Three sisters travel to their late father's mansion where they are to spend three nights together with their respective husbands, before they are eligible to hear the will (read to them by a man wearing make-up to rival Ramses' from Blood Feast (1963)). Also there are the two housekeepers, Martha (Veronica Radburn) and Ruth (Maggie Rogers), and Martha's deformed and dim-witted son Colin (Hal Borske), who we see murder two people at the beginning of the film. After a night of pompous partying, one of the couples, Veronica (Eileen Hayes) and Bill (Don Williams), find a dead rabbit in their bed (which was previously seen being eaten alive by Colin) with a note attached reading 'blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit."
Directed by exploitation and horror hack Andy Milligan, The Ghastly Ones (titled Blood Rites in the UK and placed on the Video Nasty list) is a fine example as to why he is considered one of the worst directors of all time, commonly placed in the same category of Edward D. Wood, Jr. and Herschell Gordon Lewis. He began his career in small-time off-Broadway production during the 1950's, and his experience in that medium is evident here as, unlike most trashy horror films, the film is almost unbearably wordy, as the main characters have their mundane conversations between the brief moments of gore. Saying that, I would much rather be listening to conversation than watching overlong stalking scenes or disco dancing which was so prevalent as running-time-filler in Grindhouse movies.
However, the movie is a massive bore, and even with the slender running-time of 70 minutes, I checked how long there was remaining at least three or four times. The awful, clunky camerawork, added to the fact that the film stock was so poor I could barely make out faces, gave me a headache. When the moments of inevitable gore come, the film is given a little relief, as the scenes of pitch-fork impaling and disembowelment are so bad it does give the film a little charm. It would work quite nice as a double-bill with the aforementioned Blood Feast, as they are both short, amateurish, and most notably, shit.
Rudy Ray Moore reprises his comic character creation, Dolemite, the hyperbolic, Mohammed Ali-jive-talking, rhythmic discoursing, man of the people. The sequel to 1975's Dolemite, the film offers nothing new to the series, or to blaxploitation cinema, but simply adheres to the generic signifiers, such as female nudity, car chases, and the ubiquitous kung-fu cross-over. But significantly for the stylistic variations of the sub-genre, the subject of racism is the most evident theme - despite the fact that blaxploitation is readily accused of reverse racism (a term I have never understood, as this would suggest that racism is a purely white condition - it's all xenophobia).
Dolemite is caught in bed with the local red-neck sheriff Beaty (J. B. Baron)'s wife, who is then shot dead by his deputy. Escaping this situation, Dolemite flees to California, and the sheriff's crew follow, pinning the crime upon Dolemite. Lady Reed also reprises her role as Queen Bee, and she along with "her girls" have their club shut down by the mob, and it is up to Dolemite to settle the score.
Undoubtedly taking into account the failings of Dolemite, the sequel increases much of what makes exploitation cinema exciting. The violence is more nuanced, there is a lot more naked flesh on display, but more significantly, the comedy is far more indulgently silly, over the top ridiculousness. It's those rhythmic one-liners that Moore produces that increase the enjoyability of the film. And of course (as previously stated), no blaxploitation film would be complete without that other ethnic sub-genre, kung-fu, and here we are enthralled by the ferocious work of the Central American Nunchuck Champion, plus an early role for future Ghostbuster, Ernie Hudson. Marginally better than its predecessor, it has a strange ability to be both dull and exciting.
Trouble in Paradise is a film that could not have been produced only four years after its 1932 release. Under the soon-to-be Hays Production Code, this narrative of con-artists flagrantly breaks levels of decency, sexual innuendo and criminality that the code was set up to eradicate. Lily (Miriam Hopkins) and Gaston Monescu (Herbert Marshall) join forces in Venice to become a couple of grifters, they live together in sin and have no scruples when stealing is concerned. They move to Paris where they target the famous perfume manufacturer Madame Mariette Colet (Kay Francis), finding confidence with the heiress, Gaston becomes her secretary, and play the long game in consuming as much of her wealth as possible.
With romantic entanglements becoming increasingly apparent, Colet practically offers Gaston a position as a gigolo. This menage-e-trois - love triangle - complicates the situation, as relationships become heated. It's a masterwork of comedy, with Hopkins being the most delightful and versatile of the cast. Her plucky attitude, and effervescent presence gives the film a fantastic tone - in one scene she sits at the bedside of Colet, and anxiously holds her hands under her legs so as to stop herself from stealing the jewels on the bedside table.
Based on Hungarian playwright Aladar Laszlo's stage work, 'The Honest Finder', this was the first of Ernst Lubitsch's films given the mantle of having "The Lubitsch Touch", this is a perfect example of creative film making. His camera glides through scenes, and from window to window in some scenes (perhaps nothing to a modern audience, but an incredible achievement in 1930's cinematic production). This is possibly the finest film in the pre-code era, and a complete joy in all respects. As it was produced before Will Hays's iron fist came crashing down on Hollywood production, the film doesn't insult its audience with a moral conclusion, as the thieves happily disappear into the sunset, laughing at the "ill-gotten" stash. Beautiful, anti-moralistic comedy at it finest.
A perfect example of how film style can be influential across continents, and can project that influence back into a dying genre, Akira Kurosawa's Yojimbo took its plot from Dashiell Hammett's crime novel 'Red Harvest' (which also influenced Miller's Crossing (1990)), retold as a samurai jidai-geki (Japanese period film), but fundamentally the film was a stylistic homage to the widescreen American westerns, of particularly John Ford. By the 1960's the western genre was diminished in the United States, but Italian director Sergio Leone borrowed the entire scenario of Yojimbo (this translates as The Bodyguard), cast then unknown Clint Eastwood, and made one of the greatest westerns, A Fistful of Dollars (1964). Kurosawa's influence can be seen in many post-1960's American directors in a wide range of styles and genres.
Set in the 1860's, where the shogunate, samurai tradition was suffering due to modernisation and changing attitudes. The lone samurai figure (known here by a false name, Sanjuro), played by Kurosawa's favourite actor, Toshiro Mifune, arrives in a feuding small town. Two rival gangs fight and bicker to gain total control over territory, and Mifune, a hired killer, brings his own bitter vengeance, and begins playing off the rival gangs off of one another. He changes sides at whim, and bargains for the greatest offering of money. His skills as a samurai are displayed when he first arrives in town, and his abilities are lauded, and the head of each gang vies for the samurai's attention, and for the chance to win the war.
Kurosawa's love of the widescreen format (tohoscope is used here - the branded system - like technoscope/vitascope et al. - for Japan's Toho studios that Kurosawa was working under), is obvious, and he uses it incredibly well. The incredible widescreen compositions are a beauty to behold, enhanced by black and white photography and the cinematography of Kazuo Miyagawa. Kurosawa was also a master of atmosphere, from character tensions to the more ethereal: Capturing feudal hostilities in western genre iconographic imagery, the opposing groups standing at each end of the street, Kurosawa adds the consistent movement of the wind moving the autumnal leaves - this is the kind of detail that heightens the visual experience.
Kurosawa's influence is undisputed (George Lucas - living off his one idea as he does - was hugely influenced), his style and storytelling genius would be hard not to homage - or "borrow" from. His imagery alone stand as fundamentally beautiful, the compositions' mis-en-scene holding the story together, making it believable and in fact becomes the films foundation - you could easily watch the film with the sound off, and still become totally absorbed in the story. With a genuine sense of humour (very black humour consequently), the film shows its intentions as a funny story about the foolish nature of war, in a diminishing world of tradition and the coming of modernity, with all of its machinery.
One of the many blaxploitation with the title prefix Black... (...Samurai, ...Caesar, ...Aphrodite), Gestapo also manages - rather uncomfortably - to incorporate the iconography of Nazism, bringing another of the popular sub-genre's of the exploitation market, that together make nazi-blaxploitation. "The People's Army", a vigilante group headed by General Ahmed (Rod Perry), are set up in Watts to protect black citizens in the inner city. After they run a white criminal organisation from the community, second in command Colonel Kojah (Charles Robinson), breaks the group in the middle to form his own, more fascistic group, indulging in money-making activities such as drug dealing, and orates for more direct, violent action.
Writer-director Lee frost (along with co-writer-producer Wes Bishop), has obviously, and incredibly insensitively, misinterpreted the black power movement in the late 1960's/'70's - particularly the Black Panthers - and presented it with Nazi iconography. It's an uncomfortable juxtaposition to see a group of black men congregated on a ghetto basketball pitch, dressed fully in the garments of the most vilified, ultra-racist political movement of the twentieth century. Why exactly would anyone (but particularly an ethnic minority), take on this most instantly recognisable of images?
There does seem to be an attempt to perhaps represent the opposing views of the two major iconic black figures of the 1960's. In Ahmed we have the message of non-violent protest from Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., whilst Kojah's view of violent actions mirrors the philosophy of Malcolm X, and his pronouncement of using violence in self-defence. But maybe I'm just reading into something that's not actually there. When the film isn't insulting its audience, it displays nothing new to an already lagging genre, and simply presents generic tropes: Blaxploitation was always criticised for perpetuating racial stereotypes, but this film could indeed be guilty of far more. With a series of scenes-we've-seen-before, such as the castration of a white man, after he raped a sister, the film also uses the contemporary necessities such as soft female nudity. Action scenes are played out with little excitement or even much vigorous movement, which along with the amateurish film making makes this film a totally dull squib. So... Hardly the "New Master Race," instead simply insulting to anyone who watches.
After his exile from his native Spain, director Luis Bunuel moved to Mexico in 1946, gaining citizenship in 1949. It was here where he would make his more generic films (by his standards), as he honed his own directorial skill while never straying too far from his surrealistic background. After the success of his comedy The Great Madcap (1949), he was commissioned by producer Oscar Dancigers to make a serious film about child poverty in Mexico City, and out of it came Los Olvidados, or The Young and the Innocent, to give it it's American title. Bunuel apparently spent months disguised as a homeless amongst the poverty-stricken children of the slums in order to research, and if that tale is true, it certainly came off, as Los Olvidados is one of the best and most realistic depictions of the innocent turning to crime in a fit of desperation.
The film follows three children in the same slum. Pedro (Alfonso Mejia) is a young tearaway who wants to change his ways and work, in order to help out his mother who neglects him due to her constant work. 'Little Eyes' (Mario Ramirez) has been abandoned by his father, and is adopted by the blind beggar Don Carmelo (Miguel Inclan), a bitter man who frequently voices his opinions on the young criminals of the city. El Jaibo (Robert Cobo) has just been released from prison and immediately sets about gaining revenge of the boy he thinks ratted him out. Jaibo and Pedro corner the boy, only for Jaibo to bludgeon him to death, and the two boys flee. Pedro struggles to keep himself out of trouble and leaves home after being accused of stealing a knife, only to find his and Jaibo's paths repeatedly crossing.
At its heart, this is pure neo-realism, sharing its tone most obviously with Vittorio de Sica's masterpiece The Bicycle Thieves (1948) in exposing poverty and class divide as the main cause of criminality, due to the ill education and the hopelessness of the young. Although, out of nowhere, comes a surrealistic dream sequence so beautiful, and so haunting, that you know you're watching Bunuel, and his artistic creativity seems to bulge from the screen. Best known for his mocking of the upper-classes (the bourgeois were clearly as fascinating to Bunuel as they were repugnant), here he stays in the slums, promoting as much sympathy for its filthy lead characters as hatred.
Jaibo is a true monster, raised without parents, he bullies his way through life, grasping any opportunity that presents itself (he even manages to seduce Pedro's lonely and overworked mother, and rob a legless man). It is Pedro who is the beating heart of the film, especially when he leaves home and we witness the state of the lower-classes from his eyes and how they are viewed (in one powerful sequence, an upper class man obviously propositions him for sex, but we only see their exchange, as we watch them through a window). Bunuel then manages to deliver not one, but two sensational endings, that manage to move and shock as much as the famous and upsetting climax to Bicycle Thieves. Bunuel would go to France to create his greatest works, but Los Olvidados displays many of the attributes that made Bunuel one of the most important directors in the history of film, as well as being a great film in its own right.
After the phenomenal success of Brian DePalma's Carrie (1976), telekinesis was used as a device for the horror genre in a number of films, including The Spell (1977), The Fury and The Medusa Touch (both 1978). Also released in 1978, this little-known Australian inclusion to the genre, Patrick, uses the titular character in a totally unique way than all others. Patrick (Robert Thompson) spends the entire film static in a hospital bed, his eyes wide open, starring consistently forward - very creepy. In the opening, we see Patrick's mother cavorting with a man she just met in her bath. Patrick walks in with an electric fire and throws it into the water. three years since this event, Patrick has been in a coma.
Set in a contemporary hospital setting, the ward for catatonic patients has its sisters and matron, Matron Cassidy (Julia Blake) hires English girl, Kathy (Susan Penhaligon), who becomes Patrick's personal nurse. As she spends more time with him, he begins to communicate, first through spitting, then, he speaks through a type-writer. As Kathy's personal life becomes intertwined with Patrick's emotions, he begins hurting the people around her that have upset her, including her ex-husband and the Matron.
It's an interesting, if slightly ludicrous idea, that has been well executed by first-time horror director, Richard Franklin, who went on to direct firstly in Hollywood, with Psycho II (1983), and then in the United Kingdom with Link (1986). The relationship between Kathy and Patrick do also display some charming moments of pathos, but the film also has its moments of humour (some unintentional), particularly with Doctor Roget. Played by Robert Helmann (many will remember him as the horrific Child Catcher in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang (1968), he seems to be possessed at moments by the madness of Kinski, with his wild obsession with the titular patient. Worth it for Helpmann alone, but nevertheless a genuinely exciting film, raising subtly issues around euthanasia.
Adapted from one of three stories - The Undefeated - taken from Irvine Welsh's collection of three tales of chemical romance, sees a group of twenty-somethings indulging in the clubbing/pilling scene, and they hold the drug in high regard, often referring to it in terms of their connections to spirituality. They build their lives around such psychoactive explorations. Lloyd (Adam Sinclair) gets involved in drug dealing, and finds himself smuggling from Amsterdam, for local "hard-man" dealer, Solo (Carlo Rota). It of course all comes crumbling down; it wouldn't be a Welsh story if it didn't have the morality to take his characters to the depths of their situations and depravity (or though less depravity that, say, The Acid House (1998)).
A Canadian girl working in Edinburgh, Heather (played by pretty/vacant Kristin Kreuk), meets Lloyd and they fall for each other under the influence of E, and they begin a saccharine, cringe-worthy, pathetic love affair. Billy Boyd's character somehow ends up institutionalised, and basically becomes Jack Nicholson in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest (1975), and the other friend pops up when required. Lloyd still owes Solo money, and this causes violent crescendos. It also attempts to connect the spiritual aspects of the chemically enhanced state of euphoria associated with ecstasy, with the natural chemical brain functions that occur when in love - aww, how cute!
It's all very poorly executed. The film making is uninspired, and seems to want to "borrow" many '90's cinematic tricks that were used for these kind of films (such as the other Welsh adaptation, and hugely successful Trainspotting (1996)), but they simply do not work, and to be honest, are completely dated by 21st century visuals - I mean, who really wishes to be given each characters name on the screen when, for one we don't actually care, and second, would you really do that when introducing a character half way through the film? What we can basically take from this, is that the post-modern aspects of '90's cinema are thankfully over, and this film is over a decade too late. Is the subject even relevant anymore? Or is this just a case of me no longer being in my twenties, and out-of-touch with youth culture. Perhaps, but I an still observant enough to adamantly state that this film is shit. And for a final piece of postmodernist bullshit, the film is marketed with exactly the same iconography as Trainspotting used sixteen years previously - pathetic.
Spanish director Narciso Ibanez Serrador was never happy with the marketing for the release of his first horror film, particularly in the United States, where it was released by AIP. It is understandable when the trailer is not very representative of the tone of the film. The trailer is more salacious, and hints at more kinetic horror than is actually delivered. However, this does not mean that the film fails. Far from it. In fact, the trailer does a disservice to this rather atmospheric, slow-burning story with horror elements, set in a French boarding school for naughty girls. Teresa (Cristina Galbo) is newly introduced to the school, and the tensions of hierarchy are established immediately, and this brooding sense illustrates itself in moments of sexual frustration, sadism and humiliation.
The school of corrective discipline is overseen by headmistress, Sra. Fourneau (Lili Palmer), whose son, Luis (John Moulder-Brown), lives a floor above the girls, but is known for his voyeurism - he often peeps whilst the girls shower (consequently, the girls shower in bathrobes). Fourneau is over-protective of Luis, and refers to the girls who come through the school as no good for him, too unsettled and dirty. You could indeed call Luis a Bates-in-waiting. As Teresa discovers, through gossip and hearsay, girls have been "escaping" because they need to see boys - their sexual urges too great to ignore. But as a love-struck girl, Isabelle (Maribel Martin), takes the advice of Luis to leave with him, she is murdered on her way to meet him, in a slow-motion, abstracted and balletic scene in the forests.
Whilst the finale's "twist" will be spotted instantly, this does not effect the impact of it, with its macabre, and chillingly sycophantic nature. It certainly plods often, particularly in the first half, but it instills a climbing sense of peculiarity. With the dynamic of the hierarchical systems in the school, suspects are everywhere, and it is the relationships, often signified with repressed sexuality, a deeply sadistic nature, the girls are often humiliated, and Fourneau seems to relish (much like her son) these voyeuristic-sadistic explorations, as non-conformist girls get beaten. The setting of a Gothic period piece lends itself to the ponderous repression, and makes the girls less accessible; the time of full coverage, their frocks thicker than a winter quilt.
Blaxploitation films are so frequently ridiculed and parodied (much of it with reason) these days, that it's easy to forget that some of them were actually pretty good. Shaft (1971) paved the way for the sub-genre with its strutting bad-ass lead who's a sex-machine to all the chicks, and Isaac Hayes' Oscar-winning score (for what he will forever be best remembered for). Hayes himself steps into the lead role here as ex-American football star and bail bondsman Mac 'Truck' Turner, who according to Yaphet Kotto's bad-guy pimp Blue, is "like a bulldog with eyes up his ass!", and displays some surprisingly charismatic qualities that makes it quite a shame he didn't appear in more.
Greasy lawyer Fogarty (the great Dick Miller) employs bounty-hunters 'Truck' Turner and his partner Jerry (Alan Weeks - with the best grin in cinema) to track down a low-down pusher and pimp named Gator (Paul Harris). After an extended chase scene, Turner and Jerry manage to kill Gator, much to the dismay of Gator's lady Dorinda (Nichelle Nichols - Uhura!). Dorinda rounds up the big pimps and offers her valuable collection of whores in exchange for Turner's head, a deal in which Blue accepts. Wanting to settle down with his girlfriend Annie (Annazette Chase), Turner finds his life turned upside when Blue employs a gang of hired killers.
Beginning almost as a buddy-comedy, the witty script and some genuine chemistry serve up some amusing early scenes, showing off Hayes' natural screen presence. But this turns into pure police procedural blaxploitation as the main plot kicks in, with jive-talk, pimps in some of the most delightfully ludicrous dress I've ever seen, car-chases, slow-motion shoot-outs, cocaine, hookers, and of course a tragically neglected soundtrack from Hayes himself. The action scenes are surprisingly good, and Corman protege Jonathan Kaplan (director of fellow Grindhouse Project feature Night Call Nurses (1972) - review #443) makes sure he includes as much slow-motion men falling off rooftops and gushing fake blood as possible. Bloody good fun, and probably better than Shaft.
It really serves me right that I had to watch this film. When the Royal Wedding raped every possible human sense in my body a year ago, some news reports showed clips of this laughable made-for-TV movie shown to American audiences, much to many a news-casters amusement. It seemed ironic since the rest of their news report was covering this sham, mock-fairytale wedding that seemed to have the plebs and Royalists alike masturbating in the street at the sight of a rich-boy who happened to be our future King taking mere upper-class Katie Middleton up the aisle (that isn't a euphemism by the way). I laughed and got hold of the film thinking it was so bad I had to see it. But when the Wedding euphoria died down, it lingered in my mind that it was still skulking amongst my film collection, and since I've started choosing my films at random, I've wondered when this might crop up. Well, early in the week, my fears became a reality.
The story obviously follows young Prince William (Nico Evers-Swindell) as he packs his bags and heads to St. Andrews to study, saying goodbye to his father Prince Charles (an embarrassed looking Ben Cross). He is swarmed by girls and hangers-on, and eventually befriends Ian (Jonathan Patrick Moore), and Kate Middleton (Camilla Luddington) who he in a class with. Their romance takes off, as the film switches from William's desire to keep their relationship private, to the eventual media frenzy after the announcement. Kate struggles with constant paparazzi attention, and William's commitment to his 'royal life' becomes a problem.
I feel almost bad tearing this film apart, as its clearly under no illusions of being anything by complete bull-shit. But bull-shit it is - a laughable, Americanised production that romanticises every possible aspect of the story which is surely an indication of how American's view the British (namely the English). The awful (mainly American) actors struggle with a methodical, cliche-ridden script which squeezes every formulaic aspect out of the genre (they even have a kiss in the rain). It's especially important to point out how laughable the fact is that the film highlights the intrusion the mass media have on their lives, when they just want a 'normal' life, when this film is precisely that. It is, however, quite funny, unintentionally I may add, with many cringe-worthy moments of pure awfulness, especially the scene where William watches Kate in a fashion show ("she's hot!"). Pure tosh.
Based upon Elinor Glyn's novel of the same name (she also adapted the screen story, and has a cameo as herself), this rags-to-riches tale begins with a camp (silent-era homosexual coding) department store executive, Monty (played with relish by William Austin, whose look insure John Waters has been influenced by) reading Glyyn's article in 'Cosmopolitan' magazine, about the concept of "IT": Someone who possesses "IT" oozes sex appeal, and draws others towards them, like a moth to flame. Looking around the shop floor, he observes that one shop girl, Betty Lou (Clara Bow), is the only girl in the building that possesses "IT".
Betty dreams of breaking away from poverty (a common theme in '20's Hollywood cinema), and sees the dashing department store owner, Cyrus Waltham (Antonio Moreno), and attempts to get noticed by him. They embark on a love affair, with the characteristic up-and-downs, but with one remarkable service done the pair fall apart. There is an incredible scene of selflessness by Betty, her room-mate, Molly (Priscilla Bonner), has two local busybodies (played by Jacqueline Gadsden and Julia Swayne Gordon) threatening to take her baby to a home, but Betty steps in and tells them that the baby is hers. This, of course, leads to a misconstrued situation in her love life, and consequently a comedy of errors.
Elinor Glyn's impact on early 20th century popular culture is evident right here. It could be argued that she created the romantic comedy, and certainly popularised women's romantic fiction. But from this book in particular, she created an enduring concept that still infects our popular culture: "IT". And with the incredible "ITness" of Clara Bow, she can truly be titled "The Original IT Girl". Sadly, after being the roaring twenties' most famous sex symbol, she left the limelight shortly after the coming of sound cinema, and moved to Nevada with her actor husband, Rex Bell. Most unfortunately, she suffered for many years with psychiatric issues, and spent some time in institutions - but her sassy, beautiful image is immortal.
In typical Grindhouse style, Chain Gang Women uses a suggestive title to mislead audiences into thinking they are in for 90 minutes of sweaty, sassy women smashing rocks and taking showers together. What we get instead, is two women, who only make their appearance 40 minutes in, and while they bare their flesh for all to see as per drive-in rules, they sadly wield no machine guns and lack anything resembling the charisma of a, say, Pam Grier. This is a Women in Prison (WiP) movie with no women in prison, and spends most of the time being a lame convicts-on-the-run story.
Harris (Robert Lott) has six months to go on his stint for possessing marijuana when he is moved to a chain gang and linked up to burly murderer Weed (Michael Stearns). When one of the other prisoners knocks out the prison guard with his pick-axe, the prisoners flee on foot. We see via montage the gang being gradually wound up/killed, while Harris and Weed reach the safety of Harris's wife Ann (Linda York). While Harris is out getting Weed some clothes, Weed rapes Ann, and the two hit the road again reaching the farm of an old farmer and his sexy young wife (Barbara Mills). Turned on by the prospect of danger, and leaving her dull life with the cruel old man, she takes off with the two criminals.
If all this sounds incredibly dull and methodical, well it's because it is. I would forgive the blatant lie of the title if the film managed to be interesting in its own right, but director Lee Frost has so few ideas as to how to progress the film, that is becomes reduced to a series of repetitive shots of prisoners working and fist fights, and then later a series of bland exchanges and car chases. A least they made a bit of an effort with Porter Jordan's score, as although I wouldn't exactly put it onto my iPod, it's not half bad by grindhouse standards (which is usually some twangy disco score played over and over throughout the movie).
Oliver Stone's second feature film, The Hand is an effective horror yarn based on a novel by Marc Brandell. In an early scene the psychological themes that weave through this narrative are highlighted. Jonathan Lansdale's (Michael Caine) daughter, Lizzie (Mara Hobel), pokes the tail of a lizard, as her stick gets closer, the tail writhes. She questions her fathers explanation that it is reflex, as it stops once danger (the stick) is moved away. The original title of the novel was 'The Lizard's Tail', and it is this that sets up the idea of amputee psychological connections; an exploration of ideas perpetuated, and fetishised by the real-life condition experienced by amputees, phantom limb syndrome. (This is a condition where the sensation of - in this example - hand and fingers, can still be felt, despite the limbs absence.)
Caine is a comic book artist, and in a freak car accident, he loses his right hand. After a search the hand is never discovered. With his career over, he moves away from New York to teach, his wife Anne (Andrea Marcovicci), and daughter stay behind. As Jon embarks on a sexual affair with one of his students, Stella (Annie McEnroe), and as Jon's angers erupt, it seems that his hand carries out revenge. The most effective scene in the film, one that is clearly, and brilliantly directed, acted and lit, is in Jon's cabin garage, police stand around sweating. They report a funny smell, and Jon is quizzed as to what is in the truck of his car. It's a thoroughly atmospheric sequence.
The plot is, of course, completely silly, but it actually works quite well. It does have moments of great mood, helped by James Horner's score, and the visual effects by Carlo Rambaldi - the severed hand mostly effective, as "good-FX-their-the-time. Embellishing the phantom limb syndrome concept is a delicious little idea, and perfectly fits within the context of many horror films of the time. It has elements of Stephen King, James Herbert, and certainly takes influence from the famous EC comics of the 1950's, and this modern mixture of efficient horror, gore, and a little splash of Jungian psychoanalytical character psychosis works well as an adequate chiller.
So here it arrives, at last, after five films, four years, and many an explosion, Iron Man (Robert Downey Jr.), Thor (Chris Hemsworth), Captain America (Chris Evans), the Hulk (Mark Ruffalo) and Black Widow (Scarlett Johansson) are brought together (with the addition of Hawkeye (Jeremy Renner)) to become the third highest-grossing movie of all time (so far). While the individual films vary in quality, it is Joss Whedon who was chosen to handle such an big-name ensemble. The Avengers is hardly a masterpiece, but is one of the most effortlessly entertaining films I've ever seen, with a witty script, an extremely talented cast, and Scarlett Johansson's arse back in spandex.
Loki (Tom Hiddleston), Thor's Asgardi brother, arrives on Earth via a portal created by the Tesseract cube, and destroys the headquarters of S.H.I.E.L.D., an espionage agency ran by Nick Fury (Samuel L. Jackson). Fury calls on Steve Rogers (Evans) to help against Loki, who is busy causing a distraction as a Loki-possessed Hawkeye steals iridium needed to stabilise the Tesseract's power, and Agent Coulson (Clark Gregg) calls on Tony Stark's (Downey Jr.) expertise in understanding the power that Loki may now wield. Natasha Romanoff (Johansson) is sent to Calcutta to round-up Bruce Banner, while Thor moves in after Rogers and Stark capture Loki. Soon enough, the group are bickering on board S.H.I.E.L.D.'s giant Helicarrier, while's Loki's grand plan comes to fruition.
Joss Whedon clearly loves his comic-books. While the film in absolutely no way isolate's newcomers, this is a film for the geeks. Ever wanted to see the Incredible Hulk fight Iron Man? Or the Hulk punching Thor thity feet through the air? Iron Man mocking Thor with Shakespearian venom? What about the Hulk repeatedly smashing Loki against the floor (in possibly the most inspired moment of the film) by his legs? Well, nerds, you better start thinking about your gran before you spray your pants as The Avengers has them all and then some. It's a true indication of how the balance of power in Hollywood has shifted of late, with Internet chat-rooms providing a medium for many an uber-nerd to vent their opinions and approvals/disapprovals. With directors like Peter Jackson, Edgar Wright and Zack Snyder (as well as Whedon) amongst the directorial A-list, films no longer need to be bogged down with added romance or morality lessons to please the 'wider audience' producers thought existed, but instead go back to the source of what made the subject so beloved in the first place.
But the film is far more than great special-effects and action scenes (though they are here in abundance), and shows that a film doesn't have to simply ejaculate in your face a la Michael Bay to make mega-bucks. Whedon's screenplay is the key to the film and the scenes in which the group verbally interact (especially in the early scenes where they despise each other) provides plenty of wit and genuine heart. No character is forgotten either - Whedon has experience handling an ensemble with the tragically cancelled Firefly series, which led to the terrific film adaptation Serenity (2005) - and The Avengers' 140+ running time allows them all to breathe, without anyone being lost amongst the enormous personalities and emotional complexities.
Although it's not the best superhero film ever made, it's certainly the most fun. And with the darkness and psychological menace of The Dark Knight Rises still lingering in my mind, The Avengers offers a funnier, more care-free alternative in the genre (although The Avengers does have its share of genuine shocks). If there were any concerns about the film living up to its hype, they have been well and truly laid to rest, with Ruffalo's Bruce Banner providing yet another casting masterstroke after negotiations between Marvel and Edward Norton broke down (they can stop changing him now after three Hulk's in as many movies). Even though it does move a bit too frantically for its own good sometimes, Downey Jr. and co are just too magnetic for this to become a problem. The film offers yet another post-credits nipple-erecter, opening Marvel's universe even more, so hopefully there will be more of the same to come with The Avengers 2 (due 2015 according to IMDb) and Edgar Wright's Ant-Man (probably out next year).
"Mother of mercy. Is this the end of Rico?" The final words of Rico "Little " Casaer (Edward G. Robinson), a small-time criminal who moves to the city, along with his buddy Joe Massara (Douglas Fairbanks Jr.). There they join Sam Vettori's gang. After Rico guns down the police commissioner during a robbery, his reputation grows, and he rises in the ranks, creating a monstrous ego. But with the rise of power and fortune comes betrayal, deceit, and the inevitable demise.
After the wall street crash of 1929, it was inescapable that the gangster film would become a huge box-office success. After all, these were men that took what they wanted, and lived in luxurious homes, and adorned with expensive jewellery. But with the glamorisation of crime, comes the moral paradox - and even here, in a film almost eighty years old, the message that a representation of good and evil is never that clear, and the concept is filled with grey areas. In the great depression, people instinctively mistrusted authority. After all, they were as corrupt as the gangsters that paid them.
With an electrifying performance by Robinson, he spits the snappy dialogue out as if he "were" the charismatic street criminal. He sneers at the camera, and is utterly magnetic. As Rico's relationship with Joe splinters, - Joe begins a love affair with the delectable Olga Stassoff (Glenda Farrel) - it soon turns nasty. But, soon the reality of the situation catches up to Rico, and, probable to a Hollywood movie, morality becomes its climax. Essential early talkie genre cinema. "Yeah! sho get-it watched. See!"
The current wave of live-action cinematic superheroes is nothing new to our screens. Since 'Superman' first revolutionised the comic book industry in 1939, there have been film adaptations. In the 1940's there were many serials (Batman, Superman, and Captain Marvel for example). Then in the 1950's and 1960's The Adventures of Superman (1952 - 1958) and the campy Batman (1966 - 1968) the superheroes became household names on television. Then, in the 1970's, DC comics, through the ABC television network, produced the highly successful Wonder Woman (1975 - 1979) series, with the Amazonian beauty of Linda Carter. With the prospects of DC's most famous character's big screen incarnation, in Richard Donner's Superman: The Movie (1978), Marvel, with their groundbreaking silver-age characters, needed a platform for their characters. Whilst they had success with their animated Saturday morning shows, live-action and the TV series was the place to promote them.
From 1977 to 1982, Universal television broadcast The Amazing Spider-man (1977 - 1979), The Incredible Hulk (1978 - 1982), and two TV movies, Captain America (1979) and Captain America II: Death Too Soon (also 1979). The quality was of course varied, and the Hulk was its most credible triumph. Then in 1978, writer/producer, Philip DeGuere, produced a feature length television movie of one of Marvels most "psychedelic", cerebral characters, Doctor Strange. Created by comic legend Steve Ditko, it seems like quite a huge leap of faith to create a plausible adaptation within the restrictions of television production. This leads to some of the more fantastical elements of the comic books to be altered, or left out entirely - but this is of course an understandable exclusion.
Doctor Stephen Strange (Peter Hooten), a Psychiatrist working in a New York hospital who has been chosen by Thomas Lindmer (John Mills) to take his place as the new Sorcerer Supreme of Earth. However, an evil Sorceress, Morgan LeFay (Jessica Walter), has plans to kill the Earth-bound magicians. After throwing Thomas off a bridge, Clea Lake (Eddie Benton), has been telepathically controlled by the evil witch, Morgan, and it is down to Dr. Strange to save her from the astral plain, then conquer the cosmic universe to become the sorcerer.
It does have the limitations of 1970's television production, and falls flat very often with the dialogue - including excruciatingly annoying laughter from Strange and Clea, as they laugh at their unfunny exchanges. However, it is an admirable effort to bring a more obscure Marvel character to a live-action context. With Stan Lee as a consultant (as with all the other aforementioned shows), Lee states that this was his most enjoyable experience out of all of them. It was intended as a pilot for a series, but this was never produced - a television interview with Morgan LeFay towards the end, actually gives clues as to the way the show could have gone, and to be honest, it seems like an incredibly good concept. Morgan LeFay would have indoctrinated into her realm of magic the youth of America, through the zeitgeist idea of the self-help programme, something that was big business in the '70's. Alas, the idea was never seen through.
In the early 1980's the teen sex comedy was a prevalent genre, producing such "risque" works as Porky's (1982), Fast Times at Ridgemont High (1982), and The Last American Virgin (1982) - naming just a few of the many varying qualities of film. Despite Porky's being a more juvenile, and therefore lesser entry, it was the fifth top grossing film of 1982 (even though Fast Times is superior). Basically what these teen movies required was parties, booze and tits. And whilst Valley Girl has all of the ingredients, it is a far more mature film than the antics of a Screwballs, Spring Break, or Private School (all 1983), whose narratives involve the pursuit of sex, in what ever droll form that may take. I'm not suggesting these films are awful - they have their qualities - but the level of drama or realism of character is sorely missing.
Julie (Deborah Foreman), as the title highlights, is from the rich valleys of California. At a house party, she meets Randy (Nicolas Cage), who is a "punk" from the wrong side of the tracks (in this world Hollywood is that place). They hang out for a time and fall for each other. However, the pressures of rich, privileged life gets in the way, as the conformity of Julie's friends, suggests that she is required to get back with her previous, Jock boyfriend Tommy (Michael Bowen). In the high schools of the valley, the need to stay within the confines of your "class" is essential to keep your reputation in tact, and Randy does not fit in to the generic role of preppy boy.
The film does itself conform to romantic comedy tropes, but this does not matter. As with later teen comedies (Clueless (1995) or Mean Girls (2004) for example), Valley Girl highlights, to the mostly teen audience, that it is important not to conform to your peers ideals, fashions and product consumption. Julie's parents are seen by her as lame of course (it's a teenage thing), but Randy sees differently, as they are hippies of the Woodstock age, running a pseudo-fashionable health food shop, their own non-conformist attitude evident, but never pushed onto the daughter. It's a charming little film, that treats its teenage characters with maturity, and they are never simple box-tickers like so many of these comedies of vacuous, shallow, and stereotypical consumer teenagers.
Directed by exploitation and horror hack Andy Milligan, The Ghastly Ones (titled Blood Rites in the UK and placed on the Video Nasty list) is a fine example as to why he is considered one of the worst directors of all time, commonly placed in the same category of Edward D. Wood, Jr. and Herschell Gordon Lewis. He began his career in small-time off-Broadway production during the 1950's, and his experience in that medium is evident here as, unlike most trashy horror films, the film is almost unbearably wordy, as the main characters have their mundane conversations between the brief moments of gore. Saying that, I would much rather be listening to conversation than watching overlong stalking scenes or disco dancing which was so prevalent as running-time-filler in Grindhouse movies.
