Maniac (1934), Dwain Esper.

Jumbo jocks. 

Uh, WOW.  We have flashes of boob, a stick-on beard kit, a guy that raises cats, "Yeahhhh I got thousands of 'em!  I'm in the busssssssssssiness!" and a lot of shouting and screaming and clattering of lab equipment.  And Jumbo Jocks!  I had to crack open Michael Pitt's Poverty Row Studios, 1929-1940 to make heads or tails of this.  Grandfather of the grindhouse movie, director Dwain Esper and his wife Hildegarde Stadie cobbled this and other oddities together, bypassing the censors, distributing the films themselves and reaping substantial profits.  This one is a patchwork of the grotesque and titillating! If you love cats, you may have to cover your eyes...

The First Lady of Hollywood: A Biography of Louella Parsons (2005), Samantha Barbas.

The dead-eyed, insincere smile found on the cover of this recently published biography of Louella Parsons prevented me from picking this book up for several weeks.  I knew I would find its subject  offensive but finally I took the plunge.  

The history of the role of public relations in the film industry is fascinating and this bio is a decent primer on its origins, focusing on one of its most successful early practitioners:  Louella Parsons.  After dabbling in newspaper writing in her hometown of Dixon, Illinois, Parsons worked at Essanay Studios, sorting script scenarios submitted by amateurs.  When Essanay's finances started to wobble (in the middle teens), she searched for work elsewhere and ultimately became attached to William Randolph Hearst's publishing empire.  She was essentially a Hearst employee, protegee, informant, supporter, etc. her entire life.  Parsons happily agreed to monitor the activities of Marion Davies, Hearst's actress mistress and Parsons's close friend, for a stipend one summer.  This technique of befriending younger, more beautiful and more talented people only to later use private information against them, became Parsons's most effective approach and allowed her to dole out tidbits in her movie columns for decades to a receptive mass audience eager to feel more intimately connected to the personalities they regularly viewed onscreen. 

Barbas maintains that Parsons was an excellent reporter on par with any male colleague, hunting down information at all hours, personally paying informants and eliciting information by employing a variety of tricks (including an oldie but a goodie: playing dumb!).  Barbas's assertion that Parsons's work was evidence of early feminism was difficult for me to accept because of the moral complexity of Parsons' activities.  Is publishing gossip an act of feminism?  Is obtaining friendship and invitations to all the best parties through extortion feminism?  Is a subterfuge of lies about one's identity an act of feminism?  Was Parsons, a divorcee who carried on a public romance with a married politician, a woman who had an army of staff but depicted herself as "just folks" -- all evidence that she espoused to her readers certain female values without abiding by them herself -- a feminist?  "Despite the affable front that Louella presented in her column and to her acquaintances," Barbas writes, "she earned the reputation among her co-workers as being off-putting."  Of course this statement sounds quite similar to accusations leveled at Martha Stewart: the successful business woman being chastised for "unwomanly" (competitive or aggressive) behaviour that is essential to success in business - something that no men would ever have to face.   Without delving into what constitutes a feminist, I'll ask readers to consider perhaps the best-remembered result of Parsons's writing:  the decision to ruin Ingrid Bergman's American career in 1950 by revealing that Bergman had a son out of wedlock.  "While Bergman's career was devastated, Louella's revived," Barbas succinctly concludes. 

Some of the best writing in this biography come from Barbas's research on the reach and power of the Hearst newspapers and in fact portions of this book are just as enlightening about Hearst and the evolution of journalistic writing (from the "story journalism" and "sob sister" writing of the 1920s to the later insistence on the cold, hard facts) as they are about Parsons.  Barbas's writing style is laudably sober despite the appalling actions of her subjects.  Barbas ably disassembles the myth of Parsons having won her position with the Hearst papers, for example, by having witnessed the murder of Thomas Ince by Hearst.  In examining these well-known tales about Parsons, Barbas often returns to Parsons's own autobiography to demonstrate her subject's incredible re-telling of her own life story to suit and protect her interests, much of which is blasted as pure hoke.  Similarly, Barbas often states the truth while also alluding to a great deal more as in the instance where she indicates the profession of Parsons's third husband:  Hollywood abortionist. 

A judgmental person, I had to conclude that Parsons's career constituted pure bottom-feeding.  She had no ability to act herself (and was remarkably wooden in her few onscreen cameos), she had no apparent knowledge of any of the technical aspects of movie-making (although she did, while at Essanay Studios, write a handbook on script writing).   Transmitting the tiniest scraps on impending divorces and affairs - this was her livelihood!  How incredible to me - yet what an idiot I must be considering we are still today inundated with celebrity gossip, having only witnessed the expansion of the industry.   Obviously the industry can't survive without it.  We can only thank heavens Parsons was less politically motivated and not a salivating, rabid Commie-hater.  For this, I'll have to track down a biography of Parsons's greatest rival, Hedda Hopper!

Detour (1945), Edgar G Ulmer.

You know when two men start discussing scars, it's only going to get more interesting.  Nightmarish hitchhiking thriller that's just about entirely filmed with process shots - you know, those  annoyingly fake scenes of actors pretending to drive a car with a stock footage background.  But in this case, the story's too good to worry about whether or not he's really steering all the bends in the roads.  Ann Savage plays just about the most hideous, loathsome, witchy female film character I can think of.  In an interview with Bogdanovich, Edgar G Ulmer reminds us that his leading man, Tom Neale, had many shady misadventures off-screen as well.  Next: must track down Ulmer's The Naked Dawn!

 

It's a hell of a life but not a bad living: a Hollywood memoir (1978), Edward Dmytryk.

 Associated Press photo of Edward Dmytryk (centre rear) and other members of the "Hollywood Ten."

Here are Edward Dmytryk's rules for movie-making: "I prune the script until I think it is right for shooting.  When we rehearse and film each scene, further cuts are almost always in order.  Later, in the cutting room, I find I can slice still more.  If I see the picture again months later, I kick myself for leaving some scenes too long."  Dmytryk started as a "cutter" in the silent era and witnessed much of the technological changes from this spot.  His better films impress me because of their beautiful thrift.  Dmytryk moved from editing to directing - B movies, at first - which in his autobiography he lauds as the perfect university of filmmaking.  "One learns more from Bs," he writes, "There is less to work with - less time, less film and less artistry - so more ingenuity is needed to arrive at something passable....The poor clod who takes hack material, ineptly staged, inexpertly played, unimaginatively shot , and puts it together with sufficient skill to ensure its later playing as a 'Movie of the Week' on a major television network:  he's the genius." 

Dmytryk's autobiography is just as economically written.  I was captivated by his insights into the crafts of editing and directing.  Likely driven by the same philosophy towards storytelling in film (don't condescend) he doesn't shy away from describing the technical end of the business, explaining creative decisions and the mechanics of the tools of the trade (how to effectively light a stage to mimic sunlight, or how to edit a poorly acted scene into oblivion).  His description of a disintegrating MGM in the mid-50s (where he directed Raintree County) is priceless.  "Like most tottering empires, it exhibited an opulent exterior which concealed some very anachronistic, profligate, and inferior practices... The equipment was a travesty, obviously designed during the silent era.  It was immovable and so noisy that no dialogue could be directly recorded... Money was spent recklessly.  Elizabeth [Taylor's] wardrobe demanded a large number of elaborate antebellum (and postbellum) hoopskirts.  In spite of the fact that nobody could finger cloth on the screen... only the finest materials were purchased, even for concealed petticoats."  I've always had a secret love for Raintree County, even though it's a very uneven film.  (And weird:  Elizabeth Taylor's obsession with her charred dollies).  While I had heard the story of Montgomery Clift's spectacular car accident before, Dmytryk goes beyond this incident in describing the many challenges he faced in getting this project to completion.

Dmytryk was one of the "Hollywood Ten," a group of industry professionals who refused to testify to the House of Un-American Activities Committee.  He scooted to Europe hoping to keep earning, and eventually served time in two prisons; he ultimately named names in 1951 and was released back to Hollywood.  I need to read more HUAC history but as a Canadian I don't fully understand why Americans never developed their own indigenous alternative to the Communist Party (something analogous to our Cooperative Commonwealth Federation, now known as the New Democratic Party).  I do feel that HUAC was a pretty useful way of ensuring no real left-leaning alternatives took root, arresting a lot of meaningful left-wing activity for decades.  Dmytryk is unapologetic about his decisions, but also seems to "cut" from his story, moving us swiftly from one scene to the next with the principle goal of telling a good yarn (he expanded on his HUAC experiences more in another biography, Odd Man Out, A Memoir of the Hollywood Ten in 1996).

Only later in his career, while directing The Caine Mutiny, does Dmytryk express regret at being unable to indulge.  In love with the novel, he wanted to bring it all to the screen: "it should have been three hours long," he sighs.  However, studio execs decided a shorter movie meant more screenings a day and hence more tickets sold.  Two hours was the absolute maximum!  How the industry has changed and what different products they create today.  Dmytryk's story is incredible even in how his own life spanned multiple key eras in Hollywood:  from silent, sound, studio to independent filmmakers and the revival of the industry in the 70s.  A great read.

Found Footage Festival: Bloor Cinema, Toronto.

OK, I am a little late to get wise to this, but apparently all Joe Pickett and Nick Prueher do is travel North American thrift stores looking for hilarious VHS tapes.  While listening to them talk about this quest for the strange while I was in the audience at the Toronto stop of the Found Footage 2010 Spring Tour, my eyes got all glossy and I thought: "these guys have the best job in the world!"  Even later at Future Bakery over schnitzel, my husband and friend both tried to convince me otherwise.  "They probably go city to city in a station wagon!"  "They have to sleep at Motel 8s and Red Roof Inns every night!" "They have to haul that goddamn Venus II over the border and endure grilling from customs agents!"  But instead of discouraging me, it just sounded like they were enticing me to run away and join them!

Sure, their show is fun and goofy but I think ephemera is a genuinely important category of material culture.  Because of its lowbrow or ubiquitous quality, many people dismiss it as unimportant to collect or document.  Yet so many people within society can connect themselves to it.  These two guys use the hilarity of the recent past to showcase ephemera, but as they described an upcoming documentary film project they're working on I was thinking they also recognize its deeper significance.  http://dirtycountrymovie.com/ 

Plus, goddamn was that Heavy Metal Picnic hilarious!

The Masque of the Red Death (1964), Roger Corman.

Full-bloom Corman!  The Masque of the Red Death is incredibly visually striking.  It uses colour in that wonderful way typical of the 60s: unapologetically.  Lots of primary colours but as can be seen in these two screen shots, but there is also gorgeous use of complementary and analogous colour too.   The otherworldly scene seen below is pretty wild: a parade of demons from pagan / pre-Christian cultures repeatedly murder the same woman -- but they do it while performing a lovely ballet dance.

This film is similar to Corman's other gothic Poe flicks but better:  unlike House of Usher, whose tiny cast of four in a big castle and use of wide-angel lenses still somehow feels claustrophobic (and then mainly dull), Masque is filled with interesting characters.  Vincent Price is fantastic as a man driven to evil out of pure disappointment; any hopefulness about the human condition has been extinguished and replaced with a sad philosophy he claims is merely realistic.  And poor old Juliana (played by Hazel Court) who can never compete with cutie pie, decades-younger Jane Asher (Price's new object of affection).  She commits one of the more desperate bids for a man's attention:  she gives herself up to Satan!  My ignorant view on the Poe story is that it contains more enduring ideas (is it an allegory - and for what?) and goes beyond other examples of his work, which on occasion contain not much more than a single concept or device - Corman's devotion to the original work makes the film intriguing as well.

International House (1933), A Edward Sutherland.

The premise:  a disparate group of expats gather at a luxury hotel in Wu-Hu China where Doctor Wong will be demonstrating his magical radioscope device with the hopes of selling it to the highest bidder!  This is a good excuse as any to bring kooky radio and vaudeville acts together; ones as different as Burns and Allen and Baby Rose Marie do their bits; they either make up the storyline or are summoned on the spooky radioscope (which seems to be a proto-television, but also allows the people onscreen to interact with their audience!).  Gotta love WC Fields, who insists on the top hat with the PJs.  In the shabby hotel opposite, an enraged Bela Lugosi is trying to get a clear shot at Fields for shacking up with his lovely but not-quite-divorced wife.  Silly and charming!

The Panther's Claw (1942), William Beaudine.

Everett P Digberry is a 90 lb milquetoast, wig-maker by profession, and a victim of extortion.  Or is he?  Corny little whodunit that is so cheaply slapped together that it had me laughing just like actor Sidney Blackmer (playing Police Commissioner Thatcher Colt), who bubbles up with inappropriate giggles at the oddest moments.  So this Digberry lives in some kind of hotel apartment that consists of just a kitchen and a hallway?  What were his whale of a wife and five daughters doing out of town anyway?  Did cops in the 40s not need warrants?  Remember, they "scientifically established" certain facts in this one!

Boy Scout Troop does what?

The Torchy Blane Collection: Now Available on DVD

Today's New York Times announces the release of what Dave Kehr calls "one of the 1930s most engaging B series," the Torchy Blane films.  http://www.nytimes.com/2010/05/09/movies/homevideo/09kehr.html

Kehr recommends these as entertaining, if not artistically inventive, classic studio Bs.  Check it out!

Scanners (1981), David Cronenberg.

So, this week I saw Apocalypto (2006), which is a humorless movie full of disgusting violence that has no apparent purpose other than to explore violence itself, and Scanners, a movie with disgusting, violent elements that also sees Cronenberg developing many of the same themes that intrigue him throughout his career (mutation, technology,  the blending of individuals' bodies and minds).   Plus, oh my God, look at these guys!  They get labcoats!  Can I have one too?  I sit at a PC all day long, man!   Are they protecting themselves from keyboard dust, or what?  I just knew something was going to happen to the guy in the aviators.  He's just asking for trouble.