By Fred Blosser

“The Hands of Orlac,” a 1960 U.K.-French co-production, was the third movie version of “Les Mains d’Orlac,” a sensational 1920 novel by French writer Maurice Renard. Like many of the other horror pictures released in 1960, it was filmed in black-and-white. The director, Edmond T. Gréville, was a veteran French-born filmmaker who had worked in both France and England. His previous picture, “Beat Girl” (1960), had featured Christopher Lee as a strip club impresario in an exploitative story about beatniks, aspiring rockers, and strippers. Lee and other British actors filled most of the major supporting roles in “The Hands of Orlac.” Exterior scenes were filmed on the French Riviera, interiors at Britain’s Shepperton Studios. An American actor, Mel Ferrer, was cast in the lead. Ferrer was a reliably familiar leading man for the all-important U.S. market. His name lent box-office appeal in those days when foreign movies were suspect in small-town America, as it did for another offbeat horror production in which he also starred that same year, Roger Vadim’s “Blood and Roses,” a French and Italian co-production. But U.S. distributors apparently saw no pressing need to slip Gréville’s film into American theaters, since it didn’t open here until 1964. By that time, a promotional still from the movie had appeared in the October 1963 issue of “Famous Monsters of Filmland” magazine, in a preview of upcoming horror and fantasy releases.

In the story, a celebrated concert pianist and composer, Stephen Orlac (Ferrer), flies from London to France to visit his fiancee, Louise (Lucile Saint Simon). His small plane wrecks in a fog, and Orlac’s hands are “burnt to the bone” in the crash. After his ambulance passes through a police checkpoint where a condemned murderer, Vasseur, is being transported to the guillotine, Louise prevails on a famous surgeon, Dr. Volchett (Donald Wolfit), to operate in an effort to save her lover’s badly injured hands. Coming out of the anaesthetic, Orlac finds his hands encased in huge, unsightly plaster casts. Worse, he sees the front page of a newspaper that juxtaposes a report about Vasseur’s execution with one about his own injuries. To his groggy eyes, the stories gradually merge into one under the headline, “Stephen Orlac Receives the Hands of Vasseur, the Murderer.” Lifting the grotesque casts, Orlac flies into hysterics. This was the publicity still that intrigued us young readers of “Famous Monsters” in 1963. It was also the centerpiece of the movie’s lobby-poster art.

Did the newspaper actually display the stories that Orlac read, more or less as he interpreted them? Was he hallucinating? Was there even a newspaper at all? No matter, the high-strung pianist becomes convinced that the surgeon found his hands irreparably damaged, amputated them, and replaced them with Vasseur’s, especially since, as he mourns, “They feel as if they no longer belong to me!” After the casts come off, he can’t get his fingers to strike the right notes on the keyboard.

The obsession grows stronger when Orlac and Louise make love. His fingers unconsciously tighten around her throat, and she begins to choke. That incident and others convince the pianist that Vasseur’s hands have a violent will of their own, and his fiancee’s life is in danger as long as they’re together. He checks into a sketchy Marseilles hotel under an assumed name, where he encounters a small-time stage magician named Nero (Christopher Lee, returning from “Beat Girl” as an even sleazier character). Nero senses an opportunity for blackmail; obviously, “Mr. Stephen” is a well-off guy who wouldn’t be holed up in a dump unless he had something to hide. Nero pimps out his pouty assistant and mistress, Li-Lang (Dany Carrel), to cozy up to Orlac and get him to talk.

Orlac’s self-imposed exile doesn’t last long. After Louise tracks him down, he decides to straighten up, return to England, marry Louise, and resume his career. But he continues to brood over his persuasion that his hands are no longer his own. Discovering “Mr. Stephen’s” true identity, Nero and Li-Lang follow. Nero sets about to feed Orlac’s paranoia, reasoning that the unhinged pianist will kill someone sooner or later, opening himself to big-time extortion.

To the extent that film enthusiasts take notice of “The Hands of Orlac” at all, they mostly judge it seriously inferior to the previous movie versions of Renard’s novel. Robert Wiene’s “Orlacs Hände” (1924), also called “The Hands of Orlac” in English-language prints, was a classic of German silent cinema, with Conrad Veidt as the title character amid feverish Expressionist sets. Following in 1935 from MGM, Karl Freund’s “Mad Love” with Colin Clive as Orlac draped the story in sadism and sexual perversion, to the extent Freund could do so under the vigilant eyes of the Hays Code censors.

Gréville’s remake dialed back on Wiene’s and Freund’s extravagance, accounting for some of its lacklustre press from critics who like to see the gothic thriller envelope pushed further than Gréville pushed it, at least in their opinion. It’s very much a product of 1960, emphasising the psychological aspect of Orlac’s dilemma and stepping into film noir territory once the intimidating Nero and Li-Lang enter the plot. It even evokes the emerging New Wave of French cinema with its documentarian exterior shots on the Riviera. Claude Bolling’s musical score includes light jazz for a scene in which Orlac tools around in a vintage sports car, and rinky-tink cabaret music for Li-Lang’s sultry song-and-slink routine following Nero’s magic act, juxtaposed with Beethoven and Liszt in the concert scenes that open and close the movie. Mel Ferrer lacks Conrad Veidt’s eye-popping hysteria and Colin Clive’s furrowed anxiety, his Orlac repurposed for 1960 as a sophisticate in shades, pullover sweater, and tailored slacks for casual wear, and an expensive suit for business occasions. If you’re a retro-fan of JFK-era men’s fashions, you probably won’t mind. You may even prefer Ferrer’s interpretation over his predecessors’. Like other British horror films of the time, such as “Jack the Ripper” (1959) and “The Two Faces of Dr. Jekyll” (1960), “The Hands of Orlac” promises plenty of sex appeal courtesy of Lucile Saint Simon’s filmy negligees and Dany Carrel’s showgirl outfits. In truth, this stuff is pretty tame by 2023 standards, but it was a draw for male filmgoers at a time when even the centrefolds in “Playboy” were often modestly posed.

For most of the picture, we don’t know whether Orlac’s obsession has a basis in reality, since we don’t actually see the operation itself. Were the killer’s hands really grafted onto his wrists, or is the pianist suffering from a morbid neurosis? An explanation is made toward the end that for may find satisfying or frustrating, depending on your tastes. It doesn’t help that Orlac is surrounded by oddball characters who only compound his unease. Nero is the only one who is overtly menacing, but others are unsettling in their own ways. In his few minutes on screen, Donald Wolfit’s Dr. Volchett is brusque and possibly alcoholic; his decision to save (or replace) Stephen’s damaged hands seems more a whim than a humanitarian impulse. His unnamed assistant (Anita Sharp Bolster) is a starchy spinster who wears rimless glasses with impenetrably thick lenses, like Albert Dekker’s in 1940’s “Dr. Cyclops.” When Orlac tries to call Dr. Volchett to either confirm or relieve his suspicions, the assistant tells him the surgeon is on professional travel—to Moscow!—and unreachable in that era before cellphones and Zoom. She brightens up as she enjoys a chance to extol her boss, but her comments only deepen Orlac’s fears: “Dr. Volchett is a magician,” she declares. “Your case was his greatest triumph.” In a small but bravura appearance, Donald Pleasence plays Coates, a sculptor who wants to use Orlac’s hands as the model for those of Lazarus in a biblical tableau of Lazarus raised from the dead. “All we see of Lazarus is his hands—your hands, Orlac!”, he exclaims, seizing the pianist’s wrists. Given Stephen’s state of mind, the sculptor’s fervor is more invasive than flattering, like the irritating stranger who latches on to you at a party and won’t let go. As he makes his pitch with growing enthusiasm, Orlac stares at his hands (poised exactly as he had scrutinized his grotesque casts earlier in the story), and runs off in panic.

“The Hands of Orlac” isn’t the best horror thriller of 1960. That would be Alfred Hitchcock’s “Psycho,” with “Blood and Roses” and Georges Franju’s “Eyes Without a Face” as close seconds. But it’s better than its obscurity would imply. In the U.S., “Eyes Without a Face” was dumped onto double bills as “The Horror Chamber of Dr. Faustus” and generally ignored by critics, much as “The Hands of Orlac” was. Now, it’s widely regarded as a classic. It’s surprising that Gréville’s picture hasn’t received similar reappraisal, given the renewed interest in neglected horror films in the home video era, and the movie’s value as an early showcase for Christopher Lee and Donald Pleasence. The problem may lie with the fact that an official DVD or Blu-ray edition for fair evaluation doesn’t exist in the U.S., the U.K., or anywhere else as far as I can tell. DVD-R versions are sold on the collector’s market, with caveats about their visual quality.

We discovered this presentation of the film on YouTube, apparently sourced from tape, perhaps one of two competing VHS releases in the 1990s, or a videotape from a long-ago television broadcast. The image is better than you might expect, if inferior to the hi-def transfers we’ve come to expect nowadays. It’s also the easiest way to find the movie, at least until we can hope to see original elements unearthed, if they still exist, and a better print prepared for Blu-ray or one of the major streaming platforms.

(To watch in full screen format, click on "Watch on YouTube".)

By Doug Gerbino

Flicker Alley’s recent Blu-Ray release of “Laurel & Hardy Year One-The Newly Restoed 1927 Silents” is the start of a ground-breaking project which is a joy for all film fan,s especially Laurel & Hardy aficionados. Produced by film historians and restoration specialists Serge Bromberg and Eric Lange in conjunction with Lobster Films, Blackhawk Films and The Library of Congress, this 2-disc set contains the first 15 extant films that feature Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy in the casts. A number of the films can just boast having Laurel & Hardy in the same film-not yet a team.

Many of these films are being seen in their most complete versions thus far due to the collaboration of various film archives and collectors. This is the seminal period of the teaming of Laurel & Hardy. They are not quite a team in the earliest films in this collection. This set gives us the opportunity to study their evolving partnership.

In typical Flicker Alley fashion the set is chock full of wonderful bonus materials. Each film has newly recorded audio commentary by Laurel & Hardy scholar Randy Skretvedt. There are three documentaries: Restoring Laurel & Hardy, Laurel & Hardy on Location & Hats Off!-a slide show presentation of the only completely lost Laurel and Hardy film. There are Multiple Image Galleries, additional music scores for three of the shorts and a very informative 35-page booklet.

If you have seen any previous Flicker Alley releases, you know the image quality is superb. This initial release is an exciting start to a multiple year project. Year Two (1928) is next. We will have the opportunity to watch the teaming of one of the greatest comedy teams mature into legends. Very much recommended.

Films included in the set:

Lucky Dog (1921)

45 Minutes from Hollywood (1926)

-1927-

Duck Soup

Slipping Wives!

Love ‘Em and Weep

Why Girls Love Sailors

With Love and Hisses

Sailors, Beware!

Do Detectives Think?

Flying Elephants

Sugar Daddies

The Second 100 Years

Call of the Cuckoo

Putting Pants on Phillip

The Battle of the Century

Click here to order from Amazon

By Hank Reineke

Roger Corman had, over a relatively short period of time, directed and/or produced more than a half-dozen pictures since his entry into the movie industry in 1955. His first efforts were modest successes, but the filmmaker firmly broke into a dependably bankable stride within two years’ time. Though already having helmed two low budget science-fiction pictures with some success (Day the World Ended (1955) and It Conquered the World (1956) his reputation in Hollywood - as a budget-minded money-spinner - was properly recognized following the box office counting of his 1957 chiller combo: Attack of the Crab Monsters/Not of This Earth. Variety noted the package – each film made on a “slenderized bankroll of $85, 000,” had brought in an impressive domestic gross of $800,000. By early November of ’57, that package, distributed through Allied Artists, had earned back the entirety of its production and marketing costs within twelve weeks of its release.

Through the remainder of the 1950s and well into the early 1960s, Corman continued to grind out a dizzying array of feature films, not all of the horror and sci-fi variety: there were plenty of exploitative teenage rock n’ roll pictures and crime dramas offered as well. But from 1960 through 1964, Corman worked primarily – though not exclusively – producing and directing an impressive slate of upscale horror classics. He had already given fans such soon-to-be low-budget cult favorites as Bucket of Blood (1959) and Little Shop of Horrors (1960). But in 1960 he more famously scored with House of Usher, the first of his iconic and moody cycle of Poe and H.P. Lovecraft adaptations - many featuring Vincent Price in roles as both tormentor and tormented.

One of Corman’s most important collaborators in his early years was screenwriter Charles B. Griffith. Griffith would receive screenwriting credit – or co-credit – on no fewer than eight of Corman’s earliest films 1956-59. The writer would later recall for Beast from Haunted Cave he had been commissioned by Corman to essentially rework the storyline of an earlier film they had crafted together – Naked Paradise (1957) aka Thunder Over Hawaii. Naked Paradise, of which Griffith was brought on late to the project for a re-write, was essentially a South Seas crime-drama set in a pineapple plantation under the umbrella of a glistening sun.

Since that film had done well enough, Corman wanted to revisit the scenario of Naked Paradise for the reimagined crime drama titled Beast from Haunted Cave. There would be a new twist: the new scenario was to take place in and around a gold mining community nestled in the dead winter snow of South Dakota’s Black Hills. Oh, and Corman advised Griffith that he also wanted a genuine cave-dwelling monster thrown in for good measure - that sort of thing was still selling. That was essentially all the background material given to Griffith to get started on the project.

Despite its menacing title Beast from Haunted Cave appears more a crime-drama than horror flick in the course of its 65-minute running time. The story revolves around the criminal doings of a circle of bandits: chain-smoking mastermind Alexander Ward (Frank Wolff), his two minions Marty Jones (Richard Sinatra) and Byron Smith (Wally Campo) and Ward’s oft- inebriated “secretary” Gypsy Boulet (Sheila Carol). The thieves have gathered in the snow-capped mountain winter of the pioneer town of Deadwood, South Dakota. Their plan is to plant an explosive in an abandoned cave in the early hours of a quiet Sunday morning. The explosion is set merely as a strategic ploy to distract authorities for a time, enabling the thieves’ free reign to steal gold bars from an unattended payroll office of a local gold-mining company.

Unfortunately, their plans don’t run smoothly. Ward’s dissatisfied and affection-starved lover-secretary, Gypsy, has a bit of a drinking problem. She complicates matters when she falls hard for ski instructor and trail guide Gil Jackson (Michael Forest), a swarthy, dark-haired gentleman of gentle temperament. (As an aside, I occasionally had a bit of trouble understanding actress Sheila Carol’s dialogue in this film: her diction seemed a perplexing amalgam of drunken slurred words and a faux Katherine Hepburn accent). The cold Ward takes notice of his woman’s wandering eye but is unworried. He has plans to kill Jackson once the skier - unwittingly - guides this gaggle of crooks on a cross-country trail run to a remote location.

Ward had plans to rendezvous with a waiting plane to ferry his gang - and their misbegotten treasure - off to safe sanctuary in Canada. But this plan too is scuttled by an unwelcome blizzard passing through the mountains. (As a second aside, Ward’s cross-country ski scheme is surely the most ineffectual escape route ever mapped by criminals carrying weighted gold bars in rucksacks. They really would have done better just hightailing it out of town in their rented car). To complicate matters further – and this is where the horror finally comes in - their explosive mine charge has awakened the titular beast, sort of an upright walking, giant spider that collects his victims by webbing them against cave walls and drinking their blood at his leisure. Let’s just say the moral of the story is a familiar one: essentially, crime doesn’t pay.

In Corman’s attempt to make their chilly time in the Black Hills more productive and worthwhile (i.e. profitable), the filming of Beast was to be produced back-to-back on location in Deadwood with yet another Charles B. Griffith script, Ski Troop Attack. This second film was to be a somewhat more ambitious project, a snow-bound WWII action-adventure pitting American ski-troopers against their wintry Nazi counterparts. The Corman team would use the same primary on-and off screen talents featured in the cast and credits of Beast for Ski Troop Attack.

The scenario of Ski Troop Attack referentially takes place in the snow-capped mountains of Germany’s Hürtgen Forest, circa December 1944. A small American band of ski-troopers are the only remaining Allied force active in this Nazi-controlled region, hiding themselves behind enemy lines so they can spy and report on SS ski-troop movements. The level-head Lieutenant Factor (Forest), a graduate of the Army’s Officer Candidate School, wishes to stay clear of engaging in active combat with the enemy. As the only team of Allied forces positioned inside the Nazi-controlled German-Belgian border, it is Forest’s belief his outfit should purposely avoid direct contact. He instead wants to concentrate his efforts on secret reconnaissance missions. By acting as the covert eyes of the good guys behind enemy lines, his outfit would be able to transmit vital information on Nazi troop movements back to HQ.

But Factor is at loggerheads with tough-talking Sergeant Potter (a mustache-less Wolff, again cast in a “heavy” role). Potter is described by Factor as an old school “regular army guy,” a man of pure fighting spirit but someone strategically short-sighted. Potter desperately wants to engage the Nazi ski-troopers in active combat and is mostly dismissive of the Factor’s civilian background and wartime decision-making capabilities. Potter does get a number of chances to engage in hand-to-hand combat. The film actually offers no shortage of brutal on screen violence with competing ski-troops ambushing and beating one another with fisticuffs, rifles butts, bayonets, knives and machine-gun fire.

Ultimately, the American’s decide to blow up a strategic railroad bridge that Allied air powers are unable to access and target. But while attempting to get to the base of the bridge to set off their detonators, they must first successfully climb an ice-covered vertical cliff side. If this isn’t problematic or dangerous enough, they must also fend off a team of six pursuing Nazi ski-troopers hot on their trail. The German skiing contingent, incidentally, is led by the badly-dubbed Roger Corman himself. The film’s climactic ending is, somewhat surprisingly for this type of adventure, more bleak than celebratory.

Griffith’s screenplay is actually far more nuanced than it is given credit for in the film’s original round of reviews. The sensitively written dialogue is mature – the scene where soldier Grammelsbacher (Sinatra) sits around a campfire musing if somewhere out there there’s still “a bullet with my name on it” – is particularly gripping. The better written dialogue also brings out better acting performances of all involved – including Shelia Carol who appears midway through the film as a spiteful German captive of the Americans.

The film does plod a bit. There’s a lot of wartime newsreel footage interlaced throughout, and no matter how beautiful the mountain settings are photographed, there’s far too many time-filling shots of ski-troopers silently trudging cross-country style through the tundra. Having said that that, there’s also some well-executed ski chase scenes captured on screen, such action-footage surprising for a film shot on a threadbare budget. The soundtrack of the film is riddled with the sound of machine-gun fire and a decent score courtesy of composer Fred Katz – though fans of Corman’s earliest films will surely recognize a good number of Katz’s recycled musical motifs are in play.

As both projects were to be shot on tight schedules, Roger’s brother, Gene, stepped in as the de facto producer of Beast. Once a Hollywood agent, Gene Corman was co-founder (with Roger) of their company Filmgroup, Inc. Gene’s earliest entries as producer would include a number of exploitative sci-fi efforts such as Night of the Blood Beast (1958) and Attack of the Giant Leeches (1959). With Roger set to both produce and direct Ski Troop Attack, the directorial duties of Beast were given to first-timer Monte Hellman - whose only previous film experience was having worked as an apprentice editor at ABC-TV.

In his entertaining memoir, How I Made a Hundred Movies in Hollywood and Never Lost a Dime (Random House, 1990), Roger Corman recalled the wintertime location shooting in and around snowbound Deadwood as “unbearable” and “a very tough challenge.” When shooting was to commence on the peak of Mount Terry, Corman recorded temperatures of a frigid thirty-eight degrees below zero. In the recollection of script supervisor Kinta Zertuche, her primary job was simply “to find ways to keep the film warm enough so it wouldn’t get brittle and crack.” She was also deigned to find ways of keeping the production cameras from freezing – not always successfully.

Production assistant Paul Rapp recalled he had been tasked to drive the parsimonious Corman – and an automobile-filled cache of film props - from Los Angeles to Deadwood, so the director “could save on airfare and have an extra car on location.” When filming one downhill ski sequence, Corman accidentally set off a small avalanche by shouting “Action!” too loudly through a bullhorn. Rapp recalled while the incident scared him half-to-death, Corman quickly realized the potential visual impact of what the camera was capturing. So the team was commanded to continue to roll film, Corman exhorting via bullhorn that his terrified skiers try their best to “Stay Ahead of the Avalanche!”

In March of 1959, there was a trade announcement that “Corman’s distributing outfit, The Filmgroup,” was planning to release Beast from Haunted Cave nationally (paired with The Wasp Woman) as early as June 1, with Ski Troop Attack (to be paired with Task Force 38) a little more than a month later, July 13. But neither of those prospective release dates would actually roll out as planned, even though the films themselves were ready to roll. Beast would come closest to realizing its projected release date, appearing on some screens in July 1959.

As early as February of 1960, Variety reported that the steamroller that was Filmgroup was optimistically planning to roll out eight feature films a month between March and June of 1960. Ski Troop Attack was to see release on the very tail end of that schedule. The Hollywood Reporter suggested Filmgroup’s plan as more ambitious than even originally announced: the company was planning on issuing no less than twenty-four features over a year’s period, with eleven of those titles already in the can and ready to go.

The company was also interested in testing international markets. It was reported that the usually closed-to-outsiders Soviet film market was interested in importing four Corman titles – including Beast and Ski – assuming whether or not Irving Allen, president of Canada’s Astral Films, could finalize a deal while visiting London. Later in May of 1960, it was reported Filmgroup had sealed another deal to distribute eight films – again, including Beast and Ski - throughout the Philippine islands. Finally, in August of 1960, Continental Distributors would obtain rights of Filmgroup product for European markets.

But the U.S. market was of most concern to the filmmakers. On March 16, 1960, there was a very belated press screening of the Beast and Wasp combo at the Hollywood Theatre. Variety was generally impressed with Hellman’s Beast, but suggested the film’s scenario was completely illogical. The critic also pondered that perhaps interest in horror films was generally on the wane. He opined, audiences were growing “inured to monsters and hardly blink when this one guzzles its customary quota of blood.” The review of Wasp was likewise middling in praise. The trade noted, while the film was certainly an “exploitable” passable entertainment, “it’s pretty slow and not very frightening.”

The “official” premiere of Beast from Haunted Cave was to take place at dual locations in South Dakota: Rapid City’s State Theatre and the Hile-Hi Drive-in outside of Deadwood: the latter venue was to enjoy a four day night run of Beast beginning August 2, 1959. This was obviously a nod of acknowledgment to the folks living in the area of the Black Mountain Hills who hosted and assisted the film’s production. But no matter how well-intentioned the “premiere” honor, Beast from Haunted Cave and The Wasp Woman had already been projected on screens in the mid and southwestern U.S. as early as July of ’59.

Earlier that spring, director Gene Corman had written Allan “Birdie” Arnold of Deadwood’s Chamber of Commerce City Council, a champion of the film shoot. “We saw a rough cut of our picture, it is very good and I’m sure everyone who helped, especially you, will be proud and pleased,” Gene wrote, adding, “I plan to make it a full length picture and hope to release it in the summer.” For their assistance, both Arnold and Mayor Ed Keene of Lead, South Dakota, were given “Technical Advisor” credits on Beast.

By Lee Pfeiffer

A film that became a legendary bomb, the 1977 Western The White Buffalo has been re-evaluated by movie fans in recent years and many consider it to be an underrated classic. Count me out of this assessment. The film is certainly unique: an ambitious attempt to blend the Western and horror film genres, but it falls short on most counts.The United Artists production stars Charles Bronson as Wild Bill Hickcok, who- for reasons never adequately explained- is haunted by terrifying nightmares involving him in a life-or-death confrontation with a giant white buffalo. I didn't know that buffalo come in colors, but I'll cede the point. (Given the dreadful styles of the 1970s, it's surprising the film wasn't titled The Plaid Buffalo.) Simultaneously, Chief Crazy Horse (Will Sampson) is having his own white buffalo problems. Seems the actual rampaging beast wreaked havoc on his village and killed his child. In order to restore his pride and stature among the tribe, he must hunt down and slaughter the animal- or be stuck with the monicker of "The Worm" henceforth. (This must be the Indian equivalent of "nerd".)

The two men are on obsessive journeys and are destined to meet up - but both feel they have the singular right to kill the buffalo. Hickcok meanders through some cow towns under an alias and hooks up with a mountain man geezer (Jack Warden, channeling the ghost of Gabby Hayes) who decides to accompany him on his quest. When Hickcok and Crazy Horse do meet up, they end up saving each other's life in respective ambushes and declare themselves blood brothers. Despite this, each man is determined to be the one who slays the white buffalo.

The film is moody and atmospheric and at times is offbeat enough that, if it weren't for the Colorado scenery, one might suspect this is an Italian Western. Nevertheless, the screenplay by producer, screenwriter and director Richard Sale (based on his novel) is erratic and contains many disparate elements that never blend together in a satisfactory manner. The film is peppered with welcome appearances by many Western favorites (Stuart Whitman, Slim Pickens, John Carradine) but their characters are superfluous and smack of gimmicky cameos. Clint Walker shows up briefly, well-cast and playing against type as a villain. There is also the rather odd presence of Kim Novak in a nothing role as a good-hearted hooker who suffers the humiliation of being rejected by Hickcok even as he shares her bed. (This must be the first case of erectile dysfunction caused by a white buffalo.)

The movie was an attempt by producer Dino De Laurentiis to exploit the dying Western genre by finding a way to incorporate elements of Jaws. De Laurentiis seemed to have a fixation on giant, mythic animals taking vengeance on mankind, as he produced "King Kong", "Orca" and "The White Buffalo" all within a two-year period. Despite the prestigious cast and the fact that this was a United Artists production, the budget was clearly skimpy. The film abounds with shoddy rear screen projection shots and some amateurish sets, particularly in the mountain sequences set at night. There's plenty of plastic snow and the sets are somewhat less realistic than a Christmas window display at Macy's. Then there is the titular character of which much has been written in movie lore. Apparently devoid of anything other than a $20 bill for special effects work, the white buffalo is generally shot in extreme closeup in very brief cuts to mask its ludicrous appearance. Although the buffalo is seemingly immortal and can crash through mountains of snow and cave walls, it never looks any more menacing than a slightly perturbed mountain goat. The analogies to Moby Dick also become a bit too obvious especially when Crazy Horse rides atop the beast, flaying at it with a knife. (just like Ahab and the whale- get it?) All of this is set to an atmospheric if somewhat low-key score by John Barry that fits the proceedings well.

Perhaps the most unintentionally amusing aspect of the movie is the initial meetings between Hickcok and Crazy Horse. The two men face each other and gesture with elaborate Indian sign language- despite the fact they are simultaneously speaking to each other in perfect English! This is as practical as using signal flags to communicate with a dinner companion and seems more suited to an episode of Police Squad.

Despite all of these criticisms, there is something admirable about the concept of The White Buffalo in that the film at least tries to be an original take on an age-old genre. It also represents one of the last movies in which Charles Bronson at least tried to stretch his acting muscles. With his saggy eyes and droopy mustache, he's perfectly cast as Hickcok. The failure of this film seemed to discourage his professional ambitions. With a couple of exceptions (Telefon, Death Hunt) Bronson went happily into B movie hell, churning out low-rent but profitable potboilers aimed at inner city and drive-in audiences. The shame of it is that he also encouraged once respected directors like J. Lee Thompson and Michael Winner to go along with him.

The White Buffalo was one of those major failures that initiated the virtual end of the Western film genre, and it was Heaven's Gate three years later that nailed the coffin shut. The Bronson film has grown in stature as a curiosity in the ensuing years and apologists claim that the chintzy set pieces must have been intended in order to convey the dream-like quality of the plot. Much the same has been said of Hitchcock's Marnie, which was also heavily criticized for its abysmal sets, rear screen production work and use of matte paintings. However, in both cases the hypothesis seems unlikely. They were simply troubled productions overseen by directors who seem to have lost interest in their respective projects. Universal ended up losing money on the Hitchcock drama while United Artists was forced to pick up the tab for the buffalo bill, if you'll pardon the pun.

The White Buffalo has recently been re-released by  Kino Lorber Studio Classics. The transfer is superb, which only makes the white buffalo look even phonier, but that just adds to the fun.  An original trailer is included and this time around, a commentary track has been added by Paul Talbot, author of the terrific "Bronson's Loose" books. Talbot admits he's obsessed by Bronson and his films and provides a master class on the making of The White Buffalo. His track is highly informative, if lacking in humor, as he discusses the career credits of virtually every actor who appears in a speaking role. Talbot's contribution makes the film worth obtaining, even if you had the earlier version.

By Lee Pfeiffer

"The Hawaiians" was regarded as a cinematic misfire, was released in England under the title Master of the Islands. The 1970 big budget movie was a critical and commercial failure in its day, but evaluating it after all these years leads the viewer to accentuate its many positive elements. The story is actually an official continuation of James Michener's Hawaii, which was made into a major film in 1966 that curiously also underwhelmed critics and public. This sequel doesn't have the epic proportions of its predecessor, but it does boast some impressively lush production values and a typically enticing score by Henry Mancini. For this film, Heston reunited with director Tom Gries, with whom he made the vastly under-appreciated 1968 Western "Will Penny" which Heston regarded as one of his most satisfying artistic accomplishments. He is cast against type here in a somewhat unsympathetic role during a period of his career in which he was typically cast as a stalwart heroic figure. Heston plays Whip Hoxworth, a hard-nosed sea captain who transports luckless Chinese immigrants to Hawaii where they become cheated, abused and enter into what amounts to indentured servitude. The opening sequence finds the Chinese crammed into the sweltering hold of the ship and falling victim to illness and malnutrition. Hoxworth only adds to their misery by applying beatings and coldly calculating his human cargo in terms of acceptable deaths, 'lest his ultimate profits fall short of expectations. Hoxworth is the black sheep of a wealthy family. He is cut out of his father's will and has a contentious relationship with his siblings, who have little use for him. Barred from further sea duties, he is relegated to a failing plantation which he is determined to turn into a success, if only to spite his relatives. Geraldine Chaplin is his half-Hawaiian wife, whom he adores but who, for reasons never satisfactorily explained in the script, turns frigid after their son is born.

The film tells a parallel story about the plight of two immigrants who work on his plantation: Nyuk Tsin (Tina Chen) and Mun Ki (Mako), two people who, through necessity, live as man and wife even though Mun Ki tells Nyuk Tsin that the children she has borne him will not be considered hers. Instead, Chinese tradition dictates that they will ultimately return to China where his wife will assume the mantle of mother and Nyuk Tsin will be relegated to the status of an aunt. The couple's hard work appeals to Hoxworth's generally dormant sympathies and he allows them to prosper financially, especially when they successfully grow the first pineapples on Hawaii - a development that makes Hoxworth rich. However, the film piles crisis upon crisis on each of the major characters, including political intrigue, armed revolution and, in particularly affecting sequences, outbreaks of leprosy and plague. John Phillip Law appears late in the 134-minute film as Heston's grown son, whose humanitarianism brings him into direct conflict with his father's Machevellian ways.

The Hawiians is big-budget soap opera at every level, but it's a consistently engrossing one. Heston excels playing part that takes him into new territory as an actor. The supporting cast is equally good, with both Mako and Tina Chen giving outstanding performances. It can't be said that the film is an unqualified success, but it's never boring and it probably seems more impressive today than it did at the time of its initial release.  It should be mentioned that the movie has a fine score by Henry Mancini. There are worse fates than spending a couple of hours with Heston under any circumstance.

(Now streaming on Screenpix, available to Amazon Prime subscribers for $2.99 a month.) 

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Cinema Retro has received the following press release:

"Fans can plumb the depths of the horror genre with this collectible box set featuring five unforgettable movies, all in eye-popping 4K Ultra HD, along with over four hours of legacy special features and exclusive collectible items. Housed in deluxe packaging, each of the following films is presented in a special sleeve with artwork exclusive to the collection— Rosemary's Baby (1968) · Pet Sematary (1989) · Smile (2022) · Crawl (2019) · and a special mystery title making its 4K Ultra HD debut. The PARAMOUNT SCARES VOL. 1 Limited-Edition 4K Blu-ray Box Set also boasts collectible items, including an exclusive, full-size Fangoria magazine produced especially for the release. This special edition of the celebrated publication—"first in fright" since 1979—features a curated selection of new and classic articles from the magazine's archives. The set also includes a Paramount Scares enamel pin, unique stickers, and access to a Digital copy of each film. • Rosemary’s Baby (1968) • Pet Sematary (1989) • Crawl (2019) • Smile (2022) • “Mystery” Exclusive 5th Feature."

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By Fred Blosser

As a kid, I watched “Bourbon Street Beat” (1959-60), a Warner Brothers TV series starring Richard Long and Andrew Duggan as two private detectives in New Orleans, Rex and Cal. Even in those days of generally undemanding audiences, most grown-up viewers probably realized something I didn’t as a nine-year-old. “Bourbon Street Beat” was produced on nickels and dimes like every other Warner Brothers PI and Western series of the day, and authentic New Orleans backdrops were limited to a fleeting street shot of the French Quarter, taken from stock footage. Everything else was filmed on the Warners backlot in Burbank, including a partial exterior set representing the Absinthe House at 240 Bourbon Street where the two private eyes supposedly held down their office. With a quick switch, the detectives’ window looking out on the Vieux Carre could be transformed into a window looking out on Waikiki, once this week’s episode wrapped and filming began tomorrow for “Hawaiian Eye.” The most authentic element of the show may have been Arlene Howell, a gorgeous model and former Miss Louisiana who played Rex and Cal’s secretary, Melody Lee. Certainly, she was a better reason to tune in than the archival footage.

Fast-forward to 1986 and “The Big Easy,” a crime drama with on-location street scenes and Crescent City atmosphere in abundance. Budgets and audience expectations had come a long way since “Bourbon Street Beat.” The movie, directed by Jim McBride, is available from Kino Lorber Studio Classics on Blu-ray. It opens with Detective-Lieutenant Remy McSwain (Dennis Quaid) investigating the murder of a hit man that he and his fellow officers in the New Orleans Police Department quickly attribute to a war between rival organized crime gangs, one commanded by an aging mafia capo (Marc Lawrence) and the other by a Black kingpin, Daddy Manton (Solomon Burke). The theory begins to unravel when Assistant District Attorney Anne Osborne (Ellen Barkin) looks into the case and calls McSwain’s conclusion premature. She is as strait-laced as the half-Irish, half-Cajun McSwain is uninhibited, and offended by his offhand acceptance of free meals at restaurants and other gratuities as perks that go with his badge. So naturally, in the usual Hollywood formula prizing sexual chemistry over logic, the two quickly get a thing going. But duty intrudes. Remy is caught in an Internal Affairs sting operation, and Anne faces him in court as the chief prosecutor. Meanwhile, additional mob gunmen are murdered. McSwain examines new clues with a more critical eye as they begin to pile up, and he comes to agree with Anne. A gang war isn’t as air-tight an explanation as he’d first thought.

Well-cast with Ned Beatty, John Goodman, and Charles Ludlam in supporting roles, “The Big Easy” was a respectable hit, even launching a 1996-97 TV series executive-produced by Daniel Petrie Jr., who wrote the script for the movie. Quaid and Barkin, both rising talents, were a big draw, as were McBride’s plentiful scenes of zydeco parties, crawfish boils, dinner at Antoine’s, and other exotic rituals in those days before the Mardi Gras Week marathons on the Travel Channel and the Food Channel. For fans of detective films who want scripts to cut to the chase, though, there may be too much of Remy’s toothy flirting with Anne and too much jambalaya in the first half of the movie, which begins to drag. But the pace picks up in the second half with clever plot twists and a couple of crisply directed action scenes, in which Quaid appears to do his less dangerous physical stunts. Full disclosure, I have three degrees of separation from Dennis Quaid, through someone who knows members of the Quaid family, but fuller disclosure, I’ve never met the actor and I’m sure, never will.

The Kino Lorber release of “The Big Easy” presents a rich image at the 1.85:1 aspect and informative audio commentary from Jim McBride, moderated by filmmaker Douglas Hosdale. McBride offers interesting behind-the-scenes anecdotes, including an explanation of how the great R&B singer Solomon Burke was cast as Daddy Manton. Burke is one of two surprise faces in the cast. The other is former New Orleans district attorney and Kennedy conspiracy theorist Jim Garrison, who held a Louisiana state appeals court judgeship from 1978 until his death in 1992. Garrison plays Judge Jim Garrison, who presides over Remy McSwain’s bribery trial, much as the Beatles, Nicholas Cage, Tommy and Jimmy Dorsey, Alan Freed, John Malkovich, and others have played “themselves” on the screen.

The Blu-ray edition of “The Big Easy” also includes trailers for several other Kino Lorber crime movies and SDH captions for those of us old enough to remember who Jim Garrison was.

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(Fred Blosser is the author of "Sons of Ringo: The Great Spaghetti Western Heroes". Click here to order from Amazon)

By Darren Allison

Film Masters is a new classic film restoration and distribution company formed by industry veteran and film historian Phil Hopkins. The company launched on September 26th with an impressive, region-free Blu-ray release. For decades, dating back to the humble early beginnings of the home video cassette, these two public domain favourites seemed to once flood the market. Often struck and scanned from poor quality 16mm prints, the process and distribution hardly helped the reputation of these two low-budget slices of fifties science fiction. Of course, there’s no getting away from the fact that The Giant Gila Monster (1959) and The Killer Shrews (1959) were ever going to be regarded as stunning examples of quality science fiction, but it doesn’t necessarily mean that they can’t be considered as hugely entertaining and enjoyable vehicles.

Both films (directed by Ray Kellogg) were originally released as a drive-in, double-bill feature in 1959. Bringing both films together here, each with their own dedicated disc, not only makes perfect sense, but offers a nice form of symmetry – giving the overall package additional logic and weight. It’s a decision that also offers a degree of ‘worth’ for fans and collectors. Fans are an appreciative group of people, so this collective form of package will only help Film Masters in gaining a healthy reputation and a certain degree of loyalty.

Beginning with what appears to be the leading feature, The Giant Gila Monster opens with a young couple, Pat (Grady Vaughn) and Liz (Yolanda Salas), parked in a bleak, rural locale overlooking a ravine. A giant Gila monster attacks the car, sending it into the ravine and killing the couple. Later, several friends of the couple assist the local sheriff (Fred Graham) in his search for the missing teens. Chase Winstead (Don Sullivan), a young mechanic and hot rod racer, locates the crashed car in the ravine and finds evidence of the giant lizard. However, it is only when the hungry reptile attacks a train that the authorities realise they are dealing with a giant venomous lizard. By this time, emboldened by its attacks and hungry for prey, the creature attacks the town. It heads for the local dance hall, where the town's teenagers are gathered for a hop.

Filmed near Dallas, Texas, the film was budgeted at $175,000 and was produced by Dallas drive-in theatre chain owner Gordon McLendon who wanted co-features for his main attractions. McLendon shot the film back-to-back with The Killer Shrews. In exchange for providing the special effects, Ray Kellogg was allowed to direct the film, while Curtis allowed his lead Don Sullivan to pick and perform three songs. The reasoning not only helped in padding out the action but also served in targeting the healthy teenage market. Don Sullivan, a veteran of several low-budget monster movies, proves to be confident in both his role and surroundings, while Lisa Simone (a former French contestant for the 1957 Miss Universe contest) is arguably a little more wooden and uncomfortable.

For the best part, Ray Kellogg’s special effects work adequately well. With such a low budget, there was little consideration for an established name such as Ray Harryhausen and his stop-motion animation. So instead, a live Mexican beaded lizard was shot against scaled-down model landscapes and sets. This technique wasn’t anything new, iguanas and chameleons were also being used the very same year over at 20^th Century Fox for their adaptation of Journey to the Center of the Earth (1959). The Giant Gila Monster (naturally) was not afforded the same budget, it was simply a locally made film that was marketed and sold in a very clever way, making sure it received both nationwide and foreign distribution. But above all, it remains hugely enjoyable and serves as a reminder of far less serious times in terms of filmmaking on a shoestring.

As for the video’s quality, this new 4K scan from original 35mm material, looks incredibly good. Sharpness, contrast and sound are all highly impressive. Film Masters have provided a new level of respect for this minor league classic, and the results have really raised its once questionable profile. There is also an option of watching the film in either a TV ratio (standard 1.33:1) or a theatrical version (1.85:1). I opted for the theatrical version for reviewing which works perfectly well.

Film Masters have also provided some very nice bonus features. Heading these is a full-length audio commentary by Larry Strothe, James Gonis, Shawn Sheridan, and Matt Weinhold from The Monster Party Podcast. As the name suggests, this is a light-hearted overview but nevertheless thoroughly enjoyable. The group offer a cheekily mocking level of critique but never in with a cruel intension. The common denominator is obviously a shared love for the film. The group manage to unearth some excellent production detail and history, often quoting from original source material such as pressbooks and publicity from its time of release.

There is also a restored and remastered original theatrical trailer and a very enjoyable archival audio interview with star Don Sullivan (1929- 2018). Asking the questions is author Bryan Senn, who digs deep in extracting as much detail as possible. Sullivan appears happy to answer anything he can recall, and the interview is relaxed and unhurried. Despite the audio quality which occasionally wavers (the source sounds to be via a telephone) it remains interesting throughout and offers a unique, first-hand insight.

Next up is The Killer Shrews (1959), again directed by Ray Kellogg and utilising most of the same production crew. The story follows a group of researchers who are trapped in their remote island compound overnight by a hurricane and find themselves under siege by their abnormally large and venomous mutant test subjects, the shrews. Captain Thorne Sherman and first mate Rook Griswold deliver supplies by ship to a research compound on the remote island. The station inhabitants (scientist Marlowe Craigis, his research assistant Radford Baines, Marlowe's daughter Ann, her fiancé Jerry Farrel, and a servant Mario) give them a cold welcome and direct them to unload the ship and leave immediately. Marlowe explains he has been trying to isolate the genes responsible for growth and metabolism in order to shrink humans to half their size so as to reduce the impact of human overpopulation. He uses shrews as test animals due to their short lifespan, allowing him to track results over multiple generations. However, Marlowe's experiments have created a batch of mutant wolf-sized shrews which have escaped. The group barricade themselves inside their compound every evening before the sun sets due to the creatures' nocturnal feeding habits. They have not contacted the coast guard so that they can complete their research, predicting that the shrews will cannibalize each other once they have consumed all other food on the island.

And so begins this really enjoyable little romp. Catching up with this film once again reminded me of just how good this film really is. In fact, I’ll come right out and say it – I still think this is the superior film when compared to The Giant Gila Monster. The whole concept of a group of people trapped in a secluded and isolated locale is one that still proves effective. The film is often compared to that of George Romero’s Night of the Living Dead made some 9 years later in 1968. If you take that concept, replacing the zombies with wild, oversized, very hungry shrews, then you get the general idea. Yes, one could argue that (on paper) the whole idea sounds rather ludicrous. But the film has some really creative and effective moments, especially for 1959. Considering that the ($123,000) budget for The Killer Shrews was even tighter than that of The Giant Gila Monster, the results are even more impressive.

Ray Kellogg makes exceptional good use of his special effects background. OK, so the shrews were in actual fact large coonhound dogs dressed up with long carpeted hair and Saber fangs. And close-up shots were nothing more than mere hand puppets! But somehow, the effects still work. Good use of sound effects also provides an eerie warning of the shrews’ imminent arrival. Clever quick editing also adds to the film’s overall sense of tension and drama. In fact, there are also some cleverly constructed jump shock moments and some particularly gruesome scenes – not to mention a ludicrously ingenious escape plan! So, The Killer Shrews has a great deal of positives in its favour and is well worth a re-evaluation – especially in this sparkling new transfer.

As with The Giant Gila Monster, Film Masters have afforded The Killer Shrews with another equally high-quality transfer. I thought it looked quite faultless actually, a nice clean, crisp transfer with lovely deep black tones and contrast. The audio again is also clear and sharp throughout its duration. Again, there is an option to view in either 1.33:1 or in 1.85:1 aspect ratio.

The bonus features are very enjoyable, consisting of another full-length audio commentary this time provided by author Jason A. Ney. This commentary offers a more scholarly, academic approach which is both informative and enjoyable in equal measure. Ray Kellogg – An Unsung Master is a fascinating Ballyhoo motion pictures documentary exploring the life and career of the director. And to round off the disc is a large collection of original radio spots for each movie courtesy of Gary L. Prange. Inside there is also a full colour, 22-page booklet with essays by Don Stradley and Jason A. Ney.

Overall, Film Masters have delivered a very impressive debut package. With the hope of producing similarly styled releases on a monthly basis, there’s certainly a great deal more to look forward to and their efforts should be applauded.

(Darren Allison is the Soundtracks Editor for Cinema Retro.)

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"Retro-Active: From the Cinema Retro Archives"

By Fred Blosser

Frederick Knott's suspense play "Wait Until Dark" premiered on Broadway on Feb. 2, 1966.  Lee Remick played Susy Hendrix, a young blind woman who becomes the target of a manipulative scheme orchestrated by a sinisterly glib psychopath, Harry Roat Jr. from Scarsdale. Robert Duvall, in his Broadway debut, had the pivotal supporting role of Roat. A movie version opened on Oct. 26, 1967, starring Audrey Hepburn (in an Oscar-nominated performance) as Susy and Alan Arkin as Roat, produced by Mel Ferrer (Hepburn's husband at the time), directed by Terence Young, and scored by Henry Mancini. A predecessor of today's popular, trickily plotted suspense movies like "Gone Gir" (2014) and "The Girl on the Train" (2016), the film was a commercial and critical success, ranking number sixteen in box-office returns for the year. Movies adapted from plays often feel stage-bound, but "Wait Until Dark" avoids those constraints, thanks in no small part to Young's fine pacing, sharp eye for detail, and sure grasp of character.

Bosley Crowther's October 27, 1967, film review in the New York Times noted that the Radio City Music Hall screening of "Wait Until Dark" included a stage show with a ballet troupe, performing dogs, and the Rockettes. Fifty years later, going out to a movie, you're lucky to get a good seat and decently lit projection for the price of admission. Any live entertainment comes courtesy of the patrons behind you who can't put away their smartphones for two hours.

Knott's play was confined to one interior set, Susy's cramped Greenwich Village apartment, which makes it a perennial favorite for little-theater and high-school drama productions on limited budgets. The movie adds a new opening scene in which Sus's husband Sam (Efrem Zimbalist Jr.), a freelance photographer, meets an attractive young woman, Lisa, as they board a flight from Montreal. When they land at JFK, Lisa hands Sam a child's doll and asks him to hold on to it for her temporarily. She says it's a present for the child of a friend, she just learned that the friend and the little girl will be meeting her at the airport, and she doesn't want to spoil the surprise; she'll call and come by for it later. Unknown to the obliging Sam, it's a phony story: Lisa is a drug mule, and narcotics are hidden inside the doll.

Lisa had planned to double-cross her accomplice Roat and split the money from the drug shipment with Mike (Richard Crenna) and Carlino (Jack Weston), her partners in past criminal schemes. Roat murders Lisa and enlists Mike and Carlino to help him find the doll in Susy and Sam's apartment. He lures Sam away with a call promising a big photo assignment. In his absence, Mike poses as an old Army friend of Sam's, and Carlino impersonates a detective investigating Lisa's murder. In a bad guy/good guy ploy, the phony Detective Sgt. Carlino insinuates that he suspects Sam of Lisa's murder. Mike intervenes, offering his support to Susy to gain her trust. To further disorient Susy, Roat poses as two men who appear to lend credence to the con.Harry Roat Sr., an an aggressive old man, barges into the apartment, noisily claiming to be in search of evidence that Lisa, his daughter-in-law, carried on a clandestine affair with Sam. Later, mild-mannered Harry Roat Jr. knocks on the door and apologizes for his father's outburst. It's a nice gimmick for Alan Arkin, who gets to impersonate three characters with different costumes and personalities. For audiences who watched the Broadway production, it might also have provided an effective "Aha" moment when they realized that there was only one Roat, not three. But it's no surprise for the movie audience, since close-up camera angles make it clear immediately that the other two are also Arkin in heavy make-up.

The new Blu-ray release of "Wait Until Dark" from the Warner Archive Collection presents the movie in a 1080p print for high-def TV. It's a definite improvement in richness from previous TV and home-video prints. The tailor-made audience is likely to be those older viewers who saw the film on the big screen in 1967, who may wonder if the movie's "gotcha"climax still holds up. Suffice to say without spoiling the scene for new viewers by going into details, it does. The film's stage origins are obvious in the dialogue-driven plot set-up and in the constrained setting of one cramped apartment. The measured exposition may be a hurdle for younger viewers used to a faster pace and visual shorthand, but the concentration of character interplay in a closed space isn't necessarily a problem, even for Millennials who have been conditioned to expect ADHD editing and splashy FX in movies. It imposes a sense of claustrophobia that subtly forces the audience to share Susy's mounting fear of being hemmed in and trapped.

In "Take a Look in the Dark", an eight-minute special feature ported over to the Blu-ray from a 2003 Warner Home Video DVD release, Alan Arkin notes that the psychotic Roat, with his granny-frame sunglasses and urban-hipster patter, was a break from the usual sneering, buttoned-down movie and TV villains of the time. "By and large, the public had not been exposed to that kind of person", he recalls. "But they began to have people like that live next to them, or see them in the newspapers or on TV." Ironically, if Roat was unsettling to 1967 audiences, he and his flick knife may seem insufficiently scary for younger viewers today, in the endless wake of movies and TV shows about flamboyantly demented murderers since "The Silence of the Lambs" (1990) -- not to mention the perpetrators of real-life mass murders that, numbingly, we seem to see every night on CNN, network, and local news.

In the special feature, Arkin and Ferrer also express fond appreciation of Hepburn, who wanted to star in "Wait Until Dark" when she realized that she was getting too old to continue playing demure ingenues, Ferrer says. Once Susy starts to figure out the con in the last half-hour of the movie and, isolated from help, summons the inner resources to fight back, she begins to resemble today's omnipresent model of screen feminism, the smart, ass-kicking action hero. Two supporting actresses are unfamiliar by name and face: Samantha Jones as Lisa and Julie Harrod as Susy's 14-year-old neighbor Gloria. Jones has a chilling scene in which Lisa's corpse hangs in a makeshift body bag in Susy's closet, and Susy, unaware, almost bumps into it. Both actresses are so good that viewers will wonder why they didn't have more prominent careers. (I don't know either.) One bit of casting may be distracting to viewers in 2017 in a way that it wasn't to audiences in 1967: as Carlino, the fine character actor Jack Weston is almost a dead ringer for New Jersey Gov. and failed 2016 Republican Presidential hopeful Chris Christie. (He's now running again- Ed.)

Besides "Take a Look in the Dark", the Warner Archive Collection Blu-ray includes two trailers also repeated from the 2003 DVD. One, titled the "warning trailer" ominously cautions that "during the last eight minutes of this picture, the theater will be darkened to the legal limit to heighten the terror of the breath-taking climax." As a gimmick for luring curious masochists into the movie theater, it doesn't quite rise to the truly inspired heights of William Castle's "Emergo", "Percepto", or "Punishment Poll", but it's still a charming bit of vintage Hollywood hucksterism.

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FRED BLOSSER IS THE AUTHOR OF "SAVAGE SCROLLS: VOLUME ONE: SCHOLARSHIP FROM THE HYBORIAN AGE". CLICK HERE TO ORDER ON AMAZON

Imprint, the Australian video label, is releasing a boxed set dedicated to the film of Marlon Brando. The discs are region-free. The edition is available for pre-order. 

One of the greatest actors of all time, Marlon Brando, brings six powerful performances to this Limited Edition boxset. Sayonara (1957) The Fugitive Kind (1960) One-Eyed Jacks (1961) The Ugly American (1963) Bedtime Story (1964) A Countess From Hong Kong (1967) Limited Edition 6-Disc Hardbox. 1500 copies only. Cinema Retro's Lee Pfeiffer and contributing writers Paul Scrabo and Tony Latino provide commentary tracks for "A Countess from Hong Kong" and "Bedtime Story". 

By Fred Blosser

Released on June 29, 1966, “Nevada Smith” was well-received by audiences who still flocked to A-list Westerns in those days, earning $14 million in ticket sales—about $132 million in today’s value. Produced by Joseph E. Levine and directed by Henry Hathaway, it starred Steve McQueen in the title role, as a young half-Indian man, birth name Max Sand, who determines to track down the three outlaws who murdered his parents. The movie was a spinoff from a previous Levine release, “The Carpetbaggers,” a sensational hit in 1964 based on a Harold Robbins novel. There, in his final role, Alan Ladd played the older Nevada Smith, a reformed gunfighter turned B-movie cowboy actor in the 1930s. Thus the 1966 release was a prequel, as we’d now call it, based on a lengthy section from Robbins’ novel. The reviews for the 1966 production were mostly positive, except for two opinions that observers continue to raise in on-line and print discussions about the film. At 35, they argue, McQueen was too old and seasoned to play a kid supposedly in his late teens. And with blond hair and blue eyes, nobody would mistake him for anyone with Native American genetics. Does either point of view stand up to examination? We McQueen fans would say, not really. Movies are all about illusion anyway, in case anyone forgets all those John Hughes films of the ‘80s starring actors in their twenties as high school kids. At this late date with McQueen’s iconic status firmly established, it’s impossible to imagine anyone else playing the part. (Although someone else tried, not counting Alan Ladd as the older, more sedate Nevada in “The Carpetbaggers.” Cliff Potts essayed the role in a 1975 TV production also titled “Nevada Smith,” designed as a direct sequel to Hathaway’s picture. Filmed as a hopeful pilot for a TV series, it’s pretty much forgotten now. Cliff Potts was a good actor, usually cast as charming but devious characters, but he was no Steve McQueen.)

In Hathaway’s movie, three drifters, Fitch, Bowdre, and Coe, ride up to young Max Sand and claim to be friends of his father’s. The actors in the roles were Karl Malden, Arthur Kennedy, and Martin Landau. Try to find a trio of that caliber in any 2023 release. Helpfully, Max tells the strangers to find the homestead, immediately getting a bad feeling when they speed off, yelling and firing their pistols. The three drifters know the elder Sand all right, but they’ve really come to demand the gold they believe he’s found in a nearby mine. When he says the mine is worthless, and all it ever yielded was a $38 nugget, the intruders don’t believe him and work themselves into a rage. Coe draws a knife, cold-bloodedly cuts Sand’s Kiowa wife, and threatens to skin her alive if the miner doesn’t tell them where he’s supposedly hidden his riches. By the time Max reaches the cabin, he finds his parents’ mangled corpses, and the killers are long gone.

Max sets out to avenge the murders, but inexperienced and naive, he isn’t cut out for the job—at first. “If you want to find those men, you’ll have to look in every saloon, hog farm, and whorehouse you come to,” warns a chance acquaintance, Jonas Cord (Brian Keith), a friendly traveling gunsmith. “You’ll have to become what they are, and wallow in the same garbage they do.” Realizing he can’t persuade Max to call it quits, Jonas teaches him the essential skills he’ll need to survive: draw fast and shoot straight, learn to play poker, do everything you can not to give yourself away, and don’t trust anybody, “not even your friends.” Working his way up through Coe and Bowdre, he finally locates Fitch. Calling himself “Nevada Smith,” he joins the outlaw’s new gang in a plan to rob a gold shipment, bringing the story, neatly, full circle. Fitch knows Max Sand is after him, but he doesn’t remember what Max looks like; regardless, he grows suspicious and paranoid about Nevada Smith as the day of the robbery approaches.

Filmed at locations in California and Louisiana (where Max robs a bank to get himself sentenced to a prison farm, next to Bowdre), “Nevada Smith” impressed audiences in 1966 with McQueen’s athletic performance against scenic outdoor backdrops, beautifully composed by Hathaway and his cinematographer, Lucian Ballard. This may not seem to be a remarkable achievement until you revisit the old TV Westerns of the ‘60s, which still run every day on streaming platforms like GritTV and Cinevault Westerns, and remember their tired stock-in-trade of aging stars, repetitive storylines, meager action, and generic backlot sets standing in for Dodge City, the Ponderosa, and the Big Valley. A new Blu-ray edition of “Nevada Smith” from Kino Lorber, in a 4K scan of the original camera negative, reproduces the vistas in stunning detail and richness, a long overdue boost for viewers who may have seen the movie only in edited, pan-and-scan TV prints. C. Courtney Joyner, Mark Jordan Legan, and Henry Parke offer a fine ensemble audio commentary, pointing out—among other elements—the legion of fine character actors in the supporting cast. Normally, I pride myself on that sort of Hollywood trivia, but Joyner, Legan, and Parke put me in my place. They pointed out some faces I would have missed otherwise.

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(Fred Blosser is the author of "Sons of Ringo: The Great Spaghetti Western Heroes". Click here to order from Amazon)

BY LEE PFEIFFER

Don Knotts came to fame with his trademark comedy style of portraying a meek, excessively nervous character. He was Woody Allen before Woody Allen was Woody Allen. Knotts honed his skills on Steve Allen's show in the 1950s, with his "man on the street" Nervous Nellie routine sending audiences into fits of laughter. He co-starred with fellow up-and-comer Andy Griffith in the hit Broadway production of "No Time for Sergeants" and the subsequent film version. When Griffith landed his own TV series in 1960 in which he played the sheriff of fictional small town Mayberry, Knotts imposed upon him to write a small, occasional part he could play as Barney Fife, Griffith's inept but loyal sheriff. Griffith complied and the role made Knotts an icon of American comedy, allowing him to win an astonishing five Emmys for playing the same character. Five years into the series, Knotts was offered a multi-feature deal by Lew Wasserman, the reigning mogul of Universal Pictures. Knotts took the bait and enjoyed creative control over the films to a certain degree. He could pretty much do what he wanted as long has he played the same nervous schlep audiences wanted to see. The films had to be low-budget, shot quickly and enjoy modest profits from rural audiences where Knotts' popularity skewed the highest. His first feature film was The Ghost and Mr. Chicken, released in 1966 and written by the same writing team from the "The Andy Griffith Show". (Griffith actually co-wrote the script but declined taking a writing credit.) The film astonished the industry, rolling up big grosses in small markets where it proved to have remarkable staying power. Similarly, his next film, The Reluctant Astronaut also proved to be a big hit, as was his 1969 western spoof The Shakiest Gun in the West.  Within a few years, however, changing audience tastes had rendered Knotts' brand of innocent, gentle humor somewhat moot. By the late 1960s audiences were getting their laughs from the new film freedoms. It was hard to find the antics of a middle-aged virgin much fun when you could see Bob and Carol and Ted and Alice cavorting in the same bed. Still, Knotts soldiered on, providing fare for the drive-in markets that still wanted his films. In 1969 he made The Love God?, a very funny and underrated film that tried to be more contemporary by casting Knotts as an innocent ninny who is manipulated into fronting what he thinks is a magazine for bird watchers but, in reality, is a cover for a pornography empire. Knotts' traditional audience balked at the relatively tame sex jokes and for his final film for Universal, How to Frame a Figg, he reverted back to his old formula. 

Released in 1971, Figg casts Don Knotts as the titular character, Hollis Figg, a nondescript wimp who toils as an overlooked accountant in a basement of  city hall. The film is set in a Mayberry-like small town environment but any other similarity ends there. In Mayberry, only the visiting city slickers were ever corrupt. The citizenry may have been comprised of goofballs and eccentrics, but they were all scrupulously honest. In Figg's world, however, the top government officials are all con-men and crooks. They are ruled by the town's beloved paternal father figure, Old Charley Spaulding (Parker Fennelly), a decrepit character who hands out pennies to everyone he encounters, with the heart-warming greeting "A shiny penny for your future!" In fact, Old Charley  has plenty of those pennies stashed away. He and his hand-picked fellow crooks, including the mayor and police chief, have been systemically ripping off the state by grossly inflating the costs of local building projects and secretly pocketing the overages. Concerned that the accountants might get wind of their activities, they summarily fire them all except for Figg, who is deemed to be too naive to ever catch on. They justify the firings by saying it's fiscally prudent and replace the accountants with a gigantic computer that is supposed to be even more efficient. Through a quirk of fate, Figg and his equally naive friend, Prentiss (Frank Welker), the janitor for city hall, discover exactly what is going on. Figg dutifully reports his findings to the mayor (Edward Andrews), who convinces him to keep it secret while he launches his own investigation. Old Charley, the mayor and their cohorts decide to make Figg the fall guy for the corrupt practices. They give him a big promotion, a new red convertible and even hire a private secretary for him. She's Glorianna (Yvonne Craig), a leggy femme fatale who wears mini skirts and oozes sex. When her attempts to seduce Figg leave him paralyzed with fear because of his allegiance to his new girlfriend, the equally virginal waitress Ema Letha (Elaine Joyce), Glorianna gets Figg drunk, takes some embarrassing photos of him and then proceeds to have him sign a stream of incriminating documents that he has not bothered to read. Before long, Figg is blamed for all the missing funds and faces a jail sentence- unless he and the dim-witted Prentiss can figure out how to use the computer to thwart the real crooks.