BY LEE PFEIFFER

In the 1970s and 1980s  director  Brian De Palma had some high profile hits with Hitchcockian thrillers such as "Sisters", "Obsession", "Dressed to Kill", "Blow Out" and "Body Double". De Palma's defenders extolled the virtues of these films as clever homages to Hitchcock while detractors accused De Palma of using The Master's formulas to make a fast buck. In 1982 director Robert Benton jumped on the same bandwagon with his own Hitchcockian  project, "Still of the Night", which was shot under the title "Stab" before the marketing campaign had been re-evaluated. A few years earlier Benton had triumphed at the Oscars with "Kramer vs. Kramer", taking home the Best Director Oscar. That film also provided an important career boost for Meryl Streep, who also won an Oscar for Best Supporting Actress. The two were reunited for this project which stands out on both of their credentials as an odd choice. Chances are that when you think of Streep's exalted status in the film community today, the thriller genre is unlikely to come to mind. (Though she did also appear in "The River Wild" and the remake of "The Manchurian Candidate".) Benton, who had directed relatively few films to date, was more accustomed to the genre and perhaps his involvement with this flawed production can be explained by the fact that the basis for the story (which he collaborated on with David Newman) was a real life experience that found him obsessed with a woman who simultaneously excited and frightened him. Certainly it's a sold premise for a thriller and through much of the movie Benton provides a compelling scenario complimented by two excellent actors: Streep and Roy Scheider. The film falls apart in the final act when it begins to resemble less of a homage to Hitchcock than an homage to De Palma's homages to Hitchcock- with a dose of "Play Misty for Me" thrown in (i.e knife wielding killer attacks protagonist on a balcony that overlooks the churning sea.) It's not that "Still of the Night" is bad (though Streep has gone on record as saying it is), it's simply that it hardly seems like it would ever have been compelling enough to attract two recent Oscar winners. 

The film opens in the office of New York City psychiatrist Sam Rice (Scheider). Like most cinematic headshrinkers, he appears to need psychiatric care more than his patients do. He's going through the miseries of a divorce and seems bored and depressed. The only significant female relationship he has is with his mother (Jessica Tandy, who perhaps not coincidentally starred in Hitchcock's "The Birds".) Sam's mundane daily routine takes a dramatic turn when he discovers that a long-time patient, businessman George Bynum (Josef Sommer) has been found stabbed to death in his car on a Manhattan street. From this point some key elements of the story are told in flashback sequences.  Sam remembers Bynum as a sexual predator who had been having an affair with one of his staff workers. Then he meets Brooke Reynolds (Streep), a gorgeous thirty-something blonde who seems both alluring and vulnerable. Bynum confesses that he is obsessed with her and cut off his previous affair in order to engage in one with Brooke. Shortly after Bynum's death, Sam is shocked when Brooke appears at his office, nervous, unsettled and chain-smoking. (Yes, you could smoke in an office in those days.) In the awkward conversation that follows she says the purpose of her visit is to return a wristwatch that Bynum had accidentally left at her apartment. She doesn't want to return it herself for fear of alerting Bynum's widow about the affair he was having with her. From minute one Sam is smitten and intrigued by this quirky, jittery- and stunningly beautiful- young woman. He also realizes that her cover story about the watch is thin. She actually wanted to meet him. Shortly thereafter Sam is visited by Detective Joe Vitucci (Joe Grifasi, channeling every personality cliche you can think of when it comes to a New York  City cop). He asks Sam if he can shed any light on who might be Bynum's killer. Sam informs him that anything he had discussed with Bynum would be protected under doctor/client privilege...but he also finds himself unable to inform Vitucci about Bynum's affair with Brooke. He realizes he is now obsessed with her, just as Bynum was. He strongly suspects that Brooke is Bynum's murderer but can't get her out of his mind. Like Bynum, he's simultaneously sexually stimulated and terrified of her. Nevertheless, he begins finding excuses to see her and his presence seems to have a calming effect on Brooke. The friendship goes to another stage when she responds to his kiss but Sam is too lacking in self-confidence to actually seduce her. Meanwhile he begins to experience some eerie occurrences. He believes someone is stalking him in the basement of his apartment building. As he follows the mysterious Brooke on a nighttime walk through Central Park (a chilling scenario for anyone in those days), he finds himself alone and so unnerved that when a man jumps out of the shadows to mug him, he is actually relieved to have another human being on the scene. Director Benton knows that a sure-fire way to ratchet up suspense is to put the protagonist in a creepy dark house or in an equally unnerving location. However he goes to the well with this plot device a little too often. For a man who lives in the heart of Manhattan, Sam seems to wind up repeatedly in eerie, isolated places. However, some of the sequences are genuinely suspenseful as in the scene in which Sam is in the laundry room of his apartment building, deep in the bowels of the basement. No one is around. There is total isolation when suddenly the lights in an adjoining room inexplicably go out. You can share his sense of increasing panic as he knows  someone is stalking him...but who and why? Refrehingly, Scheider portrays Sam as an everyday guy, not a tough-as-nails hero. He's vulnerable both physically and emotionally throughout.

The film's primary asset is its two stars, both of whom give intense and very convincing performances. There are also the usual plot twists and red herrings one would expect to find in a movie of this genre and Benton for the most part manages to wring some genuine suspense out of it even when he resorts to old gimmicks that include a dream sequence in which Bynum is menaced by an eerie little girl (are there any other kinds of little girls in dream sequences?) It's straight out of "The Shining"  but then again just about everything in "Still of the Night" seems recycled, even though it manages to be engrossing right up until the climax when Benton the screenwriter resorts to every time-worn cliche imaginable: an old dark house, a sacrificial lamb character, a vulnerable hero, a knife-wielding maniac...you get the picture. About all that is missing is John Carradine as a mad scientist. The weak ending feels like it was tossed together at the last minute and doesn't retain the suspense or logic that Benton has managed to build heretofore. Nonetheless, "Still of the Night" is still worth a look if only for the performances and those few genuinely spooky sequences.

(The film is now streaming on Amazon Prime.)

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BY LEE PFEIFFER

The Sony Choice Collection has rescued another long forgotten TV movie from obscurity and released it as a burn-to-order title. "Kiss Me...Kill Me" is a crime thriller that was originally telecast in 1976. Compared to similar fare from that era, the film is fairly routine, though it might well be more appreciated today than it was at the time of its original airing. This is due to the fact that it boasts a strong cast of seasoned veteran actors- something that was relatively common in the 1970s, when the concept of TV movies became very popular. Most of these productions had star power and audiences enjoyed seeing some of their favorite movie stars on the small screen. "Kiss Me...Kill Me" stars Stella Stevens as Stella Stafford, an L.A-based investigator for the District Attorney's office. She is assigned to an especially disturbing murder case involving Maureen Coyle (Tisha Sterling), a respected young woman who teaches at a school for handicapped children. Maureen suffers from a disability herself: she has a leg disorder that causes her to walk with a limp. When she is discovered murdered in her apartment, the D.A.'s office is put under pressure to find the culprit behind the especially gruesome killing. Stella is assigned to work the case with veteran detective Harry Grant (Claude Akins). The two are old friends- and perhaps more. They interact with intimate familiarity and socialize at Stella's apartment. Harry's career has been in decline and views this case as a way of re-establishing his reputation. Before long, he has his first suspect: Edward Fuller (Robert Vaughn), an elitist owner of a major advertising agency who was seen lurking around Maureen's apartment building prior to the murder. Under questioning, he is less than co-operative and can't provide a logical reason for his being there in the dead of night. In looking into Maureen's personal life, a shocking secret emerges. Turns out she enjoyed kinky, rough sex and was known to frequent a seedy bar trolling for one night stands. Ultimately, Harry finds another suspect: a young black man named Hicks (Charles Weldon) who admits to having bedded Maureen. Harry's strong-armed tactics results in the down-and-out Hicks eventually confessing to the killing but Stella suspects he is not the real killer. This puts her at odds with Harry, who accuses her of sabotaging his case by continuing the investigation beyond Hicks, who she feels was coerced into confessing. Ultimately, the trail leads to Douglas Lane (Bruce Boxleitner), an arrogant young hunk who was using Fuller as a sugar daddy. Fuller is clearly infatuated with Lane and tries to buy his love and respect but all he gets is public humiliation. Stella becomes convinced that Lane is the real killer but trying to prove it could cost her her own life.

"Kiss Me...Kill Me" is rather provocative for a TV movie from this period, though overt discussion of S&M sex and gay relationships have to be hinted at rather than explicitly discussed. The film contains some rather routine chase scenes and action sequences but the script is more successful in regard to presenting some interesting characters and developing their relationships. The tensions between Stella and Harry boil over to the breaking point and there is good on-screen chemistry between Stella Stevens and Claude Akins, one of cinema's best "second bananas" who gets a rare leading man role here. It's also interesting to note that Stevens is the real star of this movie in an era when actresses were breaking the glass ceiling and emerging as popular action stars. (Think "Police Woman", "Wonder Woman" and "Charlie's Angels", all of which came about within a couple of years of each other.)  The best performance is by Robert Vaughn, who boldly discards his image at a suave ladies man to play a weak, vulnerable aging gay man. In one scene he is publicly humiliated by the bisexual object of his affection and instead of going Napoleon Solo on the guy, Vaughn's character meekly endures the shame. It's a cringe-inducing scene that makes you feel sympathy for a character who is not very sympathetic. The are some other veteran actors in the flick, which helps elevate its status. They include Michael Anderson Jr, Dabney Coleman, Steve Franken and even Pat O'Brien as an elderly, wise-cracking morgue worker. In all, a rather enjoyable visit back in time to the glorious era of '70s TV movies. Let's hope Sony keeps making these long-unseen productions available. 

The transfer is excellent but the release, unsurprisingly, has no extras.  

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WARNER BROS. HOME ENTERTAINMENT ANNOUNCES THE BELOVED CLASSIC

SINGIN’ IN THE RAIN TO BE RELEASED ON 4K ULTRA HD BLU-RAY™

Acclaimed as one of the greatest MUSICAL films of all time,

will BE AVAILABLE FOR THE FIRST TIME IN 4K RESOLUTION WITH HIGH DYNAMIC RANGE (HDR)

BURBANK, CA, – To celebrate the 70^th anniversary of the 1952 acclaimed and beloved film, Warner Bros. Home Entertainment announced today that Singin’ In The Rain will be released on Ultra HD Blu-ray Combo Pack and Digital on April 26.

Singin’ In The Rain is widely considered to be one of the greatest musical films in cinematic history. The musical romantic comedy was directed by choreographed by Gene Kelly (On the Town) and Stanley Donen (On the Town) and stars Kelly, Donald O’Connor, Debbie Reynolds, Jean Hagen, Millard Mitchel and Cyd Charisse.

The film was written by Adolph Green and Betty Comden and produced by Arthur Freed. The music is by Nacio Herb Brown and the lyrics are by Arthur Freed.

O'Connor won the Golden Globe Award for Best Actor – Motion Picture Musical or Comedy, and Betty Comden and Adolph Green won the Writers Guild of America Award for their screenplay, while Jean Hagen was nominated for the Academy Award for Best Supporting Actress.

In 1989, Singin' in the Rain was one of the first 25 films selected by the United States Library of Congress for preservation in the National Film Registry for being "culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant". The film ranked 10th on AFI’s 100 Years…100 Movies list, 16th on AFI’s 100 Years…100 Laughs list, 16th on AFI’s 100 Years…100 Passions list, “Singin’ In The Rain” was 3rd on AFI’s 100 Years…100 Songs list, and the film was number 1 on AFI’s Greatest Movie Musicals list.

Ultra HD* showcases 4K resolution with High Dynamic Range (HDR) and a wider color spectrum, offering consumers brighter, deeper, more lifelike colors for a home entertainment viewing experience like never before.  

In addition, the remastered film will screen at the TCM Film Festival on April 24**. For more information, please visit https://filmfestival.tcm.com.

TCM Big Screen Classics will also present the 70th anniversary of Singin' In The Rain in theaters this April in the US. Tickets are on sale now, go to www.FathomEvents.com for more details.

Singin’ In The Rain will be available on Ultra HD Blu-ray Combo Pack for $24.99 SRP and features an Ultra HD Blu-ray disc with the feature film in 4K with HDR and a Blu-ray disc of Singin’ In The Rain. Fans can also own Singin’ In The Rain in 4K Ultra HD via purchase from select digital retailers beginning on April 26th.

Ultra HD Blu-ray and Blu-ray Elements

Singin’ In The Rain Blu-ray contains the following previously released special features:

Commentary by Debbie Reynold, Donald O’Connor, Cyd Charisse, Kathleen Freeman, Stanley Donen, Betty Camden, Adolph Green, Bad Lurhmann and Rudy Behlmer.

Singin’ in the Rain: Raining on a New Generation Documentary

Theatrical Trailer

DIGITAL DISTRIBUTION ELEMENTS

On April 26, Singing In The Rain 4K UHD will be available to own for streaming and download to watch anywhere in high definition and standard definition on favorite devices from select digital retailers including GooglePlay, Vudu, Xbox and others, and will be made available digitally on Video On Demand services from cable and satellite providers, and on select gaming consoles.

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BY LEE PFEIFFER

"Scotty and the Secret History of Hollywood" is an acclaimed 2017 documentary by director Matt Tyrnauer, that centers on one Scotty Bowers, who passed away in 2019 but who lived to see the release of the film, which chronicles his rather eyebrow-raising adventures in Tinseltown. Who was Scotty Bowers? To the average person, his name won't ring any bells unless they read his autobiography, "Full Service" which was considered to be a "must" among movie fans who relish stories about the sex lives of legendary actors, actresses and directors. The film opens with Bowers, then in his 90s but seemingly as fit as a fiddle, enthusiastically promoting his book at signing sessions where he engages with appreciative admirers. Just what made Bowers unique enough to merit a feature-length documentary? He was always open about his experiences in old Hollywood in terms of providing sexual favors for both men and women, though his preference clearly seems to have been with the former. Bowers would have to have been classified as bisexual since we see him with his wife of 34 years, who apparently was ignorant of his past as a stud-for-hire during most of their time together. When we meet the couple, they are crammed into a once lovely house in L.A. (one of two that had been bequeathed to Bowers by grateful rich male lovers). Now, however, Bowers and his long-suffering spouse must contend with mile-high mountains of paperwork and clutter that would make for an episode of "Hoarders". Always affable and upbeat, Bowers unreservedly recounts his memories of his sexual encounters with the rich and famous in the days when being outed as a homosexual would mean the death knell on a career. The hypocrisy was staggering, of course, because Hollywood was populated by big names who everyone in the industry knew were gay or lesbian, even if the carefully-crafted studio publicity machines managed to keep their fans in the dark.

Those looking for salacious anecdotes won't be disappointed as Bowers recounts his life story He grew up in rural Illinois and joined the Marines in WWII, seeing life-altering combat during his stint. Upon returning to the States after the war, he got a nondescript job pumping gas at a service station on Hollywood Boulevard. He worked long hours, so he had a small trailer on the premises where he could grab some shut-eye. According to Bowers, one day actor Walter Pidgeon stopped by for gas and ended up inviting the hunky Bowers to his home for nude swimming and other activities. (Ahem...) Through Pidgeon, Bowers soon was being paid to provide sexual services for other prominent people, often accommodating them for money in his trailer at the gas station. Not one to keep a good thing to himself, Bowers would arrange to let other gay men use the trailer for clandestine get-togethers. Before long, the place was seeing more traffic than an L.A. freeway, but remarkably, Bowers was never found out or arrested. His status in the gay community spread and Bowers was making good money for providing his services, though in the documentary he takes pains to deny he was ever a pimp. He maintains that he never was paid for arranging for sex between other people, which he claims he did simply as favors. Many of the legends he cites as being secretly gay or bisexual are hardly shocking (Rock Hudson, George Cukor, Cole Porter, Charles Laughton and "bachelor roommates" Cary Grant and Randolph Scott.) Others, however, were new to me, including Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn, those long-time lovers who Bowers says weren't lovers at all. He maintains their "romance" was a sham designed to cover up the fact that both Tracy and Hepburn were homosexuals. Adding more spice to his stories is that he claims they were among many other Hollywood legends who he had sex with. But wait- it doesn't stop there! He also claims that the Duke of Windsor (and former king) and his wife (more commonly known as Edward and Mrs. Simpson) were both bisexual and that he had threesomes with them. 

Director Tyrnauer provides plenty of vintage film clips throughout the documentary including some brief snippets of hardcore home movies of Scotty and his male pals. The stories are certainly sensational and Bowers comes across as likeable and unapologetic because he felt he was simply helping people in the oppressed gay community find some joy in life. But are his stories true? While he certainly tells these tales convincingly and in some cases is backed up by other talking heads, there's no real attempt to hold him to account to provide any definitive evidence. There is only one person at a book signing event who chastises him for waiting until all of the celebrities he writes about were dead and buried before going public with these sensational claims. Bowers dismisses him quickly but the point still gnawed at me while watching the film, as it does whenever the subjects of scandals are no longer around to defend themselves. Nevertheless, there is much that is undeniably true about the experience of being gay in the film industry of days gone by. However, one should ask if things are really much different today. Certainly, being out of the closet is ostensibly embraced by the film community but one seriously doubts whether a macho leading actor today would still be employable if they came out of the closet simply because the industry is just as hypocritical as ever.  

The film is currently available for streaming rental or purchase on Amazon. Highly recommended, assuming you're broad-minded about Bowers' penchant for describing his activities in a jovial but graphic manner.

In this 2013 entry of "Trailers from Hell", John Landis dissects Norman Jewison's landmark 1966 Cold War comedy classic "The Russians are Coming, The Russians are Coming." 

By Hank Reineke

Just following Christmas of 1940, Box Office reported Paramount’s new thriller The Mad Doctor would hit cinemas on Valentine’s Day of 1941. The actual sneak-preview – and accompanying publicity push - of the film would take place ten days prior, February 4, at Los Angeles’s Paramount Theater. Then, on Saturday night, February 6, the studio would pull out all the stops, offering a proper premiere for their “blood-chilling drama.” The studio would celebrate the double-bill of The Mad Doctor and The Monster and the Girl as central to a “Spook Week” celebration. Saturday’s “hair-raising” program would not only feature the films but also a magician and Andy Kirk and his Harlem Orchestra… the latter performing their swinging “Spooks and Boogie Woogie” stage show.

The general release of The Mad Doctor, more fittingly described a “drama” than a horror film in industry trades, was pushed to February 20. Perhaps issuing a blood-letting, wife-offing film on Valentine’s Day was considered poor taste, or maybe not. In any event, The Mad Doctor opened to mixed reviews, ranging from “pretty good” to “poor entertainment.” There were certainly no raves, most critics finding the film lackluster and derivative. The scenario was a basic one, they reminded, mildly reminiscent of Charles Perrault’s 1697 fabled folktale Bluebeard. (PRC’s Bluebeard (1944), starring John Carradine as the titular murderer, was still more than years away from hitting screens). There were also suggestions The Mad Doctor was very similar to Rowland V. Lee’s 1937 British chiller Love from a Stranger.” The comparison to this latter film was not unfair. That film, partly based on an Agatha Christie mystery, also featured Basil Rathbone as a charming womanizer who murders paramours for their dowries.

In the first few minutes of director Tim Whelan’s The Mad Doctor, Basil Rathbone’s Dr. George Sebastien, an eminent psychiatrist, has already left a trail of formerly betrothed bodies behind in Vienna, Savannah, and in the village of Midbury, NY. He has been abetted in his scheming by murderous accomplice Maurice (Martin Kosleck). Maurice may, or may not, have sexual feelings for Sebastien. This inference of a homosexual relationship between these two ne’er-do-wells hangs awkwardly in subtle dialogue parries and glancing looks between the two. But, this being 1941, one can only assume why this element is not explored further.

Shortly following his bumping off of wife number three, Sebastien decides to moves his head-shrinking practice to midtown Manhattan. It’s there that he’s asked by Louise Watkins (Barbara Jo Allen), the wife of a wealthy newspaper publisher Lawrence Watkins (Hugh O’Connell), to address the melancholic behavior of a sister Linda Boothe (Ellen Drew). Though she’s beautiful and lacks for nothing, the grim but glamorous Linda routinely suffers dreams where she stands at the “edge of the grave looking down.” Her morbid visions drives her to suicidal attempts. We watch as she prepares to jump from the parapet of a high-rise skyscraper. But the girl’s plunge is foiled by the quick intervention of would-be suitor Gil Sawyer (John Howard).

The girl clearly is in need of mental health counseling. Though concerned about Linda’s “suicide complex,” Sawyer more selfishly, if correctly, sizes up handsome psycho-therapist Sebastien as a romantic rival. He disparages Sebastien as a “half-baked soul meddler,” assuring Linda (in ignorance) she suffers from nothing greater than “ordinary hypochondria.” Sawyer cunningly uses his platform as a newspaperman to publish a series of unflattering articles on the practice of psychotherapy in the New York Sun. He hopes to expose Sebastien as the biggest quack of the profession. But his research into the doctor’s past leads him to suspect the therapist might very well be a homicidal maniac. So when a half-hypnotized Linda agrees to accept Dr. Sebastien’s proposal of marriage, there’s reason to worry.

Though eight decades have passed since The Mad Doctor hit theaters, it’s hard not to agree with the original critical assessments published upon release. Personally, I’m a soft touch for old, creaky and gloomy celluloid mysteries of the 1930s and 1940s, but what critics moaned as true eighty years ago remains true today. The cast is good, the New York City penthouse atmosphere elegant and classy, but the film, alas, is a slow drag. Technically, the film is not even a mystery. It’s no spoiler to reveal Rathbone’s character as the de facto serial wife-killer and misogynist. This revelation is made plain in the film’s first few minutes. The only mystery here is how and when this will be revealed to fellow cast members.

Box Office dismissed The Mad Doctor as” not good enough to grace the upper half of the bill save in the most unimportant program arrangements.” Variety was in agreement sighing, “Pictures are supposed to move, but ‘Mad Doctor’ has a difficult time getting anywhere.” The review continued, “This cumbersome film, running 90 minutes could have been cut to 60 and still there would have been little meat.” It’s unfortunate but true. The Mad Doctor is, at best, a middling B picture masquerading as a something better. There’s very little suspense, hardly any action nor mystery present to keep moviegoers on the edge of their seat. A full-page Paramount in-production announcement published in June 1940 promised, “Basil plays a ‘Jekyll’ and ‘Hyde’ role in the heart chiller!” But the resulting film is unable to deliver any of the promised thrills.

The Mad Doctor is neither a great film nor, to be fair, a terribly poor one.  Despite its elegant trappings, it’s merely another B programmer, the sort of thing Monogram or PRC might have knocked out with less polish or window dressing.  The film is mostly doomed by its ninety-minute running time.  There’s enough on screen to suggest The Mad Doctor might have been a more exciting offering if condensed by a modicum of judicious editing.  But, truthfully, there are other dooming issues aside from the film’s length. Howard J. Green’s screenplay is odd in construction; so much so that his paint-by-numbers scenario offers cinemagoers few moments of audience engagement. 

To be fair, Green was brought on to rework an already troubled script (The Monster) that had been knocking about the Paramount lot for years. Screenwriters Ben Hecht and Charles MacArthur had been trying to get their script of The Monster into production as early as 1935. Variety reported in January 1936 the pair was even bringing aboard Charles Lederer, visiting Hollywood from New York, to assist in the film’s scripting. The problem was Paramount was simply not interested in it.

This caused the writers to - unsuccessfully - try and finagle a deal for The Monster with the British arm of the Gaumont Film Company in the summer of 1936. Gaumont too would pass, the project remaining in limbo until September 1939 when Paramount finally opted to purchase story rights. On October 28, 1939, Box Office reported the studio had engaged Green to write the script, with neither Hecht, MacArthur nor Lederer receiving screen credit for their contributions. Perhaps this was a case of too many cooks spoiling the broth: the resulting patchwork script is demonstrably less the sum of its parts.  

The original supporting feature of this double-bill from Paramount was Stuart Heisler’s The Monster and the Girl, another B film that also would feature Ellen Drew as the damsel-in -distress.  Though not a classic by any stretch, at least that film (working title, The Avenging Brain) is a bit of fun: Drew fights off a gorilla whose simian cerebellum has been replaced by that of a vengeful gangster. At least The Monster and the Girl half-delivers on what it promises. Something that, sadly, cannot be said of The Mad Doctor.

This Kino Lorber Studio Classics Blu ray of The Mad Doctor is presented here in an aspect ratio of 1.37:1 in 1920p x 1080p with removable English subs and DTS monaural sound. The set also features an audio commentary track supplied by film historian David Del Valle, as well as the film’s theatrical trailer. Visually, I suspect this film is going to look as good as it ever will. It’s doubtful this title will ever receive a meticulous and expensive restoration; that would be an effort this film would arguably not merit.  The print used for transfer is not immaculate, but only God - and a few film techs - would know the condition of the surviving elements used.  Medium shots tend to appear a bit soft-focused, but close-up photography appears sharp with clarity.  There are passing sprinkles of visual debris and evidence of minor base and emulsion scratches, but these are minor issues that do not distract.      

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We've been addicted to Joe Dante's "Trailers from Hell" website for many years. If you haven't experienced its retro-related treasures, it's time you did. What is "Trailers from Hell"? Well, who better to ask than the esteemed director himself. Here's Joe's description:

"Around 2007 I was in a quandry as to what to do with my 35mm trailer collection. Opportunities to screen this kind of material were pretty rare, even in Hollywood. So I thought, why not put them up on the internet? But that seemed underwhelming by itself, so I decided to add some voiceover commentaries on my own. I think the first ones I tackled were The Terror, Attack of the 50 Foot Woman  and The Unearthly. At first the idea was to mainly cover sci-fi and horror titles, but when a few of my friends got wind of the idea they asked to broaden the sphere and talk about their own choices. So anything we could find a trailer for was fair game. It took awhile, but soon our roster of commentators (we call them Grindhouse Gurus) started to swell. The only rule was they had to be film professionals, not critics or academics. Today we proudly feature commentaries by over 75 contributors, running the gamut from early adopters like John Landis and Edgar Wright to the likes of Guillermo del Toro, John Sayles, Illeana Douglas and Roger and Julie Corman. We have writers, directors, producers and craftspeople of all kinds, each with their own unique takes on movies they think other people should know about.

Part of the impetus for all this was the fact that younger audiences tend to be unfamiliar with the treasures of the past, even the recent past. There are just so many other attractions competing for their eyeballs. With almost two thousand entries, TFH hopes to make a dent in the miasma of "stuff" that's cluttering all our lives and alert people to movies and artists they may not have encountered anywhere else. It's kind of a mission for us. And it's fun! And now, having added our podcast The Movies That Made Me, we're finally gaining some traction. We certainly feel it's something that would appeal to readers of Cinema Retro, and thanks for your support in the past."- Joe Dante

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BY LEE PFEIFFER

"Young Billy Young" is the kind of film of which it can be said, "They don't make 'em like that anymore". Not because the movie is so exceptional. In fact, it isn't exceptional on any level whatsoever. Rather, it's the sheer ordinariness of the entire production that makes one pine away for an era in which top talent could be attracted to enjoyable, if unremarkable, fare such as this. Such films, especially Westerns, were churned out with workmanlike professionalism to play to undemanding audiences that didn't require mega-budget blockbusters to feel they got their money's worth at the boxoffice. Sadly, such movies have largely gone the way of the dodo bird. In today's film industry, bigger must always be better and mid-range flicks such as are no longer made. However, through home video releases such as Kino Lorber's Blu-ray of "Young Billy Young" and streaming services such as Amazon Prime, it's possible to still enjoy the simple pleasures that such movies provide.  

The story opens with botched robbery in Mexico committed by Billy Young (Robert Walker) and some cohorts including Jesse (David Carradine). The plan to steal horses from the Mexican military goes awry and Billy is forced to split from his fellow robbers with the army in hot pursuit. Making his way back across the border to New Mexico, he is penniless and desperate. He has a chance encounter with Ben Kane (Robert Mitchum), a tough, sarcastic older man who he encounters again in a nearby town. Here, Billy is being cheated at cards by the local sheriff, who goads him into a gunfight. Billy ends up killing him but stands to be framed for the sheriff's death. He's saved by Ben, who rides along with him to another town where Ben has agreed to take on the job of lawman. Ostensibly he is there to keep order and collect back taxes from deadbeats but in reality, he is on a mission of revenge. Some years before, Ben's son had been gunned down by a criminal named Boone (John Anderson) and Kane has learned that Boone is a presence in the new town and that he is being protected by a local corrupt businessman, John Behan (Jack Kelly). Ben makes his presence known immediately by enforcing the law in a strict manner. He's confronted by Behan, who tries to intimidate him. This results in Behan being slapped around by Kane. Behan also grows to resent the new lawman because he is flirting with his mistress, saloon entertainer Lily Beloit (Angie Dickinson). When Behan abuses her as punishment, he gets another beating from Kane. Meanwhile, Billy runs into Jesse and accuses him of having deserted him in Mexico. The two men fight it out and Jesse is later involved with the accidental shooting of the town's beloved doctor while in the employ of Behan. Kane learns that Jesse is Boone's son and holds him in jail as bait for Boone to come out of hiding. The plan works all too well. Boone turns up with a small army and lays siege to the jailhouse where Kane and Billy are holed up.

"Young Billy Young" was compared to a TV show by New York Times critic Howard Thompson on the basis that it contains so many standard elements of westerns from this time period. There is the bad girl with the heart of gold, the evil business tycoon, the brash young gun and his wiser, older mentor, the heroes outnumbered by superior forces and a lovable old coot (played against type by Paul Fix in full Walter Brennan/Gabby Hayes mode.) Yet somehow it all works very well, thanks mostly to Robert Mitchum's stalwart presence. With his trademark ramrod stiff walk and cool persona, Mitchum tosses off bon mots like a frontier version of 007. Even the Times acknowledged that "Mitchum can do laconic wonders with a good wise-crack". He has considerable chemistry with Dickinson, though the action between the sheets is more implied than shown. Robert Walker Jr. acquits himself well in the title role and David Carradine makes an impression even with limited screen time. The film was directed by Burt Kennedy, an old hand at directing fine westerns in reliable, if not remarkable, style and it all culminates in a rip-snorting shoot-out that is genuinely exciting. The fine supporting cast includes Willis Bouchey, Parley Baer and Deanna Martin (Dino's daughter) in her acting debut.  One oddball element to the film: Mitchum croons the title song over the opening credits. If this sounds strange, keep in mind that Mitchum improbably once had a hit album of calypso music. 

The film is currently streaming on Amazon Prime

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BY EVE GOLDBERG

Ronnie’s, a 2020 documentary, tells the story of Ronnie Scott and his legendary London jazz club.

From the opening sequence in which virtuoso pianist Oscar Peterson and his band perform in an exuberant split screen montage, the film announces itself as a vehicle where style reflects content, and the filmmakers really know how to present their material in a compelling way.

The documentary recounts how Ronnie Scott, a poor Jewish kid from London’s East End, becomes a top British jazz saxophonist in the 1940s and 50s. Eventually tiring of big band swing, and inspired by the new music of Dizzy Gillespie and Charlie Parker, Scott forms his own Bebop ensemble. In 1959, Scott and his fellow musician and business partner, Pete King, open their own nightclub—Ronnie Scott’s. It doesn’t take long for their club to become the premiere jazz spot in London, and a must-visit venue for jazz musicians and jazz lovers from around the world.

The documentary includes performance clips, some extended, by Miles Davis, Buddy Rich, Nina Simone, Rahsaan Roland Kirk, Ben Webster, Sarah Vaughn, Sonny Rollins, Ella Fitzgerald, and others. Much of the performance footage comes from a filmed concert at Ronnie’s in 1969. There’s also a strange, almost cringe-worthy performance by Van Morrison doing “Send in the Clowns,” accompanied by Chet Baker on trumpet.

Besides chronicling the club’s history, the film also tells the story of Scott himself, who was plagued by depression throughout his life. His depression was at times debilitating. Music was his savior—until it wasn’t. Interviewees include Scott, his two significant others, his daughter, business associates, and music luminaries such as Quincy Jones.

Writer/director Oliver Murray and editor Paul Trewartha bring the music, history, and personal tale to life through inspired editorial choices such as presenting almost all the interviews as voice over—leaving more room for the captivating archival and performance footage.

If the film follows the now-clichéd story arc of humble beginnings, to rise-to-the-top success, to fall, to redemption (in this case, the revitalization of Scott’s club after his death), then so be it. Within that familiar trajectory is emotional depth, fascinating cultural history, and, of course, the music.

Ronnie’s is available on DVD from Greenwich Entertainment. It’s also currently streaming on several platforms. 102 minutes. Bonus features: trailers.

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BY TIM GREAVES 

In the early 1980s, Israeli cousins and co-producers Menahem Golan and Yoram Globus – the men behind then-thriving outfit The Cannon Group – decided that they would like to add an old-fashioned style horror film to their burgeoning library of titles. They approached director Peter Walker, renowned for a slew of successful exploitation pictures throughout the 1970s, suggesting he create something for the likes of Bela Lugosi, Peter Lorre and Boris Karloff, blissfully unaware the three actors were dead. Regardless, Walker took the baton and ran with it, the result being 1983’s rather splendid House of the Long Shadows.

Probably best remembered for assembling icons of horror cinema Peter Cushing, Christopher Lee, Vincent Price and John Carradine under one roof, House of the Long Shadows didn’t wow critics at the time and with hindsight it’s easy to see why. Times had moved on since the relatively harmless monster flicks of the 1930s and 40s and audiences were becoming accustomed to seeing grisly fare such as Friday the 13^th, Halloween and the nerve-shredding remake of The Thing. Nevertheless, Cannon had requested a throwback to those old movies and that’s what Walker delivered, being sure to tick all the requisite clichéd boxes; an imposing house, creaking floorboards, lightning storms, hidden tunnels, furtive sideways glances, locked doors to attic rooms, and a series of murders that wouldn’t be out of place in And Then There Were None were all present and correct.

After he was initially approach by Golan and Globus, Walker had tried unsuccessfully to acquire the rights to restage The Old Dark House. He then turned to screenwriter Michael Armstrong, who conjured up a story based upon the 1913 novel “Seven Keys to Baldpate” by Earl Derr Biggers, playwright and creator of Charlie Chan. Shooting took place on location at Rotherfield Park in East Tisted (near Alton) in Hampshire.

The plot is a simple one. An American novelist (Desi Arnaz, Jr) accepts a $20,000 bet from his publisher (Richard Todd) that challenges him to write a classic chiller in one night. He travels to Wales and pitches up in a long-unoccupied manor house at Bllyddpaetwr – pronounced Baldpate – convinced that the surroundings will furnish him with the all the inspiration he needs. Unfortunately,his attempts to get started are hindered by the arrival of an assortment of mysterious visitors who, as the night progresses, are revealed to have more in common first apparent.

The aforementioned titans of terror aside, joining them on screen are Walker regular Sheila Keith (who only ever got to play unpleasant characters, yet by all accounts was the sweetest woman you could hope to meet), Julie Peasgood, Richard Hunter, Louise English and (fleetingly) Norman Rossington. What a fantastic cast, eh?

But naturally enough the big draw is the four main stars. Lee is his usual reliably imposing presence, commanding your attention every time he’s on screen. Cushing turns in a particularly memorable performance; hobbled by an endearing speech impediment – he can’t pronounce his Rs – his character also gets to deliver one of the film’s best bits of dialogue as he melancholically explains why he’s such a timid man. Price meanwhile gets the cream pf the blackly pithy lines (upon discovering the body of a character who’s been strangled with piano wire he remarks, deadpan, “They must have heard her singing.”). Carradine appears to struggle a tad, occasionally not looking too sure where he is (he was in his late 70s at the time this was made), but his performance is nothing to be ashamed of and somehow that adds to the quirky charm of the piece.

With a runtime of 121-minutes, it’s a bloated affair and could certainly have lost several scenes in which characters wander around lost in the maze of tunnels; it doesn’t make for tedious viewing as such, but they fail to move the story along. All the same, as the climax approaches there are some nifty little twists and at the end of the day it’s a pleasure to watch, if only to bask in the fun that Cushing, Lee and Price evidently had making it.

Neglected for years, House of the Long Shadows finally got to see a belated release to DVD ten years ago and Region A Blu-ray from Kino Lorber a few years back. Fans can now rejoice; it has been spruced up for a Region 2 Blu-Ray release from Fabulous Films, including a host of worthy supplements. The film itself has always suffered from a slight murkiness, but here it looks better than ever it has and is accompanied by an optional commentary track from Peter Walker and Derek Pykett. The standout among the bonus inclusions is a feature-length documentary, “Return to House of the Long Shadows”, originally shot and directed by Pykett – who clearly holds the film in great esteem – in 2012. Running only 15-minues less than the movie itself, much like that it might have benefited from a little judicious editing, but it’s nonetheless an invaluable treasure trove of information and reminiscences. Built around a revisit to Rotherfield Park by Walker, actress Julie Peasgood (who barely seems to have aged a day) and cinematographer Norman Langley, it boasts an impressive collection of additional interviews with actors Desi Arnaz, Jr, Richard Hunter and Louise English, production designer Michael Pickwoad, production manager Jeanne Ferber, writer Michael Armstrong, camera operator John Simmons, costume designer Alan Flyng and composer Richard Harvey. Additionally, there’s a separate 15-minute interview with Walker, a short step-through gallery of stills and a trailer.

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BY LEE PFEIFFER

"The Deadly Affair", directed by Sidney Lumet, is the 1967 film based on John Le Carre's 1961 novel "Call for the Dead". Le Carre was riding high during the Bond-inspired Bond phenomenon of the 1960s. Unlike the surrealistic world of 007, Le Carre's books formed the basis for gritty and gloomy espionage stories that were steeped in realism and cynicism. The film adaptation of Le Carre's "The Spy Who Came in from the Cold" had been released the previous year to great acclaim. Lumet, who made "The Deadly Affair" for his own production company, rounded up top flight British talent including screenwriter Paul Dehn, who had written the film adaptation of "The Spy Who Came in from the Cold" and  co-wrote the screenplay for "Goldfinger".

As with all Le Carre film adaptations, the plot is complex to the point of being confusing. There are many intriguing characters of dubious allegiance to one another, a scarcity of violence in favor of people talking in back alleys and living rooms and a desire to paint the world of Cold War espionage as a tawdry environment in which the good guys are indistinguishable from the bad guys. James Mason plays Charles Dobbs, a veteran British Intelligence agent who takes a leisurely walk through St. James Park with a civil servant, Fennan (Robert Flemyng),who is aspiring to get a promotion to the Foreign Office. Dobbs informs him that there is a bit of concern about his security clearance because an anonymous person has tipped off MI6 through a letter that states Fennan's may have a dual allegiance to the communists. Dobbs considers the matter somewhat trivial and tries to assure Fennan that his name will probably be cleared. The men part on seemingly upbeat terms but the next day Dobbs is told by his superiors that Fennan has committed suicide. Dobbs is flabbergasted and insists the man showed no signs of instability. Nevertheless, Dobbs feels he is being made to be the fall guy for failing to see obvious weaknesses in Fennan's personality. That's not his only problem. Domestically, his young wife Ann (Harriett Andersson) is causing him great distress by taking on numerous lovers under his very nose. (Dobbs is even instructed to phone her before he comes home in case she has a bed mate in their house.) Dobbs is humiliated at playing the role of cuckold but can't bring himself to divorce Ann- even when it is revealed that his old friend Dieter (Maximilian Schell), a German Intelligence agent who is visiting London, has also been seduced by her.

Dobbs smells a rat at MI6 and doubts Fennan committed suicide. He starts his own investigation into who killed him and why. An interview with Fennan's widow (Simone Signoret) only makes matters more complex when he begins to suspect she might be a Soviet agent. Dobbs enlists the only two colleagues he can trust: agent Bill Appleby (Kenneth Haigh) and the semi-retired agent Mendel (Harry Andrews). The trio find that as they get closer to the truth, the trail is getting more dangerous with numerous murders occurring and their own lives in danger.

To bring Le Carre's novel to the screen, certain recurring characters from his books, such as legendary spy George Smiley, had to have their names changed because Paramount had the rights to "The Spy Who Came in from the Cold" and the characters appeared in the novel and screen version. Paul Dehn's screenplay is confusing but never boring and by the end you can pretty much figure out what is going on even if some of the peripheral characters' significance remains a bit vague. Sidney Lumet was the ultimate "actor's director" and could always be counted on to get top-rate performances from his cast. "The Deadly Game" is no exception, with James Mason in fine form as a man who has been disgraced professionally and personally but who still has enough pride to attempt to clear his name. Lumet hired two fine actors who appeared in his 1965 masterwork "The Hill"- Harry Andrews and Roy Kinnear- to reunite for this production and they have a great scene together. (Andrews must be one of the most under-rated actors of all time.) Maximilian Schell only appears sporadically but his role is pivotal and he is typically impressive, as is Simone Signoret as a woman of doubtful allegiance. Harriett Andersson, whose proficiency in English was limited, is occasionally difficult to understand (she was reportedly partially dubbed because of this). She accepted the role at the last minute when Candice Bergen had to back out of the film. She is suitably sultry and her character is quite interesting, professing to love her husband even as she revels in submitting him to sexual humiliation. The only humor in the film is provided by a very amusing Lynn Redgrave in a small role as Virgin Bumpus (!), an inept set designer for a Shakespearean theater production. Quincy Jones provides a fine jazz score that fits in well with the lounge music craze of the era and Freddie Young's cinematography depicts London as an ominous, rain-spattered place that adds to the chilling atmosphere of any Le Carre story. Adding to the impressive roster of talents involved with the film are Quincy Jones, who provides a fine jazzy score and cinematographer Freddie Young. Sidney Lumet wanted to film the production in B&W but the studio insisted on color. Thus, the ever-inventive Young created a process to intentionally make the scenes look drab and dubbed it "colorless color."

Although John Le Carre was not overly-impressed with the film, he did joke that he was beguiled by Harriet Andersson's nude scene. Le Carre's opinion aside, "The Deadly Affair" was highly acclaimed in Britain, having been nominated for five BAFTA awards but it was largely overlooked amidst the tidal wave of other spy movies from the time period. It's a first-rate thriller and Indicator have done it justice with an equally excellent Blu-ray special edition, which is happily region-free and features a high definition remaster. In addition, the Blu-ray contains the following special edition features:

• Original mono audio sound
• An excellent commentary track by film historians Michael Brooke and Johnny Mains
• "The Guardian Lecture with Sidney Lumet", a wonderful audio recording of a 1983 interview at the National Film Theatre conducted by Derek Malcolm, who gets the low-key director to discuss his own movies and the general state of cinema. Interestingly, even in 1983, Lumet predicted the short attention span (or perceived short attention span) of audiences would alter the way movies were made. He griped that in several recent films he had seen, no shot lasted for more than seven seconds without a cut being made.
  
• "A Different Kind of Spy: Paul Dehn's Deadly Affair", a featurette in which writer David Kipen discusses the life and career of the esteemed screenwriter. Kipen is loquacious and interesting, providing background of Dehn's fascinating background. He was an instructor at a spy school while in the British military in WWII and among his students were Ian Fleming and John Le Carre. He later engaged in undercover activities himself. After the war, Dehn became a screenwriter and Kipen laments the fact that many of the economically-made, but expertly scripted films he worked on in post-war Britain remain largely unseen by international audiences. Kipen also informs us that Dehn was a gay man living in Britain when homosexuality was still a crime and how his closeted life and long-time lover affair with film composer James Bernard may have influenced his work.
  
• "Lumet's London" is a short featurette that shows "then-and-now" footage and photos of the various locations seen in the film.
• "Take One and Move On" is a short but interesting interview with camera operator Brian West, who recalls the inventive way cinematographer Freddie Young planned some innovative shots.
  
• "The National Film Theatre Lecture with James Mason" is a rare gem from 1967. Mason didn't give an abundance of interviews and wasn't a common presence on chat shows. This marvelous interview before an enthusiastic audience is worth the price of the Blu-ray alone. Mason is, as you might expect, urbane, charismatic and very witty as he relates stories of his life and career including some tidbits about the pleasures and stresses of working with Hitchcock and Kubrick.
  

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BY HANK REINEKE

It reaches from the grave to re-live the horror, the terror! More destructive! More terrifying!” (1958 ad campaign for Frankenstein’s Daughter.)-

Promises, promises. Even the most forgiving fans of low-budget 1950s horror concede Richard E. Cunha’s Frankenstein’s Daughter is a mess. It’s the sort of film where everything seems off-kilter: the script, the acting, the monster, the directing and flat lighting… well, everything, really. Ironically, this reality is also, perversely, the film’s single saving grace. If you go into Frankenstein’s Daughter with such knowledge aforethought and low-expectations, the resulting film – brought in on a budget of $60,000 - is actually pretty entertaining, if only in a manner of speaking.

In 1958 one New York tabloid chastised Manhattan’s Mayfair Theater for plummeting “to an all-time low in booking not one, but two, of the year’s worst films.” Describing the double-bill of Frankenstein’s Daughter and its co-bill Missile to the Moon as nothing less than “pathetic,” the critic opined producer Marc Frederic and Cunha might have be better suited as “shoemakers” than filmmakers. I would say that assessment is an unfair one… with the caveat that my tolerance for bad movies is pretty high.

Director Cunha’s previous double-bill of low budget horrors Giant of the Unknown and She Demons had performed reasonably at the box office. Well enough that in April of 1958 the Hollywood Reporter noted Fred Ballin, the President of Astor Pictures, had brokered a deal with Marc Frederick’s [sic] Layton Productions to deliver no fewer than ten feature films in a twenty-four month period. The first two films of this partnership were to be Frankenstein’s Daughter and a sci-fi epic provisionally titled Satellite (later changed to Missile to the Moon). Cunha was tapped to direct both films, the former title to begin shooting on April 30.

I would only catch Frankenstein’s Daughter some fourteen years on. The film was featured on New York City’s WPIX-TV’s Chiller Theatre in the early winter of 1972. I can’t remember with any accuracy now, but I’m sure I sort of enjoyed the movie back then, at least in a more or less manner. The film’s primary monster (this film generously sports two) was sort of cool looking: ping-pong ball sized eyes, a fright wig, acid scarred skin and a set of eyebrows befitting Soviet leader Leonid Brezhnev. The face of the film’s secondary creature, also a creation of the picture’s mad doctor, seems less Frankenstein’s monster and more Mrs. Hyde in appearance, but that’s nit-picking. To Cunha’s credit there’s no suspenseful long drag as we await the ghastly reveal of the first monster. “Trudy” (Sandra Knight), the film’s secondary fiend, appears on screen within a minute or so into the movie during a nightmare sequence.

Frankenstein’s Daughter centers around the experimentations of Dr. Oliver Frank (Donald Murphy) whom, we learn, is actually the grandson of the original Dr. Frankenstein. Frank, in all truth, is a pretty awful guy, cynical, intense, lecherous and high-strung.  He’s working with the doddering Carter Morton (Felix Locher) who, quite frankly, is no prize himself.  Though dismissed from his former position at Rockwell Laboratories, Morton occasionally manages to break into and steal from the office of his former employer whenever he’s in need of additional materials. 

Dr. Frank also has an assistant, Elsu (Wolfe Barzell), a creepy old colleague of his grandfather’s. Interestingly, Elsu seems far less weird than the two egghead scientists he assists in the secreted basement laboratory of the Frank home. But then again - and given his history - Elsu has seen it all, I imagine.  But even with the help of two his assistants, Dr. Frank’s recent experiments have brought about a disappointing a combination of mixed results and outright failures. 

The mad doctor ascertains his two most recent misfires were caused by his having created strong-willed male monsters.  So he’s chosen to re-jigger his experiments by turning female candidates into full-fledged monsters. This, he reasons, is sure to correct past mistakes since a woman’s brain is more “responsive to command.” To this end he’s already turned Morton’s lovely niece Trudy, into a drug-addled half-monster. 

But his most frightening monster is his newest creation, a huge, skulking and violent creature whose feminine features are all but indiscernible. (It was only after reading Tom Weaver’s old interview with Cunha that I discovered make-up artist Harry Thomas was simply unaware he was to craft a female monster for the film. So, due to time constraints, the filmmakers simply went with the androgynous monster supplied).

Regardless, Trudy and boyfriend Johnny (John Ashley) eventually come to suspect there’s something odd going on in the basement and decide to have a look.  When the two teens manage to thwart Dr. Frank’s evil schemes, the mad doctor scornfully bellows, in classic Scooby Doo fashion, “Are you satisfied now, you meddling kids?”        

Yes, this is a bad movie, but not an unentertaining one. H.E. Barrie’s (the nom de plume of a writer who understandably asked for anonymity) script is chock full of head-scratching improbable turns and purple prose passages. As low budget 1950s sci-fi goes, I guess some of the dialogue and plot contrivances might have been tempered, if not salvaged, by the delivery a more capable ensemble. But as so much of Barrie’s dialogue is delivered in wooden fashion, many of the scripted exchanges invoke only laughter and head shakes.

Moving the traditional Frankenstein setting from a gloomy old European castle to a modern suburban American home (the establishing shot is actually the home of producer Frederic), was one way for the production team to shave a few dollars from the budget.  It is also allowed for the inevitable ‘50s teenage dance party to be dropped into the picture’s middle without much fuss.  One bit of curious casting is that of Harold Lloyd Jr. as “Don.” Lloyd, the son of the legendary silent film actor-comedian, had also tried his hand at acting and singing prior to his untimely death at age 40. The Page Cavanaugh Trio, a well-scrubbed electric jazz combo, backs Don on his scat-singing solos on “Special Date” and their own “Daddy-Bird.”

So that’s the honest criticism. But this movie (shot in six ten-hour days according to Weaver) is actually a fun popcorn-munching effort if you’re in the right mood and tend to wallow in B-movie nostalgia. This “Special Edition” Blu-ray from Film Detective offers Frankenstein’s Daughter in all of its 85 minute B &W glory in a 1.85: 1 aspect ratio and DTS monaural sound. It looks as good as it likely ever will.

Film Detective also, much to their credit, pulls out all the stops on this set. There are two separate commentary tracks, one by Weaver, one by filmmaker Larry Blamire, as well as two featurettes: Richard E. Cunha: Filmmaker of the Unknown and John Ashley: Man from the B’s. There’s also a twelve-page booklet written by Weaver, with accompanying photos. The booklet neatly condenses and distills much of the info offered in the expansive commentaries. Final verdict: this release is worth a shot, just as long as you know what you’re getting into.

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BY LEE PFEIFFER

We've often written about the shameful conceit of movie studios that used to cast Caucasian actors in leading roles pertaining to ethnic minorities. Sure, it was fine to have actual minority actors playing supporting roles (often for comic effect) but the most important characters were generally always portrayed by white actors or actresses (remember Rex Harrison as The King of Siam???). Sadly, this blatant policy of racial prejudice often extended to films that were sympathetic to the very races they were portraying. Case in point: Geronimo, a 1962 Western that purports to tell the story of the legendary Apache leader who stood virtually alone against the U.S. government, even after most of his tribe was browbeaten into surrendering. The logic at United Artists at the time was that there was no actor more appropriate to play a famous Native American other than blonde-haired, blue-eyed Chuck Connors, who was riding high at the time as the star of the popular TV series The Rifleman. He certainly possessed an imposing physique as well as more-than-adequate acting abilities. However, even with a black Morticia Addams wig, there is no doubt he was completely miscast as Geronimo. This was also the case with fellow cast members Kamala Devi, a gorgeous flash-in-the-pan actress who worked on several projects with Connors before fading into oblivion and Ross Martin (!), the fine actor primarily known for playing Artemus Gordon in the Wild, Wild West TV series. Not only are all these folks woefully wrong for their roles, the characters talk in modern vernacular that makes you think they must be part of the obscure Apache tribe from Bayonne,  New Jersey.

This much must be said about Geronimo: - the intention of the producers was noble. This is probably one of the first major studio releases that dared to portray Native Americans in a truly sympathetic light. The film opens with Geronimo reluctantly surrendering to the U.S. Cavalry in order to spare his few remaining followers more deprivation and starvation. Once at the reservation, he quickly learns he has been deceived and that the tribe is slated to be humiliated wards of the government, stripped of any dignity or civil rights. This bold notion is watered down, however, by a screenplay that ensures that these deceitful practices are the work of a few bad apples. There's no way the American government in Washington D.C. would ever have sanctioned breaking treaties! By punting on presenting actual history, the story loses its impact. Geronimo and some of his men rebel by breaking out of the reservation and going on the war path. If the film goes lightly on the U.S. government, so, too does it present Geronimo in a sanctified light. There isn't a hint of the atrocities he committed against settlers, probably because Chuck Connors' fans would have marched on the studio bosses and burned them in effigy. The film is comic book history, presenting only the barest hint of historical fact and even includes a ridiculous happy ending that absolves the U.S. government and Geronimo of any mistakes in judgment.

It's to Connors' credit that he doesn't come across as ridiculously as he might. The film also presents that wonderful character actor John Anderson in a fine performance as a corrupt Indian agent and another future TV icon, Adam West, has a supporting role as a cavalry officer sympathetic to Geronimo. Director Arnold Laven keeps the action moving with nary a dull patch and it can be said that the movie is  passably entertaining.

"Geronimo" is currently streaming on Amazon Prime

BY LEE PFEIFFER

Like many boys who grew up in the 1960s, I was addicted to Mad magazine. It's sarcastic satires of politicians and pop culture figures were all the rage and the magazine was a showcase for some truly impressive writers and artists. Mad pushed the envelope in some regards but publisher William Gaines still maintained a family-friendly facade. In 1970 (I assure, that is A.D.), I entered high school a few months after another satire magazine, National Lampoon, published its premiere issue. The first issue I saw featured a striking cover by artist Frank Frazetta that spoofed those old jungle movies. It depicted a courageous white guy saving a scantily clad white woman from a hoard of African natives. It was titled "White Man's Wet Dream". I was hooked before I opened the magazine. National Lampoon became a "must-read" for young people of the era. Unlike Mad, there were no holds barred when it came to off-limits subjects. Anyone and anything was fair game for the team of talented writers and artists, many of whom would go on to notable careers. The sexual content was presented in a humorous manner but it broke barriers in terms of what was depicted. Even the official line of National Lampoon souvenirs were hawked by topless young women. The success of the Lampoon was such that, by 1978, the company entered the movie business. The first release, "National Lampoon's Animal House" made John Belushi into a big screen star and elevated John Landis from obscurity into one of the industry's hottest directors. The film was a sensation so it seemed inevitable that more Lampoon films would emerge- and they did, though none of them were related to the original movie. Chevy Chase starred in some of the popular "Vacation" movies that bore the banner of the Lampoon, but most of the other attempts to blend the magazine concepts to the big screen resulted in rather nondescript productions that had little theatrical exposure before going to home video. By 1998, the magazine itself had run out of steam and ceased publication after a glorious and influential run, although the company name is still actively linked to various TV, video and big screen projects.  

One of the more obscure feature films is "National Lampoon's Movie Madness", a 1982 collection of unrelated comedies stories linked by nothing other than the Lampoon name. As the old joke goes, "the movie wasn't released- it escaped!", as indicated on IMDB, which lists the film's theatrical gross as $63,000, which was probably due to tickets sold to just the people involved in making it. The movie marked the debut of director Bob Giraldi, who promptly left feature films to become one of the top music video directors in the industry. One segment of the film was directed by Henry Jaglom..yes, that Henry Jaglom, the acclaimed director of indie films who has developed a loyal international fan base. It's telling that while Jaglom continued making feature films, he has never worked for a major studio again. The mess of a feature film consists of three separate stories. In "Growing Yourself", Peter Riegert is Jason Cooper, a rich New York Yuppie with a wife (Candy Clark) and two small kids. One day, on a whim, he tells his wife that they should leave each other in order for both them to find the space to "grow". Without batting an eye, she promptly leaves. Jason adopts an increasingly bizarre lifestyle that includes turning his apartment into a jungle of sorts. He pursues unsuccessful relationships with women, including a 14 year-old temptress played by young Diane Lane. At one point, he gives away custody of one of his children to a stranger without batting an eye. When his wife returns later, she informs him that she has gone from housewife to running Union Carbide. The entire scenario is weird but occasionally amusing because the characters simply accept mind-boggling developments with barely a shrug - and Peter Riegert plays the smarmy, self-absorbed Jason with just the right touch.

The second tale is "Success Wanters" and features Ann Dusenberry as an aspiring stripper, Dominique, who makes the ill-fated decision to appear at a convention of executives for the butter industry. Within minutes, the horny, tuxedo-clad, cigar smoking middle-aged execs decide to gang rape her--- and use some handy sticks of butter as useful novelties. This was the early 1980s and group sexual abuse could still be shown to comedic effect, although fortunately, we aren't treated to seeing the dirty deed itself. Instead of going after the rapists legally, she decides to bring down the entire butter industry by making Americans more addicted to margarine (I'm not making this up, folks.) This she achieves by becoming the mistress of a margarine magnate (such people must exist) played by Robert Culp. While he's on his death bed, she gets him to sign his empire over to her and she wields her new powers to mortally wound the butter industry, a strategy that sees her seducing the President of the United States (Fred Willard) and the First Lady. Despite the outrageous scenario, the entire segment is more absurd than funny.

The last, and least, of the segments is "Municipalians",which finds young Robby Benson as a rookie L.A. cop partnered with a season veteran played by Richard Widmark. The entire scenario centers on us watching the hopelessly innocent, naive and perpetually smiling Benson become corrupted by the system and the dehumanizing crimes he's forced to deal with, all unfolding as Widmark sits in the squad car ignoring the violence around him as he counts the days until his retirement. Eventually, Benson becomes a raging lunatic himself. The segment had possibilities in terms of satirizing the cliched scenario of the young cop teamed with the grumpy veteran, but the result is awful in a mind-boggling way. Benson is game to try anything under Jaglom's misdirection but we can assume he was happy that virtually no one saw the film. Only Widmark emerges with his dignity intact. Jaglom later blamed the studio for compromising his segment but if they cut any footage, it was probably considered to be a humanitarian gesture.

Code Red has released "National Lampoon's Movie Madness" on Blu-ray to the joy of bad movie fans and the probable disgust of anyone still alive who was involved in it. The Zucker brothers had the right touch for these types of theatre of the absurd premises but directors Giraldi and Jaglom have heavy hands and are working with pretty awful scripts. The only saving grace is the abundance of veteran actors and up-and-comers who make appearances. They include Elisha Cook, Jr, Rhea Perlman,Tito Vandis (a rare performance that clicks), Joe Spinell, Olympia Dukakis, Dick Miller, Christopher Lloyd, Julie Kavner and even porn superstar Harry Reems. The only one who makes an impression is Henny Youngman, whose 30 seconds of rapid-fire old jokes makes you wish they would have simply used his stand-up act to close out the latter part of the film. From a sociological view, however, it's interesting how audience's tastes have changed over the ensuing years. At times it appears the primary reason for the film's existence was to exploit each of the actresses who appear topless at length in the first two segments, despite the fact that it certainly wasn't essential to the script. Giraldi's cameras linger on the undraped actresses who engage in small talk to justify the exploitation. For those viewers of a certain age, there may be pangs of nostalgia for an era in which no one was overly-concerned about such practices, but judged by today's industry standards, it would be largely unthinkable to film segments such as these.

The Code Red video looks reasonably good and the only bonus feature is a trailer. In viewing it, I came to the conclusion that the studio should have released only the trailer and called it a day. The movie poster artwork depicted on the sleeve seems to be an homage (or rip-off) of Jack Davis's iconic campaign for "Its' a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World". Sadly, the comedic analogies end there.

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