Ray
Bradbury’s excellent 1951 short story anthology, The Illustrated Man, is
one of the author’s most revered works. It contains eighteen tales loosely
framed by a narrator who meets a carnival sideshow freak covered in tattoos
that “tell storiesâ€â€”and each entry in the book illustrates one of the tattoos.
“Don’t
you call them tattoos!†Rod Steiger belligerently yells at the
protagonist of the 1969 film adaptation. “They are skin ill-us-tra-TIONS!†Steiger
emotes in his inimitable scenery-chewing way.
And
there is the crux of why The Illustrated Man, which was adapted by
co-producer Howard B. Kreitsek, doesn’t work too well. Steiger, who plays
“Carl,†the illustrated man, had a checkered career marked by many brilliant
performances… but also, perhaps, more eccentric and over-the-top ones. His good
screen appearances (On the Waterfront, Oklahoma!, The Pawnbroker,
Doctor Zhivago, In the Heat of the Night, among others) are truly
excellent, and Heat of the Night earned him an Oscar for Best Actor. But
then there is No Way to Treat a Lady, Waterloo, and Lolly-Madonna
XXX. Steiger’s performance in The Illustrated Man probably falls
into the latter category, although he has his moments.
The
time is the 1930s (judging from the automobile seen at the beginning). Willie
(Robert Drivas) is hitchhiking his way west and stops at a lake for a swim and
campout. Carl, the illustrated man, happens to be doing the same. The pair
meet, and Carl is unreasonably confrontational and unfriendly, and yet the two
men settle down to share coffee (actually, Carl takes it without asking). Then
Carl reveals his illustrated body to the shocked Willie and begins to tell his
story of how a witch from the future named Felicia (Claire Bloom, Steiger’s
wife at the time) entranced him and proceeded to tattoo his entire body (sorry,
illustrate his body). Three tales from Bradbury’s anthology are then
enacted. “The Veldt†is in the future, and it features both Steiger and Bloom
as a married couple with two children who play in a virtual reality “nurseryâ€
that reproduces realistic places… in this case an African veldt occupied by
hungry lions. “The Long Rain†features Steiger with three other astronauts on
Venus, where it’s constantly raining. They’re lost and attempting to find a
“sun dome†for shelter, but the men begin to go nuts. “The Last Night of the
World†again presents Steiger and Bloom as a married couple who learn that the
world will end overnight, so the population has decided to end the lives of
their children so that they won’t suffer. There are, of course, twists in all
three tales.
There
is much to admire about the film. Steiger’s “illustrationsâ€â€”the makeup and
design—are truly magnificent, and kudos should be awarded to the technicians
responsible. Jerry Goldsmith’s eerily beautiful score creates a melancholic
mood that is quite effective. Bloom is good, charismatic, believable, and
gorgeous. Where the movie falls short is in the inelegant writing, clumsy direction,
and in Steiger’s odd performance. Sometimes his line readings are just… strange.
Maybe that was intentional, but instead of coming off “other worldly,†it’s
more like campy bad acting.
This
viewer remembers seeing the film in 1969 as a young teen and being taken with
the storytelling and mood. It also seemed to be very “adult†(there are flashes
of nudity) and was rated “M†at the time (for Mature audiences), a designation
later replaced by PG. In those days, the “M†could often lie somewhere between
today’s PG and R in terms of sex and violence. Ah, the good old days.
Warner
Archive’s new Blu-ray (produced on demand when ordered) looks sharp and clear
in its widescreen glory. A short featurette on the creation of Steiger’s makeup
and illustrations, and the theatrical trailer, are included as supplements.
The
Illustrated Man may
not be a perfect Ray Bradbury adaptation, but any Bradbury on screen is better
than none.
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The
1948 courtroom drama, I, Jane Doe, directed by John H. Auer and starring
the inimitable Ruth Hussey as a defense attorney who displays feminist
tendencies before that word was in the public vernacular, is a well-acted,
twisty-plotted, and entertaining B-movie flick from second-string studio
Republic Pictures—except for one thing… the trial and all the aspects
associated with it (legalities, procedures, and “how a criminal case worksâ€) is
absolute nonsense.
It’s
as if screenwriter Lawrence Kimble made up a courtroom drama based on what he’d
seen from other movies of that ilk without ever studying the law as it applies
to a trial. In no way would our heroine, Eve Meredith Curtis (Hussey), be able
to insist on a retrial of a convicted murderer (in this case, “Jane Doe,â€
played by Vera Ralston) on the basis that Ms. Doe had refused to reveal her
real name or present a defense for herself in the first trial. Secondly, the
second trial is presented with the defense leading off the process and calling
witnesses before the State does. What? All the prosecutor (Gene Langston) can
do throughout it is to object, only to have the objections mostly overruled by
an unbelievably sympathetic judge (James Bell).
“Jane
Doe†shot Stephen Curtis (Eve’s husband, played by John Carroll) one day in his
New York apartment. The evidence is clear. She did it. She is tried and
sentenced to the electric chair. However, it is then revealed that she is
pregnant with Curtis’ child. Jane delivers the baby while in prison, and the
execution is rescheduled. Before that can happen, though, Eve (who had retired
from law practice to become Mrs. Curtis years before) decides to talk to Jane
and find out the real story behind it all…and then re-enters her practice to
get a re-trial for Jane. As if it were that easy. Of course, as the second
trial progresses, we learn Stephen Curtis’ secrets, the truth behind Jane Doe and
her identity, and that Eve has secrets of her own.
Despite
the ridiculousness of the legalities in the story, I, Jane Doe does
manage to be an engaging near-90-minutes of cinema. Hussey carries the picture
with aplomb. Ralston is also effective as the accused, and Carroll is suitably
caddish for his role.
Kino
Lorber’s new high definition restoration looks quite good. Unfortunately, there
are no supplements other than trailers for other Kino Lorber releases.
I,
Jane Doe may
have courtroom hijinks in the plot, but it’s still an appealing melodrama,
thanks to Hussey and the basic story twists that keep us guessing.
If
you’ve never seen Waiting for Guffman, you owe it to yourself to grab
this wonderful motion picture (now available as a Warner Archive Blu-ray
release) or find it streaming somewhere, for it is such a laugh-a-minute
extravaganza that truly set in motion the so-called “mockumentaries†made by
Christopher Guest and his revolving stock company of comic actors.
It
all started, of course, with This is Spinal Tap (1984), in which Guest,
Michael McKean, and Harry Shearer (among others) presented a pseudo-documentary
about a wacky rock band. This picture was directed by Rob Reiner. It was so
well done that some people wondered why Reiner had chosen a band “no one had
heard of†to make a documentary about. The film skewered the rock world, band
politics and antics, and gave us highly quotable lines of dialogue and
memorable sequences, as well as actual songs ultimately released as a real
album.
A
decade later, Guest took the mockumentary concept and made it his own beginning
with Waiting for Guffman, which premiered at the Boston Film Festival in
1996 and was released to U.S. cinemas in early 1997. His stock company in this
case included Eugene Levy, Catherine O’Hara, Fred Willard, Parker Posey, Bob
Balaban, Michael Hitchcock, Larry Miller, and others. Even Michael McKean and
Harry Shearer show up in the credits—as co-composers with Guest of the original
songs performed in the picture (so, in effect, one could say that Spinal Tap
wrote the score for Waiting for Guffman).
Guffman
uses
the documentary approach to what it’s like to be in a small-town community
theatre. The 150th-anniversary celebration of Blaine, Missouri is approaching,
and Corky St. Clair (Guest) is in charge of putting on the live show that will
tell the story of the town’s history. Corky used to work in New York theatre
(so he says), so the townspeople consider him to be an “expert†(his previous
production of Barefoot in the Park was apparently a smash). Ron and
Sheila Albertson (Willard and O’Hara) are travel agents who believe they have
talent and have experience acting in the community productions, so they’re a
shoo-in to be cast. Town dentist Dr. Allan Pearl (Levy) has never acted but has
the bug, so he auditions. Libby Mae Brown (Posey) works at the Dairy Queen and
aspires to make it big. Corky brings in music teacher Lloyd Miller (Balaban) to
handle the musical direction. Unfortunately, Corky has no budget to speak of
and must make lemonade out of, well, a lot of bad lemons. The town council,
after first refusing Corky’s request for $100,000 (!) to do the show, they
encourage him to “make magic†the way he’s done before. Indeed, Corky’s magic
ultimately gets the show up and running.
The
humor comes in the improvised characterizations the brilliant cast brings to
the table. For example, Guest plays Corky as a closeted gay man with every
stereotypical mannerism in the book, even down to speaking of a wife that no
one ever sees. Anyone who has worked in community theatre (or high school or
college theatre, for that matter) must know someone exactly like Corky
St. Clair. The late Fred Willard is hilarious as the wannabe movie star, and
O’Hara is a perfect foil for him. Posey is very winning; the actress was just
beginning her career when the picture was made, and she almost steals the
movie. Balaban plays his part as a frustrated perfectionist who would rather be
the boss of the production instead of following Corky’s orders.
Guest
would go on to make other classic mockumentaries (Best in Show, A
Mighty Wind), but they don’t get much better than Waiting for Guffman,
the title of which refers to the famous Samuel Beckett play, Waiting for
Godot. In this case, Guffman is the New York critic who Corky promises will
come to see the show and possibly take the company to Broadway.
Warner
Archive’s Blu-ray (produced on demand) looks sharp and colorful, and it is a
high definition transfer of the previously released DVD from years ago. It
comes with an audio commentary by Guest and Levy that is as entertaining as the
film itself. For supplements, there are many deleted/additional scenes that are
just as fun, including two musical numbers from the “show†that were cut for the
theatrical release. These scenes also come with optional commentary by Guest
and Levy. The theatrical trailer rounds out the package.
Waiting
for Guffman stands
as one of the great comedies of the last 25 years, and it’s a testament to the
tremendous talent of many alumni of National Lampoon’s Radio Hour, Second
City, SCTV, Saturday Night Live, and other breeding grounds
of some of our most treasured funny people. Highly recommended.
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The
winner of the Palme d’Or at the 1965 Cannes Film Festival was a
thoroughly “mod,†Swinging London-set comedy directed by rising star filmmaker Richard
Lester, who was just coming off the huge success of helming the Beatles in A
Hard Day’s Night.
Adapted
by Charles Wood from a stage play by Ann Jellicoe, The Knack is a
loosely-constructed stream of consciousness tale of Colin (Michael Crawford), a
shy young man who is inexperienced with women and greatly desires “the knackâ€
of seducing them the way his friend Tolen (Ray Brooks) can. Tolen is a handsome
drummer and seems to have women (who all look like the type of model in the
Twiggy years—mid-60s hip, mod, sexy) all around him. He’s a bit of a cad,
though, and not a particularly nice guy. Colin and Tolen live with Tom (Donal
Donnelly) in a London flat that serves as a grand central station for all these
women. Meanwhile, Nancy (Rita Tushingham), an innocent newcomer to London, meets
the trio. Colin sets his sights on her, but Tolen muscles in and attempts to
exercise his alpha male prowess. What happens next is a cockeyed treatise on
relationships in the context of this swinging lifestyle, all examined through
the gaze of an op art lens. There is a combination of slapstick, pratfalls,
wordplay, titillation, and, toward the end, a disturbing sequence (for today,
that is) in which Nancy falsely—but symbolically—accuses Tolen of rape.
It’s
a strange piece of work, something that is decidedly dated, but it’s important
to judge cinema within the context of when it was released. At the time, The
Knack was edgy, out of the box moviemaking. One will have to decide whether
it works for today’s audience or not.
The
one thing that does work—spectacularly—is John Barry’s jazzy score, one
of his landmark 1960s efforts. There are a few dreamy pieces with strings and
vibraphone that foreshadow his underwater scenes music in Thunderball,
which was due to be released at the end of ’65.
And
look for the faces of Charlotte Rampling, Jacqueline Bisset, and Jane Birkin
among the extras of beautiful “birds,†as the English lads called them back in
the day.
Kino
Lorber’s new high definition restoration looks and sounds fine in all its
widescreen, black and white glory (and this is a picture that is filmed in stark
contrasting black and white!). Supplements include two “Trailers from Hellâ€â€”one
on the film with Allan Arkush, and one on Lester’s 1969 picture, The Bed
Sitting Room analyzed by fellow director John Landis, plus theatrical trailers for this and other
Kino Lorber releases.
The
Knack…and How to Get It is a relic of its time, a snapshot of a pop culture in
flux during a significant period of innovation and experimentation.
The
Bing Crosby and Bob Hope “Road to…†series began in 1940 with this landmark
musical-comedy that teamed the dueling popular radio personalities for the
silver screen. Each of them had already been featured alone in Hollywood
pictures prior to this, but Hope, especially, had not yet become the huge star
that he would be over the ensuing years. At the time, Crosby was the bigger celebrity,
and, in fact, so was Dorothy Lamour, who served as the duo’s female foil for
the series (except the seventh and last title); hence, Bob Hope received third
billing for the only time on Road to Singapore.
Singapore
sets
up the formula that would be repeated for the remainder of the series. Two
playboys (Crosby and Hope, whose character names change with each movie,
although their “characters†are always the same) find themselves traveling to
some exotic locale in order to either escape a woman, gangsters, or pursue some
con job, only to get mixed up in a farcical plot with an equally exotic woman
(always Lamour, in her “sarong†era). There are a few songs performed by both
men or solo or with Lamour, comic hijinks (especially from Hope), and even some
action and adventure. A running gag throughout the series was a bit that Crosby
and Hope did—playing “Patty-Cake, Patty-Cake,†reciting the verse and slapping
their hands in front of adversaries as a distraction—and then surprising the
bad guys with sudden punches, thereby starting a fight and the means to escape.
Another familiar face in some—not all—of the “Road†movies is that of big-eyed,
big-mustached Jerry Colonna, whose mugging and bigger-than-life voice provides
much merriment.
The
picture is usually cited as one of the best of the “Road†pictures. There are
indeed some wonderful moments. The chemistry between the two leads is palpable,
the musical numbers are a lot of fun, and the comedy produces many laughs. Some
elements might seem embarrassingly dated to today’s audiences—such as a
prolonged sequence in which Crosby and Hope don dark makeup in order to
impersonate island natives—but one must place the movie within the context of
when the picture was released, and 1940 was a very different societal time. It
should also be noted that the film was not shot on location in Singapore—it was
made in Hollywood. Once you’re past the eye-rolling at some of the sexist and
racist attitudes that are present, Road to Singapore can be a nostalgic
and entertaining evening at the home video theater.
Kino
Lorber’s new Blu-ray release looks fine and sounds great. It comes with English
subtitles for the hearing-impaired. Three previously issued supplements
accompany the film: a short documentary on Hope and the Road pictures, with appearances
by Phyllis Diller, Randall G. Mielke (author of The Road to Success),
and Richard Grudens (author of The Spirit of Bob Hope); a short
featurette on Hope entertaining the troops over the years; and a musical
excerpt from the film presented as a “sing-along†with lyrics to follow.
If
you’re a fan of Crosby and Hope, the Road pictures, and Hollywood pre-World War
II entertainment, then Road to Singapore is for you!
The
late actor Kirk Douglas has often cited that one of his favorite pictures he
ever made was Lonely are the Brave, a “western†set in its contemporary
year of release (1962).
Based
on Edward Abbey’s 1956 novel, The Brave Cowboy, the picture was shot on
location in New Mexico and directed by David Miller, a craftsman who worked
with a variety of genres and subjects (he gave us the 1952 film noir Sudden
Fear and the 1941 Billy the Kid). Most significantly, the screenplay
is by Dalton Trumbo, whom Douglas “rescued†from blacklist hell two years
earlier by giving the writer screen credit for his work on Spartacus
(and effectively ending the blacklist). It is indeed Trumbo’s script—and
Douglas’ fine performance—that makes Lonely are the Brave a quality
movie.
Jack
Burns is a cowboy, a loner, a drifter, a man without a real home or job—it
seems his only possessions are the clothes he wears and the horse he rides. He
grabs cowhand work where and when he can get it. He hates having to deal with
the modern world, automobiles, fences, borders, the law, and bureaucracy. One
day he returns to a small border town to visit his best friend, Paul (Michael
Kane) and learns that Paul is in jail for assisting illegal immigrants. Paul’s
wife, Jerry (Gena Rowlands, in one of her early screen appearances) obviously
has some affection for Jack and hosts him and his horse. Jack finally decides
he’s going to do something about Paul being in jail, and the only way to do it
is to get himself arrested in order to break Paul out from the inside. The
sheriff (Walter Matthau) and his sadistic deputy (George Kennedy) set out to
pursue Jack before he rides across the border to safety. And then there’s a
truck driver (Carroll O’Connor) innocently driving along, to whom the movie
cuts periodically throughout the story—and we wonder why… until we do know.
That’s
it in a nutshell, but the power of the movie comes in its melancholy that
exudes from Jack’s character and the widescreen western vistas (albeit in
glorious black and white) that are as much a supporting role as the living
actors. Jerry Goldsmith’s wistful score also contributes a great deal to the
success of the film. This is all good stuff, making Lonely are the Brave indeed
one of Kirk Douglas’ more memorable appearances.
Kino
Lorber’s new high definition restoration looks terrific and comes with an audio
commentary by film historians Howard S. Berger and Steve Mitchell. Supplements
include a tribute to the film featuring interviews with Douglas, Rowlands,
Michael Douglas, and Steven Spielberg, and a featurette on Jerry Goldsmith’s
score. The theatrical trailer for this and other Kino Lorber releases round out
the package.
Lonely
are the Brave is
too-often overlooked gem from the early 1960s.
Here
we go again! Another entry in the “Forbidden Fruit: The Golden Age of the
Exploitation Picture†series, this time it’s Volume 5. Presented by Kino Lorber
in association with Something Weird Video, we have for your viewing pleasure
the double-bill of Tomorrow’s Children, released in 1934 and directed by
Crane Wilbur, who went on to do an impressive amount of writing and directing
for (mostly) B-movies, and Child Bride, released in 1938 and directed by
the notorious Harry J. Revier, a practitioner in cinema sensationalism dating
back to the silent era. Note: Some online sources such as Wikipedia incorrectly
state that the running time of Tomorrow’s Children is 70 minutes (here
it’s 56 minutes and there doesn’t seem to be anything missing), and that Child
Bride was released in 1943 (nope, it was 1938).
First
up—Tomorrow’s Children, the subject matter of which is eugenics and
sterilization. Believe it or not, there was quite the movement in those days
that perpetuated the sick belief that people who might be alcoholics or have
disabilities or be criminally inclined should not be allowed to procreate. You
know, it’s what Hitler and the Nazis actually practiced. The picture,
surprisingly, settles on the side of “it’s wrong,†but it goes about portraying
the unfortunates who do become sterilized as stereotypical miscreants and
misfits. Diane Sinclair plays Alice, who is the daughter of alcoholics and
sister to siblings who are either physically or mentally impaired. Thus, when
she desires to marry her sweetheart, Jim (Carlyle Moore), the court deems that
she must undergo sterilization to prevent the further breeding of undesirables.
Enter the honorable Dr. Brooks (Donald Douglas), who fights to help Alice and
stop the surgery from taking place.
The
picture must have been somewhere in the realm of a respectable B-picture
production, albeit produced independently of Hollywood, for none other than
acclaimed actor Stanley Holloway appears as comic relief as one of the doctors
at the hospital. Douglas was also a hard-working actor who appeared in over 100
films. Director Wilbur at least knows how to put a movie together, and the
acting isn’t terrible (but certainly not award-worthy). That said, the picture
indeed has a creepiness factor that justifies its inclusion in the exploitation
film genre.
On
the other hand, Child Bride is exceptionally creepy and wince inducing. It
is presented as an “educational†treatise on the horrors of child marriage,
which the movie postulates as common in such American backwater areas as the
Arkansas Ozarks, where the story takes place. Twelve-year-old Jennie (Shirley
Mills, who went on to play one of Henry Fonda’s kids in The Grapes of Wrath),
is innocent and just entering puberty. Her best friend (and boyfriend) is young
Freddie (Bob Bollinger), and their relationship is wholesome. However, there
are men in her little mountain community who take “young’uns†as brides. When
Jennie’s father is murdered, the heavy of the movie, Jake (Warner Richmond),
threatens her mother (Dorothy Carrol) with blackmail unless she allows Jennie
to be forcibly married to him. Meanwhile, the schoolteacher, Miss Carol (Diana
Durrell) is advocating against child marriage in the village, which attracts the
wrath of the menfolk. Child Bride is as salacious as it sounds,
especially today. The picture became infamously banned for its brief,
gratuitous nude swimming scene featuring the star. Sure, the film’s message is
“child marriage is bad,†but director Revier isn’t above throwing some red meat
to the perverts in the audience. Child Bride is a shocking—yet
fascinating—piece of cinema history that shines a light on moral (and immoral)
attitudes of the late 30s. Of note is the inclusion of dwarf actor Angelo
Rossitto (credited here as Don Barrett; he was prominent in Tod Browning’s Freaks)
as one of the heroes of the picture.
Kino
Lorber does the best they can in restoring the films in high definition
considering the poor source material. Tomorrow’s Children looks the
best, despite a brief courtroom sequence that appears as if it is fifth
generation YouTube video. Child Bride is choppy and full of scratches,
but we’re to expect this coming in. The first feature has an audio commentary
by Eric Schaefer, author of Bold! Daring! Shocking! True!: A History of
Exploitation Films, and the second has a highly informative feminist take audio
commentary by film historian Alexandra Heller-Nicholas. Unfortunately, there
are no supplements other than the trailers for this and other Kino Lorber
releases.
For
those interested in the history of exploitation films and fans of the other
titles in the Forbidden Fruit series, then Tomorrow’s Children/Child
Bride is for you. Just be sure to take a shower after viewing.
This Ealing Studios thriller was a total
surprise to this viewer. It’s always a joy to discover a picture from
yesteryear that one hasn’t seen, and The Night My Number Came Up happens
to be a solid, riveting piece of work.
The movie is based on a real incident
experienced by British Air Marshal Sir Victor Goddard, and it was adapted to
the screen by R. C. Sheriff. Competently directed by Leslie Norman, Number is
a taut aeronautical near-disaster flick about a small Royal Air Force plane
that carries thirteen people (eight passengers and five crew) from Hong Kong to
Tokyo on a harrowing journey.
One could say that the movie has much in
common with an episode of The Twilight Zone due to a somewhat
supernatural slant. One day at Hong Kong’s Kai Tak Airport, Air Marshal Hardie
(Michael Redgrave), civilian Owen Robertson (Alexander Knox), Secretary Mary
Campbell (Sheila Sim), Officer Mackenzie (a young Denholm Elliott), and others
board a Dakota to fly to Japan. Unfortunately, weather is poor (“clouds… dark…
snow†are the recurring images and dialogue that describe the danger). The
plane gets lost and is in danger of crashing. Back at the airport, Commander
Lindsay (Michael Hordern) seems to know what has happened. He’d had a dream 48
hours before that illustrated every event leading up to the plane’s take-off,
and he believes he knows where the aircraft has gone down. It is up to him to
convince the air traffic control officers in Hong Kong to direct their search
in the right place—which is WAY off the Tokyo route. The thing is—Lindsay had
related his dream to many of the plane’s passengers the night before their
departure, so the events that occur do not feel coincidental to them.
The suspense is palpable. At no time does one
question the eye-rolling premise of the man who has dreams that pre-determine
destiny; the whole thing is played straight, and it works. All the actors are quite
good, especially Knox as the superstitious and frankly somewhat cowardly friend
of Air Marshal Hardie’s who unwittingly comes along on the flight.
Kino Lorber’s new Blu-ray restoration (from
StudioCanal) looks and sounds quite good. It comes with English subtitles for
the hearing impaired, plus an audio commentary by film historian Samm Deighan. The
trailer for this and other Kino Lorber titles are also included.
The Night My Number Came Up belongs in the genre
that would later spawn such more extreme supernatural fare as Final
Destination… and Number was made 45 years earlier! Check it out for
a fast-paced armrest clutcher.
While
we in the United States think of the “gangster film†as something that is
perhaps distinctly American, it can be forgotten that other countries have had
their fair share of mobsters, too. The U.K. is a typical specimen. There have
been some very bad hombres in movies like Sexy Beast and The Long
Good Friday, whichare classic examples of British gangster cinema.
It
was a pleasant surprise to discover Brighton Rock, obviously a beloved crime
movie in Britain, but not as well known in the States. In fact, the movie was
released in America as Young Scarface.This thriller, made in
1947 and released very early in 1948, is a product by the Boulting Brothers
(identical twins!), who were a sort of British Coen Brothers at the time. They
produced numerous quality movies from the late 1930s to the 1970s, usually
directing separately, or maybe one would produce while the other directed, and
so forth. In this case, Roy Boulting was the producer, and John Boulting was
the director.
The
screenplay for Brighton Rock was written by the acclaimed Graham Greene
and Terence Rattigan, based on Greene’s 1938 novel. The book had already been
adapted into a West End stage play prior to the Boulting Brothers’ further
turning it into celluloid.
A
very young Richard Attenborough made his acting breakthrough as the star of the
picture, playing a truly psychotic sociopath, Pinkie Brown, a role for which he
had received praise in the stage play. The character is only seventeen, but he
is a ruthless, cruel, cold killer who is handy with a knife—and he becomes the
leader of his gang after the boss is murdered.
As
the movie’s title crawl tells us, Brighton as a beach resort was a hotbed of
criminal activity between the world wars. The story takes place in the late
1930s, when rival gangs were vying for territory and commerce in the community.
Pinkie blames a journalist for the boss’s death because of an article the
writer penned about the rival gangs. Pinkie then stalks and kills the
journalist. Enter amateur sleuth Ida Arnold (Hermione Baddeley… wait, Hermione
Baddeley??), who is an entertainer on the Brighton pier. She is convinced
that Pinkie and his gang were responsible for the journalist’s death (she knew
him personally), but the local police don’t buy it and have closed the case.
Meanwhile, Pinkie meets an innocent and pretty waitress named Rose (Carol
Marsh). Pinkie woos her in his creepy, icy way, and astonishingly, this strict
Catholic girl with no street smarts falls in love with him (this is perhaps the
only element of the story which is a bit difficult to swallow).
Things
get more complicated as Pinkie sets out to destroy anyone who might have the
goods on him, and he also wants to strike at—or maybe join—the rival gang,
which is gaining more power in the territory.
Allegedly
Greene was not happy with the film’s ending, because the Boultings changed it
slightly from the novel. In truth, the filmmakers presented a more ironic,
albeit happier, conclusion to the story, which works very well. It can be
argued that the movie’s ending is actually more cynical than the book’s finale.
Brighton
Rock is
Attenborough’s movie. His performance is chilling; it’s a measured, quiet, intelligent
portrayal of a psychopath that gives Richard Widmark in Kiss of Death a
run for his money. Baddeley is also winning as the bubbly and stubborn
extrovert who insists on solving the crime when she has no reason to do so.
Kino
Lorber’s new high definition restoration (from StudioCanal) looks and sounds
terrific, and there is an accompanying audio commentary by film historian Tim
Lucas. There are no other supplements aside from the trailers for this and
other Kino Lorber releases.
Brighton
Rock is
recommended for fans of British cinema, gangster movies, and crazy criminals.
There
have always been what have been termed in the motion picture industry
“exploitation films,†even back in the silent days. The late 1930s and much of
the 1940s, however, saw a deluge of cheap, not-even-“B†pictures made, usually
independently of Hollywood and marketed in guerilla fashion as “educationalâ€
adult fare. You know the type. Reefer Madness. Child Bride. Mom
and Dad.
Dwain
Esper was one of the most notorious directors who made these types of pictures
in the 1930s. He was assuredly the Ed Wood of that decade. He purposely chose
sensational subjects—drug use, sexuality—and produced them independently of
Hollywood. The Production Code was in full force during most of his working
years, so distribution had to be done in creative ways—renting theaters and
advertising locally that the films were for adults but contained valuable
lessons in morality. Maybe in the 1930s, viewers bought that line, but face
it—these movies appealed to prurient interests. When viewing these two titles
in restored, uncut form, one wonders how Esper got away with it. Interestingly,
his wife Hildegarde Stadie (credited as “Hildagarde†Stadie) wrote the
screenplays and often acted as producer.
Kino
Classics, in association with Something Weird Video, has released a “Forbidden
Fruit†series of exploitation films (this is Volume 4). Here we have a double
feature by Esper, along with some eye-opening shorts as extras.
First
up—Marihuana (sic) (1936), a “cautionary tale,†ha ha, along the lines
of the hilariously similar feature Reefer Madness, in which two sleazy
drug dealers (Pat Carlyle and Paul Ellis) corrupt the youth of a small town
with the evils of marijuana and other drugs. An innocent but slightly
rebellious teenager, Burma (Harley Wood) and her boyfriend (Hugh McArthur)
attend a party thrown by the dealers. After ingesting the devil weed, Burma has
sex with her boyfriend, all the girls go skinny dipping on the beach at night
(yes, there is full nudity), and one girl drowns. The dealers force the teens
to cover up the crime, but Burma is now “hooked.†She has become pregnant,
leaves home, and starts working for the dealers. Of course, all this leads to
ruin and tragedy. The whole thing is jaw-droppingly ridiculous, but it is anthropologically
captivating.
Narcotic
(1933)
shows what a difference three years can make in production quality back in the
30s. This feature is decidedly lower in technical values (the print is also
choppy and full of scratches—but the restoration is surprisingly better than
one might think). Narcotic is allegedly based on the true story of a
promising young doctor, William Davis (played astonishingly well by Harry
Cording), who gets involved with opium, heroin, and other “hard†drugs.
Eventually, they destroy his career. He instead becomes a snake oil salesman of
a miracle cure that he concocts, works in a circus sideshow, and deals dope on
the side. The centerpiece of the movie is a drug party with Dr. Davis and his
friends, male and female, who spend the evening shooting up, snorting cocaine, and
smoking pot. We get to see how these drugs affect the users—and, again, the results
are unintentionally mirthful. Especially egregious is the inclusion of a
Chinese character, Gee Wu, who is played (in bad makeup and with an atrocious,
exaggerated accent) by a white actor, J. Stuart Blackton, Jr., who happens to
be the son of cinema pioneer J. Stuart Blackton, the head of Vitagraph Studios
in the early days of silent film. Once again, though, Narcotic is short
enough to be luridly entertaining.
Picture
quality in Marihuana is pretty good; in Narcotic,not so
much. The same is true for the sound quality, although there is a lot of static
and background noise in both features. Nevertheless, these are probably the
best presentations of these pictures you’ll ever see.
Both
Marihuana and Narcotic come with an audio commentary by Bret
Wood, co-author of Forbidden Fruit: The Golden Age of the Exploitation Film.
Much interesting trivia is imparted, and it is well worth the listen. Marihuana
also features a second audio commentary from 2000 by David F. Friedman and
Something Weird founder Mike Vraney.
Of
special interest in the supplements are two versions of Dwain Esper’s short, How
to Undress (also known as How to Undress in Front of Your Husband).
This is intended to be a piece of comedy in which wives are instructed by a
male narrator on the “proper†way to remove clothing at the end of a day, i.e.,
they are to do it in a slow, calculated, sensuous way—in other words, a strip
tease. None other than John Barrymore’s wife at the time, Elaine Barrie Barrymore,
stars as the spouse who follows the directions well. Older and overweight vaudeville
star Trixie Friganza contrasts Elaine in another bedroom by undressing the
“wrong†way. It’s really an excuse to denigrate her looks. Incongruously,
there’s a subplot involving a peeping tom. The long version is around 15
minutes. A shorter version, that cuts out Trixie’s scenes altogether, runs
around 9 minutes.
Another
short, How to Take a Bath, is another comic bit involving two different
pairs of husbands and wives. In one, the couple is happily married, flirt with
each other after an evening out, and the wife takes a bath that the husband has
run for her. Wedded bliss does not exist for the other couple, however. This
wife is depicted as a shrew, nagging at her sheepish husband the entire time.
Nevertheless, the viewer gets to see both wives, well, take baths.
Pure
exploitation. One wonders what kind of relationship Dwaine Esper had with his writer/producer
wife.
Another
throw-away supplement are three very brief excerpts from Esper’s lost 1932
film, The Seventh Commandment, and these are hardly worth the inclusion.
Trailers for this and other Kino Classics releases round out the package.
All
in all, the Marihuana/Narcotic double Blu-ray disk is a lot of fun,
despite its politically incorrect content. After all, both pictures are
preserved by the Library of Congress, so they must be “culturally and
significantly important.†These films do serve to act as a time travel device
for audiences today to look back at American values and customs in those years.
Fascinating stuff.