BY LEE PFEIFFER

The contemporary horror film genre has become an endurance test for seeing how much blood and splatter can be contained in each stomach-churning release. Gone are the days when such films were populated by literate scripts and iconic stars. Fortunately, home video releases still allow us to revel in the glory days of the horror genre, which came to a gradual end in the mid-to-late 1970s. The genre reached its first peak in the great Universal Monster movies of the 1930s and 1940s before being reinvented for a new generation in "gorious colour" by Hammer studios in Britain. Then American International Pictures got on board with enormously successful adaptations of Edgar Allan Poe stories produced by Roger Corman and generally starring Vincent Price, who became a horror icon during this period.  This era also saw the rise of Amicus, another British production house that sought to emulate the success of Hammer by often producing horror anthology tales that also starred icons of the genre. Still, by the mid-1970s, such movies were growing stale with younger viewers as a new generation of filmmakers specialized in the kind of gory tales that would have been deemed unreleasable even a few years before. The 1974 production of "Madhouse" represents the last desperate gasp of the type of horror film that had grown so popular over the previous decade. It stars two genuine legends, Vincent Price and Peter Cushing, who heretofore had been denied sharing the screen together despite having jointly appeared in anthology horror flicks. Robert Quarry, who was being groomed as their heir apparent by American International on the basis of his portrayal of Count Yorga, also had a prominent role in "Madhouse". The production, however, was far from a joyous swansong for the film that marked Price's final association with American International. In fact, the entire movie was deemed such a mess by those involved that it's a testament to their talents that it was even completed. The film was a joint venture between A.I.P. and Amicus, two studios with very different philosophies about making movies. There was tension from day one and the film went into production with a hastily cobbled together script that no one found satisfactory. Indeed, having received the script on Friday, the actors were expected to begin shooting on Monday. Robert Quarry was so disgusted by the lame dialogue that he took it upon himself to ghost write major portions of the script, an act that was looked upon favorably by his co-stars who asked him to do the same for their characters.. Jim Clark, who is primarily known as a talented editor for many esteemed films, was assigned the thankless task of bringing this mess-in-the-making to the screen. He was hobbled by a disgruntled and dispirited cast as well as quarreling executives. 

"Madhouse" was originally titled "The Revenge of Dr. Death", a much more appropriate title. The film opens with Price as legendary film star Paul Toombs hosting a New Years Eve party in his Hollywood mansion. Toombs has become a star largely based on his recurring role as Dr. Death, a hideous murderer who stalks his victim in a distinctive skull-like mask. He no sooner announces his engagement to a beautiful actress, Ellen Mason,  (Julie Crosthwait) when he is distastefully informed by porn producer  Oliver Quayle (Robert Quarry) that the bride-to-be used to be one of his top stars. Disgusted by this revelation, Toombs publicly chastises Ellen and the two storm off upstairs. Minutes later, Ellen is decapitated by someone in a Dr. Death costume. The prime suspect is Toombs, who is blamed for the murder and who suffers from a convenient bout of amnesia that leads him to believe he must have been guilty of the crime. He is committed to a mental institution for years. When he is released, he is convinced by his best friend and favorite screenwriter Herbert Flay (Peter Cushing) that he should accept an offer to revive the Dr. Death character for television. Ironically the show is being produced by Oliver Quayle, who is now a reputable figure in the industry. Toombs initially spawns the offer, partly out of revulsion for Quayle but primarily because he fears that playing Dr. Death again might inspire him to commit more violent crimes. Nevertheless, Herbert, who is now also an aspiring actor, convinces Toombs that he is up to the challenge. As the show goes into production, a series of high profile murders occurs with the victims turning out to be people who have come into contact with Toombs. They include an opportunistic young actress (Linda Hayden), who tries to seduce and blackmail him and her equally opportunistic step parents. As the body count rises everyone suspects that Toombs is the killer but Scotland Yard can't pin the crimes on him. It's apparent to the viewer, however, that Toombs is the victim, not the killer. This is typical for protagonists played by Price. Even if they are murderers, it's generally the result of them  having been driven insane by unscrupulous people they had trusted. "Madhouse" takes this formula to an extreme. At times it plays like "Gaslight" on steroids. You would also have to be the least adept sleuth since Inspector Clouseau if you can't spot who the real villain is practically from frame one. 

"Madhouse" follows the style of recently successful Price films from the era, primarily the Dr. Phibes movies and his acclaimed hit "Theatre of Blood" which had been released the previous year. The key component is a sense of campiness, though in "Madhouse" the actors play it straight and don't give overly broad comedic interpretations of their roles. Price actually has an interesting character to play, as Toombs is a multi-faceted man with a painful past and present to contend with. He does yeoman work, giving one of his finest late career performances (he even gets to croon a love song that is played on old Victrolas!).  Cushing is largely underutilized until the climax when the two stars share a terrific scene. Stuck between these two legends, Robert Quarry doesn't have much to do other than sip cocktails and make snarky remarks. Still, having these three stars on screen together makes for a delightful experience even if the material is often predictable. In fact, it's the sheer predictability of the script that makes the movie so enjoyable. This is the kind of horror flick in which nubile and defenseless young woman walk through dark houses to see what went bump in the night. It's gory and bloody in keeping up with the times, but somehow the gore is never as repugnant as it is in slasher and "dead teenager" flicks that would come to redefine the horror genre. It should also be pointed out that Price's Dr. Death makeup effects are truly impressive, as is the gimmick employed throughout the film of having clips from Price's old collaborations with Roger Corman shown as examples of Paul Toombs's career highlights. (A nice touch is acknowledging the late great Boris Karloff and Basil Rathbone, who appear in these sequences, in the opening credits of "Madhouse".) 

Kino Lorber's Blu-ray release is outstanding on all levels. It features a commentary track by horror film historian David Del Valle that is both entertaining and informative. Del Valle personally knew many of the people involved in the production and his track is like a master class in horror filmmaking.  There is also a short but very good retrospective documentary about the making of the film in which Del Valle is interviewed along with another esteemed horror film scholar, C. Courtney Joyner. Both of them provide plenty of fascinating facts about the troubled making of the movie, which was renamed "Madhouse" at the eleventh hour by A.I.P. executives who had already printed publicity materials bearing the film's previous title. The Blu-ray also contains a gallery of other Vincent Price films available through Kino Lorber. 

"Madhouse" may have been deemed a second rate horror film back in the day but, given the dearth of larger-than-life stars in today's movie industry, it allows retro movie lovers to revel in the onscreen pairing of two truly iconic screen legends.  It also represents the type of movie of which it can be said, "They don't make 'em like that any more". I only wish they did. 

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BY DOUG OSWALD

“Company Business” features Gene Hackman and Mikhail Baryshnikov in an espionage thriller directed by Nicholas Meyer. The Cold War is over and a former CIA agent is called out of retirement to exchange an imprisoned Russian agent for a captured American pilot. The movie was released in 1991 just as the Soviet Union ceased to exist and the Russian Federation was born. Old tensions between East and West remain and the movie tries to be a tense “Cold War” style thriller.

Hackman is Sam Boyd, a retired CIA agent who is using his skills as a corporate spy. Mikhail Baryshnikov is Pyotr Ivanovich Grushenko, a former Soviet spy serving time in an American prison. Sam is called out of retirement to exchange Pyotr for the American being held by the Russians. Glasnost and perestroika indeed, or so it would appear. Sam escorts Pyotr to the recently reunited Germany along with a case filled with a million dollars when he realizes they are being tricked by the Russians. It turns out the exchange is a fake and they are involved in an elaborate double cross and money laundering scheme involving the Russians and Americans.

Hot on their trail are the American and Russian agents attempting to get the money back and to kill Sam and Pyotr who form an alliance and make their way through Germany and on to Paris. It’s not exactly clear what they plan on doing once they get there or how they plan on getting away with their lives and the movie’s ending does little to clear things up. The main problem is that the story was obviously meant to be a typical Cold War thriller. Nicholas Meyer does a good job as writer and director, but it’s clear that the story just was not going to work after the Cold War ended during production. What do you do with a Cold War thriller after the Soviet Union ceases to exist? It was an unfortunate time to produce such a movie.

Hackman is a great actor and Baryshnikov is generally good, but they both appear bored and don’t really look like they’re into it. The supporting actors are almost comical in a painful way in their attempts to play it straight, but one can predict everything that’s going to happen before it plays out. The movie is trying to be a kind of comic buddy movie, but it never quite works out. Géraldine Danon is on hand as a French woman who turns out to be Pyotr’s daughter, but she serves no serious purpose other than to launder the money through a Swiss bank to make it untraceable (I guess).

Kurtwood Smith is on hand as Sam’s CIA contact and is good in just about everything he’s in. Terry O’Quinn is also on hand, but other than being the mastermind behind the money laundering scheme, he doesn’t have much to do. The central plot is too full of holes and none of it really makes any sense. Why not just keep the cash and hide somewhere in luxury? Instead Sam and Pyotr keep exposing themselves by meeting with old friends and known associates in cities filled to the brim with spies.

The movie looks fine on Kino Lorber’s Blu-ray and showcases some fine on-location work in Germany and France. The night-time street scenes in Germany are very nicely shot and the movie is an easy going 98 minutes. The disc contains a featurette with interviews by a very bored Hackman as well as out-takes, sound bites and the trailer. Interestingly, the trailer attempts to sell the film as a buddy comedy and features a scene not in the movie with the leads living in retirement on a tropical island. I’d say catch this movie if you have to see everything by Gene Hackman, Mikhail Baryshnikov and director Nicholas Meyer.

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BY LEE PFEIFFER

"The Strangler" is a long-forgotten 1964 low-budget exploitation movie originally released by Allied Artists. It has developed a bit of a cult following among retro movie lovers who will be delighted that the film has come to DVD through the Warner Archive. The movie was designed to capitalize on the notorious Boston Strangler murders that were in the news at the time. However, what sets the movie apart from other cheap thrills productions is the fact that it is intelligently scripted and presents its villain as a highly complex character, filled with nuances and psychological tortures.  Victor Buono, who had made a sensational film debut the previous year in "Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?", gets a rare starring role as the titular character. He's Leo Kroll, a meek, obese young man who barely makes a living as a lab assistant in big city hospital. He's quiet, unassuming and superficially friendly even though he has no real friends in his life. Our first glimpse of Leo is rather startling. We see him inside the apartment of an attractive young woman who is undressing, not knowing that she has a stalker on the premises. Leo suddenly emerges and strangles her with her own stockings. We learn that Leo is behind similar serial murders of young women in the area but the police are at a dead end. Leo's private life is pure hell. He lives with his aging mother (Ellen Corby) who controls virtually every aspect of his life. She even ensures that their apartment is a shrine to herself, adorned with numerous photos of her. When the film opens, she is confined to a hospital room and expects Leo to visit her every night right after work. When he takes a night off to indulge in his murderous past time, his mother's abrasive accusations of neglect seem to bother him more than the heinous crimes he has committed. He clearly hates and resents his mother. She never fails to remind him that he is a loser: overweight, homely and friendless. She tells him that she is the only person he can rely on and trust. She also warns him against getting involved with women, saying that any girl who would date him had to be after his money. Leo also has a peculiar fetish- he likes to leave dolls at the scene of his murderS, each representing the woman he has just killed. He obtains them by winning a game of chance at a local arcade where his skill at the game seems to impress the girls behind the counter, one of whom, Tally (Davey Davison), he clearly has a crush on, which inevitably puts her on Leo's endangered species list.

There weren't many diverse roles that Buono could play in his career. Generally, the baby-faced actor was stuck portraying varying incarnations of a "man child". However, he did carve out some memorable performances playing largely comedic villains in shows like "Batman", "The Wild, Wild West" and "The Man From U.N.C.L.E.". He worked steadily, occasionally landing a mature role in major films such as "Robin and the Seven Hoods" and "Four For Texas" in which he appeared with Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin. Buono, who died young at age 42 in 1982, arguably gives the best performance of his career in "The Strangler", making a man who commits despicable acts seem almost sympathetic. When he finally asks a woman he barely knows to marry him, her rejection of him is truly a heartbreaking scene. Leo ends up on the short list of police suspects but manages to elude arrest. He even demands to take a lie detector test, which he passes due to the fact that he has no feelings of guilt whatsoever. His motive for murder isn't even to alleviate the sexual repression he feels. It's simply his way of dealing with mommy issues. Each woman he slays is a stand-in for the mother he deplores. Under the highly competent direction of Burt Topper, "The Strangler" boasts some impressive performances by a largely unknown cast. The police sequences, which highlight David McLean as the over-worked cop assigned to crack the case, ring with authenticity. The B&W film also has good cinematography and creative use of lighting effect. Yet it is Buono who dominates the production with a performance that would have won critical raves if it were seen in an "A" list production. The film is consistently entertaining and at times highly suspenseful. The Warner Archive release is top-notch but lacks any extras. A commentary track on this title would be most welcome for a future edition. 

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BY LEE PFEIFFER

In the early 1960s director John Frankenheimer emerged as one of Hollywood's most exciting talents. Consider the remarkably diverse films he made in a four year period between 1962 and 1966: "Birdman of Alcatraz", a somewhat fictionalized but extremely compelling prison drama with an Oscar nominated performance by Burt Lancaster; the classic thriller "The Manchurian Candidate" which perfectly analyzed the type of paranoia that still defines American politics today; "Seven Days in May", yet another classic political thriller that also retains its relevance; "The Train", a superb WWII film about the French Resistance attempting to thwart a Nazi's theft of priceless national treasures, "Seconds", Frankenheimer's brilliant and underrated "Twilight Zone"-like chiller and "Grand Prix", the big budget, star-packed racing extravaganza that was unlike any of his previous films (it was in color, for one). For a while, it seemed Frankenheimer could do no wrong. However, by the late 1960s, he began to stumble. His forthy comedy "The Extraordinary Seaman" was, by any rational evaluation, a complete disaster and was deemed largely unreleasable by MGM. His next major effort, "The Gypsy Moths" reunited him with Burt Lancaster, star of some of his greatest successes. However, despite having many merits, the film failed to click with audiences and critics. Suddenly, Frankenheimer was no longer the "Golden Boy" who represented the new age of daring young American directors. In the mid-1970s, he got two more bites at the apple with "French Connection II" and the terrorist thriller "Black Sunday". He delivered the goods artistically but both films did not amass the anticipated grosses and Frankenheimer was increasingly relegated to helming middling films in return for a quick pay check. He later confessed that some of his problems were self-imposed due to his dependency on alcohol. As his feature film career deteriorated, Frankenheimer found salvation through directing acclaimed, high profile TV movies that saw him win four Emmy Awards. He did have one late career theatrical hit with the spy thriller "Ronin" in 1998. He passed away in 2002, having had the satisfaction of seeing his work re-evaluated by a new generation of critics with "Seconds", in particular, finally winning the type of praise that had eluded reviewers when initially released in 1966. 

One of Frankenheimer's least-discussed films, "The Fourth War", has been released on Blu-ray by Kino Lorber Studio Classics. The movie went into production at the very end of the Cold War. By the time it was released in 1990, the Soviet Union was on the verge of collapse, which is probably why the audience is informed that the story takes place in 1988. Although the film is set up to be a grudge match between two military tough guys on opposite sides of the political spectrum, the central character is Col. Jack Knowles (Roy Scheider), a spit-and-polish veteran U.S. Army officer who arrives at his new command, a remote base on the border of  West Germany and Soviet-dominated Czechoslovakia. Knowles is a complete hard ass with Patton-like disciplinary measures he doesn't hesitate to enact for any soldier who doesn't abide by his rules. But we learn later that Knowles is a bit of a hypocrite. Seems he has a reputation for being a loose cannon who consistently defies orders and regulations in order to carry out procedures his own way. He's been booted from several commands and this is his last chance. It's an opportunity that has been afforded him by his Vietnam War buddy Gen. Hackworth (Harry Dean Stanton), whose life Knowles saved back in the day. Knowles shows his gratitude by immediately violating orders and taking a small patrol past the "no go" boundary that abuts the Czech border. By happenstance, the group witnesses a disturbing sight: a dissident is racing toward the West German border over snow covered fields with Soviet soldiers relentlessly hunting him down on horseback. The man almost makes it to freedom but is shot dead by the Soviets. Outraged, Knowles pulls his pistol and is about to initiate a shooting war. His second in command, Lt. Col. Clark (Tim Reid) realizes the international implications that would follow and convinces Knowles to holster his weapon- but Knowles is still outraged. He tosses a snowball at the Soviet commanding officer, Col. Valachev (Jurgen Prochnow). This juvenile act of protest will lead to a relentless war of wills between both men, each of whom studies the other's history. Before long, Knowles is making surreptitious nocturnal one-man missions behind the border. At first he causes mischief by holding Soviet guards at gunpoint and humiliating them. But his actions become increasingly risky, culminating in his destroying a guard tower and nearly killing the men in it. Valachev begins to respond in kind, sneaking over the border to humiliate Knowles. By this point, Lt. Col. Clark suspects that Knowles is becoming irrational and carrying out forbidden missions. General Clark dresses down his old friend and tells him that if he makes one more slip-up, he won't be able to save him from being drummed out of the military. Knowles is momentarily shaken but can't resist resuming his activities over the border.On one such "mission", he meets a desperate young woman who is trying to sneak back into Czechoslovakia. She's Elena (Lara Harris), who explains she has to rescue her little daughter who is being cared for by her grandmother. Elena explains that her mother is now too ill to take care of the child and she worries that the girl will be placed in a state home. The gruff Knowles is moved by her plight and agrees to help her in her quest- a promise that ultimately leads to dramatic consequences and a one-on-one confrontation with Valachev that could reignite the Cold War. 

While "The Fourth War" is not of a caliber of John Frankenheimer's early classics, the film has much to recommend about it. The movie did not make much of an impact when it first opened and has remained under the radar screen ever since. It needs a few champions and I'm happy to be one of them. For one, it's intelligently written and presents two interesting characters, though we never learn much about Valachev. Knowles, on the other hand, is an emotional basket case hiding behind a tough guy persona. He's friendless and desperate to find meaning in life. In one poignant scene, he celebrates his birthday in his quarters, accompanied only by a bottle of booze and a kid's party hat on his head as he tries vainly to have a civil conversation by phone with a grown son who is clearly not enamored with him. He's a tragic, fascinating figure- a small scale General Curtis Lemay, who has channeled his demons into a personal crusade against communism. Scheider gives a terrific performance and gets fine support from Prochnow, Reid and Harris, whose character provides the catalyst for a clever plot twist late in the film. Harry Dean Stanton is terrific especially in the sequence in which he locks horns with Scheider. It's riveting all the way. Director Frankenheimer turns the Canadian frozen tundra into a convincing replica of the Eastern European landscape and milks a good deal of suspense from the proceedings, culminating in a spectacular, testosterone-laced battle between the two antagonists in full view of their respective armies.

"The Fourth War" is well worth a look. The Kino Lorber Blu-ray looks sensational. Bonus extras are the original trailer and a gallery of other trailers for Scheider films available from the company.  

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BY LEE PFEIFFER

Long regarded as one of Roger Corman's most ambitious and poignant films, "X: The Man with the X-Ray Eyes" comes to Blu-ray as an impressive special edition from Kino Lorber. Corman became a legend by overseeing production of countless low-budget horror and exploitation films beginning in the late 1950s. What the movies lacked in budgetary aspects they more than made up for in terms of intelligent scripts and often creative technical processes that more than compensated for the skimpy budgets. Corman's films not only gave early breaks to a  new generation of actors and filmmakers, but he also helped resurrect flagging careers of veteran actors, one of whom was Ray Milland, who stars in this film. Milland was a Best Actor Oscar winner for the 1945 movie "The Lost Weekend" but by the 1960s his boxoffice appeal had waned. By teaming with Corman on "The Premature Burial" in 1962, Milland found he enjoyed acting in horror-based flicks. They also helped him pay the bills and maintain his status as a leading man, albeit in vehicles that critics generally dismissed as "B" movies. If Milland never became a legend through his association with horror films as Vincent Price did, his presence in these movies kept him on the radar screen and allowed him to occasionally nab  fine roles in  major Hollywood productions such as "Love Story", "Gold" and "The Last Tycoon". The success of "The Premature Burial" led to Milland reuniting with Corman for "X" the following the year. 

Original Gold Key tie-in comic book.

"X: The Man with the X-Ray Eyes" presents Milland as Dr. James Xavier, a respected surgeon in a big city hospital who has an obsession for exploring the greater meaning of life. He is consumed by a belief that if people could be empowered to see through solid matter, they might learn the secrets the universe. Xavier has been working under a grant to explore these possibilities and the result is a serum that, if administered as eye drops, might allow a person to obtain X-ray vision. Against the advice of his colleagues who claim the serum hasn't been perfected yet, Xavier boldly administers the drops in his own eyes. The results are positive. He finds that, to a limited degree, he can indeed see through solid matter. However, the effects are temporary and unpredictable. Xavier tempts fate by continuing to up the dosage. This results in his being able to achieve extraordinary results. He finds he can see inside the human body and uses his skill to help correct misdiagnosed patients. His boss, head surgeon Dr. Willard Benson (John Hoyt) is skeptical of his claims and his best friend, Dr. Sam Brant (Harold J. Stone) refuses to assist him in his experiments on the basis that he perceives Xavier is suffering from psychological problems based on the serum he has been taking. In fact, Xavier is slowly being driven mad. By being able to see within virtually every object and person, he finds the mental anguish to be excruciating. He can't turn it off at will and is subject to often seeing the world through blinding psychedelic patterns that result in him acting irrational. His sole ally is his colleague Dr. Diane Fairfax (Diana Van der Vlis), a colleague who seems to have a romantic interest in him. Diane attempts to talk Xavier into stopping the experiments but he feels compelled to continue in the hope that eventually he will be able to unlock the secrets of life. Tragedy strikes when Xavier's irrational behavior results in the accidental death of a friend. Because he flees the scene, he becomes wanted for murder. By this point, the serum has wreaked havoc on his eyes, which now look surrealistic. To hide them, he wears an omnipresent pair of over-sized sunglasses. Desperate and alone, Xavier meets a carnival barker, Crane (Don Rickles), who soon understands the extraordinary power he possesses. Crane, an opportunist, convinces Xavier to appear at the carnival and use his power as a money-making gimmick. Xavier is appalled but consents out of financial necessity. However, when Crane begins to exploit sick people, Xavier flees the scene. Diane tracks him down and the two hurry to Las Vegas where Xaveri's X-ray vision results in him winning big. However, he doesn't know when to quit and suspicious casino staffers challenge him, turning his triumph into a debacle.The film's conclusion finds Xavier in a high speed car chase across the desert, pursued by police vehicle and helicopters. He stumbles on  a religious revival meeting being held in a tent by a charismatic, fanatical preacher (John Dierkes), whose sudden influence over Xavier results in the film's controversial and shocking final scene.

"X" is a fine film on all counts. Corman, who not only produced but also directed, never allows the fantastic premise of the story to drift into the area of the absurd. To his credit, Milland plays his role with the dignity he would have afforded to an "A" list part in a big budget film.  He gives a fine and compelling performance, as does everyone in the supporting cast including Rickles, who reminds us that he was once a dramatic actor before honing his skills as an insult comic. The intelligent script aspires to deal with issues that go beyond the standard horror/sci-fi film format. In this respect, it should be viewed on par with another similar film, "The Incredible Shrinking Man".  The movie also benefits from creative special effects, a fine score by Les Baxter and impressive cinematography by the legendary Floyd Crosby.

The film's final frames are still the subject of debate among retro movie lovers today.

The Kino Lorber Blu-ray is joy to view, not only because of the excellent transfer, but also due to the inclusion of two separate commentary tracks. On the first Corman discusses the film in detail, and with great affection. He also talks about his long term relationship with American International Pictures, a studio that allowed him virtually complete creative control over his productions. The result was a mutually beneficial partnership that lasted many years as the studio and Corman helped define each other. The second audio commentary track is by film historian Tim Lucas, whose knowledge not only of this specific film but of the genre itself is highly impressive. Not surprisingly, his grasp of the minor details involving the film's production exceeds that of Corman himself, who admits on his track that time has made his memory of certain aspects of the movie a bit hazy. (He incorrectly states that this was Don Rickles' first feature film, when, in fact, it was his fourth, having appeared in such high profile movies as "Run Silent, Run Deep" and "The Rat Race".) Both Corman and Lucas discuss in detail the film's controversial final frames, which I will not discuss here for fear of providing a spoiler. There is also a welcome video interview with director Joe Dante, who professes his love for the film from the first time he saw it as a kid. Dante also points out that the movie was originally titled simply "X" and remained so even in the print itself. He informs us that the subtitle "... The Man with the X-Ray Eyes" was added at the last minute for the print campaigns only. A segment from Dante's popular web site Trailers From Hell presents the movie's original trailer with an introduction and commentary by another contemporary director, Mick Garris.  The trailer also appears separately and when viewing it, one becomes of aware of how American International included the film's only humorous sequence simply for use in sexing up the trailer. It involves Xavier and Diane at a house party where Xavier finds his X-ray vision allows him to see everyone naked. Refreshingly, his ethics don't outweigh his libido and he does what any other guy would do: he keeps gawking. The trailer emphasizes this brief sequence as only an American International production could do. Another bonus included on the Blu-ray is the film's original prologue, a rather bizarre and pedantic slog that resembles those creaky old science documentaries that baby boomers were forced to watch in school auditoriums. The seemingly endless piece is boring and bland and Corman used excellent judgment in cutting it. Nevertheless, it makes for fascinating viewing today.

"X" was an important early success for Roger Corman. That it still stands the test of time as fine entertainment today is a testament to his skills as a producer and director.

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BY HANK REINEKE

Creature Feature: 60 Years of the Gill Man is, essentially, a seventy-four minute valentine to Universal-International’s The Creature from the Black Lagoon. Beginning with their lavish staging of The Phantom of the Opera (1925), Universal was Hollywood’s uncontested House of Horrors, the motion-picture industry’s preeminent fright factory throughout the 1930s and 1940s. Their films brought to the screen the most enduring visages of this golden age of horror. The studio made familiar faces – and occasional bankable stars - of their contract players and talent for hire: Boris Karloff, Bela Lugosi, Claude Rains, George Zucco, Basil Rathbone, Lionel Atwill, John Carradine, Evelyn Ankers, Maria Ouspenskaya, and Lon Chaney Jr.

But the trademark old castles and foggy moor scenarios on which the old Universal films were staged were largely gone by the early 1950s. In the years prior to England’s Hammer Studios breathing colorful - and sexy - new life into the gothic-horror genre, the creaking-door chillers of times past had been supplanted by new atomic-age monsters and belligerent visitors from the farthest reaches of outer-space. Universal, re-christened as Universal-International following a company merger in 1946, proved adaptable to the change. The studio would produce nearly as many classics during the silver-age of 1950’s science-fiction as it had with its gothic-horrors.

The most successful and iconic of all the Universal monster-movies of the 1950s was, without rival, Jack Arnold’s The Creature from the Black Lagoon (1954). Arnold and producer William Alland had worked previously – and successfully - on the sci-fi classic It Came from Outer Space (1953), so the studio wasn’t being incautious when they invested $600,000 of those earnings on a second collaboration. Photographed in glorious black-and-white, principal shooting was scheduled for the Universal back-lot and on the freshwater bayous of Wakulla Springs outside Tallahassee, Florida. The Creature from the Black Lagoon was one the biggest box-office successes of 1954 bringing in an estimated three million dollars on its first year of release.

The popularity of the film spawned two successful sequels, Revenge of the Creature (1955) and The Creature Walks Among Us (1956). The original film was such a phenomenon that its pop-culture status was unusually acknowledged - and cross-promoted - by rival studio 2oth Century-Fox. In a famous sequence from Billy Wilder’s The Seven Year Itch (1955), Marilyn Monroe and Tom Ewell are seen walking out of a theater screening of The Creature from the Black Lagoon. As the two stroll along curbside, Monroe’s dress billows upward from a rush of air through the sidewalk’s subway grate.

In a supplement from Creature Feature: 60 Years of the Gill Man, producer-writer Sam Borowski offers that his affectionate documentary on the history and legacy of the Gill-man was a labor-of-love. Borowski recalls first meeting documentarian Matt Crick in lower Manhattan on what was otherwise a solemn occasion. Both men were in attendance at a memorial processional following the attack on the World Trade Center, September 11, 2001. Having long pondered a tribute to this much-loved monster-series, the producer admits it was only after Crick signed on that the laborious process of pulling together the bits of fragmented memories, ephemera and vintage celluloid would commence.

They had a rough-cut of the film assembled as early as 2004, and it was rumored that their documentary would be featured as a supplement on Universal’s The Creature from the Black Lagoon “Legacy Collection” release of 2004. For whatever reason, that didn’t happen; even though the back cover of that DVD set oddly features an attribution credited to the film (then sub-titled “50 years of the Gill-Man”). In 2005, the filmmakers began to showcase this early cut of the film at indie-cinemas and various film-conventions but, as far as I’m aware, this 2015 issue on Blu is its first appearance on any home video format.

The biggest difficulty with the making of such a documentary was that it was a late-starter. By 2001 there were few very people who had worked on the original film available to chat with. Producer William Alland, director Jack Arnold, and co-screenwriter Harry Essex had all passed way in the 1990s. With the exception of the talented (and still lovely) Julie (aka Julia) Adams, nearly the entire cast had passed on: gone from consideration were actors Richard Carlson, Whit Bissel, Richard Denning, and Antonio Moreno. Borowski and Crick did manage an illuminating interview with co-screenwriter Arthur Ross prior to his passing in 2008. Ross offered he was brought in late on the first project, originally titled, Black Lagoon, to oversee the writing of a second draft. In one vignette Ross takes credit for bringing the palpable sense of humanity to the otherwise startling-in-appearance Gill-man.

The two featured stars of this documentary – and, aside from Ross, the only ones to share first-person, if entirely anecdotal commentaries - are Julie Adams and Ben Chapman. Adams is most certainly the more well-known of the two. Signed by Universal in 1949, the actress worked near-continuously in the television and motion-picture industry until the late 1980s when offers became less forthcoming. Adams was doubled in many of her water sequences by Ginger Stanley, a strong swimmer and cast member of Florida’s Weeki Wachee Springs Water Show. Stanley is also on hand here to generously share her experiences with the filmmakers.

Though his name does not even appear in the film’s credits, Ben Chapman was the tall actor who donned the creature-suit for all scenes on shot on land. (Ricou Browning, who appears later in the tribute but doesn’t offer much in the way of commentary, doubled as the creature in all of the film’s marvelous underwater sequences). Chapman’s enthusiasm for having played in such an iconic film is infectious. A frequent guest on autograph-show circuits and monster movie conventions, Chapman was the friendlier and more out-going of the two surviving Gill-men, always available to chat or take a smiling photograph with fans young and old. Chapman, a Universal contract actor, recalls he was twenty-five years old when he got the part. His casting was the result of brawny western star Glenn Strange having turned down the role. Strange, beloved amongst horror film fans for playing the shuffling, stiff-armed monster in House of Frankenstein, House of Dracula, and Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein, passed on the role as he wasn’t a particularly strong swimmer.

BY LEE PFEIFFER

Many Cinema Retro readers write to tell us that they like the fact that we shine a new light on older, under-appreciated movies and re-evaluate them after the passage of time. In this instance, I can't re-evaluate "The Legend of the Lone Ranger" because I had never seen it prior to its release on Blu-ray by Shout! Factory. To say that the film was subject to a string of bad luck is an understatement. It might be more appropriate to consider if it was literally cursed.  First some background: the Lone Ranger had been a pop culture hero for many years  in comics, on the radio and on screen. The 1950s TV series starring Clayton Moore made the character iconic and forever associated with "The William Tell Overture" which was played each time he rode into action. The 1978 revival of "Superman" as a big screen adventure was a boxoffice smash and elevated its unknown lead- Christopher Reeve- to genuine stardom. It wasn't the first time that a relatively untested leading man carried a major movie to boxoffice success. Peter O'Toole and Omar Sharif did so with "Lawrence of Arabia" and George Lazenby managed the feat with "On Her Majesty's Secret Service". Producer Jack Wrather was inspired by this history and when he acquired the feature film rights to The Lone Ranger character (for an eye-popping $3 million), he decided to cast unknowns as the Lone Ranger and his loyal sidekick Tonto. After an exhaustive search, he thought he struck gold by casting Klinton Spilsbury and Michael Horse. Both were hunky young men who were adept at riding horses and managing the physical challenges of starring in a big budget action film. The film was to be directed by William A. Fraker, the legendary cinematographer who had earned praise for his direction of "Monte Walsh" a decade earlier. For his cinematographer on "The Legend of the Lone Ranger", Fraker hired another legend, Laszlo Kovacs. Other top talent quickly signed on including esteemed screenwriter William Roberts, who had written the screenplay for "The Magnificent Seven". Composer John Barry was signed to create the score and a main title theme. Jason Robards joined the cast as President Ulysses S. Grant and Christopher Lloyd took a rare dramatic part as the villain. Things were looking promising. However, the bubble was about to burst.

While the film was in production, it reaped a mountain of bad publicity when the producers forced the beloved Clayton Moore from making any further public appearances at autograph shows and charity events where he had been making the circuit dressed in his original Lone Ranger costume. Moore fought the order in court and ultimately prevailed but the damage had been done. An outraged public had an "in" for the new Lone Ranger long before production had ever wrapped. During filming, a stuntman almost died and leading man Klinton Spilsbury insisted on shooting the film in sequence to help with his understanding of his character and motivations. Shooting in sequence can be a costly proposition but the producers complied. However, in viewing the rushes, they decided that Spilsbury was something short of dynamic in the way he delivered his lines. They hired actor James Keach to dub him through the entire film, a fact they tried to keep secret but which leaked out immediately even in the pre-internet era. (Ironically, Keach delivers his dubbed lines in a bland, monotone manner that makes one wonder just how bad Spilsbury could have been.) By the time filming wrapped, the film had been tarnished but Universal, the studio releasing the movie, was still optimistic. However, the bad luck continued even in post-production. The film's technical aspects proved to be challenging and the movie's December 1980 release was bumped to Memorial Day in May of 1981. The good news was that President Ronald Reagan had agreed to attend a special screening of the movie prior to general release. Shortly before this was to occur, he was wounded in an assassination attempt and was unable to attend (the "The Gipper" was considerate enough to send a video greeting to attendees.) When the film opened to the public, response was poor from both the public and critics, who denounced the movie as the second major Western bomb in a row, following the disastrous opening of "Heaven's Gate" the previous fall. The movie quickly became the butt of jokes. Johnny Carson quipped that on opening day, Tonto put his ear to the ground and said "Kemosabe, me hear very few people heading toward the theaters!".  Carson rarely weighed in on criticizing films and, as he was one of  America's top barometers of pop culture, the sarcasm only reinforced the notion that the film was a bomb. The movie had the dubious distinction of sweeping The Razzies, the awards for the worst achievements in movie making.  Klinton Spilsbury couldn't overcome the stigma of having been dubbed. His name was mud in the industry and to this date, he has not acted professionally again. (Though, bizarrely, he did become an acting teacher in Vancouver for a time.) Michael Horse fared better, however, and carved out a satisfying career as a character actor that extends to this day.

In watching the movie today, its problems remain apparent, though it is entertaining in a goofy sort of way. Some screen heroes such as Batman can look cool in a mask but The Lone Ranger simply looks likes a throwback to a bygone era of entertainment when kids would be less demanding about the corn quotient served up by their idols. The film would probably have benefited from some self-awareness that the entire premise was outdated but the movie-makers made the mistake of playing the entire affair completely straight. In fact, the film is almost devoid of any humor at all. Another problem is that the story takes so long to tell how the Lone Ranger and Tonto ended up meeting and becoming blood brothers that it takes a full hour before audiences even get to see the Lone Ranger.  The story leading up to this is compelling, with young John Reid witnessing his parents slaughtered by a marauding band of cutthroats. His life is saved by a Native American boy his own age named Tonto, who brings Reid back to his tribe. The Indians adopt Reid and teach him the basic skills of survival. Before long, he is feels very much a part of the tribe- until an uncle inexplicably arrives from Chicago (!) and takes him back to the big city against his wishes. The action then jumps to years later. Reid is aboard a stagecoach heading West when it is attacked by a group of robbers. In an exciting, well-filmed stagecoach chase sequence, Reid displays his heroics, saves his fellow passengers and falls head over heels for lovely Amy Striker (Juanin Clay), who is the niece of the nearest town's newspaper. When Reid and Amy arrive, they are greeted by the uncle, who is on a one-man crusade against a local evil land baron named Cavendish (Christopher Lloyd, surprisingly good in a non-comedic role.) Cavendish has amassed a paramilitary force, bribed the local sheriff and kept the town's population in fear as he acts as a de facto dictator. For his efforts, the uncle is murdered. Reid joins the Texas Rangers along with his brother and a posse sets off to track down Cavendish. Along the way they are lured into a canyon and in another rousing action sequence, they are all killed except for Reid, who is badly wounded. Coincidentally, Tonto happens upon the scene and recognizes an amulet that Reid is wearing which Tonto gave to him when they became blood brothers. He nurses his old friend back to health and Reid becomes determined to bring his brother's killers to justice as-- wait for it- The Lone Ranger! It's never explained how he gets the fancy duds and mask but we do see the origins of how he adopts Silver as his wonder horse. Before long, the Lone Ranger is bellowing "Hi Yo, Silver!" and riding with Tonto to infiltrate Cavendish's compound. Turns out Cavendish has a lot in common with today's political fringe nuts: he wants to secede from the Union and establish a country called New Texas. His scheme is ambitious: he intends to hijack a train carrying President Ulysses S. Grant (Jason Robards) and hold him hostage until his demands are met. The execution of the plan is a highlight of the film, as is Robards' amusing performance as Grant. The scenes in which he matches wits with Cavendish over a sumptuous dinner brings to mind similar obligatory scenes from the Bond movies. The action-packed finale features the U.S. Cavalry joining the Lone Ranger and Tonto to free Grant, who gets into the action himself. By another coincidence, Grant's train had been carrying Buffalo Bill, Wild Bill Hickcok and General George Armstrong Custer, so you can imagine it's gonna be a bad luck day for Cavendish.

There is much to criticize about "The Legend of the Lone Ranger". The producers and director  seemed oblivious to the fact that a guy in a white hat and black mask shouting "Hi Yo, Silver!" would come across as incredibly corny to modern audiences if it wasn't played with at least a dab of self-awareness and humor. Alas, it's played straight- as is the use of the "William Tell Overture". It's as though the filmmakers had entered a time warp and thought they were out to please audiences from the 1940s. Another major weak link is the musical score by the esteemed John Barry. The instrumentals are fine but Barry has concocted a title theme called "The Man Behind the Mask" that is crooned by Merle Haggard. To say it's unintentionally hilarious would be an understatement. Not helping matters is some awful narration that describes the action in a corn pone drawl that sounds like it would be more at home in "Blazing Saddles". Yet, for all it's flaws, I enjoyed the film because of its sincere attempt to bring to life an iconic American hero, no matter how outdated the concept might have seemed. There are also some very impressive action scenes and some incredible stunt work. Alas, it wasn't enough to save the movie from its disastrous fate. Hollywood is so devoid of new ideas that the concept was, of course,  revived again as the equally disastrous Johnny Depp version of the Lone Ranger, although that film, too, had its merits. As for future installments of the Lone Ranger films, let's just let it at this: can't we let the guy rest in peace?

The Shout! Factory Blu-ray boasts a decent transfer but there is a good deal of grain in some of the sequences. This could be the way the film looked on original release, as it was criticized in some quarters for its sometimes muddy cinematography, which was particularly surprising since director Fraker was one of the best cinematographers in the business. The Blu-ray cries out for a commentary by film historians who could discuss the movie's interesting back story, but alas, only a trailer is included.  

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BY JOHN M. WHALEN  

“The Gunfight at Dodge City” (1959), now out on a Kino Lorber Blu-ray, tells the story of Bat Masterson during his time as sheriff in the famed Kansas cattle town. It recounts how he was forced to leave Hays City after a shooting incident with a Union Army sergeant and join up with his brother Ed (Harry Lauter), the deputy marshal in Dodge. Ed doesn’t like being deputy marshal much because the real authority in town belongs to Sheriff Jim Regan (Don Haggerty), who runs the town the way he likes it, enjoying the profits therefrom. He decides to run against him in the next election.

Ed has a fiancé, Pauline Howard (Julie Adams), the starchy daughter of the town preacher. Bat takes an interest in his brother’s fiancé, which she seems to encourage, mainly because nobody thinks she and Ed will ever really get married. Bat also forms a business relationship with another woman, Lily (Nancy Gates), the owner of the Lady Gay Saloon. He buys an interest in the saloon, and becomes her partner, not noticing that she may have more than business on her mind.

Another complication arises in the form of Dave Rudabaugh (Richard Anderson) a gunfighter with a grudge against Bat. When Ed is killed, Bat mistakenly believes it was Regan or his henchman (Tim Carey) who killed him. He can’t prove it so instead of gunning him down he decides to take Ed’s place and run against Regan in the election.

The rest of the story goes about resolving the Masterson/Regan conflict and settling the romantic triangle situation. Bat also learns who really killed his brother, although when told the killer’s identity it hardly seems to matter to him anymore. And frankly long before you get to the finish of this dull western, you’ll hardly care, either.

The story, only loosely based on some of the facts of Masterson’s life, is all over the place, with no central focus to hold your interest. McCrea, in his mid-fifties when he made this picture, seems to be phoning it in. Joseph Newman’s direction is by-the-numbers, with little interest generated in several scenes that should have crackled with tension. The script by Martin Goldsmith and Daniel Ullman contains more fiction than fact and seems more interested in the romantic aspect of the story more than anything else. Julie Adams comes off the worst in “The Gunfight at Dodge City.” Having to play an uptight preacher’s daughter, she comes off snobbish and brittle, a far cry from the many radiant female characters she played during her long career.

Bat Masterson was one of the most interesting legends of the Old West. Besides being a buffalo hunter, a gambler, a gunfighter and a lawman, he was later in life a sports columnist for New York newspapers, a regular Times Square celebrity, and a friend of Teddy Roosevelt. Too bad the filmmakers didn’t try to add some of the real Masterson’s pizzazz to the dull character in the movie.

Kino Lorber did a first rate job transferring the cinemascope print to Blu-ray. The presentation is flawless, with vibrant color and good black level. The mono sound is crisp and clear. The only extras on this release are preview trailers for other KL Studio Classic releases, including Anthony Mann’s “Man of the West.” If you are a Joel McCrea fan you’ll probably want to add this one to your collection, but if you’re looking for a factual biopic of Bat Masterson or even just a good, entertaining western, look elsewhere.

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 (John M. Whalen's latest book is "The Big Shutdown". Click here to view promotional trailer. Click here to order from Amazon.) 

BY LEE PFEIFFER

 In the perception of most people Paul Newman was a legendary actor who had a hobby of racing cars. However, Newman considered himself primarily a professional race car driver with an interest in making movies. The new documentary "Winning: The Racing Life of Paul Newman", directed by race car enthusiasts Adam Corolla and Nate Adams, explores Newman's passion for the sport in great detail through the utilization of interesting archival footage and new interviews with some of Newman's friends and colleagues. The result is a highly impressive film that takes a quirky look at a quirky man. "Quirky" is the word because Newman- along with Brando, perhaps- was the most reluctant of Hollywood superstars. He disdained the party and publicity circuit and preferred to live quietly with his wife Joanne Woodward and his family in Connecticut, a place he felt sufficiently removed from the movie industry. Newman would make the occasional TV appearance to publicize a new movie, but he was far more passionate about participating in causes that he nothing to do with show business. He was an unabashed liberal in an era where liberals proudly wore that label. His backing of peace candidate Eugene McCarthy in the 1968 presidential race so infuriated Richard Nixon that he put Newman on his infamous "enemies list". When this was divulged years later, Newman called it one of the great honors of his life. Newman also gave generously to charitable causes and would come out of hibernation for fund-raising on behalf of the downtrodden. In all his years in the spotlight, he was never linked to scandal and, despite being one of the world's most famous sex symbols, was never linked to another woman. There was room in Newman's life for yet another passion, however, and it turned out to be race car driving. As Robert Wagner, who co-starred in the 1969 racing film "Winning" with Newman, explains in the documentary, the actor had no real interest in the sport until the film went into production. A new era of filmmaking had arrived and audiences would no longer tolerate the notorious rear screen projection techniques employed in the past. For "Winning", the actors were expected to drive their own race cars with cameras mounted on them to capture the feel of realism. Wagner admits he was intimidated by the process. He and Newman had to undergo extensive training in one of the world's most prestigious racing schools. When filming was done, Wagner said goodbye to the dangerous sport but Newman was hooked. 

The film features interviews with many of Newman's racing car colleagues including the legendary Mario Andretti and his son Michael, along with Willy T. Ribbs, who emotionally credits Newman with opening the doors that made it possible for him to be champion driver. It's pointed out that when Newman started racing, he was greeted with cynicism by the pros, who thought it was just a vanity past time for a major movie star. But Newman quickly won their respect by starting at the bottom and painstakingly learning the craft. He had his share of accidents and missteps but never blamed anyone but himself. Before long, Newman was regarded as an esteemed colleague by the inner circle of drivers. Over the years, he honed his skills and won many trophies on his own merits. What impressed his fellow racers most was Newman's modesty. Even after winning a triumphant victory, he would credit his team for their professionalism and make it apparent he considered the victory to be a group achievement.  He also fulfilled a dream of racing at Le Mans, where the only reason he didn't win was due to a tire problem that cost him time in the pit stop and forced him to come in second. The film shows ample archival footage of Newman at Le Mans. He loved the race, but loathed the fanfare. In America, Newman's audience for races largely consisted of serious fans of the sport, not stargazers. At Le Mans, he was subjected to a tidal wave of paparazzi who never gave him a moment of peace. Newman wanted to be respected for his racing skills, not for his film work. Consequently, he never returned to Le Mans.  

Newman with his friend and co-star Robert Vaughn in the 1974 blockbuster The Towering Inferno. Despite his legendary status as a film star, Newman preferred to be known primarily as a race car driver.

"Winning: The Racing Life of Paul Newman" is a consistently interesting examination of a man who was known by countless millions of movie goers, but who largely succeeded in keeping his personal life out of the news. The film is understandably light on his movie career, though some short clips of key career achievements are shown. There are also interviews with Robert Redford, who talks about the personal side of Newman and their long friendship. Redford says he still remains grateful for Newman insisting that he play the Sundance Kid despite the fact that they barely knew each other. The role catapulted Redford to superstardom.  He also discusses the elaborate practical jokes they would pull on each other, often at great expense. Neither man would give the other the satisfaction of acknowledging he was the victim of a prank. Newman's brother Arthur speaks emotionally about his close relationship with his brother and states the obvious, that movie studios loathed Paul's obsession with racing- and for good reason. Had he been seriously injured, it could have jeopardized major film projects. Conspicuously missing from the production is Newman's widow Joanne Woodward, though she is seen in archival footage from many years ago expressing her trepidation about his racing and her concerns that he might give up acting to pursue racing as a vocation. Nevertheless, she was generally on hand to cheer him on. The only other celebrity interview featured is that of Jay Leno, himself a well-known classic car buff. He describes having Newman on The Tonight Show when the actor was pushing 80. In a highly amusing clip of the segment, Leno induces Newman into a go-cart race around the cavernous hallways of NBC Studios- a race that Newman wins handily. Leno describes his respect for the man and his low-key, charming nature. 

The documentary is consistently informative and entertaining. The film covers Newman introducing Tom Cruise to racing after they had starred in The Color of Money in 1987. Cruise enjoyed his brief flirtation with the sport but lacked Newman's discipline and patience. It also delves into Newman's well-known charitable work.  Newman's hobby of making home made salad dressing resulted in it being marketed professionally. He only reluctantly agreed to have funky depictions of his face on the packaging in order to spur sales, but insisted that all the profits go to establish the Hole-in-the-Wall camps for seriously ill children. To date, the Newman's Own food line has donated close to half a billion dollars to this cause.

What emerges from "Winning" is the fact that Newman was an enigma: a shy superstar and humanitarian. The kind of class act that rarely comes along today.

Bonus extras include extended, uncut versions of many of the key interviews, a trailer and a short segment in which co-director Adam Corolla painstakingly restores one of Newman's favorite race car to make it operational again. 

The documentary is a unique look at a Hollywood legend - and you don't have to be a racing buff to enjoy the amazing footage of Newman behind the wheel.

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By Hank Reineke

Two years after Kino Lorber Studio Classics issued their Blu-Ray of the continental version of Mario Bava’s horror anthology BLACK SABBATH, the boutique label has now chosen to release the film’s U.S. cousin in the same format. Originally released in Italy in August 1963 as “I tre volti della paura" (“The Three Faces of Fear”), BLACK SABBATH was issued in the U.S. the following spring under the American-International banner. The film is often invoked as Bava’s personal favorite among his many directorial efforts. The Eastmancolor-shot film is certainly one of his best; though, truth be told, I personally find the monochrome, atmospheric and gripping witches tale, BLACK SUNDAY (1960), to be his true high-water mark.

There is, of course, an interesting back-story to this U.S. issue. American International infamously tinkered with the original continental cut of the film. These changes have long been a subject of angst and scorn amongst horror film fans and scholars; their main complaint is that A.I.P.’s interference wrecked what was previously a perfectly-wrought and taut trilogy. Their re-sequencing of episodes and their trimming of a few frames of shocking but gratuitous gore, both unwelcome and disparaged, would ultimately be the least of concerns.

The greatest outrage was reserved for the studio’s controversial re-editing of one particular episode, “The Telephone.” In a clumsy effort to protect American audiences from any contemplation of perceived sordid behavior exhibited on-screen in the European version, this segment was re-edited in such manner as to totally remove any suggestion of vengeful lesbian-culpability as a motive in the ensuing terror. It was, without doubt, a calculated business - rather than creative - decision to placate the moralists at home, but it also inarguably subverted the intent and arc of the original storyline.

Having said this, I must admit that I’ve always been fond of this often pilloried A.I.P. cut. Not only was it the version to which I was first introduced - through repetitive telecasts on Saturday night’s Chiller Theater on New York’s WPIX - but this English-language version, far more importantly, features the genuine ominous and sepulchral tones of the great Boris Karloff.

There’s no reason to note here the many small and large differences between Bava’s original Italian and the subsequent A.I.P. version of the film. The changes are all exhaustively and expertly attenuated on the colorful commentary track courtesy of Tim Lucas, editor of the popular cult-film magazine Video Watchdog. Lucas is undeniably well suited for the task: he’s the acknowledged foremost Bava scholar and author of the thousand plus page labor-of-love tome “Mario Bava: All The Colors of the Dark.”

It also must be said that the studio’s meddling paid off: BLACK SABBATH did very well for A.I.P. It opened in neighborhood theaters and drive-ins across the U.S. in late May of 1964, the top-bill of a pairing with another 1963 Bava Italian import, EVIL EYE (aka THE GIRL WHO KNEW TOO MUCH). It was still doing the circuit in October 1964, now paired with Herschell Gordon Lewis’s splatter-fest BLOOD FEAST (1963). One year following its U.S. release, the film was still being programmed as dependable late night drive-in fare, but now reduced to bottom-bill status to director William Conrad’s exploitation-shocker TWO ON A GUILLOTINE (1965).

Cineastes can – and most certainly have – argued the merits and failings of A.I.P.’s re-sequencing of the trilogy, but the A.I.P. cut inarguably starts things off with a chill. The haunting and nightmarish “A Drop of Water,” possibly the most celebrated segment of the trilogy, had climactically closed the earlier continental version of the film. Reportedly based on a tale by Anton Chekov, this entry concerns the eerie retribution suffered by nursemaid Helen Chester (Jacqueline Soussard) following her theft of an amethyst ring from the corpse of an elderly female patient. The newly departed victim would, only temporarily, lose possession of the precious stone to her scheming health-care aide.

The twist is that the dead woman was a spiritualist, a medium with a life-long interest in the black arts. Having some inkling of her client’s interest in the supernatural, it almost goes without saying the nursemaid should have… well, known better. The grotesque corpse of the withered and deceased sorceress – whose dead eyes refuse to stay closed, no matter how much they’re prompted - should have been warning enough. The décor of the old woman’s home is, as one might expect, as ominous and brooding as her lifeless body that rests in the master bedroom. It’s a sullen and dank residence with heavy draperies, dreary interior hallways, and an assortment of gloomy toy-dolls strewn haphazardly about the house without explanation. The old woman appears to have retained a housekeeper to look after her home, but the general disarray that surrounds her death-bed clearly demonstrates she was not getting the service she’s paid for.

There is a scarcity of dialogue in all three episodes of BLACK SABBATH; there’s just enough verbiage to propel each storyline forward. The moments best remembered throughout are almost entirely visual. Bava was a stylist of the highest-order (he was a painter prior to working as a cinematographer), and this film is an amalgam of assortment of haunting images. The corpse-figure of the late medium is so plainly a mannequin that a more sophisticated modern audience might laugh at the director’s intended deception. The problem is the twisted face of the mannequin-corpse is truly the stuff of which nightmares are made; the molded face with its crazed eyes provides an undeniably creepy and iconic horror-film visage, one not soon forgotten.

As previously mentioned, the most radical and controversial re-edits are found in the second segment of BLACK SABBATH, “The Telephone.” The A.I.P. re-edit of this episode, more giallo than horror, has been almost completely shorn of an important red-herring sub-plot. Through their removal of any suggestion of sexual deviancy, as it is, this capitulation to perceived American moral-sensibilities of the era inarguably alters and dilutes the sense of mystery that Bava had so masterfully conjured in the original cut.

In “The Telephone,” the comely Rosy (Michele Mercier) is terrified by a series of telephone calls that are seemingly coming in from the disconnected voice of a dead lover. The mysterious caller is acutely aware of every movement the terrified woman makes as she moves about her lush apartment - this despite the fact that her windows are shuttered and blinds drawn. It’s not explained with satisfaction why Rosy doesn’t simply call the police right away. There is a passing mention she suspects this voice from beyond the grave is stalking her due to a betrayal: she, apparently, earlier had turned her lover into the authorities, though it’s never specified for what crime. Rosy does eventually alert a seemingly sympathetic friend (Lidia Alfonsi) to the threatening intrusions, but there is an unambiguous suggestion this called-upon-ally was a former lover who may or may not have a vengeful agenda of her own.

Boris Karloff’s moniker was the only one in 1964 that would have carried any marquee import to an American audience. In BLACK SABBATH,” the seventy-six year old actor not only stars but also serves as a macabre master of ceremonies of sorts; he bridges the three disparate episodes with his trademark sinister intonations. He is also, fittingly, the uncontested star of the film’s third and final (and anglicized) title, “The Wurdalak.” This episode is a most gripping and atmospheric entry, an imaginative and mostly original re-working of Aleksey Konstantinovich Tolstoy’s 1839 short-story, “La Famille du Vourdalak.”

As the menacing Gorca, Boris Karloff, the long-reigning king of the horror film, plays – for the very first time in his lengthy and celebrated career, a genuine vampire. Karloff, of course, had played an assortment of ghoulish roles dating back to the silent-era. He was, at any given time, the Frankenstein monster, the Mummy, Fu Manchu, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde… even detective Dick Tracy’s fabled nemesis Gruesome. Throughout a half-century plus of celluloid villainy, the off-screen gentlemanly Karloff was cast almost exclusively as a heavy: he was the maddest of mad scientists, the most ruthless of gangsters, and the most black-hearted of executioners.

He plays to type here as well, though there is an interesting twist to this Eastern European brand of vampirism. Though a vampire by any and all definition of the word, a Wurdalak, we discover, feasts not on the blood of convenient strangers but on the sanguine cells and platelets of his very own loved ones. This uncomfortable level of intimacy between the vampire and his victim is used by Bava to great effect. There is one remarkably creepy moment when, as his distraught son and daughter-in-law look on in understandable dread, the gaunt and swollen-red-eyed Karloff chillingly embraces his barely post-toddler grandson with the most evil of intent.

With apologies to goalie-masked Jason of the Friday the 13^th series, this is the stuff of true horror. Kino offers the film in a 1:85:1 ratio, and includes the aforementioned Tim Lucas commentary track as well as the original theatrical trailer. Fans of Bava and Euro-horror might be best served by sticking with the original continental cut of BLACK SABBATH (available on Kino Classics K1162), but Boris Karloff fans will need this version for their personal collections. It’s essential.

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By Hank Reineke

In the interest of full disclosure, I’ll admit up front that Warren Murphy and Richard Sapir’s character, Remo Williams (aka “The Destroyer”) has played a small, but significant role in my life.

My older sister had been a high-school friend of one of the author’s daughters. Though the passing of time has made the chronology of events a bit hazy, I’m guessing it was through that friendship that I was first introduced to Warren Murphy’s teenage son. It was the son who – upon learning I was a big fan of his father’s pulp-paperback novels – graciously gifted me a personally autographed copy of The Destroyer #3: Chinese Puzzle (1972). This now-tattered paperback proudly sits on my book shelf to this very day. This, I guess, would have been about 1978. I was seventeen years old. I’m fifty-four now and admit I hadn’t much thought about the Destroyer series for several decades.

Novelist and screenwriter Warren Murphy (The Eiger Sanction, Lethal Weapon 2) died this past September at age 81. It was only by chance that I happened to learn of his passing through a small obituary in The New York Times. That night, with the warm nostalgia of the Destroyer novels temporarily in mind, I did an internet search and discovered that the series had spiraled from the dozen or so books of which I was familiar to upward of 150 titles. Murphy apparently bowed out following the publication of “Line of Succession” (Destroyer #73) in 1988. That book was also the last to feature a shared credit with co-creator Richard Sapir who had passed away – too young, at age 50 - the previous year. It would be a tangled mess to figure out exactly who wrote what. Like the songwriting team of Lennon and McCartney, the two had agreed to share credit even when the novels were product of a single writer’s efforts. The majority of the Destroyer books from 1988 to present have largely been written by a series of ghostwriters.

If you weren’t around in the early 1970s, you might not appreciate this golden-age of the paperback super-secret-agent. With their glossy and colorful cover-art depictions of evil super-criminals, fiery explosions, wild gun play, grenades and other scenes of mayhem, this was real-man literature at its finest. Though written in 1963, the first Remo Williams’ novel “Created, the Destroyer” had languished in a cabinet until its belated publication in 1971. Truth be told, the novel might not have seen the light-of-day had it not been for the phenomenal success of the Pinnacle Books series The Executioner.

Don Pendleton’s anti-hero Mack Bolan (the aforementioned Executioner), was an angry Vietnam veteran at war with the Mafia and other unsavory hooligans worldwide. The series was wildly popular. By early 1973 it was estimated that The Executioner series had sold some eight-million copies in the U.S. Soon best-seller lists, railroad and bus station book kiosks and the revolving paperback racks in every drug store across America were crammed with titles featuring a new army of pistol-to-the-cheek anti-heroes. A New York Times article from March of 1974 identified a number of these pretenders to Mack Bolan’s blood-splattered throne; there was The Destroyer, The Butcher, The Death Merchant, The Assassin, The Marksman, The Inquisitor, the Head Hunter,The Avenger, The Revenger, The Penetrator, and The Baroness. Even that exhaustive list somehow missed acknowledging the long-running and popular Nick Carter - Killmaster series and Ernest Tidyman’s John Shaft titles.

Derided as a low-culture phenomenon by literary critics, these assembly-line novels – filled cover to cover with gratuitous sex and wanton violence - were undeniably slim and not always well-written; they were considered the trashy offspring of the time-tested puzzling mystery novel. The critical backlash was inevitable and there were periodic sessions of hair-pulling amongst reviewers on how the publishing industry had arrived at this inglorious moment. Where was blame to be assigned? Some thought the nightly splashed-on-TV-screen violence of the Vietnam-era had made readers malleable to such literary mayhem. Some blamed the often nonsensical episodic action-adventure motifs of Ian Fleming’s James Bond as a primary culprit. Others with a better sense of history traced the disintegration of the traditional mystery novel to Mickey Spillane’s crass and violent, “I, the Jury” (1947).

The preceding remembrance has been my long-winded way to say that I was really looking forward to the Kino Lorber Studio Classics DVD reissue of Remo Williams: The Adventure Begins (1985). Not only do I hold warm memories of the Destroyer series, but as a stone-cold James Bond fan, I was enthused to finally catch this dimly remembered action-flick. Remo Williams was helmed by Guy Hamilton (Goldfinger, Diamonds Are Forever, Live and Let Die and The Man with the Golden Gun) from a script by Christopher Wood (The Spy Who Loved Me and Moonraker). Hamilton’s and Wood’s James Bond has always been the more tongue-in-cheek one, and I expected the filmmakers would adhere to the best traditions of their tried-and-true playbook.

This isn’t a spy-film… or, rather, it is… of sorts. The film tends to be an uneasy amalgam of many genres. Remo Williams is part-super spy, part super-hero, and part martial-arts master. Conversely, the grim sequence that opens the film is staged as a throwback to the gritty, New York City “mean streets” police-dramas of the early 1970s. Following a brutal tangle with a trio of street-thugs on the darkened Brooklyn waterfront, we’re first introduced to our reluctant anti-hero (Fred Ward) when his unconscious body is dispassionately pushed into the East River. The bruised and beaten policeman is – intriguingly- rescued from drowning by a pair of mysterious scuba-divers replete with underwater flashlights. It’s all been a set-up. The divers have apparently been waiting on his violent submersion.

The policeman awakes on a hospital gurney following an indeterminate passage of time, but no longer recognizes his own mirrored reflection. He had been submissively drugged and made to endure a series of non-sanctioned plastic surgeries. The roguish policeman is, not unexpectedly, both confused and angry. Things become clearer when he is introduced to intelligence operatives Conn MacCleary (J.A. Preston) and Harold Smith (Wilfred Brimley). He learns from these two serious men that he has been selected to serve a top-secret organization, CURE, which – he’s reminded - doesn’t actually exist for all intent and purposes.

Technically, he doesn’t exist. Police officer Samuel Edward Makin, his former self, is now dead and buried. He has been reborn as a mystery man with no record of ever having existed. He has been given a new name for the sake of convenience, Remo Williams, and is told that he’s been chosen to act as a sanctioned assassin since “Our cops are corrupt, our judges are bought, and our politicians are for sale. Everywhere you look, slime is on the loose.” MacCleary invokes a heretofore little known “eleventh commandment:” “Thou shall not get away with it.” It must be said that this brand of rough justice, no matter how well-intentioned, sounds a bit fascistic and not very American-like. His first target, it is explained, is George S. Grove (Charles Cioffi), a shady multi-millionaire who is ostensibly developing a weapons system for Ronald Reagan’s “Star Wars” program. CURE has reason to suspect Grove’s patriotism and wants Williams to eliminate the shady government contractor.

This non-Constitutional method of offing corrupt officials and contractors from government posts is entirely intentional. Murphy and Sapir both worked as city-desk editor-reporters for such Jersey City based dailies as the Hudson Dispatch and the Jersey Journal. Murphy also served as the beleaguered press secretary to disgraced Jersey City Mayor Thomas J. Whelan. Whelan was one of the infamous “Hudson County Eight,” an octet of elected official and cronies prosecuted by New Jersey’s Attorney General on extortion and conspiracy charges. Murphy would later tell one interviewer that he only turned to writing-fiction “when everybody I worked for in Jersey City politics went to jail.”

More than a decade following publication of the first Destroyer novel, actor Fred Ward was tapped by filmmakers to play the rogue CURE assassin Remo Williams. Though he bore little resemblance to the handsome slim-face agent featured on the paperback covers of the Destroyer series, Ward’s stoicism, rugged features and twice-broken nose gave him a Charles Bronson-like macho presence. The film’s oddest bit of casting was that of Joel Grey, the esteemed Broadway actor and dancer, as Chiun, a wizened Korean of indeterminate age. The Korean nationalist is a devoted practitioner of the totally fictitious combat discipline of Sinanju, which he touts as the most supreme of all martial-arts forms. Sinanju is something of a religion to Chiun. Which is why, I suppose, no one is terribly surprised to see this inscrutable master literally walk on water near the film’s climax.

It was reported that the fifty-two year-old Grey wasn’t originally interested in the role. I first assumed the actor’s reluctance to play an elderly Korean was simply a matter of aesthetics. Having seen the movie, I now suspect the actor’s initial reluctance was the result of his reading the script. Christopher Wood’s screenplay does little to present Chiun as anything more than a tired cliché: he’s merely one more in a long-line of mysterious and inscrutable wise-men from the East. In testament to his gift as an actor, Grey nearly manages to pull off the charade. Thanks to the amazing work of Academy Award nominated make-up artist Carl Fullerton, Grey is convincingly re-cast in his appearance.

The master and unwitting student first cross paths in a basement apartment. Unaware that Chiun is on the CURE team, the initial meeting between the Sa Bum Nim (“Master Instructor”) and his reluctant protégé soon turns violent. In the course of the played-for-laughs dust-up that follows, we learn that Chiun has achieved such mastery of Sinanju that he has developed his reflexes to the point he can outmaneuver a bullet fired at close range. This skill, of course, will later come in handy.

In the interest of more dramatically documenting Remo’s conversion from slothful beat-cop to athletic super-agent, we’re made to witness the transformation in something resembling real-time. The better part of the movie’s first hour is wasted on only mildly amusing vignettes of Remo’s schooling in Sinanju practices. He’s taught to walk stealthily on the ledges of high-rise buildings, to hang by his fingertips from Coney Island’s famed Wonder Wheel, and to participate in any number of challenges that seem a template for television’s Ninja Warrior obstacle-course series. Sadly, such turgid pacing is what, eventually, dooms the film’s already lagging narrative. There’s very little sense of urgency throughout the movie’s two-hour-long running time, no ticking time-bomb to engender suspense. The tracking down of nefarious industrialist George Groves is reduced to nothing more than a convenient and disposable sub-plot. There’s also a cinematically opportunistic but non-starting romance between Remo and smitten U.S. Army Major Rayner Fleming (Kate Mulgrew) that – like so much in this film - amounts to little in the end.

WAY-OUT IN THE ITALIAN WEST

By Howard Hughes

I’ve never known quite what to make of Carlo Lizzani’s ‘Requiescant’ (1967), the director’s second and last foray into spaghetti westerns. I saw it before I had the chance to view his first western, ‘The Hills Run Red’ (1966) and had high hopes for the film – based on the fact that it was screened in September 1993 on BBC2 in the season of ‘Moviedrome’ cult films and it came highly recommended by Alex Cox. I’m a big fan of Lizzani’s ‘The Hills Run Red’. I don’t know why, but from the moment I saw it, I loved it. Ennio Morricone’s music helps, as does the great cast, including grandstanding Henry Silva, beautiful Nicoletta Machiavelli, leathery old Dan Duryea and massively underrated Thomas Hunter. I know I am largely alone in my assessment and enthusiasm, but for those who make lists, I deem it Top-20 spaghetti western material.

Following on from ‘Day of Anger’ and ‘Cemetery Without Crosses’, Lizzani’s ‘Requiescant’ is Arrow Films’ third spaghetti western release on Blu-ray and DVD. It’s also known by the titles ‘Kill and Pray’ and ‘Let Them Rest’. First off, it feels much more like an ‘Italian’ film than most spaghetti westerns, mainly due to an absence of Spanish supporting players and exclusively Italian location filming in Lazio (rather than Spain’s Madrid or Andalusia provinces). And the presence of legendary director Pier Paolo Pasolini, one of the most recognised and recognisable faces in Italian, indeed world cinema, is simply distracting when he pops up as Don Juan, a pistol packing priest with a social conscience. Like the ‘Jesus Christ, it’s Henry Fonda!’ casting coup moment from Sergio Leone’s ‘Once Upon a Time in the West’, this is ‘OMG, it’s PPP!’

An Italian-West German co-production, ‘Requiescant’ stars Lou Castel (who played the young assassin in ‘A Bullet for the General’) as a Mexican boy who is the only survivor of a massacre of Mexican peons at Fort Hernandez. The perpetrator was San Antonio landowner George Bellow Ferguson (a demonic Mark Damon, cast against type), who with his cadre of gunmen has stolen their borderlands with bogus treaties. The boy is found wandering in the desert and is adopted by travelling priest Father Jeremy and his family, but when he grows to adulthood, he abandons the ways of the Lord. He discovers his true vocation when he inadvertently foils a stagecoach hold-up and finds he is naturally gifted with a six-gun. His proficiency leads to him becoming something of a hero to the local Mexican population, who call him Requiescant, as in ‘rest in peace’ in Latin, due to his ritual of reading a prayer over his victims’ corpses. Requiescant’s step-sister Princy (Barbara Frey) runs away to become a showgirl, but ends up in forced prostitution in a seedy San Antonio saloon/bordello run by Ferguson’s henchman Dean Light (Carlo Palmucci), which in classic spaghetti western tradition sets Requiescant against the murderer of his real parents.

The film’s tone veers from tragedy to comedy, and Castel makes an offbeat hero, even for spaghetti westerns. At some moments he plays the film as a spoof, as when he encourages his horse to speed up by using a frying pan to hit its rump and in his tactic of mounting a horse, first by climbing onto a hitching rail then into the saddle. In complete contrast to Clint Eastwood’s Man With No Name, Requiescant is something of a bumbler, with his holster slung on a piece of rope, but no one can argue with his accuracy with a pistol. There are some totally strange moments in the film also, as when Requiescant hides out at Fort Hernandez and discovers the bleached-out skeletons of the Mexican victims of Ferguson’s massacre scattered behind the palisade – it is these corpses from the past that must also ‘Rest in Peace’, but only when their murders have been avenged. In another noteworthy scene, Requiescant faces Dean Light in a pistol duel, with both participants standing on stools with their heads in nooses (as Tuco the Ugly tried to execute Blondie the Good) which is timed by the midnight strike of a clock. At one point Princy is forced to swallow a drug that makes her hallucinate and much is made of the simple rural characters’ naivety against the savvy, capitalist businessmen.

For its lack of authentic spaghetti western atmosphere, ‘Requiescant’ is a definite curio for a number or reasons. It’s more realistic than many spaghetti westerns. Here the poor Mexican revolutionaries collect Requiescant’s victims valuable weapons, rather than leaving them lying around with the corpses, as Clint’s Man With No Name does in the ‘Dollars’ films. What makes the film of real interest is its unusual cast. Mark Damon is a cloaked villain from the cobwebs of Italian gothic horror, a relic of the Old South, like Joseph Cotton’s delusional patriarchs in ‘The Tramplers’ (1965) and ‘The Hellbenders’ (1966). All-powerful and sadistic, he keeps his wife Edith (Mirella Maravidi) in a padded cell and later, after she has helped Requiescant escape, he garrottes her. He also uses his Mexican servant (Luisa Baratto) as a live target – she holds a candelabra aloft – in his wine cellar shooting gallery. Ferguson’s views are typical Reconstruction Era rants: slaves were ‘looked after’ by their Southern masters, while the north exploited them with a minimum wage, and the Mexican farmers ‘don’t deserve’ to own land. ‘Requiescant’ ends with a tableau (of the revolutionaries riding away to their next battle, while others till the land) that could have appeared in any socio-political agrarian Italian film and resembles rural neorealism. Here the western setting is simply a vehicle for the discussion of wider issues. This is a far cry from ‘The Hill’s Run Red’, a Dino De Laurentiis production released internationally by United Artists and a much more straightforward (and commercially successful) revenge film. Lizzani directed ‘Hills’ as a favour to De Laurentiis, but used the pseudonym ‘Lee W. Beaver’. ‘Requiescant’ is obviously a much more personal project for Lizzani, who made a series of highly political films. Along with the appearance of director Pasolini in ‘Requiescant’, Pasolini’s regular actors Franco Citti and Ninetto Davoli appeared: the former as two-fingered badman Burt (who is particularly fond of his blond toy doll) and the latter as Niño, a Mexican trumpeter. Their presence – a distinctly Italian presence – creates a rather strange atmosphere which might be termed ‘Prairie Pasolini’.

BY LEE PFEIFFER

The year 1969 was a particularly good one for Glen Campbell. With America under siege by a tidal wave of bad news about Vietnam, race riots, revolts on campus and other seemingly endless divisive issues, there was a niche for wholesome entertainment that Campbell was able to fill. He had recently proven he could cross over from the country and western charts to general audiences. Seemingly everyone loved his music. Campbell even appealed to younger audiences and he shared the top ranks of the pop music charts with acts The Rolling Stones and The Kinks. With his good looks, down-home gentle humor and songs about unrequited love, Campbell provided the perfect salve for America's wounds. He even made a notable splash on the big screen that year with a very credible acting debut as John Wayne's co-star in the classic "True Grit". Adding to his success, CBS signed him to host a weekly variety show titled "The Glen Campbell Goodtime Hour". The program was successful and ran for three full seasons. Seemingly, Glen Campbell could do no wrong in 1969.

Shout! Factory has released two full Christmas specials from "The Glen Campbell Goodtime Hour" which aired in 1969 and 1970.  Both episodes provide a reflection back on an era in which television was still resisting the new-found freedoms that Hollywood was embracing. In 1969 such groundbreaking films as "Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice", "Easy Rider", "Midnight Cowboy" and "The Wild Bunch" had explored sex and violence in a manner that would have been unthinkable even a few years before. However, the TV industry in America was still playing it safe, catering to family-oriented fare and inoffensive sitcoms. The dam would break the following year with the premiere of Norman Lear's "All in the Family", but the three major networks had to be coerced into relevancy. For all of that, the sludge pile that represents most programming on network TV today makes one pine away for this more innocent era. At least the shows were good and one misses the complete absence today of the traditional variety show, which "The Glen Campbell Goodtime Hour" represented. If you didn't like one song or comedy sketch, just hang in there as there were plenty more coming your way. Of the two programs presented on this DVD, the stronger entry is the 1969 Christmas show. The guest line-up reminds us of how many larger-than-life entertainers used to populate the medium in an era before cheesy "reality" shows defined television. In the 1969 show, Campbell's guests include such icons as Andy Griffith, Cher and Paul Lynde. Campbell presides over the festivities with charm and self-confidence, never attempting to upstage his guests. As was the case with variety show sketches from this period, the ones on the DVD probably seemed a lot funnier back in the day than they do today. The skits are too long and weakly written, though it is undeniably fun just to see these entertainers together on screen. Griffith and Lynde limp through a couple of comedy bits including one now predictable premise of a disgruntled Santa Claus in the throes of self-pity, complaining that no one appreciates him in the "younger generation". Griffith is a sympathetic bartender who keeps serving Santa doses of milk. The show is at its best from a musical perspective. Cher, looking gorgeous, performs a soulful rendition of Otis Redding's "Sittin' on the Dock of the Bay" while Campbell presents some terrific versions of haunting beautiful hits like "Galveston" and "Wichita Lineman". He even knocks out a credible version of Mason Williams' superb acoustical hit "Classical Gas". Later in the show, he introduces his wife and young family as well as his troupe of regular singers and dancers. They all gather around and sing traditional Christmas carols as a finale. (Keep an eye on the final credits- yes, this was from an era when shows actually had credits- and note that one of the comedy writers was an aspiring comic named Steve Martin!). The 1970 Christmas show pretty much follows the same format: a mix of comedy sketches, hit songs and traditional carols. This time, however, Campbell also introduces his mom and dad who do a fine job performing "Crying Time". Then Campbell's three sisters also join in and prove to be fine crooners in their own right. This episode features guest stars Anne Murray, Mel Tellis, Jerry Reed, Shecky Greene, George Gobel and Larry McNeely. The comedy sketches are as lame as the ones on the 1969 show, though Greene and McNeely do perform a rather nice, silent tribute to Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy. The finale finds the giant cast gathering in a living room setting to sing carols. The sheer warmth and good will of the segment makes you momentarily feel as though you actually are in a neighbor's living room (assuming your neighbor's living room has klieg lights and Shecky Greene). 

The Shout! Factory DVD presents these long-unseen programs uncut and in pristine condition. Today, Glen Campbell's very public, courageous battle against the ravages of Alzheimer's Disease has made him the subject of a great deal of attention, including a feature length documentary. However, this DVD release reminds us that the man's legacy should not be that of a victim but, rather, of a major entertainer who had a long and remarkable career.

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BY DOUG OSWALD

Randolph Scott became a top box-office draw starring in 105 movies in a career which lasted for nearly four decades. He’s best remembered as a western icon in a career that, in many ways, rivals that of John Wayne. While the Duke made movies into the mid 1970s and made appearances on TV until his death in 1979, Scott retired from acting in 1962 after making “Ride the High Country” for Sam Peckinpah. Scott was 64 and felt he could not surpass his performance in that movie. He remained happily retired until his death in 1987 at the age of 87.

Scott, like the Duke, is known for his collaboration with an iconic larger-than-life Hollywood director. In Scott’s case the honor goes to Budd Boetticher. They made seven movies together and “The Tall T” is among their best efforts. Based on a story by Elmore Leonard with a screenplay by future western director Burt Kennedy, the story is simple and starts out at a leisurely pace.

Scott plays Pat Brennan, a former ranch hand with a small ranch of his own who wants to make a deal with his former employer at the Tall T. On the way he visits a friend and his son who operate a stage coach water stop outside of town. The boy admires the heroic Pat and asks if he will pick up some candy in town which Pat agrees to do. In town Pat meets up with Ed Rintoon, the local stage coach driver, played by Arthur Hunnicutt. They discuss the recent marriage of local mine heiress Doretta, played by Maureen O’Sullivan, (Jane in the MGM Tarzan series), to the opportunist Willard Mims who married her for her wealth. Pat heads over to the Tall T to purchase a bull for his small ranch, but after making a bet with his former employer who wants him back, ends up losing his horse when he fails in his bid to ride the bull.

Making his way on foot with candy, saddle and pack in hand, Pat is picked up by Rintoon who is transporting newlyweds Willard and Doretta Mims. Willard would just as soon not pick up Pat, but is persuaded by Doretta. They make there way to the water stop which is strangely empty. Three men with guns are waiting for the bank stagecoach and have murdered the boy and his father and kill Rintoon after a brief shootout. Willard selfishly convinces the outlaws that his wife is worth holding for a ransom and makes a deal allowing him to deliver a message to her father.

Richard Boone plays Frank Usher, the leader of the gang, and he agrees that a ransom may be a better option than a stagecoach robbery. He’s aided by Henry Silva as Chink and Skip Homeier as Billy Jack. Frank claims to be a man with moral values like Pat while Chink and Billy are only interested in getting drunk and spending time at any available whorehouse. Billy keeps the candy Pat brought for the murdered boy and the candy is slapped from his hand by Frank. Frank, Chink and Billy take Pat and Doretta to a desert hideout and wait for Willard’s return. The men make it clear that they are willing to kill their captives and Pat realizes that all three will be dead when the ransom is delivered. Boone is terrific as Frank Usher. Frank is a complicated bad guy who understands the moral code of good men like Pat Brennan. In typical anti-hero fashion, Frank tries to convince Frank that he’s not like Chink and Billy. He isn’t, but that doesn’t stop Frank from using Pat’s moral code in order to manipulate everyone.

The “Tall T” would appear to be an odd choice for the title of this movie. The ranch plays a very small part in the movie and is never discussed after Pat loses the bet. The original title was "The Captives" which is the title of Elmore Leonard's original story. "The Tall Rider" is believed by some to be still another pre-release title, but the final title was changed to "The Tall T" which is the name of the Tenvoorde ranch. The movie is enjoyable and the performances by Scott, Boone, O’Sullivan, Hunnicutt and Silva are a testament to Boetticher as an auteur of highly stylized westerns. Henry Silva is of particular interest as the villainous Chink and his performance manages to slightly outdo Boone who is also in top form.

Released by Columbia in April 1957, the sound quality on the disc is near perfect and the Technicolor is beautifully preserved in widescreen. The movie is only 78 minutes long and it feels like it should be longer. The movie was previously released on DVD by Sony as part of “The Films of Budd Boetticher” and was one of five Scott/Boetticher movies in the set which is loaded with extras. That set is out of print and can fetch a premium price on-line. This version of “The Tall T” is a burn to order DVD released as part of the Sony Choice Collection and there are no extras on the disc which starts up without a menu.

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