Kuroneko.

Review #2617: Kuroneko.

Cast: 

Kichiemon Nakamura (Gintoki), Nobuko Otowa (the Mother), Kiwako Taichi (Shige), Kei Satō (Raiko), Hideo Kanze (the Mikado), Taiji Tonoyama (the farmer), Yoshinobu Ogawa (Raiko follower), and Rokko Toura (a warlord) Written and Directed by Kaneto Shindō (#2500 - Onibaba)

Review: 

In the times of feudal Japan, there was plenty of time to see the lands visited by samurai within civil war, whether that involved the time revolving somewhere before/after the first millennium or in the later later times. People once could see people with hikimayu involving plucked out eyebrows for smudges to go along with painted teeth (I say this because you'll see it in this film alongside others such as Rashomon [1950]). But all of that pales in comparison to a ghost story that deals with the forgotten type of people within alleged conquest and mythmaking, the type of people that live and die in the margins because there are only so many people in the world before it all seems futile. In that sense, it probably seems apt that Kuroneko (the translated title is "A Black Cat in a Bamboo Grove") came around just a few years after the vitality and urges that came out with Onibaba (1964), which you might remember had peasant women survive on the killing and robbing of samurai; Otowa starred in both movies (as she had done in various other films that ranged from Story of a Beloved Wife [1951] to A Last Note [1995]). At any rate, here's a movie with dead peasants that come around to lure samurai into the bamboo groves with a certain type of futility to it all. 

Of course, it isn't a simple period (jidaigeki) horror movie, because even the onryō (vengeful spirits) are thought to be really interesting things to focus attention on beyond simple revenge stories, to the point where there exist three people that were called the "Three Great Onryo" with Emperor Sutoku, Taira no Masakado, and Sugawara no Michizane. It's not enough to see retribution in the physical sense, you might as well feel the torment in the psychological far more than anything. Of course, this happens to involve plenty of shots that deal in the distance of where things lurk, whether that involves hovering or those that loom over the bamboo or, in some other odd way, upon the soul. The most straightforward moment of the film is in its start involving the pillaging of the two women by the samurai that naturally lead to the process of death and life being twisted into pieces for those to seek blood through what might as well be a dance of death (anything could be a dance of death if you want to be a 1st-year blowhard, but it's a bit more literal here). It eventually dispatches with seeing select samurai take a one-way ticket to hell because of the eventual reveal of Taichi beyond being a man of names and "virtue". It is a pretty harrowing movie to sit through in the dance of death and perhaps some sort of sympathy for their impossible pursuit of all swordsman to meet their preferred fate that may see their blood drip into hell. Even hacking off an arm isn't the straight-forward easy thing to dealing with spirits, because even purification proves to be a probing case of cloying voices, tricks, and other odd things. It's the kind of "enigmatic" type of horror that is worthy of actually allowing oneself to see it all the way to the end of its 99 minute runtime where all eventually leads to the same place regardless of one's alleged place in society reigns: dust that blows in the wind until the last measure of memory and spirit is extinguished. In general, this is a movie fit for those who dig atmosphere where spirits reign free to pursue a dance of death that is unsettling and all the more curious to actually watch play out in devilish charm.

Overall, I give it 8 out of 10 stars.

As per tradition for the past few Halloweens, it's time to have a big show of reviews for the big day. Next up: Basket Case.

Song of the day!

Supplemental song

The Love Bug.

Review #2395: The Love Bug.

Cast: 

Dean Jones (James "Jim" Douglas), Michele Lee (Carole Bennett), David Tomlinson (Peter Thorndyke), Buddy Hackett (Tennessee Steinmetz), Joe Flynn (Havershaw), Benson Fong (Tang Wu), Joe E. Ross (Detective), Barry Kelley (Police sergeant), Iris Adrian (Carhop), Gary Owens (Announcer), Chick Hearn (Announcer), and Andy Granatelli (Association President) Directed by Robert Stevenson (#1415 - Mary Poppins)

Review: 

You might remember Robert Stevenson was an Academy Award-nominated director. But I suppose that's what happens with the strange magic of Mary Poppins (1964), because Stevenson was a veteran director who Walt Disney Productions liked enough to use for nineteen movies. Stevenson had written scripts since the late 1920s and graduated to directing by 1932, which later included movies such the 1937 version of King Solomon's Mines. He even got to do some Hollywood films with David O. Selznick and RKO and got into the television kick before, well, working for Disney for two decades, starting with Johnny Tremain (1957). He directed into his seventies and closed it out with The Shaggy D.A. (1976); he died in 1986 at the age of 81. The movie cites the use of the story "Car, Boy, Girl" by Gordon Buford as its adaptation material. The screenplay was written by Don DaGradi and Bill Walsh (who also produced the film). The movie made its premiere in late 1968 but did not go into wide release until March of 1969 and would you believe it was a major hit on release? Seriously, it was the second-highest grossing movie of that year, so clearly there were follow-ups, albeit with different cast members. Stevenson directed the first follow-up with Herbie Rides Again (1974); Jones returned for just the second follow-up (and the TV projects) with Herbie Goes to Monte Carlo (1977) before Herbie Goes Bananas (1980) and the TV show Herbie, the Love Bug (1982) sent the series into a slumber for a time.*

Honestly, it is a bit hard to resist the charms of Herbie. Sure, it probably isn't as whimsical as say, Mary Poppins, but there really is something that makes me smile about the charms that come around with a silly car and hijinks that is infectious. It has a breezy sense of enthusiasm that manages to ride along with hit-or-miss gags that puddle together for a slap-bang feature, at least for those who go with it knowing what they will get with a friendly-seeming Volkswagen (note the fact that you never hear the brand named in the film**) from the man that also churned out The Absent-Minded Professor (1961) in terms of "light stuff that ended up getting further returns". Jones had done a bit of Broadway and bit roles for MGM before his role in Ensign O'Toole (1962-63) and Under the Yum Yum Tree (1963) led on to getting signed for Disney film productions that started with That Darn Cat! (1965), which was the first of nearly a dozen collaborations with Disney. He plays it basically as ordinary as one can do when fit into a formula that demands a bit of commitment with a smile without going into say, overacting or complete listlessness. Him and Lee are mostly just pleasant, but the highlight is more on hijinks and the presences of Hackett (who inspired the "Herbie" nickname) and Tomlinson. Hackett and his schtick involving a bit of "New Age" syrup and banter with the car (remember that early in the film one bit posits that we put so much love and time into our tech that machines probably think it *is* somebody) that is a bit twee. But at least Tomlinson is delightfully arrogant enough to basically ham it up for chuckles, as one does. The movie probably toils a bit too long at 108 minutes, and it probably has a few wonky effects (depending on how one views say, splitting a car in half), but there are those moments that are neat enough to tickle my funny bone, such as the pursuit sequence, as one does when searching for a sentient car, which naturally leads to both teetering at the Golden Gate Bridge. You know where it's going to go with its vrooms and booms, but at least Herbie is something you'll watch rather than some generic car, I suppose. In general, it is a candy-coated type of movie, one that might be worth a check if in a comfortable mood that takes what they see and just rolls with its sweet chuckles.

Overall, I give it 7 out of 10 stars.

*Dean Jones returned for a TV movie of The Love Bug in 1997 before folks saw Herbie: Fully Loaded in 2005 in theaters. Not sure if my mom watched any of them, but she seemed fine with The Love Bug, so there's that.

**Do you really want to look up the origins of the Beetle in relations to Germany? 

The Astro-Zombies.

Review #2314: The Astro-Zombies.

Cast: 
Wendell Corey (Holman), John Carradine (Dr. DeMarco), Tom Pace (Eric Porter), Joan Patrick (Janine Norwalk), Tura Satana (Satana), Rafael Campos (Juan), Joseph Hoover (Chuck Edwards), Victor Izay (Dr. Petrovich), and William Bagdad (Franchot) Produced and Directed by Ted V. Mikels.

Review: 

"Something that is hard to teach is creativity. You can teach people the technical things, how to cut, when to cut, why to cut, what to cut to and what to cut from. But if they don't have that creative touch, it may not work. They like to think that because they took a long time making a shot they ought to use it in the edit. It doesn't work that way."

When you cover watch over a thousand directors at least once in going through the road of movies, maybe eventually you will land on the road of Ted V. Mikels. He had been born in Minnesota but mostly raised in Oregon with Croatian & Romanian heritage that liked to do amateur photography as a youth before taking on the stage in the late 1940s. He started making his shorts and educational documentaries in the 1950s with his own film company while in Bend, Oregon before making his debut as a feature filmmaker with Strike Me Deadly (1963). He apparently decided after that to move to Glendale, California and move to a place decorated to look like a castle (for a few years, Mikels would have several women live in said castle, as they were aspiring filmmakers that I'm sure has no other implications). The development of what became his sixth film (after movies with such illustrious titles like Dr. Sex [1964] and The Black Klansman [1966]) apparently started around the time of his first movie, with Mikels writing this with Wayne Rogers (who he had worked with in the aforementioned Dr. film before becoming more known for his role in M*A*S*H). Mikels plugged away at directing/writing/producing movies (the next movie made after Zombies? The Corpse Grinders, which was about cats liking human flesh while one subsequent videotaped movie apparently featured Mikels casting himself as someone to get beaten up by women), which would include sequels to Astro-Zombies in 2004, 2010, and 2012. He was even the subject of a book (called "Film Alchemy") and a documentary in his lifetime prior to his death in 2016 at the age of 87.

It isn't easy to make an ugly puddle where barely anything of note happens with such "name" actors, but Mikels sure has accomplished it here. This is a movie that has a title sequence featuring toy robots and gunfire noises (the ending does just as much). The most interesting person to view is Satana, who you might recognize from Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! (1965). It is a divine experience in boredom, languishing with little for one to really focus on in coherence that basically makes one want to yell at the clouds for having tried to spend 94 minutes of life on this. You get shots of a lady in a bikini that is tied up on a table that somehow never gets out of the table to go along with the schlock you might see coming from an opening that gives you that first shot of what the title character looks like: a guy in a mask and weird sounds. The best thing about the movie might be the portrait of Lyndon B. Johnson you can see in the background (he was the best President of the 1960s, what's not to respect?). This actually was the last film for Corey (who died of cirrhosis of the liver in 1968), who had appeared in a handful of character roles such as The Search (1948) and Rear Window (1954). It's sad to see him go out like this with a film that basically lets him go by the wayside in such flattering detail in camerawork and words to say into the ether. Pace may be the "lead" presence, but you might as well just replace him with a broomstick. At one point, one of the creatures holds a flashlight to his head to charge his cells, because of the solar power and stuff. Things just happen in the film with little to really draw it together until it actually happens on screen in a manner that doesn't have coherence. The movie may call itself "Zombies" but it basically cribs from Frankenstein with the whole digging for body parts and demented brain stuff to go along with some sort of spy plot fiddles around with Satana commanding the screen more so for the costume stuff (one time you see her in pink) than the actual character stuff. Carradine is a pro at just being there to say lines for the paycheck at an age where if you're going to be the evil scientist, you can say anything and it'll sound spooky enough. As a whole, this is a magnificently terrible movie that serves as the equivalent of watching static, filled with little promise and little reward.

Overall, I give it 1 out of 10 stars.

Next up: another new name joins the club with a movie all about love and weirdness with name actors...

....mother of God, Bolero.

Destroy All Monsters.

Review #2250: Destroy All Monsters.

Cast: 

Akira Kubo (Captain Katsuo Yamabe), Jun Tazaki (Dr. Yoshido), Yukiko Kobayashi (Kyoko Manabe), Yoshio Tsuchiya (Dr. Otani), Andrew Hughes (Dr. Stevenson), Kyoko Ai (the Queen of the Kilaaks), Kenji Sahara (Nishikawa, Moon Base Commander), Chotaro Togin (Moonlight SY-3 Astronaut Ogata), Seishiro Kuno (Moonlight SY-3 Astronaut Tani), Wataru Omae (Moonlight SY-3 Astronaut Arima), Yasuhiko Saijô (Moonlight SY-3 Astronaut Fujita), Naoya Kusakawa (Moonlight SY-3 Astronaut), Yoshibumi Tajima (General Sugiyama Tada), with Haruo Nakajima (Godzilla), Hiroshi Sekita (Anguirus), Marchan the Dwarf (Minilla), Teruoshi Nigaki (Rodan), and Susumu Utsumi (King Ghidorah) 

Directed by Ishirō Honda (#167 - Godzilla [1954/1956], #711 - Mothra, #1092 - Gorath, #1224 - King Kong vs. Godzilla, #1225 - Mothra vs. Godzilla, #1226 - Ghidorah, the Three-Headed Monster, #1623 - Invasion of Astro-Monster, #1999 - Matango)

Review: 

Admittedly, the Godzilla series might have needed a bit of a rest. Ever since the roaring hit of King Kong vs. Godzilla (1962), Toho had managed to cultivate a hodgepodge of features involving the title monster, with this being the seventh of eight Godzilla features of the 1960s (to recap: Kong vs. Godzilla, Mothra vs. Godzilla, Ghidorah, Invasion of Astro-Monster, Ebirah, Horror of the Deep, and Son of Godzilla) with the last few being island-bound. Ishiro Honda had even directed a few of those films, so naturally, Toho had him and Takeshi Kimura (writer of films such as Matango and Rodan) do the screenplay (this was the only Godzilla film of the 1960s to not be written by Shinichi Sekizawa, who returned for a couple more of the films). Of course, the film was thought of at one point to be the closing film of the series because, well, one can be worn out when ticket sales slowly decline from film to film. Incidentally, this was also near the tail-end of Honda's career as a director, with this being the 15th feature film he did in the 1960s. Of course, Honda and Godzilla would re-unite quickly enough with All Monsters Attack, a feature aimed directly for the youth that would be made on the cheap (filmed in less than three months for release in late 1969) to go with a different tide of success in the next decade (more on that in the future). 

So, what better way to throw a curveball in the series by setting oneself in the latter end of the 20th century (let's just say 1999, but with trips to the Moon as opposed to the actual, sort of disappointingly real 1999) with a place called "Monsterland" that is basically one straight plot with no side characters and, well, a dry tone (the idea of monsters being controlled in some way reminds me of Invasion of Astro-Monster, the one where Planet X wanted to borrow monsters to fight one off their planet). The last film had Godzilla confront fatherhood to go along with some sort of weather device plot and spiders. Watching the film with the knowledge that Honda's intent to show what is basically a "monster farm" basically got cut to just the basics is, well, easy to spot. One just goes with jumping from seeing monsters (featuring a few in close shots like Angurius, back for the first time in a decade, and others in shots totally not to hide further inspection) being given plenty of food to consume to alien women (well, slugs, but they show up as women most of the time in the film) mind-controlling people into slaves. In that sense, it is a bit more impressive than the lightweight charm seen in the last two films (for me, I haven't seen a bad one of these features, but of course that doesn't include the insane idea of watching a dub - in this film though, the dub is apparently not that different). This is the kind of movie that sees a guy jump out of a window and a skirmish breaks out not long after that. The cast here is about on par for what you usually see from people mostly near the end of appearing in these films (most also happened to reunite with Honda with 1970's Space Amoeba). It is pretty easy to say the monster mayhem (the climax being the emphasis) outweighs the invasion, but the 88 minute runtime mostly goes without a hitch, at least for those who are fine seeing a few miniatures (which seems more clear than usual) as one sees a straight-to-the point narrative of trying to get the status quo back that happens to dovetail with seeing monsters stomp eventually. I think the earlier 60s films had a better hold of mayhem (Kong is probably the one people remember by default) but if the series really did take a break after this, one would be pretty content with that here, because it is pretty fun to see coordinated mayhem all in the name of heightened engagement in clear-as-day vision. It isn't merely a film you just knock as "kid stuff", unless one happened to live in a house of seclusion with no figures to imagine growing up. As a whole, Honda and company made a serviceable feature that relies on a few familiar tricks to maneuver a usefully solid time that basically serves as a nice bow to the 60s rendition of Godzilla as one knows it.

Overall, I give it 8 out of 10 stars.

Head.

Review #2159: Head.

Cast: 

The Monkees [Peter Tork • Davy Jones • Micky Dolenz • Michael Nesmith], with Victor Mature (The Big Victor), Annette Funicello (Teresa/Minnie), Timothy Carey (Lord High 'n' Low), Logan Ramsey (Officer Faye Lapid), Abraham Sofaer (Swami), Vito Scotti (I. Vitteloni), Charles Macaulay (Inspector Shrink), T. C. Jones (Mr. and Mrs. Ace), among others. Directed by Bob Rafelson.

Review: 

 "Of course, Head is an utterly and totally fragmented film. Among other reasons for making it was that I thought I would never get to make another movie, so I might as well make fifty to start out with and put them all in the same feature." - Bob Rafelson

Here's an opening line: induct the Monkees into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. 

Who are the Monkees? Well, it is an interesting question...First, let us talk about Bob Rafelson. The Manhattan native was distantly related to Samson Raphaelson (a prolific writer for a handful of Ernst Lubitsch films) but found himself studying at Trinity-Pawling School and Dartmouth College. He served in the U.S Army and found influence from disk jockey work when stationed in Japan (such as Yasujiro Ozu). He got involved in the TV industry in the late 1950s, specifically in story editing. He went to associate producer for shows and films, and it was during his time with Screen Gems that he met Bert Schneider (son of Abraham Schneider, who served as president of Columbia Pictures in the 1960s). They formed a partnership with a company called Raybert Productions. The release of A Hard Day's Night (1964), the hit music comedy featuring The Beatles, inspired the two to revive an idea that Rafelson had thought of a few years prior involving a music group that would be developed with Screen Gems. They even ran an ad to do auditions (after attempts to recruit The Lovin' Spoonful failed) for "Folk & Roll Musicians-Singers...4 insane boys, age 17-21. Want spirited Ben Frank's-types." The recruitment of who became the Monkees went four-ways: Davy Jones went first (July 1965) because Gems already had him under contract (he was a Tony Award nominated actor after starring in Oliver!), while Michael Nesmith was cast due to that September '65 audition, in which his wool hat and demeanor won him a part, and Peter Tork came on with the recommendation of Stephen Stills (yes, that one), a fellow one of the music scene of Greenwich Village, while lastly Micky Dolenz had screen experience in the 1950s with Circus Boy and his own interest in rock band music. Paul Mazursky and Larry Tucker are credited as developers of the show because they wrote the pilot, which was shot in November 1965. The pilot didn't test well, but edits made by Rafelson helped lead to a two-season order that premiered on September 12, 1966 (it lasted 58 episodes until March 1968). Of course, with a show of musicians, one needed a producer to provide songs worthy of a hit status. Don Kirshner was hired to oversee that requirement, since he had a variety of musicians and writers at his disposal when it came to making the idea of music of session musicians that delivered something for select Monkees to then put vocals on ("I'm a Believer" for example, was written by Neil Diamond, who also did acoustic guitar). This worked...to a point. The group wanted to be, well, a group, and they delivered more input with their third album (released in May 1967). Kirshner's micromanaging led to his dismissal in 1967 (he later assembled another pop group that used studio musicians for something with no group to deal with in The Archies).

A few years before his death, Rafelson stated that his partners and friends urged him to not make a movie with the group, but he insisted on doing so to "complete the cycle" and telling a "true story, in abstract" would be worth it. Of course, one can't forget Jack Nicholson. On a weekend in 1967, the group, Rafelson, and Nicholson went to a hotel in Ojai Valley for a weekend, smoked some pot with a tape recorder, and Nicholson utilized the tapes for what became a screenplay, although Rafelson said it was structured while on LSD. I would like to mention that despite being a part of the basis of what became a screenplay, the Monkees were not given credit for the screenplay alongside Rafelson and Nicholson. Raybert (later re-named BBS Productions) would later back films such as Easy Rider (1969), Five Easy Pieces (1970), and The Last Picture Show (1971) before its demise in the late 1970s. Schneider went on to win an Academy Award as a producer for Hearts and Minds (1974), while Rafelson would direct nine further films as a director (with five of them featuring Nicholson as star, such as the aforementioned Pieces film) before his death in 2022. After the 1969 television special 33⅓ Revolutions per Monkee, Tork left the group. The group continued until 1970, although various reunions of varying sizes came and went in the next five decades. Jones died in 2012, Tork died in 2019 before a farewell tour with Dolenz and Nesmith closed the group out prior to Dolenz's death in 2021.

The original cut was 110 minutes but was trimmed to 86; somehow, it was promoted as not being for children in some ads but was given a G rating. All of this may seem like window dressing, but you really haven't seen nothing yet with a film as weird and as interesting as this one is when it comes to a yell to try and escape the plastic prison of fame. It was written by the man who wrote The Trip (1967)! The show was a weird enduring hit that maintained a following for two seasons, so why should it be a surprise that the Monkees making a film would be too different? Tork apparently watched the film many times over the years and felt that the film could be a dazzler for those in psychedelia, the point of the film for him was that the Monkees "never get out". A guy named John Brockman was behind the PR for the film, and the original poster apparently was just a shot of him. Simply put, the movie was a financial flop. Nesmith enjoyed the experience of making it (even if he had joined a one-day walkout with Jones and Dolenz after the aforementioned "no writing credit" incident), Dolenz called it an "incredible, weird, psychedelic movie" and Jones wasn't too big on talking about it. Years later, Tork suggested that in some way, the film was made (unconscious level or not) by Bert and Bob as a way to kill the Monkees and that Rafelson's view of life is one can't get out of the black box is in just like the group in the film. Who can't enjoy songs such as the opening sequence with "Porpoise Song" (where one of the Monkees jump off a bridge) or Jones (and Toni Basi, pay attention) doing a song and dance of "Daddy's Song" right before a cameo of Frank Zappa arises? Or sequences involving playing dandruff (to Victor Mature, the "Old Hollywood" embodiment that surely got a kick out of this)? Or an exploding Coke machine? Or wonder how it all comes in the same movie where footage of Nguyen Van Lem being shot is shown? Or the ending where each of the Monkees jump off the bridge from the beginning? It is a series of vignettes with a good deal of evident ideas about, well, cutting the strings of the puppet. The manufactured pop group image is delightfully demolished by the four members in countercultural fervor that makes it the ideal watch on a late night that would be quite compelling to pair with Easy Rider and look upon the mavericks that did their vision in the late 1960s, and in some ways, Head may be the better film. Time has rewarded the Monkees as people with their own useful perspective within music rather than critics that thought burying them was the way to go. But in the lines of films of A Hard Day's Night (1964) and Tommy (1975), Head (1968) stands just as tall in enduring band vision: imperfect but a hell of a time to decipher, all because of the efforts of Rafelson, Nicholson, and just as importantly, The Monkees.

Overall, I give it 9 out of 10 stars.

Rosemary's Baby.

Review #2118: Rosemary's Baby.

Cast: 

Mia Farrow (Rosemary Woodhouse), John Cassavetes (Guy Woodhouse), Ruth Gordon (Minnie Castevet), Sidney Blackmer (Roman Castevet), Maurice Evans (Hutch), Ralph Bellamy (Dr. Abraham Sapirstein), Angela Dorian (Terry Gionoffrio), Patsy Kelly (Laura-Louise McBirney), Elisha Cook Jr (Mr. Nicklas), Emmaline Henry (Elise Dunstan), and Charles Grodin (Dr. Hill) Written for the Screen and Directed by Roman Polanski (#631 - Chinatown)

Review: 

Ira Levin was a prolific writer in his day before and after Rosemary's Baby. He had written the 1953 novel A Kiss Before Dying and the play adaptation of No Time for Sergeants. By the 1960s, he had come up with the reasoning that the most suspenseful part of a horror story was "before, not after, the horror appears" and came up with a fetus as the idea for said target. Dealing with a flop in the mid 1960s on Broadway, Levin returned to the idea and reasoned that between making a fetus with impregnation by aliens or the Devil, one basically was stuck with the latter because The Midwich Cuckoos already had dealt with aliens and children. The resulting book (worked over starting in 1965) ended up being so interesting that director William Castle mortgaged his house to buy the rights for the book before it was even published (which occurred in March 1967), as Castle was that confident in a book even in gallery proof form was the one that would make a fine film, and the book ended up as one of the most noted horror novels of its decade. While Paramount Pictures was interested in doing the film, studio head Robert Evans insisted that Castle serve only as producer while having Roman Polanski as director. The French-born director had grown up in Poland and survived the brunt of the Holocaust to study at the National Film School in Łódź before he became a feature director with Knife in the Water (1962). His next three films, made in Britain, involved either horror or thriller aspects with Repulsion (1965), Cul-de-Sac (1966), and The Fearless Vampire Killers (1967). This was the first Hollywood feature for the director, which he also wrote the screenplay that hewed fairly close to the book in several respects. The film was a hit, but Castle dealt with kidney problems after the release that ailed him for a time when he should have basked in the moment of being right. Famously, the ending of the novel/film got William Peter Blatty in a twist that saw him get onto the road to doing his own book about demons in people with The Exorcist (1971). A television film that served as a "sequel" came with Look What's Happened to Rosemary's Baby (1976). Levin saw a variety of his books and plays turned into films over the years, such as The Stepford Wives, The Boys from Brazil, and Deathtrap. In 1997, he wrote a follow-up book with Son of Rosemary. A TV miniseries adaptation of the original novel alongside the sequel book happened in 2014.

Do you ever watch a movie and have that feeling in your stomach that a film with a high reputation really is "just good, not great"? Oh, it happens sometimes (such as the overrated Hereditary or The Invisible Man [2020]), where a film seems to ride really hard on being disturbing in the realm of overt possibilities and so and so on (that, and relying on a short haircut that inspires a chuckle each time I see it). It is amusing that Paramount Pictures distributed this film and Targets in the same year when it comes to horror films hinging in plausibility and the cheaper production (and the one screwed over in marketing) outclasses the former when it comes to flat out getting to the damn point (I find it strangely amusing that the coven is left to blinding actors and being 98% effective in making a man go into a coma in their plans of the whatever). Plus, it doesn't seem to drag its runtime unlike the 137 minutes present here. Sometimes I wondered what would have been if Castle (you know, the guy behind productions such as The Night Walker [1964]) was allowed to have made the film within his own ideas rather than just be the producer. Don't get me wrong, the movie is good and all of the things that come with trying to build suspense with something that you have a good grasp is going wrong earlier than the film believes the viewer thinks they will figure that out. But hey, the film itself, particularly with its one key sequence of lady in bed seeing what she sees and hears in the dark, does make a quality impression in the terror of life under siege to others barging into their lives and their homes. The mental and physical pain that comes out in the film makes for an experience that requires a presence to make it more than words, and it is Farrow (best known previously for her two years on the soap opera Peyton Place in the mid-1960s) that lifts the film as well as one can do with making an involving lead that we can feel for in the realm of reacting to ever-shifting terror (it might seem interesting that a horror film got Academy Award nominations for acting, until you realize Gordon received one and won while Farrow didn't even get a nomination). Gordon of course is effective in that shroud of uneasy weirdness that could only inspire the best type of paranoia and curiosity to go with Blackberry. Cassavetes makes an assuring accomplice, one who is assured even in the face of pathetic qualities that only could come from this (complete with an apt reaction at the end). Evans and Bellamy are on opposite sides of the coin in veteran presences that work out well against Farrow in the shades of doubt and query. In general, the film does work out pretty well in the idea of terror lurking around and possibly inside one's own self, complete with worthy staging to make it feel real. Of course, the ending is a bit on the offbeat side (or for others, perhaps sacrilegious), but as a moment of total acceptance of the scenario that arises from ambition in the face of people that call themselves human, it works. As a whole, it isn't nearly the classic that others might wish to bestow when compared to various others in the 1960s for horror, but it is watchable all the way through with a carefully crafted story that is undoubtedly on there for any horror person to watch at least once.

Overall, I give it 8 out of 10 stars.

Next: Anthology horror, double-packed.

Targets.

Review #2093: Targets.

Cast: 

Tim O'Kelly (Bobby Thompson), Boris Karloff (Byron Orlok), Peter Bogdanovich (Sammy Michaels), Nancy Hsueh (Jenny), Arthur Peterson (Ed Loughlin), Monte Landis (Marshall Smith), Sandy Baron (Kip Larkin), James Brown (Robert Thompson, Sr), Mary Jackson (Charlotte Thompson), Tanya Morgan (Ilene Thompson), Gary Kent (Gas Tank Worker), and Mike Farrell (Man in Phone Booth) Directed and Produced by Peter Bogdanovich (#1000 - The Last Picture Show and #1475 - Mask)

Review: 

I would think that the best tribute one can do for horror is to showcase a film from a first-time director that got his start within the school of Roger Corman. Peter Bogdanovich was a prolific filmgoer and even had worked as a film programmer at the Museum of Modern Art after studying acting. This included a spell as a film critic before setting forth for California with his wife Polly Platt to break into the industry of film, following by example critics from France who made their mark in directing films of their own. Of all places, he happened to meet Roger Corman during a film screening (because he was asking publicists for invitations), and they made a quality connection, to the point where he got offered to be his assistant. This would change, however, when Corman needed his help with The Wild Angels (1966) to deliver uncredited rewrites to the script while directing second unit work, for which he stated that he "haven't learned as much since" when it came to those months of working on the film (he worked once more with Corman with an edit of Planeta Bur that was called Voyage to the Planet of Prehistoric Women for mostly TV crowds). The following year would see him get his chance to direct a film, provided with one stipulation by Corman: he needed to use Boris Karloff for the film, because apparently, he owed Corman a couple of days of work for American International Pictures. Bogdanovich and Platt came up with the story for the film (he is solely credited with the screenplay, however), with the latter serving as production designer. Samuel Fuller lent advice to the script but refused to receive credit on the film, which was shot in just over three weeks. You might say this is the fitting swan song of Karloff that he deserved. It was the penultimate film he appeared in during his lifetime, with Curse of the Crimson Altar (1968) coming out in the winter prior to his death on February 2, 1969 at the age of 81. True to what one would smile with in an AIP film, footage from The Terror (1963) is utilized for the opening sequence of the film along with being shown as part of a "drive in feature" for the climax at the end of the film, while footage from The Criminal Code (1931) is also used. Undeniably, the first thing that could come to mind with the film is the shooting that occurred at the University of Texas at Austin within the observation deck of the Main Building tower. At total of eighteen people ended up dead at the hands of a man with a collection of rifles and shotguns (along with two stabbings) that shot from above before the efforts of officers such as Houston McCoy and Ramiro Martinez stopped the killer (incidentally, that day saw several Austin citizens take up weapons to try and shoot the killer from afar, but Allen Crum, a bookstore manager who had heard the shots and rerouted street traffic, was the only civilian to storm the deck). The film was shot in '67 but not released until the summer of the following year, which had tragically seen the assassinations of American political leaders just months earlier. Paramount Pictures had distributed the film, which received muted audience attention but had garnered Bogdanovich attention from studios, and his next feature came with The Last Picture Show (1971). 

The film runs at 90 minutes long, which means the buildup is considerable (roughly a third of the film is spent with scenes that mix the once begotten horror star and the modern form of horror in everyday life) in establishing the horror that comes in the modern sense of what happens with a man wrapped with using a gun on people. You know, it is that fateful moment when the killing starts may very well be the best sequence to highlight above all else. He shoots members of his family but proceeds to drag the bodies to the bed before he cleans up and leaves, with a camera shot showing the note he wrote that closes with a sentence perhaps more chilling now than ever: "I know they will get me, but there will be more killing before I die." Don't forget about the sequence that is shown minutes later after his first round of killing where he goes to buy ammunition...300 rounds of it that seems him have conversation with the store owner about shooting pigs. While being on top of a tall structure, the sniper even has time to eat and drink as if he was on a picnic. Karloff is presented as the representation of the last vestiges of the old horror before it is swept away by the modern horror, a tired old man that would rather fade away than be called a man of "camp", one who knows the days of the painted monster scaring people are washed away by the headlines or TV they see everyday (the tower killings was one thing, but seeing footage of the war abroad in Vietnam would certainly be one way to shape a person's outlook). Karloff the man and Karloff the star seem to merge here with the tone presented here as someone who knows the craft and has seen it all. It pains one to see his awkwardness at hearing the questions asked to him by kids for promotion before he is spurred to tell a scary story (complete with advising a camera decision). The story, which sees the camera move closer and closer before the reveal (an appointment with Death), is one that only Karloff can tell. The appearance of O'Kelly is one of two things he is most known for, with the other being the fact that he was passed over for the regular run of Hawaii Five-0 after he had shot the pilot episode in 1968 (in general, he stopped acting in the 1970s). The smiling act of a man who looks like the ideal family man close to his parents and wife is all the more perfect to the looming dread that comes when one sees that same man with a rifle perched upon a tall structure. His family is as normal sounding in bland generalities as he is, which makes the end result all the more frightening. One doesn't really know people beyond what they see out in the open (such as, say, a restaurant). 

A half-century since the release of the film has seen plenty of media attention shown to guns because we live in a world where one either gets pegged as being tough on guns or seeming a tool of the lobby that yearns to make it as quick or efficient to get one ASAP. To get back on topic, remember that this man we are viewing (from his pointing to his drive-by escape attempt) is never seen in the perspective of having a clear motive beyond shooting. Consider that when the Austin shooter was examined upon his death, all they found was a pecan-sized tumor to go alongside his suicide notes, which had one part involving him saying that he couldn't really understand himself these days, where "these thoughts are too much for me" (incidentally, he stated an urge to use his life insurance policy not only to pay off debts but to use the rest to donate to a mental health foundation). Undeniably, the film may fall along the line of thriller rather than horror, but it is impossible to resist a film that sees the ugliness that comes in a time that seems more gruesome than the time before it within a confrontation of past and present. Mass killings were not something that arose from the deep (I am reminded of an array of explosives set up by a man that killed over 40 people in 1927), but the coverage of such killing and the way we think about it certainly has had an impact on us as a whole. The fear of being killed lurks for those who wonder what it would mean for their loved ones, especially for one stuck by an unprovoked killer. The mad doctor or the old dark house seems like child's play, particularly since 1968 happened to also be the year that saw films such as Night of the Living Dead come out to strike upon audiences. The film is an examination of a time where the "monster beyond us" type of horror is now washing away for a horror of the "monster within us". As a swansong and a reminder of just where we are when it comes to violence, Targets is undeniably an efficient film to start any month off, October or not. 

Overall, I give it 9 out of 10 stars.

Next up: Curse of the Cat People.

if....

Review #2087: If....

Cast: 

Malcolm McDowell (Michael Arnold "Mick" Travis), Richard Warwick (Wallace), Christine Noonan (The Girl), David Wood (Johnny Knightly), Rupert Webster (Bobby Philips), Robert Swann (Rowntree), Peter Jeffrey (Headmaster), Arthur Lowe (Mr. Kemp, Housemaster), Mona Washbourne (Matron), Ben Aris (John Thomas, Undermaster), Robin Askwith (Keating), Robin Davies (Machin), and Hugh Thomas (Denson) Directed by Lindsay Anderson (#1792 - This Sporting Life)

Review: 

Five years after The Sporting Life (1963), Lindsay Anderson followed up his feature debut (after a decade of documentary film work) with if...(1968). Well, actually, there was one other film in between with The White Bus (1967), a collaboration with playwright Shelagh Delaney that was meant to be part of a three-segment anthology film called "Red, White and Zero", but only Anderson's film had received release. At any rate, the film came about after years of development, since David Sherwin wrote the story with John Howlett by the early 1960s as shaped by their experiences at Tonbridge School in Kent. They had tried to approach filmmakers such as Seth Holt and Nicholas Ray to direct, but this did not come to pass; Anderson (a fellow with his own memories of boarding schools such as Cheltenham College) was introduced to Sherwin by Holt and the rest is history. Anderson has acknowledged Jean Vigo's French classic Zéro de conduite (1933) as an influence on the film, particularly with the climax. Malcolm McDowell made his debut as an actor in film with this one, but only because he was deleted from the final cut of Ken Loach's Poor Cow (1967). It just so happened that a couple of months into filming in 1968, Paris had a series of demonstrations from youths that led to civil unrest for a month. Anderson, McDowell, and Sherwin would do two further films together in a triad of films with "Mick Travis" in O Lucky Man! (1973, involving a coffee salesman-turned-star) and Britannia Hospital (1982, involving a critique of the National Health Service), although they aren't "sequels" in any sort of sense.

It never kills for a good satire about the education system, particularly ones of places filled with just boys and people that call themselves men. When taken literally beyond the mix of color and black-and-white images, it is easy to see how the film could have generated some controversy, particularly since it was given an X certificate by the British Board of Film Classification. Well, that and the idea that the only pure acts may very well involve "violence and revolution", which results in a fairly incendiary feature that relies on reputation more so than a definitive piece of great entertainment. It may be violent, but, well, only in its own time when not busy looking upon the differences that come with the terrors of hierarchies in boarding schools (no, not exactly Lord of the Flies, despite what impulse might think first). One supposes that life is a bit cloudy to see in the facets of color when it comes to viewing the absurdities that comes among the age groups with "school tradition" (well, actually the color changes related to the lighting of the school chapel before Anderson liked how it gave texture, but I think you get my inference). The distance between student and teacher seems pretty apparent when it comes to understanding who they are talking to in a changing environment of ravenous energy. It seems more of a casual stink bomb lobbed at the establishment rather than something with great fiery depth that just happens to be carried by an entertaining performance by its lead actor. McDowell has a conniving charisma to him that just draws one in, a figure of devilish delight. Incidentally, the performance done by McDowell led to Stanley Kubrick to cast him in A Clockwork Orange (1971), but the performance that he delivered in that ensuing film was helped by a phone call with Anderson that talked about an "ironic smile" he gave in the earlier film. He handles the crash of amusement that comes in a cast that handles carefully-cut satire with some ease, although for the life of the me the scene that best sticks in my head is probably, well, the climax involving the idea of terror that gets that one perceived blow of chaos through the illusion of order. As a whole, I wish I really liked the film for what it is rather than just considering what it meant at the time of filming, because really it is a pretty good second feature for Anderson, who seems to have loved and loathed British society all in one, which compares fairly (but not mostly) to his previous This Sporting Life. But, as a showing of the potential of its lead man in McDowell, it is one you can't really miss.

Overall, I give it 8 out of 10 stars.

Symbiopsychotaxiplasm.

Review #1634: Symbiopsychotaxiplasm. 

Cast: 
Patricia Ree Gilbert (herself, testing for Alice), Don Fellows (himself, testing for Fredy), Jonathan Gordon (himself, soundman), Bob Rosen (himself, production manager), and William Greaves (himself, director) Directed, Written, and Edited by William Greaves.

Review: 
“I think probably the central reason why I got involved in film production in general and documentary production in particular was that I had the very good fortune of studying African history. That wasn’t something most Black Americans were familiar with back in the 1950s and 1960s"

It's easy to make something worth seeing for oneself, but it is another thing to make something curious enough for others to follow with - so why not a film without an easy category to list it under? William Graves certainly merits a discussion over his body of work, as he is considered a pioneer of African American filmmaking with his focus on documentary filming. The Harlem native originally started his studies in college with science and engineering (at City College of New York), but he dropped out in order to pursue the theatre. He moved his focus from dancing to acting, participating in study at the Actors Studio (studying other folks such as Lee Strasberg) along with songwriting. Frustrated with the derivative roles offered through stage and film (which included supporting roles like Lost Boundaries from 1949), he shifted his attention to studying behind the camera (doing so with Hans Richter at CCNY's Film Institute), such as work with Louis de Rochemont. In 1952, he decided to move to Canada to study with the National Film Board of Canada, where he went from assistant editing to making his own films through his course of eleven years. An interest in history in Africa (such as professor William Leo Hansberry) helped push him on the way to doing documentaries (as helped by John Grierson's book on the subject, since he not only coined the phrase but also helped create the NFB) that would teach about topics not generally told in education. He would spend several years in Canada doing films that are generally considered part of the first cinéma-vérité documentaries, and by the time he moved back in 1963 to America he was ready to take on independent work in filming. Greaves would work for a variety of places for freelance work that ranged from the United Nations to National Educational Television (the predecessor to PBS), where he would win an Emmy for his work on Black Journal in 1969. Over the span of a half century, Greaves would cover a variety of subjects with his filmmaking, such as the Harlem Renaissance, a feature documentary involving the Muhammad Ali-Joe Frazier 1971 fight, and the life of icons such as Ida B. Wells and Ralph Bunche. Greaves would also find time to teach film and acting alongside doing workshops and public speaking about indie film experiences before his death at the age of 87 in 2014.

One might wonder exactly what the title means with how long it is, and there might be a clue with a similar word that exists with Symbiotaxiplasm - That word refers to action of interconnectedness; Greaves was inspired by an Arthur Bentley essay on the subject for his own film, for which he described as events that happen in someone's life that impact upon someone within consciousness or the environment. Besides, this was the era of daring to do something different with the drama within experimentation, as noted in films such as Medium Cool (1969) in blending fact and fiction. His passion for acting and documentary is what led him to do this film, one that would be shot in the style of cinema verite that can be thought of as experimental or avant-garde. The release year is dubious, since it was shot in 1968 in Central Park in New York City, comprised of footage shot in the park, footage shot involving the film crew talking about Greaves and their doubts and footage in between that captures reality through coherence/incoherence with editing. In other words: there were three film crews brought in to do the film, with one shooting actors (brought in from Greaves' days at the Actors Studio), the second to document the first crew, and the third crew to film anything that relates to the overarching theme of the documentary of sexuality (which can include anything from someone on a horse to an eccentric homeless man), all while Greaves interacts in the film as the director to end all directors, doing on one side the act of maneuvering the film with the film while on the other hand including footage that doubts whether he knows what he is doing at all (credit to Rosen and Gordon for expressing their doubt so clearly). When the film was finally completed in 1971, it did not receive attention for financing a theatrical release from distributors, and an attempt to get the film screened at the Cannes Film Festival proved fruitless. Nevertheless, Greaves did find time to tour the film around, and a showing at the Sundance Film Festival caught the eye of Steve Buscemi in 1993, who wanted to help with financing and producing one of his films - believe it or not, this was intended as the first of numerous Symbiopsychotaxiplasm films. After a decade of limbo and finding another admirer with Steven Soderbergh, a sequel would indeed be commissioned, with Greaves returning to do so while each would have its own release in theaters in the fall of 2005 (this film is referred to with the secondary title of Take One, while the sequel is called Take 2 1/2 and the DVD release is just known as Symbiopsychotaxiplasm: Two Takes). 

Could you imagine there being five of these films? How about the fact that over 70 hours of footage was distilled into 75 minutes? It's the easiest case to ever use the word meta-textual when it comes to this film, particularly with its instance of repeating one sequence for the actors (for which there are more than just one pairing) to do again and again, which can even include three cameras filming. It may be the most accomplished piece of reality-infused media, because at least when one sees a reality television show (or a documentary detailing life), one at least knows there is just one camera shooting all the action, complete with a Miles Davis music score that goes exactly with what is needed in composition for a film of experiments. That scene with the eccentric (named Victor) near the end fully encapsulates the spontaneity that encompasses this film, where anything could happen without seeming out of touch or a gimmick. It may be unpolished and might seem a bit on the fleeting side, but for anyone who yearns to see something about filmmaking besides just a movie about making movies, one can't go wrong about a movie about making a movie about making a movie that captures that line between what is real and what is just on the surface, what with numerous actors being shown playing the roles within the fictional film (with one singing the dialogue and the other in Audrey Henningham as the last shot of the film while teasing the follow-up film). Greaves hoped he would have the power of a hurricane with his arrival into filmmaking but ended up describing himself as a raindrop hoping for further directors of a similar mind, and he is correct in one sense, in that he ended up being a one of a kind director that made a worthwhile one of a kind movie to seek out. It might not be the perfect film for all tastes of patience, but it certainly achieves enough to blur the lines of fact and fiction. You just have to see it for yourself to wonder why it eventually found a home as an experimental gem, and it is a blessing that a website exists in tribute to the director that includes plenty of material involving the life of Greaves, and it is also nice to see this have an easier route to be viewed than it was at the time of its completion that dares to have its own revolution within the media of film that still goes on today.

You just never know what could come next with the range of genres or history. Next Time for Black History Month: Cotton Comes to Harlem.

Overall, I give it 10 out of 10 stars.

A Place for Lovers.

Review #1600: A Place for Lovers.

Cast: 

Faye Dunaway (Julia), Marcello Mastroianni (Valerio), Caroline Mortimer (Maggie), Enrico Simonetti (Party Host), Karin Eugh (Griselda), Esmeralda Ruspoli (Attorney's wife), and Yvonne Gilbert (Marie) Directed by Vittorio De Sica (#1436 - The Garden of the Finzi-Continis)

Review: 

As the saying goes, sometimes the ones who make the best stuff can make a mistake somewhere. If you look up classic turkey films, the usual pattern sticks with a number of those films, namely in folks with talent backed up by bad execution/budget, or others who specialized in clunkers. But Vittorio de Sica? He sticks out like a sore thumb when it comes to having a clunker in his lineup, particularly with previous classics like Shoeshine (1946) and Bicycle Thieves (1948). Of course, not every film was a grand affair of neorealism or effective somber tone, such as the case with films like The Last Judgement (1961) and After the Fox (1966) that did not sit greatly with audiences. In any case, the best way to sum it up is that directors can have highs and lows like the actors that are present to be there on screen. In this case, it is strange to see Dunaway and Mastroianni, both no strangers to being in films directed by memorable names (with this being the third collaboration between De Sica and Mastroianni).

The big problem is that this is a film (a Italian-French production that is in English and Italian) with sloppy foundations everywhere, not the least bit when it comes to the fact that there were six credited writers: Brunello Rondi, Julian Zimet, Peter Baldwin, Ennio De Concini, Tonino Guerra, and Cesare Zavattini, which was based on the play Gli Amanti by Rondi and Renaldo Cabieri. How do you have that many cooks in the kitchen and not realize how silly it all it seems? We have a film that gradually reveals its little trick: It's a romance with one of the folks having a terminal disease. Exactly what disease is unclear, and the fact that Dunaway only seems slightly in "despair" means it is probably one of the quietest quick-killing diseases in film history. But hey, there would be plenty of time for films with star-crossed romances with terminal diseases in the following few years such as Love Story (1970) and Bobby Deerfield (1977). Somehow, despite the fact that Dunaway and Mastroianni apparently fell in love with each other during production, they don't really seem to generate much passion on the actual screen itself. Dunaway isn't terrible, in the sense that she seems just as determined to make it all count as she would in better films from this era like Bonnie and Clyde (1967), but being hamstrung by clunky writing does not help. Maybe it's the gulf of differences between Mastroianni and Dunaway that make it ultimately offbeat (with the former being 17 years older and each being more familiar with their native countries than international stuff like this). The best way to sum up his performance is in a little scene involving Dunaway not wanting pity and he expresses that he only wants her love: which he naturally does while raising his voice and saying it over and over again. Sometimes one would prefer to look past the window and hope there isn't a volcano about to erupt over all this goo.

Everything feels so strangely lifeless, where the magic touch of seeing people find something within the other person feels like being on a very long elevator. Am I watching a puppet show? Because these people sure don't seem very "real" to me, and one almost wonders if the strings are going to fall off with how wooden they all are. Simply put, De Sica made a misfire of a film, one that aims for touching melodrama but instead hits the back end for a slop-inducing mess, one that may look really nice with its scenery but sure is dull with or without the background. The best benefit is that it is only 88 minutes I guess, but it really doesn't have much of an ending to seal itself with, not seeming like the bittersweet pull it seems to aspire for - I must admit that I was curious to see if it really would show one of them die...if only to see the offbeat "cause of death" listing that would either be the mystery disease or falling off a cliff. But then again, there really isn't much of a vibrant middle of the film. But wait, there really isn't much of a vibrant and useful beginning either, since there is a consolidated cast of merely two to focus on, and the result matches the confusion reflected in one scene, where they get into a "fight" and then make up in front of everyone that seems as ridiculous in film as it might seem in real life. There are fair positives to list, in the sense that I can't trash this completely: it is nice to look at sometimes, probably because at least De Sica knows not to just put them in a backlot with tacky clothing. So at least one probably mute the movie and just guess what they are saying in those 60s clothes...and Ella Fitzgerald contributes two songs. Actually, just listen to the songs instead, because turkeys don't really get much better as they age, one might say. In a sea of De Sica films to choose from (one could find this online to purchase/stream, since it doesn't really look like it got a proper video release, but if they look between the lines, they might find a dinky print somewhere for less), this might be suitable only to see how far one can go in patience in romance.

Next Time: You desire something with more punishment? Too late, it's time for Lost Horizon (1973).

Overall, I give it 4 out of 10 stars.

Once Upon a Time in the West.

Review #1429: Once Upon a Time in the West.

Cast: 
Henry Fonda (Frank), Charles Bronson ("Harmonica"), Claudia Cardinale (Jill McBain), Jason Robards (Manuel "Cheyenne" Gutiérrez), Gabriele Ferzetti (Mr. Morton), Paolo Stoppa (Sam, the Coachman), Marco Zuanelli (Wobbles), Keenan Wynn (the Sheriff of Flagstone), Frank Wolff (Brett McBain), Lionel Stander (The Barman), Woody Strode (Stony, first gunman), Jack Elam (Snaky, second gunman), and Al Mulock (Knuckles, third gunman) Directed by Sergio Leone (#015 - The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, #017 - A Fistful of Dollars, and #019 - For a Few Dollars More)

Review: 
"I had never thought of making a western even as I was making it. I think that my films are westerns only in their exterior aspects. Within them are some of my truths, which happily, I see, belong to lots of parts of the world. Not just America. My discussion is one that has gone all the way from Fistful of Dollars through Once Upon a Time in America. But if you look closely at all these films, you find in them the same meanings, the same humor, the same point of view, and, also, the same pains."

Who better to make an epic Western of the last days of the gunfighter than a man well-known for making capable Westerns with their own kind of style and complexity in Sergio Leone? He was the son of a family of film (father Roberto Roberti was a silent actor and director while mother Bice Valerian was an actress), and he worked in filmmaking from an early age as an assistant to directors such as Vittorio de Sica (Bicycle Thieves) to William Wyler (Ben Hur) that were working in Italy, with his second unit work on the latter going un-credited. He also turned his hand at writing, collaborating with others for his first screenplay credit with Slave Women of Corinth (1958, one of numerous sword-and-sandal works). While working on The Last Days of Pompeii (1959), he was asked to help with direction after the director fell ill. Leone would go un-credited for this, but he would subsequently get his chance to direct with The Colossus of Rhodes (1961). It was a fair success, but his next film proved far more memorable with A Fistful of Dollars (1964), the first of a trilogy of Western films with Clint Eastwood as "The Man with No Name" known as the Dollars trilogy. The films were known for their distinctive visual and thematic style in contrast to the Westerns of the time abroad in the United States (with these three being designated as Spaghetti Westerns). Akira Kurosawa felt that it was a fine film, but that it was his film, since it had taken inspiration from his 1961 film Yojimbo. Regardless of this, Leone would be noted for his extreme close-up shots with long shots that made for a worthwhile career that was comprised of seven directed efforts from 1961 to 1984 before his death of a heart attack in 1989.

The film was an Italian-American production, with Leone being coaxed into making a Western by Paramount because they allowed him a fair budget and the one star he always wanted to direct: Henry Fonda, who was convinced to do the film by friend Eli Wallach (stating that he would have the time of his life). Shooting was mixed between Italy, Spain, and America (notably with Rome and Monument Valley), with considerable preparation made by Leone and his writers in constructing a story with ties to American Westerns of the past, such as The Iron Horse (1924) and The Searchers (1956). Leone co-wrote the screenplay with Sergio Donati, while the story was done by him, Dario Argento, and Bernardo Bertlucci (the latter two would become noted directors in their own right). The touches to other films work themselves out nicely where a lesser film would've seemed too slavish to the past with no ambition forward. The film runs at 166 minutes, although it was changed for American release by cutting twenty minutes (conversely, it was a flop here while a hit abroad). What a marvelous film this is. This is a grand Western to potentially end all Westerns for its era, one with its own vision about the Old West and a pondering nature and scope to back it up with class. Longtime collaborator and famed Italian composer and orchestrator Ennio Morricone is especially important to making this a beauty to listen to, with such distinct and devastating power that reaches for the soul like an opera. The interesting thing is that the music was actually done before shooting started, and Leone would play the music in the background for the actors on set. It takes time to set itself up with its core four of focus, but once it starts rolling down the hill with tension, it never seems to stop in making gritty poetry with somberness to make a revenge story with contemplation over the past and future of the Old West sweep through with the blaze of a railroad engine.

Fonda, generally known for appealing roles over the prevailing four decades, is exactly on point in conviction for such a ruthless lead role, with no ham or any other tricks needed; Leone liked Fonda's blue eyes to reflect his cold character (as opposed to Fonda utilizing contact lenses and a mustache), which would prove quite a shock upon his first appearance on screen with those striking eyes. It should make sense to see Bronson here in a Leone film, since he had rejected the chance to appear in the first film of the Dollars trilogy. Now, with Clint Eastwood rejecting this role for fear of typecasting, it fell to Bronson, who makes the best of it with a hardened stance that invites one in to curiosity that simmers without needing to say (or play the harmonica) much, which proves particularly true for the showdown in the end, a masterful climax to show Fonda and Bronson face each other with skill (after the latter helps the former escape betrayal from within, an interesting scene in of itself). Cardinale, a Italian Tunisian of numerous Italian, French and American productions, shows inner strength and passion that drives the film well, whether when dealing with moving the West forward or a brusque Fonda. Robards (a man of film, television and stage that could do historical roles as well as common ones) rounds the cast out with rough charm and a few zinging moments that make for a colorful rogue to the end. Ferzetti makes for a restrained but welcome presence that encircles the ranging conflicts of greed and lust. In the end, it all proves worth a viewing as a lasting achievement for the Western that utilizes a dynamic cast and music to go with somber tone and pacing for one grand adventure worth the time to view in all of its gritty glory.

Overall, I give it 10 out of 10 stars.

Faces.

Review #1428: Faces.

Cast: 
John Marley (Richard Forst), Gena Rowlands (Jeannie Rapp), Lynn Carlin (Maria Forst), Seymour Cassel (Chet), Fred Draper (Freddie Draper), Val Avery (Jim McCarthy), Dorothy Gulliver (Florence), Joanne Moore Jordan (Louise Draper), Darlene Conley (Billy Mae) Written and Directed by John Cassavetes.

Review:
"My films are expressive of a culture that has had the possibility of attaining material fulfillment while at the same time finding itself unable to accomplish the simple business of conducting human lives. We have been sold a bill of goods as a substitute for life. What is needed is reassurance in human emotions; a re-evaluation of our emotional capacities.”

We all know important independence can be in life. It can also be important when it comes to film as well, which proves to be the case with actor and director-writer John Cassavetes, a pioneer of independent cinema. The son of Greek immigrants, he had graduated from the Academy of Dramatic Arts (New York) in 1950 and soon began acting in theater with small bits in film and television following not long after, with works such as The Night Holds Terror (1955) and Edge of the City (1957). He was a proponent of an alternative to method acting through his own workshop that he did in New York City. It was during an appearance on the radio show Night People (hosted by Jean Shepherd) to promote the latter film that he pondered over if someone could make a film about ordinary people (without all the Hollywood business interference). Funds from listeners of the show (which apparently totaled to over $2,000) along with raiding funds from family and friends led him to have a chance to make what he wanted. Over time, he would use funds garnered from acting gigs (with notable performances in films such as The Dirty Dozen (1967) and Rosemary's Baby (1968)) to help fund his films, not wanting to compromise his vision from producers who might have wanted to shift a project to something more "commercial" (although he did do a few films with involvement or distribution with studios, such as the two films before Faces in Two Late Blues and A Child is Waiting). He cultivated his films from his experiences with an fiercely independent streak who once stated that the only person less important than the director on a film set was a talent agent, since he felt a director should create their own material for their films. He was characterized for allowing a manner of improvisation for his actors through their delivery and interpretation of their character, which would shape the story (as opposed to the other way around). Ultimately, he would direct twelve films in a span of 27 years from Shadows (shot in 1957, previewed the following year and then reworked for release in 1959) to Big Trouble (1986, which he disowned) before his death in 1989 at the age of 59. One of his scripts would eventually be adapted into a film after his death with She's So Delovely (1997), directed by his son Nick (the first of Cassavetes' three children to turn to directing).

For this film (his fourth), he spent over six months with filming (most notably filming in the house of his mother-in-law alongside his own) and then three years to edit. The film runs at 130 minutes, but it had existed in numerous forms prior to general release, including an initial cut of six that reduced to four before a preview screening of a three hour version, and a 147 minute version was deposited for preservation at the Library of Congress.  One thing that is for certain is that the film is an interesting look upon communication and how few we really talk to each other. What one thought about communication when it comes to how passive and desperate we are to connect with our loved ones back in 1968 still resonates with how we are now, with Cassavetes managing to make an honest film that sets its own path of casual venom in examining communication with rawness. It can be an uncomfortable sit at times, lingering with conversations on their own terms that can test the patience at times but ultimately work itself out to discussion and curiosity worth having. Marley and Rowlands lead this ensemble (with five of the main six having starred in at least one Cassavetes film before this one) to curious heights, leading one's curiosity with a bit of sadness to it all, whether that means a working man trying to escape his empty love-life in a capable Marley (a character actor with plenty of film/TV credits) or a wiry and knowing performance from Rowlands (an actress of over six decades in film, stage, and television known for collaborations in her husband Cassavetes' films) that serves to drive the film's look at desperation to feel something with someone. Carlin, the secretary-turned-actress makes for a fair debut that captures a hollowed-out person of marriage with subtlety. Cassel shines in carefreeness that pulls you in when he shows himself to try and warm up the presence of desperation without becoming a caricature to laugh at. In the end, this is a bleak movie, but it is one that has a place for doing so on its own terms for its story and for its actors that shows the reflection on the mirror of the 1960s without flinching or making an easy out. It might not be for everybody, but it certainly has a place in inspiring curiosity for those who want something a bit different from the usual fare.

Overall, I give it 8 out of 10 stars.

Hour of the Wolf.

Review #1427: Hour of the Wolf.

Cast: 
Max von Sydow (Johan Borg), Liv Ullmann (Alma Borg), Gertrud Fridh (Corinne von Merkens), Georg Rydeberg (Lindhorst), Erland Josephson (Baron von Merkens), Naima Wifstrand (Old Lady with Hat), Ulf Johansson (Heerbrand), Gudrun Brost (Gamla Fru von Merkens), and Ingrid Thulin (Veronica Vogler) Written and Directed by Ingmar Bergman (#777 - The Seventh Seal)

Review: 
"I think we are the sum of what we have read, seen and experienced. I do not think artists are born from emptiness! I am a small stone of a tall building, I depend on each element of the building, next to, above, below."

It never hurts to reach for someone who wants to question the human condition with films. Ingmar Bergman was most certainly a director with enough ambition and detail to accomplish films that have lingered as iconic for Swedish cinema. He had a troubled childhood under strict parenting and unhappy school years, but he developed an interest in the theater and film from an early age, most notably when he acquired a magic lantern (an early type of image projector). Studies in university were mostly dominated by theater and film-watching, and he eventually found himself rewriting scripts for film that led to his true screenwriting debut with Torment (1944) and his eventual directorial debut with Crisis (1946). Bergman felt that art had to expose humiliation and how we as beings do it to each other, since it is "one of the most dreadful companions of humanity, and our whole social system is based to an extent on humiliation." Over the course of nearly sixty years, Bergman would work on numerous films (with all but the last four being for television) that have received notice (from directors past and present to winning three Academy Awards for Best International Film), ranging from Wild Strawberries (1957), The Virgin Spring (1960), and Fanny and Alexander (1982).

The original script (known as "The Cannibals") had been done in 1964, but he later revised the script after a bout of pneumonia made him think of the budget it would take to execute it. Instead, he did the film Persona (1966), but he eventually re-worked the script, which would take inspiration from works such as Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart's opera The Magic Flute (which Bergman would later adapt into a film in the following decade) alongside Bergman's own nightmares. It is a film that threatens to unravel before one's very own eyes in self-destruction for the artist and in a way the audience. How long can it be before one's creativity starts to turn into madness, particularly if one can't sleep (as is the case for night owls like myself). It is a Gothic nightmare that accomplishes a good deal of what it wants to do in Bergman's own manner that segues into psychological horror. Whether it is reaches you on a level that inspires chills is up to how much patience one has with its moments into surreal territory that seems at times like a retelling of the vampire legend (Bergman was an admirer of Dracula (1931), incidentally). If one is looking for a straight story in 88 minutes, this may not be the one for you. If viewed on its own terms as something to pick apart like a surgeon on the table or an artist looking upon what they have created and having it look back on them, then this works itself out quite nicely. In terms of acting, von Sydow and Ullmann make up our primary focus for the film and each do fine with what they are given, since both each worked with Bergman ten times (this, along with Shame (1968) and The Passion of Anna (1969) are argued by some to be a trilogy involving violence upon ordinary lives and guilt). One shouldn't be surprised to hear this about von Sydow, who was quite versatile in playing heroes and villains in both European and American cinema in over seven decades of work. In this, he makes quite a contemplative focus in terms of a tortured artist, one with plenty of brooding conviction in his dealing with the real and unreal involving demons and insomnia. Ullmann, the Norwegian actress of international fare and along with eventual director of her own films, accompanies our focus as the other side of the coin with von Sydow in her own type of despair and struggle in trying to keep herself intact from falling off the edge, beginning and ending the film with poignancy. The others do fine in accompanying the quiet terror that builds in garnering curiosity in a subtle haunt. The sequence involving von Sydow and a kid, a involving overexposed photography is likely the most memorable part, at least if one isn't going with just images, which could involve a ceiling or a sequence with a little person in the closet. On the whole, this is a film with plenty of despair as a sketch upon the things that haunt us in and out of our dreams when it comes to creativity and the encompassing companionship that one tries to seek out (or vice versa) to alleviate the creature that lurks in the dark of humiliation in the hour of birth and death. It may require a bit of patience to push it forward, but it is generally a fair piece by Bergman with enough curiosity factor to make it a good sell for world cinema to view at least once.

Overall, I give it 8 out of 10 stars.