar to Bedlam as it suggests one remain wary of being too trustful of those holding positions of power and prestige. Though a sixty-nine minute B-film, The Ghost Ship is a pretty effective effort, some even preferring it to Bedlam as it’s a bit more suspenseful in construction.

This Warner Archive Collection Region-Free Blu ray edition of Bedlam and The Ghost Ship is presented here in 1080p High Definition 16x9 1.37.1 and DTS-HD Master Mono Audio. While the set includes the trailers of both films, the only other special feature offered is an informative and entertaining commentary courtesy of film historian Tom Weaver in support of Bedlam. Those of us who already invested in Warner’s nine-film DVD set The Val Lewton Horror Collection (2005) might not choose to upgrade for this Blu two-fer, but fans of Karloff and Lewton will be amply rewarded should they do so. This set not only features upgraded transfers with great balance, but also Weaver’s usual comprehensive supporting commentary, absent from the original DVD release.

Click here to order from the Cinema Retro Movie Store

“UNCHANGING EVOLUTION”

By Raymond Benson

The early 1970s was a time of experimentation and risk-taking in Hollywood. Studios were more willing to allow filmmakers to take a project and run with it, just to see if something thrown at the wall would stick. After all, this was the period of “New Hollywood,” maverick young directors just out of film school, and pushing the envelope when it came to what was permissible on screen since the Production Code was gone and the relatively new movie ratings were in place.

Playboy Enterprises got into the movie making business in the early 70s (see Cinema Retro Vol. 2, issue #5 from 2006 for the magazine’s exclusive interview with Hugh M. Hefner about Playboy’s film productions). After the critical success of Roman Polanski’s Macbeth (1971), Playboy produced The Naked Ape (1973), loosely adapted from Desmond Morris’ 1967 best-selling non-fiction book.

Morris’ book was an entertaining anthropological study of man’s evolution from primates and how social norms and mating rituals, especially between males and females for procreation, have more or less never changed since prehistoric times. Morris had relatively nothing to do with the film adaptation, for the filmmakers decided to make a “hip” comedy out of the concepts in the book, illustrating how “unchanging evolution” still dictated man’s behavior.

The idea probably looked good on paper. Perhaps the box office success of Woody Allen’s loose, comedic adaptation of Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex (1972), which was also parodied a best-selling non-fiction book, was an inspiration. However, The Naked Ape, directed by avant-garde filmmaker Donald Driver, does not possess the wit and brilliance of a Woody Allen or a Mel Brooks, who also might have done wonderful things with the material. Instead, The Naked Ape is a head-scratching curiosity that might have played somewhat well as a “midnight movie” for college-age audiences in altered states of consciousness.

Johnny Crawford (who had played Mark McCain in the TV series The Rifleman, now grown up and looking hunky and handsome) is Lee, a college student infatuated with Cathy (Victoria Principal, in an early film appearance), a tour guide in a natural history museum. Through a series of fantasy vignettes, both live action and animated, the film takes us through the couple’s courtship, marriage, and subsequent relationship, as well as Lee’s stint in the army and the pair’s experience in school (they are in an “erotic literature” class together). The animations, usually narrated by Cathy, interrupt the flow of the loose storyline to comment, in a humorous fashion, on the proceedings from an anthropological viewpoint.

Both Crawford and Principal are attractive on screen (yes, there is nudity; after all, this is a Playboy Production), but the script is, frankly, subpar. While the actors do their best, the movie is just not as clever as it thinks it is. The animations, made by Murakami-Wolf Studios, are somewhat interesting (Frank Zappa’s album cover artist, Calvin Schenkel, is one of the animators). Vocal rock songs by Jimmy Webb help liven up the action.

This reviewer became friends with Johnny Crawford (who passed away in 2021) over the years. Crawford was always a kind, soft-spoken gentleman who had numerous stories about his Hollywood years, such as having a studio mailbox right next to Joan Crawford’s and the two of them often accidentally receiving each other’s mail. Whenever The Naked Ape was brought up in conversation, Crawford would simply shake his head, roll his eyes, and smile.

(Photo courtesy of Raymond Benson.)

Kino Lorber has distributed Code Red’s presentation of The Naked Ape in 1080p high definition, and that distinctive 1970s film stock looks good enough. There are English subtitles for the hearing impaired and a theatrical trailer, but otherwise no other supplements.

The Naked Ape is for fans of Johnny Crawford and/or Victoria Principal, early 70s experimental films aimed at the college crowd, and, ahem, amateur anthropologists.

CLICK HERE TO ORDER FROM AMAZON

BY EVE GOLDBERG

Are you now or have you ever been a Beatles fan? Would you like to be a fly on the wall, witnessing the most important and influential rock band in history create their art? Or do you simply enjoy watching musical brilliance at work? If you say yes to any of the above, you’ll want to watch Get Back. This three-part, seven and a half-hour documentary mini-series chronicles three weeks in the musical life of the Beatles as they write, rehearse, discuss, noodle around, and perform the songs for their final album, Let It Be.

The original footage was filmed with multiple cameras in January, 1969, by director Michael Lindsay-Hogg for the 1970 film Let It Be. More recently, Lord of the Rings director Peter Jackson restored the original uncut footage and shaped it into Get Back, which he calls “a documentary about a documentary.” This description is a bit misleading, because while the 1969 film crew is a presence in the new series, mostly Get Back is not about making a film; it’s an intimate glimpse at the Beatles’ creative process.

I watched every second of Get Back and was riveted the entire time. I felt privileged to witness this amazing, extended close-up of such a significant moment in pop culture history.

Three things in particular stood out to me:

First, at this time in the life of the Beatles, Paul is unmistakably the driving force. John, certainly Paul’s creative and intellectual equal, and in the past his co-leader, seems to be semi-checked out. With Yoko at his side—she literally spends almost every minute sitting next to John, often physically touching in some way—John seems only half-present for much of the group’s discussions and casual jamming. However, he does seem to fully engage when they are actually recording or performing.

Secondly, I was struck by the utter lack of toxic masculinity in the room. These four immensely talented, powerful, wealthy guys just want to play music together. The way their talents and personalities mesh, how they respect each other and give each other space, and most of all how their creativity flows is awesome to observe. At one point Paul and George bump up against each other about how to play something, but the conflict is muted and civil and quickly resolved as George acquiesces to Paul’s vision. George seems to accept his place in the group dynamic—until at one point he doesn’t. Which leads to by far the most dramatic and tension-filled portion of the film.

And finally, Yoko. I found her constant presence very peculiar. She’s at John’s side, smack in the middle of the Beatles’ tight circle of creativity, for nearly the entire film. She doesn’t participate, she doesn’t interfere, she’s just there. Once in a while she does her own thing—she reads a fan magazine, paints, sews—but mostly she does nothing. I found myself annoyed by her presence. I kept wondering: Why is she there? Doesn’t she have her own life to attend to?

If you’re curious about the myth that “Yoko broke up the Beatles,” this documentary will fascinate on that level alone. The simple answer is No. The complicated answer is that throughout the film it’s apparent that the Beatles are drifting apart, and John and Yoko’s relationship is just one of many factors in that drift. Looking back on the blame-Yoko phenomenon, it’s easy to see how racism and sexism and the fact that she doesn’t fit into the traditional role or image of a “musician’s wife” all played a part in her demonization.

Not to be lost amidst all the personality dynamics is the pleasure of watching the Beatles create. In one astonishing sequence, Paul starts by strumming a few chords on his guitar as Ringo and George look on. A few seconds in, the chords change a bit and take on a shape that sounds a bit familiar. Soon Paul begins to add in some vaguely mumbled, improvised words. Within a span of two minutes—two minutes!!—he has come up with the music and lyrics to the Beatles’ hit tune “Get Back.”

* * *

For a deeper look at John and Yoko’s relationship, and to learn more about who they were as individual human beings, check out the documentary, John & Yoko: Above Us Only Sky. Produced in 2018, this film centers around the making of John’s Imagine album, which he recorded at his home studio in 1971.

Like Get Back, Above Us Only Sky incorporates old session footage of John and his band rehearsing and recording. In this case the session material was shot for a film that John released alongside the Imagine album. But, unlike Get Back, the studio footage in Above Us Only Sky is just one element among many. We also observe John and Yoko’s domestic life together; we see them reading the newspaper and smoking in bed; we see them goofing off around their rambling Tittenhurst Park estate in Ascot, England; we see footage of John’s young son, Julian, and his friends playing on the estate grounds.

One of the most memorable—and chillingly prescient—scenes is when an emotionally disturbed Vietnam vet shows up at John’s estate. The police want to arrest him, but John nixes that idea. Standing in the doorway, he talks to the vet: “Don’t confuse the songs with your own mind,” John counsels the man. “I mean they might have relevance to your mind, but a lot of things do…I’m just a guy who writes songs. We can only say ‘hello’ and what else is there?” Then he feeds the guy lunch.

But Above Us Only Sky is much more than a verité glimpse of John and Yoko’s life in 1971. The film also delves into their childhoods; their personal, political and artistic development; their anti-war activism; what brought them together; and why they fled London for their bucolic estate. New interviews with Yoko, Julian Lennon, bassist Klaus Voormann, and members of John and Yoko’s personal staff are woven throughout the verité and archival footage to provide context and perspective on the lives of two remarkable people.

Taken together, Get Back and Above Us Only Sky compliment each other and fill in each other’s blanks in telling the story of John, Yoko, the Beatles, and a seminal slice of our cultural history.

(Get Back is currently streaming on Disney+. Above Us Only Sky is currently available on Netflix.)

(Eve Goldberg is a writer and filmmaker.  Her articles have appeared in Hippocampus, The Gay & Lesbian Review, The Reading Room and AmericanPopularCulture.com.  Her film and television credits include Emmy-nominated Legacy of the Hollywood Blacklist, and Cover Up: Behind the Iran-Contra Affair.  Her first book, Hollywood Hang Ten, is a mystery novel set in 1963 Los Angeles. See a sampling of her short films on her web site at https://eve-goldberg.com/  )

“ARTHUR MILLER ANGST”

By Raymond Benson

The Academy Awards certainly overlooked this well made and superbly acted drama when it was released in 1948. All My Sons is tightly-adapted from the 1947 stage play by Arthur Miller, and it deserved some recognition, especially for some of the actors and perhaps the screenplay by Chester Erskine, who also produced the movie. It was directed by Irving Reis, who had earlier in the decade come into his own in Hollywood with the first few “Falcon” detective pictures starring George Sanders.

All My Sons was Arthur Miller’s first significant hit play, his second produced on Broadway (the first one flopped), and it won the playwright a Tony award. Erskine and Universal Pictures quickly secured the rights and got the movie into production, streamlining the three-act play into a roughly 90-minute movie. It works extremely well.

Joe Keller (Edward G. Robinson) runs a steel manufacturing business in a small town in the Midwest. His son, Chris (Burt Lancaster), is his right-hand man. Joe’s wife, Kate (Mady Christians), suffers from depression—she holds on to the hope that her other son, Larry, who disappeared three years earlier during World War II, is still alive. Kate also does not approve of Chris’s intention to marry Ann (Louisa Horton), who was originally Larry’s fiancée. Both Joe and Chris believe Larry to be dead. Ann, too, has moved on and has redirected her affections to Chris. The bigger elephant in the room, though, is that Keller and his company came under criminal scrutiny when some airplane fuselages they built proved to be faulty, causing the deaths of many soldiers overseas during the war. Keller’s business partner, Herb (Frank Conroy), took the fall and went to prison. Herb happens to be Ann’s father! Ann, Chris, Joe, and Kate have accepted the sad truth that Herb was responsible for the disaster, but Ann’s brother, George (Howard Duff), has not, and he wants to blow the lid off some well-kept secrets. Has Joe been lying all this time about his role in the manufacturing mishap? Is he not the father that Chris has placed on a pedestal for his entire life?

It’s very typical Arthur Miller angst, the kind of family drama that the playwright would explore often. And here, in All My Sons, the Miller angst is faithfully represented.

Edward G. Robinson delivers a powerful performance as Joe Keller. It is Oscar worthy, and the sad thing is that Robinson was never nominated for an Academy Award throughout his long career. He did receive an honorary Oscar in 1973, but he died two months before it was presented. This is one of those “shame on you” footnotes in the history of the Oscars, for Robinson always approached his roles with professionalism and skill. His Joe Keller in All My Sons is a pivotal piece of the film’s success.

Burt Lancaster, still fairly new to the industry, is also quite effective as the Good Son who is ready to leave his career at the factory for the girl he loves if his parents don’t accept the union. Louisa Horton is also very good, and All My Sons is her debut film performance. Horton didn’t make many movies, but she did a lot of television and was then married to filmmaker George Roy Hill for a couple of decades. Mady Christians, a longtime veteran of films since the silent days, holds her own, too. Unfortunately, Christians became a victim of HUAC—the House Un-American Activities Committee—shortly after the release of the movie and her career ended after four decades. HUAC certainly had its tentacles on several elements of the movie. Robinson had some unpleasant dealings with them, Elia Kazan (original director of the Broadway play and co-producer of the film) was a major figure in the investigations into “Communist infiltration” of Hollywood, and, most of all, Arthur Miller himself was an outspoken adversary of the committee.

Kino Lorber’s new Blu-ray release presents a high definition transfer that shows off Russell Metty’s black and white cinematography quite well. It comes with an informative audio commentary by film historian Kat Ellinger and author/film historian Lee Gambin. The only supplements are the theatrical trailer and other Kino Lorber trailers.

All My Sons is highly recommended for fans of Arthur Miller, Edward G. Robinson, Burt Lancaster, and for late 1940s Hollywood fare. Just be ready for the angst.

CLICK HERE TO ORDER FROM AMAZON

Lee Van Cleef traditionally kept a low profile and granted relatively few interviews. Filmmaker Mike Malloy has compiled some brief snippets of comments from those who worked with Van Cleef: Fred Williamson, Henry Silva and Dubbing Editor Ted Rusoff. They all share some anecdotes that reflect well on the man who played so many intimidating characters.

BY DARREN ALLISON

The Film Detective continues to thrill us with a couple of excellent cult classics. Frankenstein’s Daughter is a film that had been denied a great deal of exposure to fans of the strange and macabre. For many, it’s a title that has teased us for decades, with a still or a lobby card appearing once in a while by way of a horror book or a specialist periodical, so it is certainly welcome. It is typically what one would expect from this lush 1950s period. An incredibly low-budget affair, these films would often be produced for around $60,000, but the filmmakers certainly knew how to squeeze every ounce out of that budget. If anything, it ignited creativity and provided a lesson in how to make the most of the limited resources that were available to them.

Frankenstein’s Daughter is a fine example of that. Starring Donald Murphy, Sandra Knight, John Ashley and Harold Lloyd Jr (yes, that’s the son of the silent film comedian), the film was directed by Richard E. Cunha. The film is a simple enough story, if a little absurd, and attempts to latch on to the whole horror family spin off notion - film’s such as Universal’s Dracula’s Daughter (1936), Son of Dracula (1943) and Son of Frankenstein (1939) undoubtedly contributed towards the filmmakers line of thought. There was a gap in the market, and it was rich ground for exploiting. Donald Murphy is the real villain here, playing the sleazy and devious lab assistant Oliver Frank (Frank being a thinly disguised identity for the Frankenstein family name), and it’s his intention of creating the first female Frankenstein's monster which drives the narrative.

Like most of these low budget horrors, it’s usually down to the ‘monster make-up’ which determines its overall likeability factor. Frankenstein’s Daughter fits right in. It is very much in the same ballpark as AIP’s cult classics such as I Was a Teenage Frankenstein made a year earlier in 1957, and where the central ‘monster’ seems to be inspired by an automobile accident victim, which of course, in the worst instance, can be something quite grotesque and disturbing. This all works well in the context of Frankenstein’s Daughter and adds a great deal to the overall thrill factor. The acting is quite naturally wooden and stiff, but anyone who knows and loves these films wouldn’t expect anything less, as it’s part of their appeal.

The Film Detective has done a remarkable job on this film. Considering its low budget, the film looks quite beautiful framed at 1.85:1, and with sharp, clean detail in both picture and audio.

I was really impressed with the bonus materials which include a very interesting documentary, Richard E. Cunha: Filmmaker of the Unknown - A new retrospective from Ballyhoo Motion Pictures, featuring an archival interview with director Richard E. Cunha. There is also a very detailed and enjoyable audio commentary with numerous contributors and a fascinating featurette, John Ashley: Man from the B’s - a new career retrospective featuring film historian C. Courtney Joyner. The Film Detective seals this fine tribute with a nice 12-page booklet featuring an original essay, The Making of Frankenstein’s Daughter written by Tom Weaver. It’s a thoughtful and well -produced Blu-ray release which has to be admired.

The Amazing Mr. X (1948), also known as The Spiritualist, is an American horror thriller made in a film noir style. For a title that sits in the public domain it's perhaps unfairly overlooked or labelled as a ‘lessor’ quality film, and this really isn’t the case. Starring Turhan Bey, Lynn Bari, Cathy O'Donnell, and Richard Carlson, the film was directed by Bernard Vorhaus.

Some two years after her husband's death, Christine Faber (Lynn Bari) hears her late husband Paul Faber (Donald Curtis) calling out her name. She walks outside her beachfront home and encounters Alexis (Turhan Bey), a mysterious, charming stranger who seems to know all about her. After more ghostly manifestations, Christine and her younger sister Janet (Cathy O'Donnell) become obsessed with the strange life of Alexis, a spiritualist. But Alexis finds himself in more trouble than he had in mind. After staging a convincing séance involving the deceased Paul, he is surprised by the appearance of Paul Faber himself. And so begins a twisting tale of deceitful plotting.

The Amazing Mr. X moves along very nicely, and is full of wonderfully atmospheric scenes. But it’s also a story of two parts. Once Paul is revealed as being very much alive, the film changes direction and becomes more of a straightforward piece of noir and the supernatural element takes more of a back seat. However, everything is handled exceptionally well, especially the impressive cinematography by John Alton. Alton’s use of shadow and his clever optical effects really helps to elevate the movie and gives it a more polished (and expensive) look that you would expect to see in a RKO or a Universal production from the same period. Large, lush sets and exotic beach locations all add to the general glossy production values.

Once again, The Film Detective has produced a fine addition to their catalogue of titles. The movie’s new 4K transfer, both in visual and audio terms, is superb - perhaps a little soft in certain scenes, but some close-ups, particularly on Bari, appear more as intended soft focus shots. But overall, The Amazing Mr. X, presented in its correct aspect ratio of 1.37:1, punches high above its weight. The bonus material is also very enjoyable and includes a specific audio commentary by Jason A. Ney. There is also a new documentary, Mysteries Exposed: Inside the Cinematic World of Spiritualis, which is an enjoyable and informative reflection of the genre. A nice 12-page booklet is included which features a detailed essay, The Amazing Mr. Bey written by Don Stradley.

Both Frankenstein’s Daughter and The Amazing Mr. X (1948) offer a great deal of enjoyment and fun. It’s nice to see that the wonderful original artwork has been utilised on both releases rather than some badly cut and pasted Photoshop design which always cheapens the overall presentation. It’s a shame that the original trailers were not included, especially for Frankenstein’s Daughter. As an exploitation movie, the accompanying trailers often provided a certain over-the-top sense of salesmanship which was always so unique and memorable.

To order, visit https://www.thefilmdetective.com/

(Darren Allison is the movie soundtracks reviewer for Cinema Retro magazine.) 

BY HANK REINEKE

When Kino Lorber announced in April 2021 that a Blu-ray of Universal’s The Spider Woman Strikes Back (1946) was scheduled for issue in autumn I was, to put it mildly, over-joyed. It’s not that The Spider Woman Strikes Back is a great film – it most certainly is not – but it’s long been a missing entry on home video, a film of great interest to collectors of Golden Age horror. The studio has chosen, time and again, to re-master and re-offer the classic and iconic “Universal Monsters” in nearly every conceivable home video format and creative packaging. Too often these releases would be at the expense of the studios less famous genre titles as the still unissued Ghost Catchers (1944), and The Cat Creeps (1946).

In the course of this disc’s ten-minute featurette, Mistress of Menace and Murder: The Making of The Spider Woman Strikes Back, author C. Courtney Joyner notes the film was essentially the “last gasp” of Universal’s low-budget B-unit. Or as one commentator puts it, an opportunity to “burn out the contracts” of actors still on the lot. The studio’s A-list franchise ghouls of the 1930s – Dracula, Frankenstein, the Mummy – had since been reduced to appearances in B programmers during the years 1940-1945.

Seeking to freshen things up, the studio engaged in a “desperate attempt… to create another horror franchise.” Their first attempt came with their Inner Sanctum series, each supernatural mystery featuring Lon Chaney Jr. in a starring role. The studio also cynically brought aboard non-actor Rondo Hatton, a real life victim of acromegaly, as a hulking brute in such productions as The Pearl of Death, The Jungle Captive, House of Horrors and The Brute Man. Uni-contracted actress Gale Sondergaard had made a splash as the icy and sinister nemesis of Basil Rathbone’s Sherlock Holmes in the studio’s The Spider Woman (1944) and many thought a return of the villainess was worth considering.

In March of 1945, Hollywood newspapers were reporting that Universal had indeed contracted Sondergaard to appear in a proposed series of Spider Woman films. The Los Angeles Times predicted the “Spider Woman is expected to become as much of a fixture as those other horror protagonists, Dracula, the Monster of Frankenstein, and the newly created Creeper.” The Los Angeles Daily News noted one difference: Sondergaard’s Spider Woman “will not resort to grotesque makeup, but will accomplish her diabolical deeds as a charming sophisticate.”

Technically speaking the Spider Woman that Strikes Back is not the same Spider Woman who tried to kill off Sherlock Holmes a year earlier. Sondergaard is no longer playing the role of villainess Adrea Spedding. She’s now Zenobia Dollard, a blind woman of wealth who lives alone in a creepy mansion house with her frightening mute servant Mario (Rondo Hatton). Dollard, we soon learn, appears to have a lot of trouble keeping her string of nursemaids in employ. They all tend to disappear a short time following their hiring.

The latest nursemaid sent to tend to Dollard’s needs is the lovely and charming Jean Kingsley (Brenda Joyce). Kingsley begins to suspect that the strange goings-on at the manor house might not only have something to do with strange goings-on in town but with the mysterious onset of her own illness. This being a Universal horror picture, it isn’t long before Kingsley stumbles upon a secret brick-wall basement laboratory outfitted with a steamy greenhouse. It’s here that Dollard extracts poisonous venom from a vampire-like plant brought “from the jungles of Central America.” One has to assume that Roger Corman’s far more famous and spoofy Little Shop of Horrors was at least, in part, suggested by the scenario of The Spider Woman Strikes Back.

Though early reports suggested Ford Beebe (Night Monster (1942) and The Invisible Man’s Revenge (1943) would serve as associate producer and director of The Spider Woman Strikes Back, his name was soon scrubbed. Arthur Lubin was signed to helm the feature, directing from a script and original story by Eric Taylor (The Phantom of the Opera (1943) and Son of Dracula (1943). Lubin had been knocking about the film industry since the early 30s, having recently scored with a number of successful Abbott and Costello comedies and the recent Claude Rain’s version of the Phantom of the Opera. He had also, not coincidentally, just finished working with Sondergaard on Universal’s Night in Paradise.

Though all the makings of a good chiller are present here, there’s simply something off about The Spider Woman Strikes Back. The film seems longer than its fifty-nine minute running time (never a good sign). The actors and actresses are blameless, doing what they can with the material in this mostly thrill-less thriller. Sondergaard is at her devilish best working and plotting amongst her poisonous botanicals, but there’s evidence that several key sequences that would have enhanced the storyline were clipped from the final print.

The trade ads for the film would ballyhoo the Spider Woman as the “Mistress of Menace” and “Queen of a 1000 Crawling Killers.” One theater owner in Louisiana practically dared patrons to attend: “We cannot accept responsibility for teeth broken from chattering, curls lost when hair stands on end, chilled spines, jitters, nightmares or any other conditions brought about” from seeing The Spider Woman Strikes Back. Sondergaard would later dismiss the film as a lesser effort, appalled that Universal had exploited Rondo Hatton’s tragic disfigurement as a box office draw. When she first encountered Hatton on set, she thought his elongated skull and swollen facial features were the machinations of Jack Pierce’s makeup department.

It’s a tragedy that Sondergaard wouldn’t find much work in Hollywood as the 1940s drew to a close. Her absence from movie screens was not due to performances, but politics. The actress found herself named as a Communist sympathizer in the pages of the career-wrecking Red Channels. Though Sondergaard was a politically active liberal, her biggest “crime” was one of association. Her husband was director Herbert J. Biberman, a progressive writer-director-producer who later was imprisoned as one of the notorious “Hollywood Ten.”

In March of 1951, Sondergaard too found herself in Washington D.C., summoned to appear before the House Un-American Activities Committee. The actress invoked the Fifth Amendment, refusing to cooperate or disclose or disparage the names of friends and colleagues. She defiantly interrupted one line of Congressional questioning by asking, “May I say something about [this committee’s] branding as subversive every progressive or liberal organization? I find that shocking.”

Sondergaard would pay a price for her unwillingness to cooperate with the inquisitors. She was effectively put her out of work in Hollywood for two decades, with even the Screen Actors Guild cowering and refusing to lend support. In 1956 she returned to Washington, telling the committee that the absence of acting offers post 1949 “has not been accidental. I think rather that it might be construed as blacklisting.” The actress would disappear from film work for a twenty-years following her appearance in the MGM drama East Side, West Side (1949).

She tried to salvage her career with roles in regional theater, but here too Sondergaard found obstacles. No sooner than her appearance in a “Plays-in-the-Park” production would be announced, that a campaign to cancel her participation would follow. Though she would return to work in 1969, mostly on television dramas, Sondergaard, now age seventy, found roles and opportunities scarce. Sondergaard would pass away in 1985, age 86. The Los Angeles Times would note in her obituary Sondergaard was the first actress to be awarded an Academy Award for a supporting role. The paper would also describe the actress, ironically, as “Hollywood’s reigning female villain” of the 1940s.

This Kino Lorber Studio Classics Blu ray edition of The Spider Woman Strikes back is presented here in a 1920x1080p with an aspect ratio of 1.37:1, dts sound, and removable English subtitles. The set also includes the aforementioned featurette Mistress of Menace and Murder: the Making of The Spider Woman Strike Back which features comments and back stories from the like of actor-archivist Bob Burns, cult filmmaker Fred Olen Ray, special effects wiz Rick Baker and writer-documentarian Ted Newsom. The set also features the audio commentaries of film historians Tom Weaver and David Schecter. This release rounds out nicely with the film’s original theatrical trailer as well as a sampling of titles from Kino’s catalog of 1940s horror and mysteries: The Mad Doctor, The Spiral Staircase, Night Has a Thousand Eyes, The Lodger and The Undying Monster.

CLICK HERE TO ORDER FROM AMAZON

“STREET SCENES”

By Raymond Benson

Scottish filmmaker Lynne Ramsay burst onto the scene in the late 1990s with the striking independent picture, Ratcatcher, which may or may not have been somewhat of an autobiographical meditation on being a young child in early 1970s Glasgow.

Ratcatcher brought Ramsay the Carl Foreman Award for Newcomer in British Film at the BAFTA Awards, as well as other prizes from various film festivals. It is indeed an art film of high quality that is filled with haunting imagery, melancholic moods, and wonderful performances by a host of young child actors (as well as adults).

The year is 1973 or thereabouts, and ghetto-like sections of Glasgow, Scotland, are on track to be demolished. The residents have been promised new housing in more modern structures that are being built. Life on these tenement-like streets is harsh. Often there are no utilities, a stagnant and dangerous canal runs along the street, and currently there is a garbage strike. Trash is piled on the sidewalks, creating a massive health hazard and an attractive gathering spot for rats. The children run around and play in this environment. Our protagonist, James (William Eadie), is a rather lonely, unhappy kid with few real friends. He is the middle child with two sisters (one older and one younger). James is often the target of bullies (a gang of slightly older boys who roam the streets causing trouble). His father (Tommy Flanagan) is a drunk and wife-beater, and his well-meaning mother (Mandy Matthews) does what she can to keep the family together and fed. After accidentally causing the unwitnessed drowning of one of his only friends in the canal, James buries the guilt and lives with it as he navigates the horrid conditions of his life. At one point, James befriends a slightly older girl, Margaret Anne (Leanne Mullen), who is unwillingly the community tart for the boy-gang. Ultimately, James must come to terms with what accounts for his existence, such as it is, while the family waits to be called to their new home.

The film is a slice of life, a combination of street scenes and life in tiny, decrepit flats. The squalor is tangible, and one can almost smell the stench. Director Ramsay has presented a visceral and yet poetic, impressionistic look at poverty. Her approach might remind one of the works of Terrence Malick, as there is much more visual storytelling than dialogue (and, in fact, one of the pieces of music heard in the film is what Malick used as the main title song for his Badlands, the Orff-Keetman piece Gassenhauer).

The dialogue is heavy Scottish, which may be unintelligible to North American audiences. When Ratcatcher was released in cinemas in the U.S., English subtitles accompanied the film. It is highly recommended to those outside of the U.K. to turn on the subtitle function of this superb Blu-ray disk produced by The Criterion Collection.

Upgraded from an earlier Criterion DVD edition, Ratcatcher comes in a new 4K digital restoration, supervised by Ramsay and cinematographer Alwin Küchler (Ramsay and Küchler attended film school together). The movie is in 2.0 surround DTS-HD Master Audio.

Supplements on the original DVD are ported over: a 2002 interview with Ramsay, and three of her early shorts (Small Deaths, Kill the Day, and Gasman), and the trailer. New to the Blu-ray supplements are an updated 2021 interview with Ramsay, and a 2020 audio interview with Küchler. The booklet comes with essays by film critic Girish Shambu and filmmaker Barry Jenkins.

Ratcatcher is for fans of international cinema, modern Scottish culture and history, and independent filmmaking.

CLICK HERE TO ORDER FROM AMAZON

BY TODD GARBARINI

During the years that I spent in elementary school, watching movies on television was an exciting prospect. Considering that for me there was no other way to see films other than theatrically, viewing movies on television was something that I looked forward to regardless of the film being shown. In 1979, my best friend at the time was one of only a handful of people I knew who had cable television, in his case HBO. He told me about a great many films that I was not even aware of: Don Coscarelli’s Kenny & Company (1976), Frank Simon’s The Chicken Chronicles (1977), Sidney J. Furie’s The Boys in Company C (1978), and Enzo G. Castellari’s The Inglorious Bastards (1978). I always hoped that some of these films would make their way to television. Some did, some did not. His recollection and explanation to me of what he saw in these films made me regard him as quite the raconteur. These films seemed to make a big impression on him and listening to his enthusiasm for them made a big impression on me.

The Inglorious Bastards also made an impression on film director Quentin Tarantino, who worked at Video Archives in Manhattan Beach, CA for a number of years while in his twenties during the VHS and Beta home video viewing boom. He saw the film on television several times while living in Los Angeles and later the film, to my surprise, was released on home video under the titles of Deadly Mission and, unbelievably, G.I. Bro. He was hired by the video store’s owner as he was already a scholar of cinema and could discuss and recommend movies to the paying customers. His enthusiasm for this film led him to adopt the title to his 2009 film Inglourious Basterds, a two-and-a-half-hour World War II film that he spent at least six years thinking about and writing. It’s his sixth film as a director and he is still in command of his powers.

Inglourious Basterds, a brilliantly entertaining revisionist view of how we wish the war in Europe ended, is separated into five chapters. Chapter One, subtitled “Once Upon a Time in Nazi-occupied France”, is one of the most intense sequences that I have ever seen in a film. At just over 20 minutes, it is a lesson in bravura filmmaking. In 1941, a farmer, Perrier La Padite (Denis Menochet), is cutting wood and his wife is hanging up the family clothing when her mood changes – she hears the distant sound of a motorcycle. She knows that it can only be Germans. As the family prepares for the inevitable interrogation, we know from their body language that something is amiss. Although several German soldiers arrive only one of them, Colonel Hans Landa (Christoph Waltz, in an Oscar-winning performance), approaches. He is complimentary and ingratiating towards Perrier and plays a verbal game with him to ascertain if his family is hiding Jews, an assumption that he already knows to be true. How the director handles this scene cinematically illustrates why he is one of cinema’s best filmmakers. The tension that he builds and the measured sentences that Landa uses to get the information that he wants is first-rate dialog. When the massacre of the hidden Jews in the floorboards occurs, one girl, Shosanna Dreyfus (Melanie Laurent), survives and runs off under Landa’s laughter and admiration.

Chapter Two, “The Inglourious Basterds”, takes place in 1944 and concerns Lieutenant Aldo Raine (Brad Pitt, and his name is a play on actor Aldo Ray, who appeared in many war films) who oversees a group of men who capture and scalp Nazis. Sergeant Donny Donowitz (Eli Roth), aka “The Bear Jew”, is part of this group designed to turn the tables and instill fear in the Germans. This sequence is a joy to watch as it gives the Nazis a taste of their own medicine.

In Chapter Three, “A German Night in Paris”, we are reacquainted with Shosanna under the assumed name of Emmanuelle Mimieux. She now owns a cinema and is harassed by Fredrick Zoller (Daniel Bruhl) who is smitten with her and, like other Germans, won’t take no for an answer. Later, Zoller attempts to interest Mimieux and is again rebuffed. At a restaurant gathering with Joseph Goebbels, Mimieux is strong-armed to permit a Nazi propaganda film, Nation’s Pride, to be shown with all head Nazis in attendance including, amazingly, Adolf Hitler. Sure enough, Landa comes into the picture, and Mimieux does her best to answer his persistent questions about her theatre, trying to gauge if Landa knows her real identity. This sequence, like Chapter One, is extraordinary as the dialog is constantly masking what is going on beneath the surface, and the audience is never sure what might happen next. Unpredictability is just one of Mr. Tarantino’s many talents.

Chapter Four, “Operation Kino”, is similar to Chapters One and Three in that much is going on, however the probability of things going very badly is always imminent. A mixture of undercover agents and Germans ends the scene in a bloodbath that sets the stage for the film’s finale.

Chapter Five, “Revenge of the Giant Face”, is an extraordinary ending to the Nazi’s evil and their ultimate comeuppance as the cinema is packed with Hitler, Goebbels, Heydrich and many of the architects of the Final Solution to the Jewish Question. The Giant Face alluded to belongs to Shosanna who, along with her lover and theater co-worker Marcel, carry out the plan to kill the Nazis by locking the escape routes and igniting a pile of combustible nitrate film stock located behind the screen. The cinema comes crashing down in a conflagration that causes deaths of the Nazis. The Basterds get their machine gun kicks by shooting as many enemies as possible. The ending is surprising, but ultimately satisfying.

Mr. Tarantino burst onto the film scene in 1992 with his debut film Reservoir Dogs. I saw it in New York, and I knew that I was in the hands of a truly gifted storyteller. His follow-up, Pulp Fiction, took the 1994 Cannes Film Festival by storm and won the Palme D’Or, and he snagged an Oscar for Best Original Screenplay (and again in 2013 for Django Unchained). His subsequent films have not disappointed, and the dialog is often just a vehicle for something more tension-filled or sinister. Other times, it’s completely innocuous. The back-and-forth storytelling, jumping ahead at times, makes the action at hand that much more interesting. Inglourious Basterds is a linear narrative and despite there being a myriad of characters, the three major ones are Raine, Landa, and Dreyfus/Mimieux and the film pretty much revolves around them and their motives: Raine wants to kill Nazis, Landa wants to be evil, and Dreyfus/Mimieux wants to be invisible. His salute to war movies and cinema in general is everywhere – just setting a good portion of the action in a theatre is a labor of love. Eli Roth’s character is named Antonio Margheriti, named after the late filmmaker from Italy. So, the references are everywhere. At 2½ hours, the film is fascinating and flies by. He even throws in the obligatory “Wilhelm Scream” for good measure.

The film is now available in a new Universal 2-disc release which comes with a standard 1080p Blu-ray, a 4K Ultra High Definition Blu-ray, and a digital copy. If you have a 4K player and 4K TV, that is the one to go for as the picture is glorious, no pun intended. The extras are plentiful, though I would have loved a commentary track, and they include:

Extended & Alternate Scenes (HD, 11:31) – This section has three scenes: Lunch with Goebbels, extended version in one take; La Louisiane Card Game, extended version, and Nation’s Pride Begins, alternate version.

Roundtable Discussion with Quentin Tarantino, Brad Pitt and Film Critic Elvis Mitchell (HD, 30:45) – This is a funny and informative interview, with the surprising revelation that Brad Pitt received the script and shot the film six weeks later.

The New York Times Talks (HD, 1:08:07) – This is a just-shy-of 70-minute dialog between the director and New York Times Magazine Editor-at-Large Lynn Hirschberg. As usual, the director is enthusiastic about all-things cinema and speaks with a great deal of energy about the film and his desire to make films without regard to the morality of his characters.

Nation’s Pride: Full Feature (HD, 6:10) – This is the film that the Nazi’s watch in the cinema, and The Making of Nation’s Pride (HD, 4:00) is self-explanatory. It’s very cool to see Bo Svenson appear in Nation’s Pride since he was in the 1978 version of The Inglorious Bastards. It would have been great if a restored version of that film had been included as well!

The Original Inglorious Bastards (HD, 7:38) – This is a look at the director of the original film, Enzo G. Castellari, and his cameo in the Tarantino film.

A Conversation with Rod Taylor (HD, 6:43) and Rod Taylor On Victoria Bitter (HD, 3:19) – The late actor Rod Taylor, whom many will recall from the The Time Machine (1960) and The Birds (1963), is virtually unrecognizable in these mini interviews. He talks about the director’s enthusiasm for film, and a funny story about Victoria Bitter, the Australian beer.

Quentin Tarantino’s Camera Angel (HD, 2:41) – This is a humorous collection of slate shots and the funny on-set comments in between takes.

Hi Sallys (HD, 2:09) – This is a bittersweet piece as it pays homage to Mr. Tarantino’s longtime editor, Sally Menke, who tragically passed away at the age of 56 in 2010 due to dehydration while hiking in hot weather conditions.

Film Poster Gallery Tour with Elvis Mitchell (HD, 10:59) – This is very interesting as Mr. Mitchell talks about the history and meaning behind the beautiful posters that can been seen in the cinema in the film.

Inglorious Basterds Poster Gallery (HD)

Trailers (HD, 7:34) – Teaser, Domestic, International, and Japanese trailers for the film.

CLICK HERE TO ORDER FROM AMAZON

“SMALL HERO, BIG PICTURE”

By Raymond Benson

The decade of the 1950s is the Golden Age of science fiction movies. Prior to that, the genre was mostly ignored on film in favor of horror. Of course, the two genres often overlapped, especially in the 50s, when audiences were worried about nuclear war, UFOs, alien invasions, and the dangers of radioactivity. We got pictures with giant bugs, flying saucers, amphibious creatures, Martian invaders, and mole people. With few exceptions, most of the science fiction fare from the period is godawful but usually fun for a drive-in movie experience or late-night “creature feature” material on television.

The exceptions have proven to stand the test of time and are considered classics today—The Day the Earth Stood Still (1951), The Thing from Another World (1951), The War of the Worlds (1953), Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956), Forbidden Planet (1956), among others.

The Incredible Shrinking Man (1957) is one of these gems. Conceived and written by the great Richard Matheson, the movie was brought to the screen by Jack Arnold, one of the more under-appreciated filmmakers of his day. While Arnold specialized in “creature features” in the fifties (he brought us The Creature from the Black Lagoon in 1954 and Tarantula in ’55, for example), he went on to be a successful hard-working craftsman for dozens of popular television shows in the 60s and 70s.

Matheson wrote the initial story and simultaneously penned a novel (The Shrinking Man) published in 1956. He sold the rights to Universal on the condition that he be hired to write the screenplay. Matheson’s script followed the structure of his novel, which used flashbacks to tell Scott Carey’s story. Arnold and the studio preferred that the story be told linearly, so Richard Alan Simmons got the job to re-write the screenplay as such. Both Matheson and Simmons share screenplay credit, while Matheson receives story credit.

The tale is well-known. Scott Carey (Grant Williams) is in a loving marriage with Louise (Randy Stuart). One day they are out on a boat. While Louise is below deck, a strange mist envelops Scott. As time passes, Scott notices that his clothes no longer fit him—he’s becoming smaller. Doctors are befuddled. Scott shrinks some more. Eventually this affects the marriage and Scott questions his manhood. He becomes a media curiosity, and he continues to diminish in size. Ultimately, he is alone in his house and must first battle the family cat, and later, in a climactic sequence, a tarantula. And still, he continues to grow smaller…

The Incredible Shrinking Man is one of the most thoughtful, mind-bending, and existential science fiction films ever made—and it was certainly a milestone of the period. Its cosmic ending, which studio executives wanted to change to a happier one, was kept intact by director Arnold—and this is what elevates Shrinking Man to a BIG picture.

The visual effects, while crude by today’s standards, were cleverly done in 1956-57. Arnold utilized split screens, rear screen projections, oversized sets and furniture, and trick photography to achieve the illusion of Scott’s condition against an enlarging hostile world around him. As Arnold states in a wonderful vintage 1983 interview that is a supplement accompanying the film, the secret to this and all the director’s work was “preparation.” He was a believer in storyboards, and he created these to fully imagine the picture prior to shooting a frame of film. Much like the outline some authors pen prior to drafting a novel, Arnold’s storyboards allowed him to try out different ideas and erase them if they didn’t work.

The Criterion Collection presents an outstanding package for Shrinking Man. The film is a 4K digital restoration that looks amazingly fresh. It comes with an uncompressed monaural soundtrack. There is an optional and informative audio commentary by genre-film historian Tom Weaver and horror-music expert David Schecter.

Supplements abound. A new featurette on the film’s visual effects hosted by FX experts Craig Barron and Ben Burtt is a lot of fun. A very entertaining conversation about the film between filmmaker Joe Dante and comedian/writer Dana Gould is fabulous. A remembrance on the film with Richard Christian Matheson (Richard Matheson’s son) is also superb. Of particular interest to film buffs might be the previously mentioned footage from 1983 of Jack Arnold interviewed about the film. Also of great significance is a “director’s cut” of a 2021 documentary about Arnold, Auteur on the Campus: Jack Arnold at Universal. And if all that weren’t enough, we get two 8mm home video short presentations of the film that circulated in the 1960s, a feature on missing musical cues, a vintage teaser narrated by none other than Orson Welles, and the theatrical trailer. The booklet contains an essay by critic Geoffrey O’Brien.

The Incredible Shrinking Man is a must-have, buy-today, excellent release from Criterion. For fans of 1950s science fiction, Richard Matheson, Jack Arnold, and giant spiders. Sublime!

CLICK HERE TO ORDER FROM AMAZON

“TROUBLE IN FANTASYLAND”

By Raymond Benson

The excellent boutique label Arrow Video has issued a superb 2-disk Limited Edition Blu-ray package of Ridley Scott’s 1985 film, Legend (released in the U.S. in 1986).

Like another recent terrific Arrow Video release, David Lynch’s Dune, Scott’s Legend was a troubled production that experienced studio interference and a problematic worldwide release, received mixed to negative reviews from critics and audiences alike, and was relegated to the barrel of “expensive Hollywood failures” for decades—and yet it has a cult following of devoted fans.

Perhaps the most notorious reputation Legend has is that it existed in different cuts. Scott’s original cut was roughly 125 minutes, but the studio felt the picture needed shortening. It was trimmed to 113 minutes, which was ultimately Scott’s preferred cut. The picture’s music was composed and conducted by the great Jerry Goldsmith, who had overlain the fantasy with a classically orchestral score. The studio still felt that the movie ran too long, so further cuts were demanded, much to Scott’s chagrin. This “European cut,” at around 95 minutes, was released in the UK in late 1985. Reception wasn’t great, so the studio delayed the North American release to make a drastic change. Over Scott’s objections, they replaced Goldsmith’s score with a newly-commissioned one by the progressive electronic band, Tangerine Dream. A few minutes more were cut, and the U.S. release, at roughly 90 minutes, was released in spring 1986 with the new score. This time the reception was even worse.

Ridley Scott always maintained that his original cut of the film—with Goldsmith’s score—was the way Legend should be seen. Thus, in 2002, Legend received a re-release of Scott’s Director’s Cut of 113 minutes with Goldsmith’s score restored. This version was re-appraised and earned a more positive rating from critics and viewers. Interestingly, Scott has more Director’s Cuts of his films that are different from their theatrical releases than any other filmmaker, as pointed out in one of the disk’s supplements!

Legend is hard-fantasy, but it owes more to Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream or Disney’s Fantasia than it does to, say, Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings. Yes, there are fairies, goblins, elves, and dwarves in both visions of a fantasyland, but Legend has a more classical, old-myth feel. While Scott’s Director’s Cut is indeed a vast improvement over the shorter versions (European and U.S.), the picture still has flaws that prevent it from being the masterwork that Scott perhaps hoped it would be. That said, there is much to admire in Legend.

Visually, Legend is scrumptious, gorgeous, and fascinating. The production designs by Assheton Gordon and especially the makeup designs by Rob Bottin are extraordinary. The pastoral atmosphere and the moods evoked by the picture are effective and magical.

The acting? A young Tom Cruise plays Jack, a sort of Jack-in-the-Green fellow who is at one with the forest and its creatures. He fancies Princess Lili (Mia Sara), who is precocious and sets all the conflict of the story in motion by a careless act. (Oddly, all references to Lili being a princess are deleted from the U.S. theatrical release.) Tim Curry is magnificent behind all the makeup as the Prince of Darkness, a truly delicious villain. David Bennent (of The Tin Drum fame) is believable as an elf named Gump, although his voice is dubbed by Alice Playton.

The story is straightforward. Darkness wants to eliminate all light in the world by destroying the two unicorns in the forest, so he sends a troupe of goblins out to do the dirty deed, just as Jack is introducing the animals to Lili. One unicorn horn is hacked off and stolen, and the world is plunged into a deep freeze. Lili is eventually captured by Darkness (he has the hots for her, too), so it’s up to Jack, the elves, and a pair of dwarves to rescue her, retrieve the unicorn horn, and stop Darkness from accomplishing his goal.

It all works well enough, although the voices used for the goblins are ridiculously comical and are a detriment to the action. Once the action moves to Darkness’ realm, the picture picks up and becomes quite suspenseful. In the end, though, Legend just doesn’t reach the lofty target to which it aspired. One of the problems is that is seemed not to know what audience for whom it was aimed. Children? Adults? Teenagers? The studio arbitrarily decided it was the latter, which was one of the reasons the Tangerine Dream score replaced Goldsmith’s.

And what of the scores? The Tangerine Dream score is actually quite good—the band had already done several movie scores and were quite adept at it. It works with the theatrical version well enough. Nevertheless, the Jerry Goldsmith is far superior and fits the movie much better. This is classical fantasy, so a classical score is more appropriate.

The new Arrow Video Limited Edition 2-Disk package contains the U.S. theatrical release (with the Tangerine Dream score) and Scott’s Director’s Cut (with Jerry Goldsmith’s score), both beautifully restored in 2K. They both have DTS-HD MA 2.0 stereo and 5.1 surround audio, and optional English subtitles for the hearing impaired. The theatrical cut has an audio commentary by Paul M. Sammon (author of Ridley Scott: The Making of His Movies). The Director’s Cut features an audio commentary by Scott himself. There are isolated music and effects tracks for the theatrical release.

Supplements abound. New featurettes include a documentary on the film featuring interviews with several key crew members and cast member Annabelle Lanyon (who plays Oona the sprite); an excellent two-part documentary on the two scores; a featurette examining the various versions of the film; and a two-part featurette on the movie’s creatures. Vintage supplements include a 2003 documentary on Ridley Scott; a 2002 documentary on the making of the film; original promotional featurettes; deleted scenes; alternate scenes; storyboard galleries; two drafts of the screenplay (!) by William Hjortsberg; alternate footage from the overseas release; trailers, TV spots, and image galleries. The package also contains a wonderfully illustrated booklet with writing on the film by Nicholas Clement, Kat Ellinger, and Simon Ward, plus archive materials and more. There’s a two-sided poster with new artwork by Neil Davies and the original by John Alvin, a pack of glossy full-color photographs by Annie Leibovitz, and double-sided postcards that are lobby card reproductions. The jewel case comes with a reversible sleeve of both artworks.

Legend is likely of interest to fans of Ridley Scott, Tom Cruise, and the fantasy genre, but it is especially informative and revelatory in terms of Hollywood history and how studios and artists often clash in the realization of a marketable vision. Hats off to Arrow Video!

CLICK HERE TO ORDER FROM AMAZON

BY TODD GARBARINI

Film director Jonathan Mostow began his career in film shortly after graduating college in the mid-1980’s as a television writer and director for segments on Fright Show in 1985, Beverly Hills Body Snatchers in 1989, and the TV-movie Flight of Black Angel in 1991. While working as the executive producer of the Michael Douglas suspenser The Game (1997), Mr. Mostow was also looking to adapt Stephen King’s short story “Trucks” into a film. Although it had already been shot in late 1985 by Mr. King (in a directing capacity) as Maximum Overdrive (1986), there was interest to do another film version of it – until all involved were told that they could not use Stephen King’s name with the project. This proved to be fortuitous as most of the locations had not only been scouted but also secured for filming, although there was no film to be shot. Mr. Mostow took the locations and fashioned a story about a couple driving across the country to start a new life when unexpectedly their life takes a huge wrong turn. The result is Breakdown, a nail-biting suspense thriller that is Mr. Mostow’s feature film debut as a director, which is now available on Blu-ray from Paramount Pictures Home Entertainment. I spoke with Mr. Mostow recently about the film and the new Blu-ray.

Todd Garbarini: Thank you for having gotten Breakdown made. I can safely say that this is the most intense motion picture that I have ever seen. I initially did not want to see it based on the theatrical trailer because it looked “run-of-the-mill”, however I found myself at the Glendale 9 Drive-In in June 1997 while in Arizona on business, and Breakdown was the only title, aside from Jim Carrey’s Liar, Liar, that appealed to me. I love Kurt Russell and the film completely blew me away. I was not prepared for the movie at all, and I don't know how you made it the way you did, but I'm grateful because I think it's extraordinary. It's a film that possesses a level of emotional tension that I have rarely, if ever, experienced in a feature film and it also has one of the best movie scores I’ve ever heard. Would it be fair to say that Steven Spielberg's Duel was an influence on the film?

Jonathan Mostow: I'm sure that it was. First off, thank you for the super kind words. I'm going to guess that since you saw this at a drive-in, you heard the audio from inside a car? 

TG: No, actually I was sitting on the hood of the car, and the movie was so full of tension and suspense that I honestly thought that my sweaty palms would pull the paint off the car! The audio was actually very, very good. The drive-in no longer had those small, tinny speakers. The audio instead was pumped through the FM radio band, and there were many cars all around me that were doing that. I didn't even have to listen through my Ford Taurus station wagon rental car (laughs), and I heard all the music and dialogue perfectly.

JM: Oh that’s good, because I'm really a stickler about good sound.

TG: I am, too.

JM: I want to cringe when I hear about drive-ins because I thought it probably would have sounded terrible! I want to address something that you said earlier when we began speaking, and that's how you pretty much didn't want to see Breakdown as a result of the trailer. I will never forget when I was a young filmmaker at the time because it was my first studio film and we had just had a test screening that had gone really well. The way that it works is that they have a test screening and afterwards they ask questions of the audience. So, the whole audience was still inside the theater, filling out the questionnaire, and in the lobby a group of the senior executives from the studio were milling around and asking each other how they were going to market the movie. I happened to overhear them, and they sort of intimated that this would be a good movie for the drive-in crowd, so-to-speak. Especially in the South, they felt that the South would somehow like it more. Since I was a young filmmaker at the time, I didn't feel that it was really my place to walk up to the top people of the studio and tell them their business, but I really wanted to tell them that this is not the crowd that this film was designed for. I saw the film as really a nightmare for yuppies. This is a nightmare for the metrosexual, educated, polo-shirt wearing, white collar middle-aged Everyman. That's who this is a nightmare for and that's who you should be selling this to. The marketing campaign, in a way, I believe sent a different message to the audience than what I was intending about the film and the result was what you said earlier about not wanting to see it initially, and how the film ultimately surprised you and you came to like the film a lot more than you initially thought you would.

TG: I must admit, that doesn’t happen to me often.

JM: I have heard that reaction from so many people, and Kurt (Russell) heard that from so many people. The question was, “Why didn't you think you would enjoy it?”, and the answer was, “The way that it was originally sold was that the ad campaign set up certain expectations that were not the expectations that I would have set up had I been designing the ad campaign.” I have to say that the studio (Paramount) did a fantastic job with this brand-new Blu-ray transfer. It looks gorgeous. For so many years, people have been asking me why they couldn't find this movie on Blu-ray.

TG: Yes, I was one of those…

JM: And I would have to explain to them that it wasn't available on Blu-ray. I was thrilled when the studio got in touch with me last year and they told me that they were going to do this movie right, that they would do a whole new transfer. I went in and sort of supervised it and signed off on what they did. I was just thrilled with it. Now, to answer your question about Duel, I'm a little older than you, and I grew up watching TV movies. Duel was originally a made-for-TV movie, and it did receive a theatrical release later on. But there were lots of these TV movies at the time, where a couple is driving somewhere, they're pulled over for a speeding ticket, or there is a corrupt cop who ends up imprisoning them and embezzling them for money, or the wife disappears, etc.

TG: Yes, Dying Room Only with Dabney Coleman and Cloris Leachman was one of the more famous films of that ilk.

JM: Right, and all these horrible things happen. I don't even remember the names of most of these movies, but I'm thinking of an aggregate of that, plus the types of themes that you would see in an Alfred Hitchcock movie, they were all kind of rattling around in my brain. So, when I had an idea for this, even though this is a quote-unquote “original idea”, and arguably no ideas are original because everything's been pretty much done in cinema, because we are all creatures of the culture that we grew up in, I thought it should be a road movie.

TG: The climax of the film looked like a real nightmare to shoot. Did it take a long time to shoot that?

JM: Yeah, we actually spent a couple of weeks on that. That was one of the few things that we shot that was in the Los Angeles area. The rest of the film was shot in Utah, Nevada, and all over the place.

TG: I couldn't help but notice that Gabby Petito, the woman who tragically disappeared and who has been in the news with her fiancé Brian Laundrie,were stopped by police just outside of the entrance to Arches National Park, which is in Moab, Utah. This location is featured prominently at the film's start, particularly the general store where Jeffrey Taylor has words with the pickup truck’s driver played by M.C. Gainey.

JM: We shot everything for real in this movie. Nowadays, if you're going to shoot a car chase, most of it is digital. I have always been a believer in the idea that even though you can do things digitally, and back then the digital technology was still sort of in its infancy, it was kind of cost-prohibitive, too – to make something visceral, you should really go out of the way and do it for real. The only thing that was truly digital was in certain cases during the climax when the Peterbilt cab is going over the bridge and dangling, that was a real truck. But naturally, it was suspended by construction cranes and we had to digitally remove all of them, the wiring holding up the cab, etc. If you scratch beneath the surface, of any movie, what you have is a director who's basically a child playing with a big electric train set.  It's never easy of course, but it was also super fun.

TG: I became a fan of Basil Poledouris after I heard his magnificent score to John Milius’s Conan the Barbarian which I saw it when it opened in May 1982. Was he your first choice to score this phone?

JM: Well, Basil had been suggested to me and we had ended up bringing in a composer I had worked with previously, Richard Marvin, and he did some of the music as well, and the net result of what we ended up with was a score that neither one of them would have done on their own. In a lot of cases, where we recorded a big score with a large orchestra, I went up just taking out the orchestra completely and leaving in just a kind of percussion track or something. Scoring the movie itself was an unusual process and everybody was happy with it at the end. However, the initial issue that I was having with Basil’s score was that he was capturing the emotion but not capturing enough of the suspense. That being said, I don't believe that it was a score that anybody would have devised on the outside.

TG: I think that the score works perfectly. Especially towards the climax, the end of the film, you have Jeffrey struggling to get to his wife, and the intercutting between Jeffrey and the kidnappers, that whole sequence is just incredible. The tension that you built during that sequence was magnificent.

JM: Well, you should appreciate this story. One night, we were working very late in Basil’s studio which was in Venice (California). This was a very dangerous area back then. It was about two in the morning, and he tells me that he has to go down the street and get some cigarettes. He asked me if I wanted anything from the corner store. On the one hand I told him no thank you, but on the other hand, in my head, I'm thinking, “Are you crazy?! You're going to go to a corner store at two in the morning?” I wouldn't walk out in that neighborhood at two in the morning even if I had armed escorts. It was at that moment that I realized that Basil had no personal fear. He was the sort of the opposite of me. I’m a fairly anxious person and that's how I was throughout most of the making of this movie, dealing with my own anxiety. What I realized at that moment was that Basil was connecting with the sadness. Kurt's character, Jeffrey Taylor, had this feeling of having lost his wife and didn’t know where she was or even how to find her. He was also facing potentially losing his wife forever. Basil was capturing that beautifully, but the problem was I wasn't feeling the anxiety. So that's why I brought in Richard so he could just nail the anxiety that I really needed for the movie. In the end, the score ended up being what I really needed, which was a hybrid between the sadness and the anxiety. That's why I think the score worked so well for the film. If these composers had done the scores on their own, I don't think that they would have achieved the effect that I was looking for. It just had to be a partnership.

TG: Do you have an all-time favorite movie?

JM: No, because it varies. There are movies that you love tremendously when you are young, and I'm sure that you have probably experienced this yourself, and then you look at them maybe 15 or 20 years later and they just don't hold up for you anymore. I remember watching Barbra Streisand getting a Lifetime Achievement Award, and she said something that has always stuck with me. She said that it was great to get these awards, it's great to be recognized for your work, but the real test is if 30 years from now, which of these films will stand up? Which of these films will still work? And that's what's amazing to me when I go back and I look at certain films that were made, you know, 20 or 30 years ago, and they hold up, that's always, to me, the miracle. Some films hold up and some films simply don't.

TG: I agree. In 1979, I saw two films that I loved very much: Moonraker and The Black Hole. Both films have really wonderful film scores by the late great John Barry. But the former is James Bond in outer space and the latter was really beautiful to look at, but had very little in the way of action. I really loved both films when I first saw them, but watching them many years later, I found the former to be puerile and insipid and the latter to be plodding and boring. And it killed me that I felt that way. One film from that era that stands the test of time for me is George Miller's The Road Warrior which was, is, and I think always will be, the best action film that I've ever seen. I never tire of that film. There are some problems with it, when they overcrank or undercrank the action and it just looks like a Mack Sennett comedy for a few seconds, I don't agree with that, they should have left it alone. The Shining is another one. That film terrified me when I first saw it and it's still the most beautiful horror film that I've ever seen. What are some of the other films that you've seen that have influenced your career?

JM: When I was a child, my father took me to see Alfred Hitchcock's The Lady Vanishes. We saw it at this old repertory movie theater near where we lived, and this film plays a little bit like sort of a light comedy. But to an eight-year-old kid like me, I found the film to be totally gripping. The idea in that film is that this woman suddenly disappears 10 minutes into the movie. And the audience is wondering where the hell did she go? I believe that that notion stayed in my subconscious all these years and in a way, Breakdown was my way of exercising that out of my subconscious. So, Breakdown is the film that kind of launched my career. Even though that is one of Hitchcock's lesser works, for me personally, it had a great influence. That's also a hard question to answer, because truthfully, I didn't see a great many movies growing up. By the time I had gotten to college, I don't believe I had seen more than 15 or 20 movies.

TG: What films did you initially not like, then you watched them again later on and had a different experience and ended up really liking them?

JM: I have to be honest, there are very few films that I've seen multiple times. Once I've seen a film, that's it. I've seen it. I remember seeing an interview one time with a filmmaker, and it came out in the interview that once he was done with the film he never sees it again. And I hadn't directed any movie prior to seeing that interview. And I remember thinking how crazy that was! I thought to myself if I'd directed a movie, I would watch it every week! Sure enough, I found that once I finished the film, I've never gone back to watch it again. Ever! Breakdown, of course, is the exception because I watched it with Kurt Russell while we did the commentary for it. You see it more than once when you're traveling around the world, doing press screenings and that sort of thing. But psychologically for me, I'm just done. And I move on. I have seen Goodfellas a few times. That's one that comes to mind. Other movies that I've seen before, I might catch a few scenes of it here or there on television. But I generally don't watch it again all the way through. I tend to not be a big repeat viewer. 

In closing, I just really appreciate that Paramount is releasing this movie on Blu-ray with our commentary track and all the extras. There are some really interesting interviews on it. We're actually including the alternate opening to the film on this disc. This is something that has never been shown to the public before.

TG: For me, that is worth the price of admission alone. Thank you very much for speaking with me, it’s been a pleasure.

Click here to order from Amazon

BY TODD GARBARINI

In Jonathan Mostow’s Breakdown (1997), Jeffrey and Amy Taylor (Kurt Russell and Kathleen Quinlan) seem like a normal and nice middle-aged couple moving from New England to San Diego to hopefully start a new life from a past we are not privy to, though it’s one fraught with financial issues. On the way, Jeffrey nearly sideswipes a dirty brown Ford F150 while reaching for his thermos and suffers invective from the driver (M.C. Gainey). A minor confrontation ensues later when both men refuel at the same gas station. Words are exchanged. Upon leaving, the Taylor’s new Grand Cherokee soon malfunctions, and they are temporarily stranded as the F150 blows past them. Fortunately, an 18-wheeler soon stops to help. The truck’s driver, Red Barr (the fine character actor J.T. Walsh in his penultimate screen performance), gives Amy a ride to Belle’s Diner to call for help – except that she never makes it.

If you recall Steven Spielberg’s 1971 television film Duel, Dennis Weaver portrayed David Mann, an Everyman traveling to a sales account when his life suddenly changes after passing a huge oil truck. Incensed by this perceived breach of road etiquette, the truck driver chases and taunts Mann throughout the rest of the film. Duel is arguably the granddaddy of road rage movies, making riveting cinema out of a cat-and-mouse game that holds the audience’s attention the entire time. Likewise, Breakdown holds the equivalent mantle as it pertains to missing persons thrillers. As a horror film fan of forty years, there is little that I have seen that gets under my skin, George Sluizer’s icy 1988 Dutch/French character study Spoorloos, known in the States as The Vanishing, being a notable exception. Mr. Russell and Mr. Walsh have shared the screen multiples times together, specifically in Robert Towne’s Tequila Sunrise (1989), Ron Howard’s Backdraft (1991), and Stuart Baird’s Executive Decision (1994). Here they pair up again in a frightening game that begins when, following unsuccessful attempts to glean info from the patrons and owner of Belle’s Diner (a terrific turn by character actor Jack McGee), Jeffrey catches sight of Red’s truck and pulls him over to the side of the road. Jeffrey’s interrogation of Red regarding his wife’s whereabouts is met by a perplexing display of gaslighting when Red claims he doesn’t even know what Jeff is talking about. For a moment, we feel that perhaps this is even Red’s twin and that there has been a complete mix-up. Following a search of Red’s vehicle aided by a passing sheriff (Rex Linn), Jeffrey is, like Cary Grant in Alfred Hitchcock’s North by Northwest (1959) as described by Cliff Robertson in the 1973 documentary on Mr. Hitchcock, “a man alone – innocent, defenseless…” He realizes that it’s up to him to find Amy – and he has no idea who to trust or even where to begin. What follows is the most intense nail-biting thriller I’ve ever seen. I don’t want to oversell the film, but I will anyway. Jeffrey moves mountains to locate his wife and when he does, the tension and anxiety could not be more powerful. One thing I noticed: Red has white wings in his hair like the Paulie Walnuts character on The Sopranos.

The ending of Breakdown has been shrugged off by some critics as being unworthy of what comes before, and even “ludicrous”. I must respectfully disagree. By the end of the film, what we are looking for is a massive payoff, and I believe that we get it in spades. The “ludicrous” ending is, instead, tension-filled and satisfying. Detractors never seem to offer an alternative. I am personally thankful to Dino DeLaurentiis for making a go of it and letting Jonathan Mostow direct this film. Everyone has to start somewhere, and this directorial debut is remarkable.

In the days of VHS and laserdisc prior to large-screen televisions, Breakdown is a film that I owned on the latter format in a letterboxed edition. In 1998, the film suffered the indignity of a rather lackluster transfer on DVD when it was window-boxed and lacked 16 x 9 anamorphic enhancement, rendering the DVD nearly unwatchable. The new Blu-ray from Paramount Pictures Home Entertainment is part of “Paramount Presents” which is described as a line of Blu-ray releases for collectors and fans showcasing movies that have generally not made it to Blu-ray before. Breakdown is number 26 in the list of titles of films showcased on Blu-ray in these new special editions. The new transfer is a revelation.

In addition to the new transfer, the Blu-ray contains the following extras:

A feature-length audio commentary with the director and Kurt Russell. If you have ever heard any of the previous commentaries that Mr. Russell has been involved with, specifically with director John Carpenter on Escape from New York (1981) and The Thing (1982), you know that he is one of the most entertaining people to listen to. He also has a phenomenal laugh and chuckles through most of the film, even making fun of Jeffrey! Hilarious. They speak about Dino DeLaurentiis; having gotten cinematographer Doug Milsom who worked on four films with Stanley Kubrick; Mr. Russell imitating Dennis Weaver in Duel (“You can’t catch me on the grade!”); the director discussing how he wrote a role for Morgan Freeman as a character whose wife was kidnapped and teams up with Jeffrey, the idea later wisely written out of the script; Roger Ebert criticized the bank scene, but the commentary states that they were rushed to get it done on the location but I think it works just fine. Overall, a truly fun and entertaining listen and easily the best extra.

Newly commissioned alternative artwork.

The musical score is isolated on one of the audio tracks, a great feature that I wish more companies would provide.

Filmmaker Focus - Jonathan Mostow (10:45) – This piece is a spotlight on the director that highlights much of what was said during the commentary.

Victory is Hers: Kathleen Quinlan on Breakdown (4:22) – I was so happy to see Kathleen Quinlan included in this edition and she discusses some of her experiences making the film.

A Brilliant Partnership: Martha De Laurentiis on Breakdown (8:18) – This is a piece dedicated to one of the producers of the film. Mrs. De Laurentiis worked with her late husband, Dino, on the film and this is a look at their partnership.

Alternate Opening with optional Jonathan Mostow commentary (11:00) – Along with the film’s commentary, this is a very cool piece to see, as its inclusion changes the whole mood of the film. The credits run slowly over the opening and the sequence establishes Jeffrey as all-thumbs – lightyears removed from the Snake Plissken Mr. Russell played fifteen years earlier. It was the correct decision to remove this footage, though I feel badly for the other actors in the scene to have been excised from such a terrific film!

Rounding out the extras are trailers for Breakdown, Kiss the Girls, and Hard Rain.

There are two Blu-rays of this film available, one from the Australian company Via Vision’s Imprint line and the Paramount Presents disc. Both Blu-rays are worth owning for die-hard fans of the film as they each contain completely different extras, but if you have to choose just one, I recommend the Paramount disc as it contains the director/actor commentary and the excised alternate opening.

Click here to order from Amazon

Click here to order the Via Vision Imprint disc from Amazon.com

Melvin Van Peebles, the iconic African-American director of influential independent films, has died at age 89. Van Peebles, the father of director Mario Van Peebles, was at the forefront of the counterculture movement among filmmakers in the 1970s. He hit his stride with films such as "Watermelon Man" and"Sweet Sweetback's Baadasssss", an X-rated racially tinged satire in which he also starred. Van Peebles, along with Gordon Parks, made vital inroads in advancing the Black point-of-view in films. He was also a playwright and social activist who dedicated his life to the cause of racial justice. Ironically, Criterion has just released a boxed set of his films as a tribute to his contributions to cinema.

For more about his life and career, click here. 

BY EVE GOLDBERG

The Twelve Lives of Alfred Hitchcock is not a traditional biography; it’s not even chronological. Instead, the book is a multi-themed, multi-layered exploration of the relationship between Hitchcock’s personality and his art. Each of the twelve chapters looks at the man and his films through a different lens: The Boy Who Couldn’t Grow Up, The Murderer, The Auteur, The Womanizer, The Fat Man, and so on.

White’s take on Hitchcock feels very contemporary. No punches are pulled when it comes to his treatment and abuse of the actresses in his movies, or his issues around gender, sexuality and body image. On the other hand, the tone of the book is even-handed; it’s neither hagiography nor tear-down, but rather a clear-eyed look at a fascinating filmmaker who has given the world a treasure-trove of complicated, entertaining films.

If you’re like me—intrigued by the creative process, interested in how and why films are made— this book is for you!

CLICK HERE TO ORDER FROM AMAZON

“A CAN OF SANDWORMS”

By Raymond Benson

In anticipation of the upcoming release of Denis Villeneuve’s remake, the excellent boutique label Arrow Video has issued a superb 2-disk Limited Edition package of David Lynch’s 1984 film, Dune. It comes in two versions—one in 4K Ultra HD, and the other in standard Blu-ray.

Filmmaker David Lynch today refuses to discuss Dune, which he made for producer Dino De Laurentiis (the actual producer was his daughter, Raffaella De Laurentiis) for a whopping $40-42 million. It was a colossal flop at the time, was critically reviled, and audiences didn’t care much for it either. However, over the years, Dune has gained a cult following and it assuredly has its share of defenders, including Frank Herbert, the author of the original 1965 novel.

The history of the production has long been a topic of discussion among film historians and cinephiles. Attempts to film the complex, epic science fiction tome began shortly after the book’s publication. Perhaps Alejandro Jodorowsky’s version has the most legendary status in Duneworld, but his vision never made it past some pre-production work. Producer Arthur P. Jacobs had his fingers in the sand at one time, and even Ridley Scott wanted to make the movie.

Laurentiis ended up with the rights, and he hired Lynch, fresh off the success of The Elephant Man (1980), to write and direct. Lynch had reportedly been offered the job to direct Return of the Jedi around the same time, but he chose to go with Dune. He has regretted it ever since, for he had no idea what a can of worms—er, sandworms—he was opening.

The challenge was to condense the complicated story into a feature-length film. The smart thing at the time would have been to create a television miniseries (as was done by others years later). Lynch’s first assembly after shooting wrapped was around four hours long (prior to post-production visual effects work), but the producer was required by the studio (Universal) to deliver a motion picture half that length. Lynch’s theatrical cut clocked in at two hours and seventeen minutes, and therein lies the problem with Dune.

Dune is a multi-hour story; there is simply no way to tell it in two hours and seventeen minutes. After the experience of making Dune, Lynch would forever insist on creative final cut on anything he would make.

To attempt to capsulize the story in a paragraph is absurd, but here goes. We’re in a universe where noble families residing on different planets vie for control of a desert world called Arrakis, or “Dune,” the source for the most valuable commodity in space—the spice “mélange,” which not only gives consumers the ability to foresee the future but also provides the Spacing Guild the power to “fold space,” i.e., achieve interplanetary travel in the blink of an eye. Paul Atreides (Kyle MacLachlan, in his first film role) is the son of Dune’s current custodian, Duke Leto (Jürgen Prochnow), and he may or may not be the “Kwisatz Haderach,” a super being who is more a less a messiah of an otherworldly religion. The emperor (José Ferrer) distrusts Leto and gives Baron Harkkonnen (Kenneth McMillan) the green light to attack House Atreides and kill Leto. Paul escapes the slaughter of his people and hides out with his mother, Lady Jessica (Francesca Annis) in the desert among the indigenous Fremen people and the gigantic sandworms that produce the spice. Will Paul become the Kwisatz Haderach, eliminate House Harkkonnen, and take back control of Dune? Only a spoiler will answer that.

So… despite the rather negative reputation Dune has, there is quite a lot to admire about it. Firstly, if one is a fan of David Lynch and his rather unique visual sensibilities, the picture is a feast of wonder, awe, and eye candy. No other movie looks like Dune. Hats off to production designer Anthony Masters who, with Lynch at the helm, created a fantastically grotesque and gorgeously macabre world in which the story takes place. It is part cyberpunk and Jules Verne and yet also very Lynchian in terms of the organically bizarre. Secondly, the cast is terrific. Besides the aforementioned actors named in the synopsis above, we also are treated to eccentric performances by Sean Young, Max von Sydow, Everitt McGill, Brad Dourif, Sting, Dean Stockwell, Linda Hunt, Virginia Madsen, Freddie Jones, Patrick Stewart, Richard Jordan, Paul Smith, Leonardo Cimino, Jack Nance, and many others. Thirdly, technical aspects are top-notch. The visual effects are wondrous and weird, and the cinematography by the great Freddie Francis is masterful. Fourthly, there is no question that the direction displays a command of style and mood that only Lynch can evoke. There is a poetry and melancholy and horror about the proceedings that is unquestionably Lynch’s doing.

Unfortunately, though, all this isn’t enough. Dune fails to engage an audience in its very heady tale that is meant to be as profound as it is visually scrumptious. Lynch was forced to cram important exposition and wholesale sequences into short monologues and dream sequences. It is understandable that those unfamiliar with the novel were completely bewildered by the movie (this reviewer was already well familiar with the book in 1984 and thus enjoyed the picture—to a point—more than most).

Still… for fans of David Lynch and Frank Herbert… Dune is worth seeing.

Arrow Video’s Limited Edition 2-disk package is impressive. The new 4K restoration of the movie itself looks spectacular, much improved over previous releases. It comes with an original uncompressed stereo audio and DTS-HD MA 5.1 surround sound, and optional English subtitles for the hearing impaired. Two new audio commentaries accompany the picture—one by film historian Paul M. Sammon, and another by Mike White of The Projection Booth podcast.

Supplements abound. A few are port-overs from previous home video releases, which include a 2003 documentary on the making of the film, and several featurettes on the technical aspects of the picture. Approximately fifteen minutes of deleted scenes, introduced by producer Raffaella De Laurentiis, are also repeated from an earlier Blu-ray release. Brand new supplements include an excellent feature on the score by Toto (and Brian Eno, for one track), featuring interviews with band members Steve Lukather and Steve Porcaro. A piece on Dune merchandising hosted by toy collector/producer Brian Stillman is interesting for the history of the misguided marketing campaign for a film that couldn’t possibly appeal to children. There is a new interview with makeup effects artist Giannetto de Rossi, and archive interviews with production coordinator Golda Offenheim, actor Paul Smith, and makeup effects artist Christopher Tucker. Destination Dune is a 1983 featurette used to promote the movie at conventions and publicity events. Theatrical trailers, TV spots, and an image gallery round out the disk supplements.

There are goodies, too! A 60-page booklet contains writings by Andrew Nette, Christian McCrea, and Charlie Brigden; a 1984 American Cinematographer interview with sound designer Alan Splet; excerpts from the book Lynch on Lynch; and a Dune terminology glossary. There’s a large fold-out double-sided poster featuring original and newly commissioned artwork by Dániel Taylor, as well as postcard-sized lobby card reproductions. The jewel case sports a reversible sleeve with the original artwork on one side and the new art by Taylor on the other.

No matter what one might think of David Lynch’s Dune, Arrow Video’s Limited Edition release is worth a revisit. Dune may have been a failure, but it is a puzzling, glorious, and fascinating piece of cinematic art that is one of a kind.

CLICK HERE TO ORDER FROM AMAZON

BY HANK REINEKE

I turned age three one month prior to the January 1965 U.S. release of Roger Corman’s The Tomb of Ligeia (American-International, 1964). The film had been first released in England in November 1964 - which was only fair - since both The Tomb of Ligeia and its predecessor The Masque of the Red Death (also 1964) had been shot at Shepperton Studios and in the neighboring English countryside. I’m guessing that I only became acquainted with Corman’s octet of Poe adaptations when the films were televised on New York City’s 4:30 Movie in the mid-1970s.

I didn’t know quite what to make of the AIP Poe films at first. These were horror films without monsters and, at age fifteen, I had no particular interest in - or understanding of - “psychological horror” pictures… I wanted rubber-suit monsters sporting grotesque make-up appliances and causing small-town mayhem. I wasn’t yet old enough to understand the paralyzing torment and terrors suffered by those with tortured souls. That is until I reached my mid-20s and discovered, unhappily, I myself was afflicted with one.

The Tomb of Ligeia was the eighth and last film that would comprise Corman’s famed “Poe cycle,” a series (of sorts) that launched with the moody House of Usher (1960). In his entertaining memoir, How I Made a Hundred Movies in Hollywood and Never Lost a Dime (Random House, 1990), the filmmaker shared with candor that while he was pleased he had made “several very good-looking, psychologically effective horror pictures” from 1960 through 1964, he admitted that by cycle’s end, “I was repeating myself, taking ideas, images, themes, and techniques from my earlier work.”

I would say in defense there was no discernible slippage of quality present in The Tomb of Ligeia. Both Robert Townes literate screenplay and Corman’s direction are well crafted. In fact, I’ve long considered Corman’s House of Usher, The Premature Burial, The Masque of the Red Death and The Tomb of Ligeia as art-house horror films of a sort. The gold standard.

Or, perhaps, The Gold Bug standard, if one is to remain true to the Poe terminologies. According to reports of January of 1964, Poe’s The Gold Bug was actually scheduled as A.I.P.’s immediate follow-up to The Masque of the Red Death. In his biography of Peter Lorre, author Stephen D. Youngkin suggests that previous Corman scribe Charles B. Griffith (Bucket of Blood, Little Shop of Horrors) had worked on script for The Gold Bug, a romp that was to re-team Price, Basil Rathbone and Lorre, recent stars of AIP’s The Comedy of Terrors (1963). Griffith’s version of The Gold Bug was reportedly sketched as a horror-comedy in the vein of that earlier film. His script was - presumably - scrubbed when Lorre passed away in March of 1964.

In any event, I now consider several films in the Poe cycle among my favorite horror efforts. Thanks to 35mm revival screenings in the 1980s at New York City’s repertory theaters and at retro all-night drive-in monster movie weekends, I’ve been able to enjoy these classics in genuine Colorscope as originally designed. I’ve also had the wonderful opportunity to enjoy a pair of relatively recent screenings of The Tomb of Ligeia in the company of two of the film’s high-profile participants. In August of 2015 Roger Corman and actress Elizabeth Shepherd (Lady Rowena Trevanion) participated in a screening and Q & A at the Anthology Film Archives on Manhattan’s Lower East Side. In 2019 I caught still another 35mm screening, this time with Elizabeth Shepherd attending alone and sharing more expansive memories of working with both Corman and her notable co-star and boogeyman Vincent Price. So it’s impossible for me to separate my admiration for The Tomb of Ligeia from such personal memories.

One of the nicest aspects of this Kino Lorber Studio Classics Blu-ray edition of The Tomb of Ligeia is that if you weren’t geographically fortunate enough to attend any of these retrospective 35mm screening events, you now have the opportunity to listen to Corman and Shepherd share their on-the-set memories on two of this package’s generous trio of audio commentaries. The third commentary is provided by film historian Tim Lucas who provides all the nuts and bolts factoids we cinema history train spotters require. With three distinct voices sharing the commentary tracks, there’s a lot of material and viewpoints and memories to wade through.

As was so often the case, Corman’s cinematic adaptations of Poe were not terribly faithful to the original source materials. Instead we are treated to more visual reimagining’s of the gloomy author’s classic short stories. Corman and a team of screenwriters (including Richard Matheson and Charles Beaumont, both of Twilight Zone fame) had constructed new tales only partly drawn from Poe’s characters and grotesque plot lines.

As Poe’s horrors were psychologically driven and introspective in presentation, it was necessary for Corman and his team to inject more cinematic visual tropes. This was accomplished by introducing completely new scenarios and mixing in original and intriguing subplots. In Corman’s “serious” offerings of the Poe cycle, the birthing author’s gloomy atmospheres, the dreary broodings on mortality, the wearisome toll of mental anguish (and subsequent psychic breakdowns) all remain faithful in tone to the spirit of his visions.

The screenplay of The Tomb of Ligeia was scribed by the actor-writer Robert Towne. Towne already boasted a screenwriting credit on The Last Man on Earth (1960) as well as playing multiple on-screen roles in Corman’s Creature from the Haunted Sea (1961). Towne, who would go on to be feted with no fewer than four Oscar nominations for his writing (most notably for Chinatwon), serves up a literate screenplay that comes complete with the moody, erudite - and occasionally archaic dialogue - that one comes to expect from this series. His work on the script stands alongside the best Poe adaptations of Matheson and Beaumont.

The film version of The Tomb of Ligeia concerns the curious and eccentric manner of which Vernon Fell ((Vincent Price) conducts himself following the passing of his wife Ligeia. Fell is obsessed, nay terrorized, by the notion that his late wife is not quite dead in the usual sense of the word. He’s convinced that his wife’s disturbed spirit – she was, after all, an unrepentant atheist who dabbled in spiritualism – is now reincarnated in the form of a menacing black cat that prowls along the premises of the dilapidated ruins of an abbey he calls home. The somber and haunted Fell finds new romance with Lady Rowena (Shepherd), an already betrothed woman who happens upon his property when she’s thrown from her horse during a spirited fox hunt. Rowena eventually marries Fell only to find herself guarding against her new husband’s odd behaviors - and a malevolent black cat who appears to willfully cause her torment.

Towne’s story takes many liberties with Poe’s original short story, simply titled Ligeia, and first published in Baltimore’s American Museum periodical in September 1838. The most significant of these changes is that there’s no black cat present in Poe’s version - and Rowena dies nine pages into the twelve-page tale. But since Poe tends to tell his tales as either a detached narrator or in a “first person” internal dialogue of madness, Corman’s cinematic vehicle needed a flesh and blood protagonist – even if the one chosen for the film is adorned only in a coat of black fur – to make any menace visually tangible. There’s a not too subtle revelation of necrophilia and a more overt sequence of mesmerism sprinkled in as well. It was obvious that Towne, much like his predecessors, were mining a wide swath of Poe’s oeuvre in a desire to enliven and expand the author’s short story for a film of feature-length running time.

“A BEAUTIFUL MESS”

By Raymond Benson

Filmmaker Stanley Donen had substantial success with his comedy-thriller, Charade (1963), which starred Cary Grant and Audrey Hepburn. It was hyped and critiqued as “Hitchcockian” in tone and style, especially the light-hearted and glitzy To Catch a Thief (1955). (There are many who mistakenly believe that Charade is a Hitchcock film.)

The studio then wanted to repeat that success with a similar picture, Arabesque, also with Cary Grant in the lead role with Donen directing again. However, Grant felt that the script was “terrible” and passed. Donen allegedly wasn’t too thrilled with the script, either, and he wasn’t too keen on making the picture without Grant.

Then Gregory Peck and Sophia Loren expressed interest in the movie, so Donen acquiesced. Sounds like a fairy tale scenario for the greenlighting of a Hollywood movie, right? The two Oscar-winning stars were cast, and the script was rewritten… and rewritten… (it is credited to Julian Mitchell, Stanley Price, and Pierre Marton; however, Marton is a pseudonym for Peter Stone, who had written Charade!).

Released in 1966, Arabesque has all the hallmarks of a hit movie. It is beautifully photographed by Christopher Challis, with colorful usage of mirrors and prisms and glass throughout the picture. These visuals provide the film with its spectacular glossy eye candy. Ms. Loren’s costumes (by Christian Dior) are psychedelic/exotic/1960s fabulous. Henry Mancini’s musical score is fun and lively—except for the examples cited below. Maurice Binder’s main titles design hints at something leaning toward a James Bond or Derek Flint film.

These are the only admirable aspects of the picture.

Both Charade and Arabesque, when one examines them closely, are really screwball comedies set in a spy/thriller milieu. The success of a screwball comedy depends on the comic timing and charisma of the two “mismatched” leads—this is the core ingredient of the sub-genre. Cary Grant can do these kinds of roles in his sleep. And this is where the problem lies.

Gregory Peck is a wonderful actor, but unfortunately here he is terribly miscast. It’s obvious that he’s trying to “do” Cary Grant (without the accent), and it simply does not work. The dialogue—meant to be witty banter in the Cary Grant mold—does not flow elegantly from Peck. Sophia Loren, while looking gorgeous and mysterious throughout the story, fares little better with what the poor script has her do.

And the script? It makes no sense. Peck is David Pollock, an American professor at Oxford who knows something about Hieroglyphics. He’s “hired” by sleazy Arabic shipping magnate Beshraavi (Alan Badel) to decipher a code in Hieroglyphics that he has stolen from a murdered spy. The prime minister of an unnamed Middle Eastern country, Jena (Carl Duering), also wants the code deciphered, because “there will be no peace in the world without it.” What? It’s unclear what conflict we’re talking about or what the situation really is. Pollock meets Beshraavi’s mistress, Yasmin Azir (Loren), who is working for another group of spies—maybe—or maybe she’s working for Jena—it’s not really clear—in fact, we don’t know what Yasmin’s motivation is for any of her actions in the film. Suddenly, Pollock is on the run as several factions of Arabs and others are out to kill him. Sometimes Yasmin helps him, sometimes she doesn’t. But, of course, they fall in love, and they prevent a political assassination in the meantime.

Okay, it’s a beautiful mess, but it’s still a mess. Even the misplaced slapstick sequences are dumb—and Mancini’s comic music that underscores some of these scenes is cringe-worthy (one example—when a drugged Pollock is standing in the road of a crowded freeway and playing “matador” to oncoming vehicles).

Kino Lorber’s new Blu-ray release looks quite gorgeous, showing off the colorful glitz that is the primary asset of Arabesque. It comes with an audio commentary by film historians Howard S. Berger, Steve Mitchell, and Nathaniel Thompson, who all seem to enjoy the picture more than this reviewer did and yet point out all the same faults. A lovely half-hour featurette on Mancini is a welcome supplement. There is also a poster gallery (note the cover/poster art by the great Robert McGinnis), TV spots, the theatrical trailer and teaser, and trailers for other Kino Lorber releases.

Arabesque is a product of its mid-1960s origin, for sure, as it wants to be both Charade and a James Bond film. It is neither, but it might be a curiosity for fans of 1960s Hollywood spy movies and pristine cinematography.

CLICK HERE TO ORDER FROM AMAZON

BY FRED BLOSSER

A Dino De Laurentiis production starring Charles Bronson, John Sturges’ “The Valdez Horses” opened in Italy in 1973 and kicked around markets in Europe and the Far East over the next two years under various alternative titles. In 1975, it finally limped onto a handful of U.S. screens as “Chino.” By then, Bronson was already a cultural sensation here in the wake of “Death Wish,” but “Chino” didn’t have much of a push from its American distributor, and it didn’t last long in the movie houses. The Bronson vehicle that made a splash in 1975 was Walter Hill’s “Hard Times,” featuring the star as a hardscrabble street fighter during the Great Depression. If you’re of a certain age, you probably remember “Chino,” if at all, as a VHS release from the Neon Video budget label in the 1980s, gathering dust at your local Blockbuster or Suncoast.

In the film, young Jamie (Vincent Van Patten), traveling alone across the wide open spaces, is stranded miles from the nearest town as night begins to fall. Is he a runaway or an orphan? That’s never clarified, an element that may bother those who tend to pick at loose ends, although it doesn’t greatly matter in terms of the story. Seeing a lonely ranch house in the distance, the boy meets Chino Valdez (Charles Bronson), a half-Indian stockman who tames horses and lives by himself. The taciturn Chino gives Jamie shelter for the night, in return for the kid pitching in with the chores. Next morning, in a scene nicely underplayed by Bronson and Van Patten, Chino offers the boy a job as his hired hand, and Jamie eagerly accepts. The work includes mentoring on how to tame and ride mustangs. When Jamie asks if taming means “busting” a wild horse, Chino emphatically says no: “ . . . that takes all the spunk out of a horse. It breaks him. And I'm not gonna bust a Valdez horse.” It’s the first of several scenes in which, not very subtly, Chino is likened to his wild stallions.

Chino’s neighbor is Maral (Marcel Bozzuffi), a wealthy rancher whose sister Catherine (Jill Ireland) comes from the East to visit. In case any sticklers in the audience wonder why Maral has a French accent and Catherine a British one, the real answer is simple. If you wanted Charles Bronson for a picture in those days, his wife Jill Ireland was part of the deal. In context of the story, it’s because the siblings had different mothers, as quickly noted in passing. Trouble develops when Chino and Catherine fall in love with each other and decide to marry with the help of a friendly padre. Learning of the plan, Maral confronts Catherine in the chapel as she waits in her wedding gown for Chino to arrive. If his sister marries the rough-hewn, penniless horseman, “I will kill him,” Maral tells her. It’s a complication straight out of the 1950s B-Westerns. Except there, the hero and the overbearing cattle baron would have settled their differences with a friendly fist fight, and wedding bells would ring. This being a 1970s Western, and a Charles Bronson vehicle to boot, it isn’t too much of a spoiler to suggest that things won’t go that smoothly for Chino.

Even Bronson fans are likely to concede that “The Valdez Horses” is a mess dramatically speaking, although an interesting mess for those of us who fondly remember how the international co-productions in the 1970s, like this one, were often patched together. Quiet, family-friendly scenes of Chino and Jamie bonding as surrogate father and son are punctuated by a saloon brawl in which Chino bashes a bully in the crotch with a whiskey bottle, a protracted showdown with a high body count, a whipping, and a scene in which the Spanish actress Diana Lorys, in brown makeup as a Cheyenne woman, bares her breasts. In audio commentary for a new Blu-ray edition from Kino Lorber Studio Classics, film historian and Bronson specialist Paul Talbot notes that Sturges filmed on Spaghetti Western locations in Almeria, Spain, in 1972 with an Italian and Spanish crew and supporting cast. Although the Europeans’ relaxed approach jarred with his studio-honed sensibilities for running a tight set, Sturges gamely wrapped on schedule. But once they previewed the finished product, De Laurentiis‘ investors decided that the director’s low-key, 1960s-style Western would disappoint Bronson fans. So Italian filmmaker-for-hire Duilio Coletti was brought in to film additional scenes, accounting for the more exploitative content. Even so, “Chino” squeaked by in the U.S. with a PG rating, bare breasts and all. Some of us will be less embarrassed by Diana Lorys‘ nudity than by the inane romantic scenes between Bronson and Ireland. For what it’s worth, the script was credited to veteran novelist and screenwriter Clair Huffaker from a book by Lee Hoffman. Stephen Geller and Elmore Leonard also made unofficial contributions along the way, according to Paul Talbot’s research.

The Kino Lorber Blu-ray includes two versions of the movie, a 1.85:1 print from the U.S. release and a windowboxed 1.37:1 version with French opening titles. In color and clarity, the 1.37:1 version is superior to the other, but the nostalgically minded may prefer the 1.85:1, blemishes and all, as the one they watched on VHS back in the day. In a new interview, Vincent Van Patten fondly remembers Bronson, Sturges, and the shoot in Almeria. Between scenes, the young actor asked the fifty-year-old Bronson how he maintained his “ripped” physique, on display twice in the movie. “Push ups,” Bronson answered. “Push ups?” Van Patten said. “Push ups,” Bronson repeated. Van Patten’s affectionate Bronson impression is spot-on. From Talbot’s minute reconstruction of the picture’s bumpy history and Van Patten’s affable memories, you’ll conclude that a docudrama about the making of “The Valdez Horses” would be more engaging than the movie itself.

Other extras on the Blu-ray include a silent 8-millimeter home movie shot by Van Patten and his brother Jimmy in Almeria, the American TV spot for “Chino,” alternate title openings, trailers for other Bronson movies on Blu-ray from Kino Lorber, and a reversible cover sleeve with poster art for “The Valdez Horses” on one side and “Chino” on the other.

CLICK HERE TO ORDER FROM AMAZON

Fred Blosser is the author of "Sons of Ringo: The Great Spaghetti Western Heroes". Click here to order from Amazon)

"WHEN SHERMAN MET FRANKENSTEIN" 

BY MARK CERULLI

To celebrate the release of producer Sam Sherman’s memoir, When Dracula Met Frankenstein (Murania Press) Cinema Retro presents this exclusive interview with the man himself. In our two-hour conversation, the filmmaker demonstrated a virtual photographic memory when discussing his remarkable 60 plus year career. Our interview was a time capsule of the drive-in era where creative marketing, distribution and production exemplified the true spirit of independent filmmaking.

Sam Sherman grew up a horror and western film fan. The first horror film Sam ever saw was Universal’s classic monster comedy, Abbott & Costello Meet Frankenstein (1948) which captivated his imagination at a very young age. Following his dream, he attended City College of New York to study filmmaking. Like most CR readers, he was also an avid collector – in his case, horror stills, which one imagines were almost given away in the 1950s. Those black and white photos, picked up in the small memorabilia stores that used to dot Manhattan, led to a career – “In 1958, I wrote to Famous Monsters and to my surprise, got a call back from Jim Warren and asked if they’d be interested in renting my stills,” Sherman recalled.

“I produced ads for Captain Company (FM’s merchandising division) and I also acquired product for them.” (As one who spent a lot of hard-earned teenage cash on Captain Co products - including a Dr. No movie poster for all of $4.99 - that was a part of Sam’s long career I could instantly relate to.)

While ghostwriting articles for FM and working on other Warren publications like Spacemen, Screen Thrills Illustrated and Wildest Westerns, Sherman frequently found his enthusiasm for horror looked down upon by Help! magazine art director, Terry Gilliam. Years later, Gilliam took an obvious jab (and inspiration) from Sherman’s climactic battle of the monsters in Dracula vs Frankenstein (1971) with his own comedic dismemberment scene in Monty Python & The Holy Grail (1975). “I made it a point never to see anything he’s done,” Sam adds.

In the 1950s and 60s, New York was the center of the film universe and Sherman found himself making the rounds of small distributors trying to find films to license for his own fledgling company, Signature Films. Sam later got in with an independent film company called Hemisphere Pictures which specialized in movies shot in the Philippines, including the Blood Island horror cult classics directed by Eddie Romero. Sherman honed his exploitation skills by creating the theatrical, television, radio and print ad campaigns which established Hemisphere as The House of Horror with unforgettable gimmicks and marketing promotions like “The Oath of Green Blood” for the first audience participation film, The Mad Doctor of Blood Island (1969).

Sam’s book is full of photos from that era – from snapshots of early visits to LA, to on-set stills and “ballyhoo” photos of theater displays, lurid posters and marquees. One image that jumps out is of a young Sam standing behind the iconic Boris Karloff on A.I.P.’s The Raven set. “Forry Ackerman (Famous Monsters’ longtime editor) took me to the last day of shooting and we spent the whole day with Peter Lorre and Vincent Price, which was wonderful. I had a nice chat with Karloff. He finished up for the day and (director) Roger Corman took him away to do The Terror, which was non-union, somewhere else.” Talk about maximizing your star!

In 1968, Sherman and several partners – including longtime friend, filmmaker Al Adamson, formed Independent-International Pictures Corp. (a riff off the very successful American International Pictures). “Al just wanted to make movies, he left it to me to figure out how to market them and make money,” Sam recalls.

Their first production for the new company was a raw biker film, Satan’s Sadists starring Russ Tamblyn of West Side Story fame and directed by Adamson. The film tapped into the national shockwaves reverberating from biker gang violence as well as LA’s horrific Manson murders. The female lead was a statuesque California blonde, Regina Carrol, who became Adamson’s girlfriend, later his wife and star of his films. Wanting to give her a little extra exposure, Sherman labeled her “The Freak-Out Girl”. As the film contained nudity, the then-new movie ratings board wanted to slap an X on Satan’s Sadists. Sam went to the mat to contest it, even advising the theatre circuits to rate the film themselves based on regional tastes vs the Motion Picture Board’s inconsistent classifications for independent films.

Sam’s book is full of similar throw out the rulebook tales – like licensing an odd Filipino caveman film named Tagani which was shot in black & white. To modernize it, Adamson shot some new scenes with veteran horror star John Carradine but the film still didn’t look right, so Sam suggested using various tints (“Like they did in silent movies”). He wrote MORE new scenes (including computer sex!), added an eye-catching title - Horror of the Blood Monsters and they now had a releasable film!

At Independent-International, Sam and Al shrugged off the industry’s notoriously unforgiving deadlines: “We released an imported German picture called Women for Sale which had been a big hit and I said ‘We can’t find anything like it to follow up with, so let’s make a picture like this’, it’ll be called Girls for Rent…” Sam hired an industry friend to write it, months went by without a script. “We’re getting closer to the key summer playdates, and we were really in a jam” Sam recalled. “I got another writer and we knocked the picture out fast, doing the campaign fast, ordered prints and got it into release by the end of the summer. Sixty days, I couldn’t believe we could do it but we did and it was a pretty good film!”

Of course, there’s a chapter on Independent-International’s biggest picture – Dracula vs Frankenstein, which actually started out as Blood Freaks (aka Blood Seekers). “The script was not much of anything but I was working on it… we wanted a name actor so Al went to agent Jerry Rosen who said ‘You can have Lon Chaney, Jr. and J. Carrol Naish for a week for $6K.’” They booked them sight unseen – and when they reported for work, both were in ill health. “Naish had a bad eye and Chaney had throat cancer. (Dracula vs Frankenstein would be his final horror film.) “Ya gotta meet the people,” Sam adds knowingly. Diminutive Angelo Rossitto rounded out the cast as the carnival barker Grazbo. The resulting film was so bad, backers recommended it just be shelved. Sam lives by the motto “Waste not, want not” and since he was an editor himself, he went to work watching the film repeatedly until he found a line of dialogue he could use to expand the storyline to include the last surviving Frankenstein… and the monster. “And once I thought that I said, ‘Let’s bring in Dracula for good measure.’” Scraping together $50K for reshoots they hired a tall, dark-haired record store employee, Rafael Engel (named “Zandor Vorkov” by Forry) to play the Count and 7’4” accountant, John Bloom, to play the monster. “I left it to Al to make the picture, but as the president of Independent International, I made the final decisions,” Sam adds. Sam also tapped Famous Monsters’ Forry Ackerman who not only acted in the film, but also secured the electrical equipment and props of special effects wizard Kenneth Strickfaden for the production. Strickfaden’s crackling electrical contraptions were originally used in Universal’s Frankenstein film 40 years earlier. Against the odds, Dracula vs Frankenstein was a monster hit! Ahead of his time, Sam even released the film on TV AND in theaters/drive-ins “day-and-date” at the same time. “Nobody cared”, Sam says, chuckling, “I did what I wanted to do.”

Naturally, Sam devotes a chapter to his creative partner and “the brother I never had”, Al Adamson, who was tragically murdered by a contractor renovating his desert house in 1995. Incredibly Sam still had a connection with him because one night after Al had been declared “missing”, Sam silently asked his friend to give him a sign of where he was… the word “Cement” popped into his mind. He communicated that to police and sure enough, when they investigated, Al’s body was discovered underneath a cement floor. The contractor was apprehended in Florida and is now serving decades in prison but the pain of Sam’s loss is palpable. He still keeps Adamson’s name alive with drive-in screenings and special DVD and Blu-ray releases of their work.

Behind the scenes on "Dracula Vs. Frankenstein": (L to R): John Bloom,  Sam Sherman, Zandor Vorkov, Al Adamson.

Now 81, Sam feels the time is ripe for his story to be told. His oversize book is full of industry lore and life lessons. “I hope readers get that if they want to be in the picture business, they can… and people who aren’t filmmakers but want to know the history of Al and myself, the whole story is there – how we did it, why we did it and what really happened.” Summing up, Sam says, “We did what we had to do.”

CLICK HERE TO ORDER BOOK FROM AMAZON

Cinema Retro has received the following press release:

New York, NY -- August 3, 2021 -- Kino Lorber proudly announces the Blu-ray and DVD release of the critically-acclaimed documentary APOCALYPSE '45, a stirring account of the final year of World War II. Directed by celebrated documentarian Erik Nelson (The Cold Blue), APOCALYPSE '45 includes stunning restorations of never-before-seen archival footage (culled from over 700 reels in the National Archives) in vivid color and surround sound, and the voices of 24 men who lived through these experiences, immersing viewers in the events of the Pacific Theater with an immediacy and presence that brings history to life and serves as a tribute to the last of the Greatest Generation.

Presented in the extended director's cut, APOCALYPSE '45 comes to Blu-ray and DVD on September 7, 2021, with a SRP of $29.95 for the Blu-ray, and $19.95 for the DVD. Bonus features include Ford at Pearl, a new featurette containing long-lost color footage directed by Oscar®-winning filmmaker John Ford at Pearl Harbor in 1942 (23 minutes), plus two fully restored Oscar®-nominated documentaries from 1945, To the Shores of Iwo Jima (Newly Restored 6.5K Color Film, 5.1/Stereo Audio Mix, 20 Minutes), and The Last Bomb (1945, Newly Restored 6.5K Color Film, 5.1 Stereo/Stereo Audio Mix, 36 Minutes). Also included are a restoration demonstration, and the trailer.

Erik Nelson pioneered the genre he describes as "Big Screen History" with his groundbreaking 2018 documentary The Cold Blue, which featured newly-restored footage shot by Oscar®-winner William Wyler during his time with the 8th Air Force in World War II. The Cold Blue became the first in this genre of documentary films that would soon be followed by Peter Jackson's They Shall Not Grow Old and Todd Miller's Apollo 11.

With unprecedented access to footage shot at the time of the events, restored with state-of-the-art technology, APOCALYPSE '45 brings audiences closer than ever before to this defining chapter of American history, as told (and seen) by the men who were there.

CLICK HERE TO ORDER