52 Perfect Movies: Young Frankenstein (1974)

"Are you saying that I put an abnormal brain into a 7 1/2 foot tall, 54-inch wide GORILLA?!"

When one thinks of a "perfect film", it's more often than not a drama that comes to mind. In the course of this series, there are not very many comedies that make the cut, let alone ones as downright zany and farcical as Young Frankenstein. Yet there can be no denying the sheer genius of this, one of the most perfect comic motion pictures ever made. In a career highlighted by some damn funny movies, Mel Brooks truly outdid himself with this, the one he'll always be most remembered for.

Sure, there have been others, such as Blazing Saddles and The Producers, that come to mind as comedy classics. But none seem to touch the sublime combination of humor, homage and pathos that this one does. It's very easy to see that Brooks has a deep-seated, genuine affection for the Universal horror flicks he is parodizing here. It is exuded in every moment of screen time, and comes across in every single performance. It is a labor of love, and a joy to behold.

It's no wonder that Brooks would repeatedly revisit the formula he started with this film, of spoofing a favorite film genre. It works so well here, that it's only natural to try and recreate it. And while it did work again a few times, it never clicked quite as well as it does here. This is a film so good that it can actually stand amongst the very films to which it is paying tribute.

Most importantly, it's funny as hell. Mel Brooks has been accused of employing stale humor at times in his movies, but that is never further from the truth than in the work he put into Young Frankenstein. To be fair, a great deal of this can also be attributed to the great Gene Wilder, who conceptualized and co-wrote the project with Brooks. In fact, I'd submit that the movie's genius may be more attributable to Wilder than to Brooks.

Not only does Wilder excel as the co-creator, but also as the film's star. In no other film is his natural frenetic energy put to better use--this is a comic performance for the ages. And he's not alone, either, as the movie is rich with brilliant comic performances from the likes of Teri Garr, Gene Hackman, Peter Boyle as the Monster, and of course the late, great Madeline Kahn doing her best old-time movie starlet impression.

And then there are Cloris Leachman and Marty Feldman, two masters of comedic timing whose characterizations as Frau Blucher and Eye-Gor add so much to the film. Not to mention Kenneth Mars in a role directly spoofing that of Lionel Atwill in Son of Frankenstein. Together with the infectiously brilliant Wilder in the lead, this troupe of outstanding performers represent one of the finest comedy ensembles ever put together on film.

Like the very best parodies, Young Frankenstein bursts with genuine admiration and affection for the source material. It looks and feels like a Universal horror film, and is bursting with references and in-jokes targeted at ardent fans. The hermit scene alone is so memorable that for many, it has actually eclipsed the original scene from Bride of Frankenstein, upon which it was based. That says a lot.

There are so many timeless set pieces and gags scattered throughout by the keen comedic minds of Brooks and Wilder. The old "walk this way" routine with Eye-Gor. The doctor's ludicrous medical school presentation. "Abby Normal". Frau Blucher and the neighing horses. And of course, "Puttin' on the Ritz." And yet, even in a comedy as ridiculous as this one, there is room for genuine pathos and gravity, as can be witnessed, for example, in the scene in which Frankenstein and his monster come to an understanding while sharing a jail cell. This is more than just Brooks and his vaudeville schtick. This is comedy on a whole other level.

There is a reason why Young Frankenstein stands out from the rest of Mel Brooks' body of work--why the rest of his career was arguably an attempt to equal its greatness. With the help of Gene Wilder, he was able to craft something that has truly stood the test of time as the ultimate love note to a venerable subgenre of film that Brooks, Wilder and so many others hold so dear. Most importantly of all, it is uproariously funny, and a rare comedy that stands up to endless repeated viewings. Call it Frankenstein. Call if Fronkensteen. I call it brilliance.

NEXT UP: The Godfather Part II (1974)

52 Perfect Movies: The Exorcist (1973)

"I'm the Devil. Now kindly undo these straps."

Horror films very often catch a bad rap, particularly from the "mainstream" film community, whatever that even means. The bottom line is, they are often considered no more than dispensible B-movies, the equivalent of pulp novels or comic books. Good for a thrill and a little fun, but then quickly forgotten. Needless to say, there are legions of serious horror fans who can tell you that this generalization is ridiculous, but it's rare that the casual movie-going audience is made to understand that horror can deliver some high-quality work--films that can stay with you not just on the basis of how frightening they are, but simply by virtue of how great they are as cinema.

The Exorcist was one of the first films of the modern era to really do this, to cross over into the mainstream consciousness and be recognized as a fine piece of film-making in its own right. To a certain extent, Rosemary's Baby had paved the way a few years before, but The Exorcist is far and away the superior film, and it forced critics and audiences alike to rethink their stereotyped opinions of horror in general.

Nominated for Best Picture at the Academy Awards, The Exorcist is the work of William Friedkin, one of the geniuses who led the way during the formation of the new, auteur-driven Hollywood in the late 1960s and early 1970s. Just the fact that he had agreed to helm the picture gave it instant credibility, and the talent he brought to the table helped transform William Peter Blatty's potboiler novel into one of the most important pieces of 1970s cinema.

The Exorcist is not only a superbly made film, but it also succeeds as horror because it is supremely scary. Granted, such a quality is largely subjective, but the fact remains that The Exorcist is more often than not the film that gets mentioned whenever anyone is trying to determine "the scariest movie ever made." It may not be so for everyone, but just the fact that it works so well as a horror movie while also being such a flawless piece of cinema is quite an impressive achievement.

During an era when realism in film was being stressed, The Exorcist was a bit of an anomaly. But, interestingly enough, it works exactly because it brings that realist aesthetic to the material. It should also not be forgotten that it remains the highest-grossing horror film ever made. So here you have a motion picture that was a rousing success financially, reached the high watermark of its genre, and also is recognized as one of the finest films ever made. Not a bad trifecta at all for a movie about a little girl possessed by the Devil.

As with all great films, what makes The Exorcist work in the end is the script, and the performances. And as with most films that surpass the novels on which they were based, the screenplay, adapted by Blatty, improves upon the original novel, delivering characters who live and breath and make us care very deeply for them. Father Karras and Regan MacNeil in particular, along with Regan's put-upon mother Chris, are all realized in startling fashion. These are real people in the real world, faced with very real struggles, despite the bizarre, over-the-top form which these struggles take.

A teenaged Linda Blair really makes us feel for the plight of Regan, the pure, virginal young girl who is so viciously and cruelly taken over by the demon (voiced in a highly effective fashion by Mercedes McCambridge). Set up in the beginning the way she is, it is truly tragic to watch her spiral into chaos, and to see the wholesome relationship with her mother so thoroughly devastated. And speaking of her mother, Ellen Burstyn makes the most of the best role of her career here, communicating all the desperation of a helpless mother faced with an unthinkable threat to her child about which she can do nothing.

But this movie truly belongs to Jason Miller, whose agnostic Father Karras represents the moral center of the entire narrative, and the character with whom viewers are invited to identify. He is the everyman forced to find his inner strength and redeem himself in order to defend good from evil. Miller's performance is so powerful, in fact, that it completely overshadows that of the very capable Max Von Sydow, who actually plays the titular exorcist, Father Merrin. Also memorable in a supporting role is the great Lee J. Cobb as Lt. William Kinderman.

The Exorcist still very much has the power to frighten on a very visceral, intellectual level. More than just shock value, the terror on display here is deep and profound, stemming from real spiritual concerns. And even though most do not really believe in the Devil or demonic possession, the notion of outside evil penetrating our world, and profaning that which is pure and pristine, is something that tends to touch us on a gut level, tapping into our primal fear of the unknown. This is a horror film in the truest sense of the term, and accomplishes that which few horror films ever really do--it fills us with absolute dread.

The Exorcist forever changed the horror genre in cinema, and was a part of a bold, innovative era in moviemaking which we haven't seen the like of since. There are those who snicker at its dire religious themes, who try to laugh off the deep-seated anxiety this film provokes. If anything, their nervous dismissals only serve to further establish the film's raw power. This is a movie that needs to be revisited by those who know it more as a cultural touchstone than an actual movie. It is only then that its impressive power is truly revealed.

NEXT UP: Young Frankenstein (1974)

52 Perfect Movies: The Godfather (1972)

"I'm gonna make him an offer he can't refuse..."

Well, here we are. A while back, I committed myself to this series on what I consider to be absolutely perfect motion pictures...and as far as I'm concerned, we are at the epicenter of that list. Because Francis Ford Coppola's The Godfather is not just any perfect film--it is the perfect film. Even amongst screen masterpieces, it stands head and shoulders above the pack, as what may very well be the ultimate expression of filmmaking yet seen.

In my humble opinion, and the opinion of countless others, The Godfather is the greatest motion picture ever made. It is the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel; it is Mozart's Requiem; it is King Lear. Filmmaking may be a flawed art compromised to a certain by being a form of popular entertainment first and foremost--but all that aside, it can be safely said that it literally gets no better than this.

Do I even have to sell you on why The Godfather deserves such praise? The epic story of one family's corruption of the American dream and of the shocking effects of unbridled power, it is a work of sublime beauty, startling violence and technical mastery, all rolled into one transcendent viewing experience. In simple terms, it is the type of film which, once it is discovered while changing TV channels (usually when one gets to AMC), must be watched for the remainder of its running time.

Mario Puzo's novel is lifted by the once-impeccably gifted hands of Coppola to heights I would dare say even the author himself had never dreamed. With his accomplice in genius, the legendary cinematographer Gordon Willis behind the camera, Coppola approaches the material with a singularity of vision that is all but unparalleled in American cinema. This is Greek tragedy transformed into pop culture. This is that great, hardly attainable feat: entertainment both fit for mainstream consumption, and masterful enough to become high art in the truest sense.

With a cast of characters highlighted by career-defining performances from the likes of Marlon Brando, Al Pacino, James Caan and Robert Duvall, it is the kind of film in which plot is secondary, and character comes first. And for my money, that's really where it's at, and the true test of whether or not a piece of narrative will stand the test of time. It is also why lovers of the film (is there anyone who doesn't?) can watch it and rewatch it, gaining more pleasure from it every time.

Brando brings a complicated pathos to the role of Don Vito Corleone that is dismissed as a caricature only by the most cynical of moviegoers. Rather, the Don as played by Brando is a man desperately trying to hold his family together with the good intentions that he doesn't realize will always pave the road to hell. His son Michael (Pacino) is the moral center and narrative lynch-pin of the film; as we watch his descent from squeaky-clean war hero to cold and calculating mob boss, we can't help but feel we are witnessing a fall from grace as timeless as any depicted in fiction since the dawn of civilization.

Duvall deserves so much more credit than he ever gets for a restrained yet brilliant performance as consigliere Tom Hagen, an adopted son to the Don who in many ways would've made the best don himself, were he not a non-Italian. And then there is Caan, so utterly perfect as the hot-blooded Sonny Corleone that he has been recognized over the years by numerous Italian-American organizations, despite not actually being Italian in real life. Add to this unforgettable performances from the likes of John Cazale (Fredo), Talia Shire (Connie), Lenny Montana (Luca Brasi), Diane Keaton (Kay) and many more, and you have a veritable smorgasbord of gifted actors doing their finest work.

Nino Rota's brilliant and iconic score needs no introduction, and almost no justification for how powerful, moving and completely gorgeous it is, not to mention entirely crucial to the impact the movie makes on the viewer. This is film music of the highest order, lending an air of larger-than-life tragedy and gravity that compliments Puzo, Coppola and Willis' work with a level of perfection seldom, if ever achieved. Just a note or two of the score, whether it be the Main Title, Sicilian Pastorale, or Halls of Hear theme, can conjure up instant emotional reactions.

Much more than a simple gangster film, The Godfather is Americana itself--the tale of the immigrant and his place in the nation, of the bonds of family and how they can be warped to serve greed and aggression. It challenges our notions of good and evil, often drawing criticism, in fact, for the way it arguably glorifies the world it portrays and glamorizes the actions of those who live in it. However, when watching the film, one cannot help but be lost in this glorification, whether it be morally sound or not.

It is a testament to the power of the work that even though it paints for us the picture of a man twisted and transformed by the effects of power, we cannot help but marvel at the beauty of it all. Is this irresponsible? Is it cynical? I propose that it is neither--rather, it is art. Plain and simple. Take it for what it is. As for me, I choose to take it as the most thoroughly realized piece of storytelling ever put to celluloid.

Francis Ford Coppola never again reached the heights of The Godfather, unless it was arguably with his almost-nearly-as-perfect sequel two years later. But that isn't a slight against Coppola--after all, no filmmaker ever has quite reached the heights of The Godfather. "I believe in America" is the fitting first line of the film, uttered by Bonasera in the Don's study on his daughter's wedding day. For this is a tale of America first and foremost, for good or ill, warts and all--it holds a mirror up to us. And having basked in the majesty of The Godfather, the jewel of American filmmaking, I must say that I believe in it as well.

NEXT UP: The Exorcist (1973)

A Flawed Classic: New York, New York

Mention Martin Scorsese to most and visions of Mean Streets, Taxi Drivers and pugilistic Raging Bulls come to mind. To be sure, Scorsese is a master of gritty, crime soaked cinema. So, it is very easy to forget that the man who gave us Goodfellas also directed Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore (an incredibly feminist themed film that went on to inspire a dreadful sit-com), The Last Waltz (The Band’s swan song), and The Age of Innocence ( a lavish adaptation of Edith Wharton’s novel).

One of Scorsese’s more obscure films is 1977’s New York, New York. Oddly enough, everyone probably knows the theme song thanks to a certain iconic crooner who recorded it several years after the film came out; but most have probably never seen the movie that bears its name.

Set in post-war Gotham, New York, New York is a hybrid beast that is tough to pin down. Physically, it looks like a grand MGM musical – most of the movie was filmed on a sound stage, the sets are gorgeous, the colors lush, and the atmosphere is dream like. That said, the story is a rather bleak tale of two star crossed lovers who fall in love, fight (a lot) and do not end up happily ever after. The dialogue is mostly improvised, which might make New York, New York the Granddaddy of mumble-core. Oh, and one more thing, it’s also a musical; but wait, it’s not one of those films where people just break out into song; the main characters are in show business so we get to see them singing on stages, in plays, night clubs, and eventually, in movies.

Jimmy Doyle (Robert DeNiro) is a selfish cad who can blow a mean saxophone. The start of the film finds him wandering a massive VJ Day party hitting on women. Oddly, Jimmy is one of the few men not in uniform – in fact he sticks out like a sore thumb in his Hawaiian shirt. Be that as it may, he eventually sets his sights on a WAC named Francine Evans (Liza Minnelli). Sitting down at her table, making small talk, we get our first taste of the odd dialogue in New York, New York. In a scene that seems to go on forever, Jimmy repeatedly hits on Francine, and she keeps turning him down and it goes something like this,

Jimmy: I guess a little small talks in order here now
Francine: Can it get any smaller?
Jimmy: Now look I can take a hint
Francine: Can you also take a walk
Jimmy: Do you want me to leave?
Francine: YES!
Jimmy: I'll leave right now
Francine: BYE
Jimmy: You expect me to leave after the way you just talked to me?
Francine: Will you go away
Jimmy: I don't want to, I want to stay here and annoy you.

…and that’s just the start of it. Honestly, this give and take, which is sort of cute at first, becomes irritating at the five minute mark – I worship Robert DeNiro, but he’s no Groucho Marx, and Minnelli is no Margaret Dumont.

But hold on, it does get better.

Eventually Jimmy and Francine hook up and it turns out that his saxophone playing, and her singing voice are a match made in heaven, and soon the musical duo throw a band together and take their show out on the road.

Once they start performing, it’s clear that the audiences have come to hear Francine warble, and Jimmy has problems with this. His ego is so fragile that he starts coming apart, and his relationship with Francine begins to fray. In one of New York, New York’s more powerful scenes, the couple are engaged in a screaming match in a car. Francine (now nine months pregnant with Jimmy’s child) is hysterical over Jimmy’s behavior, and the more hysterical she becomes, the more terrifying and enraged Jimmy acts. At one he point he lunges over the back seat, hands clawed as if he were set to strangle,  and screams in her face, “Did I tell you to have that baby?!?!” – and then suddenly Francine goes into labor and he rushes her to the hospital. This is where you’d think that Jimmy might come to his senses, instead, he visits Francine in the hospital, and when she tells him she had a boy, he tells her, “I can’t be a father”. And like that, he just walks out of her life.

After this New York, New York sets it’s eye on Francine and her bullet like rise to the top. Free of Jimmy’s hostile ways and hateful attitude, she becomes the star she always knew she would. Her songs become big hits, she is featured on the cover of dozens of showbiz magazines, and eventually she becomes a movie star.

The second half of New York, New York is Liza Minnelli’s film and she owns it. If her Francine is anything, it’s a white washed portrayal of her mother, the iconic, Judy Garland: a tragic love life, a brilliant career. But, unlike Judy, Francine is not self destructive, but like Garland, she can sing and preform like few before her.

Watching Minnelli belt out a song like “The World Goes Round” is nothing short of magic. And Scorsese’s camera loves her unique face…those huge eyes, that oddly formed mouth, those blindingly white teeth that form that famous overbite…for some reason, she looks beautiful in spite of everything – especially when she’s singing.

In one of New York, New York’s most imaginative moments, Jimmy goes into a movie theatre on Times Square to see Francine’s new film. Suddenly, we are watching a film that features Francine, as an usher in a movie theater, imagining herself as the star of the film on the screen (think about that for a second, it might make your head hurt). This fifteen minute section (which was cut from New York, New York when it was first released), is a gorgeous homage to the lost art of movie musicals, and makes up for the many less than stellar moments in the film before it.

In the final half hour , New York, New York is flawless. First up, Jimmy goes back to the club he first met Francine. She’s now headlining there. Then, we get to hear the title song of the movie and marvel over Liza Minnelli doing what she does best (at this point, it seems that she’s no longer playing Francine: this is Liza with a Fucking Z – from the clothes she’s wearing, to the cut of her hair, to the way she is performing …). After the show, Jimmy gets to meet his son, and then he asks Francine to meet him after the show so they can go out and get a cup of coffee.

Of course if this were a film from the 40’s or 50’s we know what would happen next. The lovelorn couple would have been reunited and walked off in a Technicolor sunset – Scorsese had something else in mind.

New York, New York is not for everyone, in fact it can be a real effort to get through – but that’s what makes it so incredible. If you do wade through the less than compelling scenes you are rewarded with some  moments of sheer cinematic genius, and as long as you did not expect a happy ending, you may even come away appreciating it for the flawed classic it is.

The Great Unwatched: Bava, Argento, Cronenberg

There are two goals to my Great Unwatched project. The first is to see some films that I might not otherwise give the time of day to. The second is to finally experience movies I should've watched a long, long time ago. This weekend, I focused especially on the latter goal, filling in gaps in the filmographies of three of my favorite horror directors: Mario Bava, Dario Argento, and David Cronenberg. I even made a special effort to watch some of their non-horror offerings mixed in with the usual fright flicks.

Film 1: Hercules in the Haunted World (1961, Mario Bava)
Bava's second (credited) turn as director is a fascinating tale of swords 'n' sandals with a bit of Christopher Lee thrown into the mix. Hercules (Reg Park) journeys to Hades to retrieve a mystical stone that will save the life of his lady love, Princess Deianira. What our musclebound hero doesn't know is that his girlfriend's wicked uncle (Lee) is machinating to use Deianira's blood in a ritual to make him immortal. Hercules in the Haunted World was Bava's first opportunity to show what he could do with color and he really wows. The scenes of hell in particular show his visual mastery. Reportedly Bava used a few movable walls and a handful of columns to form every interior set in this film, resorting to visual trickery when he needed it to look like he had more. He creates an expressionistic peplum film, which works best when taken as a visual feast hung on a loose plot.

Film 2: Erik the Conqueror (1961, Mario Bava) 
An unofficial remake of Richard Fleischer's The Vikings (1958), Erik the Conqueror (also known as The Invaders) tells the tale of two Viking brothers, separated as children when their village on the coast of England is pillaged by the vicious Sir Rutford (Andrea Checci). Eron (Cameron Mitchell) is raised by his Nordic brethren. Erik (George Ardisson) is adopted by the Queen Alice of Scotland (or Britain, depending on whether you're watching the movie dubbed or subtitled) and grows up to become the Duke of Helford.


What struck me about Erik the Conqueror was the care taken that neither Viking or English were portrayed as villainous or unsympathetic. Both sides are caught in the cycle of violence known as history, occasionally manipulated by Sir Rutford to achieve his own ends. Certainly the Vikings are portrayed as more brutish and violently-inclined, but they're also largely honorable, honest people. The English are more cultured, but they are given to subterfuge and, in the case of Sir Rutford, outright treachery. 

The best sequences, visually, take place in the Viking's headquarters, a large cave where Bava's colored gels run wild. The centerpiece of the set is the giant gnarled tree from Hercules in the Haunted World, which looks magnificent in this new context.

Overall, however, the film isn't that interesting, unless you're really into vikings.

Film 3: Fast Company (1979, David Cronenberg)
It's certainly possible to read a lot of Cronenberg's prevalent themes into Fast Company, most notably the intersection of man and technology and the betrayals of corporate America. However, I think it misses the point to a certain extent. This is Cronenberg working in established drive-in fodder territory for the first and only time in his career. He sticks pretty cleanly to the rules by providing a story with clear heroes and villains, plus the requisite amounts of sex and action. William Smith plays Lonnie "Lucky Man" Johnson, a race car driver in his twilight, doing the drag race circuit under the sponsorship of FastCo Oil. When FastCo betrays him (through their corporate liaison Phil Adamson, played by John Saxon), he strikes out on his own. Adamson uses every trick in his book to make sure Lonnie's cars never reach the finish line. Fast Company is slow-moving (ironically) and takes forever to get around to its central conflict. Cronenberg really only breaks out of the mold during a surprisingly brutal climax that kills off two characters and seriously injures a third.

Film 4: Inferno (1980, Dario Argento)
I still don't know what I feel about this one. Certainly it's the most beautiful Argento film I've ever seen. However, the plot is a huge wad of happenstance, with very little rhyme or reason. In some places it seems to want to emulate the structure of its predecessor, Suspiria, but it lacks a character like Susie Banyon for us to relate to. I'll admit that I was already starting to get a little burned out at this point in my marathon, so I might not have given Inferno the due it deserves. Next time I watch, I'll do it properly -- well-rested, with all the lights out, and the soundtrack up loud. Until then, I can't really give a strong opinion one way or the other.

As a bonus to my general theme, however, Mario Bava did some uncredited effects work for the New York segments of the film.

Film 5: Rabid (1977, David Cronenberg)
Rabid is much more in line with Cronenberg's general oeuvre. Marilyn Chambers emerges from experimental surgery with a retractable phallus in her armpit and a craving for blood. Those who she feeds from become blood-crazed zombies. Cronenberg expands on the themes he first posited in Shivers, with disease as a catalyst for societal breakdown. Moving outside the confines of a single apartment building into the city of Montreal, Cronenberg is able to analyze government and public responses to an outbreak of irrationality. Meanwhile, on a parallel track, Chambers is just trying to survive, oblivious to the effect her feeding has on her victims (and her victims' victims). Unfortunately, Cronenberg never manages to blend the external outbreak narrative with the internal vampire one, so the film gets narratively and thematically confused at times. Cronenberg would do better in later films by keeping his focus on a single character navigating through the chaos, as in Videodrome.

Film 6: Phenomena (1985, Dario Argento)
Not a lot to say about this one, except that it was the last film of the night and it didn't do much to grab hold of my already shaky attention. As a sidenote, at some point I may write an article tracking Argento's treatment of Daria Nicolodi's characters throughout their collaborations, as it does seem he gets more brutal with her after they broke off their romantic relationship.

My original plan, incidentally, had been to watch Four Flies on Grey Velvet, but my bootleg (purchased before Mya Communication announced their official DVD) was nearly unwatchable. Very disappointing.

The Great Unwatched: Legend of the 7 Golden Lawrence of Arabias

I think we can all agree that Legend of the 7 Golden Lawrence of Arabias (American title: 7 Arabs vs. Dracula) would be an awesome movie. And Legends of 7 Golden Vampires and Lawrence of Arabia aren't that dissimilar when you come down to it. A white guy in an epic war helps a foreign people figure out how to combat their common enemy, believing he's doing it without impinging his own Western values upon their culture, but totally doing it anyway. In the end, our white hero is caught up in the violence and the whole matter ends an ambiguous note -- the battle won, but the cost far too great.

Of course, one is a 90-minute kung-fu vampire movie and the other is a 3.5 hour David Lean epic about the Arabian involvement in World War I. But otherwise, you know, same film.

Moving on.

There's a theory of film criticism (the name of which escapes me at the moment) that suggests that the written word is insufficient for interpreting film, because it is not, itself, an audiovisual medium. I am not riding that train of thought (obviously, since I can't even remember what it's called), but when I watch a film like Lawrence of Arabia, I can sort of see the point.

I could tell you about the amazing compositions, the way that Lean uses empty space to evoke a true feeling of grandeur. I could discuss the complex political implications and the fact that its protagonist is allowed to go an entire film being very wrong about a number of things and the film ends with him being very wrong about a number of different things.

This is not one of my favorite films ever and yet I am humbled by the task of discussing it. So I won't. Within the next year, however, I will, I promise.

But it might not be in writing...

VHS Tapes Have I Known: The Last Remake of Beau Geste (1977)

Although my movie collection is overwhelmingly DVD, I keep a few VHS tapes around. I'll be devoting some space to them sporadically.

The Last Remake of Beau Geste (1977)
Director: Marty Feldman
Starring: Michael York, Marty Feldman, Ann-Margret

I could spend hours discussing this highly underrated comedy, which begins with Marty Feldman destroying a 1940s-era Universal logo and maintains the same level of zaniness from there. This is the first of Feldman's two outings as a director (the second being In God We Tru$t) and if he doesn't have the surest hand in controlling his material, there's a certain delight in the fact that the whole affair is so uncontrolled. Feldman's approach is clearly inspired by Mel Brooks, particularly Young Frankenstein. Like that film, it's a loving parody of a particular kind of classic movie, in this case the old Foreign Legion chestnut Beau Geste (in one scene, Marty Feldman has an argument with footage of Gary Cooper from the 1939 version).

To protect the family's prized Blue Water Sapphire from his scheming (and unreasonably attractive) stepmother (Ann-Margret), Beau Geste (Michael York) absconds with the jewel and joins the Foreign Legion in Africa. Digby Geste (Feldman) soon follows, and together they attempt to survive an insane commander (Peter Ustinov) and attacks by the Arabs (lead by the genial and cheese-tastic James Earl Jones).

Much of the humor derives from the relationship between Digby and Beau, who we are told are identical twins (although Digby notes, "Somehow Beau was much more identical than me. "). Beau is apparently too handsome, courageous, and wonderful to feel pain, so Digby feels it for him (which leads to all the expected jokes). Digby is unreasonably devoted to Beau and Beau is... well, reasonably devoted to Digby. Beau's more interested in honor, adventure, and being buried at sea (even in the middle of the stinking desert).

Feldman's approach to humor is very much of the "throw it at the wall and see what sticks" variety and, admittedly, many of the jokes seem to be coated in teflon. Feldman's desperate willingness to please, however, maintains a continuity between the groaners and the belly laughs. Once you've become as accustomed to the film as I have, even the dumbest jokes (like the grinning Jack T. Ripper with the severed arm in his medical kit) take on a certain charm. Comic turns from folks like Henry Gibson, Trevor Howard, Terry-Thomas, Roy Kinnear, Ted Cassidy, Burt Kwouk, and Spike Milligan (as the ever-devoted and terribly senile butler, Crumble) keep the movie lively and entertaining throughout.

What's more, you can actually watch the film right now without the benefit of VHS (and in widescreen) thanks to the fine folks at Hulu. Check it out.

Incidentally, there was another version of Beau Geste made after this, in the form of a 1982 miniseries, but Feldman's film is the last cinematic outing of the Geste brothers, so the title still holds.

Weekend Viewing

Watched Suddenly, Policewomen, and Las Vegas Lady over the weekend.

No reviews on these, although I may have to go back and revisit Suddenly at some point.

Stats: 29/401 movies watched in twenty-six days.
Currently Projected Completion Date: February 18, 2010
Completion Date Goal: February 25, 2010

The Great Unwatched: The Dark (1979) and Carry On Emmannuelle (1978)

Part of: Shriek Show's Mutant Monsters Triple Feature (The Dark), Grindhouse Experience Box Set (Carry On Emmannuelle)

Directors: John "Bud" Cardos (The Dark) and Gerald Thomas (Carry On Emmannuelle)

Runtime: Roughly 90 minutes each

Two pieces of crap. The Dark is at least amusingly produced; its failings stem largely from post-production tampering and a lack of a coherent plot. Then again, what do you really expect from a movie about a homeless alien space monster with laser beam eyes that's produced by Dick Clark (yes, that Dick Clark)?

Carry On Emmannuelle, on the other hand, squanders an opportunity to give a proper send-up of the whole sexplotation genre. Instead, we get a bunch of entirely too tame sex jokes presented as if their mere sexuality was the funny bit. In short, it's a movie made by adolescent minds with no appreciation of the sheer subversiveness of which the true adolescent is capable.

The Great Unwatched: Mean Frank and Crazy Tony (1973)

(I'll just be blogging as I go today and do the stats after the last movie. )

Part of: Grindhouse Experience Box

Director: Michele Lupo

Runtime: 85 minutes

Mean Frank and Crazy Tony is a nutty little crime-comedy from Italy, one I probably would not have watched without this project. It'd be a shame, too, because I had a lot of fun with it.

Tony (Tony LoBianco) is a small-time Italian crook who wants to make it big. Frank (Lee Van Cleef) is a big-time mafioso in town to sniff out whoever's been selling him out to his rival, Louis Annunziata (Jean Rochefort). Circumstances land them in jail together, where the earnest Tony earns the hard-bitten Frank's trust by saving his life. Tony hatches an audacious escape plan so that Frank can exact revenge. Soon this mismatched pair are in France, headed to Annunziata's frozen fish processing plant, with half of the French police force in pursuit.

What makes this film entertaining is that's equal parts Tony being crazy (that is, highly excitable but also incredibly clever) and Frank being mean (no-bullshit and violent as hell). For as goofy as the parts about Tony are, there are some surprisingly nasty bits of violence where Frank and the mob are concerned. That dichotomy just adds to the film's overall charm, however.

Worth the Purchase: Yes, especially for the new take on the phrase "sleeping with the fishes" at the end.

The Great Unwatched: Don't Deliver Us From Evil (1971)

Director: Joël Séria

Runtime: 103 minutes

First of all, I love Mondo Macabro. They release some of the most bats**t, oddball foreign horror out there and they do it with a full complement of special features and damn fine transfers. Plus I just love their clip reels. Pure concentrated WTF.

Moving on. I was surprised to discover that this movie was inspired by the same murder case that informed Peter Jackson's Heavenly Creatures. Don't Deliver Us... is definitely a looser adaptation, though. There's the same obsessive relationship between the girls, but they're more drawn to acts of mischief and "evil" than anything. Also, interestingly, the narrative focus is on the more forceful of the personalities (in Heavenly Creatures, the opposite was true), which does leave the other half of the friendship rather underdeveloped. Otherwise, though, this is an excellent film made by a strong, deliberate director who utilizes the beauty of the French countryside and the general ugliness of his male actors (most of whom play would-be rapists) to great advantage.

I was watching this to review it for Classic-Horror.com's 666th review, but I don't feel it really fits. I'll probably skip down the list for something a bit more demonic.

Worth the Purchase: Yes.

Stats: 19/401 movies watched in seventeen days.
Currently Projected Completion Date: February 17, 2010
Completion Date Goal: February 25, 2010

The Great Unwatched: The Twelve Chairs (1970) and Point Break (1991)

Two films I enjoyed for very different reasons.

The Twelve Chairs (1970)

Director: Mel Brooks

Runtime: 94 minutes

This a highly enjoyable comedy from Brooks (who has does a scene-stealing turn as an insanely devoted servant early in the movie) adapted from a classic piece of Soviet satire. On her deathbed, an old woman reveals that, years before, she had sewn her jewels into one of the twelve dining room chairs to prevent them from being confiscated by the Bolsheviks during the Russian Revolution. This sets in motion a race between her son-in-law (and former aristocrat) Vorobyaninov (Ron Moody), con man Ostap Bender (Frank Langella, brilliant), and a conniving Russian Orthodox priest, Father Fyodor (Dom DeLuise). Vorobyaninov and Bender eventually team up, but they don't fare well -- every time they come upon the chairs, a few of them are sent somewhere else with farcical precision. And of course, the jewels are never in the chairs that are left behind.

This is not a typical Brooks film; although much of the same temperament of humor (read: over-the-top, slapsticky, and occasionally juvenile) appears in his later spoof movies like Blazing Saddles and Young Frankenstein, here he largely avoids knowing nods to the audience and self-reference. He instead chooses to tell the story "straight", wacky though it is. Since we're dealing with some disreputable characters, it's much more satisfying to watch them fail on their own terms, something that Brooks grasps quite well.

Of all the films that I've watched thus far as part of this little experiment, this is the one I regret not having seen much sooner.

Worth the Purchase: Absolutely yes.


Point Break (1991)

Director: Kathryn Bigelow

Runtime: 120 minutes

I bought this one because it was referenced in Hot Fuzz. I'm really glad I did because now there's whole sections of that movie that are way funnier now. Also, it's kind of funny to see Swayze as a surfer guru.

Worth the Purchase: Woah.

Stats: 15/401 movies watched in twelve days.
Currently Projected Completion Date: January 10, 2010
Completion Date Goal: February 25, 2010

The Great Unwatched: Three with Sonny Chiba (1974 - 76) and Diamonds are Forever (1971)

Too many projects to finish up to really get into too many details, but I've managed to get caught up to where I need to be. I had to pick and choose a few films from the other months to appease my girlfriend (whose lack of horror love nullifies about half the list), but we watched FOUR movies yesterday, including a Sonny Chiba triple-header.

Dragon Princess (1976)
Karate Warriors (1976)
Sister Street Fighter (1974)

Part of: The Exploitation Cinema Collection (20 Films)

Directors: Kazuhiko Yamaguchi (all three), Yutaka Kohira (co-director on Dragon Princess)

Runtimes: Roughly 90 minutes each

Three martial arts movies featuring Japanese action star Sonny Chiba, although only one has him in a starring role. In Dragon Princess, he appears only in the first act, as Etsuko Shihomi's father. The crippling of his character by a dishonorable karate rival leads Shihomi to seek revenge in this fun, well-choreographed flick. Chiba actually stars in Karate Warriors, which has him take on the Toshiro Mifune role in a modern take on Kurosawa's Yojimbo. The direction here is much more frenetic than in Dragon Princess and too many action scenes rely on a precocious little boy being endangered. Still, an enjoyable romp. Finally, in Sister Street Fighter, Shihomi searches for her brother, who was captured while trying take down a drug ring. Chiba is shoehorned in as Shihomi's able back-up. The plot here makes about as much sense as necessary. There's a weird obsession with dressing up the various kung fu clans in bizarre costumes (one gang wears large lead cage helmets).

One thing that struck me about all of these films was how goddamn gory they were. I don't have a problem with gore as such, but when I watch martial arts films, I certainly don't expect random intestines or heads twisted all the way around. Well, unless I'm watching The Story of Ricky or something.

Worth the Purchase: Heck yes. Cheesy martial arts films are awesome.


Diamonds are Forever (1971)

Part of: James Bond Ultimate Edition Volume 1

Director: Guy Hamilton

Runtime: 120 minutes

Sean Connery is back in the tuxedo as James Bond for his final film in the official Eon Bond series. It's a fun romp, but the series is clearly still trying to figure out the transition into the 1970s (it's about as bumpy as the one Doctor Who made into the 1980s). Jill St. John is feisty as Bond girl Tiffany Case and Charles Gray (in a huge smock) makes an appropriately campy Blofield. The hitmen Mr. Kidd and Mr. Wint are deliriously over-the-top with their fey-ness (and my girlfriend informs me that they are the direct inspiration for characters on the children's cartoon Codename: Kids Next Door).

Worth the Purchase: It's Bond, so... yeah.

Stats: 6/403 movies watched in four days.
Currently Projected Completion Date: November 19, 2009
Completion Date Goal: February 25, 2010

The Great Unwatched: Pick-up (1975)

Part of: The Exploitation Cinema Collection (20 Films)

Director: Bernard Hirschenson

Runtime: 78 minutes

Part of the point behind this project was to teach myself a lesson, specifically that I don't really need to buy every single DVD or DVD box set that looks like a bargain. Given that goal, Pick-up was an excellent way to start off, since it's pretty lousy. A goofy-looking guy picks up two female hitchhikers -- one all sexual va-va-voom and the other morose. The three of them get stranded in a swamp, where they proceed to run around, have sex (sometimes on a swing!), and hallucinate about clowns, politicians, and priestesses of Apollo. I think this was somebody's idea of making a trippy movie, but somehow they failed to take into account things like maintaining a consistency of internal reality and, oh, entertainment value. There's a couple of really painful flashbacks (including one involving child molestation by a priest) to break up the trippiness and a nastily misogynistic sequence toward the end. If the other nineteen films in this set at this same level of quality, I may have wasted twenty bucks.

Worth the Purchase: Hardly.

Stats: 1/403 movies watched in 1 day.
Currently projected end-time is April 5th, 2010.
Goal for end-time is February 25th, 2010.