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The Archivist XXXVIII: Cheese-Filled Space Operas, Including ICE PIRATES
by Ryan Lewellen
The Archivist
Welcome to the Archive. Following the infamous “Format Wars” (R.I.P. VHS), a multitude of films found themselves in danger of being forgotten forever due to their admittedly niche appeal. Thankfully, Warner Bros. established the Archive Collection, a Disc On Demand & Streaming service devoted to some of the more idiosyncratic pieces of cinema ever made. Being big fans of the label, we here at Cinapse thought it prudent to establish a column devoted to these unusual gems. Thus “The Archivist” was born — a biweekly look at some of the best, boldest and most batshit motion pictures the Shield has to offer. Some of these will be recent additions to the collection, while others will be titles that have been available for awhile. With over 1,500 pictures procurable on Warner Archive (and more being added every month), there’s no possible way we’ll get to all of them. But trust me when we say we’re sure going to try.
I must say, I am so happy to have Frank Calvillo jumping into the Archivist mix. I have quite a pile of home video staring me down from my desk, and his presence at this column is the only reason I knocked it down a couple notches. Next week, you have another contributor to look forward to reading: Austin Vashaw, who will be covering a couple Alfred Hitchcock titles… I was too sluggish to grab first. No hard feelings, though! My focus was caught by another covetable Blu-ray release. The Ice Pirates has, only weeks ago, been released in HD by the fine folks at Warner Archives. Pairing it with another space adventure lead me to discover a Hammer sci-fi production, and although it was featured on MST3K… I am apparently dork enough to think it was kinda cool.
In a distant future, the extremely short supply of water has made it the most valuable substance in the universe. Those who control it make up a ruling class, The Templars Of Mithra, and a band of pirates lead by Jason (Robert Urich) is raiding one of their ships when they discover a sleeping princess. They attempt a kidnapping, but are captured themselves, and just before their castration sentence can be carried out, they are rescued by the princess who recruits them to help her find her father. The ensuing escapade takes them to exotic worlds, where they encounter Space Herpes, killer robots, and Bruce Vilanch’s disembodied head!
I had somehow forgotten seeing this movie more than once back when the “Syfy” channel was still spelling its name like it was abbreviated from English words. That was also a time when it played many a classic B-movie such as this. Often, it is described as a spoof of its genre, but one shouldn’t take on this movie expecting Mel Brooks. The Ice Pirates plays more like a straightforward space opera, but directed with a light and careless tone. No one working on this film takes it seriously for even an instant, and as long as the viewer knows what to expect, the viewer will have a lovely time watching it. It does seem to become more self-aware as it goes on, however. Once Vilanch’s character comes in, it’s almost like everyone found a new focus, and the jokes start coming fast. The funniest bit is by far the climactic battle scene, fought in a time tunnel, which causes the whole cast to age about 60 years (and grow preposterously huge beards) through the skirmish. It might only be for the real sci-fi nerds, but what other kind of sci-fi fan is there?
Speaking of nerds… I felt a little silly when I learned Moon Zero Two was the subject of an MST3K episode. Right from its pseudo-soulful opening theme song played over a School House Rock-style space race animation, I was thinking this movie was pretty cool. There is definitely a good movie somewhere in… the one I watched, but thanks to some rather poor effects and direction, the film just isn’t worth recommending.
It was a billed as a space western, which, almost ten years before STAR WARS, made it kind of a fresh idea. The elements are basically all there, too. James Olson plays a loner pilot who hungers for reaching the frontiers of Mercury and Jupiter’s moons, and discovers a wealthy land-owner (space land, that is) has killed a moon prospector in order to land a meteorite on the claim and make it his own. You know the rich guy is evil because he wears a monocle (space monocle, that is). Apparently, even after interplanetary travel has been perfected, and our moon has been colonized, we still haven’t popularized Lasik surgery. But hey, maybe he’s just old-fashioned?
The Western elements manifest in some rather bizarre ways, including a moon saloon with painfully goofy dancing girls. It’s for that kind of weirdness that the film becomes hard to accept, but the screenplay is full of slick dialogue and solid plotting, so it’s kind of a shame the thing just doesn’t play. It might be “the first moon western”, as the film’s poster suggests, but its many successors have western’d-up the moon, and beyond, with much more memorable results.
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ABSOLUTE BEGINNERS: Twilight Time’s Little Touch Of Bowie
by Ryan Lewellen
Absolute Beginners was released on Blu-Ray by Twilight Time on a limited run of 3,000 copies 6/9/15
In 1958 London, young Colin roams the night streets, camera fully loaded, snapping images of the most colorful people he can find. His love, Crepe Suzette (Patsy Kensit) possesses the kind of beauty any photographer would dream of holding close, but she is fickle when it comes to Colin. She is only interested in cementing her career in fashion, while Colin is content without money, and isn’t interested in success. It comes, none-the-less, to both of them, and they are hurled in opposite directions of celebrity. All the while, a shocking white supremacist movement is steadily growing in London, and those night streets Colin so loved to shoot may become unrecognizable, mutated by cancerous hatred.
When Absolute Beginners was released 1986, it somehow had the future of the entire British film industry weighing on its energetic, but disliked, shoulders. The country’s cinema was in crisis, and Julien Temple’s coming of age tale just wasn’t up to the task of rescue. It was hoped this would be a hit, revitalize the fledgling industry, and so it received obsessive media coverage before its release. Its inevitable flop didn’t kill British filmmaking, but it did take out its studio (Goldcrest) before fading into obscurity.
Obscurity serves a rollicking musical like this well. Going in blind makes for a rather exciting, if also baffling, experience. It covers a truly remarkable era of cultural renaissance in London. It makes postwar London look and feel like a kind of cultural funhouse; a wonderland of alcohol and art. Art was big, but the public’s love of Jazz was slowly being seduced by youthful Johnny-come-latleys playing catchy rock and roll songs. That might be considered a tragedy, but it’s practically cute in comparison with the advent of a neo-Nazi uprising. The clash depicted in Julien Temple’s lively film is often as electrifying as it is intriguing, but we can’t exactly add “authentic” to its list of positive descriptors.
Like most films in the 80s, it suffers from the viral encroachment of the decade’s popular culture. So much of the music, intended as classic rock n’ roll, or the hippest jazz, sounds undeniably like it was freshly composed in the filmmakers’ present day. Some of the fashion doesn’t do the film any favors in accuracy, either, but there is nothing more anachronistic than the sound of squeaky-clean synth clamor scoring images from the late 50s. David Bowie’s welcome presence wasn’t exactly a boon to the issue, but at least he’s David Bowie! He has a small but entertaining role, but his musical contributions to the film stick out like a Burqa at a Trump rally. The film is a weird mixed bag of lasting moods, some good music, and a monumental setting.
That setting, in a film about a photographer, just happens to be excellently photographed by Oliver Stapleton (My Beautiful Laundrette). The neon lights of the city streets, the quality compositions, and the outrageous fashions are only a small reason why, if you see it at all, you must see it in HD. Thank to Twilight Time, you now have your chance.
THE PACKAGE
Booklet Insert Featuring Write Up From Julie Kirgo: A solid read, as always.
Isolated Score Option
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Dr. Terror’s House Of Horrors: Whatever Of Doom!
by Ryan Lewellen
It’s an understatement to say not all horror anthologies are created equal. Admittedly, the sub-genre has earned its reputation as a mostly crummy category. Even the most notable exceptions are often only notable for a single vignette, but there are some excellent standouts. Trick ‘r Treat comes to mind, as does Creepshow. Even those films might not rank amongst the greatest horror films of all time, and I’m sad to say, neither does Dr. Terror’s House of Horrors. The first in a series of five anthologies from Amicus, this dull and precious film is an unbelievable waste of talent.
A mysterious psychic (Peter Cushing) insinuates himself into a train car with five strangers, including characters played by Donald Sutherland and Christopher Lee. He draws each of them a card to foretell their deaths via five supernatural elements: a werewolf, an intelligent vine, voodoo, a disembodied hand, and a vampire. Though one might find some charm in the film’s low-budget and superfluous exploits, it doesn’t offer a single moment of genuine fright. Flatly shot and oddly paced, the film gives a palpably indifferent feeling, as though this weren’t the start of a franchise, but the end of one. The stories are predictable and silly, and play like barrel-bottom scrapings.
That’s a shock, considering this project was the start of a series which produced the well-liked House That Dripped Blood, and a film I reviewed for The Archivist, From Beyond The Grave. Both of them, though scattershot, yielded a few tales several cuts far above anything in House Of Horrors. Considering the pedigree of its cast, it’s hard to believe this film could be so boring as well unimaginative. Even with Michael Gough (whose hand does the haunting in the only slightly clever episode), and the rest of these beloved actors doing their eerie best. I found it hard to stick with this lifeless entry into the genre.
Some credit is due where the voodoo segment is concerned, however. Real life jazz trumpeter and actor, Roy Castle, lures the ire of a witchdoctor when he brings the rhythms of the tribe back to London, where he incorporates it into one of his compositions (with the help of Tubby Hayes and Kenny Lynch). Turns out, the beat is sacred, and its pounding envelops the club with a whirlwind. That might be the most entertaining idea in the whole film, and more importantly, the jazz number is totally sick. If you can find the clip on youtube, I would honestly recommend watching that over the rest of this tired affair.
This one is for the real classic horror cultists, only.
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Two Cents: THE LADYKILLERS — with Featured Guest Michael Price
Two Cents is an original column akin to a book club for films. The Cinapse team will program films and contribute our best, most insightful, or most creative thoughts on each film using a maximum of 200 words each. Guest writers and fan comments are encouraged, as are suggestions for future entries to the column. Join us as we share our two cents on films we love, films we are curious about, and films we believe merit some discussion.
THE PICK
Hail, Caesar! is upon us! A new Coen Brothers comedy is always cause for celebration… or is it? We decided to take a look back at one of their less appreciated films. Their 2004 remake The Ladykillers is often cited — usually alongside Intolerable Cruelty — as a misstep for the duo. Enough time has passed that The Ladykillers is now a “mid-career” entry on their filmographies, so how does it fare in hindsight?
Did you get a chance to watch along with us this week? Want to recommend a great (or not so great) film for the whole gang to cover? Comment below or post on our Facebook or hit us up on Twitter!
Next Week’s Pick:
Based on Aristophanes’ Lysistrata, the fiery Chi-Raq is the first collaboration between Spike Lee and writer Kevin Willmott. This edition of Two Cents is a follow-up of sorts: Readers may recall that we covered Willmott’s racial farce CSA: The Confederate States Of Americalast year. Chi-raq is now streaming on Amazon Prime (at no cost to subscribers).
Would you like to be a guest in next week’s Two Cents column? Simply watch and send your under-200-word review to twocents(at)cinapse.co!
FEATURED GUEST
We’re excited and greatly honored to have writer and producer Michael Price giving us his Two Cents today. Michael is best known as a veteran writer of The Simpsons, though he has been involved with many other notable projects including Lego Star Wars. Currently, he is showrunner and co-creator of the hilariously irreverent animated 70s-themed sitcom F Is For Family, which just made its debut on Netflix last month. It’s not only very funny but an incredibly relatable show, and well worth checking out.
Since it’s unlikely I’ll get such a chance again, I want to pitch Mike a quick gag for The Simpsons. As Jeb! might say, “Please use this”.
[Homer’s weight comes up in conversation]
HOMER: I don’t understand why I haven’t lost a pound, I’ve been eating nothing but these health bars!
LISA: (inspects the wrapper) Dad, this is a Heath bar!Michael Price:
Look at any “Ranking The Coen Brothers Movies” listicle, and at the bottom you’ll unjustly find The Ladykillers. I won’t argue it belongs with Fargo or The Big Lebowski, but for my money, The Ladykillers is infinitely more entertaining than higher-regarded Coen Canon entries like Inside Llewyn Davis and, hold onto your horn rims, Barton Fink. Why? Maybe it’s Tom Hanks’ delicious performance as Professor G. H. Dorr. Maybe it’s the hypnotic sight of bodies in baggies wafting down to the big garbage barge of fate. But my real delight derives from J.K. Simmons as the spectacularly oversharing special effects Jackass-Of-All Trades Garth Pancake. I crossed paths with more than a few Garths on the short-lived sitcoms I wrote for before I landed The Simpsons, and Simmons absolutely nails the man. He pulls off the impossible feat of creating a character who is simultaneously soul-suckingly boring and transcendently delightful. And his mantra of pre-failure, “Easiest thing in the world,” perfectly encapsulates man’s bottomless capacity for optimism in the face of the tragic practical joke that is life.
And some of it is the I.B.S. Okay, mostly the I.B.S. I love shit jokes. There, I said it — easiest thing in the world. (@MikePriceInLA)
OUR GUESTS
Jaime Burchardt:
The Ladykillers will always be the odd point in the Coen brothers’ filmography…to me. Another Coens’ film ranks as the lowest of their careers, but it’s one everyone loves and lately that’s been making me curious to revisit it, but that’s besides the point. For me, The Ladykillers is not their weakest film, but it’s still at this weird, wonky level of failure. It’s off on the direction, the pace, even the lighting (which is extremely weird for a Coens’ feature). The main thing that stops this from being a complete bomb, though, is the ensemble cast. Hanks, Simmons, Wayans, Hurst, Hall, they’re all game, and they look like they’re having a blast. It’s automatically worth it to see for the Coen name, but the ensemble performances make it tolerable to stay for the whole thing. (@jaimeburchardt)
THE TEAM
Justin:
I suspect I’m in the minority here when I note that I’m not the biggest fan of the Coen brothers. While I know I need to give some of their early films another look having been away from them for a decade or more, I also know that the only film of theirs to really stick with me is The Big Lebowski. The Big Lebowski is one of my all-time favorites, in fact, but their remainder of their catalog is nothing special… until now.
This was my first viewing and I’m quite pleased that it was this week’s Two Cents pick as I doubt I’d have watched it on my own. I found the characters well drawn, the story interesting, and the ending to be pretty hilarious. I’m unsure why this film was widely panned and received as many negative reviews as positive ones, as personally I’d now have to rank it as my #2 Coen brothers film.
Very interested in following this up with the original. A fantastic selection that almost makes up for last week’s Cat-bacle… well, maybe not. (@thepaintedman)
Jon:
[Editor’s Note: We normally try to keep entries down to 200 words, but Jon’s righteous fury was just too good to trim]
The original The Ladykillers is one of my all time favorite films, hence a somewhat protective commentary here. A highlight of the classic Ealing comedies, which is saying something as that series truly represents one of the golden ages of British cinema. The 1955 version blended sublime performances from Alec Guinness (in one of his most stellar performances) as well as Peter Sellers, Herbert Lom and Cecil Parker. A play on the heist movie, it is utterly charming but with a genuine dark streak running through it.
Enter the Coen Brothers. Figures who I respect greatly and typically revel in everything they do. But their take on The Ladykillers? No. Just no.The film fails in two respects. Firstly because of how significantly it pales in comparison to the original. And secondly because of how it fails as a Coen film. A doubly disappointing effort. Despite the admirable efforts of Hanks and the fine Irma P. Hall.
It lacks wit, is just extremely lowbrow and overly reliant on crass humor. The levels of poor taste in the film actually exceed the idea of remaking the film in the first place. Unlike their other triumphant attempt at remake (technically a re-adaptation) True Grit, the Coens fail to put their own incomparable stamp on this feature. Instead the crassness feels more akin to something cast member Marlon Wayans (a man whose “comedy stylings” I am particularly averse to) himself would cook up.
What it comes down to is an issue with tone. The film yearns to be old fashioned and smart, but these modern, crass influences keep popping in. The original blended this clash of genteel manners and brutishness with superb elegance, at the time reflecting the social shift occurring in the British Isles. The players were all given greater definition and elicited sympathy whereas here they are just cartoon characters. This film lacks the civility and intelligence of both the 1955 version and the Coens’ other work. It’s a muddled mess. I think the most egregious thing (aside from the utter wasting of Bruce Campbell as an extra with NO lines), is that you can actually imagine the Coen Brothers doing a remake justice. It feels like a few creative changes here and there and it COULD have been pretty great. The fact they failed just makes it hurt all the more.
I view The Coen Brothers’ filmography as a happy relationship I’m in, satisfying me thoroughly with life events like Fargo, The Big Lebowski and Inside Llewyn Davis, but The Ladykillers was that time they jabbed their finger up my butthole (warning Kanye) without any warning or permission. I moved on, I forgave, but it was still a rough experience. (@Texas_Jon)
Ed:
A great teacher once said, “Man cannot live on amusement alone.” At least I think a great teacher once said that. At the very least I just said it right then. And I do mean at the very least. My point being: The Coens’ The Ladykillers is amusing virtually throughout, and that’s still not enough to count it as a good film. That isn’t to say I didn’t enjoy it, (my first viewing, so thanks to Austin and Brendan for their programming helping me to fill in important cinematic gaps) but there’s very little compelling beneath the surface here. And although amusing often, I never laughed out loud once. The far out performance of Tom Hanks seems to be what the whole film hinges on, and it’s a wonderfully weird thing to behold. J.K. Simmons steals the show, though, even if the script resorts to poop jokes to add dimensionality to his character. I’ll never approach making a film as good as The Ladykillers in my life, but as far as the Coens’ output, I can’t disagree with the masses that this is indeed lower tier Coen, which is to say fantastic compared to 90% of modern American cinema. (@Ed_Travis)
Alex:
I’m sure the rest of you are covering the many ways The Ladykillers is the Coen Brothers’ worst film; the paper-thin caricatures, the sloppy pacing, and the general comedic flatness. Save for Tom Hanks’ exceptionally hammy performance, The Ladykillers stands out for its sketchy portrayal of African-Americans and its disappointing mediocrity.
But I want to talk about Ryan Hurst. The Coens have an eye for promising young talent, showcasing John Turturro and Oscar Isaac (among others) before their careers took off, but they dropped the ball here. In 2004, Hurst was best known for Remember the Titans, so casting him as a brain-damaged athlete and the titular group’s dim comic relief was uninspired casting in a flatly written role. A few years later, when Hurst popped up on Sons of Anarchy, he emerged as a soulful, intense performer, often standing out as the show’s most interesting character.
The Ladykillers is practically an exercise in waste, saddling its cast with a dud of a script and pausing the Coens’ career for years. However, its greatest waste was Ryan Hurst, and the knowledge that Sons of Anarchy had a better handle on its cast’s abilities than The Ladykillers solidifies its bottom-shelf status. (@AlexWilliamsdt)
Frank:
All the greats have their misses. Even the Coens. Along with The Hudsucker Proxy and Intolerable Cruelty, it seems that The Ladykillers is destined to be one of the blemishes on the brothers’ otherwise incredible collection of films. The Ladykillers offers no hero, but rather a bunch of greedy losers, it drags on at least a couple of occasions and never fully gathers enough power to forge a clear linear focus. Instead, The Ladykillers is just a bunch of moments, most of which don’t come together.
Yet the ones that do, really hit home. Its hard to deny the pure, dark Coen-ness of the bulldog suffocating while wearing a WWII mask as the commercial director frantically worries that the Humane Society representative will notice, the scene in the Waffle Hut where Marlon Wayans cannot believe J.K. Simmons has let his girlfriend in on the plan, or when Wayans bribes his boss with $100 to let him have his menial cover job back. They may be the best of a mediocre lot, but they’ve definitely got the filmmakers’ unique stamp.
If anything, The Ladykillers also features one of Tom Hanks’ most unusual performances. His southern gothic professor is literally from another time and place and its nice to see the actor leave his Jimmy Stewart-like performance at home for a change. His scenes with the great Irma P. Hall are fun to watch as he playfully marches to his own drummer and she annoyingly looks on.
The Ladykillers may very well be the Coen brothers’ worst, but its still better than a few people’s best. (@frankfilmgeek)
Austin:
I didn’t have particularly strong feelings about The Ladykillers when I saw it upon its original release. It may have helped that I wasn’t familiar with the original film (and probably wasn’t aware that there was one). While I found — and still find — the constantly profane dialogue a bit too crass, I generally liked the movie, finding amusement in the performances of Tom Hanks and J.K. Simmons, as well as Mrs. Munson’s thoughts on hippety hop and “I left my wallet in El Segundo”. I also took the opinion that, like O Brother Where Art Thou, the film’s resolution was open to interpretation as either divine influence or dumb chance. As the criminals plot to murder the widowed Mrs. Munson, they are each killed off in unbelievable ways.
Upon this rewatch, I found The Ladykillers a bit less fun than before — but not much. Being more familiar with the Coen Brothers, it doesn’t fare as well against their other films. I wasn’t as enamored with Tom Hanks’ outrageous genteel performance — in fact, his nervous ticks now struck me as somewhat annoying. The biggest problem I noticed, though, was the entirely stereotypical portrayals of black folks: it seems most of the black characters in this film are either loud-mouthed thugs or singing in the church choir.
While my opinion of the film is indeed a bit less than before, I still laughed throughout and generally like it, and still would argue that it’s not the terrible film many make it out to be. Most critically, I think the question of divine influence over the final act is still an interesting one. (@VforVashaw)
Brendan:
I remembered vaguely disliking The Ladykillers the first time I saw it, back as a teenager, and I haven’t revisited it until now. Well, you can take away the ‘vaguely’. I do not like this movie. If anything, having now seen the rest of the Coen Canon (why is that not more commonly used) the flat, try-hard-y failure of this movie is all the more glaring. Tom Hanks works as hard as he ever has to wring laughs, and he does succeed in places because, well, he’s Tom Goddamn Hanks. But the rest of the cast is either short-shifted by the script (how do you have both J.K. Simmons AND Stephen Root in your film and not give either of them a memorable beat?) or just flat-out don’t work (I assume at some point in time there were people who found Marlon Wayans bugging his eyes out and yelling “Fuck” or “Bitch” a lot funny, but I am not one of those people).
After re-watching the remake, I went back and watched the original The Ladykillers for the first time, and seeing just how great the original material truly is only makes the absolute wet fart of failure that is this film stink all the more. Seeing as the Coens almost-instantly rebounded, it’s hard to get too mad about this film. It’s just a weird cast-off mutation that we are better off not thinking about anymore. (@TheTrueBrendanF)
Did you all get a chance to watch along with us? Share your thoughts with us here in the comments or on Twitter or Facebook!
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The Man From U.N.C.L.E.: One Of Last Year’s Better Spy Movies
by Ryan Lewellen
Last summer, I aimed our Archivist column at blockbuster movie relevance. When Mad Max: Fury Road blitzed theaters, I dug up a film about a very different apocalypse, as well as a genuine Ozploitation flick. When Jurassic World turned brains to useless mush, I covered a double feature of monster movies, including a Ray Harryhausen classic. Sadly, I missed The Man From U.N.C.L.E. when it hit cinemas, without leaving a mark, but I did have the pleasure of seeing all eight of the original theatrically released movies from the 60s, starring Robert Vaughn, and David McCallum. “Sadly”, indeed, for this labor of love from Guy Ritchie could have been a hit in a summer less inundated with major franchise genre films.
2015’s revamp of the classic TV show functions, unsurprisingly, as a kind of prequel to the stories told in the 60s. The U.N.C.L.E. agency does not yet exist, and after enemy agents, Napoleon Solo (Henry Cavill) of the CIA, and Illya Kuryakin (Amie Hammer) of the KGB run afoul of each other in East Berlin, a common enemy is discovered: Nazi sympathizers (Elizabeth Debicki and luca Calvani) who seek the necessary components to build nuclear weapons. An unprecedented alliance is begrudgingly formed between the Cold War opponents. Together, they must aid Gaby Teller (Alicia Vikander) in tracking down her father, a former Nazi scientist turned U.S. collaborator, captured by the would-be despots.
Familiar premise aside, there isn’t much to dislike about this clever and stylish update. For those acquainted with the original U.N.C.L.E., not much has changed. The cars are cool, the cast is pretty, and the wardrobe is fabulous. However, while Solo is the same calm and collected smarmy-charmer established by Robert Vaughn, the once deadpan and one-dimensional Kuryakin is given surprising depth and the cast’s strongest character arch. Paired in a romance with the immensely charming Alicia Vikander, the two become the heart of this mostly superficial fun-machine.
Superficiality isn’t always a bad thing, especially when it’s delivered with so much creative action, quality humor, and a smart, hard-earned climax. It’s truly a shame so few took a chance on this one, but I can hardly blame the masses for missing what sounded like the least interesting of the many spy movies in summer 2015. In my humble opinion, this was the second most enjoyable offering from the genre behind Melissa McCarthy’s espionage turn this year. As far as spy movies go, U.N.C.L.E. gives both Spectre and Rogue Nation a run for their money in entertainment value.
The music, created by Daniel Pemberton is a slick mix of acid jazz (in more of a Lalo Schifrin sense than that of a 90s night club) and Spanish classical guitar, and the soundtrack also boasts a few choice tracks of 60s pop from the many countries wherein the film is set. Although I would have appreciated a brief nod to Jerry Goldsmith’s original theme, the new music, though not instantly recognizable, does separate itself from the source material to create a new cool mood.
It might not be essential viewing, but The Man From U.N.C.L.E. delivers.
THE PACKAGE
The Guys From U.N.C.L.E.: Behind the scenes travelogue
Spyvision: Recreating the ’60s cool: Music, clothes, cars, design…
A Higher Class Of Hero: All about the characters
Metisse Motorcycles: Proper And Very British: Really cool featurette following Armie Hammer on a tour of the Metisse workshop. He nerds out with the owner, goes for a ride, and falls off. Thoroughly entertaining.
U.N.C.L.E.: On-Set Spy: A lot of candid footage of the cast and crew having too much fun making this movie… the kind of stuff that makes you want to make movies, yourself.
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BOLERO and GHOSTS CAN’T DO IT: WTF, Dereks?
by Ryan Lewellen
Do yourself a favor and check out Electric Boogaloo: The Wild, Untold Story Of Cannon Films. Mark Hartley’s swift documentary on the outrageous production partners, Menahem Golan and Yoram Globus, is the kind of film that reminds you why you love film. Film for film’s sake, good or bad, any movie, is movie enough for a real film nerd, and it was their volatile love of cinema which birthed such incendiary works as the latter four Deathwish episodes, The Apple, and Masters Of The Universe, just to name a small handful. You’ll need an art-affirming doc like Boogaloo after you see a couple of the most bonkers sexploitation films ever created, now available on a double feature Blu-ray from Shout Factory. The unbridled desires of Golan and Globus did result in the baffling, but watchable Bolero, but they had no part in the second film offered on this disc. There is just no explanation, or excuse, for Ghosts Can’t Do It.
John Derek was once a reputable actor in Hollywood’s classical era. He starred in The Ten Commandments and All The King’s Men, but he grew daunted by his acting career as time went on. He took up directing, and in the 80s, launched the career of his latest wife, Bo Derek. Together, they created a series of mostly incompetent, and completely bizarre erotic comedies. They drew the ire of Edgar Rice Burroughs, for example, when they took a big, sexy dump on Tarzan, The Ape Man. Only three years later, thanks to the pushy and generous bankroll of Cannon Films, they created what I can only assume was their magnum opus, Bolero.
Ayre “Mac” McGilvary (Bo Derek) is a fresh-out-of-girl’s-school, ultra-wealthy ingénue who sets out on an international quest to lose her virginity in the most unreal, exotic way possible. First she happens upon the whitest Sheik you’ve never imagined, who passes out before they can do the deed, but after he has already drenched her with honey. Then, she successfully makes it with a Rejoneador (a be-horseback’d bullfighter played by Andrea Occhipinti), but just a few days later, he is crotch-gored, and no longer able to perform what is apparently the single most important duty in a relationship. I suppose that logic is fair in this romance, since fucking is the entire basis for their having one. So, Mac sets out to “get that thing working again” by any means necessary, which in this case, means becoming a Rejoneador, herself.
Any of that make sense to you? Don’t worry, it didn’t make sense to me, either. This movie plays with a sort of frustrating wet-dream logic. The scenes often feel disconnected, and maybe even unplanned. That could be interesting and intimate, but not one gorgeous actor in this gorgeous cast seems to know what is happening or how to improvise, and yet, with stunning confidence, they wander through this nonsense like it’s the strongest script they’ve ever read. The dialogue sounds like it was run through a crashing Japanese-to-English translator, and if that didn’t make things goofy enough, everything in this film is painfully creepy. Mac’s chauffeur (George Kennedy on a serious career low) has apparently known her all her life, and is introduced in a conversation with a nude Derek about how much her body has changed since she was a child. The only aspect more squirm-inducing than that is the camera’s obsession with Olivia D’Abo’s then-fifteen-year-old nude body (not to mention her being cast a “Gypsy” concubine). That, or the sci-fi inspired costuming which suggests the entire production’s extreme lack of cultural understanding.
Inspite of, or (thanks to) it all, Bolero is the kind of cinematic outrage you really ought to see when you need your brain blown. Besides, any Cannon Films completist has to see it for the Golan/Globus connection. However, the title alone should drive anyone away from the final Derek/Derek collaboration: Ghosts Can’t Do It. Just give yourself a moment to let those words sink in.
Good? This time, Bo is left to grieve after her heart-diseased, super-rich husband (Anthony Quinn, somehow) commits suicide (again, a motivation based on the inability to screw). Fortunately, Quinn is given an opportunity to come back, semi-guided by a creepy guardian angel (eerily embodied by Julie Newmar). Speaking to her from beyond, he sends his equally bewildered and reinvigorated widow on a quest to find the perfect body for his return. There are some weak subplots involving a white voodoo priestess, a jewel thief, a romance between the widow and a former business associate of Anthony Quinn’s character, a corrupt mayor, and keeping the corporate wolves away from her late husband’s empire (scenes involving Donald Trump playing himself), but almost none of that matters. After watching this film, one has to wonder if anything matters.
GHOSTS dominated the 1989 razzies, and for good reason. Nothing in this movie works. The acting is atrocious, the screenplay is unfocused and insane, the shooting is bland and ugly, the editing is terrible, the sound mixing is noticeably careless (I can’t think of another time I made that observation), the jokes land harder than The Hindenburg, and despite the frequent lack of clothing on its star heroin, even a straight guy (take it from me) could be bored watching this dull and pointless, slightly erotic ripoff of countless similar (and superior) tales. Use the 90 minutes this movie requires to do… just about anything else.
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MYSTERIOUS ISLAND: Classic Effects In A Classic Adventure
by Ryan Lewellen
Near the end of The Civil War, three Union soldiers and a war correspondent break from prison and escape on a hot air balloon with the reluctant aid of a confederate. They float for days before a series of mechanical failures and a violent storm force them to crash land on the titular island of mystery. There, they battle enormous animals, discover shipwrecked English noblewomen, and create a new way life while crafting an escape boat. That is, until an unseen benefactor finally reveals himself, bringing the unhappy news of the island’s volcano’s imminent eruption. How can the gang of castaways escape the doomed landmass in time?
As I’m sure the images have indicated, this is one of the awe inspiring pre-digital special effects extravaganzas brilliantly rendered by Ray Harryhausen. The late wizard created some of his most life-like monsters in this film, included a giant crab, which was crafted from a real crustacean’s exoskeleton (one, in fact, eaten by the artist, himself), which accounts for its boiled orange coloring. All the creatures, devoured into existence or not, make up some of his most detailed puppets, and finest animating, and Mysterious Island is the perfect screenplay for his talents.
Playing like a kind of stationary version of The Odyssey, with one larger-than-life event running directly into the next, the crew handily forgets the dangerous proportions of the island’s fauna. Despite recent encounters with the aforementioned crab, a giant bird, and femur-length oysters, a younger pair of adventurers hastily scurries up a hill where they have discovered honey dripping as if from a mountain spring. As you might have guessed, giant bees appear, and the two of them muster enough brains to make an escape, only to be caught in the crossfire exchanged between their comrades and a band of pirates. Nearly every move in the plot is designed for no other purpose than to introduce a new threat. This film is adventure for adventure’s sake, and frankly, I couldn’t be more obliged to smile at every thrilling set piece.
Whatever the script has lost in plot mechanics, it gains tenfold in wit and characterization. The cast boasts an appealing range of characters, cowardly, myopic but brave, cynical, adventurous, and high class. Some tension is created between the Union captain and the war journalist, threatening mutiny, but all the small turmoil, even that found in fighting monsters, is abruptly undercut but the appearance of their mysterious aid (SPOILER ALTERT): Captain Nemo!
Based on Jules Verne’s sequel to Twenty Thousand Leagues Under The Sea, the controversial captain appears in the third act of Mysterious Island as the clever explanation for the cyclopean creatures. He has devised a solution to all war: breed animals ten times their normal size to end hunger, and therefore, all human strife. That’s a rather cool idea, especially as a move for this character (who killed so many at war in the previous chapter). The only problem is… that’s a little naïve. It’s an interesting concept, and might have been more appropriate had the film not taken place during a war over slavery, culture… railroads, and so much more complexity than basic human needs.
But hey, it’s a big fantasy adventure, with a bigger, brassier score by the illustrious Bernard Hermann. Many consider the music featured in Mysterious Island some of his finest work, and I would have a hard time disagreeing. His dark, intense, and, dare I say, “mysterious” tones featured here are complex enough to provoke, and catchy enough to penetrate. His intense horns blast the emotion, characterization, and action up to a higher level, making this one of the most entertaining films Harryhausen, and director, Cy Endfield, ever created.
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Ryan’s Top Five Boutique Blu-rays Of 2015
by Ryan Lewellen
By now, you’ve undoubtedly read a handful of 2015 Top Ten Lists. You clapped, you scratched your head, you punched your computer screen, and then you moved on. The year is over. You saw what you saw, and you thought what you thought. Those year-end lists might have convinced you to check out Carol or Son Of Saul during a pre-Oscars second run, but for the most part, you’re going to wait for these titles to hit home video (or Netflix/Itunes). That’s because, despite the internet’s stalwart attempt at killing it, home video is eternal. The advent of the personal movie collection has forever changed the legacy of individual films. The inventers of VHS probably had no clue their humble concept (and humbler product) would lead to innovations which would inspire companies like The Criterion Collection, and Scream Factory to snatch up the rights to simultaneously distribute and pay homage to significant works of cinema. They were the start, however, and now innumerable films, from the forgotten, to the iconic, are available in gorgeous high definition. Writing for Cinapse has made my own collection fat with old curiosities, completely unfamiliar titles, and my most favorite childhood films. That is mostly thanks to the many boutique labels kind enough to share their love of cinema with us, and so, this year I have decided to revisit my favorites. They weren’t all discs I covered here, but they are my top five new Blu-ray releases of 2015.
Go buy them in stores.
FROM A WHISPER TO A SCREAM
The troubling sight of Vincent Price’s severed head was something I knew I had seen before, but the film it represented was something I had not. I am always ready to take a chance on Price, and this one paid off in spades. This low-budget anthology flick instantly joined the ranks of my favorite horror movies. The stories are clever, outrageously twisted, and would absolutely please the most fiendish gore-hounds. As I mentioned in my full review, it’s a little sad Vincent Price is under-served by the otherwise excellent material, but hey, this is still the late legend’s final horror movie, and he could hardly have picked a cooler one. The movie is great, and the story behind its production is even better, as told by a feature-length documentary on Scream Factory’s release.
SCANNERS
The Criterion Collection has taken film preservation/appreciation to an unparalleled level of class. The packaging alone, always outsourced to respected graphic designers, is enough to make any cinephile swoon. Swoon ye shall for their brand-new 2K restoration of David Cronenberg’s MIND-BLOWING telekinetic espionage thriller. The video is stunning, and sound is perfect, and the special features are more than what we have come to expect from this label. Including a new documentary on the special effects, a Cronenberg appearance on a 1981 Canadian television show, and a new interview from the fascinating and serene Michael Ironside, this release is precisely the stuff of which collectors’ dreams are made.
FIRST MEN IN THE MOON
Over the past 18 months, Twilight Time has become one of my most favorite distributors of home video. They don’t quite reach Criterion heights of presentation, but with any new release from these fine folks, you can count on seeing an intriguing film, lovingly rendered, packaged with quality artwork and a few excellent special features. Film Historian Julie Kirgo always pens an essay for the booklet insert, and often records an insightful commentary with fellow critics. With this release, however, special effects artist, Randall William Cook, sat down with Ray Harryhausen (who was seeing his film for the first time in HD), and though the elderly genius was a little too far-gone at that stage in his life to really be on the ball and deliver, it is never-the-less a treat to hear him chat about the movie. The charming and funny-yet-under-seen film is a must-own for any Harryhausen fan.
THE HUNGER
It was just a few days ago that I final settled on adding this to my list. I knew something from my friends at The Warner Archives had a spot reserved, but it wasn’t until I realized Performance was released the year prior that I remembered how much I enjoyed this bizarre stylistic exercise. Now it seems all the more appropriate to be acclaiming this Blu-ray with the heartbreaking passing of one of its stars: David Bowie. He played in some of the coolest movies ever made, including this gorgeous and sultry debut from Tony Scott. The Archives releases aren’t known for their supplements, but this one does feature a lively commentary, split between Scott, and Susan Sarandon. This made my list primarily because it’s the kind of film which begs to be seen on Blu-ray. If you haven’t yet seen it on film (and I can’t be sure that’s possible now, anyway), get yourself a copy of The Hunger on disc. It’s one of those 80s smokey-neon-beauty-gasms shot in breathtaking glamour. It’s not a perfect film, but it is kind of like watching a perfume ad with a brain.
COMMANDO (DIRECTOR’S CUT)
I know… one of these things is not like the others. Not only did I not review this for Cinapse (though, Austin Did), this is not exactly what we might call a “Boutique Label Release”. Still, it’s one of my favorite Blu-rays from 2015, and it’s going to be one of yours, as well. Commando is the quintessential 80s actioner. From the seemingly impervious nature of the hero, to the inconceivably over-the-top thrills, this movie started the decade’s new wave of action cinema, as well what we would expect from rising star, Arnold Schwarzenegger. If you’ve seen it, you love it. If you haven’t, go buy 20th Century Fox’s Best Buy-exclusive Steelbook Director’s Cut (mouth…ful). In this case, “Director’s Cut” translates to “The already ultraviolent tool shed scene is pushed to cartoonish levels of absurdity”. I admit that’s not a major reason to re-up, but this release is worth it just for the commentary track from kooky director, Richard L. Lester. I have rarely laughed aloud, by myself, listening to a commentary, but a few choice soundbites from Mr. Lester had me rolling. Genuinely, though, he shares plenty of interesting, if completely facile, memories from shooting the film.
It was a good year, and I already have a few releases I can’t wait to review this year. Austin Vashaw will have a far more comprehensive list of the top loot from 2015, so be sure to check that out as well.
What did you sink your eyes into this year?
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The Archivist XXXV: Zen Anarchist, John Milius
by Ryan Lewellen
The Archivist
Welcome to the Archive. Following the infamous “Format Wars” (R.I.P. VHS), a multitude of films found themselves in danger of being forgotten forever due to their admittedly niche appeal. Thankfully, Warner Bros. established the Archive Collection, a Disc On Demand & Streaming service devoted to some of the more idiosyncratic pieces of cinema ever made. Being big fans of the label, we here at Cinapse thought it prudent to establish a column devoted to these unusual gems. Thus “The Archivist” was born — a biweekly look at some of the best, boldest and most batshit motion pictures the Shield has to offer. Some of these will be recent additions to the collection, while others will be titles that have been available for awhile. With over 1,500 pictures procurable on Warner Archive (and more being added every month), there’s no possible way we’ll get to all of them. But trust me when we say we’re sure going to try.
John Milius was once counted among the ranks of the most promising young talents of New Hollywood. By the late 60s, America’s movie industry was in crisis, and it turned to creatives straight out of film school who were often given free reign on what would become some of the greatest films ever made. Milius was best-buds with the likes of Coppola, Spielberg, Lucas, and Schrader, and it was in collaborating with them he made his most memorable marks, without most audiences realizing it. The “U.S.S Arkansas Monologue” delivered so disquietly by Robert Shaw in Jaws was his creation. He was nominated for an Academy Award as the writer of Apocalypse Now. He would go on to bring Conan The Barbarian to bloody life, directing Arnold Schwarzenegger in the title role. When he wasn’t creating iconic films, he developed a reputation for his larger-than-life, arguably far-right persona (his payment for re-writing Dirty Harry was a pricey gun). He was known as a kind of hyper-masculine raconteur amongst friends until a stroke robbed him of any speaking ability at the end of the previous decade. Supposedly, he has since recovered, and is possibly back at work on his magnum opus: Genghis Khan. For now, we can only hope for his triumphant return, and examine a couple scripts which appear to serve his personal worldview manifestos.
THE LIFE AND TIMES OF JUDGE ROY BEAN (1972)
“Maybe this isn’t the way it was… it’s the way it should have been,” muses the final page of introductory text over Roy Bean (Paul Newman), pre-judge, aimlessly riding a horse across the Pecos. Bean, a semi-successful bank robber, happens upon a palpably syphilitic brothel in Vinegaroon where he is robbed and beaten within an inch of his life. Half-dead in the dessert, a young Mexican girl delivers him a pistol, which he proficiently utilizes in dispensing “justice” against the entire building’s patrons. Interpreting the event as divine intervention, and having read the lengthy Texas state law book, Roy Bean appoints himself judge of this town he renames Langtry, after his obsession, Hollywood starlet Lillie Langtry (Ava Gardner). There, he spends many years drawing citizens, appointing deputies, and hanging man after man for any act he deems criminal. In time, though he has amassed great wealth and power, and exacted inconceivable change, he is driven from his land by a sly lawyer. Years pass, and the daughter he left behind (Jacqueline Bisset) has grown and believes her legendary father will return and help her reclaim their family legacy.
The Life And Times Of Judge Roy Bean makes for some bizarre and entertaining viewing. The producers felt Milius wasn’t hot-shit enough yet to direct the picture, so John Huston was given the reigns (and a small role as Grizzly Adams, who leaves a scene-stealing black bear behind), but I can’t imagine the screenplay was altered too significantly. If you know anything about John Milius, you can practically hear Bean’s words coming out of the filmmaker’s mouth. This is the tale of a man who playfully forces a dictatorship upon a town, which plays every bit like a light and heroic comedy. Things turn mythically tragic by the end, but first we’re treated to a lot of charming (albeit fascist) Old West antics. Stacy Keach takes an hilarious turn as Bad Bob The Albino, and Paul Newman has more chemistry with the damn bear than maybe any big name actress. Frankly, the film is just too odd and intriguing to miss.
THE WIND AND THE LION (1975)
Not long after he was bumped out of the director’s chair by Huston, Milius was given the opportunity of a lifetime: to direct an old-school epic adventure film from his own screenplay. The result was a fictionalized story based on the Perdicaris Incident, wherein Eden Perdicaris (Candice Bergen played a female version of the real-life man), and her children are kidnapped from their home in Morocco by Mulai Ahmed er Raisuli (Sean Connery), a man who believes he is a descendant of Muhammad and the rightful Sultan, for the purpose of embarrassing the corrupt Sultan of Morocco and perhaps igniting a civil war. Political tensions are complex in the Morocco of 1904, and many world powers, including Germany, France, and Britain have staked a fractional claim on the country. The kidnapping also lures America into the tumult, for imperialist, cowboy President Theodore Roosevelt is demanding the safe return of Perdicaris as a means of securing a full-term presidency.
That’s the plot: sample version. This is a dense script involving a lot of pro-imperialism, masculinity, and like Roy Bean, Old West heroism in its themes. This film shares many elements with the “A” selection in this edition of The Archivist. Roosevelt’s daughter is almost creepily enamored with her father, it’s a story of a man who believes he is doing God’s work in an unruly land, and they both follow intensely masculine protagonists with questionable outlooks. The Wind And The Lion is attractive, features a brilliant performance by Brian Keith as Roosevelt, so swept up in his conflicted admiration for Raisuli, he finds a perfect balance between appearing focused and mesmerized. This, too, is not a great picture, but watching either film mentioned here separately is ill-advised. Watch them together, and maybe find the time for Milius (2013), a thorough documentary on the eccentric filmmaker, and the images and ideas may never leave your mind.
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The Archivist XXXIV: We WILLIAMS You A Merry Christmas
by Ryan Lewellen
The Archivist
Welcome to the Archive. Following the infamous “Format Wars” (R.I.P. VHS), a multitude of films found themselves in danger of being forgotten forever due to their admittedly niche appeal. Thankfully, Warner Bros. established the Archive Collection, a Disc On Demand & Streaming service devoted to some of the more idiosyncratic pieces of cinema ever made. Being big fans of the label, we here at Cinapse thought it prudent to establish a column devoted to these unusual gems. Thus “The Archivist” was born — a biweekly look at some of the best, boldest and most batshit motion pictures the Shield has to offer. Some of these will be recent additions to the collection, while others will be titles that have been available for awhile. With over 1,500 pictures procurable on Warner Archive (and more being added every month), there’s no possible way we’ll get to all of them. But trust me when we say we’re sure going to try.
On August 11, 2014, the world lost one of its most versatile performers. Robin Williams’ shocking death changed the way many thought of him and his talents, and undeniably altered how many of his darker films are perceived. He left behind a legacy of tremendous cinematic ups and downs, and The Warner Archives has preserved a couple of what many would categorize as the latter. I must say, however, this installment of The Archivist is among the few fully recommendable double features for me. The World According To Garp is a wonderfully strange film which deserves a larger audience, one I’m hoping this recent Blu-ray release will provide. Death To Smoochy, a movie I deeply loved as a pre-teen, surprisingly holds up when viewed as an almost-adult-person. Both films are hilarious, ahead of their time, and uniquely life affirming.
In 1982, director George Roy Hill tried his hand at another challenging novel adaptation, having previously succeeded with The Slaughterhouse Five. John Irving’s bizarre book, if the film is any indication, practically begs for a cinematic interpretation, with its penchant for dream-like imagery and sumptuous settings. It tells the story of self-willed Jenny Fields (Glenn Close), who has possibly raped a dying sergeant in WWII because she wanted a child, but not a husband. So, T.S. Garp (Robin Williams), named for his singularly illegitimate father, is born. He has a happy childhood, obsessing over the father he never met, and chasing girls. He transitions into a happy teen-hood, wrestling constantly, and still chasing girls, until he meets the love of his life. His love, unrequited, inspires him to become a writer, a role for which he happens to be naturally suited. He becomes one of the greatest fiction writers of his era, but his fame and fortune never quite outgrows the shadow of his mother’s feminist manifesto. Her lengthy essay spawns a cult-like devotion to her and her ideals, and for a time, Garp resents her for it. Life goes on, but not without some odd and tragic difficulties.
I would call Garp a challenging film if it weren’t so damn entertaining. It’s so funny, and the characters are so wonderful, one can’t help but stay glued to it in spite of how seemingly meaningless it feels at times. This is the kind of movie which aspires to get at universal truths of the human condition in just over two hours, and if it’s a failure, it’s a glorious one. Williams, Close, Mary Beth Hurt, and John Lithgow (who lovingly plays a transgendered woman) have rarely given finer performances. They carry us through the complicated structure and light plot, giving us hope the resolution will deliver a message. However, so much of the film hinges on what it has to say about the intersection of life and fiction and storytelling, and also on symbolism, especially in the anomalous character of Poo. She is sociopathic, or perhaps mentally impaired, but every time she shows up, she briefly torments Garp with sadism. Thanks to her, and plenty of other sad supporting characters, the film is as brutally tragic as it is uplifting. In other words, love it or not, it’s a film you have to see just for the sake of weighing-in on its controversy. It also foresees the true-to-the-future backlash of evil men to the strongest-ever rise of feminism.
Maybe the post-911 world wasn’t ready to take it seriously, maybe it arrived too late in Danny DeVito’s fading career as a director, maybe it was purely bad timing, but nobody was ready for Death To Smoochy in 2002. Williams plays Rainbow Randolph, a disgraced children’s entertainer busted for taking bribes. He is quickly replaced by Sheldon Mopes (Edward Norton/Smoochy The Rhino), a man whose new executives (Jon Stewart and Catherine Keener) are praying is the genuine article: an entertainer who legitimately cares about children and running a clean, quality show. Mopes’ plans run afoul of a dangerous children’s “charity” run mafia-style by Harvey Fierstien and Danny DeVito, however, and soon his life and reputation are threatened both by The Parade Of Hope, and Rainbow Randolph.
The movie is twisted and dark and a rather fabulous indictment of the seedy underbelly we all know exists in children’s industries, but would love to ignore. Plenty of entertainers and charities have been caught or alleged for an abundance of unsavory behavior, but perhaps it wasn’t so well publicized in the previous decade. Today, we know every major philanthropic organization has alterior motives behind its charitable front. There are many dirty fingers in many humanitarian pies in Smoochy, and the plot is impressively complex, yielding plenty of damn crude and uncomfortable situations. It might be bleak at times, but the outcome of the cruelty is the triumph of a character who is truly incorruptible, even when pushed to his absolute brink. The movie cleverly insinuates Mopes suffers from a crippling anger problem, and even despite that one major vice, he always finds a way to do the right thing.
Neither film is a masterwork (flaws are admittedly abundant), but each succeeds at showcasing Williams’ many talents, if nothing else. Gift-giving holidays are oncoming, and this year, it is recommended you give the immortal gift of Robin Willliams.
