By Lee Pfeiffer

It must have seemed like a sure bet to adapt Elmore Leonard's book The Moonshine War into a film way back in 1970. MGM, then struggling to stay afloat, even signed Leonard to write the screenplay. The end result, however, is a mixed bag despite the impressive talent involved in the production.  The movie is now regarded as a long-forgotten flop, the failure of which seemed to be ensured by a bizarre ad and poster campaign that featured an image of a generic hillbilly with a shotgun rather than emphasizing the cast. The film is set in rural Kentucky during the Prohibition era. Frank Long (Patrick McGoohan) is a corrupt federal agent who is ostensibly in the area to search out and destroy local stills. In fact, he is intent on finding the hidden liquor stash of Son Martin (Alan Alda), the reigning local kingpin of illicit booze. His intention is to force Martin to partner with him. When his hard-edged efforts fail to intimidate Martin, Long decides to call in two confederates- Dr. Emmett Taulbee (Richard Widmark), who uses his profession as a dentist to cover his gangster activities and Dual Matters (songwriter and singer Lee Hazlewood), his sadistic right hand man. Long's intention is to use some additional strongarm tactics to get Son to divulge the location of his still. However, Taubee -and especially Dual- prove to be bloodthirsty killers and their tactics result in torture and murder. Before long, Taulbee concedes even he needs reinforcements, despite the fact that the cowardly locals won't lift a finger to assist Son in his besieged cabin. Soon a small army of killers has descended on the property. This is too much even for Long, who sides with Son and his only ally, his farm hand Adam (legendary blues singer Joe Williams) who have only a few guns and their wits to stave off certain death. 

The Moonshine War never reaches its full potential, though the eclectic cast makes it worth viewing. Richard Quine's direction is rather limp and uninspired and the central role of Son Martin is miscast with Alda in the lead. He doesn't seem remotely convincing as a hillbilly and gives a rather boring, half-hearted performance. Fortunately, the other cast members are a lot more lively with Widmark playing against type as an outrageous villain. He's in a perpetually jolly mood even when ordering the execution of innocents and he is accompanied by an Eva Braun-like dumb hooker,  Miley (Susanne Zenor), who seems oblivious to the carnage being caused by her "beau". The real scene-stealer, perhaps improbably, is non-actor Lee Hazelwood, whose demented and murderous hit man is a truly chilling screen presence. McGoohan, who is also somewhat miscast, is never less than riveting to watch no matter what role he plays and there is a deft supporting turn by Will Geer in traditional Grandpa Walton mode.

Elmore Leonard's screenplay is somewhat erratic, ranging from cornpone country humor to outright sadism. Not helping matters is the inclusion of upbeat country western standards, a gimmick that seems inspired by the Bonnie and Clyde soundtrack. Here, however, the result seems more inappropriate than artistically inspired. Nevertheless, I enjoyed The Moonshine War for what it is- a consistently engrossing, entertaining vehicle that seemed to be custom made for the drive-in circuit of the era. Oh, and the final scene does pack an unexpected wallop. 

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By Fred Blosser

Except maybe for Michael Caine and Ernest Borgnine, has any other actor ever starred in more movies, ranging more widely from classic (“A Star Is Born,” “North by Northwest,” “Lolita”) to cult (“The Pumpkin Eater,” “Cross of Iron”), to the campy and B-level titles that partially rounded out the final two decades of his career (“Bad Man’s River,” “Mandingo”), than James Mason (1909-1984)?

Two releases from the Warner Archive Collection showcase Mason’s versatility in mid-career films that could hardly be farther apart in theme and subject matter.

“The Decks Ran Red” (1958) was one of Mason’s two collaborations with producer/director Andrew L. Stone in the late ‘50s. Ed Rummill (Mason), a hardworking and ambitious first officer on a luxury liner, is offered the command of the S.S. Berwind, a merchant ship, after the previous captain unexpectedly dies. “You might be smart to pass this up,” one of his superiors cautions, noting that the Berwind has a restless crew and a troubled history. Rummill eagerly jumps at the opportunity for advancement anyway. Presently, flying to the remote New Zealand port where the Berwind is docked, his enthusiasm is dampened on first sight of the ship: “As dirty, as miserable, as rusted-up an old tub as I’d ever seen.”

But dirt and rust are the least of his worries. Crewman Scott (Broderick Crawford), abetted by his crony Martin (Stuart Whitman), begins to stir up mutiny even before the Berwind leaves port. Scott’s plan is this: after they put out to sea, he’ll nudge the mutineers into killing Rummill and the other officers. Then he and Martin in turn will murder their fellow crewmen. Once they dispose of the bodies, the two conspirators will partially scuttle the ship and bring it in as an abandoned derelict, collecting a reward for recovering the vessel: one million dollars, half the value of the Berwind and its cargo. Further creating strife, a beautiful woman comes aboard for the voyage (Dorothy Dandridge), the wife of the new ship’s cook. Scott gleefully figures that the presence of the “well-stacked doll” will ratchet tensions even higher.

Stone’s direction is so efficient and the sleek Mason and rumpled Crawford are so well contrasted as the main antagonists that you’re tempted to overlook lapses in logic and continuity as the movie proceeds. The ship’s routine appears so orderly and the crew so sedate that the mutiny angle never really comes together. Stone seems to recognize about halfway through that the narrative is about to stall, and so Scott abruptly abandons the mutiny scheme, breaks out his stash of firearms, corners the officers on the bridge, and with Martin’s help begins to pick off the other crewmen. Rummill begins as a character on a human scale, competent but fallible, but by the end of the movie, he’s swimming across a choppy ocean and scaling the side of the ship like an action hero for a final confrontation with Scott. Similarly, Dandridge’s character, Mahia, never quite seems to come into focus either; calculatedly seductive one minute, scared and helpless the next. An early scene suggests that she will pose a sexual challenge to the happily married Rummill, as Mason muses in voiceover, “It never entered my mind that the woman would be so sensuous and so exotically beautiful.” But Rummill keeps hands off, regarding her as more a nuisance on the already troubled ship than an object of desire.

Perhaps the movie is best enjoyed as the cinematic equivalent of 1950s men’s pulps like “Male” and “Saga,” which marketed lurid tales of modern-day piracy, danger at sea, and exotic sex as true stories. Mason’s voiceover narrative even has the same overheated prose style: “There was a ship named the S.S. Berwind. This is the story of that ship . . . A story which actually happened . . . A story of the most infamous, diabolically cunning crime in the annals of maritime history.” The name “Ed Rummill” is suspiciously similar to “Erwin Rommel,” Mason’s famous role in “The Desert Fox” (1951); maybe Stone and Mason were having a little fun with the audience.

In Sidney Lumet’s “The Sea Gull” (1968), an ensemble cast enacts Chekhov’s tragedy of frustrated lives and misguided love in a circle of well-to-do landowners, actors, and aspiring artists in late 19th Century Russia. Mason shares roughly equal screen time with Simone Signoret, Vanessa Redgrave, David Warner, Harry Andrews, Alfred Lynch, Denholm Elliott, and Kathleen Widdoes, but in a sense he’s first among equals. He has top billing as Trigorin, a popular but second-rate novelist. He’s the subject of the first close-up in the film in a brief, wordless scene added by Lumet and screenwriter Moura Budberg that doesn’t appear in the original play. And the role of Trigorin is a pivotal one, whose actions lead to calamity for two of the other characters in the final act.

It’s laudable to see any attempt to bring classic literature to the screen, especially these days, when the average person in the street, if asked to identify Chekhov, probably would answer, “Isn’t he that guy from ‘Star Trek’?” I give Lumet and his cast high marks for ambition, even if they never quite surmount the challenge of translating Chekhov’s complex, allusive work to the visual, kinetic medium of film.

Two basic problems, one relating to casting and the other to performance, beset the movie. While Warner and Redgrave are fine actors, they’re too old at 27 and 31, respectively, to play Chekhov’s Konstantin and Nina. I knew lots of kids like Chekhov’s Konstantin in my college literature and drama courses, bright but immature 20-year-olds with mother fixations. At 27, Warner seems like a case of arrested development. Likewise, it’s affecting when Chekhov’s 17- or 18-year-old Nina attaches herself to the older Trigorin, and you realize, even if she doesn’t, that her infatuation will not end well; Redgrave looks like a woman in her twenties who should know better. Mason doesn’t present the same disconnect between appearance and behavior, but he brings a misplaced sense of gravity to the role of the faintly absurd Trigorin. The disreputable Mason of “The Wicked Lady” (1945) and “The Prisoner of Zenda” (1952) would better have served the role.

The Warner Archive Collection editions are bare-bones DVDs without chapter stops, subtitles, or significant extras. “The Decks Ran Red” includes the theatrical trailer. The black-and-white transfer is acceptable, and there’s a startling visual in the title credit, where “Red” in “The Decks Ran Red” stands out in bleeding crimson against the monochromic background. They do the same thing now in “Sin City” with computers; how did they do it in 1958? The transfer of “The Sea Gull” is somewhat soft, muting the Technicolor cinematography, but not objectionable. There are no extra features.

Order The Decks Ran Red here.

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By Fred Blosser

I approached the 2013 Blu-Ray edition of André Téchiné’s “The Bronte Sisters” (1979) with mild interest, which was mostly piqued by the powerhouse casting of the three leading young actresses of 1970s French cinema -- Isabelle Adjani, Isabelle Huppert, and Marie-France Pisier -- as Emily, Anne, and Charlotte Bronte.  Imagine a 2014 U.S. film teaming Scarlett Johanssen, Jennifer Lawrence and Shailene Woodley.  With vague memories of “Devotion,” Hollywood’s melodramatic 1946 Bronte biopic, I was doubtful that the film itself would be particularly compelling.  But I was pleasantly surprised.  Relating the formative events in the lives of the three sisters and their brother Branwell (Pascal Greggory) in straightforward, episodic form, Téchiné’s interpretation is first-rate: excellently acted, emotionally moving, and visually striking with starkly beautiful cinematography by Bruno Nuytten on the Yorkshire moors where the Bronte siblings lived their sadly short lives.

In a new documentary about the making of the film, included as an extra on the Cohen Film Collection Blu-Ray, Téchiné recalls that he wanted to stay true to the facts of the Brontes’ lives without speculation or embellishment. Similarly, he “demanded a certain austerity of acting” from the cast to complement the unadorned style of the narrative. Beginning with a scene in which Branwell, proud but also uncertain about his talent, unveils his painting of his three sisters and himself, the movie proceeds to cover decisive moments in the siblings’ lives. Emily, a free spirit, capers on the moors in boy’s clothing. Charlotte, the quietly ambitious sister, convinces their aunt to lend money so that she and Emily to go abroad to school. Anne, the dutiful one, stays behind to take care of their father, aunt, and brother.

Initially, this approach seems a bit cold and distant, but as the movie continues, it becomes clear that Téchiné’s decision was a wise one. The unfolding vignettes are quietly powerful in illuminating the close and sometimes contentious relationships between the sisters. This matter-of-factness pays off especially well in the later segments of the film. As one tragedy after another besets the family, the scenes relating to the deaths of Branwell, Emily, and Anne are all the more affecting because they aren’t amped up with banal dialogue and syrupy background music. Téchiné is helped immensely by the costuming, set design and cinematography (as he acknowledges in the making-of documentary), which recreate mid-19th Century England in astonishing detail.

A certain playful sense of humor surfaces occasionally, leavening the bleakness of the story. When the sisters submit their first novels as Acton, Currer, and Ellis Bell, speculation runs wild in the publishing world: are they the same person, are they male or female, are they a man and a woman collaborating? Deciding it’s time to reveal the sisters’ true identities, Anne and Charlotte travel to London to meet with their publisher in person. “I am Currer Bell, and that is Acton,” Charlotte says quietly when she and Anne appear unexpectedly in the publisher’s office. “We are three sisters. There is no man.” Pisier delivers the lines with perfect deadpan matter-of-factness.

Adjani, Huppert, and Pisier are luminous. Interviews in the making-of documentary reveal that the actresses had a sometimes intense off-camera rivalry, complicated by existing relationships with other people in the production crew. (Téchiné and Pisier were friends; Adjani and Nuytten were romantically attached.) It’s a measure of Téchiné’s talent and the actresses’ professionalism that the three women convincingly project a sisterly bond of support and affection, with perhaps the real-life rivalry only erupting strategically on screen in scenes where the sisters’ love for each other is strained. I wish Patrick Magee (“Marat/Sade,” “A Clockwork Orange”) had more to do as the head of the Bronte family, and his distinctive voice is lost because his lines are dubbed in French by someone else, but nevertheless his presence is used effectively if sparingly, Bronte purists will be pleased that he, Téchiné, and co-writer Pascal Bonitzer portray the Rev. Patrick Bronte sympathetically as a caring father and progressive clergyman, reflecting modern scholarship that refutes earlier prose and film portraits of Bronte as a domestic tyrant.

In addition to the making-of documentary, the Cohen Film Collection Blu-Ray includes two trailers and an excellent audio commentary track by film critic Wade Major and Bronte scholar Sue Lonoff de Cuevas. If you’re as unfamiliar with the subject matter as I was, I might almost suggest that you listen to the commentary before playing the movie, since Major and de Cuevas illuminate many details about Bronte history and about the production aspects of the movie that deepened my appreciation of the film. Although the making-of documentary doesn’t include Adjani or Huppert (Pisier died in 2011), many of the other key cast and crew are interviewed. This is an excellent Blu-Ray package, highly recommended.

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By Lee Pfeiffer 

Now this is what you call a bargain: three terrific WWII flicks for only $10 on Amazon, courtesy of Shout! Factory's Timeless Media label, which continues to distribute first rate editions of films that were often considered to be second-rate at the time of their initial release. This "War Film Triple Feature" package includes three gems that were not particularly notable at the time of their release. Two have grown in stature, while the third has benefited only from Cinema Retro writer Howard Hughes' enthusiastic coverage in issue #25. The films included in the set are:

• "Attack" (1955)- During the period of WWII, both the Allied and Axis film industries concentrated on feature films that were pure propaganda designed to motivate their fighting men and the public at large. By the early-to-mid-1950s, however,  more introspective viewpoints emerged among Hollywood directors and writers. With the conflict now over, the American military became fair game for criticism, though thin-skinned top brass would withhold official cooperation to productions that didn't pass their demands to show the Army or Navy in a positive light. Fred Zinnemann had to water down the script for "From Here to Eternity" from being a scathing indictment of military brass to making the villains a couple of stray bad apples who got their just comeuppance once the generals rode to the rescue of oppressed enlisted men. By 1955, director Robert Aldrich had emerged as a major new talent and had enough clout with the studios to thumb his nose at Pentagon demands when it came to developing his latest project, a controversial WWII script titled "Attack" (aka "Attack!"). Aldrich, who also produced the film, was denied use of military personnel and equipment when he refused to radically change the story. Instead, he focused on a small band of soldiers and laid out $1,000 of his own money to buy an old tank- the only "major" investment in this economical production. Ironically, by making the film on a relatively tiny budget, he succeeded in creating one of the most powerful military stories of its era. The film focuses on a company of battle-weary G.I.s who just lost a sizable portion of their unit when a mission went terribly awry. Lt. Joe Costa (Jack Palance) puts the blame squarely on his commanding officer, Captain Cooney (Eddie Albert), accusing him of cowardly behavior by failing to provide the men under his command with the backup support he had promised. When Cooney orders Costa and his men to occupy a farmhouse in a village that may be infested with the enemy, he makes similar problems to provide backup support should a firefight break out. Costa threatens to kill Cooney if he breaks his word again but Cooney remains unphased. Like the French officers in Kubrick's  "Paths of Glory", he is a politically connected snob whose influence in social circles allows him to be protected by his commanding officer, Lt. Col. Bartlett (Lee Marvin). Bartlett is repulsed by Cooney's cowardice but has political aspirations after the war and knows that, by coddling Cooney, his influential father can assure his being elected. When the mission goes predictably bad, Costa loses many men under his command and Cooney never provides the promised assistance. This leads to some of the most shocking developments ever seen in an American war movie and, indeed, the scenario that plays out is still rather traumatizing today as an enraged Costa enacts his plan of revenge. The ending of the film is so unlike anything seen in a Hollywood production that one is surprised the film wasn't consigned to sit unreleased on a shelf. As leading man, Jack Palance is acting with a capital "A" as he uses every nuance of  the new "method" acting that was then all the rage. Still, he makes a powerful on screen presence. However, it is Eddie Albert who steals the show with a masterful performance as a sniveling, spoiled elitist. (The irony is that Albert was a real life war hero who was wounded during the D-Day invasion.) Lee Marvin is also excellent in an early career role and Robert Strauss provides the few laughs in the film as a blue collar Jewish soldier who is understandably paranoid about being captured by Germans. "Attack" is a terrific war movie- one that probably plays better today than it did at the time of its initial release. 



• "BEACH RED" (1967)- While Cornel Wilde primarily enjoyed a successful career as a reasonably popular leading man, he also showed considerable skill as a director. His 1966 African adventure film "The Naked Prey" was an impressive achievement on all levels. Wilde followed that film with "Beach Red", a 1967 WWII era story that seems to have intentional parallels with America's increasingly unpopular presence in Vietnam. Based on a novel written near the end of WWII, "Beach Red" is primarily a pacifist view of a "good war", that is a conflict that the Western democracies realized was necessary to avoid totalitarianism from dominating the globe. Wilde isn't interested in the big picture, however. His film concentrates on how war affects individuals, in this case a company of U.S. G.Is who must make a seemingly suicidal landing off an unnamed beach in the Pacific while under relentless Japanese fire. This opening sequence is quite harrowing and Wilde does an excellent job of handling the logistics. (He had the cooperation of the Philippine government in return for filming there, thus had actual soldiers available as extras for the battle scenes.) The gruesome close-ups of wounded and dying Americans caused a bit of a stir in critical circles back in the day but Wilde deserves credit for showing an aspect of war that went beyond the standard Hollywood "Gung Ho!" treatment of men in battle. The opening sequence also blends in real battle footage, but as was generally the case with this tactic, the grainy newsreel footage is a rather awkward match for the crisp, clean work of Wilde's cinematographer Cecil R. Cooney. The screenplay was quite offbeat for the era. The action moves back and forth between American and Japanese lines in an attempt to humanize both sides. This wasn't an entirely unique premise. David Lean had made the Japanese commander a three dimensional character in his 1957 classic "The Bridge on the River Kwai" and Frank Sinatra- in his only attempt at directing- humanized Japanese troops in his 1965 film "None But the Brave". Nevertheless, presenting "the other side" as something other than comic book cliches gives "Beach Red" a mature, interesting outlook on the war in the Pacific. The only other "name" actor in the film is Rip Torn as Wilde's hard-boiled second-in-command who has a tendency for sadism. Wilde gets a bit artsy by blending in flashbacks envisioned by both American and Japanese soldiers as they mutually dream of their wives and families back home. Some of these sequences are set to a pacifist-themed folk song and proves to be effective in conveying some real emotion when a character meets a grisly demise. There is a disjointed feel to the film, as though Wilde seemed to have a strong message but didn't know how to quite wrap it all up in a single package. Nevertheless, "Beach Red" remains an underrated, bold film that displays Wilde's talents both in front of and behind the camera. 



• "ATTACK ON THE IRON COAST" (1968)- As mentioned previously, Cinema Retro writer Howard Hughes covered the making of this relatively low-budget 1968 WWII film in issue #25 and extolled its virtues. "Coast" was one of numerous small-scale wartime movies filmed in England in the late 1960s that turned out to be highly entertaining, well-scripted, directed and acted. "Coast" is one of the best of the bunch, most of which were produced by Oakmont Productions and released by United Artists, often as the lower half of double bills in the United States. Lloyd Bridges, in a rare starring role in a feature film, plays Major Jamie Wilson, a man who is haunted by a botched major military operation that resulted in 3/4 of his command being killed. He is at odds with Captain Franklin (Andrew Keir), an equally hard-nosed officer whose son was killed in the ill-fated operation. Both men blame each other for bungling the mission and there is genuine hatred between them. To redeem himself, Wilson devises another elaborate, highly dangerous mission- this time to send a small group of commandos into Occupied France to destroy a dockside refueling station that the Germans consider crucial for continuing to wreak havoc on Allied naval forces. Predictably, Wilson and Franklin are assigned to spearhead the mission despite their mutual dislike for each other. Wilson's relentless training for the operation results in his getting a reputation as a Captain Bligh-like figure, despite the fact that at home, he is a devoted husband to his wife Sue (Sue Lloyd) and his young son Jimmy (Mark Ward). Wilson's plan involves disguising a vessel as an enemy boat and sailing unobstructed near the French port where frogmen will swim to the dock and destroy key installations. The German commander (Walter Gotell) is fortunately preoccupied with an easy lifestyle of watching stag movies, smoking cigars and drinking fine liquors. The early stages of the operation prove to be successful- but then things start to go wrong. Director Paul Wendkos, who also helmed the Oakmont production "Hell Boats", does a good job of wringing a lot of suspense out of the intelligent script. He's helped by the fact that both Bridges and Keir (a Christopher Lee type with a strong screen presence) both deliver excellent performances. The low budget is evident in the use of miniatures in the battle sequences, but overall, "Attack on the Iron Coast" is a first rate "B" movie. Highly recommended. 

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By Lee Pfeiffer

The Warner Archive has released the classic 1956 film noir Ransom! as a burn-to-order title. The film is a textbook example of minimalist production values being overshadowed by a strong, intelligent script (co-written by future 007 scribe Richard Maibaum) and excellent direction, courtesy of Alex Segal.  Glenn Ford plays Dave Stannard, a highly successful owner of a major vacuum cleaner company. He lives an idyllic home life with his devoted wife Edith (Donna Reed) and their 8 year-old son Andy (Bobby Clark). Suddenly their peaceful, quiet life is sent into a tragic spin when Andy is kidnapped by persons unknown. Stannard alerts the local police chief and soon his house is swarming with cops while outside a circus-like atmosphere develops as ghoulish neighbors gather to sniff out any updates in the case. For long agonizing hours Stannard doesn't receive any word until the inevitable phone call comes in demanding that he get a $500,000 ransom together. Stannard uses his influence as a highly respected local businessman to get the local bank to provide the money in the exact denominations required. He and Edith are convinced that by paying the ransom, Andy will be returned safely. However, the police chief (Robert Keith) and a local reporter (Leslie Nielsen) break the sobering news to him that, by paying the ransom, he is probably ensuring his son's death. Stannard rethinks his strategy and goes on local television with a direct address to the kidnappers: if they release Andy no harm will be done and if they are ever arrested he will plead for leniency for them. However, he becomes increasingly enraged as he informs them of the alternative: they will never get the ransom money because he intends to use it as a reward to bring them to justice- "dead or alive". In a superbly written sequence, Stannard addresses the unseen villains and tells them that with the $500,000 reward hanging over their heads, they will never know a minute's peace. They will suspect everyone around them, including each other, of being a potential sell-out. Edith, who is emotionally shattered, is outraged at Stannard's strategy. In fact, virtually everyone is against him,  callously accusing him of valuing money over the life of his son. However, Stannard holds firm in the belief that every ransom paid ensures a future kidnapping. With his marriage crumbling, his own brother publicly criticizing him and his wife on the verge of a nervous breakdown, Stannard begins to question the logic of his controversial strategy. 

Director Segal milks considerable tension out of this scenario and goes against the grain of the conformist 1950s by presenting both the police and the press in a rather cynical light. The chief tries to be helpful and is sympathetic to Stannard but lets slip that his every decision is motivated by political implications. He also has to resort to helping himself to Stannard's liquor cabinet in order to cope with the crisis. Similarly, Nielsen's streetwise reporter adds to Stannard's misery by threatening to leak the story unless Stannard promises him exclusive access to his home once the news does break. The script also avoids an obvious cliche by not identifying who the culprits are. Their identities become irrelevant, as this is about one family's trauma and their personal reactions to it. The actors are all first rate with Ford, not always the most exciting of screen presences, giving what may well be the most intense performance of his career. The premise of the movie has had impressive durability. This film was based on a TV drama and in the 1990s it was remade by Ron Howard in a big budget version starring Mel Gibson. However, Alex Segal's version remains, in many ways, the most enduring. It's precision, economical filmmaking at its best. 

The DVD contains the original trailer.  

Click here to order from the Warner Archive and to view a preview clip. 

By Lee Pfeiffer

Twilight Time has released yet another excellent film as a limited edition (3,000 unit) Blu-ray release. The Roots of Heaven was made in 1958, directed by John Huston and based on a novel by Romain Gary, who co-wrote the screenplay. Like many of the movies the video label makes available to retro film fans, this is a very interesting production that might otherwise have escaped your attention. Such was the case with this writer. I had heard of the movie but knew nothing about it until I popped a review disc in my Blu-ray player. The first impressive aspect is the cast: Errol Flynn, Trevor Howard and Orson Welles in one production? Irresistible.  What is truly fascinating about The Roots of Heaven is its politically progressive point-of-view, an urgent plea for conservation and care for animals and the environment during an era where this was hardly populist fare. Howard is cast as Morel, a charismatic but eccentric Englishman living in French Equatorial Africa. Morel is on a one-man crusade to stop the wholesale killing of elephants by poachers and thrill seekers. He goes through official channels in an attempt to get influential politicians to join his cause and pass conservation laws, but he is mocked and dismissed as a crazy man. Aghast and disgusted by the colonial European's disregard for the land and its animals, Morel turns up the heat, recruiting a small band of confederates with whom he wreaks havoc on the local hierarchy. As Morel turns to increasingly desperate and violent tactics, he becomes the nation's most wanted man. His motley gang includes Forsythe (Errol Flynn), a courageous but perpetually drunken hotel owner and Minna (Juliette Greco), a glamorous and fiercely independent local hooker who has survived being forced into prostitution in Nazi bordellos. Together, the group begins to gain international fame, especially when their exploits are broadcast worldwide by a famed radio announcer (Orson Welles) who they initially disgrace, but who comes to admire their courage and determination. With fame, however, comes danger, and before long the small band of heroes find themselves under increasingly difficult circumstances as the reward money for their capture grows. Undeterred, they soldier on, continuing to harass poachers and government officials alike until their efforts win them international support. It all comes to a head in a harrowing climax that pits the conservationists against a particularly brutal band of hunters who are intent on slaughtering a large number of elephants in order to get the all-important ivory.

The production was the brainchild of legednary Fox mogul Darryl F. Zanuck, who had temporarily left the studio to become an independent producer. The Roots of Heaven is such a fine film that it's puzzling why retro film scholars and academics continue to overlook its virtues. The movie's troubled production history may have something to do with it. Huston originally intended to cast William Holden as Morel, but when that fell through, he went with Trevor Howard. Aware that Howard was anything but a matinee idol, Huston reluctantly rewrote the part to make the implied romance between his character and Minna more paternal than sensual. Huston also griped that the film was rushed into production, thus resulting in many artistic compromises being made. The shoot itself was hell, with the cast and crew enduring temperatures that routinely caused people to faint from heat exhaustion. What emerged, however, was a film that remains impressive on many counts. Howard reaffirms his status as one of the best (and most underrated) actors of his generation. He is stern, stubborn, and yet sympathetic in his quixotic quest to bring appreciation of nature to the tone deaf bureaucrats who could end the slaughter of magnificent animals with the stroke of a pen. A weathered, but still dashing Errol Flynn gets top billing, but he's largely relegated to window dressing in what is clearly a supporting role. Still, he exudes plenty of the old charm and charisma in what would be his second-to-last film. The biggest surprise is the performance of Juliette Greco, who was cast primarily because she was Zanuck's mistress du jour. In the informative DVD booklet by Julie Kirgo, she relates that Greco despised Zanuck and routinely mocked him behind his back. Yet, unlike some of Zanuck's arm candy, Greco possessed not only glamor but real acting ability, inveighing the time worn character of the sympathetic hooker with pathos. It's truly a pity that major stardom did not follow. The film benefits greatly from Oswald Morris' magnificent cinematography and the fact that Huston, as he did on The African Queen, eschews studio shots as much as possible to maximize exotic locations. (There is real irony in that Huston's main motive for making Queen  was said to be his obsession with hunting and killing an elephant. In The Roots of Heaven, he directs a story that deplores such behavior). There is also a rousing score by Malcolm Arnold that channels some key ingredients from his compositions for The Bridge on the River Kwai.

Kudos to Twilight Time for once again saving a terrific film from cinematic oblivion.

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By Tim Greaves

During the early half of the 1970s – post his final (official) stint as 007 – Sean Connery made an eclectic array of script choices, ranging from the highly astute (The Offence and The Man Who Would Be King, both of which rank among his finest screen work) to the, er… questionable. (Yes, Zardoz, I’m looking at you). 1974’s political potboiler Ransom (U.S. title: The Terrorists) falls somewhere in between.

With little more than a clutch of television works to his prior credit, Finnish director Caspar Wrede wouldn’t seem to have been the most obvious choice to helm a big screen thriller with a bone fide international superstar headlining, and the plodding result does somewhat corroborate its director’s roots.

The story picks up in the wake of a series of bomb attacks on London, and finds a group of terrorists holding hostage the British ambassador to Scandinavia. Meanwhile, a separate team led by Petrie (Ian McShane) have hijacked a British plane on the icebound runway, Petrie’s intent being to whisk his comrades and the ailing ambassador out of the country. Failure of the officials to comply will result in the plane, along with its passengers and crew, being blown sky high. It falls to Scandinavia’s head of security Tahlvik (Connery) – renowned for his refusal to negotiate with terrorists – to intervene.

Sean Connery’s magnetic screen presence as the hard-as-nails security chief coupled with fresh-faced Ian McShane’s lively turn as the urbane terrorist who may not be all that he seems keep things ticking along reasonably well, and director Wrede generates sporadic moments of suspense during the opponents’ strategic play-offs. The Norwegian locations offer up some terrific vistas for Oscar-winning Swedish cinematographer Nils Nykvist to train his lens on (an aerial pursuit through snow-dappled mountains is breathtakingly noteworthy) and Jerry Goldsmith delivers a serviceable score, albeit one of the less memorable in his vast oeuvre.

But beyond this, I’m afraid, Ransom is very much routine fare. It doesn’t help that the script confines Connery – indisputably the picture’s biggest asset – to an office, treading water as he orchestrates attempts by others to outwit the terrorists; he should be out there on the ice himself, getting his hands dirty. By the time he steps into the fray at the climax it’s a case of too little too late.

Network Distributing have issued Ransom on DVD and Blu-Ray in the UK as part of their ongoing “The British Film” collection. The new HD transfer looks tremendous (so clean, in fact, that it gives the game away in a couple of instances where still images have been inserted in lieu of live action footage) and the release is rounded out with a pair of original release cinema trailers and a respectable gallery of stills and poster art.

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By John M. Whalen

Turn on the news these days and it’s hard to avoid the conclusion the world is in pretty bad shape. Wars and unrest in the Middle East and Eastern Europe, passenger planes shot out of the sky, deadly viruses with no cure, the government spying on their own people, terrorist bombings, mass shootings in schools, tornadoes ripping people’s homes apart, drone attacks. No sooner is one disaster over than another begins. Times are weird and chaotic. It’s almost as though the cable news channels aren’t broadcasting the news so much as they’re showing episodes out of an old movie serial cliffhanger.

Anyone remember those 20 minute chapter plays that ran week after week before the Saturday matinee double feature at neighborhood theaters? They showed up later on TV in the fifties. They were usually based on comic strips that were popular back in the 1930’s, featuring characters like Buck Rogers, Ace Drummond, Jungle Jim, and Tarzan.

Perhaps the best of the cliffhangers were the three produced in the 1930s by Henry McCrea for Universal, featuring Alex Raymond’s comic strip character Flash Gordon. Created by the Hearst Syndicate to compete with Buck Rogers, Flash wasn’t like today’s superheroes. He didn’t have special powers. He couldn’t fly, or have bullets bounce off his chest. In fact, before the word came under attack by Ming the Merciless, he was just a polo player. But when disaster struck, he was able to rise to the occasion and save the Earth.

There were three Flash Gordon serials released by Universal. “Flash Gordon” was first in 1936. In this one Ming, Emperor of the planet Mongo (Charles Middleton), is steering his planet directly into the orbital path of the earth. Flash, (Olympic swimming star Buster Crabbe), Dale Arden, (the beautiful Jean Rogers) a woman he meets on a plane shot out of the sky, and Dr. Hans Zarkov (Frank Shannon) fly to Mongo in a spaceship that Zarkov designed. It took 12 episodes and four hours of actual viewing time, but our heroes finally prevailed. Or at least thought they did.

“Flash Gordon” was followed in 1938 by “Flash Gordon’s Trip to Mars” in which Flash, Dale and Dr. Z discover that Ming isn’t as dead, as he appeared at the end of the first serial. They take him on again, this time on Mars, where Ming is assisted by the mysterious Azura, Queen of Magic.

Finally in 1940, McCrea produced “Flash Gordon Conquers the Universe.” In this chapter play, the earth’s population is being decimated by a plague known as The Purple Death. No surprise to learn that Ming once again survived his supposed death at the end of the last bunch of episodes and is behind the mysterious disease.

McCrea had a very convincing method of setting up each of these serials, by opening the story with newsreel footage of wars, earthquakes, and riots in the streets. Watch the beginning of any of them, and except for the black and white photography, you’d swear you’re watching the six o’clock news. The chaotic world of the Flash Gordon serials strongly resembles our world today. So where is Flash now, when we need him the most?

Fortunately he’s readily at hand, at least on DVD. Last year Image Madacy Entertainment released a dandy little set of all three serials titled “The Complete Adventures of Flash Gordon”. It comes not in a box but in a three-way fold-out album that has a cover featuring a collage of the main characters. There’s a 24-page booklet in the fold-out with some of Alex Raymond’s original artwork for the Sunday newspaper comic strips. In addition, there’s text giving some background info on the characters that appear in the comics and in the serials—not anything new for old time fans, but a nice introduction for anyone new to this space opera.

As for the serials themselves, some may think they’re quaint with space ships that look like household appliances with sparklers attached, magnified gila monsters for dinosaurs, and a guy in a gorilla suit with a horn glued on his head. But there’s an underlying story in all three serials that is probably worth watching again during these times. Like our world, the planet Mongo was a world divided against itself. Lion Men battled Hawkmen, The Hawkmen fought the Sharkmen, Frigia is attacked by Autobots sent by Ming. All these tribes and races, in fact, are at war with each other mainly because Ming manipulates and controls them. It’s Flash who arrives and makes friend with each of these groups, and then unites them in friendship to defeat the evil emperor. It’s sort of a triumph of cultural diversity.

The video and sound quality of the DVDs is good, but not great. There’s been no effort to restore the seventy year old film stock, so there are lots of scratches and dust, but for the most part the serials are very watchable. You can buy them on the Internet for around 10 or 11 bucks. I highly recommend this collection. It’s a great antidote to the six o’clock news.

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BY DON STRADLEY

Do you believe in ghosts? I do. Sort of…

It’s not that I have any compelling evidence, but I find it more fun to believe than to not believe. Of all the skeptics I’ve known, none have been fun at a party. Give me a roomful of believers, and I can almost guarantee a nicer bunch of people, not to mention tastier stuff at the buffet.

Watching The Life After Death Project, a 2- disc DVD set collecting a pair of made for TV documentaries that aired on ScyFy last year, didn’t sway me one way or the other, but I look forward to more by director Paul Davids. I watch a lot of documentaries, and most of them eventually lapse into cuteness or self-indulgence. A lot of them are 90 minute selfies. Davids won me over because he simply allows people to talk, to describe what they’ve experienced. He doesn’t bother with cheesy recreations, and doesn’t try to scare us. What Davids does is create a mood as if we’re sitting around a campfire telling stories. What’s better than that?

Disc one is the winner. It’s about Davids’ relationship with Forrest J Ackerman, the editor and publisher of Famous Monsters of Filmland, a fun magazine that had a curious impact on a certain faction of male children born after 1955. Davids knew Ackerman, and is convinced that his old friend and mentor is haunting him. Davids interviews some other people from Ackerman’s circle, and they, too, have experienced odd happenings that suggest a possible close encounter of the Forry kind. Apparently, the man known to his closest admirers as “Uncle Forry” still enjoys a good practical joke, even from beyond the grave.

Where the movie really kicked in for me was when Davids enlisted the help of various psychics. The trio, all female, each took a crack at speaking to Ackerman. The outcomes were fascinating. One psychic in particular described Ackerman perfectly. I’m aware that the psychic scenes could’ve been rigged in the editing, but so what? I was entertained, which is a rarity these days. And if Ackerman’s friends say that he visits them in their dreams, I’ll take them at their word. (After all the money I spent on FMOF back in my childhood, I’m expecting a visit, too. Forry, if you’re out there, I’m in Rockport MA, and I usually go to bed around 1:00 AM. Stop on by.)

Davids was obviously very passionate about the Ackerman story, so disc two suffers a bit in comparison. It's mostly a series of talking head sequences where various people discuss the subject of life after death. Even though it’s not as fun as the first disc, some of disc two is quite interesting, particularly when Davids talks to nurses and hospice care workers who have some amazing stories to tell.

There are allegedly some extra features on the first disc, including some interviews with Ackerman and more spooky talk, but they weren’t on my reviewer’s copy. Perhaps this was another of Forry’s post life practical jokes.

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For a better understanding of Forrest J Ackerman’s life, you could do worse than watch Uncle Forry’s Ackermansions, now on DVD from Novemberfire.com. It’s a 70 minute labor of love from November Fire founder Strephon Taylor and Tom Wyrsch, combining a lot of home movies, plus some old interviews where Forry sat with Northern Ca. horror host Bob Wilkins to tell stories about Boris Karloff, Peter Lorre, and others.

Ackerman was the original fanboy. He created science fiction fanzines, organized fan clubs, amassed what is probably the largest collection of sci-fi and horror memorabilia in the world, and was eventually hired by publisher James Warren to helm Famous Monsters of Filmland. He had a generous side, often opening his home to the public, allowing other fans to come in and enjoy his collection.

What drives a collector? Is it a kind of gluttony? Does it stem from adolescent desire to have more than the other kids? Is at overcompensation for something lacking in a person's life? I’ve known some collectors, and their tunnel vision can be off-putting. A few are downright unhinged. A study should be done. Unfortunately, this particular documentary doesn't tackle any serious questions about the inner-workings of obsessive collectors. It's just a fun jaunt through Ackerman's various homes.

Ackerman is at his most likable when he talks of his 1920s childhood, when he attended as many as seven movies in one day. He sounds humble when he discusses how he fell in love with “fantastic films,” and even as an old man he still seemed smitten by the robot from Metropolis. Those years must have had a profound impact on him, for he spent the next five decades trying to relive them. This is the Ackerman I wish I had known, the one I might have called “Uncle.”

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(The following review pertains to the UK release of the film on Region B/2 formats)

By Howard Hughes

The Girls with the Dragon Tattoo

Following on from its release of ‘Lady Snowblood’ and ‘Lady Snowblood 2: Love Song of Vengeance’ in 2012, UK company Arrow Films has released another Japanese cult classic in ‘Blind Woman’s Curse’, a film which mixes swordplay, horror and the supernatural into a bloody vengeance scenario.

Also known as ‘Kaidan nobori ryû’, ‘The Tattooed Swordswoman’ and ‘Black Cat’s Revenge’, this is unusual action fare from director Teruo Ishii. Meiko Kaji, who went on to star as Lady Snowblood, cuts her teeth – and several villains’ major arteries – as Akemi, the head of the Tachibana Clan. In the opening rain swept swordfight, she accidentally blind’s Aiko (Hoki Tokuda), the younger sister of Yakuza clan leader Boss Goda. After a three-year stretch in prison, Akemi returns to her role as Tachibana leader, but fears she’s been cursed by a black cat – the animal licked the bloody eyes of blinded Aiko as she lay in agony. Upon their release from prison, Akemi’s five cellmates join her clan – having acquired dragon’s tail tattoos to match their leader’s. The arrival of a blind swordswoman at a rival clan results in the Tachibana gang girls suddenly developing a high mortality rate. The murdered corpses of Akemi’s cellmates are found, one by one, with the dragon tattoos gruesomely sliced from their back. It a plot twist that surprises no one, the blind stranger is revealed to be Aiko Goda, back to take revenge on Akemi. Following a violent, score-settling encounter between the rival clans, a sword-swishing showdown of bloody violence, the final duel between Akemi and Aiko is artfully lit against a maelstrom swirl of night sky.

Meiko Kaji

‘Blind Woman’s Curse’ packs an awful lot into its 81 minutes and despite erratic plotting is never dull. The cast is a gallery of grotesques and stock genre characters. Beautiful Kaji is perfect as Akemi, though she’s underused here compared to the ‘Lady Snowblood’ movies, which showcase her charisma and sword fighting talent much better. Tatsumi Hijikata played the scarily strange hunchback Ushimatsu, who behaves like a cat and is an unsettling presence throughout. Makoto Satô was heroic Tani, Yôko Takagi (in her film debut) was his lover Chie Mitsui – who are tortured by being thrown down a well – and Yoshi Katô played Chie’s father Jutaro, who is beheaded but returns as a reanimated deadman brought back to life by the hunchback. The warring gangs scenario recalls Akira Kurosawa’s ‘Yojimbo’ (1961), but Ishii populates his underworld with Yakuza gangsters with questionable personal hygiene, cocky gang bosses, assassins, traitors and human scum. The story also veers off into weird moments of suspense and horror, with bizarro theatre presentations, nightmarish allusions to cannibalism, references to the opium trade, drug-hooked pleasure girls, torture sequences and shades of Peckinpah and Poe.

Some of the costumes are fairly out there – check out one gangster’s bowler hat and red loincloth combo – while the fight choreography by Masatoshi Takase is riveting. Despite ‘Blind Woman’s Curse’s visual splendour and cult movie oddness, I’ve a nagging feeling that the rest of the film never quite matches its magnificent title sequence, as Akemi and her five henchmen fight the Godo clan, in muddy, rain-drenched slow-motion. Each of the Tachibana fighters has part of a dragon tattooed across their backs, with Akemi as the head, her men as the tail. The eerily melodic music of Hajime Kaburagi plays delicately against the balletic bloodletting, and the cat’s ocular blood-feast is an unsettling climax to the scene.

In summary: Swift swordplay, much blood. Highly recommended.

Special Features:

· New high definition digital transfer of the film prepared by Nikkatsu Studios

· Presented in High Definition Blu-ray (1080p) and Standard Definition DVD

· Uncompressed mono PCM audio

· Newly translated English subtitles

· Audio commentary by Japanese cinema expert Jasper Sharp, author of ‘Behind the Pink Curtain’

· The Original Trailer (which includes alternate takes from shots used in the film)

· Trailers for four of the films in the Meiko Kaji-starring ‘Stray Cat Rock’ series, made at Nikkatsu: ‘Wild Jumbo’, ‘Sex Hunter’, ‘Machine Animal’ and ‘Beat ‘71’.

· Reversible sleeve featuring original and newly commissioned artwork by Gilles Vranckx

· Collector’s booklet featuring new writing on the film by Japanese cinema expert Tom Mes, illustrated with original archive stills.

The Blu-ray/DVD edition of ‘Blind Woman’s Curse’ is available now, in Region B/2 format, rated certificate 15.

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