By Todd Garbarini

I did not see William Friedkin’s version of Reginald Rose’s 12 Angry Men when it premiered on Sunday, August 17, 1997 on Showtime, although I wish that I had as it would not have seemed as dated as it does today. Like many other fine dramas, 12 Angry Men originated as a 1954 teleplay for Studio One and starred Norman Fell and Robert Cummings. The following year it was staged as a play and finally directed as a film by Sidney Lumet in 1957 in arguably its finest incarnation starring Henry Fonda as the lone juror out to debate the fate of a teenager who may have killed his father in a moment of rage. That star-studded interpretation bolsters excellent camera work and highly lauded acting and makes for gripping cinema as Mr. Fonda attempts to get eleven other jurors to reconsider their positions on whether the teen should be convicted of murder and potentially face capital punishment, or if he should be acquitted should there be reasonable doubt of his guilt. Forty years later, the most obvious changes are in the casting. This time around, the judge is a female (Mary McDonnell) and the jurors, unlike in Mr. Lumet’s version, are not all white. Several of them are African-American and they come to blows with each other at times. Jack Lemmon, who I loved as Shelley “The Machine” Levine in Glengarry Glen Ross (1992), is Juror #8 who decides to stand against the mob mentality that is comprised of Courtney B. Vance who I first saw in Fences on Broadway in 1988; Ossie Davis who was wonderful in Spike Lee’s Do The Right Thing (1989) as Da Mayor; George C. Scott who I loved in Patton (1970) and The Changeling (1979); Armin Mueller-Stahl who played the Nazi guard/grandfather in Music Box (1989); Dorian Harewood who played Eight-Ball in Full Metal Jacket (1987); James Gandolfini who appears to be auditioning his Tony Soprano accent; Tony Danza (yes, that Tony Danza!) who is amusing as the juror itching to get to a ball game; Hume Cronyn who was brilliant in The Gin Game (1981); Mikelti Williamson who I loved as Al Pacino’s sidekick in Heat (1995); Edward James Olmos who was creepy as Gaff in Blade Runner (1982); and William Petersen who was never better than when he played Rick Chance in To Live and Die in L.A. (1985).

For those who have seen the 1957 film, everything from the film’s opening to the poignant denouement are identical, so there are no surprise twists or changes. This version is nearly a scene-for-scene remake, and it is shot on video rather than film. The scenery is such that it replicates the deliberation room and gives the feeling of the audience watching a play up close and personal. For a remake, I would have thought that forty years hence would have made some considerable alterations in the way the jurors speak to one another. Aside from the inclusion of a few expletives to demonstrate the easing of social conventions that have, incredibly, branded the film with a PG-13 rating, the teleplay sticks almost verbatim to the 1957 film while managing to pad out the running time to 117 minutes, a full 21 minutes longer than Mr. Lumet’s version. Even 1976’s All the Preseident’s Men with its multiple F-bombs, dropped however casually, managed a PG-rating. The opportunity to update the story with discussions of murder and justice, especially coming on the heels of the explosion and proliferation of televised court proceedings and crime-based television shows, the Rodney King beatings, race relations and the burning of Los Angeles in 1992, and the O.J. Simpson trial, is all there for the taking but is blatantly and noticeably eschewed. The lack of cell phones and the absence of the then-six-year-old World Wide Web is also jarring as they were becoming prevalent at the time of filming.

12 Angry Men is now available on Blu-ray from Kino Lorber and is the most bare-bones release that I have seen from them. The disc’s sole extra is the requisite trailer, this one for the VHS release of the film. Mr. Friedkin has provided some terrific commentaries in the past, most notably on The French Connection (1971), The Exorcist (1973), and the aforementioned To Live and Die in L.A., and I would have loved to have heard his thoughts on this release as he is such an entertaining and informative speaker.

The viewer has the choice of watching the film in either 1.33:1, which is the original analog television aspect ratio, or 1.78:1 for anamorphically enhanced high definition televisions.

It has been twenty-five years since this version originally aired, and we are in desperate need of 12 Angry Jurors comprised of men and women from diverse ethnic backgrounds with the inclusion of examples of and discussions regarding forensic science, computers, and DNA. The story needs relevance and a much-needed facelift so that a fitting update is truly possible.

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By Lee Pfeiffer

Charles Bronson, the epitome of the screen hero of few words and emotions, is the subject of the French documentary "Charles Bronson: Hollywood's Lone Wolf" from writer/director Jean Lauritano. While the movie's 52-minute running time is hopelessly inadequate for providing much insight into the film legend's life and career, it does benefit from plenty of HD film clips instead of the usual VHS-quality footage culled from public domain movies and well-worn trailers, which is usually the norm in documentaries of this sort. Because the French are generally known as the ultimate cinephiles, the film concentrates primarily on aspects of Bronson's professional career, with only some fleeting insights into his personal life and background. We learn he grew up in a hardscrabble lifestyle in the coal country of western Pennsylvania and seemed destined for a dead end job in the mines. However, after being drafted for service in WWII, he joined a generation of other recently-discharged young men who gravitated toward the acting profession after the war. Like most of his peers, Bronson never dreamed of being an actor and tried out for a play at the suggestion of a friend. He found he had a knack for the profession and soon moved to Hollywood, where he traded his real name- Charles Buchinsky- for Charles Bronson because Senator Joseph McCarthy's "Red Scare" witch hunts were in play and Bronson suspected that a Slavic name would not be beneficial. He found work immediately and was generally cast as ominous tough guys and henchmen largely because he lacked the handsome features of traditional leading men of the era.

In the late 1950s, Bronson landed the lead role in the modestly-successful TV series "Man with a Camera" before director John Sturges cast him as one of "The Magnificent Seven" and in "The Great Escape", both of which afforded Bronson high profile roles. It was during the filming of the latter production that Bronson began wooing actress Jill Ireland, despite the fact that she was married to his co-star and good friend David McCallum. Ultimately, she would divorce McCallum and marry Bronson, but such dramatic developments are dismissed with in a nanosecond in the documentary. Instead, director/writer Lauritano dissects Bronson's achievements on screen, pointing out that he reached leading man status in Europe long before Hollywood recognized his potential as a boxoffice super star. The film presents Bronson as resentful that, while he was starring in films by the likes of Rene Clement and Sergio Leone in Europe, he was still relegated to playing rather nondescript villains in American cinema, despite a high profile role as one of "The Dirty Dozen" and playing a non-violent role opposite Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor in "The Sandpiper". 

Brosnson's prospects for American stardom rose with the release of two European films that were well received in the States: the Western "Red Sun" and the real-life crime drama "The Valachi Papers", both directed by Terence Young. Soon after, his collaborations with British director Michael Winner on films such as "Chato's Land" and "The Mechanic" finally afforded Bronson name-above-the-title respect in his native country. The highlight of this period was starring in Winner's "Death Wish", the controversial crime thriller that perfectly tapped into the American public's concerns about urban crime waves of the era. It would prove to be one of the most influential films of all time, for better or worse. The documentary is frustrating because it affords us an interesting overview of a cinematic icon who is rarely examined in any meaningful way, yet it needs to have a much longer running time to do him justice. What exists is impressive, however.

The version of the film currently presented on Amazon for streaming rental or purchase and on Freevee for free, but with ads. (Yuck!) 

PLEASE NOTE: ISSUE #14 OF CINEMA RETRO HAS NOW SOLD OUT. 

By Hank Reineke

Louis B. Mayer’s MGM was not a preeminent fright-movie factory in the 1930s. In a 1935 interview with London’s Picturegoer, C.A. Lejeune, managing director of MGM in Great Britain, boasted the studio didn’t “specialise in any single type of production,” whether they be “musicals, or comedies, or horror films.” That said, following the successes of Universal’s Dracula and Frankenstein, and the still-in-production The Bride of Frankenstein, MGM wisely chose to dip their toe into the horror pool. In doing so, they managed to release a couple of eerie 1930 classics of their own. In 1935-1936 MGM delivered to the big screen The Devil Doll with Lionel Barrymore and Mad Love with Peter Lorre. But the studio was also interested in capitalizing on Universal’s success of Dracula. So much so they even sought out that film’s director, Tod Browning, to do so. It was Browning, an earlier collaborator on multiple silent-film classics starring Lon Chaney, chosen to helm the production of MGM’s The Vampires of Prague.

Mayer was not particularly enamored of horror pictures, but business was business and he recognized Universal was doing good box office with their string of chillers. MGM did insist writers tapped to scribe The Vampire of Prague should draw upon an earlier property of theirs: Tod Browning’s silent feature London after Midnight (1927). Though only a relatively few short years separated release dates of London after Midnight and Mark of the Vampire (as The Vampires of Prague would be re-titled), it didn’t seem a large number of critics (circa 1935) recognized the latter as a re-make of the earlier Lon Chaney film - an effort now sadly lost for examination and contrast.

So it wasn’t too surprising that MGM brought Tod Browning on. Though Lon Chaney was dead and gone, the director had an ace-in-the-hole, an actor holding current high attention. Bela Lugosi had come to Browning’s attention with his casting in the director’s cinematic adaptation of Bayard Veiller’s 1916 three-act stage mystery of The Thirteenth Chair (1929). Though Lugosi’s role in that film was relatively minor – he was only the seventh-billed of the cast – his subsequent popularity as Bram Stoker’s Count Dracula on stage productions cemented Browning’s decision to cast the actor in the title role of the iconic Universal film of 1931.

With this bankable asset in place, Variety reported in December of 1934 that Sam Ornitz and Hy Kraft had been conscripted to write the screenplay for The Vampires of Prague: but this news was not only late arriving, but incorrect. When production commence directly following the New Year (January 12), Guy Endore and Bernard Schubert were handling screenplay chores. Endore was something of an anomaly among horror-writers. The author of such works as The Werewolf of Paris (1933) and Babouk (1934), Endore was a devout leftist who dressed mysteries with subliminal doses of theoretic Marxism.

That said, the most controversial aspect of Endore’s scenario was not necessarily political, though its inclusion was completely excised from the finished film. It’s never explained why Lugosi’s Count Mora (a virtual mirror-image of his Count Dracula persona) displayed a visible bullet-hole in his right temple. Actress Carol Borland, playing Mora’s daughter Luna, later reminisced Endore’s script was envelope-pushing in its construction. In a scene excised from the film, the actress recounted the original screenplay explained it was an act of incest that caused Mora to strangle to death his daughter and take his own life with a bullet to the head.

It was this ghastly act that caused the restless souls of Mora and Luna to solemnly walk the earth in perpetuity. Endore’s plot device, needless to say, conjured a scenario far beyond any sort of supernatural hokum: MGM, not without cause, demanded its exclusion from the finished film. If such a scene was actually filmed, it was likely excised along with fourteen other minutes reportedly trimmed from the final cut. In any event, Mark of the Vampire clocks in at a tidy sixty-one minutes which, all things considered, is probably for the best.

The production was allotted a twenty-four day shooting schedule and budget of some 305,000 dollars, $3000 of which went to Lugosi for his (mostly) silent walk-through role. For those cineastes who complain Lugosi was under-used in Mark of the Vampire – given that the actor’s only speaking lines consisted of only one or two sentences uttered at the film’s end – such fans should enjoy the film’s trailer (included here on this new Blu-ray from the Warner Archive). Lugosi serves as the trailer’s singular narrator, spookily warning - in his Slavic trademark style, of course - cinemagoers “Shall be the judges of this eerie conspiracy!” It was nice to see the trailer included with the set, however misleading its vampiric content.

In Mark of the Vampire, Browning and MGM borrow generously from Universal’s established horror film tropes: cinematographer James Wong Howe’s photography is atmospheric and moody, particularly in scenes where Luna stoically skulks the graveyard in her “cemetery clothes.” The film’s exterior setting is a quaint eastern European village, peopled by superstitious residents who enjoy a bit of folkloric dancing in the daylight hours - but who wouldn’t dare travel at night should they encounter such ghouls as Mora and Luna. No string of garlic cloves or wolfs bane are used to protect the villagers from evil. They prefer a regional botanical they refer to as “Bat’s Thorn.”

In the unlikely scenario someone reading this is not already conversant with the plot of the film, I don’t want to give too much away. So I’ll just say elements that work best and prove memorable are the ghostly mute walk-throughs of Lugosi and Borland. The latter’s swooping entrance on a set of animated bat wings during one scene is particularly cinematic. The performances of the cast are all up to par, though one gets the feeling Lionel Barrymore regards his leading role as unworthy of his talent.

There are stories of Browning carping on Barrymore’s diffident performance while the film was in production. Which is surprising as the two were certainly familiar with each other’s work habits. Though Browning earned a reputation as a stern taskmaster on set, the director had worked with Barrymore earlier: on the Lon Chaney Sr. silent West of Zanzibar (1928). Though Barrymore is tasked to play only one-half the character Lon Chaney played in London after Midnight, it is obvious Browning would have preferred Chaney in the lead role – if only the silent-screen legend had not tragically already passed in 1930.

Browning’s opinion of Chaney bordered on the worshipful. In 1928 he enthused the “Man of a Thousand Faces” famous make-up appliances and grotesqueries were hardly “Chaney’s real secret. He could put the same make-up on the face of another man and that man would fail on the screen. There is a personality, a something about the man that grips one.” Even accepting Browning’s preferences, Barrymore’s performance is not the crux of the problem plaguing Mark of the Vampire. The main weakness of the film is the implausibility of its red-herring scenario.

Based on Browning’s own short story, The Hypnotist, both London after Midnight and Mark of the Vampire are atmospherically disguised as genuine “horror” pictures, but in truth they’re simply routine mysteries dressed as ghoulish entertainment. While I actually enjoy Mark of the Vampire, I concede the picture might otherwise be regarded a middling whodunit without the presence of Lugosi and Borland. The actress – who had earlier worked with Lugosi on a stage production of Dracula, acknowledged neither she nor Bela were made aware they were merely red herrings; the final “reveal” page of the script had been withheld until the final day of production. Universal’s lawyers tried to get an injunction to stop production of the MGM film, believing MGM’s use of Lugosi’s Dracula-persona in the film seemed an uncomfortable infringement of their intellectual properties. But threatened legal action against MGM was dropped when Universal’s lawyers deemed the case unwinnable.

Universal needn’t have worried: the film doesn’t really work as a great mystery, much less a gripping vampire tale. One doesn’t need to wait breathlessly until the closing minutes for the murderer’s reveal. Instead, we’re only given insight into how the perpetrator is entrapped into confessing. Which doesn’t make for a particularly exciting climax. The film’s other weakness is its parlor-room staginess – a plodding element also plaguing Browning’s otherwise iconic staging of Dracula. With that said, it wouldn’t be fair to throw the baby out with the bathwater. Mark of the Vampire is still a classic – albeit a somewhat minor one – from Hollywood’s Golden Age of Horror.

Previously issued in 2006 on DVD as part of the six-film Hollywood Legends of Horror set, Mark of the Vampire makes its first U.S. appearance on Blu-ray via this Warner Archive Collection release. Ported over from that earlier set is the audio commentary supplied by film historian’s Kim Newman and Stephen Jones as well as the film’s original trailer. “New” to the Blu-ray release are two items of tangential interest to people interested in circa-1935 cinema: the 8 minute-long The Calico Dragon (a 1935 MGM cartoon) and an episode from MGM’s Crime Does Not Pay series of film shorts A Thrill for Thelma (1935).

Be warned neither bonus has really anything to do with Mark of the Vampire though there’s a slight connection to the latter bonus. The Crime Does Not Pay series served as both a long-running film and radio series. On December 12, 1949, Lugosi was a featured player on the series’ radio broadcast of Gasoline Cocktail. This arguably might have been a more interesting audio supplement to include on this archive release, but interested fans can listen to the Lugosi program easily via You Tube should they desire. In any event, the release from Warner Archive looks great: 1080p High Definition 16x9 1.37.1 DTS-HD Master Audio. This Blu-ray should be on the shelf of any fan of classic horror film fan or enthusiast of Browning’s work.

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By Lee Pfeiffer

The tagline for the 1971 crime movie The Last Run reads "In the tradition of Bogart and Hemingway..." That would probably seem preposterous to assign to an action film with most of today's soft-boiled leading men, but it seemed perfectly appropriate at the time for a movie starring George C. Scott. The script by Alan Sharp, who also wrote such underrated gems as The Hired Hand, Night Moves and Ulzana's Raid, is perfectly tooled to Scott's persona. With facial features that look like they were chiseled out of granite, the actor, who had just won the Oscar for Patton, is well-suited to the tough-as-nails character of Harry Garmes. Harry has forsaken a life in crime for a seemingly idyllic retirement in a small Portugese fishing village. Happiness, however, does not follow him. Shortly after their young son died, Harry's wife left for Switzerland to have her breasts lifted only to run off with another man. In one of the film's most amusing lines, Harry says he thought she was having them lifted as part of a surgical procedure. He finds that old adage "Be careful what you wish for- you just might get it" has special pertinence to his life abroad. He has succeeded in establishing the low-key, no risk lifestyle he so badly desired. However, he is now bored and feels out of place. He has a friendship with a local fisherman (Aldo Sanbrell) and a middle aged hooker who genuinely likes him (Colleen Dewhurst), but he feels he'll die of boredom. Thus, he decides to take on one more simple crime run, a seemingly low-risk job that involves transporting an escaped convict over the border to France.

The escape is cleverly planned and goes well, but Harry immediately gets a bad vibe from his passenger, a smart-mouthed, often manic career criminal named Paul Rickard (Tony Musante in a truly unnerving performance.) Ignorant of what the caper is actually all about, Harry is soon disturbed to learn he has to pick up Rickard's sexy young girlfriend Claudie (Trish Van Devere) to accompany them. Harry is the kind of man who doesn't like unexpected developments and his instincts prove correct. Before long, he finds himself wrapped up in a complex situation defined by double crosses and deathtraps. To say much more would ruin some of the more surprising elements of Sharp's gritty script, which is punctuated by smart dialogue. Director Richard Fleischer and the great cinematographer Sven Nykvist fully capitalize on the exotic scenery (the film was actually shot in Spain) and eschew studios to shoot even the interiors in actual locations. The decision adds immeasurably to the atmosphere of the movie, which is tense and engrossing throughout.

The film also benefits from a wonderful score by Jerry Goldsmith and fine supporting performances. From a trivia standpoint, the movie afforded Scott to star on-screen with then-present wife Dewhurst and future wife Van Devere.

The Last Run is an atmospheric crime thriller. It may not have looked like a work of art in its day but today it approaches that status, basically because when it comes to stars like George C. Scott, they just don't make 'em like that anymore.

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Cinema Retro has received the following press release from UK-based Fabulous Films.

"Dr Terror’s House of Horrors is a fascinating and fast paced example of portmanteau filmmaking with a deadly twist in the tale.... Dr Terror foretells the future… and five men wish he hadn’t…

This was Amicus Productions’ first of 16 horror films made between 1965 and 1977, 7 of which were portmanteau films. The portmanteau style of film helped Amicus (who’s small budget meant filming was done in 2 weeks) get established actors in their films, enabling them to compete with the better known horror film producer - Hammer Film Productions. Hammer film actors such as Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee were brought in to the cast whilst only needing to be paid for a fifth of the movie, rather than the full film.

This cult classic is directed by horror veteran and two time Academy Award winner Freddie Francis who worked with David Lynch on The Elephant Man (1980), Dune (1984), and The Straight Story (1999). The film stars Peter Cushing, Christopher Lee, Roy Castle and Donald Sutherland. Francis directed Peter Cushing 8 times saying “I think Peter is absolutely wonderful - there is not an actor in the world who can speak rubbish like Peter and make it sound real”.

Anyone who ever watched Record Breakers knows that Roy Castle played the trumpet, but Castle who plays a jazz musician in the film, mimed his Voodoo track performance with the Tubby Hayes Quintet in the film. Castle replaced jazz legend Acker Bilk at the last minute after he had a heart attack. Virtuoso musician Tubby Hayes’ performance is a highlight of the film as Tubby was at the peak of his career when the film was released. Castle released "Dr. Terror's House Of Horrors/Voodoo Girl" as a 7-inch 45 vinyl in 1965 which is now highly sought after.

Synopsis: Dr. Terror (Peter Cushing) is a mysterious fortune teller who boards a train to tell fellow passengers (including Christopher Lee, Roy Castle and Donald Sutherland) their fortune withtarot cards. Five possible futures unfold: an architect returns to his ancestral home to find a werewolf out for revenge; a huge flesh-eating vine takes over a house; a musician gets involved with voodoo; an art critic is pursued by a disembodied hand and a doctor discovers his new wife is a vampire. But they all end in the same result…

Cast: Peter Cushing, Christopher Lee, Donald Sutherland, Roy Castle, Neil McCallum, Alan Freeman, Peter Madden, Ann Bell, Ursula Howells.

Extras: All new interviews with Kenny Lynch, Ann Bell and Jeremy Kemp (Blu-ray only), House of Cards Documentary, Gallery of Images (courtesy of Stephen Jones), Original Theatrical Trailer, Double-Sided Foldout Graham Humphreys Artwork Poster, 12 Sided Film Guide Booklet."

(This is a PAL format, Region B release.)

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Composer Elmer Bernstein's official YouTube page presents his beautiful score for the 1962 classic "To Kill a Mockingbird". Bernstein's creative genius is on display as the main title theme perfectly captures the essence of the beloved and dramatic tale.

By Lee Pfeiffer

This review will bring readers good news and bad news. The good news is that director Barry Rubinow's new documentary, "Banded Together: The Boys from Glen Rock High" is one terrific documentary. It's packed with laughter, sentiment and some great music, as he assembled some of his former classmates from the Glen Rock, New Jersey High School, which they attended in the early 1970s. All of the guys who formed an ad-hoc band went on to bigger and better things in the field of music and they credit their music teacher, Joel Sielski, with their success due to his inspirational methods of teaching. I recently saw the film screened on the final day of the Montclair Film Festival in New Jersey where it received a rousing reception. Rubinow was in attendance and hosted the band members, who have continued to perform together occasionally over the decades, on stage for a Q&A session. Most gratifying was that Joe Sielski, who figures prominently in the film, was there to accept the plaudits. The film is one of the best documentaries I've seen in many years but that leads me to divulging the bad news: you can't see it anywhere. That's because Rubinow has not been able to land a distribution deal anywhere and he's hoping the buzz from the festival will help him to do so.

The film presents the musicians (brothers Jimmy Vivino, Floyd Vivino and Jerry Vivino, Lee Shapiro, John Feeney, Frank Pagano, Doug Romoff and Jeff Venho) as they assemble once again to perform some sets and sit for group interviews with Joe Sielski. They talk a great deal about their hometown of Glen Rock, New Jersey, a small suburban town with a population of 12,000 in north Jersey defined by its unique centerpiece in the middle of town: a giant rock that weighs 570 tons and is said to be 15,000 years old. All have fond memories of the place and most still live in town or nearby. You don't have to be from Jersey to appreciate their humorous tales but it helps if you are tuned in to Jersey Guy traditions such as never saying a kind word to your friends and expressing sentiment towards them through ball-busting put-downs. Funniest of all is the most celebrated of the group, Floyd Vivino, who is a Jersey comedy legend who is known as Uncle Floyd. His unabashed old-fashioned shtick is in the tradition of Rodney Dangerfield and Henny Youngman. (In the Q&A, Floyd imitated Don Corleone, saying "I told Sonny to use EZ-Pass!", a reference to the car tag device New Jersey drivers use to breeze through the toll booths without stopping.) The guys relive how fabulous it was to grow up in a period when music was so exciting and inspiring. Some of them went on to play in bands with the likes of Bruce Springsteen, the Ramones, Frankie Valli, Tony Bennett and other exalted names. Conan O'Brien appears in various segments extolling their talents, as Jimmy Vivino was a member of his TV show's band. 

"Banded Together" is a fun ride throughout, especially if you came of age in the 1970s. It's also great to see a film in which a teacher is a revered hero. Kudos to Barry Rubinow for turning his labor-of-love into a highly entertaining experience that is truly is a "must-see". Hopefully, there will be a place to actually see it soon. We'll keep readers posted.

Writing on the Digital Bits web site, film historian Michael Coate is always known for presenting interesting and informative articles about the making of classic films and their legacies. However, his tribute to "The Godfather" may well be his most ambitious and best in terms of the amount of data he provides. It ranges from samples of original reviews to an exhaustive list of when and where the film played in U.S. theaters. On page 4 of the article, Cinema Retro Editor-in-Chief is interviewed along with other film historians regarding his memories of seeing the film for the first time. Click here to read.

By Todd Garbarini

We have all had those days where nothing, literally nothing, ever seems to go right. As we leave the comfort of childhood and make our way into the battlefield of adolescence and then ultimately into the often-nonsensical world of the adult, the issues that we face grow daily and exponentially. Traveling during the holidays is a small albeit often infuriating annual torture that most of us put ourselves through (often begrudgingly) for purposes of keeping the peace with significant others or ensuring that our names are included in our relatives’ last wills and testaments or for other reasons too numerous to entertain.

One of the most traveled days of the year in the United States is indubitably Thanksgiving. Cinematic depictions of the Fourth Thursday of November tend to mirror the insanity of hosting a meal for family members while others are more innocuous. The fine Showtime series Brotherhood from the mid-aughts depicts the inner workings of a Rhode Island family embroiled in politics and organized crime, two areas they excel in, though in the twentieth episode of the series no one can seem to cook a Thanksgiving turkey to save their life. Woody Allen’s Hannah and Her Sisters (1986) is a rare outing that paints Thanksgiving the way that it should be (though I would have thrown in a TV somewhere on the set with a broadcast of March of the Wooden Soldiers (1934) for good measure).

A scenario that anyone who has traveled by public transportation prior to the holiday can easily relate to is the marathon run by Neal Page (Steve Martin) which begins innocently enough as he attempts to casually bolt from a soporific advertising meeting with a New York client to make his way back home to Chicago in the late John Hughes’s comedy Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, which was released on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving in 1987. Neal manages to hail a cab, but it is commandeered by another passenger at the last minute. Making his way to JFK Airport, Neal sits opposite the very person who took the cab he wanted, a jovial and highly talkative shower curtain ring salesman named Del Griffith (John Candy). In true-to-life form, Neal and Del sit next to one another in the plane. Del chews Neal’s ear off because he loves talking, and this quality makes him an expert sales rep. Neal grimaces and does his best to hide his umbrage when Del removes his shoes and socks which, while comedic in the film, has now become a common breach of etiquette on flights to the point that airplane personnel should be given permission to discharge the offenders down the inflatable raft prior to take off. A snowstorm hijacks their plans, and the plane is rerouted to Wichita, KS wherein they share not only a motel room, but the same bed.

Del’s idiosyncrasies come to light and receives a hasher-than-expected tongue lashing from Neal who just wants to get home and whose intolerance for the situation at hand is slowly reaching a boiling point. A burglar swipes cash from both of their wallets limiting their options to get back home. Despite an amusing and understandable vituperative outburst laden with F-bombs that Neal suffers at the airport counter (the sole reason for the film’s unfair R-rating), Planes ends with a heartfelt and emotional denouement that anticipates Martin Brest’s best film, Midnight Run (1988), another great “road” comedy film that also has an emotional story at its center – to say nothing of both films’ uses of “99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall”.

Planes has been released on home video a multitude of times in all recent formats. Its latest incarnation is in the form of a two-disc set. The first disc contains a 4K Ultra High Definition (UHD) Blu-ray and presents the film in Dolby Vision and High Dynamic Range (HDR). Other reviewers have complained about the picture quality and its lack of color(?), but it looked fine on my 4K setup. For the subject matter and the age of the film, I believe that one could do much worse. Among the extras on this disc:

Getting There is Half the Fun: The Story of Planes, Trains and Automobiles – this piece runs about 17 minutes and is a panel discussion from the time of the film’s release with reporters and the stars and director, interspersed with comments from the supporting performers. Mr. Hughes was initially a writer for National Lampoon Magazine and his articles brought him to screenwriting.

John Hughes: Life Moves Pretty Fast – this is a roughly 54-minute piece that, unfortunately, is told in the past tense as Mr. Hughes tragically passed away in New York at the age of 59 while jogging in August 2009. Much of the interviews in this piece are reminiscences about working with him and are tinged with poignancy and sadness. It is comprised of two smaller pieces: John Hughes: The Voice of a Generation and Heartbreak and Triumph: The Legacy of John Hughes.

John Hughes for Adults – this piece is four minutes and discusses his transition from making movies about young adults (he hates the word “teenagers”) to films for adults.

A Tribute to John Candy – this is a three-minute tribute to this comic who brought out the best in those he worked with.

The second disc is where this release really shines. This is a standard Blu-ray disc (BD) in 1080p very cleverly titled Lost Luggage that contains a treasure trove of both deleted scenes and extended scenes that made their way on to the proverbial cutting room floor. Aside from one sequence that contains a hilarious visual gag that I refuse to spoil (it is HD quality and is in finished form), all the other presented scenes are taken from VHS cassettes found in director Hughes’ archives/estate. While the video quality is what you would expect from VHS, all the scenes seem to be mined from raw footage and lacks sound effects and are by no means a finished product. However, despite this drawback, the footage presented is entertaining and definitely worth seeing. It also includes Dylan Baker’s onscreen audition for Owen, as well as more extended blabbering from Del in Neal’s ear prior to takeoff. I wish that they had also included onscreen bloopers.

True fans of this film should splurge for the upgrade for this reason alone. John Candy was a treasure, and his absence is truly missed and still felt today.

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By Lee Pfeiffer

In this clip from the 1963 musical comedy "Robin and the 7 Hoods", Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin join their idol Bing Crosby for the terrific musical number "Style". The casting of Crosby was due to some intrigue in Sinatra's personal life. Originally Rat Packer Peter Lawford was cast in the role. However, Sinatra had felt betrayed by President John F. Kennedy, who he had campaigned for enthusiastically. Kennedy won by a sliver against former vice-president Richard Nixon in the election of 1960. Soon after the election, JFK appointed his own brother Robert F. Kennedy as Attorney General, a controversial move to be sure, and Bobby had publicly declared war on organized crime. He badgered JFK to drop all ties with Sinatra because of his alleged (but never proven) ties to the Mafia. JFK listened and gave Sinatra the cold shoulder. Sinatra then called upon Lawford, who was JFK's brother-in-law to sort things out and re-establish their friendship. When Lawford demurred, saying he couldn't have more influence on the president than his own brother, Sinatra responded by blackballing Lawford from the Rat Pack. Sinatra had spent a fortune adapting his mansion to accommodate JFK when he visited. He even installed a helipad on the property. When JFK shunned him, Sinatra was said to have gone on a tirade and wrecked some of the improvements he had made. Adding insult to injury, when JFK did visit the area, he stayed with Bing Crosby- who was a Republican. Sinatra took it out on Lawford and dropped him from "Robin and the 7 Hoods" and cast Crosby in his place. He would never speak to Lawford again despite pleas from Sammy Davis Jr., who continued his friendship with Lawford. Ironically, while the film was in production, President Kennedy was assassinated, causing the filming to shut down temporarily.

By John M. Whalen

I have to admit I wasn’t sure going in how I was going to appreciate “A Christmas Story Christmas,” the sequel to “A Christmas Story, (1983)” the perennial holiday favorite, directed by Bob Clark, based on the works of writer/humorist Jean Shepherd.  The new film finds his children serving as Executive Producers. Shepherd and I go back a long way. Not that I knew him personally—it just feels like I did. In the 1960s during my high school and college years I used to listen to him on WOR-AM on my little transistor radio. He was on for about an hour every night and all he did was talk. But not just talk. He told stories, stories about growing up in Hammond, Ind., and stories of his days in the Army Signal Corp in World War II. Or he’d read some haiku poetry, or render verse about the Yukon by Robert Service, or stories by George Ade. He was one of a kind, a man who left a deep, if almost relatively unacknowledged, influence on American popular culture. He’s not mentioned much by comedians and writers today, but at least Jerry Seinfeld has said he learned comedy from listening to Shepherd. Marshall McLuhan said Shepherd was writing a new kind of novel night after night.

Some of the stories he told on the radio went into his novel, “In God We Trust, All Others Pay Cash,” which he later adapted into a script for Bob Clark’s film, “A Christmas Story.” We all know that movie, the story of Ralphie Parker who wants a Red Ryder .22 shot Range Model Air Rifle for Christmas. Who can escape it? It runs every Christmas Eve for 24 hours on cable. Well, here we are in the Streaming Age and HBO Max is streaming a sequel to the original, and despite a few missteps, as Larry David would say, “It’s pretty, pretty, pretty good.”

It’s 1973, 33 years after the original film, and Ralphie, now living in Chicago, has grown up to be something of a loser. He’s being supported by his wife Julie (Errin Hayes), while he struggles to achieve his dream of becoming a writer. He’s having a hard time finding any publisher interested in publishing a 2,000 page science fiction tome entitled “Neptune Oblivion.” He tells Julie he’ll give himself until the end of the year to sell his book and if he has no luck, he’ll give up and get a mainstream job. Tragedy strikes when Ralph gets a call from his mother (Julie Hagerty) back home in Indiana, informing him the The Old Man (Shepspeak for Ralphie’s father) has died. Darren McGavin, who passed away in 2006, played The Old Man in the original film, and his presence is felt all through the movie, via short flash backs and soundtrack clips. He’s as important a character as any member of the cast.

The family drives from Chicago to be with Ralph’s mom. Instead of wallowing in grief, Mom reminds Ralph how his father always made Christmas something special for the family, and she makes Ralph promise to make this Christmas as good as the ones his father made. Ralph doesn’t have a clue how to do that, but he’s going to try. Mom also asks him to write an obituary for The Old Man for the local newspaper. He balks, saying he doesn’t know how to write something like that, but she reminds him: “You’re the writer in the family.”

Part of the charm of “A Christmas Story Christmas” comes from the scenes in which Ralph goes into town and meets up with some of the characters from the original film, including Flick (Scott Schwartz), and Schwartz (R.D. Robb). Even yellow-eyed bully Scut Farkas (Zack Ward) shows up before it’s all over. One of the funniest scenes in the movie is a reversal of the scene in the original where Schwartz tricked Flick into sticking his tongue on a frozen telephone pole. All these years later, Ralphie’s voice-over informs us, Flick’s been holding a grudge. He maneuvers Schwartz into “Riding the Ramp”—a triple dog dare that involves riding a sled down a giant sluice left at a construction site by the Army Corps. of Engineers. “They say revenge is a dish best served cold,” Ralph says. “This was a frozen dinner.”

Director Clay Kaytis (“Angry Birds” (2016)) directing only his second live action film, the first being “Christmas Chronicles” (2018), moves the story at a fairly brisk pace and hits a lot of the right notes. It only slows down slightly in the middle, where he seems to have set up a list of highlights from the original film to revisit, including having the Parker family trek downtown to the Christmas window at Higbee’s Department Store. Ralph ends up doing all the shopping as wife and mother sit in the lounge, and the kids climb up the papier mache mountain to tell Santa what they want for Christmas. Julianna Layne as Julie and River Droche as Mark are very good as the kids. Julie scores some extra points interrogating Santa to see if he’s the real deal, including asking him for his Christian name and the coordinates for his workshop at the North Pole.

Billingsley for the most part does a good job playing the grown-up Ralphie. He was made up to almost look like Jean Shepherd himself. Occasionally I thought he played him too soft, almost like John Boy of the Waltons clan. Shepherd had a sharper edge to his delivery, cynical with a touch of the sardonic. But as the plot thickens and things heat up, Billingsley comes close enough.

The script by Nick Schenk and Billingsley is remarkably good. Schenk, whose previous work includes screenplays for three Clint Eastwood movies, including “The Mule” and “Cry Macho,” sneaks quite a few inside references into the screenplay that only Shepherd’s biggest fans would recognize. For example, a scene where a bunch of kids sled down a steep hill at breakneck speed features “Bahn Frei, Op. 45,” by Edward Strauss on the soundtrack—the music that Shepherd played every night at the opening and close of his WOR radio show.

Overall this is a film better than anything you might have expected, certainly better than the abominable “A Christmas Story 2” (2012), and even better than “My Summer Story” (1994), which Shepherd wrote and Clark directed. Any flaws “A Christmas Story Christmas” may have are forgiven and forgotten by the ending of the movie, which, frankly, left me speechless. I can’t reveal what happens but it puts the movie into a special category very few films achieve.

“A Christmas Story Christmas” has been described as a tribute to the late Darren McGavin, but it’s also a tribute and homage to Shepherd, who is given a writing credit in the opening titles. Also listed in the titles are Randall and Adrian Shepherd, Shepherd’s two children—children whose existence he reportedly never recognized after divorcing their mother, the second of his four wives. It’s a sad fact that after he walked out of the marriage, he never had anything to do with his kids. Yet somehow here they are now involved in a film based on his work. Perhaps “A Christmas Story Christmas,” is not only a tribute to McGavin as The Old Man, a father, who in the end, does make it a Christmas to remember, but also a tribute to and an attempt at reconciliation with a father who didn’t.

(The film is currently streaming on HBOMax).

John M. Whalen is the author of "Tragon and the Scorpion Woman...and Other Tales". Click  here to order from Amazon

Turner Classic Movies (North America) will celebrate the 70th anniversary of Cinerama by broadcasting "The Wonderful World of the Brothers Grimm", along with the documentary "Restoring a Fantasy Classic", and "How the West Was Won" on November 25. Click here for info about the films and the history of Cinerama. 

By Lee Pfeiffer

The 1970 Western "Cannon for Cordoba" is yet another film that was written off as "run of the mill" at the time of its initial release but probably plays far better today when Westerns are scare commodities. The film is clearly designed to capitalize on movies such as The Professionals and The Wild Bunch, and while it certainly isn't in the league of those classics, it's a consistently engrossing and highly entertaining horse opera.  Set in 1916, when the US was embroiled in assisting the Mexican government in suppressing "revolutionaries" who were really bandits, the plot centers on a crime kingpin named General Coroba (well played with charm and menace by Raf Vallone), who launches an audacious raid on American General Pershing's troops and succeeds in stealing a number of valuable cannons that will make him almost invulnerable to attack once they have been installed at his remote mountaintop fortress retreat. George Peppard is Captain Douglas, a hard-bitten and insolent cavalry officer in Pershing's command who is sent on a virtual suicide mission to infiltrate Cordoba's compound, blow up the cannons and kidnap the general. Imagine The Guns of Navarone with sombreros. He takes along the standard rag-tag team of tough guys which includes Peter Duel and the always-reliable Don Gordon, seen here in one of the most prominent roles of his career. That old chestnut of a plot device is introduced: Gordon has sworn to kill Peppard at the end of the mission for allowing his brother to be tortured to death by Cordoba.

The group pretends they are American sympathizers to the revolution and succeed in infiltrating the compound with the help of Leonora (comely Giovanna Ralli), who intends to seduce the general and then betray him in revenge for having raped her years before. The film is as gritty as it gets, and as in the Sergio Leone Westerns, there is a very thin line that separates the villains from the heroes. Peppard is in full Eastwood mode, chomping on omnipresent cigars and saying little. He betrays no sentiment and is almost as cruel as the criminal he seeks to bring to justice. 

Director Paul Wendkos keeps the action moving at a fast clip and there is at least one very surprising plot device that adds considerable suspense to the story. The action sequences are stunningly staged and quite spectacular, and it's all set to a very lively and enjoyable score by Elmer Bernstein. Cannon for Coroba may not be a classic, but it's consistently well-acted and will keep you entertained throughout. 

The film is currently streaming on Screenpix, which is available for a separate subscription fee of $2.99 a month through Amazon Prime, Roku, Apple TV and Fire TV. 

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By Lee Pfeiffer

The Deadline web site reports that Bradley Cooper and Steven Spielberg will collaborate to bring the character of San Francisco maverick detective Frank Bullitt back to the big screen. Cooper will star as the character immortalized by Steve McQueen in the 1968 blockbuster. The film will not be a remake but, rather, a new crime thriller with Bullitt as the central character. The original film was made for McQueen's Solar Productions and his son and granddaughter will serve as Executive Producers of the movie, which remains known primarily for its groundbreaking car chase scene. The film was also a major critical success. It won an Oscar for Frank P. Keller's editing and was nominated for Best Sound. It was also nominated for five BAFTA awards including Best Director for Peter Yates and Best Supporting Actor for Robert Vaughn, who played an ambitious District Attorney at odds with McQueen.

For more, click here.

By  Lee Pfeiffer

When movie fans think about films related to the battle of the Alamo, the most obvious reference that comes to mind is John Wayne's epic 1960 production, "The Alamo". There are two others from the modern era of filmmaking that are largely forgotten to all but Alamo history buffs: the 1955 film "The Last Command" and the ill-fated, but underrated 2004 production, also titled simply "The Alamo". Less obvious is the 1987 NBC-TV presentation of "The Alamo- Thirteen Days to Glory" based on Lon Tinkle's book of the same name. Tinkle presented a historically accurate depiction of the legendary battle, at least in terms of what was accepted by historians at the time. However, facts about the battle continue to be fluid and hotly debated among historians. The TV production has not been widely seen since its initial airing. It was released on VHS tape and research has shown an obscure DVD release as part of a double feature with "High Noon II: The Return of Will Kane". However, the movie is now being streamed on Amazon Prime. Not having seen it since its broadcast in 1987, I felt it was time revisit the production, which was widely panned by fans who obsess over all things relating to the Alamo. Their main complaint was the casting of the pivotal roles of Jim Bowie and Davy Crockett, who were played by popular TV stars James Arness and Brian Keith, both of whom were not only long-in-the-tooth but were sporting tusks. The role of Crockett was particularly a thankless one to play. Fess Parker had become an American phenomenon when he played the role in Walt Disney's telecasts. Disney only made a handful of episodes and even he was shocked when the show generated a massive fan movement and became the most successful film/TV tie-in  up to that time. Parker knew he was on to something so in the mid-1960s, free of Disney's edicts, he simply put on a new buckskin jacket and raccoon hat and starred in a hit TV series, "Daniel Boone". When John Wayne was negotiating with United Artists to produce and direct the big screen version of "The Alamo", he had to be forced to play Crockett as the studio's insistence. They wanted his name upfront to draw in his legions of fans. Wayne acquitted himself well enough, but the shadow of Parker loomed over his performance. The choice of Brian Keith was a bizarre one. He was 66-years old at the time and nothing about his appearance suggests the popular image of Crockett (he doesn't even wear the signature cap.) I'm second-to-none in my admiration of Keith's talents and recently praised his portrayal of Theodore Roosevelt in "The Wind and the Lion" on the forthcoming Imprint Blu-ray, but this was a rare case of his judgment in roles being off-course. Arness was also too old to play Bowie, but since the popular conception of the historic figure wasn't ingrained in modern society the way Crockett was, Arness's performance proved to be a bit more tolerable. The only agreement seemed to center on young up-and-coming Alec Baldwin, who delivers a fine and believable performance as Col. Travis, though it's a less interesting one than presented by Laurence Harvey in Wayne's film. Lorne Greene makes a very brief cameo as Sam Houston, showing frustration at his inability to raise an army in time to save the defenders of the Alamo. Greene is generally a commanding screen presence, but his role is so limited he can't make an emotional impact, as Richard Boone did in the role in the Wayne production.

In favor of the TV production, it was filmed on location in Brackettville, Texas, where the massive and convincing sets from Wayne's movie still stood. Behind the scenes, the film benefited from a seasoned pro in the director's chair, Burt Kennedy, an old hand at making good Westerns ("Support Your Local Sheriff", "The War Wagon"). I'm not an expert on the history of the battle, but it's been pointed out that the TV production gets certain things more accurately than the feature films but certain other factors are clearly the invention of the screenwriters. In attempt to appeal to younger viewers, the screenplay provides a completely superfluous subplot about a young Mexican girl in love with one of the Caucasian defenders of the Alamo. It's pretty dreadfully presented, with the young lovers looking like they'd be more suitable for "The Breakfast Club" gang than the besieged Texas mission. Faring a bit better are Kathleen York and Jon Lindstrom in the key roles of Captain Dickinson and his wife, who was one of the few inhabitants of the Alamo to survive. There are some familiar faces among the defenders, but most of them don't register strongly because their roles are under-written. (John Wayne's son Ethan has a minor role.) This version of the Alamo saga differs from Wayne's by presenting Santa Ana as a major character, whereas in the Wayne film he is only a minor presence. As played by Raul Julia, the legendary historic figure is presented as Snidley Whiplash-type, leering at young women and devoid of any human qualities. Julia brings some gusto to the role but a more nuanced characterization is called for. There is also the distracting presence of David Ogden Stiers as a Mexican army officer, which is justified by having him described as an adviser from the British army. If such individuals did exist, it's news to me but in any event, Stiers' presence seems more like a casting gimmick than an attempt to portray an obscure historical fact.

 

Things are fairly turgid through much of the film but as the battle scenes finally arrive they are well-handled with impressive stuntwork on display. The problem is that the spectacular climax of Wayne's big-budget production looms over the relatively skimpy assets that director Burt Kennedy has as his disposal. The TV battle attempts to add some spectacle by cribbing battle footage from Wayne's film. Much of it is set to Peter Bernstein's serviceable score, though at various times during the production, he shamelessly copies the work of another Bernstein (Elmer), with similar music to that found in the latter's classic score from "The Magnificent Seven".

In summary, "The Alamo-Thirteen Days to Glory" is undeniably flawed, but it has enough positive aspects to merit viewing, if only for comparison to other films that depict the battle and the events leading up to it. The source material used by Amazon leaves a lot to be desired, but it's still a positive development to see the production get some exposure. It deserves a Blu-ray release with a commentary track by Alamo historians, who could decipher its truths and fabrications far better than this writer can.

 (Photo: Chicago Tribune)

Forgive us for being a bit self-indulgent, but we wanted to draw readers' attention to an article in the prestigious Chicago Tribune about Cinema Retro's very own Raymond Benson, who is riding high with the rave reviews of his new Covid-era mystery-thriller "The Mad, Mad Murders of Marigold Way." Regular readers know that Raymond was once chosen by Ian Fleming's estate to write six official James Bond novels. He has also written many other well-received thrillers that are unrelated to Bond. The article provides interesting insights into Raymond's early days and how he became enthused about the 007 films. Raymond has been an important contributor to Cinema Retro from our very first issue in which he initiated his popular column that examines various aspects of film history.

Click here to read the Chicago Tribune article. 

To find out more about Raymond's books, past and present, visit www.raymondbenson.com

Here's a blast from the past. Brief but rare interview with Sean Connery on the set of "Goldfinger" at Pinewood Studios in 1964. Nothing very illuminating but he remains polite while answering some banal questions.

By Lee Pfeiffer

In the mid 1960s Amicus Productions emerged as a Hammer Films wanna-be. The studio aped the Hammer horror films and even occasionally encroached on Hammer by "stealing" their two biggest stars, Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing. The first Amicus hit was "Dr. Terror's House of Horrors", released in 1965 and top-lining Lee and Cushing. The format of various horror tales linked by an anthology format proved to be so successful that Amicus would repeat the formula over the next decade in films such as "Tales from the Crypt", "Vault of Horror" and "The House That Dripped Blood". The studio cranked out plenty of other horror flicks and by the mid-to-late 1970s Amicus was producing better fare than Hammer, which had made the mistake of increasingly concentrating on blood and gore and tits and ass to the detriment of the overall productions. Occasionally-indeed, very rarely- Amicus would branch out from the horror genre and produce other fare. (i.e. the Bond-inspired "Danger Route" and the social drama "Thank You All Very Much") but the studio was out of its element when it came to producing non-horror flicks.  A particularly inspired offbeat entry in the Amicus canon was the 1970 production "The Mind of Mr. Soames", based on a novel by Charles Eric Maine. The intriguing premise finds John Soames (Terence Stamp) a 30 year-old man who has been in a coma since birth. He has been studiously tended to by the staff at a medical institution in the British countryside where a round-the-clock team sees to it that he is properly nourished and that his limbs are exercised to prevent atrophy. Soames apparently is an orphan with no living relatives so he is in complete custody of the medical community, which realizes he represents a potentially important opportunity for scientific study- if he can be awakened. That possibility comes to pass when an American, Dr. Bergen (Robert Vaughn) arrives at the clinic possessing what he feels is a successful method of performing an operation that will bring Soames "to life". The operation is surprisingly simple and bares fruit when, hours later, Soames begins to open his eyes and make sounds.The staff realize this is a medical first: Soames will come into the world as a grown man but with the mind and instincts of a baby. 

Soames' primary care in the post-operation period is left to Dr. Maitland (Nigel Davenport), who has constructed a rigid schedule to advance Soames' intellect and maturity as quickly as possible. Initially, Maitland's plans pay off and Soames responds favorably to the new world he is discovering. However, over time, as his intellect reaches that of a small child, he begins to harbor resentment towards Maitland for his "all stick and no carrot" approach to learning. Dr. Bergen tries to impress on Maitland the importance of allowing Soames to have some levity in his life and the opportunity to learn at his own pace. Ultimately, Bergen allows Soames outside to enjoy the fresh air and observe nature first hand on the clinic's lush grounds.  Soames is ecstatic but his joy is short-lived when an outraged Dr. Maitland has him forcibly taken back into the institute. Soames ultimately rebels and makes a violent escape into a world he is ill-equipped to understand. He has the maturity and knowledge of a five or six year old boy but knows that he prefers freedom to incarceration. As a massive manhunt for Soames goes into overdrive, the film traces his abilities to elude his pursuers as he manages to travel considerable distance with the help of well-intentioned strangers who don't realize who he is. Soames is ultimately struck by a car driven by a couple on a remote country road. Because the lout of a husband was drunk at the time, they choose to nurse him back to health in their own home. The wife soon realizes who he is and takes pity on him- but when Soames hear's approaching police cars he bolts, thus setting in motion a suspenseful and emotionally wrenching climax.

"The Mind of Mr. Soames" is unlike any other Amicus feature. It isn't a horror film nor a science fiction story and the plot device of a man having been in a coma for his entire life is presented as a totally viable medical possibility. Although there are moments of tension and suspense, this is basically a mature, psychological drama thanks to the intelligent screenplay John Hale and Edward Simpson and the equally impressive, low-key direction of Alan Cooke, who refrains from overplaying the more sensational aspects of the story. Stamp is outstanding in what may have been the most challenging role of his career and he receives excellent support from Robert Vaughn (sporting the beard he grew for his next film, the remake of "Julius Caesar") and Nigel Davenport. Refreshingly, there are no villains in the film. Both doctors have vastly different theories and approaches to treating Soames but they both want what is best for him. The only unsympathetic character is a hipster TV producer and host played by Christian Roberts who seeks to exploit the situation by filming and telecasting Soames' progress as though it were a daily soap opera.

Amicus had a potential winner with this movie but it punted when it came to the advertising campaign by implying it was a horror film. "The mind of a baby, the strength of a madman!" shouted the trailers and the print ads screamed "CAN THIS BABY KILL?" alongside an absurd image of  Stamp locked inside an infant's crib. In fact, Soames does pose a danger to others and himself simply because he doesn't realize the implications of his own strength- but he is presented sympathetically in much the same way as the monster in the original "Frankenstein".  Perhaps because of the botched marketing campaign, the film came and went quickly. In some major U.S. cities it was relegated to a few art houses before it disappeared. In fact the art house circuit was where it belonged but the ad campaign isolated upper crust viewers who favored films by Bergman and Fellini but balked when the saw the over-the-top elements of the ads.

"The Mind of Mr. Soames" is currently streaming on Amazon Prime.

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By Todd Garbarini

The summer of 1978 was one of the best summers that I can recall from childhood. My grandmother took my sister and I to see Heaven Can Wait, Warren Beatty's remake of 1941’s Here Comes Mr. Jordan. I immediately took to Mr. Beatty’s interpretation of Joe Pendleton, despite not being an avid fan of football. Two years later I was introduced to Jack Nicholson's work when, in July 1980, I saw a broadcast of Mike Nichols’ 1975 film The Fortune on ABC-TV in which he co-starred with Mr. Beatty, along with Stockard Channing. It was not a particularly memorable film, but I enjoyed both of them in their respective roles.

In the winter of 1981, Paramount Pictures released Reds, a three-and-one-quarter hour long drama that Mr. Beatty wrote, produced, and directed. I had seen the ads for the film and while traveling to and from New York City with my Boy Scout troop to broaden our horizons of the world of art by visiting the Museum of Modern Art. We spent a significant amount of time in New York's Pennsylvania train station awaiting our journey home, which was an education in and of itself. Aside from the cross-dressers and drug addicts, there was a video playback system positioned near the rear of the terminal. This advertising mechanism the name of which completely escapes me, was sponsored by Paramount Pictures. It ran movie trailers on ¾” U-matic videotape for several films released by the studio. One of them was Raiders of the Lost Ark, my favorite film of that year, and another one was Reds. I never had the opportunity to see Reds theatrically, and my parents correctly figured that the film would have gone way over my head. The prospect of sitting in a theater for nearly three-and-a-half hours did not sit well with them, understandably so. Movie theater seats in those days were simply not comfortable. I did not catch up with Reds until many years later, but the film has finally found its way restored on Blu-ray for its 40^th anniversary. I’m finally getting around to review it.

If there is anything that can be said about this film, Reds is about many things. It is a love story, it is an ambitious work, it is the brainchild of a man who managed to pull off an extraordinary feat of filmmaking, and it is arguably the last of the big-budgeted sprawling epics of the time, following Michael Cimino’s failed Heaven’s Gate from the previous year. While I am not completely understanding of the ideologies in the politics involved, I can safely say that Reds is probably not the sort of film that would be green-lit today, as the climate of filmmaking now is completely different than it was four decades ago.

Reds opened on Friday, December 4, 1981 nationwide, however the story it depicts begins sixty-six years earlier in 1915 when Louise Bryant, expertly portrayed by Diane Keaton who had already appeared in The Godfather (1972) and The Godfather Part II (1974) and played opposite Woody Allen in six films, meets fellow journalist John Reed (Warren Beatty) at a Portland, Oregon lecture. She interviews him in an hours-long session that compels her to leave her stuffy husband (Nicolas Coster) and move with Reed to Greenwich Village in New York City where she is introduced to anarchist and author Emma Goldman (Maureen Stapleton, who won an Oscar for her performance) and Eugene O’Neill (Jack Nicholson), the playwright.

Following a move to Provincetown, Massachusetts, Bryant and Reed find themselves involved in the local theater scene. Bryant has realized that her writing is what makes her truly happy, and her ideologies begin to align with Reed’s, who is now involved in labor strikes with the Communist Labor Party of America. These people are called “Reds,” hence the film’s title. While Reed is off covering the 1916 Democratic National Convention in Missouri, Bryant becomes romantically involved with O’Neill, the truth of which comes to Reed’s attention when he returns to Massachusetts and finds a letter O’Neill wrote Bryant inside the pages of a book. Despite this, he still loves Bryant and after marrying, they move to upstate New York. However, a fight ensues when evidence of his own affairs comes to light, which causes Bryant to take a position of war correspondent in Europe, a role that Reed also follows despite his doctor’s admonitions to slow down. The Russian Revolution commences, and Bryant and Reed are reunited.

Following an intermission (possibly the last major American film to feature one, not counting Serio Leone’s Once Upon a Time in America in 1984), Reed publishes his famous Ten Days That Shook the World and becomes inebriated on the ideals perpetuated by the Revolution and does his best to introduce the United States to the political theory of Communism, the antithesis of the beliefs espoused by Grigory Zinoviev (Jerzy Kosinski) and the Bolsheviks. Unfortunately, the effects of typhus catch up with him following a prison stint in Finland. The film’s most celebrated sequence is Reed’s return to Moscow and his reunion with Bryant at a train station. His demise occurs shortly thereafter, while Bryant can only look on, helplessly.

The supporting cast is excellent and the transfer on this Blu-ray is beautiful. Cinematographer Vittorio Storaro added this film to his Oscar collection following his win for his work on Francis Ford Coppola’s Apocalypse Now (1979). He would later win again for Bernardo Bertolucci’s The Last Emperor (1987), although not having even been nominated for his stunning work on Signor Bertolucci’s The Conformist (1970), Last Tango in Paris (1972) or Luna (1979) makes one scratch their head in disbelief.

Reds was a boxoffice bomb despite the fact that the film was nominated for Best Picture and Beatty was named Best Director. Beatty’s sentimental look at a man who espoused Communism was ill-timed for the beginning of the Reagan era.

There is a second Blu-ray added which consists of the same extras that accompanied the 25^th anniversary DVD edition:

Witness To Reds:

The Rising (SD, 6:29)

Comrades (SD, 13:30)

Testimonials (SD, 11:58)

The March (SD, 9:07)

Revolution, Part 1 (SD, 10:18)

Revolution, Part 2 (SD, 6:55)

Propaganda (SD, 9:11)

The story of the making of this film and Paramount Pictures’ (which was owned by Gulf and Western at the time) willingness to make it is a fascinating one. While the film looks beautiful, I would have loved a running commentary from the major performers giving their insights and memories of the making of the film. A missed opportunity to be sure, but the film alone is enough to warrant the purchase.

Click here to order from Amazon

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