Madhouse (1974)

Review #2305: Madhouse.

Cast: 

Vincent Price (Paul Toombes), Peter Cushing (Herbert Flay), Adrienne Corri (Faye Carstairs Flay), Robert Quarry (Oliver Quayle), Natasha Pyne (Julia Wilson), Michael Parkinson (T.V. Interviewer), Linda Hayden (Elizabeth Peters), Barry Dennen (Gerry Blount), Ellis Dale (Alfred Peters), Catherine Willmer (Louise Peters), and John Garrie (Inspector Harper) Directed by Jim Clark.

Review: 

As it turned out, this was the final film that Vincent Price appeared in for the illustrious (interpret the word all you want) American International Pictures. He had appeared in over a dozen of their film productions since House of Usher (1960). Price (then by his sixties) wasn't exactly left without work of course; he just merely didn't do as many films as he did with his regular appearances on television in the remainder of his career. This was a co-production between AIP and Amicus Productions (as founded by Max Rosenberg and Milton Subotsky). The movie is loosely based on the novel Devilday by Angus Hall; development had started in 1970 when AIP purchased the novel rights. Robert Fuest (the guy behind those Dr. Phibes films that had Price) was at one point tapped to direct but nothing came of it. Jim Clark was recruited to direct, having previously done The Christmas Tree (1966), Every Home Should Have One (1970), and Rentadick [1972]). Greg Morrison's script was apparently bad enough that Price wanted re-writes, which led to Ken Levison doing revisions while they were shooting the film (Robert Quarry supposedly did re-writes for a chunk of dialogue as well). Referring to the finished film as "stillborn" (one that had re-edits imposed by Subotsky, who was disliked by Price just as much as he disliked Arkoff). Clark never directed a feature again, although his contributions to films such as Midnight Cowboy (1969) ended up being his legacy to go along with editing, which included the Academy Award-winning work in Marathon Man (1976) and The Killing Fields (1984); Clark died at the age of 84 in 2016.

You'd think there would be something a bit more there with a film mentioning "special participation" by recently departed actors (Basil Rathbone and Boris Karloff had worked with Price on some of those AIP films, and it was Samuel Z. Arkoff who insisted the clips be included in the film by any means necessary). It is a fairly decent movie that just happens to pale in comparison to the real pinnacle of Price and his theatricality in Theatre of Blood (1973). You will find a few interesting things here involving carefully-constructed horror that is at least semi-amusing. Cushing and Price had appeared in two earlier films but hadn't shared any scenes together prior to this film (with Scream and Scream Again and the Phibes sequel); they starred in one more film with House of the Long Shadows [1983]. They have some fun together, most notably with the climax that tries to make sense of the actual killer (the idea of a would-be actor being the age of Cushing, then in his sixties, is probably a bit too out there, but the forgiving type won't be too hard on it). Price might not have been big on AIP (he was quoted by Clark as referring to Arkoff and company as a word that rhymes with "mocksucker"), but he still gives it his best try anyway. You get a bit of fake "backstage filmmaking" action to go with a middling procedural (which reminds me a bit of Strait-Jacket) that has him stumble onto being interviewed by an actual interviewer in Parkinson for a chuckle. Corri is at least semi-effective in weird eerie timing that I appreciate, which is more than one can say for some of the supporting people that basically aren't given much to do anyway (Quarry included). The movie is incredibly predictable (just who could it be when you think of name actors?) but is bolstered by at least having a useful "Dr. Death" getup and some amusing moments to perhaps be enough for 91 minutes of an evening. Mild farewells for films that remind one of the old films are better than no farewells at all. People who like Price films might not have a great one on their hands here, but it at least is something that can be watched without having too many moments of embarrassment to see play out.

Overall, I give 7 out of 10 stars.

For Halloween: The Week After VI: one year later for a Wes Craven film, The Hills Have Eyes.

A Clockwork Orange.

Review #1440: A Clockwork Orange.

Cast: 
Malcolm McDowell (Alex DeLarge), Patrick Magee (Mr Frank Alexander), Michael Bates (Chief Guard Barnes), Warren Clarke (Dim), John Clive (Stage Actor), Adrienne Corri (Mrs Mary Alexander), Carl Duering (Dr Brodsky), Paul Farrell (Tramp), Clive Francis (Joe the Lodger), Michael Gover (Prison Governor), Miriam Karlin (Catlady), James Marcus (Georgie), Aubrey Morris (P. R. Deltoid), Godfrey Quigley (Prison Chaplain), Sheila Raynor (Mum), Madge Ryan (Dr Branom), Anthony Sharp (Frederick, Minister of the Interior), and Philip Stone (Dad) Produced and Directed by Stanley Kubrick (#044 - Full Metal Jacket, #065 - The Shining, #093 - 2001: A Space Odyssey, #1046 - Barry Lyndon, and #1301 - Dr. Strangelove)

Review: 
"I have always enjoyed dealing with a slightly surrealistic situation and presenting it in a realistic manner. I've always liked fairy tales and myths, magical stories. I think they are somehow closer to the sense of reality one feels today than the equally stylized "realistic" story in which a great deal of selectivity and omission has to occur in order to preserve its "realist" style."

Stanley Kubrick made thirteen feature films in his career, and it is interesting to note the numerous distinct genres that they all fall into, whether that meant anti-war (such as Paths of Glory), or film noir (The Killing), or period drama (Spartacus) or comedy-drama (Lolita), all the while having a touch and patience of a chess player in creating such tremendous interesting films to view. Kubrick had an interest in photography and film from a young age, and he was hired by Look magazine after he graduated high school. He would later develop interest in making his own films, which he started with Day of the Fight (1951), a short documentary that survives among two others Kubrick did before making his feature debut with Fear and Desire (1953). Over the next 46 years, Kubrick would develop numerous films that received attention and tremendous praise, and it should prove no surprise that this film is a masterpiece - one with discipline with madness and a great lead performance from Malcolm McDowell. Kubrick was inspired to cast McDowell in the film after seeing him in Lindsay Anderson's influential if... (1968), and he stated that if he could not have hired McDowell that he wouldn't have done the film at all.

If one needs to think of the context for comparing a film that is nearly a half century old to the films that purvey our screens, just remember that this was actually released by a major studio - Warner Brothers of all ones. Of all the provocative films that rocked a decade of grime and paranoia, A Clockwork Orange certainly stands out as one for its age. It was adapted from the novel of the same name by composer/writer/linguist/critic Anthony Burgess, who had written it in 1962 with a good deal of it written with a unique jargon named "Nadsat", which was Russian-influenced English to depict a subculture of young people in a dystopian society focused on extreme violence and the exploits of Alex from ultraviolence to reformation. There exists two versions of the novel: The original British novel with 21 chapters that ended with Alex deciding on his own free will to give up a life of senseless crime and violence. When brought to American publishers, they felt that the last chapter needed to be taken out as audiences would not go for this decision, so it was omitted (which proved the case for the next two decades of publication for American audiences). Burgess described that version and the film as like a fable while describing his original book as a novel with a "quality of genuine fiction". Kubrick described it as an extra chapter that he hadn't read until after he had written the screenplay, stating that it was "unconvincing and inconsistent with the style and intent of the book." Burgess had mixed feelings for the resulting adaptation (which was actually the second one done, after Andy Warhol's Vinyl six years earlier), particularly with the way it dealt with glorifying violence, stating it as making it easy for book readers to misunderstand what it was all about.

One wonders how a film like this ever got made, one with such creeping power that other films can only dare to try and defy in the following years. Others may have more blood or more frightening imagery, but there is just something about this one particular film that grips your attention as if it was some sort of disturbing hypnosis that can make you wince or laugh at its black comedy roots. It isn't all ultraviolence nor all funny but a film with a madman point of view that is handled with discipline and tremendous style. One is pulled in immediately with McDowell to observe and hear in each and every scene that shows his bold depravity that we cannot but keep thinking about now more than ever. Whether through singing "Singin' in the Rain" through a rape scene or trying to repress his violent urges, McDowell excels in conviction as someone we can't help but observe in showing what it means to have their free will challenged. Magee and Bates both do well on the sides of dogmatic reactionaries to our main focus, with the former proving a cynical foil while the latter provides blustery bluster that keeps our attention. Others have brief moments that they utilize quite well for us to observe when interacting with McDowell, whether that involves ultraviolence or not.

There is a reasonable pace of 136 minutes, carefully weaving its way through dark moments (if one can get through the opening 25 minutes, you can get through anything) with irony. We are talking about a movie that has someone killed by a phallus statue that cuts to a painting at the key moment, after all. Granted, one could have discomfort over its violent nature, because what seems like just a movie for John Q. Public isn't exactly going to provoke intelligent thought from someone who only sees the violence and nothing else (which can also prove the case with a number of satires). It's up to the viewer to assess how much it works on the satiric level about free will or violence. The argument over whether violence in film and television can have an effect on the viewer to do said violence is still something we talk about five decades later (as if violence begets more violence), particularly for a film that was pulled from release in Britain (which linked the film as an impetus for a spring of copycat crimes) just two years after release upon request of Kubrick. The US release was originally rated X, but a few subsequent small cuts by Kubrick led to an R rating, although it should be noted that current releases contain the original version (ironically enough with an R-rating). Regardless of how one thinks of the violence, it cannot be denied that this is an intensely great film, one free to do madness at its own choice that excels because of Kubrick and McDowell, a magnificently uncomfortable experience with strokes of genius in satire and dystopia that will linger with its audience long after they find themselves observing it.

Overall, I give it 10 out of 10 stars.

The River (1951).

Review #1234: The River (1951).

Cast: 
Nora Swinburne (The Mother), Esmond Knight (The Father), Arthur Shields (Mr. John), Suprova Mukerjee (Nan), Thomas E. Breen (Capt. John), Patricia Walters (Harriet), Radha Burnier (Melanie), Adrienne Corri (Valerie), and June Hillman (Narrator) Directed by Jean Renoir.

Review: 
Admittedly, some films can stick out for their cast and crew, while others can stand out for their style and tone. This one does both in spades, the first color film shot in India along with the first color feature of its director. Jean Renoir (son of painter Pierre-Auguste Renoir) had been a director for decades prior to this film, directing films such as La Grande Illusion (1937) and The Rules of the Game (1939). By this point his career, he had spent a decade in Hollywood after fleeing invaded France in 1940. His last film had been The Woman on the Beach (1947), which had been re-edited prior to release. Renoir spent two years in India to shoot this film, for which he collaborated with Rumer Godden on converting her semi-autobiographical novel of the same name to film. Godden grew up in colonial India with three sisters for a time in her childhood; she wrote numerous fiction and nonfiction books, such as Black Narcissus and The Diddakoi, with numerous works being adapted into media (such as the 1947 film of the former). He directed the film along with serving as writer and co-producer. At hand as co-producer was a man named Kenneth McEldowney, a florist and real estate agent. He had complained about the quality an MGM film to his studio publicist wife, and she had dared him to make a better one. From 1947 to 1951, he spent his time trying to bring this film to fruition, having sold off their home and his floral shops. The resulting film opened in New York with a 34-week run at reserved-seat prices, a record for the time. McEldowney's first and only produced film proved to be a hit, and it is easy to see why that proved the case then as is now over six decades later.

It is a clear slowburn of a film, wrapped in a sense of spirituality and focus on telling a coming-of-age tale with sincerity and lack of Hollywood pretense. It flows like a river from one end to the other with a tone that spins like a globe, where life and death interweave with each other and so on. It has a mix of professional and amateur actors, such as Walters, a girl that Renoir described in his memoir as a "daughter of a man on the staff of one of the local industrial concerns" - this was her only film appearance. Hillman hadn't had a credited role on film in over a decade prior to serving as narrator for this feature. Breen was the son of film censor Joseph Breen (head of the Motion Picture Producers and Distributors of America) and he had lost his right leg due to a combat injury in World War II, and this was his last movie appearance. Knight (who was half blind after a war injury) and Swinburne had been married for several years before this feature. In any case, it certainly makes for an interesting experience to see a variety of acting take place, which goes without much of a hitch. Seeing each of the perspectives of the three growing young ladies in Walters, Burnier, and Corri in their moments with the arrival of Breen makes for some interesting moments, and Burnier comes off best in that regard, where moments don't need to spelled out in detail for a viewer to absorb it fruitfully. Through its 99 minute run-time is something that has some nice photography (with cinematography done by Claude Renoir, Jean's nephew) and diverting lighting choices with color. The others do fine with their moments on screen, with Breen's vulnerability shining through well; it isn't the kind of film that would win many acting accolades, but it is certainly one that merits a look for its vision about growth through a prism of passion and tragedy that doesn't have an easy finish for anyone. It strives for something special with a natural concept idea and lands in the middle with a fairly compelling entertaining piece that shines for the curious viewer interested enough to seek it out.

Overall, I give it 8 out of 10 stars.