Its Asian stereotypes are offensive, but The Black Camel is beautifully shot (on location in Honolulu) and the costumes confirm my hunch that tailoring in the US peaked in 1931.
Charlie Chan is an aphorism-spouting Hawaiian detective who can't drive, has an enormous family and has enough cleverness to solve local mysteries. Those are all old saws but I had never heard of the stereotype of the Chinese kid that failed all his classes. It's all in pretty poor taste, especially Chan's sidekick Kashimo, who runs around shouting, "Crew! Crew!" (meaning, "Clue! Clue!"). Oh, yes. All ethnic claptrap aside, The Black Camel is beautiful to watch. It makes wonderful use of light and shadow, Hawaiian locations and everyone just looks gorgeous.
Dorothy Revier as Shelah Fane, naive Hollywood actress.
What a flawed movie! With the choice of George Raft or Humphrey Bogart, they go with expressionless George Raft as the lead. The plot is about thirty minutes late to show up to the party, as is larger-than-life character actor Alan Hale. Then to top it off, the entire last hour is a rip off of Bordertown (1935).
Raft and Bogart are brothers driving transport trucks (34,000 lbs max capacity!) hauling fruit up and down the California coast. They are trying to scratch out a living independently, too proud to work for their major competitor Carlson (Alan Hale). But when Bogart is injured, Raft is forced to work for Carlson. He finds it a much easier lifestyle except for Mrs Carlson (Ida Lupino), who will do anything to get into disinterested Raft's pants. Mrs Carlson seems to crack up when she realizes Raft is about to marry his fiancee, played by Ann Sheridan.
As well as lifting its story directly from Bordertown, this film feels like an uninspired effort from an otherwise top-notch team (director Walsh, and a great cast). But wait, many of the same folks were going to crank out another one with Manpower (1941), also very similar in tone (although I actually prefer Manpower - more fist fighting and weirder romance). It's refreshing to see the celebration of blue-collar guys with regular jobs in film, but at this point Warner seems like it was stuck in a rut!
This is Christopher Lee's parents, in the only photo he ever knew of wherein they were photographed together. It was taken before the First World War. Incredible! As are bits of this little book, but I thoroughly enjoyed it nonetheless. Now having read Lee's autobiography, things make a little more sense to me. Lee's mother was an Italian countess, his father a military man and athlete. Public-school educated (if not top-rate public school), Lee's father disappeared out of his life relatively early and the family fell on increasingly hard times. His mother married a banker, but his fortunes faltered. Yet Lee seems to have been buoyed through life by wealthy connections and by the skills he cultivated that today seem lost and forgotten: social golfing, an appreciation of live classical music performances, the art of conversation.
And Lee readily admits: he's a bit of a chatterbox. He enjoys a good story and has plenty to tell. Paragraph after paragraph has a punchline. Whose life is a series of events that end in punchlines? If not consistently light-hearted, Lee's anecdotes are fascinating. As a child he was roused from sleep to meet the assassins of Rasputin. He was the first Allied soldier to enter the Vatican during the war, allowed to browse the masterpieces in solitude. He got a lot of good advice on how to manage passionate female fans from Errol Flynn.
Tall, Dark and Gruesome is heavy on the British slang (the American edition I read would hard bracket translations for all the obscure lingo). Plenty of this is army slang, as in "jankers" (punishment) and, even better, "Egyptian PT" translated here as "forces slang for sleep, because they saw the Egyptians as having a rather relaxed view of life"! Hammer fans will only get a slight glimpse behind the curtain of Hammer movie-making as in his telling, these experiences are not those that figure most prominently in his life. He didn't mind a good remake, which Hammer did twice very well, but very much disliked making endless sequels. Fair enough! He does have the kindest words for Peter Cushing, calling him "the gentlest and most generous of men."
Lee has lived so long he had to write a second edition in 1999 (the book was first published in 1977). And so we don't even make it to The Lord of the Rings or Star Wars II: Attack of the Clones (both 2002) (during which when I saw it, a friend prayed as we watched him zipping around on some kind of ridiculous hover bike, "Please Lord, don't let this be the magnificent Christopher Lee's last role"). He's currently filming more Hobbits. Astounding!
Christopher Lee with wife Gitte on their wedding day. To the left is Sir Richard Jackson, then President of Interpol whose words to the groom were: "Look after this girl, or it's 50 lashes!"
Having devoured the New Yorker's excellent sci-fi issue (June 4, 2012), I had to run out and buy the Psychotronic Encyclopedia of Film. In his highly enjoyable Personal History segment "A Psychotronic Childhood: Learning from B-movies," Colson Whitehead describes the book as "proof that even the most unlikely idea had a chance," inspiring him to write his own fiction. Colson, raised on Z-grade movies aired on TV (pre-VHS, people!) by parents who refused to filter their son's viewing experiences, recalls writing a book report on the novelization of Videodrome for an eighth grade assignment. He described "Debbie Harry's character jabbing a cigarette into her boob as foreplay" and got an A! Awesome! Such exuberant dedication to dreck inspired me to check out his sources.
Like Colson, I hope to check-mark my way through Psychotronic Encyclopedia. The title comes from Weldon's attempt to fuse weird horror and sci-fi but he later learned the term had already been used as the title to a film about a psychic barber (The Psychotronic Man, 1980). The Psychotronic Encyclopedia of Film might really be something best appreciated by a certain generation of film lovers. I was too young to remember TV pre-VHS. This was back when TV aired a grab bag of movies and if you were lucky enough, you might catch something unique but then again you might never see it again. In a strange way, Weldon reminds me of someone entrusted to carry a torch, bringing knowledge from a place of darkness.
I also think maybe I am from the wrong generation to give a crap about some of the type of movies covered in Psychotronic, such as the Elvis and Gidget flicks. Sure, I'll read about them but there's something that just feels so sealed off and "done" about these gimmicky vehicles. Maybe I'm just treasure hunting after the weird. I'd never heard of this made-for-TV movie called The People (1972), even though it stars William Shatner: "A teacher in a small California town (Kim Darby) discovers the locals are peaceful aliens with powers of ESP and levitation." Whoa! Where can I find that? Oh. On Amazon, apparently.
This book was sent to me in record time by www.awesomebooks.com - good job, guys. Is the UK mail system ever better than ours. Even better, it came with the previous owner's bookmark:
Front
Back
This looks like a little high school love note, and just feels like the right thing to arrive with my new-to-me Psychotronic Encyclopedia.
The screenshot above is quite a bit like a blurry Nessie snapshot, but this was never Producer Releasing Corporation's intention. This is simply what a a terrible print of a grade-Z 40s flick looks like. The Flying Serpent is a remake of The Devil Bat which was a huge hit for PRC. George Zucco, who starred in countless poverty row movies but also had a brief career in serious theatre, takes the lead here (Bela Lugosi had it in Devil Bat) as mad-scientist and controller-of-beasts. The Flying Serpent has zero budget so get ready for the same old painted backdrop over and over and over and a dull cast punctuated with embarrassing efforts at humour. For your viewing pleasure: the acting achievements of all those who have gazed on the Flying Serpent!
Not gazing at The Flying Serpent. Smug reporter pulling superior, semi-interested face for his interview subject.
Christopher Lee as Captain Robeles, soldier of fortune, shooting one of King Philip's men.
The Devil-Ship Pirates has a great premise: as the Spanish Armada's strength weakens in its attack on England, a Spanish ship washes up on England's shores in battered condition. To save their skins and buy time to repair the ship the Spanish lie to the inhabitants of the little coastal village, telling them Spain has triumphed and that they are obligated to feed and house the Spanish and rebuild their ship. This little scenario, dreamed up by Hammer writer Jimmy Sangster, provides enough tension and action to propel the cast through the film's 86 minutes. As Christopher Lee stalks into the village with his misfit crew (all slathered in brown face paint, a particularly uninspired decision by wardrobe) the village quickly divides itself into camps: those who wish to please their new masters at any cost (village squire), those who will do anything to avoid a violent confrontation (village pastor) and the rest of the folks who remain skeptical of the Spaniards' message.
Ernest Clark as Sir Basil Smeeton (with feathered hat), the village turncoat. I particularly like the little kid in the red fez, who, in a bid to get into the shot leans against child actor Michael Newport who actually has a few lines. Nicely done, anonymous extra.
Although the costumes, sets and props all look as though they were borrowed from the local high-school drama club Hammer Films did spring for a full-scale model of a ship which was plunked into a boggy creek for the whole shoot. This allows for some good cannon action but also becomes a concrete reminder that the pirates are stranded and vulnerable. Christopher Lee is acceptable if a bit monotone as Captain Robeles but the red tights he wears certainly emphasize his stork-like legs as he leaps about in sword-fighting scenes. Not a bad effort for a cheapie.
Suzan Farmer, as Angela Smeeton, has decided to join the resistance.
All imperialists must understand the value of propaganda. Augustus distributed idealized busts of his youthful self throughout the empire, and Benito Mussolini established Cinecittà (Film City) in 1937 where films like La Dolce Vita (1960) and Ben Hur (1959) were shot. A fire burned down quite a bit of the grounds in 2007, but they still do tours and curate exhibitions of props and costumes. HBO's Rome was also shot here, over a massive square footage. I've walked through the remains of ancient Rome before, so now I need to blow my mind and walk through both in the same week. I can fantasize about Ciarán Hinds while I'm at it. Dream vacation.
2. Ramoji Film City, Hayanthnagar / Eros Cinema, Mumbai
Eros Cinema. Photo by Sandra Cohen-Rose and Colin Rose.
Actually, don't steal my business idea of Bollywood tour packages - but, come ON! Why is this not marketed like mad yet? Film City is a huge, open-air production venue for Bollywood that also caters to tourists. I'm guessing the Indian equivalent of the Universal Studios tour. Its existence answers my question as to how it is humanly possible to see an empty street in a Bollywood film when in reality India seems constantly crowded and cacophonous with the tooting horns of auto-rickshaws. Oh, they film on a big fake set! Eureka moment. The Eros Cinema in Mumbai is a gorgeous art deco movie house with a seating capacity of 1,200. My Indian film itinerary could go on and on but these are a few highlights. Call me, GAP Adventures.
3. Pordenone Silent Film Festival, Pordenone Italy.
I've never been to northern Italy.
4. Poverty Row Studios of LA
My dream trip to LA would include whatever is left of its film history plus a couple of stops to film archives. On this list would be Monogram Picture's studios. Its earlier digs were on Sunset Blvd, and were until recently owned by KCET Studios. In true LA fashion, the property was sold to the Church of Scientology in 2011. This is where The Babe Ruth Story (1948) the funniest, one-star hagiography starring William Bendix (produced by Monogram successor Allied Artists) was filmed -- reason enough for me to make the trek. Placerita Canyon Road, a location where Monogram filmed westerns, is still home to movie-making in the form of Melody Ranch. Melody Ranch even has a museum chock full of awesome movie and TV memorabilia.
Monogram's first digs, 4376 Sunset Blvd.
Actually, KCET sold the property to Scientologists, making me wonder if I have to ride the Fruit Machine before getting a look at the longest-continually filming site in American movie history.
5. Alamo Drafthouse, Austin, Texas.
Actually, my wish list reads: "get back to the Drafthouse" because I've been once before (only once). And yeah, I know, they're starting one in NYC but let me guess, no chips and queso at this location. This is the kick-ass movie chain that offers wings and White Russians served directly to your seat. They are also vigilant about ejecting self-entitled assholes who talk and text while the movie is on. (See clip below, NSFW). I salute you, Drafthouse, for making the ideal movie experience come true and for promoting genre flix and other loose ends.
6. Noir City Festival, San Francisco.
Eddie Muller rocks - he's great on commentaries and he helps make this happen. I love how devoted noir people are. They basically live the life, don't they. Let's get some vintage style underpants, and let's go.
7. TCM Cruise
A cruise full of old people / Hollyweird silver screen fans! And possibly fantasy grandpa Robert Osborne and/or Ben Mankiewicz! I still shake my fist having missed the last sailing, which included 95-year-old Ernest Borgnine as special celebrity guest. Here's a few good reasons to go:
Old people go to bed early. No thumping bass echoing through the poop deck at one AM. This works for me.
Ben Mankiewicz is hot in glasses and I am fully prepared to be snubbed by a hot TV host at the buffet.
Prices start at $995!
Miami to Cozumel: not long enough to contract the Norwalk virus! Or is it?
This is on a boat? What is it, the Titanic or something? Well, OK, as long as it's not the Poseidon.
8. Oh, the Elgin theater in Chelsea is now a contemporary dance theater? OK, I'll go with the IFC instead, then.
Even discounting the white guys-dressing-up-as-Asians charade aside, The Terror of the Tongs is not a great movie. It's not very sexy, the story meanders, and its hero Captain Jack Sale (Geoffrey Toone) is just a stuffed-shirt caricature of British correctness. My attention wandered during this one, but I'll summarize: Sale lands in Hong Kong where his teenaged daughter (over?) excitedly awaits his return. He also unwittingly brings with him a list of names of members of the Tong underworld, which has been planted on him. A parade of Chinese gangsters run after the list, leaving behind a bloody trail of chopped fingers and other delights. The Terror of the Tongs doesn't succeed at building up much suspense. Once the list is burned, Sale continues on a revenge mission to seek out the roots of the Tong gangs. Once he comes face to face with Christopher Lee, local head of the Tongs, he continues to have dull adventures dodging wooden axes. Christopher Lee sits on a throne. Aside from a ghastly torture scene, it's blah blah blah... "Asian" chicks, finale.
Captain Sale bullies a local. I guess Chinese guys are known for their crazy eyebrows?
Yeah, so getting back to the deal about casting Europeans in heinous makeup to play Asians. It seems to me that 1961 is rather late for this approach. We have the immortal Burt Kwouk of Pink Panther fame here in a straight role, hunting down Tongs. Sadly, he doesn't even last a couple of scenes. Kwouk was really chewing his dialogue in great contrast to Toone's lips-barely-moving approach to acting so the decision to lose him so early was unfortunate.
Dammit, I was hoping for way more Burt Kwouk!
There's a couple of other Asians, mostly extras in the background, but almost all speaking roles go to white guys. It just seems odd. I suppose the argument would be that in '61, a British audience wouldn't have any interest in watching a film with a predominantly Asian cast? So the movie then becomes a series of distractions as to whose eyes look the oddest and who summons the weirdest fake Chinese accent. Thank goodness Christopher Lee decided against ching-chong singsong, although his false lidless eyes look plasticized and very uncomfortable. This movie also takes advantages of the entire checklist of Asian stereotypes: the sexy half-breed, wise grandma, the cowardly coolie, the sweaty bald weightlifting Asian guy on 'roids. Question: if Asian women are so hot, why were there none in the movie?
This is my bone-scraping face!
I am just a poor half-breed lady that bought her entire outfit at that place in the mall that dyes your shoes to match your prom dress!
I'm just going to treat this post like I'm on tumblr, because whether having a conversation in a room dressed monochromatically or showing LA in all its gaudy, late-60s beauty, Point Blank is all about being gorgeous.
With a mise-en-scene oddly (and wrongly) reminiscent of a musical with the scene's chorus of grizzled seamen gathering 'round, Acker prances around the docks braless to attract her future husband Lee Marvin. As one does.
Lee Marvin and his now depressed wife, who has taken up with the guy who stole his loot.
Power office in green. Desks look so much handsomer minus computers.
Dinner date at the burger joint.
Lee Marvin and Angie Dickinson.
Diner scene: cut to bored teenage date. She fascinates Lee Marvin, who ignores Angie to stare at this little moment of ennui.
Carroll O'Connor, who injects fire into the last few scenes of Point Blank. Sunglasses were so cool in the 60s and 70s. Does he look 45 here? He's 45 here.
James Carreras, Peter Cushing and William Hinds goofing around at the British Premiere of The Curse of Frankenstein on May 2, 1957.
A small post-war British film company manages to wrestle properties like Dracula and Frankenstein out of the hands of American goliath Universal Studios - what a great, still-relevant story in today's world of bloated, CGI-driven and completely dull blockbusters consisting of nothing but sequels, prequels, re-releases and remakes. I keep wondering when the next Hammer-type evolutionary upstart is going to start making really fun junk that will draw moviegoers away from such not very tantalizing 2012 summer fare as a Matt Damon-less Bourne movie or yet another Spiderman.
Having found Denis Meikle's Vincent Price: The Art of Fear (2003) insightful and clever, I was looking forward to this history of the Hammer film company. A History of Horrors tackles a larger cast of characters and a longer timeline but somehow Meikle's tone, one of constant disappointment, makes this book less enjoyable. Appreciative of Peter Cushing (though he wags a finger at disappointing performances), Meikle does not seem to be much of a Christopher Lee fan. He acknowledges Lee's contributions to the smash hit Horror of Dracula (1958) but reveals little sympathy for the actor's efforts to find more challenging roles beyond the caped seducer. While he escaped some of the subsequent Hammer Draculas, Lee eventually played the character ad nauseum right up to Hammer's dying days.
Meikle also casts a joyless eye at failed makeup efforts (I found counting these instances entertaining), from the distinctively un-Karloffian Frankenstein "resembling nothing more than the victim of a road accident," to the lacklustre appearance of Anton Diffring in the film The Man Who Could Cheat Death (1959) wherein a contemporary critic is quoted as saying "the Hammer make-up man missed a stupendous chance." This is echoed in observations about costuming efforts for The Gorgon (1964) "The Gorgon head is a construct of stupefying ineptitude," Meikle writes. "Roy Ashton's mask (with the help from Richard Mills on this occasion) contributes little enough to the mood, but the wig is worse than useless, showing all too clearly exactly what it was composed of: toy snakes." Hammer's distinctive use of colour is lost on the reader (at least in the softcover version I had) because there are no colour plates within the book - surely a misstep. I caught Quatermass and the Pit (1967) recently on TV and found the colour even in this lesser Hammer effort quite stunning; (Meikle calls this film "a Technicolor travesty").
Meikle must be credited for admirably documenting the rise of Hammer, its blood and guts beginnings and then "t-and-a" phase and final decline. The book draws on invaluable conversations with those involved during the Hammer heyday as well as the Hammer archive. But the overall lack of enthusiasm or appreciation even of campy touches (which can be very entertaining, at least in retrospect) does the history a slight disservice.
Variety Club dinner showing Christopher Lee and his gorgeous wife Birgit (L), as well as James Carreras (centre, seated), and other Hammer execs.
The interviews these guys got: Ron Howard, Martin Scorsese, Joe Dante. Footage of Quentin Tarantino geeking out at Corman's Lifetime Achievement award Oscar ceremony. Jack Nicholson's sausage fingers covering his bawling face! My God! Yet for all the access given to the makers of this documentary, the film never fully captures its subject. Roger Corman, King of the B's, remains strange and elusive even as he sits chatting affably from his sofa.
Roger Corman, DIY filmmaker, is the man behind hundreds of exploitation films. From the 50s to the 80s (and beyond) Corman's had his fingers in all trash tropes: monsters (Attack of the Crab Monsters, 1957), hippies on acid (The Trip, 1967), beatniks (ABucket of Blood, 1959), bikers (The Wild Angels, 1966). Some retain cultural resonance -- Death Race 2000, Little Shop of Horrors. Many have been forgotten. As is mentioned in the documentary, Corman exploited people as well as material. His dependence on bright young people willing to work for little just to get their hands on the cameras had him running an informal apprenticeship program for all the above mentioned directors and actors. Some worked for him only once and moved on. Others, like Nicholson, stuck out a ten-year slog before finding real recognition.
But there's a big chasm between Corman and his "pupils," a gap the documentary never bridges satisfactorily. Aside from the Lifetime Achievement award scene, we don't see Corman interact with any of the famous filmmakers or actors he worked with. Now in his 80s, Corman still hovers over junior editors clicking at Final Cut Pro. He spends his days fiddling with Z-grade stuff like Dinoshark (2010) and Sharktopus (2010). What made it impossible for him to go beyond bottom-of-the-barrel filmmaking? What prevented him from ever really connecting with the creative personalities that were taking film into new directions? A major gap in the documentary is the omission of any discussion of Corman's psychological makeup. Yes, he is a penny-pincher and a bit of a square. But other than that, Corman's psyche remains a tightly sealed biscuit tin. We don't hear anything of his roots or upbringing, fears or shortcomings.
The film does demonstrate how Corman's one real financial failure, coming from the production of The Intruder (1962), destroyed his hopes of ever resonating more deeply with moviegoers. In The Intruder, a white supremacist (played by William Shatner) moves into a small Southern town to agitate against integration. Corman must have faced massive disappointment; his passion for the film's message of tolerance went unappreciated. "Some highly explosive material is handled crudely and a bit too clumsily for conviction," wrote Bowsley Crowther in a contemporary review. Was Corman's heart broken too badly for him to ever try serious content ever again? Who knows, Corman's World is too polite to say much more. Personally, I've always found The Masque of the Red Death (1964) with its gorgeous use of colour to be Corman's creative high point. But Corman's World skips over the whole Poe output with one wave of his dismissive hand.
Corman's World is a decent intro to the man's oeuvre, but left me puzzled. Did he even watch the movies he made? What parts made him laugh? Was he a political or religious man? Corman remarks that a short stint in the military was the worst part of his life -- but the filmmakers leave this completely unexplored. He's also quoted in a late-70s TV interview as saying that he finds spending millions on movie making "unethical." But again, the thread ends there. Despite the amazing interviews Stapleton captured here, there's also many missed opportunities.
Christopher Lee illustrating the 1968 principle, which asserts that in the year 1968 the number of sexy men per capita shot through the roof.This phenomenon has never been repeated, although I'm hoping it works on a 50-year cycle.
Dracula movies are like a game from the elementary school playground. There's a lot of conditions, running from place to place and someone calling "safe" or "time out". Even Dracula has his own rules regarding his victims: brunettes are more often sleazier, happy to get anyone's attention and therefore of less appeal. Blondes are always virginal and innocent, the real prize. As a defiant and somewhat bitter brunette, I find this generally the inverse of reality.
Despite the ridiculous title, Dracula Has Risen from the Grave hangs together like a decent custard. In it, an arrogant priest exorcises Dracula's castle, slamming a giant crucifix through the front door so Dracula can't ever truly find "home" throughout the entire film. Instead he is forced to live in someone named Gisela Heinz's smelly old coffin. Seeking revenge against the priest, Dracula chases after his lovely niece Maria (played by Veronica Carlson) who is engaged to likeable, Roger Daltrey-esque Paul (Barry Andrews).
Young lovers meeting in a garret window.
Action sequences do not appear to be director's Freddie Francis' forte (say that three times) but Dracula Has Risen remains engaging due to the quality of the leads. A bit of stock footage is used mostly to good effect, and a strange prismatic lens effect (see below) is used to brighten the black-on-black scenes of Dracula lurking in the basement.
Good heavens, should I point out to myself that I am typing Dracula Has Risen on the Easter weekend? Speaking of which, I always find the threat of Dracula so toothless. In Taste the Blood of Dracula (the next Hammer Dracula in the series), one of the characters says with dread: "she is neither dead nor alive - she is undead." Aside from the lack of sunlight, I don't see the downside to this. As Norm MacDonald said, "to be dead on the inside is sad, but to be dead on the outside is way sadder." What's the big deal about never dying but having to adhere to a few do's and dont's? These Dracula stories substitute a lesser horror for a real one: everyone dies. Whether you may rise again all depends on your faith. Happy Easter!
TAAASTE IT! Looks like paper mache volcano lava, tastes like strawberry jam.
Three middle aged-men act like respectable, church-going fathers by day and by night take a hansom cab to the East End of London and party hard. When they tire of this, they hook up with a disreputable nobleman who dabbles in the black arts and arranges to inject some new thrills into their secret society by resurrecting Dracula. Dracula then goes after the families of the three men who brought him back to life -- and of course, their buxom daughters as well.
This is not a particularly well-constructed Hammer horror despite it having enough naked boobies to please all the subscribers to Nuts magazine. After the deliciously hypocritical abusive father William Hargood is killed off, the film completely deflates. There's not too many Dracula films where his victims are detestable slobs who should be destroyed, but this one does. They should have saved Hargood for last, because none of his other comrades in the secret society had fleshed out characters and so were of little interest to anyone.
Surly William Hargood, played by Geoffrey Keen, and Madeline Smith as giggly prostitute.
The film's last half consists of young ladies running after Christopher Lee, who brushes them aside like the jaded rock star he is at this point in the Hammer trajectory. Anthony Higgens (here billed as Anthony Corlan, and who bears a striking resemblance to Topher Grace) tries desperately to sort everything out and save his girlfriend. A slack last half gives way to a terrible ending, in which Dracula gets rather overwhelmed by religious iconography. Rumour has it Christopher Lee was extremely reluctant to make this one. You'd think a movie that begins by having a mentally handicapped person throw a pushy salesman out of a moving carriage would be so much more exciting!
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