RE: great_badir's New improved list! (Full Version)

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great_badir -> RE: great_badir's New improved list! (14/12/2009 12:38:54 PM)

Thanks for taking the time to read, Rick - glad you're enjoying it.


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Shock Corridor, Sam Fuller (1963)

Journalist Johnny Barrett wants a Pulitzer.  He wants one bad and he wants one quick, no matter what it takes.  Hearing about a behind-bars murder in the local hospital for the criminally insane, Barrett's Pulitzer alarm starts ringing and he seizes the opportunity and fakes his way into the institute to expose the truth behind the murder.  Whilst in there he witnesses the treatment of its patients, the inner workings of the administration and begins to become fascinated with the characters of the people he's locked up with.  And gradually, bit by bit, Barrett goes genuinely insane.  Or does he? 

Probably.

Few films in the entire history of cinema have dealt with mental illness as brutally realistic and even handed as Frederick Wiseman's massively disturbing and upsetting documentary Titicut Follies and Sam Fuller's fictional, but no less real, Shock Corridor.  And both were damn near impossible to see the world over until fairly recently.  Sadly, and to the detriment of quality cinema and paying customers everywhere, we as audient members have generally learnt most of what we (think we) know about mental illness from dewey-eyed soft focus oscar fodder featuring "big stars", dreadful cheap horror/thriller quickies and ten-a-penny TV drama.  Sometimes the odd bit of genuine quality gets through (other notable exceptions include The Fisher King, Fight Club and One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest), but more often than not we're "treated" to the likes of A Beautiful Mind, Julien Donkey Boy, Ordinary People, Awakenings, Rain Man and, yurk, Fatal Attraction.  Shine, if you're wondering, sits on the fence and refuses to budge one way or the other.  Whilst Titicut Follies will probably always be the first and last word on the subject in terms of media, I'm loathe to include it here as a "favourite film" for the same reason I'm loathe to include works like the exhaustive and guilt-making (but undeniably genius) holocaust doc Shoah - neither is an enjoyable experience and neither should be belittled or trivialised as mere films to watch, more they are things that everyone should experience by rights as an education.  Fuller's Shock Corridor, whilst still gut-wrenching and surprisingly prescient more than forty years after it was made, represents mental illness dealt with in an acceptable form of "entertainment" (entertainment as in type of media, rather than enjoyment) whilst maintaining a respectfully po-faced realistic, sympathetic and empathetic edge.  Surprising to think that it's effectively an exploitation B-movie.

These days in retrospect, Fuller is considered as one of America's finest directors of the 50s and 60s, but prior to his death in 1997 he was the forgotten man of Stateside cinema.  Fuller's career mirrored that of Akira Kurosawa - from some critical acclaim and audience recognition as a young maverick in the 40s and 50s, genre defining cult fave in the 60s, to a director barely able to get any projects off the ground in the 70s and 80s, with Fuller accepting cameo roles in other directors' films just to get by.  Despite that critical claim in the early days, it's fair to say Fuller was never a critical darling, nor was he popular with the money men - famous for stubbornly sticking to projects that interested him personally (and therefore alienating a fair chunk of the audience) and never pandering to studio and producer requirements, he was almost making films for himself.  For much of the 50s he was an industry political force to be reckoned with - he left the studios if he was unhappy, they didn't leave him if they were.  Ignoring the ultimate Fuller personal project The Big Red One (to which the enormous props given go way over my head, I'm sorry to say) and the ultimate Fuller fan favourite White Dog (barely heard of since its original release, my personal favourite Fuller film), Shock Corridor is the film for which the director is best known, and rightfully so.  Once again utilising the real horrors (both mental and physical) he experienced during the second world war, Fuller spent a mere ten days filming his own script (written in a similarly short amount of time) with practically no money, minimal sets and props, no big names and a propensity to film whatever the actors felt their characters would do on the day, which invariably meant troublingly realistic simulations of varying types and degrees of mental illness, including the more "acceptable" illnesses (dissociative personality disorders and clinical depression), right up to full-on lock-em-up-and-throw-away-the-key mentalists for the 60s (a bearded, morbidly obese man who randomly sings opera and has no grasp on reality and, most controversially, a highly intelligent black man who is a white supremacist - let's not forget that Fuller was always very outspoken and open about being vehemently against racism, at a time when being so bold would normally mean ending your career).

Naturally the studio was terrified at the prospect of releasing it to an average audience still enjoying largely harmless and escapist material (English grime, French and Italian new wave and neo-noir had yet to fully make it across the Atlantic and bow their heads in main street cinemas), and the authorities were even more concerned about how accurate a portrayal the film was of both mental illness and the systems in place to treat it.  Although Fuller had experienced problems with releases of his films before, this was the first time he couldn't overcome them and, though it received largely favourable reviews from the crits, few mainstream cinemas would show it and those audiences that did see it were shocked at the content.  It fared even worse abroad - quickly slapped with an X here in the UK, it soon had its run reduced to grubby old fleapits off the beaten track where it gained a small underground following.  Subsequent to that, home releases both at home and abroad were few and far between right up until the mid 90s, when it was paired with Fuller's other troubling 60s offering The Naked Kiss.  Fuller sadly never lived to see the dramatic re-appraisal Shock Corridor would get at the tail-end of the 90s into the 00s following the surprisingly successful Criterion DVD in 1998, a success which kick-started the process of re-releasing most of Fuller's entire back catalogue and had its natural conclusion in the restoration of Fuller's most personal film, The Big Red One, which premiered in 2004.  But Shock Corridor is, perhaps, the most important of Fuller's films, almost by accident - shot like a cheap noir (thanks to frequent Orson Welles collaborator Stanley Cortez), acted honestly and brutally like no one's ever going to see it, directed like no one else other than Fuller matters and finished with a "fuck you" to the studio and audience, where we're left hanging not knowing what the hell to think.



rick_7 -> RE: great_badir's New improved list! (15/12/2009 1:22:45 PM)


There was an interesting piece in the Guardian a couple of years back that said screen depictions of mental illness were rarely realistic because - in reality - mental illness is often very boring (http://www.guardian.co.uk/film/2006/dec/12/socialcare).
 
I think in Shock Corridor there is an unfortunate degree of sensationalism. It's a stylised polemic (transparently a prism through which to view the ills of early-'60s America), but it's still no more progressive in its presentation of mentally ill people than - say - Val Lewton's Bedlam.

Happily it is not an allegory that suggests America is one large asylum (which would be offensive and crap). Instead, Fuller presents the country's worst excesses on a personal level, showing the human cost of postwar ills.
 
I scribbled this down after watching it last year:
 
"Sam Fuller's independent classic, Shock Corridor is a bolt of state-of-the-nation brilliance that holds a mirror up to America and says: "Fuck you". Superficially it's standard exploitation stuff: a journalist checks himself into a mental hospital to investigate a crime and loses his mind. Really it's a portrait of a nation wallowing waist-deep in self-degradation. The three witnesses our hero tracks down have been driven insane by America's crises: fear of Reds, bigotry and the atom bomb. The portion dealing with racism is particularly potent, anchored as it is by Hari Rhodes' breathtaking performance. I'm a sucker for a potent monologue and his, detailing his experiences as the first black student at an all-white college, is one of the best. That segment also strongly recalls another of my favourite unsung oldies, Roger Corman's The Intruder, which I wrote about here (link)."
 
Funny that we both wrote "fuck you" in our review.



great_badir -> RE: great_badir's New improved list! (16/12/2009 8:41:24 AM)

quote:

ORIGINAL: rick_7
I think in Shock Corridor there is an unfortunate degree of sensationalism. It's a stylised polemic (transparently a prism through which to view the ills of early-'60s America), but it's still no more progressive in its presentation of mentally ill people than - say - Val Lewton's Bedlam.

Happily it is not an allegory that suggests America is one large asylum (which would be offensive and crap). Instead, Fuller presents the country's worst excesses on a personal level, showing the human cost of postwar ills.
 
I scribbled this down after watching it last year:
 
"Sam Fuller's independent classic, Shock Corridor is a bolt of state-of-the-nation brilliance that holds a mirror up to America and says: "Fuck you". Superficially it's standard exploitation stuff: a journalist checks himself into a mental hospital to investigate a crime and loses his mind. Really it's a portrait of a nation wallowing waist-deep in self-degradation. The three witnesses our hero tracks down have been driven insane by America's crises: fear of Reds, bigotry and the atom bomb. The portion dealing with racism is particularly potent, anchored as it is by Hari Rhodes' breathtaking performance. I'm a sucker for a potent monologue and his, detailing his experiences as the first black student at an all-white college, is one of the best. That segment also strongly recalls another of my favourite unsung oldies, Roger Corman's The Intruder, which I wrote about here (link)."
 
Funny that we both wrote "fuck you" in our review.


True, it is largely sensationalist, but then you have to remember two very important factors - when it was made and who made it.  I think it's fair to say that Fuller (usually) preferred to hammer his point home rather than subtly dance around it with cryptic pointers.  But despite that, I think Corridor is still a pretty straight representation - also remember it's not just a "regular" mental hospital, but one for society's criminal element.  A 60s criminal element at that, so some degree of dated period-centric views are bound to crop up.

Not sure I agree about Bedlam - typical 40s RKO budget fluff if you ask me - but The Intruder is a GREAT film.  Easy to forget how cheap it is and that it stars the Shat!



great_badir -> RE: great_badir's New improved list! (25/6/2010 1:08:22 PM)

[image]http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51WEH9FGT3L._SS500_.jpg[/image]Street Trash, Jim Muro (1987) 
Toss the Penis - it's a great game.  At least tramps seem to think so. 

Cheap, sick, tasteless, gory, offensive and, amazingly, inventive social commentary disguised as minor schlock masterpiece, Jim Muro's Street Trash is like a technically polished early Peter Jackson work.  And, actually, it's rubbish.  But it's one of those great rubbish films which, whether it was intended to or not, rises way above its low rent composition of amateur acting (mostly courtesy of Muro's friends and family), an obviously rushed script and Screaming Mad George type practical effects utilising gallons of KY jelly.  Street Trash is a primo example of the "melt" movie, a sub genre which can be traced back to the potentially hilarious but ultimately torturously dull The Incredible Melting Man (the earlier original version of The Blob not included as it doesn't really feature any melting), and includes such luminary titles as From Beyond, Society, The Stuff, the Harold-Bishop-from-Neighbours starring Body Melt, the 80s The Blob remake and numerous Troma chaff ("a Troma movie which features no melting is a bad Troma movie!").  But Street Trash arguably stands alone because, even compared with those, it's supremely nasty and…unusual and contains several "money shots", as opposed to the one single moment in the final act that most other melt movies save their budget for (Society, for example).  It also goes for genuine laughs, albeit of the low brow South Park type variety - one poor schmo literally melts into the crapper he's sat on and a grossly obese mechanic's belly explodes in a Peckinpah-esque slo-mo celebration of gore. 

Let's quickly analyse and synopsise (is that a word?  It is now).  The story is a simple one - some ancient found booze winds up on the streets during a hot and sweaty summer in Manhattan and, thanks to its low-low price offered by the entrepreneurial liquor store owner who found it in his basement, is eagerly consumed by the resident homeless population.  Who then start melting and exploding all over the place.  The booze, you see, is not only ancient, but it has also "gone bad".  All while one of the few decent and honest cops left in the city tries to figure out what the hell is going on, despite the ill feeling he has towards his quarry.

But what's it really about?  It's a tale of the haves and have-nots.  It's the ever increasing class divide gap in 80s greed hungry America, where the rich get richer by making a quick buck without concern for their fellow man and where the poor are so desperate they don't even try and get away from someone who beats them senseless on regular occasions.  No one cares - the politicians are glad there's some indirect clean-up going on and the cops are mostly, of course, on the take with little interest in a bunch of hobos who contribute nothing to the city.  Hobos who sever the genitals of one of their own group and begin to play the aforementioned game of catch with them - a "fuck you America, we've got you by the balls" metaphor, if you will, for the greed-is-good Reagan generation.

But what's it REALLY about?  None of the above.  It is what it is - cheap tat.  And Muro would (probably) say that too - he never really wanted to make films, he wanted to be part of making them.  But in the industry then, as now, it was much easier to make a film of your own (providing you had the means, raw talent and nouse, of course) to show off your talents, than it was to get hired on a crew.  And what's one of the best ways for budding film makers to get noticed in the fickle world of cinema?  By making a cheap, tasteless and exploitational horror film.  Just ask Jim Cameron, Wes Craven, David Cronenberg and Peter Jackson.  Street Trash exists purely because Muro wanted to show off his prowess with a steadicam - and we're talking quality steadicam work here, up there with that other legend of the hardware, Garrett Brown.  Trash frequently surprises with its breathtaking glossy steadicam swoops, in what should be a rough and ready looking film.  But it doesn't look rough, at all.  Particularly with the recent DVD release, Trash looks as good as any multi-million dollar professional film - it looks FAR more expensive than it was and so good that within two years (dominated by work on other cheap horror films) of Trash's release, Muro was hired by Jim Cameron to work on The Abyss, the first in a long line of Cameron/Muro partnerships, and subsequent to that he's become one of the best known camera operators in the industry.  Not bad for someone who made a bunch of giggling bums throw a severed dick to each other in a scrap yard.



elab49 -> RE: great_badir's New improved list! (25/6/2010 1:14:20 PM)

That may be the single best opening line of any review on this site ever [:D]

Not seen this one. I'd add 'I'm afraid' there normally, but I'm not sure that's strictly accurate.



Miles Messervy 007 -> RE: great_badir's New improved list! (25/6/2010 1:19:03 PM)

Welcome back [:)]



great_badir -> RE: great_badir's New improved list! (25/6/2010 1:25:01 PM)

Thanks.  I've had several times away over the last couple of years, previously due to various unhappy things which happened, but I'm pleased to say this most recent absence was due to the birth of our daughter who, at the age of just a few weeks, has already sat through a few filums and is on her way to being a fledgling buff.



Miles Messervy 007 -> RE: great_badir's New improved list! (25/6/2010 1:30:46 PM)

Congratulations then [:)]



great_badir -> RE: great_badir's New improved list! (29/6/2010 1:04:44 PM)


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Live and Let Die, Guy Hamilton (1973)
From cock throwing, to white man's blaxploitation.
 
I'm not a Bond fan.  I never have been.  Some of them are watchable - Goldfinger has one of the best villains and henchman and it also has that great last act where it takes a calm hand to simply flick a switch whilst 007 sweats himself to an early grave trying to stop the countdown; On Her Majesty's Secret Service is the low key one with a great theme tune, some old school detecting from the original Fleming novels and the thoroughly depressing murder of the one he was supposed to settle down with; and Casino Royale (the Daniel Craig one) is the most realistic one, in relative terms, even if it just completely rips off the Bourne films, a fact that most people seemed to forget or ignore.  I also, as a guilty pleasure, like the messy 60s Casino Royale, but that's not a proper Bond film per se.  And Operation Kid Brother starring Neil ("yesh, I am hish brother") Connery is, obviously, hilarious.  Other than that I'm really not bothered.  Oh, I'll watch them when they roll round on TV, or borrow a DVD, but I'll never rush out to see the next one on the big screen - too silly whilst largely retaining an air of seriousness, too samey, too frustrating.  And then there's things like A View to a Kill (dreadful, despite a top notch Christopher Walken), Jaws finds love in Moonraker (give me strength), Bond diffusing a bomb dressed as a clown in Octopussy, the ill advised Never Say Never Again (featuring a, guffaw, slapstick Rowan Atkinson - shame on you Irvin Kershner), the incredibly pointless and forgettable Quantum of Solace and, what I think is by far the worst Bond film of all, The World is "haven't we seen all this before in Austin Powers?" Not Enough (but a big metal pipe apparently is - jesus christ).
 
Live and Let Die, however, is a different kettle of fish.  It really shouldn't work - a mainstream take on blaxploitation made by Brits and starring an upper class English toff, the daddy of all unnecessarily slow moving killing mechanisms, cod 60s psychedelia and 70s drug culture, clichéd voodoo and juju, Jane bloody Seymour, a theme tune courtesy of, shudder, Wings and an unlikely magnetic watch.  But it's brilliant.  And not just shit-but-watchable brilliant - I mean it properly stands out on its own as a genuinely good film.  The blaxploitation aspect is surprisingly authentic, dear old Rodgy Moore in his Bond debut has all the quips, but the series hadn't yet reached the point of embarrassing self parody, the cheesy psychedelia fits the scene, Jane Seymour is actually quite good and Wings pulls off what is, in my opinion, THE best Bond theme.  But it doesn't end there - oddly but perfectly cast Yaphet Kotto as a two-for-the-price-of-one Bond villain who, for a change, doesn't just want to take over the world, the best stunts and car/speedboat chases of any Bond film, proper laughs a la the original Taking of Pelham 123 that don't jar with the rest of the film.  And, unlike most other Bond films, the supporting characters are as memorable as the leads - Tee Hee, Whisper (fucking Whisper, man!!!!), Baron Samedi and, of course, the great Clifton James as Sheriff J W Pepper.  AND it's packed with wall-to-wall scenes of individual greatness - the aforementioned speedboat and car chases (not forgetting the double decker bus chase), Bond's great confined fight with Tee Hee in the train compartment (recalling the mobile home scrap in Kill Bill), the coffin trick during the classy traditional New Orleans jazz funeral, the how-the-hell's-he-gonna-get-out-of-this? croc island escape, Baron Samedi's frequent returns from the grave (and his climactic re-appearance twist at the very end - if memory serves, the only time a Bond film has ended with a question mark), Yaphet Kotto's great reveal (even though it's obvious from the start that Mr Big and Dr Kananga are the same person), and one of the defining moments in Bond villain death history.  Hell, there's even a throwback to Dr No with the appearance of Quarrel's son, Quarrel Junior.  And there's almost certainly more that I've forgotten.
 
Even the most ardent Bond fan will have to admit that few other films in the series contain that much quality, which makes one wonder why it was held in such low regard by both critics and fans when it was originally released.  Sure, Moore's Bond lacks the bastardlyness of Connery and the sophistication of Lazenby, but, unlike the previous films, Live and Let Die isn't just about Bond and the scrapes he gets into - there are way too many other interesting things going on, making it the first Bond film to be brave enough to frequently cut away from its hero and give significant time and focus to other characters.  And how refreshing to have the villain less worried about world domination and megalomania, preferring instead to concentrate on making his drug empire the only one that addicts rely on, leaving the rest of the human race unharmed and under no threat whatsoever, a world away from the usual death rays, taking over the entire planet's economy, or controlling energy supplies.  Live and Let Die's cast was completely different than anything people were previously used to and it gave the series a fresh coat of paint.  Perhaps it was too much change in one go - a new Bond, a large cast of black American actors than the usual Europeans, no familiar John Barry score, a rock song for a theme tune, genuine and frequent comedy.  But, for me, those are the things that make Live and Let Die great and stand out from the stale crowd.
 
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As a related side-note, Roger Moore's self penned on-set diary, if you can find it, is not only a great and humorous read (Moore revealing himself to be a talent with the pen, very vocal about his appreciation of his colleagues whilst maintaining an air of self-deprecation for himself), it's also a fascinating document of how films are made.  Despite being relatively brief, it seems that nothing is left out - from his own uncertainties about making the role successful after his predecessor made such a good job of it, early rehearsals, experiences with frequent squits (or, as Moore calls them, the Cairo Gallops) and sitting down off camera with a few drinks and a cigar to watch the exploding chaos going on around him, all backed up by some amazing photos from his own archives.  Sterling stuff and long overdue a re-release.



Miles Messervy 007 -> RE: great_badir's New improved list! (29/6/2010 8:27:15 PM)

[sm=worship.gif]
I love Hamilton's Bond films, best Bond director after Young. Goldfinger is probably the all-round best, but the 70s trilogy has some of the best bizarre humour/gritty action combos ever (though Diamonds Are Forever pips Live and Let Die for me), and Moore's diaries are also a lot of fun.



Rhubarb -> RE: great_badir's New improved list! (30/6/2010 12:05:33 AM)


quote:

(though Diamonds Are Forever pips Live and Let Die for me)


Typical Miles.



Gimli The Dwarf -> RE: great_badir's New improved list! (30/6/2010 1:39:03 AM)


quote:

ORIGINAL: Rhubarb


quote:

(though Diamonds Are Forever pips Live and Let Die for me)


Typical Miles.



He's right though.




Rhubarb -> RE: great_badir's New improved list! (30/6/2010 1:54:39 AM)


quote:

ORIGINAL: Gimli The Dwarf


quote:

ORIGINAL: Rhubarb


quote:

(though Diamonds Are Forever pips Live and Let Die for me)


Typical Miles.



He's right though.




Typical Gim.



great_badir -> RE: great_badir's New improved list! (1/7/2010 12:06:43 PM)

Typical Bond fans...




great_badir -> RE: great_badir's New improved list! (1/7/2010 12:10:08 PM)

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My Dinner With Andre, Louis Malle (1981)
Two men walk into a restaurant and start talking.  And they keep talking.  And talking.  And talking.  And talking.  For nearly two hours.  And that's the end of that story - there is no punch line.

As concepts go, My Dinner With Andre isn't exactly the type of thing that would excite the Joel Silvers of this world.  In fact, My Dinner With Andre isn't exactly the type of thing that would excite most people.  It's not even the type of tense people-just-sat-in-room-talking of Kubrick or Lumet.  It's just…talking.
"There's this film with two guys talking over dinner."
"Yeah?  What happens?"
"Two guys talk.  Over dinner."
"Right…what happens then?"
"They carry on talking."
"…okay…anything else?"
"Well, they do have three courses…"
"Interesting.  Then what happens?"
"They have wine…"
"Yeah?"
"Then they finish talking.  And that's about it."
"Oh hang on, I think I get it - it's all cool Tarantino style dialogue that no one would ever say in real life, right?"
"No."
"Do they tell really dirty jokes, like in that The Aristocrats?"
"No, they just talk about their lives."
"Oh…who's in it?"
"Andre Gregory and Wallace Shawn."
"Get the fuck out of my house."

Because talking is all it is - two acquaintances meet for lunch and talk about their life, their universe and their everything.  Written and partly improvised by both actors/playwrights and based on their own real life experiences (though the experiences are interchangable between them), Gregory plays the extrovert and extravagant go-getter who's been everywhere and done everything, whilst Shawn plays the slightly introverted realist who thinks it's a good day if he has a cup of last night's coffee and doesn't find a dead cockroach in it, and who can't understand his opposite number's grand experiences, considering them unreachable for the common man.

Like Al Pacino's Looking for Richard, which is essentially a filmed Shakespeare workshop, and Vanya on 42nd Street (the other Malle/Shawn project), My Dinner With Andre may as well be a documented snapshot of the pairs' real-life conversations, only broken up by Shawn's narrative voice-over interjections, reminding us that this is just a fiction.  Albeit a very sedate fiction.  Yes, it's typically artsy-fartsy and thespian with its dialogue and Gregory portrays (or maybe reveals himself to be) one of the most punchable actors in cinema history, with his annoying "my life has been considerably richer than yours" attitude but, like an episode of QI, the natural conversational style draws you in, even though it's basically a film of two halves - the first half given over to Gregory's aggrandising, the second concentrating on Shawn's struggling schlubiness, where he spends as much time talking about (and is as enthusiastic about) an electric blanket, as when Gregory talks about the time he joined some hippy cult.

By the end of a rather long nearly two hours (and it DOES feel like a long two hours), neither the characters nor the viewer has learnt a lesson, triumphed, lost, or is any the wiser about anything.  All of which kind of makes me realise I've not really sold the film at all.  But, in my defence, it's a hard sell.  Hell, I like it and I think it's worth watching, especially if you're a Wallace Shawn fan(*).

* - WARNING: Those who find Wallace Shawn annoying, and/or Louis Malle's directing too languid are well advised to avoid this one like the plague.



great_badir -> RE: great_badir's New improved list! (18/3/2011 12:44:48 PM)

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Glen or Glenda, Edward D. Wood Jnr (1953)

Leonard Maltin considers it to be the worst film ever made.  Ed Wood called it his most personal film.  Colleagues and critics echoed that sentiment and claimed it to be the man’s biography basically writ large.  It’s an early 50s exercise in morality and cod pyschology about transvestisism, featuring a lengthy bizarre (and for then VERY daring) fantasy sequence replete with bondage. 

Briefly, Ed Wood (acting under the name Daniel Davis) stars as Glen, a heterosexual man with a good job and a beautiful girlfriend (Wood’s real life squeeze Dolores Fuller) who he loves and who loves him, close to being married and becoming the perfect nuclear family.  The problem is Glen has a secret – he only feels comfortable wearing women’s clothes.  Yes, our hero is a transvestite.  Throughout the film, he struggles with his inner demons, inadequacies and shame, whilst in separate scenes a policeman and expert psychologist discuss the whole thorny issue.

Whatever you think about Ed Wood’s ‘Glen or Glenda’, one thing cannot be denied – man, was it way ahead of its time.  The second world war was not that long over and the US was moving into a bit of a boom time, both economically and culturally.  But, despite that new upwardly mobile outlook, transvestites were probably given the same shrift by general society as homosexuals, people of a different ethnicity, and non-religious heathen folk living in the bible belt.  So what in Jesus H-from-Steps Christ was dear old Ed thinking when he threw this thing together?

Make no mistake, ‘Glen or Glenda’ is, as all of Wood’s ouvre is, awful.  It’s badly acted, badly scripted and shoddily executed.  Bela Lugosi plays himself.  Again (no Criswell, though).  In a role that seems to bear absolutely no relation to the story.  It’s not even bad/good enough to tread the same ground as ‘Plan 9 From Outer Space’ (though in many ways it’s so much more out there – Plan 9 is, after all, comfortable in its cheesy sci-fi Z grade setting, in similar company as any number of cheapo sci-fi flicks of the day.  There was nothing else like ‘Glen or Glenda’, though).  And that’s the main reason that ‘Glen or Glenda’ is so interesting, if not good – for perhaps the only time in Wood’s career, there are flashes of genuine professionalism.  However hilarious the not-in-the-least-bit-feminine Wood looks in a blond wig and fancy women’s clothes, pining after his girlfriend’s angora sweater, it’s an early 50s film (which ISN’T a comedy) about blokes who like to dress up in women’s clothes.  Neither is it an attack on said blokes.  Don’t forget Wood himself was a transvestite and, that being the case, it takes a sympathetic look at transvestites, who are otherwise “normal members of society”, and those unfortunate ones who have committed suicide due to the persecution they’ve been subjected to.  And it has a 50s American cop who, rather than wanting to rid the planet of these pesky weirdos, wants to understand and know the whys and wherefores, ending up being both sympathetic and empathetic with this particular niche of society.  Hell, it even goes as far to make the point that no, transvestites are not always gay, nor a harm to the general public, and that there are any number of nature/nurture issues deep in the person’s subconscious which make them choose their frowned upon destiny.  Gender re-assignment is also covered (actually, uncomfortably shoe-horned in to beef up the already very short running time) in great detail, both psychologically and physically, with cautionary tales explaining that sometimes it’s only right for a man to be a transvestite because he feels “different” (i.e. a woman trapped in a man’s body), other times a man is a transvestite due to unfortunate experiences in his youth and maybe he’s just making up for something else.  In those cases, a man can sometimes be “fixed” to save him from ending up on the mortician’s slab.  In his favourite dress.  I’ll say it again – it’s an early 50s Ed Wood film which is, at heart, a serious look at something which people would, for the most part, have found incredibly disturbing back then.  We’re decades away from being surprised when Eddie Izzard decides to wear men’s clothes and no make-up for a change.

‘Glen or Glenda’ is the only Ed Wood film which almost matches the sincere enthusiasm with which it was made – the editing in particular is surprisingly effective, given the cheap trash production, with lots of dissolves, montages, flash-cuts and even the odd (intended) double exposure (Bela Lugosi, sat in whatever room he’s sat in – never really properly explained - watching over city folk going about their day-to-day business on the lower half of the screen).  It also contains the least amount of “borrowed” footage of any Wood film and a relatively high number of proper set-ups.  There’s also evidence of Wood starting to think at a higher level (one which, ultimately, would prove to be too high a level for him to pull off or maintain) – there are several blatant technical nods to Eisenstein (yes, you read that right) and even a touch of German expressionism.  Which brings us to the most (in)famous and controversial sequence in the whole film – an amateurishly orchestrated fantasy ballet representing the battle between the transvestite and the “normal” man beneath, or a battle between Glen and Glenda.  The devil personified, friends and colleagues pulling him one way and another and, lord knows why, a scantily clad woman tied up on a chaise longue being whipped by some mysterious male character, neither of whom appear again or are ever explained.  Interestingly, most of this sequence, even though it sounds typical of a Wood production, was taken out of Wood’s hands, much to his protestations, by sexploitation king George Weiss in a bid to make it run on the skin flick circuit, then proving to be a bit of a moneymaker in the way-off Broadway picture houses.  You can imagine just how bad this sequence is when Ed Wood thinks it’s a travesty.

So do I think it’s a good film?  No.  Do I like it?  No.  Why is it in this thread?  Because it’s so jaw-droppingly different and progressive.  Because it’s Ed Wood going way beyond his usual cardboard cut-out mish-mashes.  Because you won’t believe the thing was made in 1953.  Because it was so influential, having produced confirmed fans and followers like David Lynch, Tim Burton and John Waters.  Because it’s only just over an hour long. 

Let’s say I admire its pretentions and truly believe that Wood was really, REALLY trying hard with this one.  Just watch Tim Burton’s ‘Ed Wood’, with Johnny Depp’s portrayal of Wood at that point in his career thinking he’s about to make a genuine masterpiece – with that knowledge, you want the real Ed Wood to succeed.  All the more sad that he didn’t.  Watch it. 




Miles Messervy 007 -> RE: Great Badir's Favourite Films (19/3/2011 12:42:21 PM)

I haven't seen any Ed Wood, but glad this is back up.



Rhubarb -> RE: Great Badir's Favourite Films (19/3/2011 1:19:47 PM)

Glenn or Glenda is certainly a brave idea. Its also certainly mind rottingly bad [:D]



great_badir -> RE: Great Badir's Favourite Films (21/3/2011 12:57:19 PM)

[image]http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/31Tkkt5WI4L._SL500_AA300_.jpg[/image]
Heatwave, Phillip Noyce (1982)

As ‘Newsfront’, the real masterpiece in Phillip Noyce’s  pre-international fame catalogue, is about as easy to track down as Osama Bin Laden, and will probably never get anything like a proper release in the UK (plus the fact that I’ve not seen it for about twenty years, so I can’t really do it full justice in this thread…yet), this incredibly under rated and riveting urban horror from 1982 will more than suffice.  It stars Richard “Mr Twist from endless children’s Aussie sitcom ‘Round the Twist’” Moir as Stephen West, an enthusiastic and idealogical golden boy architect caught up in a storm of big-business conspiracy during an unbearable christmas heat wave in 80s sunny-on-the-surface suburban Sydney.  The good natured West is just trying to improve the lives and living conditions for working class and elderly residents in a local block of grubby mid-rise flats, initially unaware that his typically money grabbing superiors intend to evict the existing tenants and open up West’s planned project (ironically called Eden, complete with plant life intertwined with the building’s frame) for Sydney’s rich folk, leaving the locals homeless and begging.  So far so mundane but, as the temperature rises, so the tenants begin put up a fight and become squatters (led by activist Judy Davis, excellent in this) in their own homes, fighting off ruthless and brutal heavies and ever approaching construction works.  Eventually, the whole affair turns really nasty as one of the residents suspiciously disappears, the project’s funding turns out to be a huge scam backed by numerous shady deals, faceless investors and non-existent co-ops, West is torn between his developing relationship with Davis’ activist and an unswerving loyalty to his employers, everyone becomes the most paranoid person on the planet, and the construction site starts to reveal its own ugly secrets as the fiercely unionised workers become more and more annoyed with the lack of progress.  Yes, this is effectively ‘The Castle’ played deadly bloody seriously.

Rarely has a film captured the collar tightening discomfort of rising temperatures and tempers as Heatwave – only ‘The Mean Season’ and ‘The Big Easy’ come close – but Heatwave’s christmas setting gives it an extra edge, with the oncoming festivities overshadowed by increasing nastiness and an unshakable feeling that the whole thing can only end in tears.  Further, the “based on a true story” backing, following the real life disappearance of anti-development campaigner Juanita Nielsen in the 70s (also cf. the less sensational and more true to life, but ultimately less satisfying as a film, ‘The Killing of Angel Street’, based on the same story and coincidentally made around the same time and at the same locations as ‘Heatwave’), gives the initially unlikely premise a certain factual gravitas.  That this, a cheap $1million(Australian) independent production, shot quickly and thrown together in no time at all after Noyce was fired from the completely different (and god awful, with its bizarre cast) ‘Attack Force Z’, got released at all is one thing, but that it came out so well is another entirely – it’s very measured, even handed and unhurried and it avoids the trappings of similar big-business conspiracy themed films by making it all very implied and not at all obvious.  We’re never really quite sure who the real bad eggs are and who is just caught in an unexpected difficult patch with their pants down.  We never find out exactly what happened to the missing protestor (though, in a grisly and unexpected twist, her final whereabouts are slowly and cleverly revealed).  We’re never really sure who the “bad guy” is, or even if there are any really “bad guys” at the top or if they’re just all simple minded money grabbing bastards in way over their heads.  Its refusal to pander to an obvious climax is what makes it great and what makes it stand out.  Not bad for a cheap and quick also-ran production for a director with his tail between his legs.

All this is even more impressive when you consider what it was up against – in 1982, Australian cinema was just coming out of a largely artistically ropey, but financially successful mixed bag of 70s offerings, at least as far as the rest of the world was concerned.  At the end of the 70s, all most people outside Australia knew about the cinematic offerings from that country was that they were either cheap gutter comedies (the woefully over rated Barry Mackenzie films), even cheaper sexploitation and soft core grumble flicks (the ‘Alvin Purple’ series, Australia’s answer to a Russ Meyer film), or off the wall genre pieces (Mad Max, The Cars That Ate Paris etc), usually featuring copious amounts of beer and overt friendliness masking an upcoming rape attempt.  Only Ted Kotcheff’s ‘Wake In Fright’ (which pretty much disappeared as quickly as it was released), Peter Weir’s ‘Picnic at Hanging Rock’ and Bruce Beresford’s ‘Breaker Morant’ (‘Walkabout’ not included as it’s a British film) grabbed major international attention and were, rightly, recognised as being important films in their own right, let alone important Australian films (although, ironically, ‘Wake In Fright’ features copious amounts of beer and overt friendliness masking an upcoming rape attempt, and everyone soon forgot how good it was when no one bothered to market it properly), but after that it was for the mostpart lowest common denominator chaff, much like the largely dreadful and quite embarrassing run of sitcoms us Brits are subjected to at the moment.  Heatwave was among the early torch bearers for the slew of 80s and 90s antipodean films which did big business to good notices in other parts of the world, particularly in the UK and the US, markets where cheap horror, crass comedy and dumb action films were starting to make up a large proportion of home-grown product.  80s Australian cinema by comparison had reached its second golden age and, even many of its comedies, was po-faced,  realistic and, most importantly, considered (not that this stopped them producing gutter comedy, sexploitation and genre flicks on the side, of course – step forward Peter Jackson and Russell Mulcahy).  ‘Gallipoli’ and ‘The Year of Living Dangerously’ were both large scale productions suitable for international audiences and were met with open arms by the masses, with Heatwave, a miniscule and not at all important indie release, coming in on the coat tails but managing to garner its own success and following. 

Although that success was well deserved, unfortunately ‘Heatwave’’s acclaim proved to be short lived, much like ‘Newsfront’ (which is now so obscure even Phillip Noyce probably can’t remember making it) and it would be another six years before ‘Dead Calm’ was hailed as the best Australian thing since Rolf Harris (erm…).  The hard working Noyce (by 1982 he’d been a director for over ten years and had worked on feature films, documentaries, shorts and highly regarded TV shows) was forever on the cusp of making and it should have been with either this or ‘Newsfront’ that the world took notice.  Luckily, it never got to the point of ‘Wake In Fright’’s near loss to the pits of disposal and it’s relatively easy to track down and, so it is, ‘Heatwave’ stands among the top of Noyce’s achievements, low IMDB score be damned.



great_badir -> RE: Great Badir's Favourite Films (22/3/2011 7:47:47 AM)

Miles - thanks.  My excuse this time is that last summer, shortly after I last posted, the company I work for (I have a baby now, so evenings are pretty much not free for tinternet) got a new security software suite, but it was blocking far too many legit and work related websites with no way of changing the tolerances.  So, after about 6 months of trials, they've finally installed a new one which doesn't block everything in sight.  So not my fault this time!

Rhubarb - agreed, it's terrible.  But I just think it needs to be seen.  Not that I'm some sort of Ed Wood apologist...



great_badir -> RE: Great Badir's Favourite Films (22/3/2011 1:31:14 PM)

Spoilers ahead…

[image]http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51EJANT0BRL._SL500_AA300_.jpg[/image]
The Day of the Jackal, Fred Zinnemann (1973)

Walking plank Edward "not as versatile as my brother” Fox stars as the titular bastardly assassin, hired by a shady right wing anti government organisation to take out President Charles de Gaulle after he gives Algeria its independence.  Calmly leaving a trail of corpses and endless red herrings in his wake, the clever Jackal (always a few steps ahead, natch) is doggedly pursued by a resource hungry European wide police force, headed up by Michael Lonsdale's calculating Lebel, until he gets to within a gnat's pube of pulling off the job.

Sticking reasonably closely to Frederick Forsyth's source novel (itself an exercise in labyrinthine realism), Zinnemann's exhaustive and minimalist box office disappointment is, quite possibly, the most realistic assassination film ever made.   In the same way 'The Taking of Pelham 123' alerted the real life New York transit authority to spruce up their security after the film exposed several gaps, so 'The Day of the Jackal' (both book and film) put a rocket up the Passport Office's backside when it showed everyone just how easy it was to get a legit-fake British passport.  Forget  Michael Caton-Jones' frankly ridiculous and rubbish roller coaster sort-of remake but not – Zinnemann's film is the manual, with over two hours of languid preparation and police frustration, centring on the slowest and most methodical international cat chase in cinema history, and a mere five or so minutes dedicated to carrying out the hit (which, of course, fails).    And so it is that 'The Day of the Jackal' sits comfortably in the sub-genre of gritty and low-key 70s thrillers - stark, streamline of dialogue and bereft of anything approaching a releasable soundtrack ('Jackal' goes one step further than many of its stable mates and, Dogme manifesto style, only has music occurring naturally within a scene – marching bands, car radios etc).  The weaving plot, Kenneth Ross' clever script, Jean Tournier's (who would later coincidentally work with Michael Lonsdale on the appalling Moonraker) verite cinematography and Zinnemann's unfussy direction are the real stars of the show – no big name actors, no huge set pieces (even the climactic hit attempt is dealt with quietly and efficiently, without much fanfare) and no weary exposition.  Not that it's a completely sedate thriller – like the under rated 'Juggernaut' (appearing much earlier in this thread), the tense edge of your seat vibe isn't because of the next explosion, violent fist fight, shoot out or stand off (of which there are none – pretty much all of the action and violence happens off screen and we only see the end result, a conscious decision on Zinnemann's part to keep the viewer as much in the dark as the police are), it's because of the frequent blind alleys, the "just missed him” moments, the fact that no one knows what the hell the Jackal is going to do next, where and to who, and, of course, the fast approaching deadline for the hit.  And it all works, largely thanks to the measured way in which the film is put together.

Like the best 70s thrillers, the cast don't ACT – they inhabit their roles without fanfare, to the point where the usually upbeat upper class twit Fox wears the monosyllabic and emotionless Jackal enigma like a well worn cardigan, and you could mistake Michael Lonsdale (who is absolutely brilliant here) as an actual policeman Zinnemann pulled in off the street.  It could have been so different – Roger Moore, Jack Nicholson and Michael Caine were all considered for the lead role but Zinnemann, cannily wanting someone capable but with no obvious star factor to maximise the character's believability, plumped and lobbied for a nervous Fox to take on the Jackal.  And that's probably why it performed relatively badly on the big screen.  Equally great is the supporting cast of familiar faces, all featuring quite briefly and playing politicians and police bureaucrats who literally don't have a clue what to do or where to turn.  As Lebel states to his partner Caron (played by Derek Jacobi), in one of the best lines of the film when he is given carte blanche to do whatever it takes to stop the Jackal, "after de Gaulle we are the two most powerful men in France”.   In the end, after all the expense, man hours, travelling throughout Europe and awkward phone calls with authorities in other countries, it's Lebel's nouse and fortunate/lucky timing and a simple mistake on the assassin's part which ultimately traps the quarry, in a great sequence where the Jackal would have got away with it were it not for the fact he didn't take into account the French custom of one kiss on each cheek.

'The Day of the Jackal' isn't the best film from 1973 (just take a look on IMDB at the amount of genuinely brilliant fair released around the same time), but it's probably the crowning achievement for all involved, and certainly among the top ten thrillers of the 70s, if not of all time.



Miles Messervy 007 -> RE: Great Badir's Favourite Films (22/3/2011 10:41:04 PM)

The Day of the Jackal is masterful, almost as good as the novel, which in turn is suspenseful every time I read it, and considering I don't suffer from amnesia, that's pretty fucking impressive.
I take offence at Moonraker being called appalling though, it's so much fun.



great_badir -> RE: Great Badir's Favourite Films (22/3/2011 11:20:08 PM)

quote:

ORIGINAL: Miles Messervy 007

The Day of the Jackal is masterful, almost as good as the novel, which in turn is suspenseful every time I read it, and considering I don't suffer from amnesia, that's pretty fucking impressive.
I take offence at Moonraker being called appalling though, it's so much fun.


No offence intended, but c'mon - Bond in space, Jaws falling in love...really!?!?!

But then, as you may remember from earlier posts, I am not the world's biggest Bond fan and can count the Bond films I genuinely like on one hand.



Miles Messervy 007 -> RE: Great Badir's Favourite Films (23/3/2011 12:09:57 AM)

Yeah, I remember that.
Moonraker is certainly outlandish (badumtch), but I enjoy it a lot, and that's all that matters [8D]



great_badir -> RE: Great Badir's Favourite Films (23/3/2011 1:23:06 PM)

quote:

ORIGINAL: Miles Messervy 007
I enjoy it a lot, and that's all that matters [8D]


Indeed it is.  And that's how I can defend the inclusion in this thread of Shark Attack 3 and Death Wish 3...



great_badir -> RE: Great Badir's Favourite Films (29/3/2011 12:44:46 PM)


[image]http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51abQAPsWBL.jpg[/image]
Fury, Fritz Lang (1936)

Loved up, habitual peanut consumer Joe Wilson (Spencer Tracy) winds up in a hick town jailhouse after being arrested by an over enthusiastic deputy on the flimsy suspicion of being a (literal) kid napper, based on a bullshit coincidence and a very average perp description.  Despite the sherriff giving him the potential benefit of the doubt whilst he waits for all the facts to come in, word soon spreads around town that Wilson IS the culprit and, before long, an enormous lynch mob gathers, baying for blood.  They destroy the jailhouse, thinking Wilson went with it, and then find out he was innocent.  Oops!  Little do they realise, though, that he escaped after his cell door was torn off its hinges when dynamite was thrown into the burning jail.  Y'know - for good measure.  Unfortunately for the mob, not only did they aid his escape, they also managed to kill Wilson's canine companion Rainbow.  Seeking revenge, Wilson, as a dead man, goes out to make sure a group of twenty men suffer in the same way that he and Rainbow did.  And he's absolutely fucking furious.

I'll be frank - the first twenty odd minutes and the rushed last few minutes (both of which were forced on Fritz Lang by the studio) of 'Fury' are terrible.  Perhaps the worst of director Lang's largely stellar career, in fact - a mix of sappy romance and ropey gentle comedy, two genres Lang was not best known for and was always weakest at behind the camera, and a climax which almost feels as if Lang chickened out of a pay-off the audience (and Joe Wilson) was rooting for.  But then it was Lang's first American film after fleeing from the Nazis, so let's cut him some slack shall we?  Nor is it Tracy's best film as actor (that accolade goes to both 'Bad Day at Black Rock', a great under stated film marred by an uncharacteristically mindless and overblown finale, and the near perfect 'Judgement at Nuremberg', appearing later in this thread).  But, by the time the sherriff has called in the National Guard, rocks start flying into his office and poor innocent Joe Wilson is gazing out through window bars to the flames that are about to eat him alive, 'Fury' very quickly achieves greatness.  The remaining hour or so, made up of a gleeful Wilson listening to his own (as victim) murder trial on the radio as the ugly truth is slowly revealed to the jury, was the first modern day courtroom drama - sure, 'Witness for the Prosecution' was the first film to go big on double jeopardy and circumstantial evidence, and Otto Preminger's down 'n dirty 'Anatomy of a Murder' used (for then) shocking language and description that film audiences were not used to, but these came twenty years after 'Fury''s extended trial, presenting trial-as-entertainment, trial by media and evidence that could in no way be disputed in the form of newsreel footage of the murderous mob in action, decades before this became the accepted norm - even 1957's '12 Angry Men' was an hour and a half of men just talking around...well, circumstantial evidence.

In between those hopeless bookends, ‘Fury’ successfully intertwines fast paced thrills and slow-build drama whilst focussing on the very specific breakdown and rebuild of Joe Wilson’s character – he goes from an affable, courteous and playful chap, to a grubby, pessimistic alcoholic, holed up in some shitbag hotel with his only link to his life and the outside world being his two brothers, both of whom are less than happy to be involved with Wilson’s canny scheme.  By the end, Wilson has redeemed himself and, in one of the most unlikely and cop-out endings in cinema history, waltzes into the court room, effectively making the trial of his “killers” null and void, apologises to the judge and rekindles his romance with his future wife and everything is fine.  In the space of about three minutes.  Compare that to the consistently even and compelling pace of his previous three classics (‘Liliom’, ‘Das Testament des Dr Mabeuse’ and the masterpiece that is ‘M’) and it’s plain to see how the studio ruined what could have been.

All of which sounds like I have a bit of a downer on it.  But I don’t.  I love it.  It’s a truly brilliant film, so good that these are only minor spoilings.  The stuff that matters – the arrest, the lynching, the breakdown and the trial – are all as good as Lang’s English language films ever got.  Plus I love peanuts.



elab49 -> RE: Great Badir's Favourite Films (29/3/2011 12:51:19 PM)

WHile not referring to a thread which has characteristics in common with yer Norwegian Blue, Fury was one of the key planks in my proto-noir argument. Quite apart from that it's bloody brilliant. Them sitting in that courtroom watching that film. And to further demonstrate just how massive Sydney, one of my favourites actresses, was in the 30s, look at the order in that poster. I've no idea what happened in the 40s with her career.

I love the story Lang told in interview about leaving Germany - going to meet Goebbels in his office, being offered a job, and carefully leaving the office and just keeping on going till he was out of the country.



great_badir -> RE: Great Badir's Favourite Films (29/3/2011 1:10:50 PM)

quote:

ORIGINAL: elab49

WHile not referring to a thread which has characteristics in common with yer Norwegian Blue, Fury was one of the key planks in my proto-noir argument. Quite apart from that it's bloody brilliant. Them sitting in that courtroom watching that film. And to further demonstrate just how massive Sydney, one of my favourites actresses, was in the 30s, look at the order in that poster. I've no idea what happened in the 40s with her career.

I love the story Lang told in interview about leaving Germany - going to meet Goebbels in his office, being offered a job, and carefully leaving the office and just keeping on going till he was out of the country.


It is not, by any stretch of the imagination, my favourite Lang or Tracy film (but it's definitely Sylvia Sidney's best, although she was in Beetlejuice...), as I've probably said like a broken record.  But there's something very nearly perfect about the middle hour or so where everything is just right. And the fact that there's barely any let up during that hour - the plot just unfolds unstoppably.  Loves it.



Miles Messervy 007 -> RE: Great Badir's Favourite Films (29/3/2011 1:13:31 PM)

I didn't realise Sylvia Sidney was in Mars Attacks! [:D]
I really wanna see You and Me, Fury as well, I guess.



elab49 -> RE: Great Badir's Favourite Films (29/3/2011 1:32:32 PM)

I'm not sure I'd call it Sydney's best, but certainly up there. I'd give the nod to, maybe, City Streets or Street Scene.

I meant to say - have you seen Cy Endfield's Sound of Fury? It's almost a remake of Fury, based on the same incident that influenced the original film.



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