THE ALLURE OF LORRE

June 26 . . .

He planned, and studied, to be a psychiatrist. Instead, he ran away from home to become an actor. Good thing, too -- imagine confessing your inner-most thoughts, fears and dreams to Peter Lorre.

He was born Laszlo Lowenstein on this day, 1904, in Hungary. Chaplin called him the greatest actor of the screen. Adolf Hitler agreed, extending a generous invitation to make films under the Third Reich. Lorre declined, reportedly saying, "I'm afraid there's room for only one mass murderer of my ability and yours in Germany."

Peter Lorre had an otherworldly quality that was absolutely unique - an uncanny ability to tap into the creepiest corners of the human psyche (that psychiatric training came in handy) while projecting a childlike charm and vulnerability. He could play a sadistic killer, a bewildered immigrant, or a cowering weasel - often all in the same part (check out his Raskolnikov in Von Sternberg's 'Crime and Punishment'). Hitchcock used him to wonderful effect in two early films, 'The Man Who Knew Too Much' (the actor's first film in English; he learned his lines phonetically) and 'Secret Agent'. He was notorious for his scene-stealing ad-libs and on-set practical jokes. During the filming of 'Casablanca', he was observed exiting from Ingrid Bergman's dressing room, zipping up his pants and saying "Thanks, Ingrid!" in front of a set full of visiting nuns. In later life, he was hobbled by ill health and obesity, and was a morphine addict for much of his life.

His greatest role was as the tortured child killer in Fritz Lang's 'M' (1930). It's an astonishing performance. Lorre creates a sense of dread as the murderer (he can be heard whistling Grieg's 'Peer Gynt Suite' before he strikes). But when he's chased down and cornered by a makeshift tribunal of the city's criminals, he pathetically pleads that he cannot help what he does - and you believe him; miraculously, he turns from monster to victim in front of your eyes.

Click here to watch Lorre's pivotal confession in 'M' . . .

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TvxBvqvuY7I

DEATH OF A REBEL

June 1


What to say about Dennis Hopper?

He revolutionized American independent film making. In 1969, he and cohort Peter Fonda decided to pair their respective talents and limited experience in exploitation movies ('The Trip', 'Wild Angels') and make a modern Western with motorcycles instead of horses. The result was 'Easy Rider.' Hopper directed, co-starred and co-wrote the screenplay.

'Easy Rider' is no masterpiece - Hopper never made a masterpiece - but it is a landmark movie which influenced indie film forever after. He was mercurial, tempestuous, undisciplined, impossible. Well, maybe not impossible - but highly unlikely.

As a young actor - and a very beautiful one, at that - he was very influenced by his friend James Dean, with whom he shared two movies. In the second, 'Giant', they shared no scenes together, but Dean's influence is so pronounced that he may as well have been directing. As Bic Benedict, Hopper's performance is full of nervous tics, and is awkward. You can tell the movie wants him to play the part like Ronald Reagan, but Hopper wants to play Monty Clift.

After Dean's death, Hopper played all sorts of 'bad boys', and developed a reputation in Hollywood as a difficult actor who was more trouble than he was worth. He ended up working for Roger Corman, where he hooked up with Peter Fonda and the two of them hatched 'Easy Rider'. Thank God they cast an unknown Jack Nicholson as George Hanson - he saved what would have been, without him, an insufferable stagnant movie.

With the huge success of 'Easy Rider', Hopper was given carte blanche for his next film which, characteristically, he fucked up. 'The Last Movie' very nearly was. Filmed on location in Peru, Hopper flew out an impressive cast (Peter Fonda, Sam Fuller, Michelle Phillips, Henry Fonda, etc.) and made them extras. He had a brilliant storyline by Stewart Stern, which he proceeded to ignore - improvising an impressively surreal but disconnected exercise in self-indulgence. The film effectively killed his career a second time.

He was, no doubt about it, an egomaniacal madman, ingesting massive amounts of drugs, booze and women. He was married for all of two days to Michelle Phillips, who asked him after the 2nd day, "Have you ever considered suicide?"

But the gods smiled on Hopper, granting him a late career playing psychos in such films as "Speed", "Waterworld", and, most memorably, as Frank Booth in "Blue Velvet".
He straightened out - going so far as too become a Republican - proving there is such a thing as 'too straightened out' - and became a memorable and nuanced character actor, unafraid to cash in on his reputation. My favorite performance of his is, strangely, as 'Shooter', the alcoholic in "Hoosiers". It is a heartbreaking turn.

He did get to direct again - "Colors" (with protege Sean Penn), "Backtrack" (keep an eye out for Bob Dylan) and a few others. He pitched a sequel to "Easy Rider" called "Biker Heaven", in which the characters - both killed in the original - returned to earth as avenging angels. But no one was buying, least of all Peter Fonda who, despite admiration for his ex-partner, was not about to work with him again. "Why try to re-make 'Citizen Kane'?" he asked me rhetorically.

Hopper often said he never had a great role. "Moments", he lamented. "Just moments." He was wrong. His performance as Dennis Hopper was magnificent.

Here's a real gem for you. Nobody ever gave a better reading to Kipling's "If" than Hopper. Go to YouTube and search for 'If Dennis Hopper' and enjoy. And remember.

Dennis Hopper lived "If."

AS TIME GOES BY . . .

May 25 . .

YOU MUST REMEMBER THIS . . .

After a troubled pre-production, Casablanca begins filming on this day in 1942 on the Warner Brothers lot. At the time, no one associated with it realized that, ‘as time goes by’, it would become the most popular romance ever filmed. It was originally entitled ‘Everybody Comes to Rick’s’ and, as every film buff knows, Ronald Reagan was originally slated to play Rick, the tough proprietor of Rick’s Café in war-torn Casablanca. Luckily, he passed, and the part went to Humphrey Bogart – who made the role his own. Bogie’s tough, mercenary façade cannot mask the disillusioned romantic inside when his true love, Ilse, with whom he had an affair years earlier in Paris, walks into his club. “Of all the joints in Casablanca, she walks into mine,” he grumbles famously.

Celebrate the first day of filming by watching the final product – one of the greatest Hollywood love stories ever filmed. Casablanca has more classic lines in it than any other movie – the litany is almost endless. To list them all here would spoil the fun. One line which is not in the movie – listen carefully – is the most quoted: “Play it again, Sam.” No one actually speaks that famous phrase. (Bergman wistfully asks piano player Sam [Paul Dooley] to, “Play it, Sam. Play ‘As Time Goes By’” Later, Bogart, drink in hand, says, “You played it for her, you can p-lay it for me. If she can stand it, I can. Go on, play it.”)

Ingrid Bergman is positively luminous as Ilse, the wife of Resistance fighter and political activist Victor Laszlo (Paul Henried). Terrific performances (Claude Rains, Sidney Greenstreet, Peter Lorre), one of the greatest Hollywood scripts ever (by Howard Koch), a magically evocative setting, and snappy direction from Michael Curtiz all contribute to this film’s deservedly legendary status – but it’s Bogart & Bergman who lift it into the pantheon of the sublime.

THE THREE-REELIN' BOB DYLAN

THE THREE-REELIN’ BOB DYLAN: The Cinematic Legacy of Bob Dylan


During a pivotal scene in Sam Peckinpah’s elegiac 1973 Western, ‘Pat Garrett & Billy the Kid’, Billy (Kris Kristoferson) turns to a ragamuffin young stranger with piercing blue eyes, who has just dispatched an enemy with a well-aimed knife, and inquires his name.

“Alias,” the stranger responds laconically.

“Alias what?”

“Alias anything you please.”

The enigmatic ‘Alias’ is none other than Bob Dylan in one of his infrequent film appearances, and the brief scene pretty much encapsulates Dylan’s eclectic and problematic film career. Happy 69th birthday today to Robert Zimmerman . . 'alias' Bob Dylan.

Dylan’s influence as a songwriter cannot be overstated. As a film presence – either as actor, writer, director or documentary subject – he’s no Olivier or Welles. But he is always strangely beguiling.

‘Pat Garrett’ wasn’t Dylan’s acting debut. While visiting England in 1963, the 22-year-old waif with the Woody Guthrie cap was improbably cast as a student in an original BBC drama, ‘The Madhouse on Castle Street’. He had trouble remembering his lines and hitting marks. By the time the show aired, Dylan’s dialogue had been reduced to one line which, characteristically, he mumbled. However, he did debut a new composition at the top of the show, a promising effort called ‘Blowin’ In The Wind’.

Two years later, he had evolved from Guthrie wannabe to world-famous pop star and had found the one role he could convincingly essay: A pampered, vitriolic troubadour named Bob Dylan. Documentary filmmaker D.A. Pennebaker accompanied Dylan on a three-week tour of England in 1965. The result was one of the most influential examples of cinema verite ever released, ‘Don’t Look Back.’

Dylan is ‘on’ throughout, in rare form, cryptically charismatic, verbally sparring with fans, fellow musicians and flummoxed journalists. Two sequences have become legendary” his pre-show encounter with a young science student (who would later become president of Chrysalis Records) and a lacerating exchange with a clueless reporter from Time magazine. (“Do you believe in the words you sing?” “You’ve got a lot of nerve to ask me that, man.”)

‘Don’t Look Back’ remains a fascinating time capsule and revealing portrait of the young, petulant and posing artist-in-transition. The recently released DVD version contains 5 additional audio tracks and, on a separate disc, additional footage.

Around the time the film was released, Dylan re-invented himself (again), trading in his unadorned acoustic guitar for an electric sound that splintered his old fan base. It all came to a head in his legendary performance at the 1965 Newport Folk Festival, where he appeared for the first time with a backup band, and was reportedly booed off the stage by indignant fans.

Astoundingly, film footage of this cultural flashpoint exists in Murray Lerner’s little-seen documentary, ‘Festival’ (1967). Dylan’s backup band, assembled only hours before, is rag-tag and sloppy, but the tension in the air is palpable. Dylan is inscrutable, seemingly oblivious to the chaos he’s causing among the crowd as he careens into ‘Maggie’s Farm’. This footage, along with Dylan’s earlier Newport performances, appears in the fascinating 2006 DVD release, ‘The Other Side of the Mirror: Bob Dylan At Newport’.

Dylan’s most visible film appearances have largely been as a guest musician in other people’s films, most notably in George Harrison’s ‘Concert for Bangla Desh’ (1972) and Martin Scorsese’s elegant documentary of the Band’s farewell concert, ‘The Last Waltz’ (1978.) Though ‘The Last Waltz’ is by far the better film, Dylan’s performance in ‘Bangladesh’ is the more dramatic and impressive of the two. His delicate ‘Just Like A Woman’ is luminescent, and he revisits ‘Blowin’ In The Wind’, a song he had not performed live since 1964.

PART II

In the mid-70s, his marriage falling apart, Dylan embarked on his mammoth and mythic ‘Rolling Thunder Revue Tour’, and decided to film a fictionalized account of the event. Partway through the tour and filming, his wife, Sara Lowndes Dylan, showed up, and the film became an improvised, existentialist home movie that skirted a little too close to broken home for comfort – with Sara and Dylan’s ex-lover Joan Baez playing variations on the ‘Madonna/whore’ theme, with Dylan as the man in between. Dylan directed and financed; the result proved the old saying that a man who produces his own movie has a fool for a director. Called ‘Renaldo and Clara’ (1978), the film was a virtually impenetrable four-hour pastiche of amateurish-improv, heavy-handed symbolism and occasional music (a live rendition of ‘Isis’ is especially riveting). After receiving scathing reviews, Dylan edited the film down to a more tolerable 2 hours, to no particular avail.

Eleven years later, he mumbled his way through an awkward and self-conscious performance as an elder rock statesman caught in a ménage-a-trois in the abysmal ‘Hearts of Fire’ (1989). By then, Dylan’s photogenic, youthful charisma was a thing of the past – but he was still the best thing in this Joe Eszterhas-penned stinker, which was not even released in U.S. theaters. Asked later about the film, Dylan deadpanned, “Yeah, I think that came out. It was called ‘Citizen Kane’.”)

Since the failures of ‘Renaldo and Clara’ and ‘Hearts of Fire’, Dylan has been understandably wary of the camera. He showed up for a blink-and-you-miss-it 50-second cameo as an artist in Dennis Hopper’s ‘Backtrack’ (1989), and sat for a brief interview for the BBC documentary, ‘Getting to Dylan’ (1989), but cinematic sighting proved scarce throughout the 80s and 90s. Off-screen, however, Dylan’s movie scores garnered accolades. In 1998, Garth Brooks recorded a much-admired version of ‘To Make You Feel My Love’ for the ‘Hope Floats’ soundtrack, and in 2000 Dylan’s contribution to ‘Wonder Boys’, ‘Things Have Changed’, earned him an Oscar. It was the first Academy Award for the otherwise much-honored singer – and, one suspects, the last.


Next birthday, in PART III . . . Dylan’s return to the movies in ‘Masked and Anonymous’, Scorsese and Dylan, Richard Gere as Bob Dylan, and more . . .

A TRAMPY FILM THAT'S PURE GOLD

April 16 . . .

He was the most influential comic artist the movies ever produced – and arguably the single most important cinema artist, period. He rose from an impoverished, abused childhood that could have come right out of a Dickens novel to being the single most recognized film figure in the world.

Charles Spencer Chaplin was born this day in the tenements of London in 1889. His rise from miserable childhood (his father abandoned the family, his mother went insane, and he and his half-brother Sidney were separated and sent away to horrific child workhouses) to world-renown icon is a story that can’t begin to be told in a movie – though Richard Attenborough tried in ‘Chaplin’ (1992).

If you’ve never seen a Chaplin film, you’re missing one of the great joys of filmdom. His early two-reelers for Mack Sennett allowed him the space, spontaneity and freedom to grow as an artist in an incredibly short time. By the time he had signed with Mutual in 1916 he was the single most popular movie star in the world and was producing works of greatness: The Vagabond, Easy Street, and The Emigrant are masterful short comedies – deftly mingling inventive slapstick, pointed social commentary, and pathos. He expanded into feature films: The seriocomic The Kid (1921), the bittersweet The Circus (1928), the exquisitely romantic City Lights (1931) and the borderline social manifesto that is Modern Times (1936).

But the film he most wanted to be remembered by, and his crowning masterpiece, is The Gold Rush (1925). Chaplin’s iconic Tramp is “the Lone Prospector” in the frozen north during the Klondike Gold Rush. Packed with priceless bits (Chaplin’s celebrated “Oceana Roll” dance; sharing a meal of a boiled shoe, etc.) and pathos, The Gold Rush is Chaplin’s most sustained and enduring work. It’s also proof that comedy is borne of tragedy: The idea for the story was inspired by the real-life Donner Party.

Chaplin never again had such a virtuoso command of the camera and such an expansive, naturalistic canvas to work on. The Gold Rush is that rare thing – a truly epic comedy. (A note: Watch the original 1925 release if possible. Chaplin voiced a narration, added an original score and recut the film in 1942, but the original version is superior.)

Click here to see a little of The Gold Rush . . . http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xoKbDNY0Zwg

A TITANIC DISASTER

April 14 . .

Some days in history are loaded . . like April 14. In 1865, Abraham Lincoln was assassinated. In 1881, Billy the Kid made his legendary escape from Lincoln County jail. And on this date in 1912, just before midnight, the world’s largest luxury cruise ship, the Titanic, struck an iceberg off the coast of Newfoundland while on her maiden voyage from England to New York. Within the next few hours, the Titanic sank to the bottom of the sea, taking with it over 1500 lives. Of the 2,340 passengers aboard, only 745 were saved. There were only enough lifeboats for half of the passengers and crew, and many of those left the decks of Titanic only half full.

Everyone’s seen James Cameron’s soggy, waterlogged epic Titanic (1998) – and I won’t try to dissuade you from seeing it again if that’s your choice. Just try not to notice what an ineptly-written script it has. Ignore such plot holes as the fact that the famous paintings shown as sinking on the Titanic can’t be in two places at once (the bottom of the ocean and hanging in a modern-day museum.)

Overlook the nonexistent chemistry between the two young stars, who together generate about as much heat as the massive iceberg that does the ship in. Try to ignore the stupid dialogue (Leonardo DiCaprio telling Kate Winslet, “I’ll wait for you here”, as he’s handcuffed to a pole!) and idiotic melodramatics (villain Billy Zane chasing DiCaprio and trying to shoot him while the ship is going down.)

Wave aside the fact that if Cameron had jettisoned the hokey love story and concentrated on virtually any one or more of the real life participants, he might have had something glorious. Well, I suppose he did wind up with something glorious: Titanic was a massive hit. But, as a movie, Titanic lives up to its name: It’s huge, full of bilge water, and takes about 3 hours to sink underneath the weight of its own hubris.

Can you tell I loathe this movie?

For a more emotionally satisfying experience, try watching the gripping British film, ‘A Night To Remember’ (1958), instead. Clocking in at just over 2 hours, it’s significantly more streamlined than Cameron’s elephantine epic, but infinitely more rewarding. What it lacks in majesty and special effects, ‘A Night To Remember’ more than makes up for in a literate, compelling, and (mostly) historically accurate storyline – focusing on the courage, humanity and despair of the voyagers – most of whom will never return. Screenwriter Eric Ambler did a magnificent job in adapting Walter Lord’s book of the same title. Featuring a very young David McCallum (later Illya Kuryakin on The Man From U.N.C.L.E.) as a heroic crew member.

LISTEN UP!

April 13 . . .

Hey, movie geeks . . . for today’s installment, we have a little change-of-pace . . . a special :90-second audio program of ‘A Movie A Day’, featuring NPR personality, Joel Block. We think you’ll enjoy it! To listen, just click here . . .

http://www.movieaday.net/

. . click the 'April 13' show at the bottom of the page . . and let us know what you think!

The Shot That Divided A Country

April 12 . . .

The bloodiest war in our history (so far), the American Civil War was triggered by an event that happened this day in 1861. Fort Sumter, a government stronghold in South Carolina’s Charleston Bay, was attacked by Confederate forces under the command of General Pierre G. T. Beauregard. Three days later, President Lincoln issued a proclamation for 75,000 volunteer soldiers to help quell the Southern “insurrection.” By the time the war ended four years later, over 620,000 Union and Southern soldiers had given their lives.

Observe the occasion by watching one of the most monumental and compelling documentaries ever made: Ken Burns’ epic, “The Civil War”. Originally broadcast on PBS in 1990, ‘The Civil War’ is an exhaustive, meticulously detailed insight into the conflict. Thousands of rare photographs provide indelible images, and the voice-over narratives of various participants of the events – reading excerpts from letters, documents or journals – are profoundly affecting. A stunning achievement, and – at over 11 hours in 9 separate episodes - well worth spreading out over two evenings.

A BIRTHDAY YOU CAN'T REFUSE

April 7 . . .

Happy birthday today to one of the great mavericks of modern cinema, Francis Ford Coppola, born on this date in 1937 in Detroit, Michigan. He filmed his first movie on an 8mm movie camera at the age of 10 after recuperating from a yearlong bout with polio. In 1962 he finagled a job as assistant director and all-around errand boy for the patron saint of all young filmmakers, Roger Corman. After directing a low-budget horror flick in Ireland, he directed his own light-hearted coming-of-age comedy, ‘You’re A Big Boy Now’ (1967). Hollywood took note and entrusted him to direct two films, ‘Finian’s Rainbow’ (1968) and ‘The Rain People’ (1969). Both flopped, and Coppola was on the verge of bankruptcy when he signed on to helm ‘The Godfather’ (1972), one of the biggest moneymakers ever. And one of the great roller-coaster directorial careers in Hollywood was off to an auspicious start.

Over the years, Coppola has directed some of the most audacious, daring and occasionally successful movies in the American oeuvre (‘The Godfather, Part II’ [1974]; ‘Apocalypse Now’ [1979], - and quite a few that paled, flailed and failed with audiences (‘One From The Heart’ [1982]; ‘The Cotton Club’ [1984]; ‘Gardens of Stone’ [1987]). But one of his greatest achievements is one of his most rarely-screened experiments, the brilliant, taut, and unsettling piece called ‘The Conversation’ (1974).

In one of his most complex performances, Gene Hackman plays Harry Caul, one of the top surveillance experts in the country, a deeply moral man in a deeply sleazy business who feels guilty about what he does for a living: Invading people’s privacy. When wealthy businessman Robert Duval hires him to trail his wife (Cindy Williams), whom he rightfully suspects of having an affair, Caul stumbles across a murder plot. All is not what it seems in the labyrinthine puzzle of a movie, which is not so much a thriller as a fascinating character study of a man who has misplaced his moral compass. Featuring Harrison Ford in a rare role as a heavy and the late John Cazale as Harry’s worshipful assistant. ‘The Conversation’ was one of the first – and still the best – of the paranoiac thrillers. The DVD features a riveting feature-length commentary by Coppola.

THE WAR TO END ALL WARS: TAKE 1

April 6 . . .



On this date in 1917, the U.S. formally declared war on Germany and entered into World War I. It was supposed to be the ‘war to end all wars.’

Observe the sober anniversary with one of the greatest antiwar films ever made, Lewis Milestone’s unforgettable ‘All Quiet On the Western Front’ (1930), based on the classic novel by Erich Maria Remarque. At the instigation of their gung-ho schoolteacher, seven German youths enlist in the army and go to the battlefields of WWI, their imaginations fired with visions of patriotism and glory. Stuck in the trenches and experiencing the horrors of war firsthand, they quickly see there’s no glory in it.

An emotionally wrenching film that has lost none of its power in the ensuing decades, ‘All Quiet On The Western Front’ is at once lyrical and gritty, graphic and shocking. Lew Ayres excelled with the performance of his lifetime as the naïve enlistee through whose eyes we, the audience, come to see the horrors of war. A masterpiece of film not only as an art form, but as a potent weapon – the kind of weapon that can give the word propaganda a good name. (The film was actually banned in the U.S. during WWII to discourage pacifism.)

April 3 . . .

Marlon Brando was born this day in Omaha, Nebraska, in 1924, the son of a father who was a traveling salesman and a mother who acted in community theater. There was a method to Marlon’s mumbling, and he grew up to become the single most influential film actor of his age.

Audiences had never seen anything like him. Positively primal, grunting and scratching himself whenever and wherever he happened to itch, Brando was compulsively watchable, projecting a raw sexuality that leaped off the screen. Think of the width and breadth of his range – ‘The Wild One’, ‘On The Waterfront’, ‘Viva Zapata!’, ‘Julius Caesar’, ‘Guys and Dolls’, ‘Teahouse of the August Moon’. He fell into slack performances throughout the 60s, but then had one of the great comebacks in film history as Don Vito Corleone in ‘The Godfather’ (1972), followed by the grieving middle-aged American in Bertolucci’s controversial ‘Last Tango In Paris’ (1972). They’re all monumental performances. You’ve probably seen most of them.

Every film buff is familiar with Brando’s much-touted acting acumen, but have you ever seen Brando’s sole effort as director? For a special change of pace, celebrate Brando’s birthday with the only film he ever directed and starred in, ‘One Eyed Jacks’ (1961). A fictionalized take on both Billy the Kid and the theme of betrayal, set in the Old West, it was originally slated to be directed by up-and-coming Stanley Kubrick, but Brando took the reins at the last minute; apparently, some of Kubrick’s footage survives in the final cut.

Brando plays bank robber Rio, who is double-crossed by his partner and surrogate father, Dad Longstreet (Karl Malden). Released from a Mexican prison after 5 years, Rio tracks down his old partner, now the sheriff of a small coastal town in California. Rio plots revenge and begins an affair with Longstreet’s daughter (Pina Pillicer).

‘One Eyed Jacks’ is a muddled psychological study but a fascinating cinematic Rorschach test into Brando’s bizarre psyche. (Naturally, he includes a mandatory whipping scene; Brando often took a sadomasochistic beating at the box office.) He had the inspiration to film his movie on the beautiful Monterey Peninsula, giving the picture a sand-swept, bleached-out ocean-spray ambience that his unusual in a Western. Gorgeously shot, uniformly fine acting (except for the miscast Pillicer), and far from your average shoot-em-up oater. A great supporting cast includes Ben Johnson, Slim Pickens, Elisha Cook, Jr. and the always interesting Tim Carey.

Click here for a taste of 'One Eyed Jacks' . . .

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q2x_Xhjofww

TAKE THIS DETOUR

April 2 . . .

It was a day pretty much like every other day in los Angeles in 1965. Spring was in the air but who who could see it through the smog and what difference would it have made anyway? Washed-up Hollywood B-movie actor and never-quite-star Tom Neal had fallen on hard times, living in a cheap dilapidated apartment, and all the days looked the same. His reputation for hard living and hard drinking had made him virtually unemployable in the industry. On top of all that, he was paranoid and suspicious that his wife, Gail, was having an affair.

The story that he later told police was that she had tried to kill him and the gun went off accidentally; the prosecution’s version of events was that he had shot her in the head while she slept on the couch. Strangely, the gun itself had vanished. Either way, accidentally or on purpose, on this day in 1965, Tom Neal killed his wife, along with whatever chance he had for a future.

The irony was thick. Years before, he gave one of the all-time great film noir performances as a down-on-his-luck drifter who meets one bad dame too many, gets a bad hand dealt him, and who accidentally kills his lover in the movie many consider the greatest film noir ever, the classic ‘Detour’ (1946). B-movie director Edgar Ulmer, working on a poverty-row budget, created a bleak, bitter, compelling masterpiece on the vagaries of fate. Neal is appropriately dim as the luckless hero, but it’s Ann Savage (an appropriate name if there ever was one) who steals the show as the brassy bitch Neal picks up hitchhiking in California. All in all, ‘Detour’ is an amazing movie, drenched in the darker hues of human nature; like watching a bad traffic accident, you’re compelled to look.

Neal, sentenced to 15 years for manslaughter, was paroled in 1971, but died August 7th, 1972. In a typical piece of Hollywood stunt-casting, his son, Tom Neal, Jr., played his old part in a 1992 remake of ‘Detour’. He hasn’t been heard from since. Like father, like son.

Click here for a clip from ‘Detour’ . . .

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jkwETw6mZ6k

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=maW4nFWyvz0

MAKE A FOOL OF YOURSELF

April 1st . . .


April Fools’ Day, for those of you with a yearning to pursue meaning behind meaningless things, probably derives from a change in the calendar year about 500 years ago. Before 1564 it was traditional to honor the new year with a solid week of partying, but the calendar was different in those days – the new year began on March 25, and the biggest celebration fell on April 1. 1564 marked the first year in which the first day was January 1. People who forgot the new day for celebrating were called ‘April Fools’. Over the years, the date has become the traditional day of playing practical jokes on unsuspecting victims.

Celebrate the occasion with a film oddity that is right in the spirit of the occasion – Orson Welles’ last completed film, the witty, mischievous and little-seen ‘F For Fake’ (1975). In 1977, Clifford Irving managed to publish The Autobiography of Howard Hughes, a splendid hoax that he perpetuated on the entire world. He may have gotten the idea from his next-door neighbor, a masterful art forger named Elmyr de Hory – a man who could fake a Picasso so accurately that it fooled the artist himself. Welles, no stranger to trickery (he began as a magician, and his famous ‘War of the Worlds’ radio broadcast was one of the great pranks of all time) pieced together this fascinating rumination on trickery using existing footage of both Irving and de Hory, as well as shooting new footage himself. The result is one of his most entertaining films – a wonderful sense of mischief pervades the whole beguiling movie. And yes, there’s an April Fools’ joke – but I’m not giving it away. Discover it for yourself. (Hint: Keep an eye on your watch . . . )

Can’t find ‘F For Fake’? As a standby, consider ‘The Game’ (1997), director David Fincher’s original and stylish Rubik’s Cube of a movie starring Michael Douglas as Nicholas Van Orton, a millionaire investment banker whose estranged brother (Sean Penn) gives him a birthday present that is more than meets the eye. Soon Van Orton’s world is turned upside down as he tries to figure out what the game really is, if he lives long enough. Clever screenplay by John Brancato and Michael Ferris.

Click here to see the original 9 minute trailer for 'F for Fake' . .

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FNyvg4s3YMA

A CULPABLE TALENT

March 25 . . .

Damn.

I read the paper this morning and saw the news that Robert Culp had died at age 80; apparently, he took a fall while on a walk.

Robert Culp was one of the most underrated actors, writers and directors ever to contribute to the small and large screen. He was never really given the credit he deserved, and he deserved a lot.

He’ll probably be best remembered for his role as tennis bum-cum-espionage agent Kelly Robinson in the TV series, ‘I Spy’, which ran on NBC from 1965-1968. The series set several precedents – deftly mixing humor, exotic locales, adventure and drama – but its greatest influence was probably in the inspired pairing of Culp and costar Bill Cosby as Kelly’s partner, Alexander Scott. The two partners had a singular chemistry together, nonchalantly tossing witticisms back and forth like hot potatoes, and basking in a relaxed repartee that was contagious to viewers. Cosby won an impressive two Emmys for his work on the series, and always acknowledged Culp as his mentor and teacher.

As an actor, Robert Culp made it look easy; he could vacillate between cocky self-mocking assurance and intense Method-school angst, sometimes within a single scene. His easy charm tended to mislead audiences into labeling Culp as a ‘lightweight’ actor, but he could mine a real depth when called upon to – and he was usually the only one who did the calling. He co-created ‘I Spy’, writing and directing several of the best episodes, and was justly proud of his accomplishments. ‘The Man From U.N.C.L.E.’ may have had the ratings and the press in its day – but ‘I Spy’ had the depth, class and production values that ‘U.N.C.L.E.’ could only aspire to. Seen today, ‘U.N.C.L.E.’ is clunky, cheap and anachronistic; ‘I Spy’ is fresh, surprising and, more often than not, substantive.

Culp and Cosby addressed the prickly issue of pairing an African American with a Caucasion on TV as equals in the 60s by simply not acknowledging it – a low-key but revolutionary attitude that had a huge influence on the medium afterward, not least in Cosby’s own subsequent series.

After the ‘I Spy’s demise, Culp went on to tread water in movies that never really took off. His biggest box office hit was ‘Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice’, a now-antiquated comedy on sexual mores of the 60s. In 1972, he reunited with Bill Cosby to star in, write and direct the rarely-seen film noir ‘Hickey & Boggs’. Audiences that came expecting a re-birth of the camaraderie of ‘I Spy’ were disappointed; ‘Hickey & Boggs’ was dark, violent and pessimistic. It flopped at the box office, and pretty much spelled the end of Culp’s creative contributions.

He scored a few roles in mediocre pictures, never really tapping into his talents. He did contribute memorable turns in a few episodes of ‘Columbo’ (along with fellow TV auteur Patrick McGoohan), and had a supporting role in the otherwise dreadful series, ‘The Greatest American Hero’, but his days as a mover and shaker in the industry were over. He could occasionally be seen in undemanding guest appearances (‘Everybody Loves Raymond’, ‘Cosby’, etc.) – it was easy to conjure the old charm. He also appeared in an ill-advised 1994 ‘I Spy’ reunion TV movie with Cosby (now top-billed), which failed to capture the quirky chemistry or irreverent wit of the original.

‘I Spy’ was issued a few years back on DVD – in pristine prints that seem like they were filmed yesterday. Pick one up today and watch an episode or two, and savor the ‘wonderfulness’ that was Culp and Cosby together.

Here's a clip of Robert Culp talking about 'I Spy' . .

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v_qTbBgHrK8

ESCAPE FROM IT ALL

March 24 . . .

Stalag Luft III in Sagan, Poland, was proud of the fact that it was escape-proof. Built in 1942, it was designed to be that last word in German ingenuity. Surrounded by two ten-foot barbed-wire fences, and literally built on sand – impossible, the builders believed, to tunnel through. On top of that, they had planted listening devices fifteen feet below the ground that could detect any disturbance. But the Germans had underestimated the Allies’ resourcefulness and adaptability. Under the leadership of British officer Harry Day and Spitfire pilot Roger Bushell, 600 prisoners dug three separate tunnels – codenamed Tom, Dick and Harry – all an incredible 30 feet beneath the surface.

On this date in 1944, 200 men, equipped with compasses, maps and impressively forged papers, began crawling toward freedom. But the would-be escapees had miscalculated the length of the tunnel; it came up one hundred yards short of the forest, in plain view of the Germans. Still, 76 prisoners escaped before a sentry discovered the hole and stopped the escape. Three actually made it back to England; the rest (including Bushell) were captured and executed.


‘The Great Escape’ (1962), director John Sturges’s macho movie salute to the efforts of Allied prisoners to escape Stalag Luft III, is one of the major all-star action flicks of the 60s. The testosterone-swelled cast is headed by Steve McQueen as Capt. Hilts, aka ‘the Cooler King’, a taciturn loner who is determined to bust out at any cost. Also starring Charles Bronson (convincing as a claustrophobic tunnel digger), Donald Pleasence as a nearsighted forgery expert, James Garner, Richard Attenborough, David McCallum, and a woefully miscast but still amusing James Coburn (whose Australian accent has to be heard to be disbelieved.) The last hour is a nail-biter, and features one of the landmark action sequences of the 60s – McQueen’s bid for freedom aboard a motorcycle in the German countryside. McQueen did most of his own stunt work, much to the horror of producers. The film lifted him to superstar status. (Coincidentally, today is also McQueen’s birthday.)

Click here for a bit of escapism . . . .

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wnqu_jysQVc

NO WIRE HANGERS!!

March 23 . . .

Ever since the day she was born (on this date in 1904), Lucille LeSueur was determined to succeed – and in a big way. She was not considered beautiful, but she was a tigress in more ways than one, clawing her way to the top. Beginning as a waitress and shop girl, she won a Charleston contest in the 20s and began a dancing career. She changed her name to Billie Cassin, after her stepfather. At around this time, she also appeared in a few porn loops, which she tried later to suppress. She was dancing in a Broadway chorus line when she caught the eye of an executive from MGM who saw potential.

She was awarded a contract with MGM, but her name still didn’t click. In a brilliantly tawdry display of marketing savvy, the studio launched a national publicity contest to find her a name. The winning entry: Joan Crawford. The public had created and named its monster.

The struggling would-be actress managed to get herself bit parts in legitimate theater and films. And she got better. She delivered a light and lively turn in Harry Langdon’s comedy classic, ‘Tramp, Tramp, Tramp’ (1925), and became a national sensation (and scandal) as the freewheeling flapper in ‘Our Dancing Daughters’ (1928).

With the advent of talkies, the upwardly mobile actress gave a vulnerable performance in MGM’s epic ‘Grand Hotel’ (1932) as Wallace Berry’s put-upon secretary. As the years went by, she began to morph into a celluloid icon. Like a canny alien, she kept morphing and evolving into a new image, a next phase, a different skin – and she thrived for nearly half a century. She was underrated as an actress; witness her compelling turns in ‘Rain’ (1932), ‘The Women’ (1939), ‘Mildred Pierce’ (for which she won an Oscar) and the outré classic, ‘Johnny Guitar’ (1954), which was pretty much her last good performance in a good picture.

They’re all good performances – but save them for another day. Instead, bask in one of the most putrid hits ever, 1981’s ‘Mommie Dearest’, featuring a downright horrific Faye Dunaway as Crawford, under tons of severe makeup that bring out the Charles Pierce in her. Based on the published memoir of Crawford’s adopted daughter, Christina, ‘Mommie Dearest’ is a high camp, lowbrow expose of the actress as melodramatic stage villain, and Dunaway chews the scenery like a raptor in heat. Highlights include the 50-ish Crawford substituting for her own daughter on a popular soap opera late in her career, and a hilarious sequence where she tells it like it is to the Pepsi Cola board of directors (“Don’t fuck with me, fellas!”).

This is one terrible movie – so God-awful it transcends its own trashiness to become something bordering on the subversively sublime. A clean sweep winner of the Golden Raspberry Awards in 1981, including Worst Picture, Worst Actress, Worst Supporting Actress and Worst Screenplay. Enjoy.


Click here to see the trailer . . .

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EjRaU8hRVJs

And scrub yourself up afterward.

BIRTH OF A HAM

March 22 . . .

William Shatner is the patron saint of ham actors. To some, he is a walking parody of the profession, with his signature pregnant . . . pauses, inflections on the unexpected syllable, and overwrought, hand-winging, flopsweat-inducing delivery. To some (particularly his costars) he is reportedly a bullying, egotistical prima donna; but to most of us he was and always will be Captain James T. Kirk of the starship Enterprise in Star Trek.

He was born this day in 1931 in Montreal, Quebec. He appeared in numerous movies of the 50s in supporting roles and 2nd leads, including ‘The Brothers Karamozov' (1958) and ‘Judgement at Nuremberg' (1961). He starred in ‘The Intruder’, a startling 1961 Roger corman quickie about small-town prejudice and racial hatred, as a hate-fanning stranger in town. In TV, he memorably portrayed an airline passenger who sees a Gremlin crawling on the wing of his airplane in an episode of ‘The Twilight Zone’.

But he finally hit pay dirt in 1966 when he was cast as the captain of a starship in the TV series ‘Star Trek’ by series creator and producer Gene Roddenberry, after original star Jeffrey Hunter bowed out. The show achieved only modest ratings and was cancelled in its third season. Shatner then went on to star in a series of B-bidget exploitation flicks and TV movies like ‘Kingdom of the Spiders’ and ‘Crazy Mama’ (where he appears in a nude scene with costar Angie Dickinson). But in reruns Star Trek became a huge hit – enough to convince Paramount Studios to invest in a big-screen version in 1979, ten years after the original series had been cancelled. ‘Star Trek: The Motion Picture’, directed by Robert Wise, was a big, overblown bore that somehow managed to become enough of a hit to justify a sequel.

The sequel became the best of the series (the aging crew went on to film five more installments), deftly mixing action, adventure, comedy, drama and state-of-the-art FX. ‘Star Trek: The Wrath of Khan’ (1982) was cleverly written and directed by Nicholas Meyer. You don’t have to be a fan of the TV series to enjoy the exciting story, great special effects, and effective turns from the familiar supporting cast, including DeForrest Kelly as Dr. ‘Bones’ McCoy and Leonard Nimoy as that personification of pure Vulcan logic, Mr. Spock. It’s also Shatner’s finest performance. For once, he underplays, and is all the more believable because of it. Almost as importantly, his toupee fits. And Ricardo Montalban, as the justifiably pissed-off Khan, goes mano a mano with Kirk in one of the screen’s great all-time ham-offs.

Click here to enjoy a clip . . .

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UJTi7KJPx_E
"http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UJTi7KJPx_E"

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JER

“I’m an American icon”

- Jerry Lewis in a humble moment

With an ear-piercing shriek that would become one of his trademarks, Joey Levitch – aka Jerry Lewis – entered the world this day in 1925, after putting his mother through 3 days of labor pains.

His mom and dad were vaudeville performers, and he pretty much had show biz in his blood. He started his career lip-synching to records on-stage – not the most auspicious of beginnings. But his career took off like a rocket when he met up with a struggling Italian crooner named Dean Martin, fresh from a nose job in Toledo. The two teamed up on stage, Martin trying to sing and the monkeylike Lewis causing endless mayhem. The chemistry was immediate and highly combustible. “We had lightning in a bottle,” Lewis said. Martin & Lewis became the biggest sensation of the 50s . . . bigger than Ike, bigger than Sputnik, bigger even than Elvis among the young.

The team signed with Paramount and Hal Wallis for a series of successful films – some of them actually entertaining: ‘Hollywood Or Bust’ (1956), ‘The Stooge’ (1953), and ‘Artists and Models’ (1955). But even the best Martin & Lewis films never captured their manic, anything-goes onstage anarchy. (To see them in their full antic glory, seek out the old Colgate Comedy Hour TV shows, which they hosted during the 50s.)

When the team broke up acrimoniously in 1957 (“You can talk about love all you like, pallie,” Martin told his ex-partner. “To me you’re nothing but a fucking dollar sign.”), Jerry went it alone, taking his trademark ‘idiot’ character into increasingly surreal scenarios and surroundings. He began directing himself, impressively so, in ‘The Bellboy’ (1960) and ‘The Errand Boy’ (1961). But his most perfectly realized role – and his greatest achievement as an actor and director – is the brilliantly Freudian ‘The Nutty Professor’ (1963).

Jerry plays mousy professor Dr. Julius Kelp, a nerdy, bespectacled, buck-toothed college science teacher, who secretly longs to be a swinging he-man. In a witty spin on Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde, Kelp concocts a potion that transforms him into obnoxious lounge lizard Buddy Love. Critics at the time thought the character of Buddy Love was a poison-pen valentine to ex-partner Dean; in retrospect, the character proves a frighteningly accurate of the real-life Jerry to come.

Lewis gives a terrific dual performance and fills the screen with some hilariously surreal sight gags. He never made a better movie.

Click here to enjoy a clip . . . http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w7h-Igawp5Y

DOG (AND CAT) DAY AFTERNOON IN AUSTIN

Last Thursday, March 11^th, was a good day for friends of abandoned and homeless animals here in Austin, Texas. In a unanimous vote, the City Council passed a long-lobbied-for resolution to make Austin a No-Kill City within the next two years. Many animal advocates pushed long and hard for the legislation, and were on hand at the meeting to both celebrate and make their voices heard. I couldn’t attend the meeting – I was laid up after some minor surgery – but my good friend (and animal advocate) Deborah Goldstein was there, her mini web-cam in hand, to record the event. She has a popular blog called ‘Blogging With Buddy’ (named for her 3-legged rescue dog, Buddy) . . . here’s a link to the site and a short video she shot of the occasion.

Check it out by clicking here . . . http://www.bloggingwithbuddy.blogspot.com/

Animal movies are a popular genre for a very simple reason: People love animals. From Toto in ‘The Wizard of Oz’ to the hordes of four-legged scene-stealers in ‘Hotel For Dogs’, from ‘Benji’ to ‘Babe’, from ‘Old Yeller’ to ‘Marley & Me’, the list of popular critter flix is unending.

But audiences have a soft spot in their hearts for abandoned animals, especially ones who overcome great odds to not only survive, but thrive. In honor of Austin’s momentous resolution, today’s ‘Movie A Day’ celebrates scrappy four-legged survivors with a Disney film from the early 60s that’s been sadly forgotten – ‘The Three Lives of Thomasina’. A pre-‘Prisoner’ Patrick McGoohan takes a rare starring role as a bitter and taciturn English veterinarian whose sad duty it is to put down his daughter’s adored feline companion, Thomasina. But Thomasina, like many cats, has more lives than one, and the story of her tenaciousness and instinct for survival will appeal to animal lovers everywhere. For some reason, this film has pretty much disappeared, although it was a money-maker during its initial release. An intriguing mix of drama, coming-of-age and animal lore, ‘The Three Lives of Thomasina’ also boasts the relatively rare claim of being one of the very few movies to be narrated by a cat.

POST-OSCAR MUSINGS

The Morning After . . .

• 
  A few random reflections on the 82nd Annual Academy Awards show . . .
• 
  

• 
  Neil Patrick Harris, you were right. What were you doing there?
  



• 
  Co-hosts Alec Baldwin and Steve Martin – the funniest comedy team since Leopold and Loeb. The only scintilla of spontaneous wit came with Martin’s ad lib, “I wrote that guy’s speech.” Baldwin & Martin have zero chemistry together – which, in Hollywood, pretty much guarantees a sequel.
  




• 
  Whoever that woman was who took the Oscar for Best Costume Design – her 3rd Oscar win – went from regal to pain-in-the-ass conceit in the time it took her to deign to rise from her seat (an eternity) and alight to the stage. Once there, her ungracious and patronizing remarks nearly earned her boos from the audience – and when you nearly get booed by the most condescending crowd in show biz, you must be doing something right.
  




• 
  ‘Avatar’ – aka James Cameron’s ego - got pretty much stiffed, much to my satisfaction. It did take several technical awards, justifiably. Yes, it was one giant strip mall of eye candy, no question. But as far as being a good or even remotely original movie, ‘Avatar’ was more bloated than an Imax screen. Cameron has a fatal habit of recycling clichés and convincing himself that he created them.
  




• 
  ‘The Hurt Locker’ emerged the night’s big winner – Best Picture, Best Direction, Best Editing, Best Sound – and deserved all the accolades. It was gratifying to see the Academy reward substance over . . well, ‘Avatar.’ And when Katherine Bigelow was announced as Best Director – over her ex-husband, James Cameron, who was seated directly behind her – did I see what I thought I saw? Total and complete non-acknowledgement? Cameron did not so much as touch her shoulder, and she certainly ignored him in her (gracious) acceptance speech. The camera did reveal him shaking his head – whether in admiration, surprise or incredulousness is open to interpretation. The chill factor was bigger than the iceberg in Cameron’s ‘Titanic’.
  




• 
  And speaking of ‘chill factor’, what was up with George Clooney? Is he the new Jack Nicholson, destined to be saluted and kidded as the reigning celebrity deity by the (co) hosts and fawning female co-stars? If so, he should lighten up. He was so taciturn he nearly scowled with contempt at the camera. And speaking of Jack Nicholson, did anyone miss him?
  




• 
  Kudos to the Academy for selecting ‘The Cove’ as Best Documentary – and more so for showing a visceral, graphic and explicit clip during the nominations, exposing the film and the issue to millions of viewers who would otherwise be disinclined to see such upsetting footage. Boos, however, too ABC censors, who quickly cut away from a ballsy bit of guerilla activism on the part of the filmmakers, who attempted to (clumsily) unfurl a banner during their acceptance speech.
  




• 
  The ‘Salute to Horror Films’ segment was best omitted but wasn’t. Poorly inserted, unimaginatively executed . . . what did it have to do with anything?
  




• 
  Ashton Kutcher, comb your damn hair.
  




• 
  Oprah Winfrey . .God, don’t get me started. You have turned clandestine self-promotion into an art. Precious. Right.
  




• 
  Jeff Bridges’ nod for Best Actor was well-deserved – for several other roles he has played over the years. His acceptance speech was the most delightful of the evening, tho . . . his acknowledgement of family was heartfelt and uplifting.
  




• 
  Sandra Bullock, you were right. “ . . or did I just wear y’all down?” Apparently.

A TEXAS TIRADE - or, 'Movies Alamo'd'

March 6 . . .

New York laughs at itself, California romanticises itself, and Texas glorifies itself. And nowhere does it take more patriotic pride than in the battle of the Alamo.

In the predawn hours of this day in 1836 in San Antonio, Texas, a veritable swarm of Mexican troops launched a massive attack on a dilapidated adobe mission occupied by a small, ragtag band of resistance fighters for the Republic of Texas. Every schoolboy knows the story of the battle of the Alamo – how 180 brave men fended off 5,000 of General Santa Anna’s troops, with the holy trinity of Col. William Travis, Jim Bowie and Davy Crockett at the forefront of the glorious battle.

The Alamo. Don’t get me started.

Too late . . I’m started.

First of all, I detest patriotism. Patriotism is propaganda, usually at the expense of truth. Americans have a rich history of swallowing lies. And the myth of the Alamo is rife with them.

But, as is usually the case with history, the real story is more complicated. The Mexican government, which legally owned the area of Texas, had graciously allowed the so-called 'Texicans' squatters’ rights, allowing them to live free on their land – but after a while the colonists rebelled against their hosts. Many of the ‘defenders of the Alamo’ weren’t patriots in the accepted sense of the word; they were mercenaries, land speculators, and, most surprising of all, slave owners – a dubious business for so-called freedom lovers. They begged their neighbors for help – immediate help – but it seems that pretty much every ‘loyal Texan’ within 400 miles of the mission had better things to do. The Mexican soldiers – usually portrayed as freshly-uniformed, formation-perfect killers – had just traveled hundreds of miles on foot from Mexico over tortuous terrain, were poorly armed, had no food, and were exhausted.

William Travis? A vainglorious, elitist egomaniac who valued his own image over the lives of those who served under him. Jim Bowie? Thief, ruthless and dishonest businessman, slave trader and murderer, an alcoholic brute who beat his wife and deserted his family. Davy Crockett? A self-promoting, wily and manipulative failed politician who, according to controversial but compelling evidence, tried to surrender during the final battle. These are the ‘heroes’ of the Alamo.

Still, the myth of The Alamo conjures vivid images of patriotism, sacrifice and bravery on both sides – and that makes for ripe movie material. Films like ‘The Last Command’ (1956) and ‘The Alamo: Thirteen Days to Glory’ (1977) are reasonably intelligent if bilious recountings, and 2006’s ‘The Alamo’ was a noble if ultimately vacuous exercise in Texas-style self-promotion. But for sheer big-budget, dunderheaded blockbuster bullshit, it’s tough to top John Wayne’s propaganda-fueled, rightwing testosterone fantasy fest, ‘The Alamo’ (1959).

It had long been Duke’s dream to film the saga and direct it himself, and he literally spent years in preparation, putting his entire personal fortune on the line. He constructed an identical full-scale version of the Alamo just outside of Bracketville, Texas (which is still standing, and has been used in ‘Lonesome Dove’ and ‘Barbarosa’.) The entire set covered 400 acres, utilized over 1 million adobe bricks, and had over 200,000 square feet of structures. (It speaks volumes that the state has done a better job of preserving this film set than the real thing.) Wayne cast himself as Davy Crockett (a much older Crockett; Wayne was in his mid-50s, the real Crockett 20 years younger), Richard Widmark as a taciturn Jim Bowie, and odd-man-out British actor L aurence Harvey as Col. William Barrett Travis.

The abominable script frequently lapses into simple-minded Hollywoodisms (particularly Wayne’s patriotic speech, “Republic. I like the sound of the word.”) and out-of-place comic, barfight macho humor, not to mention a woefully misguided love story subplot between John Wayne and a local Mexican lady. Wayne did a passable job in the director’s chair – rumored to have been assisted and advised by longtime mentor John Ford. ‘The Alamo’ is simple-minded and overlong, but Wayne’s attention to detail is admirable. (Well, there are a few noticeable lapses; keep an eye out for the mobile trailers in the background – and the soldier falling onto a mattress!)

Still, it ain’t history, it’s Hollywood.

Click here to see the original theatrical trailer . . .

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mi-qfkbObrI

SEND IN THE CLONES

It all came to a head with a sheep named Dolly, who became the first animal to be successfully cloned. Soon, speculation was rampant on when – not if – the first human would follow suit. The medical, ethical and moral issues often overlapped and clashed, and the topic is still volatile and highly controversial. On this day in 1997, President Bill Clinton signed legislation banning federally-funded human cloning research.

The key words here are ‘federally funded’. Hmmm . . ever wonder what’s going on behind closed doors at private companies?

Early on in ‘The 6th Day’ (2000), Arnold Schwarzenegger is primping in front of a mirror on his birthday. Flexing his biceps and scrutinizing his wrinles, he sighs, “I’m getting too old for this.” It’s a knowing wink to his audience, a self-effacing joke in homage to his longevity as an action film hero.

The year is 2024. Adam Gibson (Arnold) is a helicopter pilot who snags a lucrative contract with Replacement Technologies, a biotech company specializing in nonhuman cloning – but which is (surprise!) secretly producing illegal human clones. During a supposedly routine eye exam, Gibson’s brain is scanned for every piece of information and a sample of his DNA is extracted. Through plot machinations that are about as murky as the issue of how clones can be harvested in water, they make a duplicate Arnold. ‘The 6th Day’ tosses in equal parts ‘The Matrix’, ‘Blade Runner’ and ‘Invasion of the Body Snatchers’ into a blender and presses the ‘edit’ button. The embryo for a thought-provoking premise exists, but the movie ultimately purees the moral and ethical issues of cloning in favor of typical Arnold shoot-‘em-ups, car chases and killings. But whenever a bad guy’s number is up, he gets another one, thanks to the miracle of cloning. It’s Hollywood’s dubious way of trying to placate its critics, saying, “Look, this isn’t really violence. It’s just clone violence – they’re not really humans, see? They get to come back.”

We should all be so lucky.

But ‘The 6th Day’ is not without humor. Rodney Rowland is amusing as a punk henchman with the appropriate name of Wile. E. Coyote, who keeps getting knocked off in a variety of messy ways, only to be repeatedly revived as a clone of himself who suffers recurring psychosomatic pains from his old injuries. ‘The 6th Day’ is part mindless escapism, part clever sci-fi – and Schwarzenegger delivers one of his most relaxed performances.

At least, I think that’s Arnold Schwarzenegger . . .

ESCAPE FROM IT ALL

March 3 . .


One of the most audacious escapes in the annals of American crime took place on this date in 1934.

In February of 1934, the law caught up with flambouyant outlaw John Dillinger – for a
While, anyway. Charged with the murder of Chicago policeman William O’ Malley (Dillinger’s only kill), the charismatic Dillinger was extradited to Crown Point Jail in Crown Point, Indiana – where he congenially posed for waiting newspaper photographers upon his arrival, jovially draping his arm around the hapless sheriff’s shoulder. When reporters asked the criminal why he looked so nonchalant, he replied that he would be out from behind bars soon enough.

77 years ago today he made good on his word. Somehow, Dillinger managed to procure a piece of wood carved to resemble a pistol and painted with black shoe polish. It was convincing enough to allow the brazen outlaw to bluff his way through several guards and past six jailhouse doors. He then incarcerated every policeman in the building and, adding insult to injury, drove away in a police car past more than 100 guards who ringed the facilities.

The man had unquestionable style. Overnight, Crown Point Jail became known as ‘Clown Point Jail’. Understandably, the bold escape only added to the luster that was Dillinger’s in his own brief lifetime.

The escape has been memorably recreated in several flicks, most recently ‘Public Enemies’ (2009) starring Johnny Depp as Dillinger. But try the 1973 version of ‘Dillinger’, an under-rated biopic written and directed by John Milius, and starring the great Warren Oates in the title role. Milius does an even better job of bringing the ‘30s to life than Arthur Penn ('Bonnie & Clyde', 1967)– the souped-up getaway cars are a kick and the legendary escape from Little Bohemia is vividly recreated. Add to that a hyper and edgy performance by a very young and cocky Richard Dreyfuss as the whiny, murderous ‘Baby Face’ Nelson, Cloris Leachman as ‘the Lady in Red’ who betrays the outlaw, and Ben Johnson as wily and determined G-man Melvin Purvis, and you have a cinematic stew that’s a B-movie buff’s feast.

Click here to see a clip . . .

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WRS13dVTv3o

SEUSS WHO?

March 2 . . .


Where would the English-speaking world be without Dr. Seuss? His real name was Ted Geisel – and he was born this day in 1904 in Springfield, Massachusetts. The gentle but eccentric writer had an enormous and delightful influence on baby boomers and readers everywhere with his classic tales Green Eggs and Ham (the result of a $50 bet with publisher Bennett Cerf over whether or not Seuss could write a story using just 50 words), The Cat In The Hat, Horton Hears A Who, and many others. Perhaps his most enduring contribution was his modern-day Christmas classic, How The Grinch Stole Christmas.

As a big-budget movie, ‘Dr. Seuss’ How The Grinch Stole Christmas’ (2000) is an elephantine effort to combine Hollywood star power with the unique and singular spirit that was Dr. Seuss. Jim Carrey is virtually unrecognizable under layers of latex as the misanthropic title character, and director Ron Howard has concocted an eye-popping version of Whoville. But try as it may – and it tries mighty hard – the film pales in comparison to Chuck Jones’ animated 1965 TV version, with Boris Karloff narrating and supplying the voice of the Grinch. Jones and Seuss collaborated closely to combine the best of both worlds – Seuss’ patented rhyming whimsy and designs, and Jones’ celebrated Warner Brothers animation style.

Celebrate Seuss with a rarely-seen, one-of-a-kind film oddity – ‘The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T’ (1953), and bizarre and inventive fantasy. Seuss cowrote the screenplay with Allan Scott, but the overall vibe is definitely Seuss. Nine-year-old Bart (Tommy Rettig) resents his piano lessons, imagining his stern teacher Professor Terwilliker (Hans Conreid) as a madman bent on enslaving 500 little boys at a giant keyboard to endlessly practice Terwilliker’s own masterpiece for all eternity. Bizarre, surreal, and absorbing for both kids and savvy adults, this is a vintage cinematic curio from the imagination of one of the greatest writers for the child in all of us.

Click here to see the trailer . . .

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dgpfMxYFSmE

March 1 . . .

VOLUNTEER FOR SOME LAUGHS

On this day in 1961 President John F. Kennedy created the Peace Corps by executive order. Within months, thousands of volunteers had signed up to go away to far-off ‘Third World’ countries to help with housing, medical and farming projects. The pay was minimal, but it was, and remains, one of JFK’s greatest legislative contributions.

Celebrate the anniversary of the Peace Corp with ‘Volunteers’ (1985) – one of Tom Hanks’ less-celebrated early comedies, but still a fun diversion. Hanks plays ne-er-do-well Ive League playboy and compulsive gambler Laurence Bourne III (his Boston accent is a bit dodgy), who tries to escape his bookie by boarding a plane full of Peace Corps volunteers heading for Thailand. Once there, he spends more time teaching the locals how to cheat at cards than how to plant crops. Hanks’ scenes with co-star John Candy (as Tom Tuttle of Tacoma) are the best in the film; this was the second time they worked together (the first time being 1984’s ‘Splash’). It was on the set of this movie that Hanks began a romance with leading lady Rita Wilson; they married the following year. Like the Peace Corps itself, ‘Volunteers’ is an uneven but worthwhile effort.

Click here to see the trailer . . .

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-phozFyKmx4

THE BUG THAT CONQUERED AMERICA

February 26 . . .

On this day in 1936, automotive history took a giant leap forward with a very small car: the Volkswagon hit the roads, changing the face of American driving forever. It soon became a staple mode of transportation in Europe, and when it was imported to the U.S., the ubiquitous ‘Bug’ soon became a beloved icon and an affordable means of transport, particularly among younger people who enjoyed an alternative to the boxy sedans of the day. In the early 1960s, a series of brilliant TV commercials spotlighted its unique properties; one classic spot shows a very young and befuddled Dustin Hoffman searching in vain for the engine.

Celebrate the unveiling of a cultural icon with Woody Allen’s futuristic comedy, ‘Sleeper’ (1973). Allen plays a jazz musician who is cryogenically frozen and awakes 200 years in the future. ‘Sleeper’ may be Allen’s most out-and-out funniest film. He joins with underground rebel Diane Keaton to overthrow the fascist government, discovering the joys of the ‘orgasmatron’ along the way.

What has all this got to do with Volkswagons, you ask? Not much, really – but there is one gag that is probably the best endorsement the VW Beetle ever had. I won’t spoil it; just enjoy. And if you still can’t get enough, watch Disney’s perennial family favorite ‘The Love Bug’ (1964), about a talking VW named Herbie. It was so successful it actually spawned a series of sequels. They can drive you buggy.

Since I don't want to spoil the 'Sleeper' joke, here's a rare alternative . . click here to see Dustin Hoffman hawking a VW sedan in a TV commercial from 1966 . . .

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L3RD-hG4nbc