John Frankenheimer's Black Sunday

Having recently watched John Frankenheimer's superb Seven Days in May again, I became interested in revisiting his 1977 thriller Black Sunday. I saw it during its original theatrical run--and that may have been the one and only time. To my surprise, my assessment of the film has not deviated over the last 48 years.

Based on Thomas Harris' bestseller, Black Sunday centers on Michael Lander (Bruce Dern), a mentally-unstable U.S. Navy veteran who is exploited by a member of a middle eastern terrorist organization (Marthe Keller as Dahlia). Their goal is to capture attention for their cause by killing thousands of people at a large-scale event in Miami. The movie unfolds as if the audience doesn't known the precise nature of their massacre. However, the movie's poster gives away the plot so there is no element of mystery in regard to the terrorist plans.

Robert Shaw.

What remains is a cat-and-mouse game between the good guys, led by an Israeli commando (Robert Shaw), and the villains. It's a structure similar to the earlier The Day of the Jackal (1973), in which an assassin meticulously plans to assassinate French president Charles de Gaulle. The difference is that Jackal director Fred Zinnemann and star Edward Fox manipulate the audience into rooting for the assassin for most of that film's running time. 

Bruce Dern as Lander.

In contrast, the screenwriters and cast in Black Sunday let down Frankenheimer by failing to create involving characters. We should feel sympathy for Lander and, to a lesser degree, Dahlia. However, Dern’s acting is so wildly over the top that he loses the humanity in his character. Keller doesn't even get the chance to express or explain Dahlia's motives; they're provided by a Russian spy during a quick conversation with Shaw. Her character remains an enigma, killing with efficiency in one scene and crying for no apparent reason in another. Robert Shaw fares better as the film’s hero, but it’s almost by sheer will. His role is underwritten as well, especially when reacting to the murder of a long-time friend. 

Marthe Keller as Dahlia.

To Frankenheimer's credit, the final 45 minutes ratchet up the thrills effectively as the terrorist plot reaches its crescendo. Producer Robert Townsend worked with the National Football League to film an actual football game. Frankenheimer incorporates that footage seamlessly, adding an authenticity to the climatic disaster. His purposefully chaotic direction--especially as crowds pour out of the stands--creates an almost cinema vérité effect. It's a shame that an exciting sequence involving a blimp includes some unconvincing rear screen shots.

It's too bad that Black Sunday never reaches its potential as a nail-biting suspense film. The climax delivers the goods, but a weak script, uneven acting, and a bloated running time (over two hours) keep it from providing a growing feeling of tension. It's a far cry from Seven Days in May and just goes to show that a fine director can only do so much with the material and cast that he's given.

Quick Takes on Rhubarb, The Big Brawl, and Hit!

Ray Milland and Rhubarb.

Rhubarb (1951). This occasionally diverting comedy concerns a wealthy eccentric (Gene Lockhart) who leaves his fortune to a feisty alley cat instead of his spoiled daughter. She is miffed, to say the least, and so is the old man's baseball team, a group of superstitious losers who believe it's unlucky to be owned by a cat. Although its outstays its welcome and wastes the talent of Ray Milland, this silly effort still contains some inspired lunacy (e.g., a court case to determine if Rhubarb is an imposter). It's also notable as one of the first films to satirize television commercials. The supporting players include Strother Martin, Alice Pearce (the original Mrs. Kravitz on Bewitched), someone who looks like Leonard Nimoy, and a photogenic kitty with more star quality than Morris. For a better Ray Milland baseball comedy, check out It Happens Every Spring (1949).

Jackie Chan gets ready!

The Big Brawl (1980). This was Fred Weintraub's and Robert Clouse's second attempt to repeat the success of their 1973 martial arts smash Enter the Dragon. And though it's better than their first effort, Black Belt Jones with Jim Kelly, it's still an uneven mixture of broad kung fu comedy and Depression-era gangster drama. The plot, loosely borrowed from the 1975 Charles Bronson film Hard Times, is about a bare-knuckle fight staged by rival gangland bosses (Jose Ferrer and Ron Max). Perennial loser Ferrer blackmails martial artist Jackie Chan into being his fighter at an unofficial national competition (hence, the film's title). The affable Chan provides plenty of comedy as well as some amazing acrobatic feats. However, at that point in his career, Chan lacked Lee's intensity. Also, director Clouse never gives him an opportunity to display his skills against a fellow martial artist. Mako, who plays Uncle Herbert, comes off best, spouting lines such as: "Sometimes, you make me tremble--with disgust"). Fortunately, Jackie Chan eventually found the right vehicle to reintroduce him to mainstream American audiences: 1995's Rumble in the Bronx.

Billy Dee Williams looks cool!

Hit! (1973). When his teenaged daughter suffers a drug-related death, a government agent (Billy Dee Williams) goes to Marseilles in search of the drug dealers responsible. This brutal revenge tale, obviously influenced by The French Connection (1971), was made at the peak of the "Blaxploitation" film era. These modestly-budgeted movies cast Black stars in violent action films such as Slaughter, Black Caesar, Coffy, and Superfly. This was one of the better efforts, though the film's slow-moving second half and uninspired ending take the edge off a promising premise. A typical 1970s anti-hero, Williams' revenge-minded father resorts to blackmailing prostitutes and killers in order to exact his wrath. Displaying no signs of his future stardom, Richard Pryor has a supporting role as one of Williams' allies (however, it you watch the film on TV, you may miss half of his profanity-filled dialogue). Hit! is sometimes confused with another Blaxploitation film made a year earlier: Hit Man, which stars Bernie Casey. That film is a respectable remake of Get Carter (1971).

50 Fabulous Films in Celebration of National Classic Movie Day

Happy National Classic Movie Day! Yes, we love classic films all year long, but they get some extra love every May 16th.

Not sure what classic movie to watch as part of your celebration this year?  We made a video with clips from 50 Fabulous Films produced from the silent era through the 1980s. You can go directly to the end of the video if you just want to see a list of the recommended classic films--or you can start at the beginning and watch brief clips from every movie!

Seven Things to Know About Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea

1. Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea was nominated for 11 Emmy awards from 1965 to 1967, all in technical categories. It won four Emmys for Special Photographic Effects, Cinematography, and Film & Sound Editing. The show's special effects were supervised by L.B. Abbott, the head of the Special Effects Department at 20th Century-Fox from 1957 to 1970. Abbott was also awarded four Oscars for his special effects work in the movies Doctor Dolittle (1968), Tora! Tora! Tora! (1971), The Poseidon Adventure (1972), and Logan's Run (1976).

Del Monroe as Kowalksi.

2. Del Monroe played the same character in the 1961 theatrical film Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea and on the TV series. He was billed as Delbert Monroe in the film and played Seaman Kowski. He shortened his professional name to Del Monroe for the TV series, while his character was renamed Kowalski (sometimes shortened to "Ski"). Although Del Monroe never received a credit in the series' opening, he appeared in 98 episodes from 1964-68. Mark Slade, who later played Blue on The High Chaparral, also appeared as a crewmember in the film and TV series--though his name changed from Smith to Malone and he only appeared in five episodes during the first season.

3. Budget-conscious producer Irwin Allen sometimes reused footage from his movies and shared costumes across his TV series (which included Lost in Space and Time Tunnel). Two of his most famous uses of recycled footage are in the Voyage episodes "The Sky's On Fire" and "Turn Back the Clock." The latter, a first season episode, finds Captain Lee Crane (David Hedison) on an island populated by dinosaurs and a native girl (Vitina Marcus). The dinosaur footage (actually live lizards in "make-up") was lifted from Allen's 1960 theatrical film The Lost World--which starred Hedison and Marcus. The second season episode "The Sky's on Fire" is basically a condensed version of the theatrical film Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea (1961) with recycled footage of the Seaview and the burning skies.

Admiral Nelson as a werewolf.

4. Admiral Nelson's first name--which is rarely used--is Harriman (or Harry to close friends). He is a four-star admiral, though his rank inexplicably changes to three stars briefly during the first season (surely a continuity error). Nelson has many close encounters with aliens and monsters during the show's run. He transforms into a werewolf in two episodes. In "Werewolf," the second episode of the third season, a fellow scientist infected with lyncanthropy, attacks Nelson--who also becomes a werewolf. Twelve episodes later, in "The Brand of the Beast," Nelson becomes exposed to high levels of radiation and transforms into a wolf-man again. (And, for the record, Captain Lee Crane turned into a werewolf-like creature in the season 4 episode "Man Beast.")

Hedison in "The Human Computer."

5. In a 2013 interview, I asked David Hedison, who plays Captain Crane, to list his favorite episodes: "I thought I did good work in several first season episodes when we had better writing. 'The Saboteur,' where I was brainwashed by the Chinese to kill Admiral Nelson, 'The Enemies' where I went mad and tried to kill the Admiral, 'Mutiny' where Nelson went mad and I had to stop him.  Hmmm...do I sense a pattern here? Another episode I enjoyed was 'The Human Computer.' It was the first episode they let me carry--the episode was me, alone on the Seaview with a Russian saboteur. That was fun to do."

6. Several changes occurred with the debut of the second season of Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea. Henry Kulky, who played Chief Petty Officer (CPO) Curley Jones, died of a heart attack in February 1965. He was replaced by Terry Becker, who portrayed the submarine's new CPO, Francis Ethelbert Sharkey. The show also switched from black-and-white to color, which was highlighted in the season's first episode "Jonah and the Whale." The plot had Nelson and a Soviet scientist in a diving bell swallowed by a whale! The Seaview received several season 2 upgrades, including a nifty yellow flying sub (I had one of the original model kits). However, the most significant change was an emphasis on science fiction and more fantastical plots. That carried over into the show's final two seasons.

7. Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea was a modest hit for ABC, but it never cracked the year's Top 30 shows in terms of Nielsen ratings. It didn't help that ABC moved it from Monday at 7:30 pm in its first season to Sunday nights for the remainder of its run--opposite perennial hit Walt Disney's Wonderful World of Color on NBC. 

The Dirty Five Out West

In the final days of the U.S. Civil War, the Confederate Army needs to stop a stagecoach carrying an enemy spy from reaching Washington, D.C. With soldiers in short supply, the Confederates pardon five convicts whose "skills"--they're all killers--make them uniquely qualified to accomplish the mission. In addition to capturing or killing the spy, the ruthless ex-cons are tasked with retrieving $30,000 for the South's coffers.

The quintet consists of: a gambler (Mike "Touch" Connors); a sociopath and his older brother (Jonathan Haze and R. Wright Campbell); a cattleman (Paul Birch); and an outlaw (John Lund), who becomes the group's de facto leader. Amid much bickering, alliances are secretly forged among the men as they make their way to a stagecoach station near an abandoned mining town. Once there, they encounter a young attractive woman (Dorothy Malone), who runs the station with her boozing uncle. Jealously quickly pits the killers against each other as they await the stage.

Made in 1955 for a paltry $60,000, Five Guns West marked the directorial debut of maverick filmmaker Roger Corman. The former Stanford University-educated engineer wasn't new to the film business. By the mid-1950s, Corman had produced three films and decided he could save money by directing his own movies. 

Five Guns West is a textbook example of how to make a film on a shoestring budget. Other than a few extras, there are only seven characters--limiting the costs of cast salaries. Most of the action takes place outdoors, so few sets were required. The Indians, mentioned several times as a threat to the mission, appear only via stock footage.

Dorothy Malone.

The only two "stars" in Five Guns West are John Lund and Dorothy Malone. After some lead roles in "A" films such as The Mating Season (1952), Lund's career had already begun a slow decline. In contrast, Dorothy Malone had forged a solid career, though she was unhappy with her parts. Corman once said that he was only able to hire her because she fired her agent and took a reduced salary. Determined to change her image, Malone died her hair blonde and sought more challenging roles. The year following Five Guns West, she co-starred in Written on the Wind (1956)--and won an Oscar for Best Supporting Actress.

Paul Birch and Mike Connors.

Despite their star status in Five Guns West, Lund and Malone fail to generate much drama on the screen. Supporting player Mike Connors--billed as Touch Connors--steals the film as a charismatic gambler more interested in the $30,000 than Malone's fetching heroine. Veteran actor Paul Birch is also convincing in his few scenes as one of the five. Birch appeared in several Corman films and later had a recurring role on The Fugitive TV series as Captain Carpenter, Lieutenant's Gerard's superior in the police department.

Given its budget limitations, Five Guns West is a watchable Western reminiscent of the later fact-based blockbuster The Dirty Dozen (1967). The opening scenes on the trail are well-written and hint of a tight drama of internal friction. However, that initial promise gives way to a conventional tale once the five reach the stagecoach station. Still, it gets bonus points for an imaginative shoot-out between Lund and Wright in the crawl space of the station's house.

The Prisoner(s) of Zenda

Ronald Colman (1937) and Stewart Granger (1952).

When is a movie a sequel or just another adaptation of the same literary source? That can be a complex question, but it's not in the case of 1952's The Prisoner of Zenda. MGM's lavish costume adventure is a remake in every sense of the word. It uses the same screenplay and the same music score as David O. Selznick's 1937 The Prisoner of Zenda.

Both films are based on Anthony Hope's popular 1894 novel. Its plot concerns an English gentleman named Rudolf Rassendyll who, while vacationing in the fictional country of Ruritania, discovers he bears a striking resemblance to a distant cousin: the soon-to-be crowned King Rudolf V. When the king is kidnapped by his treacherous half-brother on the eve of his coronation, Rassendyll is persuaded to impersonate the king to prevent political chaos. With the help of two of  loyal advisors, Rassendyll navigates the perilous court politics, tries to figure out how to rescue the king, and falls in love with Princess Flavia, the king's betrothed. 

The plot doesn’t hold up to much scrutiny, of course. It’s a fanciful tale that blends romance and swashbuckling effectively, though in uneven portions. Each film devotes about a third of its running time to the romance between Rudolf and Flavia. That subplot gets cast aside, though, when our hero hatches a scheme to save the king from Black Michael, the evil half-brother. A longer running time—to develop the love story and gallant adventure in equal measure—might have improved both versions of The Prisoner of Zenda. Still, considering their overall entertainment value, such criticism may seem a minor quibble.

Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. and James Mason play Rupert of Hentzau.

So, which movie is the better Prisoner of Zenda? I give the 1937 film the edge—but just barely. Ronald Colman is perfectly cast in the dual roles of king and cousin. He gets outstanding support from Raymond Massey as Michael and Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. as his opportunistic, rakish henchman. Madeleine Carroll makes a classy Flavia, but her scenes with Colman could use more passion.

Deborah Kerr as Flavia.

In contrast, Deborah Kerr shines brightly as Flavia in the 1952 movie and generates plenty of sparks with co-star Stewart Granger. The latter may lack Colman’s acting chops, but he makes a likable, charming hero. James Mason matches Fairbanks, Jr. as the henchman Rupert of Hentzau. However, instead of a rakish rogue, his Rupert is delightfully threatening and contemptible. The color photography is a bonus, too, adding some MGM glitter to the coronation and the royal ball scenes.

There have been numerous other adaptations of Anthony Hope’s novel, including a silent film with Ramon Novarro, a TV version starring Christopher Plummer, and a big screen comedy with Peter Sellers. The TV series Get Smart parodied Zenda in the episode “The King Lives.” It featured Don Adams doing a memorable impersonation of Ronald Colman and Johnny Carson in a cameo role as a footman.

Charles Bronson Stages a Breakout

Charles Bronson as Colton.

When her husband is framed for murder (by his grandfather, no less!) and tossed into a Mexican prison, Ann Wagner (Jill Ireland) becomes determined to free her man. She engages a border bush pilot named Colton (Charles Bronson) to fly her husband to freedom, but his first attempt fails miserably. Colton's second rescue scheme involves disguising his partner (Randy Quaid) as a prostitute. As you can imagine, that's unsuccessful as well. 

By this time, Ann is considering other alternatives. However, the rugged Colton has developed a soft spot for the grieving wife. He promises to come up with a foolproof plan, which is contingent on acquiring and learning to fly a helicopter.

Jill Ireland as Ann.

Breakout (1975) is an oddball Bronson action film that's pretty light on action scenes. The star seems to be having fun as the play-it-as-it-goes hero. It was, no doubt, an enjoyable change-of-pace for Bronson after appearing in Death Wish the previous year. 

However, this is the kind of movie that depends heavily on colorful supporting characters and this is where Breakout comes up short. Jill Ireland and Robert Duvall (as the husband) are saddled with poorly-developed roles. The audience has little invested interest in Duvall's escape because his American businessman is a blank slate. Ireland fares slightly better just because she has more screen time. Strangely, she and Bronson don't have much chemistry in their scenes--even though they were married in real life (their best film together is the 1976 Western satire From Noon Till Three).

Sheere North.

There are some bright spots in the supporting cast. A young Randy Quaid is amusing as Bronson's sidekick, but he's relegated to the sidelines for most of the film. Sheree North shines as a former Bronson crony who rejoins the "team." It's the kind of tough, sexy role that Angie Dickinson played so well during her later career. 

Eliot Asinof (Eight Men Out) co-wrote the screenplay, which was based on his nonfiction book The 10-Second Jailbreak: The Helicopter Escape of Joel David Kaplan. It told the story of an American imprisoned in Mexico whose sister financed a daring helicopter rescue. (Incidentally, Breakout was filmed in France instead of Mexico.)

Breakout did play an important role in cinema history. It was one of the first studio films to employ a nationwide release strategy, opening with1,325 prints in distribution simultaneously. Prior to the 1970s, movies--with a handful of exceptions--were released to a few hundred theaters at one time, typically playing in large cities weeks before opening in smaller markets. Following Breakout's successful rollout, Jaws employed a similar mass marketing strategy--and that became the accepted norm for distributing major motion pictures.

The Crime Doctor Solves the Millerson Case

One of the more offbeat "B" detective series of the 1940s was the Crime Doctor. Based on a Max Marcin's successful radio series, the premise has an amnesia victim study to become a renowned psychiatrist--only to learn ten years later that he was once a criminal. Armed with “insider knowledge” of how the criminal mind works, Dr. Robert Orday repays society by bringing villains to justice. Warner Baxter, an Oscar winner as the Cisco Kid in 1929’s In Old Arizona, was the only actor ever to play Ordway on screen. He made ten films for Columbia, starting with 1943's The Crime Doctor.

My favorite may be The Millerson Case (1947), which finds Dr. Ordway taking a well-deserved vacation to do a little hunting and fishing. However, he barely arrives in the rural town of Brook Falls when a local outbreak of "summer complaint" turns out to be typhoid fever. Ordway agrees to assist with vaccinations and documenting those few townsfolk who have died from the disease. Yet, while doing the latter, Ordway discovers that one victim died from poisoning rather typhoid--and it's not long before a murder investigation is launched.

Warner Baxter as Dr. Ordway.

The killer's idea of using the typhoid outbreak to mask the murder is a clever one. For his part, Ordway employs a shooting competition and a handwriting analysis to help solve the case. Unfortunately, much of his investigation consists of asking suspects a few brief questions that yield little relevant information. Of course, it doesn't help that that the first victim turns out to be the local lothario--resulting in a bevy of individuals with motives. 

The cast consists of veteran "B" movie actors such as James Bell. Despite a face full of whiskers, I recognized him instantly from his key roles in two Val Lewton classics from 1943: The Leopard Man and I Walked With a Zombie. The worst performance in The Millerson Case belongs to Mark Dennis, who plays a teen with an intellectual disability; granted, it's a poorly-written part, too. Dennis only appeared in ten movies during his career, but two of those were Peter Bogdoanich's Targets (1968) and Nickelodean (1976).

The Millerson Case lacks the charismatic heroes and snappy writing of "B" detective classics such as The Scarlet Claw and The Falcon and the Co-eds. Still, it's a cut above most of its ilk and there's a welcome lack of comedy relief. Warner Baxter made his last Crime Doctor film in 1949 and died two years later from pneumonia at age 62. He lived with chronic pain for much of his later life due to arthritis. 

The "How to Destroy a Monster According to the Movies" Quiz

In this new quiz, we describe how a "monster" was killed in a specific movie and ask you to identify the film. As with all of quizzes, please answer no more than three questions per day and try not to research your answers. Good luck!

1. Salt water is used to kill carnivorous alien plants.

2. A dinosaur-like creature is eliminated with an "oxygen destroyer."

3. A jet squadron launches a napalm attack on an enormous spider.

4. Giant locusts are drowned in cold water.

5. A vampire is destroyed in the shadow of a windmill.

6. A large jelly-like mass is frozen. (Technically, it may not be destroyed....)

7. Aliens that possess human corpses are killed with a "sound gun."

8. A werewolf is beaten to death with a silver-headed cane.

9. Aliens that possess human corpses are killed by a bullet to the brain or being burned. (Looking for the first film....)

10. A torpedo destroys a giant octopus (which technically has less than eight tentacles).

11. A vampire is trapped in sunlight by forming a crucifix with two candlesticks.

12. A human-like creature is knocked into a hot sulfur pit.

13. A dragon is killed with a giant crossbow on a beach.

14. Common bacteria in Earth's atmosphere kill alien invaders.

15. A mechanical digger is used to shove a T-Rex over a cliff.

Randolph Scott Rides Alone

Randolph Scott as Buchanan.

The Ranown Cycle consists of six Westerns made between 1956 and 1960 that starred Randolph Scott and were directed by Budd Boetticher and written by Burt Kennedy. These films don't comprise a formal series as Randolph Scott plays a different character in each one. However, they are thematically similar with each protagonist being a loner with a high moral code who isn't afraid to use his gun. The pictures were shot on a 10-day schedule and typically ran a brisk 70-80 minutes. Some of them were produced by Ranown, a company owned by Randolph Scott and Harry Joe Brown. However, the "Ranown Cycle" is the informal designation for all six films (a seventh Scott-Boetticher effort, Westbound, is sometimes erroneously listed as part of the series).

Made in 1958, Buchanan Rides Alone stars Scott as Tom Buchanan, a cowpoke heading from Mexico to West Texas to start his own spread. His journey takes him through the border town of Agry, where he decides to spend the night. Buchanon heads over to the saloon for a meal, but is confronted there by a loudmouthed young drunkard. After a brief tussle, he pretty much ignores the youth. Yet, shortly after leaving the bar, Buchanan witnesses a young Mexican man running out of the saloon after killing the drunkard in self-defense. When the sheriff's men start to beat up the young Mexican, Buchanan intervenes to stop it. He gets pummeled for his trouble and thrown into jail.

Yes, that's Peter Gunn as Carbo.

It turns out that the dead man was the son of Judge Simon Agry (Tol Avery), a local bigwig with political aspirations. His brother Lew, the town sheriff, shows little interest in dissuading the townsfolk from pushing for a lynching. However, Simon's right-hand man, Carbo (Craig Stevens), has a better idea. Knowing that the alleged killer's father is a wealthy rancher, he suggests that Simon exhort $50,000 for the young man's release. That plan doesn't sit well with the greedy Lew (Barry Kelley), who has his own plan for getting rich.

Frankly, it's hard to describe the rambling plot to Buchanan Rides Again. In a 2008 interview, Boetticher admitted he and Burt Kennedy ad-libbed the screenplay (which is credited to Charles Lang). The result is a weak narrative filled with colorful characters and a handful of priceless scenes that are unexpectedly amusing. A perfect example is a trial in the saloon in which the "bailiff" provides these instructions to the jury: "All right. Quiet! Quiet, everybody! Your trial is about to start. Now Jim here is going to pass among you with a tray and the judge wants me to have you put all your glasses in that tray... empty! The judge don't want no more liquored-up opinion like he had in that last trial."

As Tom Buchanan, Randolph Scott often seems too amused at the goings-on, with a smile plastered on his face. However, it is refreshing that Buchanan isn't the brightest cowboy in the world. When he arrives in Agry, he unwisely starts flashing his grub stake money which attracts the sheriff's attention (and that of a third Agry brother, a wimpy hotel owner).  It's also interesting that Buchanan acts mostly as a catalyst, while the plot revolves around the relationships among the three Agry brothers.

L.Q. Jones delivers a eulogy.

The film's best performance belongs to L.Q. Jones, a supporting actor best known as playing the ranch-hand Belden in 25 episodes of The Virginian TV series. Jones later became a producer of the notable "B" movies The Brotherhood of Satan (1971) and A Boy and His Dog (1975), which he also directed. In Buchanan Rides Alone, he plays one of the sheriff's deputies who forms a bond with Buchanan because they both hail from West Texas. His eulogy for one of his comrades, who is "buried" in a tree, is the film's highlight.

Buchanan Rides Alone is an above-average Western, but it lacks the intensity and scope of the James Stewart-Anthony Mann oaters made earlier in the 1950s. However, if you've seen those pictures, then by all means check out the Scott-Boetticher collaborations. You'll certainly be entertained.

Revisiting The Red Shoes

Moira Shearer as Vicky Page.

Black Narcissus is my favorite Michael Powell-Emeric Pressberger film--and I also think it's their masterpiece. But most critics and fans confer that "masterpiece" title on the duo's The Red Shoes (1948). I watched it many years ago, but, honestly, it didn't leave a significant impression. However, after recently viewing Made in England, an excellent documentary about Powell and Pressberger--and listening to Martin Scorsese gush about The Red Shoes' influence--I decided to give it another try.

For those who have not seen it, the plot revolves around three characters: ballet company impresario Boris Lermontov (Anton Walbrook), ballerina Vicky Page (Moira Shearer), and composer Julian Craster (Marius Goring). Each is dedicated to the musical arts, but to varying degrees. 

Anton Walbrook as Lermontov.

Lermontov lives for his ballet company--its employees are his family. When his star ballerina joyously announces her engagement to the company, Lermontov disappears into the wings of the theater. He is already deciding who will replace her. His preference for the ballet company over the people that comprise it earns him disdain at times. One colleague refers to him as a "gifted, cruel monster."

Julian is dedicated to his music. He wakes up in the middle of the night thinking about it and rushes to the piano to transcribe it. However, Julian can balance his profession and his personal life, especially after he falls in love with Vicky.

Vicky is torn between her need to dance and her love for Julian. Like Lermontov, she is obsessed with ballet and cannot live without it. Yet, she loves Julian passionately and cannot envision a life without him. When circumstances prevent her from dancing for Lermontov's company and being with Julian, Vicky confronts an existence that's burning from both ends.

While the characters portray the conflict between art and "real life," director Michael Powell visualizes it for the audience. The centerpiece of The Red Shoes is an audacious original ballet that literally pulls the viewer from the audience into an imaginary world. Powell opens the scene showing the curtains drawing back to reveal a solitary dancer, a shoe cobbler holding red ballet slippers, on the stage. Then, he cuts to a shot of the village that crops out the framing of the stage. The viewer is now on the stage with the performers and immersed into their world. 

Vicky dancing with a newspaper man.

Over the next fifteen minutes, the ballet is presented as an almost surrealistic film, recounting Hans Christian Andersen's fairy tale of The Red Shoes. It's a colorful, energetic, sometimes visually frightening display of artistry, with Moira Shearer gliding past sheets of gel, floating through the air, and dancing with a man made of newspapers. The ballet ends with the protagonist's death and the shoe cobbler with the red slippers on the stage alone as the curtains draw to a close.

The controlling ballet shoes.

Powell and Pressberger merge their "real" and fantasy worlds in the climax to The Red Shoes. When Vicky appears to choose her career over love, Julian storms out of her dressing room. As Vicky walks toward the stage, her red ballet shoes seemingly take on a life of their own--forcing her to run out of the theater and toward a moving train. (It's no surprise that a train features prominently in this sequence, since Powell foreshadows its importance by integrating it into numerous scenes earlier in the film.)

Anton Walbrook is the standout among the cast. In his third Powell-Pressberger film, Walbrook gets a chance to portray a complex character that straddles the line between supportive and manipulative. Lermontov is an unforgiving taskmaster, but he recognizes artistic brilliance and supports it. When Vicky wants to leave the ballet company to be with Julian, Lermontov releases her from her contract. But when given a chance to see her again, he pressures her to come back into the fold. He wants to be gracious, but ultimately he must do what he feels is right for the ballet company.

Do I now rank The Red Shoes over Black Narcissus? No, the latter is still my favorite Powell & Pressberger film. But I am glad I watched The Red Shoes again. I have grown to admire its dazzling  colorful imagery, Powell's bold directing, and the film's exploration of the thin line between real world and the fantasy world created through visual and aural artistry.

Corbucci's The Great Silence

Jean-Louis Trintignant as Silence.

The most acclaimed Spaghetti Western filmmaker not named Sergio Leone. 

That's an apt description for Sergio Corbucci, a prolific Italian director and screenwriter whose career spanned four decades. Although he directed comedies, horror films, and sand-and-scandal epics, Corbucci is best known for his Spaghetti Westerns, especially Django (1966). Inspired by his friend Leone, Corbucci crafted a violent, allegorical Western that generated dozens of imitations and grew in critical stature over the years. Still, many critics now consider it Corbucci's second-best film--hailing The Great Silence as his masterpiece.

Released in 1968, The Great Silence takes place in Utah during the Great Blizzard of 1899. Starving men, who have become outlaws, have hidden in the snowy mountains with their families awaiting amnesty from the governor. A group of bounty hunters, based in a small town called Snow Hill, are killing the outlaws for the rewards. As one of the bounty hunters notes, each man's bounty is small but they add up if you kill enough of them.

Klaus Kinski as a bounty hunter.

Enter a mute gunfighter known only as Silence (Jean-Louis Trintignant), who is willing to kill anyone for money. To avoid being pursued by the law, Silence only kills in self-defense--sometimes provoking his enemies to reach for their guns first. Silence helps out the outlaws and later accepts "payment" from a widow to kill her husband's murderer. Of course, Silence has his own agenda in Snow Hill—which is revealed as The Great Silence reaches its climax.

There are critics who hail The Great Silence as a political or anti-capital allegory. I'm not sure about that, because you could probably make similar claims about any number of Westerns pitting ranchers against settlers. I believe it's the setting and the ending that make The Great Silence stand out among other Spaghetti Westerns.

The film is seemingly bathed in white snow. I'm hard-pressed to think of a snowier movie, though perhaps the 1993 film version of Ethan Frome comes close. In both movies, the dark skies and the flat white drifts provide a blanket of bleakness. The characters wrap any available scrap of cloth around their faces to stay warm. The horses trudge through high snow, sometimes collapsing to the ground in exhaustion. It's a visually grim landscape that is perfect for the inevitable ending that lurks behind every frame of The Great Silence.

As for that ending, I won't include any spoilers in this review. Let's just say it's unconventional and was the reason that Richard Zanuck refused to release the movie in the U.S. To appease his producers, Corbucci shot two alternate endings, though it's possible that neither one was actually used.

Is The Great Silence a Spaghetti Western masterpiece? No. It lacks the vivid characters and splendid set pieces of Leone's films. It's missing the brutal passion that made Django memorable. Neither of those criticisms implies that it's not worth a viewing. 

Vonetta McGee as Pauline.

Klaus Kinski gives one of his best performances as one of the villains, a vile rascal who is surprisingly intelligent (e.g., he refuses to be provoked by Silence, knowing that he would lose a gunfight). And Vonetta McGee gives an quiet understated performance as the widow who hires Silence. She would later star in the equally unconventional Blaxploitation Western Thomsine & Bushrod (1974).

Django, The Great Silence, and The Specialists (1969) are sometimes referred to as Corbucci's  Mud and Blood Trilogy.

The Eiger Sanction Is a Tough Climb

The Eiger Sanction (1975). This action thriller, directed by and starring Clint Eastwood, follows a former assassin who is coerced into one last mission. There is some talk about recovering a germ warfare formula, but the mission is really about revenge. Two bad agents kill one of ours, so a shadowy U.S. agency wants them sanctioned--which is apparently code for eliminated. Eastwood's ex-killer now teaches art at a college (!) and wants nothing to do with this tit-for-tat until he's told the identity of the deceased agent.

Jack Cassidy as a villain.

Based on a novel by Rodney William Whitaker, The Eiger Sanction can't overcome a poorly-written screenplay and an opening half-hour of mostly filler material. The plot finally perks up when Eastwood's out-of-shape assassin starts training to climb the Eiger mountain in Switzerland in preparation for his mission. These scenes benefit from the casting of George Kennedy and Jack Cassidy in familiar roles (Kennedy as Eastwood's old pal and Cassidy as a slimy villain). Both actors were frequently stuck in these kinds of roles, but still--somehow--managed to deliver entertaining performances.

Vonetta McGee--wasted as Clint's gf.

Clint plays a softer variation of Dirty Harry, though he's more interested in the opposite sex. Indeed, the film's portrayal of women and the sexist attitudes toward them may be a little jarring for modern audiences. Part of that can be attributed to the decade when The Eiger Sanction was made--though there were strong female characters in Black action films like Cleopatra Jones and Coffy. To his credit, Eastwood starred in The Enforcer the following year with Tyne Daly as Dirty Harry's gritty partner.

There are thrilling scenes in the final third of The Eiger Sanction, as Eastwood's assassin scales the title peak while trying to figure out who to kill. However, the climax is such a letdown that I didn't realize it was the climax until John William's closing music started to play. (Incidentally, the dreadful score proves that the great John Williams was only human after all.)

Overall, The Eiger Sanction ranks as one of Eastwood's least interesting 1970s films. It's recommended for Clint completists only.

That's Dancing in Kiss Me Kate!

Kiss Me Kate (1953) boasts a Cole Porter score full of familiar tunes and was made by MGM during the era when the studio was known for its lavish musicals. And yet, it was considered a box office failure when first released and remains largely forgotten today. That's a shame because it features some truly spectacular musical numbers featuring the dancing of Ann Miller, Tommy Rall, Bobby Van, Bob Fosse, and Carol Haney. Some of those names may be unfamiliar if you're not a aficionado of great dancers. But their jaw-dropping talents make Kiss Me Kate worth your time despite a creaky, overly-familiar plot.

Howard Keel singing to Kathryn Grayson.

For the record, the story has producer/ star Fred Graham (Howard Keel) mounting a stage musical of The Taming of the Shrew starring his ex-wife Lilli (Kathryn Grayson) as Katherine and himself as Petruchio. Lilli is engaged to a Texan millionaire and Fred is interested in a pretty dancer, but it's clear that the divorced couple still harbor romantic feelings toward each other.

This unoriginal plot gets a boost from the side stories, especially one featuring a couple of thugs (wonderfully played by Keenan Wynn and James Whitmore) who believe Fred owes their gangster boss money. Fred convinces the duo that he can't pay if the musical shuts down and that Lilli is threatening to leave the production. Thus, the thugs have to ensure that Lilli remains with the show!

Soprano Kathryn Grayson signed with MGM in 1940 at the age of 18. She had appeared in a number of hit movies (e.g.,  Anchors Aweigh) before headlining the studio's highly successful remake of Showboat in 1951. Kiss Me Kate pairs her with Showboat co-star Howard Keel. Their duets on Porter classics like "So in Love" and "Wunderbar" are pleasant, but Grayson's finest hour is her no holds barred rendition of "I Hate Men." As she punctuates the lyrics, she repeatedly slams down a metal goblet to emphasize her point--and dramatically sweeps the surface of a table at the finish. 

Ann Miller.

Despite Grayson's triumph, the best parts of Kiss Me Kate are the dance numbers. Ann Miller kicks off the hoofing with an energetic "Too Darn Hot" (though it seems tossed into the plot at the last minute). Later, she and Tommy Rall dance an acrobatic duet to "Why Can't You Behave." However, the film's highlight is "From This Moment On." which features Miller, Rall, Bob Fosse, Carol Haney, Bobby Van, and Jeanne Coyne (ex-wife of both Gene Kelly and Stanley Donen). Fred Astaire's frequent collaborator, Hermes Pan, choreographed all of Kiss Me Kate's dances except for the Fosse-Haney duet near the end of "From This Moment On." It showcases what would become Fosse's trademarks and sizzles with sexuality and flair.

By the way, if you watch Kiss Me Kate and wonder why people and objects keep moving toward the camera, it's because the film was shot in 3D. It's a minor distraction, though. If you enjoy stylish, energetic dancing, then Kiss Me Kate is a must-watch. 

Here is the "From This Moment On" number, which we're currently featuring on the Cafe's YouTube channel:

The Conversation and Repeat Performance

Gene Hackman.

The Conversation (1974). Francis Ford Coppola directed this overlong, but engrossing look into the life of an intensely private surveillance expert (Gene Hackman) whose recording of a seemingly innocent conversation has tragic results. Hackman’s character strives to distance himself from his subjects (“I don’t care what they’re talking about.—all I want is a nice fat recording.”). But his latest assignment conjures up painful memories of a previous job where one of his recordings led to murder. Hackman perfectly captures the loneliness and paranoia of a man who intrudes on others’ privacy, while zealously guarding his own. The best scene: Hackman and surveillance rival Allen Garfield try to one up each other during a party with other experts in their field. A young Harrison Ford plays a menacing business executive and Cindy Williams (Shirley in in the 1970s hit sitcom “Laverne and Shirley”) plays one of the subjects in the title conversation. Hackman, Coppola, and the film all earned Oscar nominations; Coppola lost to himself (he won for The Godfather Part II). Hackman played a similar surveillance expert in 1998’s Will Smith thriller Enemy of the State.

Joan Leslie.

Repeat Performance (1948). I first saw Repeat Performance over the Christmas holidays when I was in high school. The timing was impeccable since the film’s opening takes place on New Year’s Eve. I suspect I watched it because the supporting cast included Richard Basehart (star of my first favorite TV series “Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea”) and Tom Conway (from The Falcon detective films). In any event, I found myself watching what amounted to an extended episode of “The Twilight Zone”—and, this case, that's a high compliment. Joan Leslie plays Sheila Page, a popular stage actress who kills her playwright husband at December 31st. Distraught over what she has done, Sheila goes to see her emotionally fragile friend, poet William Williams (Basehart). Sheila tells William that she wishes for a second chance—if she could live the year again, she would do things differently. When the clock strikes midnight, the year begins over again. Yet, no matter what Sheila does, fate intervenes and she seems powerless to alter the ultimate course of destiny. Released by budget-minded Eagle Lion, Repeat Performance was regarded as a minor “B” film when first released. It has gained a little fame over the years, having been remade as the 1989 made-for-TV movie Turn Back the Clock with Connie Selleca (and featuring Joan Leslie in a cameo). In the late 1990s, it began to pop up at film noir conventions, sometimes with Leslie in attendance. Incidentally, the supporting also features a young Natalie Schafer—Mrs. Howell from “Gilligan’s Island.”

All That Heavens Allows and Come September

Rock and Jane in front of the picture window.

All That Heaven Allows (1955). My second favorite Douglas Sirk film (after Imitation of Life with Lana Turner) stars Jane Wyman as Cary Scott, a wealthy widow in a New England town who falls in love with Ron Kirby (Rock Hudson), a younger man who works as a gardener. Their romance faces the disapproval of Cary’s snobbish children and her country club friends, who think Ron is beneath her. Cary must choose between following her heart or conforming to society’s expectations. All That Heaven Allows is not a nuanced film. Indeed, most of the characters are drawn too broadly: Cary's children are shallow and her friends, except perhaps for one played by Agnes Moorehead, are snooty; in contrast, Ron's friends are warm and inviting. However, Sirk imbues this story with an elegant simplicity and paints it with vivid colors. The opening scenes, set during autumn, pop with visual splendor. Later scenes set in front of a picture window in Ron's mill-turned-home look like Paul Gaugin's Winter Landscape come to life. It's clear that Rock Hudson, who also teamed with Jane Wyman in the previous year's inferior Magnificent Obsession, was still honing his craft as an actor. However, he projects his character's earnestness and confidence well and plays off effectively opposite veteran star Wyman. Todd Haynes' 2002 drama Far from Heaven is an affectionate homage to All That Heaven Allows. It also concerns a "forbidden love affair" and Haynes copies Sirk's color palette skillfully. 

Gina Lollobrigida and Rock Hudson.

Come September (1961). Rock Hudson's comedic follow-up to Pillow Talk (1959) is a modestly amusing outing with enough plot for two or three movies. Rock plays Robert Talbot, a wealthy American businessman, who owns a villa in Italy where he spends every September with his Italian girlfriend, Lisa (Gina Lollobrigida).  However, he arrives early one year and finds out that Lisa is about to marry another man, his villa has been turned into a hotel by his concierge, and a group of young American girls are staying there. He tries to romance Lisa, chaperone the girls, and deal with a group of boys interested in the young ladies. With Walter Slezak as the concierge and Brenda De Banzie as the girls' tour guide, Come September could have focused on the villa-as-a-hotel plot and been very funny. Unfortunately, the veteran supporting stars get cast aside for most of the movie in favor of teen star Sandra Dee (Gidget) and pop singer-turned-actor Bobby Darin. That's not to say that Dee and Darin aren't appealing. In real life, they fell in love on the set and got married; their mutual attraction shows up clearly on the screen. However, the overall result is that Come September is a bit of a disjointed mess, funnier in parts than as a whole. By the way, that's future Oscar winner Joel Grey (Cabaret) as Bobby Darin's best friend.

We Name the TV Characters...You Name the Series!

We thought we'd try out a new game this month! For each numbered item below, we have listed three characters from the same TV series. Your task is to name the TV series! Most of these are easy; we tried not to go for obscure characters (at least for this edition). Note that we may have listed a character's first name or last name.

As always, please answer no more than three questions per day so more people can play and have fun. Try not to research your answers as it'd be pretty easy to google the names and get a show's title. 

1. Troy, Hitchcock, Tully.

2. Sam, Howard, Emmett.

3. Sam, Hank, Ralph.

4. April, Mark, Waverly.

5. Tara, Mother, John.

6. Roy, Candy, Jamie.

7. Saunders, Hanley, Caje.

8. Mary Beth, Christine, Bert.

9. Chip, Lee, Harriman.

10. Ward, Colby, Erkskine.

11. Jimmy, Witchiepoo, Freddy.

12. Keller, Stone, Tanner.

13. Tate, McKenzie, Trampas.

14. Pete, Julie, Linc.

15. Larry, Gilbert, Clarence.

Ghost Story--The Film Adaptation Dilemma

Fred Astaire as a Chowder
Society member.

When I watch a film adaptation, I try to evaluate it on its own merits--as opposed to comparing the movie to its literary source. I am struggling with that, though, as I write this review of Ghost Story (1981), a simplified version of Peter Straub's engrossing 1979 bestseller. With its framing device and stories woven into a larger narrative, Ghost Story might have fared better as a miniseries. This 110-minute adaptation plays like a "greatest hits" version of the book. 

Fred Astaire, John Houseman, Melvyn Douglas, and Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. portray the four elderly friends who comprise the Chowder Society, a secret club of sorts in the rural upper-New York town of Milburn. The Society's members meet regularly to tell each other creepy stories, which may or may not be true. Things haven't been the same since a fifth member died suddenly a year earlier and the surviving friends began to experience vivid nightmares.

Craig Wasson as Don.

Tragedy strikes again when one of the four, Edward Wanderley (Fairbanks, Jr.), learns that his son David (Craig Wasson) has fallen to his death from his high-rise New York apartment. His other son, Don (Wasson again), returns home for the funeral, but the two struggle to comfort one another. One snowy morning, Edward, believing he has seen his dead son, wanders into the bitter cold and is found dead. Soon after, Don confronts the Chowder Society, revealing that he shares a dark secret with them.

Director John Irvin creates an unsettling ambience in the opening scenes. The isolated town, covered in a white sheet of snow and dark clouds, seems like the perfect breeding place for evil. And one couldn't ask for a more impressive quartet of actors to embody the Chowder Society. Indeed, Ghost Story appears set up to succeed--until it doesn't. When Don tells his story to the group, the narrative goes off-course with an expanded flashback set in sunny Florida. It sucks the wind out of the movie and robs it of its most promising characters.

Later, there's yet another long flashback in which we learn what happened to the Chowder Society members when they were younger. Their horrible secret turns out to be underwhelming after the build-up (though generally faithful to the novel). The casting of the younger Chowder Society members is interesting--I never would have thought Ken Olin (thirtysomething) would turn into John Houseman as he grew older! 

A major problem is that the movie's length cannot support the novel's structure. We don't spend enough time with any of the characters to get to know them. It helps that many roles are played by well-known actors in familiar roles (e.g., Houseman is blustery, Astaire is likable). However, I never really cared what happened to these people.

Even worse, the film's ending totally deviates from the novel. I'll avoid plot spoilers, but suffice to say that the novel involved a nasty supernatural creature that did not go easily into the night. In contrast, the film version of Ghost Story features nothing more than a vengeful ghost.

I was afraid of this. I've spent most of this review comparing book and movie. That's unfair to the cinematic Ghost Story, but I still stand by my assessment is that's no more than an adequate motion picture. There's still a good Ghost Story miniseries just waiting to be made.

(You can currently stream Ghost Story for free by clicking here.)