BY TODD GARBARINI

My introduction into the world of the late horror film director Wes Craven’s films came in October 1977 when I began seeing ads in my local newspaper for his film The Hills Have Eyes. The image of actor Michael Berryman as Jupiter, with his bald head and serious grin, I will not lie, freaked me out. Twenty-one years later I would meet him at a horror film convention, and he could not have been nicer – but that is beside the point! I did not know what the movie was about, but it sported an R-rating, and it did not look like anything that I could ever sit through at the age of nine. I would later learn that I was correct. I finally caught up with Hills in the summer of 1984 on a television broadcast, three years into my newfound love of horror films. I found it to be fairly terrifying, even during an afternoon viewing. Around the same time, I obtained Mr. Craven’s lesser-known film, Deadly Blessing (1981), which also featured Mr. Berryman, on CED, which takes place in the Amish Country. It is more of a supernatural film, but I enjoyed it just the same.

Everything changed when, in early November 1984, I saw the television trailer for Mr. Craven’s new film, A Nightmare on Elm Street, which introduced audiences to the world of Fred Krueger. I was curious and enthralled, and my mind began working on how I could get my parents to agree to allow me to see it. A local theater was showing it with the PG-rated A Soldier’s Story on the other screen. I lied and said that I needed to review A Soldier’s Story for my English class as we were reading the stage play upon which it was based. My friend and I saw Elm Street on my sixteenth birthday. When we left the theater after the film was done, I was over the moon. The original Elm Street was and still is the best horror film I have ever seen in a theater, though I was clueless that it would begin a franchise that I would grow to like less and less as time went on. When my parents asked me what A Soldier’s Story was about, all I could muster what that it was a story about a soldier. I think they had their suspicions…

When I saw Mr. Craven’s latest film at the time, Scream (originally titled Scary Movie), on opening night on Friday, December 20, 1996, it did not feel like anything that he had directed before. The terror and brutality that permeates much of Hills and even portions of Elm Street are absent. There is graphic gore in Scream, but the whole affair looks closer to an episode of The O.C. than a horror film as the California high school setting looks a little too clean and shiny. Drew Barrymore plays Casey, a babysitter, at the film’s start in a similar way that opens Fred Walton’s 1979 thriller When a Stranger Calls. She fields calls from a psycho who taunts her, asking her what her favorite scary movie is, etc. The calls become more verbal and horrible. Casey is killed after the first thirteen minutes in a clear nod to Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho, although Janet Leigh’s scream time (sorry) in that film was much longer.

The real protagonist of Scream is Sidney (Neve Campbell), the virginal high school girl whose boyfriend Billy (Skeet Ulrich) is predictably pressuring her for sex. We discover that her mother was killed a year ago and her father travels for business. Sidney is pretty much left to fend for herself. As though her problems were not bad enough, she is now subjected to the same calls that plagued Casey. A cloaked figure wearing a contorted ghost mask makes his way into her home and a fight ensues, with her boyfriend Billy coming to the rescue. His timing arouses suspicion in both the audience and Sidney, and his possessing a cell phone at a time when they were not everywhere as they are today is even more cause for alarm. The police bring him in for questioning but they have no tangible proof of any guilt. While all of this is going on, a television newscaster (Courtney Cox) is anxious to get the story of her career and stops at nothing to glean information from Sidney or even seduce the local goofball cop (David Arquette) who is never taken seriously. She uses her charms to infiltrate a party comprised of teenagers who are all suspect; she places a hidden camera to record their gathering. The camera is nondescript, and it made me wonder what 1996 technology would be small enough to go unnoticed. How does it even work? How is it powered? From the looks of it, it is wireless, though this raises more questions than it answers. Probably best to not make too much of it in a film that clearly does not take itself seriously.

One of the issues that I have with the film is its failure to make up its mind as to what kind of a film it is intended to be: a parody or an actual slasher film? It never really succeeds at either, because it is not funny enough to be a parody, nor is it even scary enough to be considered a true slasher film. Henry Winkler plays the high school principal. He is summarily displaced as a request from producer Bob Shaye, who wanted an additional kill in the story, but not before encountering a janitor named Fred in a green and black sweater, played by Mr. Craven, in an eye-rolling cameo, clearly saluting the “hero” of his better film.

The screenplay also gets into a little too much social commentary wherein the high schoolers talk about how movies do not make killers, etc. By the time the true killer’s identity is revealed, I was honestly glad that the film was over, as I found it more irritating than anything else.

Scream was written by Kevin Williamson who is best known for the teen drama Dawson's Creek, and it shows – the film has a polished look that, I feel, works to its detriment – Hills (shot on 16mm and blown up to 35mm) and Elm Street (shot on 35mm) both have their own signature visual styles that work very well. He also penned a short-lived and (unfairly) panned television series in 2007 called Hidden Palms, which featured a twenty-year-old Amber Heard as Gretchen, a troubled teen whose boyfriend reportedly committed suicide, with rumors about aspects of his death arising afterward. That show only lasted two months, but an air of mystery permeated each episode. Mr. Williamson has employed sexual promiscuity in much of his work and the results never seem to be worth the trouble that the characters endure.

I take no pleasure in saying anything negative about Scream, as I possess a genuine affinity for Mr. Craven’s work. Scream feels like a Hollywood mainscream film (I know, sorry!), however the another issue that I have with it probably is not even an issue at all. It is just a pet peeve of mine: when it comes to slasher films, beginning with Halloween (the 1978 John Carpenter film and Mr. Williamson’s favorite movie, one that figures prominently in Scream), there has been sort of a misunderstanding, in my humble opinion, among hardcore fans regarding the notion of the reputed â€œLast Girl” being a virgin and therefore making it through to the end while the promiscuous “Bad Girls” are killed. The unspoken notion is that being a virgin is what manages to keep these surviving girls safe from being killed. In Halloween, Jamie Lee Curtis's character, Laurie, makes it not because she is a virgin, but because she actually pays attention to what is going on around her. Her friends Linda and Annie are so busy being distracted by their boyfriends and their sexual shenanigans that they have no idea what is really going on and are oblivious to the presence of the killer, Michael Myers. The way that this motif is displayed historically from everything following Sean Cunningham’s Friday the 13^th (1980) up to Scream is quizzical, and I often wonder if we are meant to identify with the teenage characters because we are seeing it through their eyes. They seem to be interpreting the “Final Girl” as making it simply because she is a virgin.

Mr. Craven has made plenty of other films throughout his career that have nothing to do with Elm Street’s Fred Krueger, among them his debut film The Last House on the Left (1972) of which I am not a fan; the Linda Blair TV-movie Stranger in Our House/Summer of Fear (his first 35mm film); Swamp Thing (1981); the oddball Kristy Swanson vehicle Deadly Friend (1986); The Serpent and the Rainbow (1988); Shocker (1989); and the bizarre The People Under the Stairs (1991), all horror films that deal with different subjects. Despite what most people may feel about Scream, it was a highly successful and well-received film that also paved the way for not only sequels, but also a remake scheduled for release in early 2022. Scream also revived the slasher film, a genre that for years languished in the mediocre made-for-video sections of video stores all across the country. For that, I am grateful, as some true classics of the genre have been made in the years since.

Scream is now available on a Paramount 4K Ultra High-Definition Blu-ray and the results are spectacular. The disc has some interesting extras, which consist of:

A feature-length audio commentary with Wes Craven and Kevin Williamson that was more than likely recorded for the original DVD release. It is a fun listen, though most of it entails them commenting on the onscream action (damn, sorry again! These puns write themselves!) than delving into the behind-the-scenes facts to any great extent.

A Bloody Legacy: SCREAM 25 Years Later – This is just over seven minutes and is more of a promotional piece for the 2022 release of the new Scream film directed by Matt Bettinelli-Olpin and Tyler Gillett

Production Featurette – This runs just over six minutes and is exactly what it sounds like.

Behind the Scenes has two small parts: a three-and-a-half-minute piece of BTS footage, while another runs just under three minutes and focuses on Drew Barrymore’s work on the film.

Q & A with Cast and Crew – Two short parts, the first being What’s Your Favorite Scary Movie?, which most people interviewed do not reveal, they sort of just list movies that scared them. I was grateful that one woman mentioned Burnt Offerings, which is the first thriller that I saw and made me become interested in horror films. This part runs just under three minutes. The second portion, Why Are People So Fascinated by Horror Films?, runs about two-and-a-half-minutes, and they all echo similar notions about living through fear vicariously. Neve Campbell reveals the dark side in all of us and letting it out in a movie. Look fast for Linda Blair early on as a television reporter.

The release also includes a digital code for streaming the film. 

Scream is, of course, not to be confused with the film of the same name from 1981, written and directed by Byron Quisenberry, which was widely panned by pretty much everyone who saw it.

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Los Angeles

BY TODD GARBARINI

Director William Friedkin’s The French Connection, which won Oscars for Best Picture, Best Director, Best Actor, Best Adapted Screenplay, and Best Editing at the 1972 Academy Awards ceremony, celebrates its 50^th Anniversary today as it opened in New York City on Thursday, October 7, 1971. On Saturday, October 7, 1961, exactly ten years earlier to the day, both New York Detective First Grade Edward Egan and his partner, then Detective Second Grade Salvatore Grosso, unwittingly stumbled upon what is described in author Robin Moore’s 1969 account of the case as one that would “obsess them night and day for the next four-and-a-half months and would not end for a year-and-a-half.”

New York

Gene Hackman portrayed Mr. Egan and Roy Scheider co-starred as Mr. Grosso, referring to each other by the sobriquets “Popeye” and “Cloudy”, respectively. Acclaimed by critics and audiences alike for its gritty realism, its cat-and-mouse chase between Popeye and the mastermind behind the imported heroin (played by Fernando Rey), the film is best-known for its gripping and inexorable chase between a 1971 Pontiac LeMans and a subway train.

The film later opened in Los Angeles on November 3^rd in Los Angeles and on November 17^th in Central Jersey.

New Jersey

Issue #50 of Cinema Retro features this writer’s interviews with William Friedkin, actor Tony Lo Bianco, and former New York Police Detective Randy Jurgensen who worked on the actual case. Copies are available at CinemaRetro.com.

BY HANK REINEKE

I turned age three one month prior to the January 1965 U.S. release of Roger Corman’s The Tomb of Ligeia (American-International, 1964). The film had been first released in England in November 1964 - which was only fair - since both The Tomb of Ligeia and its predecessor The Masque of the Red Death (also 1964) had been shot at Shepperton Studios and in the neighboring English countryside. I’m guessing that I only became acquainted with Corman’s octet of Poe adaptations when the films were televised on New York City’s 4:30 Movie in the mid-1970s.

I didn’t know quite what to make of the AIP Poe films at first. These were horror films without monsters and, at age fifteen, I had no particular interest in - or understanding of - “psychological horror” pictures… I wanted rubber-suit monsters sporting grotesque make-up appliances and causing small-town mayhem. I wasn’t yet old enough to understand the paralyzing torment and terrors suffered by those with tortured souls. That is until I reached my mid-20s and discovered, unhappily, I myself was afflicted with one.

The Tomb of Ligeia was the eighth and last film that would comprise Corman’s famed “Poe cycle,” a series (of sorts) that launched with the moody House of Usher (1960). In his entertaining memoir, How I Made a Hundred Movies in Hollywood and Never Lost a Dime (Random House, 1990), the filmmaker shared with candor that while he was pleased he had made “several very good-looking, psychologically effective horror pictures” from 1960 through 1964, he admitted that by cycle’s end, “I was repeating myself, taking ideas, images, themes, and techniques from my earlier work.”

I would say in defense there was no discernible slippage of quality present in The Tomb of Ligeia. Both Robert Townes literate screenplay and Corman’s direction are well crafted. In fact, I’ve long considered Corman’s House of Usher, The Premature Burial, The Masque of the Red Death and The Tomb of Ligeia as art-house horror films of a sort. The gold standard.

Or, perhaps, The Gold Bug standard, if one is to remain true to the Poe terminologies. According to reports of January of 1964, Poe’s The Gold Bug was actually scheduled as A.I.P.’s immediate follow-up to The Masque of the Red Death. In his biography of Peter Lorre, author Stephen D. Youngkin suggests that previous Corman scribe Charles B. Griffith (Bucket of Blood, Little Shop of Horrors) had worked on script for The Gold Bug, a romp that was to re-team Price, Basil Rathbone and Lorre, recent stars of AIP’s The Comedy of Terrors (1963). Griffith’s version of The Gold Bug was reportedly sketched as a horror-comedy in the vein of that earlier film. His script was - presumably - scrubbed when Lorre passed away in March of 1964.

In any event, I now consider several films in the Poe cycle among my favorite horror efforts. Thanks to 35mm revival screenings in the 1980s at New York City’s repertory theaters and at retro all-night drive-in monster movie weekends, I’ve been able to enjoy these classics in genuine Colorscope as originally designed. I’ve also had the wonderful opportunity to enjoy a pair of relatively recent screenings of The Tomb of Ligeia in the company of two of the film’s high-profile participants. In August of 2015 Roger Corman and actress Elizabeth Shepherd (Lady Rowena Trevanion) participated in a screening and Q & A at the Anthology Film Archives on Manhattan’s Lower East Side. In 2019 I caught still another 35mm screening, this time with Elizabeth Shepherd attending alone and sharing more expansive memories of working with both Corman and her notable co-star and boogeyman Vincent Price. So it’s impossible for me to separate my admiration for The Tomb of Ligeia from such personal memories.

One of the nicest aspects of this Kino Lorber Studio Classics Blu-ray edition of The Tomb of Ligeia is that if you weren’t geographically fortunate enough to attend any of these retrospective 35mm screening events, you now have the opportunity to listen to Corman and Shepherd share their on-the-set memories on two of this package’s generous trio of audio commentaries. The third commentary is provided by film historian Tim Lucas who provides all the nuts and bolts factoids we cinema history train spotters require. With three distinct voices sharing the commentary tracks, there’s a lot of material and viewpoints and memories to wade through.

As was so often the case, Corman’s cinematic adaptations of Poe were not terribly faithful to the original source materials. Instead we are treated to more visual reimagining’s of the gloomy author’s classic short stories. Corman and a team of screenwriters (including Richard Matheson and Charles Beaumont, both of Twilight Zone fame) had constructed new tales only partly drawn from Poe’s characters and grotesque plot lines.

As Poe’s horrors were psychologically driven and introspective in presentation, it was necessary for Corman and his team to inject more cinematic visual tropes. This was accomplished by introducing completely new scenarios and mixing in original and intriguing subplots. In Corman’s “serious” offerings of the Poe cycle, the birthing author’s gloomy atmospheres, the dreary broodings on mortality, the wearisome toll of mental anguish (and subsequent psychic breakdowns) all remain faithful in tone to the spirit of his visions.

The screenplay of The Tomb of Ligeia was scribed by the actor-writer Robert Towne. Towne already boasted a screenwriting credit on The Last Man on Earth (1960) as well as playing multiple on-screen roles in Corman’s Creature from the Haunted Sea (1961). Towne, who would go on to be feted with no fewer than four Oscar nominations for his writing (most notably for Chinatwon), serves up a literate screenplay that comes complete with the moody, erudite - and occasionally archaic dialogue - that one comes to expect from this series. His work on the script stands alongside the best Poe adaptations of Matheson and Beaumont.

The film version of The Tomb of Ligeia concerns the curious and eccentric manner of which Vernon Fell ((Vincent Price) conducts himself following the passing of his wife Ligeia. Fell is obsessed, nay terrorized, by the notion that his late wife is not quite dead in the usual sense of the word. He’s convinced that his wife’s disturbed spirit – she was, after all, an unrepentant atheist who dabbled in spiritualism – is now reincarnated in the form of a menacing black cat that prowls along the premises of the dilapidated ruins of an abbey he calls home. The somber and haunted Fell finds new romance with Lady Rowena (Shepherd), an already betrothed woman who happens upon his property when she’s thrown from her horse during a spirited fox hunt. Rowena eventually marries Fell only to find herself guarding against her new husband’s odd behaviors - and a malevolent black cat who appears to willfully cause her torment.

Towne’s story takes many liberties with Poe’s original short story, simply titled Ligeia, and first published in Baltimore’s American Museum periodical in September 1838. The most significant of these changes is that there’s no black cat present in Poe’s version - and Rowena dies nine pages into the twelve-page tale. But since Poe tends to tell his tales as either a detached narrator or in a “first person” internal dialogue of madness, Corman’s cinematic vehicle needed a flesh and blood protagonist – even if the one chosen for the film is adorned only in a coat of black fur – to make any menace visually tangible. There’s a not too subtle revelation of necrophilia and a more overt sequence of mesmerism sprinkled in as well. It was obvious that Towne, much like his predecessors, were mining a wide swath of Poe’s oeuvre in a desire to enliven and expand the author’s short story for a film of feature-length running time.

“A BEAUTIFUL MESS”

By Raymond Benson

Filmmaker Stanley Donen had substantial success with his comedy-thriller, Charade (1963), which starred Cary Grant and Audrey Hepburn. It was hyped and critiqued as “Hitchcockian” in tone and style, especially the light-hearted and glitzy To Catch a Thief (1955). (There are many who mistakenly believe that Charade is a Hitchcock film.)

The studio then wanted to repeat that success with a similar picture, Arabesque, also with Cary Grant in the lead role with Donen directing again. However, Grant felt that the script was “terrible” and passed. Donen allegedly wasn’t too thrilled with the script, either, and he wasn’t too keen on making the picture without Grant.

Then Gregory Peck and Sophia Loren expressed interest in the movie, so Donen acquiesced. Sounds like a fairy tale scenario for the greenlighting of a Hollywood movie, right? The two Oscar-winning stars were cast, and the script was rewritten… and rewritten… (it is credited to Julian Mitchell, Stanley Price, and Pierre Marton; however, Marton is a pseudonym for Peter Stone, who had written Charade!).

Released in 1966, Arabesque has all the hallmarks of a hit movie. It is beautifully photographed by Christopher Challis, with colorful usage of mirrors and prisms and glass throughout the picture. These visuals provide the film with its spectacular glossy eye candy. Ms. Loren’s costumes (by Christian Dior) are psychedelic/exotic/1960s fabulous. Henry Mancini’s musical score is fun and lively—except for the examples cited below. Maurice Binder’s main titles design hints at something leaning toward a James Bond or Derek Flint film.

These are the only admirable aspects of the picture.

Both Charade and Arabesque, when one examines them closely, are really screwball comedies set in a spy/thriller milieu. The success of a screwball comedy depends on the comic timing and charisma of the two “mismatched” leads—this is the core ingredient of the sub-genre. Cary Grant can do these kinds of roles in his sleep. And this is where the problem lies.

Gregory Peck is a wonderful actor, but unfortunately here he is terribly miscast. It’s obvious that he’s trying to “do” Cary Grant (without the accent), and it simply does not work. The dialogue—meant to be witty banter in the Cary Grant mold—does not flow elegantly from Peck. Sophia Loren, while looking gorgeous and mysterious throughout the story, fares little better with what the poor script has her do.

And the script? It makes no sense. Peck is David Pollock, an American professor at Oxford who knows something about Hieroglyphics. He’s “hired” by sleazy Arabic shipping magnate Beshraavi (Alan Badel) to decipher a code in Hieroglyphics that he has stolen from a murdered spy. The prime minister of an unnamed Middle Eastern country, Jena (Carl Duering), also wants the code deciphered, because “there will be no peace in the world without it.” What? It’s unclear what conflict we’re talking about or what the situation really is. Pollock meets Beshraavi’s mistress, Yasmin Azir (Loren), who is working for another group of spies—maybe—or maybe she’s working for Jena—it’s not really clear—in fact, we don’t know what Yasmin’s motivation is for any of her actions in the film. Suddenly, Pollock is on the run as several factions of Arabs and others are out to kill him. Sometimes Yasmin helps him, sometimes she doesn’t. But, of course, they fall in love, and they prevent a political assassination in the meantime.

Okay, it’s a beautiful mess, but it’s still a mess. Even the misplaced slapstick sequences are dumb—and Mancini’s comic music that underscores some of these scenes is cringe-worthy (one example—when a drugged Pollock is standing in the road of a crowded freeway and playing “matador” to oncoming vehicles).

Kino Lorber’s new Blu-ray release looks quite gorgeous, showing off the colorful glitz that is the primary asset of Arabesque. It comes with an audio commentary by film historians Howard S. Berger, Steve Mitchell, and Nathaniel Thompson, who all seem to enjoy the picture more than this reviewer did and yet point out all the same faults. A lovely half-hour featurette on Mancini is a welcome supplement. There is also a poster gallery (note the cover/poster art by the great Robert McGinnis), TV spots, the theatrical trailer and teaser, and trailers for other Kino Lorber releases.

Arabesque is a product of its mid-1960s origin, for sure, as it wants to be both Charade and a James Bond film. It is neither, but it might be a curiosity for fans of 1960s Hollywood spy movies and pristine cinematography.

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“GOIN’ TO TOWN” (1935; Directed by Alexander Hall)

“KLONDIKE ANNIE” (1936; Directed by Raoul Walsh)

“GO WEST, YOUNG MAN” (1936; Directed by Henry Hathaway)

“EVERY DAY’S A HOLIDAY” (1937; Directed by A. Edward Sutherland)

“MY LITTLE CHICKADEE” (1940; Directed by Edward F. Cline)

(Kino Lorber)

“GOODNESS HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH IT—THE MAE WEST FILMS, PART TWO”

By Raymond Benson

This is the continuation of reviews of the classic 1930s (and 1940) films of Mae West, which began here.

Kino Lorber has just released in gorgeously restored, high-definition presentations every Mae West film made between 1932-1940—the Paramount years, plus one with Universal. This review will cover the last five of nine titles.

What is not commonly appreciated among Hollywood enthusiasts is that Mae West held a unique position in the history of cinema. Until the modern era, she had the extraordinary fortune—for her time—of being a leading actress who wrote her own screenplays. Six of the nine pictures reviewed here and in Part One were written by West, one was co-written, and all but the first was based on or adapted from West’s plays or stories. It wasn’t until the likes of Tina Fey, Kristen Wiig, Angelina Jolie, and a finite number of other actresses appeared on the scene to write original scripts for themselves that Hollywood allotted that kind of opportunity to a female performer. West was doing it in the 1930s, and this was unprecedented. Her talent and wit deserve a renewed appreciation today.

Her first two solo pictures (not counting her debut, Night After Night) are undoubtedly the quintessential Mae West movies (She Done Him Wrong and I’m No Angel) because of the freedom she had in the pre-Code years. Once the Production Code kicked in on July 1, 1934, West battled censorship and the challenges of getting across her risqué humor with more subtlety. It can be said that her remaining Paramount Pictures titles suffered when compared to the pre-Code fare, but they are still entertaining and worth a look.

Goin’ to Town (1935) takes place at the turn of the century when automobiles are appearing but there are still horses and buggies. It’s a globe-hopping affair that begins in what appears to be the Wild West as Cleo Borden (West) is a cattle rancher who juggles men on the way to fulfill her desire to refine her manners and join high society. Although her designs are really aimed at British engineer Edward Carrington (Paul Cavanaugh), she marries Fletcher Colton (Monroe Owsley) for convenience, but he’s an obsessive gambler. In Buenos Aires, Cleo faces off with rival Grace Brittony (Marjorie Gateson). As a recurring theme to this and other West vehicles, the actress sings “He’s a Bad, Bad Man, but He’s Good Enough for Me”! Goin’ to Town is entertaining enough—it’s better than the previous Belle of the Nineties, but the picture lacks interesting co-stars for West. The Blu-ray comes with an audio commentary by film historian Kat Ellinger, plus the theatrical trailer.

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Klondike Annie (1936) is overseen by solid filmmaker Raoul Walsh, and it shows. It is perhaps the best of West’s post-Code pictures, despite its embarrassingly offensive take on Asian characters, which was standard operating procedure in Hollywood for the time. It’s the 1890s again (why do so many of West’s films take place in that decade?). Rose Carlton (West) is a “kept woman” in San Francisco’s Chinatown by cruel club owner Chan Lo (Harold Huber, not an Asian actor). Rose ends up killing Lo and escapes on a ship to Alaska, the captain of which is Bull Brackett (the fabulous Victor McLaglen). Rose disguises herself and impersonates the deceased Sister Annie Alden, a missionary who was on her way to Nome to head up the only establishment of worship in an otherwise rough Gold Rush town. Bull falls hard for “Annie,” and she likes him, too, but she also has eyes for Mountie-like inspector Jack Forrest (Phillip Reed), who is looking for Rose because she’s now wanted for murder. Klondike Annie went through major Hays Office interference and in fact two major scenes were deleted from the film—the murder of Lo (we now only hear about what happened in conversation later), and the sequence in which Rose dons Annie’s clothing and dresses the former sister in the garb of a streetwalker (the censors seriously objected to this on puritanical grounds!). Nevertheless, Klondike is lively, rather suspenseful, and features the most exotic of settings for a Mae West movie. The disk comes with an audio commentary by film historians Alexandra Heller-Nicholas and Josh Nelson, plus the theatrical trailer.

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Go West, Young Man (also 1936) was helmed by accomplished director Henry Hathaway, and it fares well for West and her filmography. West is controversial movie star Mavis Arden, who has a penchant to get in trouble. Thus, her studio has assigned press agent Morgan (Warren William, who was known as the “king of pre-Code,” but he was apparently still working post-Code) to keep an eye on Mavis and stop her from dalliances with men. On the way to a public appearance, their car breaks down in a hick town where Mavis and Morgan must stay at a boarding house run by a prudish woman (Alice Brady) and her more open-minded aunt (Elizabeth Patterson). The problem is that hunky Bud Norton (Randolph Scott) runs the gas station next door to the boarding house! It’s another enjoyable West romp that is more of a screwball comedy than any of her other pictures. The disk comes with an audio commentary by author/film historian Lee Gambin, plus the theatrical trailer.

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Every Day’s a Holiday (1937) was the last picture West made for Paramount, after which her contract was cancelled. She, along with many other actresses such as Katharine Hepburn, Marlene Dietrich, and even Bette Davis, were deemed at the time by the Hollywood press as “box office poison” (which was nonsense, of course). It’s too bad, for Holiday is one of the funnier titles in the West canon, mainly due to character actor co-stars Charles Butterworth (as Graves, a butler who is sweet on West’s character, Peaches O’Day), Charles Winninger (as Van Doon, an outrageous millionaire who also has the hots for Peaches), and bumbling Walter Catlett (as Nifty, Peaches’ manager). Peaches, who has a habit of “selling” the Brooklyn Bridge to numbskulls, has her eyes on police captain McCarey (Edmund Lowe), whose rival is the police chief Quade (Lloyd Nolan). Peaches, wanted by the law, “disguises” herself by donning a black wig—and of course no one recognizes her as Peaches anymore (!). Quade, once pursuing Peaches to arrest her, is now after “Fifi” to woo her. Fun stuff all around. Look for Louis Armstrong’s cameo leading a marching band and performing a song. The disk comes with an audio commentary by film historian Kat Ellinger, plus the theatrical trailer.

Hollywood has mined gold from films relating to the American Civil War. Generally, however, the opposite has been true of movie relating to the American Revolution. Relatively few have been made and those that were often proved to be boxoffice failures, none more so than director Hugh Hudson's expensive 1985 epic "Revolution", which was savagely attacked by critics and disappeared from theaters quickly due to audience disinterest, However, Hudson would later issue a DVD version of the movie with significant changes. As we argued at the time, the film may not be a classic but it has plenty of merits and it deserves to be re-evaluated. Click here to to read our original review.

BY MATT DAVEY

Released in 1971, ‘Red Sun’ is an enthralling Western starring Charles Bronson, Toshiro Mifune, Alain Delon and Ursula Andress. Bronson and Delon lead a group of bandits to rob a train, but get more than they bargained for as they discover the train is transporting a Japanese delegation featuring Mifune, who is guarding a priceless ceremonial sword, a gift from the Emperor of Japan meant for the President of the United States. Delon steals the sword and leaves co-conspirator Bronson for dead. Mifune and Bronson team up to make an unlikely alliance in search of Delon and the stolen sword.

“For the disgrace of failure, he will rip his abdomen and kill himself” roars the Japanese ambassador as he tries to solder Link (Bronson) and Kuroda Jubei (Mifune) into the unlikeliest good cop/bad cop routine you’re ever likely to witness. “Well, that’s something I’d like to see!” retorts the eagled eyed, moustached loner Link, who moments earlier had been left for dead after the left-handed gun Gauche (Delon) fancied a bigger share of the riches from the robbery. ‘Red Sun’ may display many of the conventional Western characteristics – robbery goes wrong and a manhunt ensues – but its international flavour is unlike any other film of this genre that’s been put on screen to date.

It’s very rare that the co-lead of an American Western is a stoic Japanese sword and sandal figure, but the very fact that Bronson and Mifune should appear on screen together at all has more meaning than the average cinephile might think. Mifune appeared in the 1954 classic ‘Seven Samurai’, directed by Akira Kurosawa – and Bronson appeared in the Western remake ‘The Magnificent Seven’ directed by John Sturges, who had recently enjoyed success with genre hits ‘Gunfight at the O.K. Corral’, ‘The Law and Jake Wade’ and ‘Last Train from Gun Hill’. Both Bronson and Mifune played their parts in two of the most influential films of the era, so the fact that they appeared on screen together is significant. ‘Red Sun’ is a totally original story that might have seemed too bizarre to succeed, but given the two leads’ history, it’s a perfect film to showcase their combined talents.

Director Terence Young captures with ease the hostile and unforgiving landscape of the tactile terrain (filmed in Andalucía, Spain), as Maurice Jarre’s musical score transports you into the picture. Throughout Young’s filmography, ranging from the early Bond films to his transition to Hollywood working with commanding lead actors like Henry Fonda, Anthony Quinn and Lee Marvin, he gives lower-budget B movies gravitas. (He had collaborated with Charles Bronson a few years earlier on ‘The Valachi Papers’.) The plot of ‘Red Sun’ feels deliberately engineered for Bronson and Mifune and has something of a fantasy cast list. However, it never feels detached from reality and the resulting consequences of the characters’ actions feel meaningful, even though on the printed page, the scenarios might have appeared to be ludicrous.

Link and Jubei are chalk and cheese; Bronson is witty and Mifune is much more strait- laced, amusingly so when trying to comprehend the comedic dialogue just served to him on a plate by Bronson. The most memorable scenes of film occur when Link and Jubei are reluctantly travelling together in search of the Japanese ambassador’s ceremonial sword as they squabble like children and engage in some comedic faux fighting. Bronson’s character Link accompanies Jubei to retrieve the ceremonial sword with his own agenda in mind. After being left for dead by Gauche (Delon) and his men, Link aims to find his share of the train robbery proceeds, but in order to do that he needs to find Gauche and take him alive. However, Jubei wants him dead due to the dishonour and trouble he’s caused. All of this reaches a boiling point in the film’s final act. If you know your Bronson movies, you know it’s never a good idea to leave him for dead…it’s just not going to end well for the antagonist.

Legendary director and actor John Huston claimed that ‘Red Sun’ was among the three best Westerns ever made, alongside 1948’s ‘Red River’ and John Ford’s ‘Stagecoach’. Huston certainly has an interesting take. Would ‘Red Sun’ finish anywhere my own personal list of the top 10 Westerns ever made, let alone top three? No. I enjoy the film very much and find it particularly re-watchable, as there’s simply nothing else like it. Huston’s choice of placing ‘Red Sun’ on such a high pedestal isn’t completel unworthy, however. It’s an inclusive Western, well-loved in the genre’s fandom, but its appeal outside of that isn’t extensive.

The three main players involved in the project – Young, Bronson and Mifune – had already produced their best work inside their respective filmographies. That being said, ‘Red Sun’ still has a unique appeal over 50 years after its theatrical release. Bronson has the same low-key magnetism that he displays in mostl of his films whilst Mifune is suitably memorable as a samurai who finds himself in the Old West. All the more impressive about his performance is the fact that ‘Red Sun’ was his first feature film role in the English language. (Where he has dialogue, at any rate.) As for the rest of the main cast, Ursula Andress is commanding as Cristina in what is the only main female character in the film. Although Andress receives second billing, she doesn’t appear until an hour into the film. That being said, Andress is worth the wait. She displays a certain exterior swagger that is reminiscent of her breakout role as Honey Ryder in ‘Dr. No’ more than a decade previous. Alain Delon is every inch the perfect villain as Gauche in his black attire, a dress code that could be compared with that of Henry Fonda in ‘Once Upon a Time in the West’ or Jack Palance in ‘Shane’. Delon is just as likely to shoot someone down with his menacing blue eyes as he is with his pistol, as he’s an outlaw with no ethical compass.

‘Red Sun’ is the pinnacle of the Eastern/Western crossover and has to be seen to be believed.

"Red Sun" is available for streaming on YouTube. 

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BY MATT DAVEY

Released in 1972, The Valachi Papers depicts the rise and fall of Mafia informant Joseph Valachi, who became the first member of the Mafia (otherwise known as Cosa Nostra) to acknowledge its existence in public. Directed by Terence Young (Dr. No, From Russia with Love, Thunderball) and produced by legendary Italian film producer Dino De Laurentiis The Valachi Papers stars Charles Bronson in the lead role, alongside his real-life wife Jill Ireland as well as Lino Ventura, Walter Chiari and Joseph Wiseman.

The film covers five decades of Valachi’s involvement in organised crime – from his burglaries with the Minutemen to working under mob boss Vito Genovese from the 1930s – as the film unceremoniously portrays life in the criminal underworld. Told from the perspective of Valachi, the film begins with the ageing gangster in prison fearing for his life after a contract for his killing is ordered by Don Vito Genovese (Lino Ventura), who suspects him of betraying the Family. Determined not to be silenced behind bars and avoid an inside hit, Valachi co-operates with the U.S. Justice Department – unveiling the secrets of life in the Mafia as the film follows Bronson’s on-screen Joe Valachi through voice-over and flashback sequences.

The film is based on the biographical book of the same name, written by Peter Maas in 1968. Nearly five decades after the movie’s release, it’s difficult to truly comprehend the anticipation surrounding a Hollywood picture based on Joseph Valachi’s tell-all testimony to the FBI that was televised across the United States in 1963. Never before had the public, or indeed the FBI, really been aware of the true extent to which organised crime functioned in America. Valachi - who had been a former Mafia ‘soldier’ in the Genovese crime family – disclosed that the Mafia was called ‘Cosa Nostra’ in Italian – translating as “this thing of ours” in English. Valachi’s public testimony divulged the structure of the Mafia, from its hierarchy to the Five Families in New York City. This incredible true story was always going to have golden Hollywood potential when being made into a motion picture, but there would be two competing Mafia movies in 1972. One became widely regarded as one of the best films ever made and the other would disappear from popular culture…

Perhaps, The Valachi Papers is worthy of a reappraisal in the modern era. Sure, there are some clunky edits that also plagued director Terence Young’s early James Bond films – although they are simply too good to care – and the jolty dubbing of certain supporting actors also fails to go unnoticed. That being said, it’s to the film’s credit that you can overlook its flaws, that the story and performances are simply too good to worry about a few minor things that don’t hold up well fifty years later. Charles Bronson starred in The Valachi Papers at a time when he was finally achieving major international stardom. Having enjoyed success in ensemble pieces in a supporting capacity – The Magnificent Seven, The Great Escape and The Dirty Dozen – Bronson made his name as a leading man in Sergio Leone’s epic spaghetti western, Once Upon a Time in the West opposite Henry Fonda, Claudia Cardinale and Jason Robards. The Valachi Papers would be Young and Bronson’s third and final collaboration together after Cold Sweat and Red Sun. As Bronson’s popularity as a leading man grew, he would carry forward his tough guy persona under director Michael Winner as vigilante Paul Kersey in the Death Wish series, among other collaborations with Winner.

There’s an argument to be made that Bronson’s performance as Joseph Valachi is the most versatile performance of his entire career. Bronson emits his trademark softly spoken innocence packaged with his menacing cats’ eyes that tell a thousand words when no dialogue is offered, which in itself is a contradiction in terms. Yet Bronson’s appearance changes more in this movie than in any of his others combined. He’s convincing as Valachi in young, middle and old age – long before the days of CGI and de-aging techniques. From the colour of his hair to the speed at which he moves, Bronson is totally believable as Joe Valachi, which alone makes the film worth seeing. It’s Bronson who makes the film tick, as the narrative jumps back and forth through time – a comparison that you can make with Martin Scorsese’s The Irishman. As good as he is, Lino Ventura doesn’t have the same on-screen magnetism as Marlon Brando’s Don Corleone. Perhaps the author of ‘The Godfather’, Mario Puzo,based Don Vito Corleone on the real-life Vito Genovese? Puzo certainly drew on the real Valachi Papers for his best-selling book that was adapted for the screen by Francis Ford Coppola.

Indeed, The Valachi Papers lacks the all-round spectacle, pomp and grandeur than that of The Godfather. It’s not difficult to analyse why The Godfather was so successful. Hoping to ride the wave of The Godfather’s success – The Valachi Papers bombed commercially – critically shunned as inferior. Director Terence Young said of The Godfather: “It is the most expensive trailer ever made – a trailer for our film! We are really much closer to The French Connection. We are the other side of that coin – you could call us ‘The Italian Connection’!”

Comparable with The Godfather, The Valachi Papers does feel like an old movie – it’s not a criticism, but it’s overshadowed by Coppola’s timeless classic. With the exception of Bronson, there isn’t an all-star cast with multiple Academy Awards between them or an array of quotable lines. The best we get is delivered by Joseph Wiseman who’s best known as Dr. No in the film of the same name: “We cannot bring back the dead, only kill the living.”

The Valachi Papers ultimately failed. Failed because it was immediately compared with The Godfather. How could it win? It has a stripped-down sensibility – The Irishman meets Goodfellas but on a tenth of the budget. It’s not a masterpiece, but with Charles Bronson giving a career best performance – The Valachi Papers is a forgotten gem in need of a polish.

(Readers are invited to share their thoughts with Matt Davey at 4davem12@solent.ac.uk )

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Today marks the birthday of Fred MacMurray. Writer Joe Elliott provides a fitting tribute to the late actor.

BY JOE ELLIOTT

Classic Hollywood actor Fred MacMurray is probably best remembered today as the easy-going father in the popular, long-running 1960s family sit-com “My Three Sons.” As the head of the growing Douglas clan, the pipe-smoking, sweater-clad MacMurray each week dispensed his gentle blend of wisdom and humor to the delight of American television audiences. One might have thought this was the kind of role MacMurray had always played. Not so, a fact that was first brought home to me by my mother. I recall as a kid hearing her say she didn’t much care for him. Not like Fred MacMurray??? “But why?” I asked. “Because of the jerks he played in the movies,” she told me. It wasn’t until much later that I discovered what she meant. As many CinemaRetro readers will know, MacMurray was a popular film star long before his days in TV. Many still fondly recall him from his appearances in such Disney favorites as “The Shaggy Dog” (1959) and “The Absent-Minded Professor” (1961). However, even before that, MacMurray starred in several well-known roles, notably including ones where he played, to borrow my mom’s word, a “jerk.”

MacMurray, a native Illinoian born in 1908, supported himself in his early years as a singer and jazz saxophonist (he played a trumpeter in 1937’s “Swing High, Swing Low” with Carole Lombard.) His first credited film role was in the forgettable “Grand Old Girl” (1935). While the movie didn’t go anywhere, MacMurray, on the other hand, was off and running. That same year, he appeared in no fewer than six other films, including the George Stevens’ masterpiece, “Alice Adams” with Katharine Hepburn. He quickly became one of Hollywood’s busiest young actors, portraying everything from air pilots to cowboys. In 1940, he appeared alongside rising star Barbara Stanwyck in “Remember the Night.” Soon he was being paired with many of Hollywood’s other leading ladies, including Alice Faye, Jean Arthur, Roseland Russell, Marlene Dietrich, and the beautiful British actress Madeleine Carroll.

MacMurray starred in “Dive Bomber” at the start of World War Two and made several other routine dramas during the war years. Routine, that is, all except for one. Near the end of the war, he was again cast with Stanwyck in “Double Indemnity,” considered today a bona fide noir classic. MacMurray plays insurance salesman Walter Neff in the film. Neff becomes obsessed with the sexy wife of one of his clients, played by Stanwyck, and is willing to do anything to have her. As a result, he allows himself to be lured into a plot to brutally kill her well-meaning but naïve husband in order to collect the life insurance money on him. Director and writer Billy Wilder is said to have wanted MacMurray, who by then had a well-established good guy image, for the role to surprise and shock movie audiences. It was probably this film that started my mom thinking of him as a jerk.

Like his friend and frequent co-star Barbara Stanwyck, MacMurray didn’t like to play the same role twice, and so the next year starred in the zany black-comedy “Murder, He Says.” “Murder” is, without a doubt, my favorite “Fred movie.” Peter Marshall (MacMurray) works for the Trotter Poll ("like the Gallup Poll, but not as fast"). He is sent out to find a co-worker who has mysteriously disappeared. In the process, he stumbles upon a backwoods family of homicidal maniacs, including the bullwhip-wielding matriarch of the clan (Marjorie Main) and her half-witted identical twin sons Mert and Bert (Peter Whitney), one of whom has a crick in his neck. There is some stolen money everyone is after, the location of which is hidden in the lyrics of a nonsense song. The creaky old house where Peter is held hostage is full of weird people and secret passageways. There are two girls, both claiming to be the same person. There is a hilarious climactic scene where everyone is assembled around the family dinner table. They keep turning the lights on and off while spinning around the lazy-Susan to avoid eating the poison-laced food.

MacMurray with Peter Whitney and Marjorie Main in "Murder, He Says".

Anybody who eats the food glows in the dark. “Murder, He Says” is a crazy, rambunctious movie, full of broad slapstick humor and great one-liners. A classic screwball comedy and one MacMurray is entirely at home in. Fred would go on to make more than forty more films in his career. Arguably his two best post-war roles, “The Caine Mutiny” (1954) and “The Apartment” (1960), once again featured him as first-class cads.

Fred MacMurray was one of the highest-paid film actors of his day. His shrewd investments in real estate and stocks made him one of the richest men in Hollywood. Perhaps one reason he was so rich, apart from his smart business sense, was his frugality, some might say, stinginess with a buck. Actor Robert Vaughn, who co-starred with him in “Good Day for a Hanging” (1959), told a revealing story about some boots. Vaughn arrived on the set one morning wearing a pair of expensive new leather boots he had recently purchased at a fashionable Hollywood boutique. MacMurray was much taken with them and asked Vaughn where he got them. The next day Fred appeared wearing a similar pair. When Vaughn asked him about them, he said he had spent the previous afternoon visiting one local thrift shop after another until he found just the pair he wanted! For all that, Fred MacMurray was very much a family man in real-life who enjoyed spending his off-hours playing golf, fishing, and working on his farm. "I take my movie parts as they come," he once said when asked about his career. "I don't fly into an emotional storm about them. I just do them. I guess I am an offhand comedian in a natural way."

Actress Tina Cole co-starred with Fred MacMurray on “My Three Sons.” She was the real-life daughter-in-law of Beverly Garland. Garland played Fred’s wife on the final four seasons of the show.

Here are a few memories Tina Cole recently shared with me about working with Fred MacMurray:

“I thought Fred was a gentle, very sincere man with a genuine love and respect for the family. He was quiet and rather shy off the set, but hysterical when he was on and he could say more with one lift of an eyebrow than most actors could with their entire face! 

Fred was known for his ‘frugality’ and both cast and crew were very surprised with the huge bouquet of flowers he, and his wife June, sent me on my first day of shooting. He knew about fellow cast member Don Grady's and my deep love for each other and was disappointed when we did not marry. Thereafter, every time I saw him he would ask if I had fallen in love. He wanted to see me happily married, which I thought was so sweet.

Here's a little story Fred once shared with me: He had just finished the movie ‘The Apartment’ (in-between filming ‘My Three Sons’), and he and his family were vacationing at Disneyland. A woman who saw the ‘The Apartment’ went up to him in front of his family and belted him with his purse. ‘Mr. MacMurray,’ she said indignantly, ‘I took my kids to see that awful movie and I will never see anything you’re ever in again!’  After that, Fred only did family-oriented films realizing as he did he had developed a different reputation. He stopped doing ‘heavy’ parts because of the effect that woman had on him. True story.”

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BY HANK REINEKE

Scream and Scream Again (1970) is the second of three films horror maestro Vincent Price would sign onto in his late-stage years of working for American-International Pictures. This film, a very peculiar one by many standards, was bracketed by two other British horrors for A.I.P., The Oblong Box (1969) and Cry of the Banshee (1970). All three films of these films were helmed by director Gordon Hessler, who also doubled as producer of these first and third efforts.

From 1960 through 1964 A.I.P. enjoyed great success with Roger Corman’s cycle of stylistic Gothic horrors. These films were similar in many ways, often featuring a tortured and/or haunted Vincent Price in Corman’s somewhat liberal adaptations of stories by the likes of literary horror masters Edgar Allan Poe and H.P. Lovecraft. The successes of these films were mostly in the studio’s rearview mirror by 1965. With the ticket-buying public’s interest in Gothic horror and costume period pieces clearly on the wane, A.I.P. was doing their best to exploit the talent and drawing power of their most bankable contract star. Depending on who you ask, some argue that this trio of British A.I.P. film projects (1960-1970) ministered by Hessler and starring Price were satisfying only to a base of faithful devotees.

Both Hessler’s The Oblong Box and Cry of the Banshee – not to mention Michael Reeve’s controversial Witchfinder General (1968) – were unrelentingly grim in the presentation of their subject matter. They were all very good films, mind you – some consider the Reeves’ film a masterpiece - but their dark and serious themes and depressing atmospherics simply did not allow Price to bring his trademark mix of Devilish charm and menace to his assigned characters. It wasn’t until the releases of The Abominable Dr. Phibes (A.I.P., 1971), Dr. Phibes Rises Again (A.I.P., 1972) and Theatre of Blood (United Artists, 1973), that the ship would be righted, all three capitalizing on the veteran actor’s talent as a colorfully self-mocking, blood-letting, and black-humored eccentric.

In Scream and Scream Again, a modern day sci-fi thriller rather than a traditional horror, Price again was burdened again in a humorless role as “Dr. Browning.” The not-so-good doctor is, in fact, a mad scientist engaged in the creation of super-human “composites,” whiling away his days in the laboratory of his stately manor house. Price is, sadly, wasted in a role that could have been played by anyone. Then again none of this film’s top billed players – Price, Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing – were given much to do. If Price’s is the principal star of this film, it’s simply by default. He merely enjoys the most screen time of the three principals listed… but a bit more on that later.

Dr. Browning is not a terribly interesting character; he’s too thinly drawn by screenwriter Christopher Wicking and we don’t see much of him until the film’s closing minutes. The best of Vincent Price’s on-screen characterizations are the ones where he seems relishing the role. One is never really certain if Price even has any idea what is going on around him in Scream and Scream Again. Director Hessler would more or less confirm this in subsequent interviews, confiding to one writer that he thought Price was not particularly fond of the three films he made under his direction. In the case of Scream and Scream Again, Hessler believed the actor “didn’t know what he was doing in the picture; he thought it was all weird and strange.”

If this was the case, Price was not alone in his confusion. Co-star Christopher Lee (who tragically only shares a brief single scene with Price) expressed similar sentiments. As Lee’s on screen time in this ninety-four minute film (U.S. version) lasts little more than eight minutes or so in total, he could more easily dismiss the film’s shortfalls as he wasn’t burdened with the responsibility of carrying the picture. And for a film that teamed the three-biggest horror movie icons of the 1960s and 1970s for the first of only two full-length features together, it’s something of a tragedy that poor Peter Cushing’s role is little more than a cameo. The scourge of missed opportunity is ever-present throughout Hessler’s opus.

Scream and Scream Again is credited as having been based on Peter Saxon’s 1966 sci-fi-novel The Disorientated Man. But, as with seemingly everything relating to this is film, even that’s vague. In fact there was no actual Peter Saxon; the name was a general pseudonym given to a stable of authors over-used and underpaid by a certain British publisher of mass market sci-fi paperbacks. As I’ve never read Saxon’s novel, I cannot say with any certainty if Hessler’s film is in any form a faithful, cinematic reproduction of the source material. I can attest that the director most assuredly captured the spirit of the book’s title. In the final analysis, it could be argued that Hessler’s multiple, shifting and confusing scenarios in Scream and Scream Again produced The Disorientated Viewer.

I won’t attempt to explain the film’s storyline here. In short Hessler’s mosaic narrative is a series of seemingly incongruous episodes bewilderingly stitched together. These threads do come together, somewhat un-satisfyingly, in the end. It was an unusual approach in telling this complex story cinematically but, in my personal opinion, only occasionally successful. On the other hand, the film is never dull, just confusing in its structure. It can also be argued that for a film masquerading as a police case or espionage caper, there’s no palpable sense of tension building to a satisfying climax. Nonetheless, many of the film’s scenes are memorable in standalone instances. Not particularly suspenseful, but memorable.

The mysterious villains of this film are adorned in both business suits and ersatz-Nazi regalia. It’s never overtly explained if these schemers are jack-booted Communists or Fascists, but they’re most certainly totalitarians. The bad guys are seemingly based out of some unnamed East European nation. The Stasi-like military helmets, the term “Comrade,” and a well- guarded checkpoint suggest a hostile regime resembling that of Communist East Germany. But their interest in scientifically developing an army of super-humans is… well, straight from the Nazi playbook.

Disappointingly, and as referenced earlier, the better part of the film does not prominently feature Price, Lee, or Cushing despite their shared star-billing. The film mostly follows the violent doings (and ensuing police investigation) of a renegade composite; a handsome but murderous, synthetic flesh-eating Cyborg who drives a nifty red sports coupe. His modus operandi in choosing victims is by befriending them at “The Busted Pot,” a swinging and noisy London nightclub. To tell more is to give things away. Should you require a more detailed synopsis there are plenty of erudite and thoughtful treatises on Scream and Scream Again published in books, magazines, and on-line.

BY TODD GARBARINI

The year 1976 was a phenomenal time for films that went into production. George Lucas’s space opera, Star Wars began principal photography in March; Steven Spielberg, fresh off the success of Jaws, was given carte blanche to bring Close Encounters of the Third Kind to the screen and began shooting in May; and Dario Argento, who became emboldened by the financial success of his latest and arguably best film to date, Profundo Rosso (known in the U.S. as Deep Red), embarked upon Suspiria, a murder mystery involving a dance school hiding in plain sight while housing a coven of witches, which began filming in July. Horror author Clive Barker once described this supernatural extravaganza as what you would imagine a horror film to be like if you weren’t allowed to see it. I believe that this is a good description of what is unquestionably one of the most frightening, entertaining and colorful horror films ever made. Suspiria was edited for its American theatrical exhibition due to some graphic violence that many would have considered shocking for its day. Distributor 20^th Century Fox was reportedly so embarrassed by the film that they created a subsidiary company, International Classics, to release it three months after their phenomenally successful Star Wars, another film they had no faith in.

Suspiria opened in New York on Friday, August 12, 1977 at the long-gone Criterion on 45^th and Broadway before branching out to additional theaters. It’s the first in a trilogy concerning the nature of Death (Inferno (1980) and The Mother of Tears (2007) are the second and third parts, respectively). The film’s quad-syllabic title quite understandably leaves those who attempt to say it tongue-tied (it’s pronounced sus-PEER-ee-ah). The word itself has its origins in Latin and roughly translates into “sighs” or “whispers” and the film is based upon the writings of British essayist Thomas De Quincey. His most famous work, Confessions of an English Opium Eater, was published in 1822. Twenty-three years later he published Suspiria de Profundis which is Latin for “Sighs from the Depths” and is a collection of essays, the most famous of which is Levana and Our Ladies of Sorrow which Mr. Argento used as the source material for his trilogy.

In Suspiria, Suzy Bannion, played by doe-eyed Jessica Harper (who was Woody Allen’s girlfriend at the time and passed on Annie Hall because she wanted to go to Italy), arrives in Frieberg, Germany to begin dance lessons at the famous Tanz Academie (the architecture is copied from Haus zum Walfisch in Freiberg). From the film’s opening frames, we already know that we are in uncharted territory as the images are bathed in diffused primary colors. Upon her arrival at the airport, things are already not what they seem. Once she leaves the premises and the glass doors close behind her, she enters a fairy tale in the form of an unusually violent thunderstorm. Hitching a ride from a taxi driver played by Argento regular Fulvio Mingozzi (min-GOATS-see), who worked for the director no less than ten times in both film and television episodes, she makes her way to the school (as a side-note, eagle-eyed viewers can see the director’s reflection in the glass partition in the taxi 3:31 minutes into the film and it lasts for two seconds. He appears, with a large smile on his face, in the lower left-hand corner of the screen).

Just as she arrives, a hysterical woman, Pat Hingle (Eva Axen), appears on the school’s doorstep and makes an unintelligible proclamation before bolting into the deluge-swept streets. Suzy carps with a woman on the intercom, pleading for entry and refuge from the torrential rain. When she’s denied, she re-enters the taxi and rides through the Black Forest, catching a glimpse of Pat as she runs, attempting to make her way past the trees. What could possibly have set her off on such a perilous journey?

Pat makes her way to her friend Sonia’s (Susanna Javicoli) apartment, hesitant to disclose what she has come to learn about the school. In what is considered Argento’s finest hour and the film’s most disturbing and celebrated sequence, Pat is violently stabbed by some inhuman creature with hairy arms and long black fingernails and is thrown through a stained-glass window, the shards of which also kill Sonia. It’s been compared with the shower scene in Psycho (1960) for pure shock effect, though this one is much more graphic.

The calm following the storm reveals a strange faculty staff consisting of lead ballet teacher Ms. Tanner (Alida Valli), headmistress Madame Blanc (Joan Bennett), pianist Daniel (Flavio Bucci), and Pavlos (Giuseppe Transocchi) the handyman. Suzy is told by the headmistress that one of their expelled students, Pat, was murdered by a madman the night before. Wouldn’t that be enough to send one packing their bags? The same scenario plays out for Jennifer Connelly in the director’s other macabre coming-of-age horror film, Phenomena (1985), and the information in that film is met with nothing more than a smile and silence. Unbeknownst to Suzy, the school is a front for a coven of witches who hold black masses within the massive building’s stealthy labyrinths. Her suspicions that all is not right with the school become confirmed when people around her suddenly disappear or are killed off. Like previous Argento protagonists, Suzy plays sleuth to gain insight into the bizarre goings-on, especially the teachers’ concerted effort to hide the directress’s presence from her. When she teams up with Sarah (Stefania Casini) to find out more about one Helena Markos, more people begin to die as Suzy learns of a shocking secret that lies behind an imperceptible door.

Suspiria’s simple premise permits Mr. Argento to stage some of the most shocking and elaborate death sequences of his career, all performed in-camera (that is without the use of opticals or blue-screen technology used later in post-production). The Italian progressive rock band Goblin provides a phenomenal score that, unbelievably, was composed before filming began and was played on the film’s soundstages during shooting to maximize the effect on the performers. It’s an astonishing concoction with shrieks, whispers and wails, which I always assumed to be non-diegetic in nature, acting almost as a macabre precursor to the far more relaxing Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response (ASMR) videos that have taken YouTube by storm.

Mr. Argento has also put together an eclectic cast, the bulk of whom are women. Joan Bennett, who appeared in Fritz Lang’s coincidentally titled Secret Beyond the Door… with Michael Redgrave (1947) as well as her stint on Dark Shadows, provides the proper amount of sinister air that the film requires. Alida Valli is terrific as Miss Tanner, the “stern and surly” ballet teacher, arguably the most memorable in the cast. Jessica Harper, fresh off her role as Phoenix in Brian DePalma’s wildly entertaining Phantom of the Paradise (1974), appears naïve but turns out to be anything but as she goes to greater-than-usual lengths to uncover The Big Secret.

Suspiria is unique in that it was shot on Eastman Kodak film but printed using the now-defunct three-strip Technicolor dye transfer process which divided the negative into three individual color bands of red, green, and blue. By manipulating the intensities of these primary colors both on the set and in the lab, cinematographer Luciano Tovoli was able to create some truly horrific and stunning images. The set design is garish, colorful and must be seen to be believed. The color scheme seems to have been inspired by Walt Disney’s Snow White and the Seven Dwarves (1937) and dance film aficionados will likely also think of Emeric Pressburger and Michael Powell’s stunning 1948 technicolor film The Red Shoes and their follow-up, 1951’s The Tales of Hoffman (George A. Romero’s favorite film), but the story seems inspired by Chicho Ibáñez-Serrador’s La Residencia, a terrific horror opus from 1970 which pits the borstal’s headmistress, Senora Fourneau (played brilliantly by Lilli Palmer), against a school of young women in need of reform. There is a predatory air about Fourneau that carries over to Ms. Tanner in Suspiria. A case might even be made that Ms. Tanner is a psychological cinematic equivalent of the malevolent and sadistic Mrs. Wakehurst in Peter Walker’s House of Whipcord (1974). La Residencia has appeared under such titles as The Finishing School, The Boarding School and here in the States as The House That Screamed when it was released on a double-bill with Anthony M. Lanza’s The Incredible 2-Headed Transplant in July 1971.

By Todd Garbarini

Cinemaretro.com has received the following press release regarding the exhibition of the new film Rush: Cinema Strangiato 2019, which will be shown in select theaters on Wednesday, August 21, 2019.

Rush (pun intended!) to get your tickets now as they are selling out very quickly (let’s hope that additional dates are added!):

TRAFALGAR RELEASING AND ANTHEM ENTERTAINMENT BRING

‘RUSH: CINEMA STRANGIATO 2019’ TO MOVIE THEATERS WORLDWIDE ON AUGUST 21

THIS FIRST EVER “ANNUAL EXERCISE IN FAN INDULGENCE” FOR RUSH FANS WILL FEATURE A SPECIAL LOOK INTO R40 LIVE, FEATURING NEW BACKSTAGE FOOTAGE, SPECIAL GUESTS, AND HIT SONGS “CLOSER TO THE HEART,” “SUBDIVISIONS” AND MORE

TICKETS ON SALE FROM JUNE 20 AT WWW.CINEMASTRANGIATO.COM

Denver, CO – June 11, 2019: Global event distributor Trafalgar Releasing today announced RUSH: Cinema Strangiato 2019, coming to select cinemas across the globe, for a special, limited theatrical engagement on Wednesday, August 21. Hailed as the first "Annual Exercise in Fan Indulgence" Cinema Strangiato is set to see the Holy Trinity of Rock return to the big screen bringing RUSH fans together in movie theatres worldwide.

In partnership with Concord Music Group and Anthem Entertainment, RUSH: Cinema Strangiato 2019 will feature a special look inside some of the most powerful performances from R40 LIVE, the band’s 2015 tour and album of the same name.

The theatrical film experience is set to include top RUSH songs, such as “Closer to the Heart", "Subdivisions", "Tom Sawyer" and more, as well as unreleased backstage moments and candid footage previously left on the cutting room floor. The release also includes unseen soundcheck performances of the fan-favorite "Jacob's Ladder,” and exclusive new interviews with Tom Morello, Billy Corgan, Taylor Hawkins, producer Nick Raskulinecz, violinist Jonathan Dinklage and more.

As a special bonus, fans will get a glimpse into the madness and passion that went into the making of Geddy Lee's new book, Geddy Lee's Big Beautiful Book of Bass - featuring a brand-new interview from the RUSH frontman himself.

“I’m excited for fans to see some new clips from our R40 tour but also a peek behind the scenes of making the Big Beautiful Book of Bass,” said Geddy Lee.

The news of RUSH: Cinema Strangiato 2019 follows other recently announced upcoming music releases from Trafalgar Releasing including The Cure: Anniversary 1978-2018 Live in Hyde Park London directed by longtime collaborator Tim Pope, the first worldwide outing for the ninth Grateful Dead Annual Meet-up at the Movies, hit Tribeca Film Festival music documentary Between Me and My Mind featuring Phish frontman Trey Anastasio, and the latest film from Roger Waters based on the US + THEM World Tour. Other recent music releases from Trafalgar Releasing have included The Music Center presents Joni 75: A Birthday Celebration, Coldplay: A Head Full of Dreams, Burn the Stage: the Movie, Muse Drones World Tour and Distant Sky: Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds Live in Copenhagen.

Kymberli Frueh, SVP for Acquisitions at Trafalgar Releasing added: "Trafalgar Releasing is thrilled to bring Rush: Cinema Strangiato 2019 to theaters around the globe for the first of what we’re hoping will become an annual event, bringing fans together to experience a celebration of one of the world's most popular rock bands."

The event will be screened in theaters around the world on Wednesday, August 21. Fans can visit CinemaStrangiato.com to sign up for news and ticketing updates.

BY ADRIAN SMITH

The first question you are probably asking is “Do we need another book about Hammer films?” Speaking as someone whose Hammer shelf is already groaning with the weight of so many volumes on the company, the answer, as far as Hammer Complete is concerned, is “Absolutely.” This book, coming in at nearly 1000 pages, is a lifetime achievement for journalist Howard Maxford, and one that deserves immense praise. Unlike other books which might focus specifically on the horror films, or the posters, or the ups and downs of the company itself, here Maxford has attempted to provide a complete encyclopedia of everything and everyone connected to Hammer. From Temple Abady (who appeared in Never Look Back in 1952) and The Abominable Snowman (1957) to Murial Zillah (Danger List, 1957) and Marc Zuber (The Satanic Rites of Dracula, 1974), no Hammer stone has been left unturned or contributor ignored.

Unlike many books of this type which are little more than a collection of facts cribbed from Wikipedia and the Internet Movie Database, Maxford has conducted many interviews over the years with Hammer stars including Christopher Lee himself, which means there is plenty of new and insightful material here alongside his primary research and original reviews of the films themselves. The entry on Lee is spread over six pages, where his career is discussed at length including his well-known frustration with the decline in quality of the Dracula films; of Scars of Dracula (1970) he complained, “I was a pantomime villain. Everything was over the top, especially the giant bat whose electrically motored wings flapped with slow deliberation as if it were doing morning exercises.” Likewise, his frequent co-star Peter Cushing gets a similarly lengthy entry, as do many of the other key players such as regular character actor Michael Ripper, director Terence Fisher, producer James Carreras, writer-director Jimmy Sangster and script supervisor Renee Glynne, who first worked for the company in 1947 and was still present when they went to Hong Kong to make The Legend of the 7 Golden Vampires and Shatter (both 1974).

Maxford is fair in his assessment of the films themselves, discussing at length those which have become legendary -  the triumvirate of The Curse of Frankenstein (1957) Dracula (1958) and The Mummy (1959) in particular - as well as being fair to those films often derided or ignored, including my personal favourite; Slave Girls (also known as Prehistoric Women, 1968), made primarily to reuse all those fur bikinis left over from One Million Years B.C. (1966).

It may have a high price tag, but Hammer Complete is a huge, well-researched reference book that no Hammer aficionado should be without.

CLICK HERE TO ORDER FROM AMAZON US

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This ad appeared in Boxoffice magazine in April 1968 extolling the longevity of Fox's three big roadshow presentations. For the unenlightened, "roadshow" films were big budget productions that played in grand movie palaces in select cities. It could often be many months before these films came to neighborhood theaters nationwide. What is remarkable about this ad is that it illustrates that even after such films went "wide" to hundreds of other theaters, people still paid top dollar to enjoy seeing them in the roadshow presentations. Consider that "The Sound of Music" opened in 1965 and "The Sand Pebbles" and "The Bible" both opened in 1966. Yet, years later, the roadshow venues were still showing these films. Today, even blockbuster movies aren't in theaters very long because so much of the profit comes from a quick turnaround onto video and streaming services. However, in those days when movie theaters provided the only forum in which to see favorite blockbusters, fans would patronize theaters to see them repeatedly. This afforded them the opportunity to see the movies in their original versions, as studios often cut considerable footage when releasing them to local theaters.

Click here to order Cinema Retro's Movie Classics edition devoted to Roadshow movies of the 1960s.

Movie marketing sure has changed. Studios rarely advertise films in newspapers today (assuming you can still find a newspaper today) but that medium was once the most effective method of promoting new films. Not only were traditional ads run but clever off-beat ancillary campaigns were also featured in the guise of entertainment. For example, here is a promotional campaign for the 1966 epic "Khartoum" starring Charlton Heston and Laurence Olivier that was squarely aimed at kids despite the fact that the intended audience was adults. This promotional block seen above was featured in the United Artists pressbook sent to American theater owners to suggest creative local publicity campaigns.

(For extensive coverage of the making of "Khartoum", get the Cinema Retro Movie Classic Roadshow Epics of the 1960s issue by clicking here.)

Real-life husband and wife Charles Bronson and Jill Ireland made numerous films together. Among them: "Breakout", a 1975 film that was shot quickly in order to capitalize on Bronson's soaring popularity with "Death Wish". The crime thriller was lambasted by critics but performed very well indeed at the boxoffice. Click here for review. 

BY LEE PFEIFFER

We recently reported on the trials and tribulations everyone associated with “Gotti” experienced over the seven years expended in attempting to bring the biopic to the big screen (the film has more producers credited than the entire population of Lichtenstein.) . When the film did open, it earned the rare distinction of being unanimously panned by the critics surveyed on Rotten Tomatoes. So, I guess I’m out there on my own when I say I found the film to be quite satisfying on any number of levels. Mind you, I’m also a defender of Michael Cimino’s “Heaven’s Gate”, so you should take that into consideration. To read the reviews of this troubled production, one would think it was genuinely awful. It isn’t. In fact, there is much to recommend here, not the least of which is the very effective performance by John Travolta as the titular New York crime boss John Gotti. It’s a bold performance by Travolta, as he ages on screen from a young, aspiring mob member to an older man dying from throat cancer while locked in solitary confinement in a federal penitentiary. Travolta looks the part and captures the swagger of Gotti. His performance here represents his most ambitious and impressive work on screen in many years.

The film, directed by Kevin Connolly, rather superficially chronicles Gotti’s rise from lowly Mafia henchman to a mid-range boss under the command of Gambino crime family cappo du tutti capo Paul Castellano (Donald John Volpenhein). Gotti is displeased with “Big Paul” because he inherited his status in the mob as opposed to having coming up from the streets and earned respect the old-fashioned way. Worse, Castellano resides in a mansion on a hill and has never developed personal friendships with his underlings. That’s not only a job-killer if you’re in the Mafia, it’s also a trait that doesn’t bode well for anyone looking forward to enjoying old age. The film depicts Gotti plotting to use a team of confederates to assassinate “Big Paul”, with the tacit approval of his immediate superior and mentor Neil Dellacroce (marvelously played by Stacy Keach), who everyone believes should hold the position “Big Paul” now enjoys. But Dellacroce is terminally ill and he gives his blessing for Gotti to “off” him which infamously occurred when the target and his driver were dining at Sparks Steak House in Manhattan. Gotti is then established as the boss of the Gambino crime family.

The screenplay by Lem Dobbs and Leo Rossi is admirable on several counts. The dialogue rings true to anyone who grew up in or around New York City (yes, I know guys who still joke “I wouldn’t fuck her with your dick”) and there are some powerful scenes that truly resonate from a dramatic standpoint. But the writers err by failing to tell the tale in a linear manner. Instead, events hopscotch all over the decades. In one scene Gotti is a young hood looking to impress his bosses by performing a hit. Next we see him as a middle-aged man trying to cope with domestic problems and grieving over the death of his young son in a traffic accident. (Gotti’s wife Victoria is played by Travolta’s real-life wife Kelly Preston in a fine and convincing performance.) Next we see an almost unrecognizable Gotti as a bloated older man fighting terminal throat cancer in prison. The constant intermixing of varying eras is befuddling and matters aren’t helped by an over-abundance of chyrons identifying various minor characters who don’t play a major part in the goings-on.

The movie accurately portrays Gotti’s reputation in Queens as that of a folk hero among the local working class. His annual ad-hoc, unauthorized Fourth of July street fair and fireworks show involved dispensing free food and drinks to anyone who showed up. When the police tried to stop the extravaganzas, Gotti accused them of being unpatriotic and he was allowed to continue. This manipulation of the middle class was essential in maintaining his grass roots support. He wasn’t the first authoritarian figure to realize he could manipulate naïve people by tossing them some crumbs while obtaining significant ill-gotten gains for himself. He also wasn’t the first dictatorial personality to wrap himself in faux patriotism, and history has proven he wouldn’t be the last. One would think that working class people would resent a man who wore expensive suits and lived the high life, but the image of the swaggering, unapologetic narcissist only endeared him to his supporters. Where Gotti erred was in not following the tradition of the older mob bosses who kept a low profile, never gave interviews and avoided being photographed. Gotti couldn’t resist playing to his image and loved seeing his face on TV and in the New York tabloids. He also wasn’t a criminal mastermind. He continued to plot crimes at his inconspicuous “social club” despite knowing the place was thoroughly bugged by the FBI. He wasn’t a great judge of character and was ultimately the betrayals by some of his closest confidants such as Sammy “The Bull” Gravano that resulted in the “The Teflon Don”’s luck running out. His years of fame and fortune paled in comparison to his lonely, painful death in prison, largely estranged from his family.

“SCI-FI FOR THE MIND”

By Raymond Benson

Renowned science fiction writer Jerome Bixby produced many short stories in the genre, but he is perhaps most well-known for writing a handful of classic Star Trek episodes (“Mirror, Mirror,” “By Any Other Name,” and more). The memorable original Twilight Zone entry, “It’s a Good Life,” was based on his short story, as was the same segment in The Twilight Zone—The Motion Picture (1983). Bixby was also responsible for the stories or scripts for sci-fi films such as Fantastic Voyage (1966), and It! The Terror from Beyond Space (1958).

Bixby’s last work, allegedly completed on his deathbed in 1998, was the screenplay The Man from Earth. Nearly ten years later (2007), Bixby’s son Emerson helped bring it to the screen as producer. The low-budget feature was directed by Richard Schenkman and starred David Lee Smith as “John Oldman,” a man in the present day who has lived without aging for 14,000 years. Released with little fanfare, The Man from Earth grew a cult following and is today considered one of the “great science fiction films you’ve never heard of.” It is the kind of picture that is cerebral, intelligent, and deals with existential themes and ideas. Sci-fi for the mind.

Over the ensuing years, Schenkman and Emerson apparently received many requests from fans of the original work to make a sequel. The idea was resisted until the concept of a TV series was floated. In each episode, the Man from Earth would be on the run, followed by various groups of cultists and “believers”—much the same way Richard Kimble (The Fugitive) had to move from place to place.

Thus, The Man from Earth: Holocene was made as a backdoor pilot to a series, was an official selection at the Dances with Films Festival, and it is now available on home video.

Holocene picks up a decade after the events of the first picture, with John “Young” (he changes his surname with every move across country) teaching religious studies at a community college in a small California town. He’s shacking up with fellow teacher Carolyn (Vanessa Williams), keeping a low profile, and inspiring students. A quartet of these young adults, played with aplomb by Akemi Look, Sterling Knight, Brittany Curran, and Carlos Knight, discover John’s secret, decide that he has all the answers to their many questions about life, religion, and the universe, and begin to, well, stalk him.

One of the students, Isabel (Look), contacts Art (William Katt), the primary antagonist from the first film. Art had been a professor, like John, who wrote a non-fiction book about the Man from Earth, exposing his tale, and was roundly pilloried by the academic world and shunned for it. Thus, he has an axe to grind with John.

Revealing any more about the story would spoil what is a very decent continuation of the original picture. While the first movie took place mostly in one room—like a stage play (and, in fact, Schenkman adapted that film into a play that has been produced around the world)—Holocene has “opened up.” It was shot in various locations around the town. It does retain, however, the intellectual and dialogue-heavy aspects, keeping it in tune with the original and what will, hopefully, indeed become a series. This reviewer has fingers crossed!

Star Trek—The Next Generation’s Michael Dorn and Star Trek: Enterprise’s John Billingsley also appear in Holocene as, respectively, the college’s dean and as Harry, a character from the first film.

The Man from Earth: Holocene is once again a low-budget but thoughtful treatise on the nature humanity. The acting, especially of Smith as John, and of Look as Isabel, is top-notch.

MVDvisual’s Blu-ray looks gorgeous and shows off Richard Vialet’s cinematography with sharp images and vivid color. The main feature comes with an audio commentary by Schenkman and co-producer Eric D. Wilkinson. A Behind-the-Scenes Documentary features most of the crew and cast and takes the viewer through the history of the first film and production of Holocene. Also included are featurettes on the score by Mark Hinton Stewart, the premiere at the Dances with Films premiere, deleted/extended scenes with optional commentary, a kickboxing video made for the movie, photo gallery, poster gallery, teaser trailer, and theatrical trailer.

If you’ve never seen either picture, the original The Man from Earth is now also available from MVD as a special edition Blu-ray/DVD combo.(Click here for review). Holocene may not have the impact of the first movie, but it is indeed a worthwhile follow-up.

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BY LEE PFEIFFER

We recently reported on the Moviepass announcement that the company would now limit subscribers to seeing only four movies a month under the current plan, as a method of trying to reduce the sea of red ink the company finds itself contending with. Now, the web site Wired reports that the company has reverted back to its initial program that allows subscribers to see one movie a day, every day of the month in return for a $9.95 monthly fee. The service has proven to be wildly popular in America and over two million members are now on board. However, the company has not succeeded in its goal of getting theaters to share revenue from concessions, which is crucial to the ability of Moviepass to survive as a viable entity. Meanwhile, the company has told Wired that recent problems with the AMC movie chain have now been resolved. Click here for more. 

(Thanks to subscriber Karen Keithler for the alert.)

UPDATE: MOVIEPASS HAS REVERTED BACK TO ITS ORIGINAL PROGRAM THAT ALLOWS SUBSCRIBERS TO ATTEND ONE MOVIE A DAY. CLICK HERE FOR DETAILS. 

BY LEE PFEIFFER

Moviepass is a subscription program available to movie-goers in the USA that allows members to pay $9.95 per month in return for receiving a card that allows them to see a different movie every day for no charge at over 4,000 theaters nationwide. (The price is less if you get the card via www.costco.com,  assuming you are a Costco member. Costco also includes a year's subscription to the classic movie streaming site www.fandor.com) Over 2 million people subscribe to the program through www.moviepass.com. Some skeptics have stayed away on the basis that the service was too good to be true. They were wrong. Moviepass isn't too good to be true and subscribers have become fervent enthusiasts of the service. There's no catch. From New York to L.A., from Montana to Florida, you could go to a different movie every day of the week. But now the party is at least partially over. Moviepass has been predictably bleeding red ink from its business design, which sees the company paying participating theaters the full price of a customer's ticket. Do the math. The company only gets $9.95 per month from each subscriber but in big cities, Moviepass has to pay out as much as $15 bucks a ticket to theaters every time the customer attends a movie. Moviepass has gambled that they would have enough leverage over theater chains to coerce them into revenue sharing proceeds from concession sales. But that hasn't happened in a big way even though the service can justifiably argue that theaters are selling seats to customers who ordinarily would not have gone to many movies. One of the problems is that theaters are raked over the coals by movie studios that command the lion's share of ticket revenues. It's only when movies enter extended runs that theaters get a meatier share of the ticket sales, thus they depend on sales of over-priced concessions. This is why your local big city theater now resembles a restaurant, offering everything from Mexican food to pizza, along with the ability to dine while watching the film. Theaters are stuck in a dilemma: they can deny Moviepass a percentage of those precious concession revenues but if Moviepass dies, their theaters will have far fewer customers.

Moviepass has announced a "temporary" change to its core program: new subscribers will only be able to see up to four movies a month- and customers can only see the same movie once. Existing customers can still see a different movie every day but are still barred from repeat viewings of the same film. New customers are supposed to take solace from receiving a three month trial to a subscription radio station....but that's caused a backlash because the subscription automatically continues on a pay basis unless the customer pro-actively remembers to stop it. An article in Fortune addresses the challenges to Moviepass and casts doubt on whether existing customers will be able to continue to enjoy their "movie a day" plan when they renew their subscriptions. Moviepass is already losing $20 million a month. On the other hand, even seeing four movies a month would probably satisfy the average subscriber, so it isn't known how many subscribers might defect- and if they do, what will they gain? They will just end up paying much more at theater boxoffices. It seems a happy medium is in order if both Moviepass and major theater chains can come to terms. Moviepass should get some percentage of the revenues they are sending into theaters, especially on slow nights when attendance is sparse. After all, theaters are selling far more buckets of popcorn to customers who would not be there if it weren't for Moviepass. At the same time, the Fortune article addresses the poor customer service at Moviepass, which lacks a phone number customers can call if they experience problems. The company is also rather slow in sending out important notices. When some New York City theaters dropped out of the program months ago, customers weren't notified for days, with the result being that people showed up at the theaters and were simply told their cards were no longer valid. Only after an outcry did Moviepass notify customers. Still, even a streamed-down version of the plan is a value that will continue to tempt avid movie-goers because it beats the alternatives. Click here to read more.

BY TIM GREAVES

When it was announced that Flowers in the Attic was lined up for its UK Blu-ray debut, it occurred to me that I had no real memory of my one and only dip into writer-director Jeffrey Bloom’s adaptation of the controversial, best-selling Virginia (V.C.) Andrews novel – which I guess would have been right back upon its initial release in 1987. Interest to revisit it duly piqued, my anticipation was tempered a tad by the sense that being unable to remember it had surely to be indicative that it wasn’t actually very good. Although it still amuses me that a guy named Bloom wrote and directed a film with Flowers in the title, regrettably my reservations proved well founded. It really is rather awful. There be spoilers ahead!

After the death of her husband, Corinne Dollenganger (Victoria Tennant) falls on hard times and is forced to return, with her four children in tow, to the childhood home she left in disgrace 17 years earlier. Corinne’s puritanical mother, Fran (Louise Fletcher), isn’t best pleased to see them and, although she evidently despises both her own daughter and the grandchildren she’s never met, she reluctantly allows them to stay, telling them that she’ll give them food and shelter but never kindness and love. The children (Jeb Stuart Adams, Kristy Swanson, Ben Ganger and Lindsay Parker) remain upstairs out of sight, whilst Corinne makes an effort to reconnect with her bedridden, dying father (Marshall Colt). She tells the siblings that if she’s able to atone for her past transgressions before he dies, and most importantly convince him that she never had children, then he’ll write her back into his will and they’ll be well-heeled for the rest of their lives. But as the days pass it becomes apparent that the children have become prisoners – visited in their locked room only to be fed – and Corinne becomes ever more distant, spending less and less time with them. What can she possibly have done all those years ago that was so terrible? And what is the purpose of those four child-sized holes being dug in the woods?

All sounds rather intriguing, doesn’t it? An adaptation of the first in a quartet of novels (with a tweaked denouement) it’s certainly a nice set up; once the family receive a frosty welcome at grandma’s abode all the pieces are in place for a potentially gripping and increasingly sinister tale. Unfortunately, things quickly devolve into a bit of a slog, the various plot turns becoming ever more irksome as the children – who are far from dullards – fail to do what anyone with half a brain cell trapped in their situation would.

BY TIM GREAVES

Released in 1977, Scalpel is one of only two films bearing the director credit John Grissmer. A decade apart, the other is 1987’s marginally less satisfying Blood Rage. Which isn’t to suggest that Scalpel itself is particularly good, because it’s not. It is, however, the better of the pair.

Plastic surgeon Dr Phillip Reynolds (Robert Lansing) is in a bit of a quandary. His wife is some while dead and his father-in-law, who despised him, has just passed away bequeathing a fortune to Reynolds’ daughter Heather (Judith Chapman). The problem is that Heather disappeared after witnessing Reynolds committing a dreadful crime and she hasn’t been seen for over a year. And Reynolds wants that money! A solution presents itself when he’s out driving one night and almost runs over Jane, a stripper who’s been savagely beaten up and is laid unconscious in the road. Whisking Jane off to the hospital where he works, Reynolds hatches a scheme to refashion her smashed face to replicate that of the missing Heather. As she recovers he makes her a proposal: successfully pass herself off as Heather until the cash is signed over and they will split it down the middle. It sounds perfect. But with $5 million at stake there’s trouble ahead and Reynolds’ cunning plan is about to be derailed by an unexpected arrival...

Also circulating under the title False Face – which arguably has less exploitation value plastered across a marquee than Scalpel, but is technically more pertinent – John Grissmer’s debut film is a bit of an oddity. Although on first run it feels mired in a pervasive grubbiness, when you step back and analyse it that’s more down to the sickly yellow glaze that bedecks the entire movie (the artistic intent of cinematographer Edward Lachman) than anything particularly disturbing content-wise. In fact, a fleeting flash of nudity and a splash or two of graphic bloodshed aside, Scalpel could almost pass as a TV production. This impression is enforced by the headlining presence of prolific actor Robert Lansing, whose work on television (in a fistful of made-for-TV movies, but mostly in episodes of a myriad of series) outweighed his big screen appearances 14 to 1. Nevertheless, he’s on excellent form here as the nutty surgeon with as much of a fixation on his daughter – the manifestation of incestuous desire may be fairly tame but it’s scarcely subtle – as he has on lining his pockets with ill-gotten millions. Judith Chapman meanwhile is every bit his equal in the contrasting roles of Jane and Heather and there’s some very efficient split screen work served up on those occasions that she’s called upon to share the screen with herself.

Director Grissmer also penned the script, based on an original story by Joseph Weintraub, and if it’s not exactly thrill-a-minute stuff it certainly manages to keep one engaged enough through a number of (mostly predictable) twists, although for my money it badly fumbles the ball in the penultimate act with a daft sequence in which one of the main characters descends into gibbering madness.

Provided you don’t go in expecting to be wowed, you shouldn’t come away too disappointed. But the bottom line is that it’s always pleasing to see a movie brought back from the brink of obscurity – for every naysayer there’s always going to be someone else rejoicing – and for that reason alone Scalpel is well worth a look.

In this instance it’s the ever reliable Arrow Video breathing new life into the borderline obscure and the package they’ve put together for Scalpel is very decent indeed. There are two versions of film to choose from, one faithfully retaining the original, rather off-putting yellowish-green hues of the aforementioned cinematography, the other being Arrow’s own newly tweaked version with the colour grading adjusted to attain a more naturalistic look; although staunch traditionalists will favour the former, the latter makes the film more palatable by far. Whichever you select, there’s the option to watch in the company of a commentary by film historian Richard Harland Smith. 45-minutes’ worth of all-new interviews with director John Grissmer, DOP Edward Lachman and star Judith Chapman, a slideshow gallery of stills and artwork, plus a vintage trailer combine to constitute the bonus goodies. A reversible sleeve and collector’s booklet may be par for the course now with Arrow releases, but they’re never less than welcome.

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A LOOK AT 2017 FILMS NOMINATED FOR PROMINENT OSCARS

BY LEE PFEIFFER

Who would have imagined that amid the debris of over-produced super hero movies, Winston Churchill would emerge as a major figure in films released in 2017? The woefully underrated "Churchill" (click here for review) was first out of the box, chronicling the British Prime minister's tumultuous inner-grappling with the pending D-Day invasion, which he supported but dissented from Eisenhower and Montgomery as to where and when the great armada should land. (History happily proved his instincts wrong.) Brian Cox gave a magnificent portrayal of Churchill that was largely overlooked by critics and the public. Churchill's specter also looms largely over Best Picture nominee "Dunkirk", as it was he who ordered the evacuation of stranded British troops by an improvised "fleet" of private vessels, small and large. The second Churchill biopic, "Darkest Hour", has won raves for Joe Wright's direction, Anthony McCarten's script and the towering performance of Gary Oldman as Churchill. The role is one that any fine actor would relish but there are dangers in portraying the man, as the line between accuracy and playing a cartoon version is a thin one. Oldman succeeds brilliantly, capturing Churchill's many character flaws as well as his strengths. The movie confines itself to Churchill's uneasy ascension to being Prime Minister, a lifelong dream achieved under less-than-optimum circumstances. His successor, Neville Chamberlain (a superb Ronald Pickup, who bears an astonishing resemblance to the man) has been removed from office for failing to adequately stand up to Hitler's advances through Europe. (It was Chamberlain who had met with Hitler and proudly waved a meaningless treaty that promised "Peace in our time.) Churchill is no one's first choice to lead the nation in the coming struggle. He's regarded by his peers as temperamental, eccentric and questionable in terms of wisdom, with his disastrous WWI campaign at Gallipoli still haunting the nation. Furthermore, King George VI had little confidence in the decision to elevate Churchill to PM, but relented and gave approval only when it became clear that there was little choice.

The film traces Churchill's dilemma in those early days of the war. Things looked grim, indeed. Churchill knew it was essential for America to enter the conflict but, prior to the attack on Pearl Harbor, the nation was in isolationist mode. In one of the most poignant scenes in "Darkest Hour", Churchill pleads over the phone with FDR for assistance, but the president explains his hands are tied by a congress that wants to remain neutral. The biggest crisis he faces is that France is rapidly falling to advancing German forces, leaving the cream of the British army stranded on the beaches of Dunkirk and awaiting annihilation. The movie painstakingly chronicles Churchill's inner struggles in dealing with the crisis. His first instincts are to resist until the end, giving his famous speech that the British people will fight on no matter where the enemy confronts them. However, he is under severe pressure from Chamberlain and Halifax to negotiate a peace treaty with Hitler, an alternative that disgusts him but which seems practical to Parliament. The film gains tension even though we know how it all played out in the end. Churchill comes up with a desperate plan to enlist every available ship in the private sector to form a mini armada across the Channel to rescue the stranded troops. Before the operation can be completed, however, Churchill begins to cave and consider the option of a peace plan. This is where the script goes off kilter with a completely fictional scene in which Churchill gets a sudden desire to read the will of the people about their resolve to fight on. He jumps out of his limousine and makes an impromptu ride on the London Underground, chatting with astonished passengers and being reassured they support his strategy not to negotiate with Hitler. The scene is emotionally moving, but preposterous and more than a bit corny. Making matters worse, Churchill is only supposed to be on the train for a single stop but the journey seems longer than the one experienced by the people traveling to Siberia in "Doctor Zhivago". Bolstered by the resolve of the public, Churchill walks straight in to Parliament and gives an impassioned speech that rallies friends and foes alike. His judgment is ratified by the ultimate success of the Dunkirk operation, which turned a bitter defeat into a triumph.

The historical hokum presented in "Darkest Hour" is frustrating because it undermines the entire film. Why create a scene that so simplifies history when the real life scenario was even more dramatic? Nevertheless, there is much to admire in the film aside from Oldman's superb performance. Every supporting actor delivers the goods, with Ben Mendelsohn particularly good as King George. Unfortunately, Kristin Scott Thomas is largely reduced to a figurehead as Churchill's wife Clemmie. In "Churchill', the character, played by Miranda Richardson, engaged in constant contentious situations with her husband, which mirrored their real-life marriage. In "Darkest Hour", Clemmie simply smiles a lot and reassures ol' Winnie that things will be just fine. Despite the film's flaws, "Darkest Hour" is an engaging and admirable effort that should be seen. It has many virtues aside from the fact that it's probably sent the sale of cigars soaring.

("Darkest Hour" is nominated for six Oscars including Best Picture).

It started with a rather innocuous post on the Cinema Retro Facebook page of the paperback movie tie-in novel for "Beneath the Planet of the Apes" along with a notation that we missed the era in which so many new films spawned the release of these editions. Before you could say "Dr. Zaius", readers from around the globe chimed in with their own memories of reading and collecting these books. Best of all, many of them took us up on the challenge to post any photos they might have from their own personal collections. Before long, there was a plethora of great images posted, bringing back memories of paperbacks based on "Dirty Harry", "Taxi Driver", "Star Wars", "The Mechanic" and so many others. Click here to join the fun and feel free to add your own observations and photos. (Note: to view all the entries, go to the end of the article and click on "View more comments" link.)

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Click here to order Cinema Retro's special edition tribute issue to "Where Eagles Dare".

BY LEE PFEIFFER

Writing in the Daily Mail, journalist Philip Norman recalls his visit to the Austrian set of "Where Eagles Dare" to interview Richard Burton. As a star-struck 24 year-old, he was given personal access to Burton and Elizabeth Taylor, who had accompanied her husband to the film set. All was going swimmingly until an ill-fated, late night social gathering took place in the hotel lobby where Burton and other cast members were still clad in the uniforms of  German army officers. An unstable American fan approached Burton to tell him how much he admired him- but when he became intrusive, a war of words broke out and the man pulled a pistol on Burton, threatening his life. In true cinema style, the unflappable Burton dared the man to either use it or stick it up his arse! The tense scene was diffused by the unexpected appearance of Taylor, clad in her nightdress, who paraded into the lobby and seemed more disturbed about the noise from the argument than the man threatening her husband's life. Click here to read the remarkable and amusing tale.

BY TIM GREAVES

Sandwiched between his debut feature (1970’s The Bird with the Crystal Plumage, which had enjoyed unprecedented success with American audiences) and the equally excellent Four Flies on Grey Velvet, Dario Argento’s The Cat O’Nine Tails (o.t. Il Gatto a Nova Code) is disappointingly inferior to both in almost every respect. Despite this, almost everything with the director’s name on it – emphasis on almost (and up until the mid-90s at least) – is streets ahead of anything in a similar vein, so I hesitate to be too hard on it.

Franco Arno (Karl Malden), a former newspaper journalist forced into retirement when he lost his sight, now lives with his niece Lori (Cinzia De Carolis) and earns a crust compiling crossword puzzles. Out walking one evening, they pass a car parked up outside an institute involved in genetic experimentation and sharp-eared Arno overhears a snippet of suspicious conversation between the occupants. Later the same night the place is burgled. A chance encounter with reporter Carlo Giordani (James Franciscus), who’s been sent to cover the story, results in Arno assisting him to investigate the break-in. But when people associated with the institute begin to die it seems that the burglar is prepared to kill to obfuscate what he was up to…and Arno and Giordani realise they’ve stupidly placed themselves in his crosshairs!

I must raise a hand here and confess that despite my admiration for Dario Argento’s work and having seen most of his films on multiple occasions, of his pre-1990s output The Cat O’Nine Tails is the one I’ve watched least. Possibly only a couple of times in fact. As such it’s one with which I’m not so familiar. With the arrival of a new Blu-Ray release from Arrow Video I sat down to reacquaint myself with it for the first time in several years and it all came back to me as to why I’ve not visited it often. On paper at least the script by Argento and Dardano Sacchetti lays out all the key ingredients for a tasty cocktail, so there’s little faulting it in that respect. But whereas the director’s best gialli pivot on a burgeoning sense of urgency derived from the misinterpretation of a witnessed moment, or perhaps a half-remembered clue, this one’s a surprisingly sedate affair. Additionally, the film lacks the outlandish plot, stylish camerawork and brutal murder sequences of its 70s stablemates – never mind that it’s also missing a deliciously unhinged killer lurking behind a veneer of respectability – and, let’s be honest, broadly speaking it’s the canny employ of these elements in his pictures that helped build Argento his fan base.

On a frivolous note too, anyone going in with title-engendered anticipation of a kinky sequence involving a dominatrix wielding said implement will come away disappointed; as an analogy, The Living Daylights springs to mind insomuch as, just as that film’s nonsensical title (from the perspective of audiences unfamiliar with Fleming) was dealt with in a single throwaway line, so The Cat O’Nine Tails is incorporated into a frankly silly remark by Giordani.

Seriously though, all these factors notwithstanding, perhaps most injurious of all is the fact the movie is ponderously slow, more methodical mystery-solver than knuckle-whitening chiller.

To clarify my remark about those mundane murder scenes, with the exception of a well-staged sequence when the killer dispatches a witness to his crimes by shoving him off a station platform and under the wheels of an incoming locomotive, they really do lack creativity. The absence of unflinchingly gruesome set pieces akin to those in the like of Deep Red and Tenebrae is keenly felt; I’m afraid a few garrotTings and an attempted poisoning with a carton of milk (no, really!) fail dismally to cut the mustard. That said, there are some memorably unnerving close-ups of the killer’s twitching eyeball as he sights out each victim and at least he himself gets a suitably wince-inducing comeuppance.

James Franciscus, fresh off of Beneath the Planet of the Apes, makes Giordani a decent enough heroic lead, although for my money he’s overshadowed where characterisation is concerned by a top-form Karl Malden as Arno, conveying the sightless gaze of a blind man impeccably. If anything makes the film work it’s the chemistry between these two actors. So good are they together in fact that I’d rather like to have seen Giordani and Arno team up on another investigation. In any event, notable among the rest of the cast are Catherine Spaak (loveliness incarnate as Giordani’s love interest) and little Cinzia De Carolis as Arno’s devoted “seeing eyes”. 

BY ADRIAN SMITH

American filmmakers have been fascinated by horror and the fantastical since the birth of cinema itself, with one early example cited here being an 1898 New York screening by the Thomas Edison Company of a short film featuring a witch and an appearance from Mephistopheles. Partially inspired by the work of French magician Georges Méliès, it was not long before ghosts, demons, witches and devils would become commonplace in the silent films being produced in New York, and eventually Hollywood itself.

Jonathan Rigby’s American Gothic (Signum publishing) is a fascinating and idiosyncratic exploration of the American horror film, a genre which has inspired filmmakers to create some of the most memorable moments in cinema history. More than a simple encyclopaedia, the book charts the historical development of the genre through not only the classics such as Phantom of the Opera, Dracula and The Cat and the Canary, but also through the hundreds of cheaper independent films and supporting features which are often forgotten but are no less enjoyable. Each chapter, written in his inimitable prose style, covers a specific period and discusses in detail not only the films but the filmmakers, actors and studios involved. Rigby is not afraid to criticise films which many hold sacred, as well as finding positive aspects amongst the failures. Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi loom large of course, their enduring appeal spanning at least half of the period covered here. Having slipped almost inevitably from their 1930s heights into B-movie lows, Karloff still managed to maintain some level of dignity despite the cheapness of the material, whereas the same could not be said for Lugosi, who suffered the ultimate indignity of finishing his career in the Z-grade films of Edward D. Wood Jr.

Out of print for more than ten years, American Gothic has now been revised and expanded by Jonathan Rigby, completing his horror trilogy alongside English Gothic and Euro Gothic. What this book confirms is that American cinema has been the world’s leading producer of the horrific and terrifying, in sheer number if not always in quality. Whereas those other two books cover the entire history of film in their respective countries and continents, Rigby has had to curtail American Gothic’s coverage at 1959, arguably when things were about to get really interesting. This was perhaps as much for his own sanity as well as for the length of the book. With dozens of rare and exceptional film stills and publicity materials, American Gothic is an essential read for any serious enthusiast of horror or cinema history. Here’s hoping that Rigby will eventually pluck up the courage to tackle the next sixty years.

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BY TIM GREAVES

The British sex film was a truly unique beast. Finding its feet at the back end of the 1950s, proliferating throughout the 60s and 70s, and all but gone the way of the dodo by the early 80s, sex may have been the selling point but scarcely was it delivered upon. Usually depicting the act itself as a bit of a lark and something to be sniggered at, due to restrictive British laws at the time the menu in this country was mostly comprised of light titillation as opposed to the more, er... shall we say ‘gratifying’ material being served up to European and Stateside audiences. With little to see beyond pert pink posteriors and bountiful bare bosoms, visuals whose stimulation value was already negligible were often further quashed by the wince-inducing sound of a slide-whistle.

The films that general audiences probably think of in regard to this period of time – if indeed they think of them at all – are the likes of the Confessions comedies, which is hardly surprising, for their appeal was unprecedented and the first in the series, Val Guest’s Confessions of a Window Cleaner, was the highest grossing British film of 1974. Yet looking at the 70s alone it’s remarkable just how many light-hearted boobs’n’bums films were birthed. I should know, I saw a fair few of them at a crummy, long-gone little cinema in Winchester. Most of them were excruciatingly awful too, albeit in an inexplicably endearing way.

In 1992 ‘Doing Rude Things’ by David McGillivray was published and at that point was the only book of its kind. An assembly – and expansion upon – a series of articles that had originally appeared in the short-lived ‘Cinema’ magazine 10 years earlier, it chronicled the highs and lows of almost a quarter of a century’s worth of British sex films, from 1957’s Nudist Paradise to 1981’s last gasp, Emmanuelle in Soho.

Now, to those with a passion for British exploitation cinema the name David McGillivray will be a familiar one. A former writer for, among others, the BFI’s lamentably deceased ‘Monthly Film Bulletin’, he would go on to pen scripts for such cinematic schlockers as House of Whipcord, Satan’s Slave and Schizo, several of which also found him lurking on-screen in some minor capacity. Associated in the main with the ilk of those aforementioned terrors, David’s single foray into the arena of the 1970s sex film was the amusingly monikered comedy I’m Not Feeling Myself Tonight, a frothy brew awash with familiar thespian talent of the era. [Oh, yes, it should be mentioned that a plethora of household names populated these critically dismissed but publicly embraced oddities. From Bernard Lee and Arthur Askey to Irene Handl and Jon Pertwee, from Brian Murphy and Barry Evans to Windsor Davies and Richard O’Sullivan, dozens of ‘respectable’ actors shelved their pride to participate in these movies. But then in the clime of widespread unemployment that plagued the industry back then – and is regrettably still rife – work was work and beggars couldn’t afford to be choosers.]

Titan Books

ISBN: 9781783299393

Dimensions: 234 x 153mm

Paperback: 560pp 

BY ADRIAN SMITH 

As well as being an accomplished novelist and historian, Kim Newman has written a regular column in Empire magazine for almost twenty years covering the video (then DVD and eventually Blu-ray) releases no one else wanted to watch. Rather than serve as an encyclopaedia, Kim Newman’s Video Dungeon: The Collected Reviews is organised, in a somewhat idiosyncratic style, into thematic rather chapters than simply an alphabetic or chronological presentation. His identification of recurring genres or styles has allowed for chapters on “Confinements and Dangerous games,” “Cryptids and Critters,” “Serial Killers and Cops” and “Weird Hippie Sh*t,” amongst more recognisable genre descriptions such as “Found Footage,” “Famous Monsters” and “Secret Agent Men (and Women)” and others.

Spanning almost the entire breadth of film history and encompassing productions from around the globe, the reader is presented with hundreds of obscure titles alongside the occasional classic. From silent film to spoofs and pornography, Kim Newman has sat through over thirty films featuring Frankenstein and a similar amount featuring Dracula. The trend for sharksploitation films, which still shows no sign of abating, is particularly noticeable here as Kim Newman patiently reviews dozens of films such as Sharkenstein (2016), Shark Exorcist (2015) and the infamous Sharknado series (2013-2016 so far). Refusing to fall into the film historian’s trap of sneering at anything cheap or new, Kim Newman is fair to each film he reviews, finding positive elements even in some found footage films, despite having had to sit through so many.

Being a collection of reviews of home video releases, there is also the occasional vintage gem in here, such as Curse of Bigfoot (1975), Las Vampiras (1969) and Confessions of an Opium Eater (1962). Indeed, most of the films in the “Weird Hippie Sh*t” section, including Drive, He Said (1971), Toomorrow (1970), Wonderwall (1968) and Permissive (1970) date from the hippie heyday itself.

Kim Newman’s writing is distinctive and authoritative, with a gleeful sense of humour for the absurd, which means that even when the films sound terrible, which they occasionally do, the reviews are still entertaining to read. It is this skill which has made his Video Dungeon column in Empire so enjoyable over the years, with trusted recommendations as to what to seek out, and what to avoid. Kim Newman’s Video Dungeon: The Collected Reviews is highly recommended, particularly for those who think they have seen a lot of weird films over the years. The chances are high that Kim Newman has seen more.

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BY TIM GREAVES

J.D.’s Revenge was released by American International in 1976, just as the blaxploitation sub-genre was pretty much tailing off and indeed when A.I.’s most prolific years lay behind them. It was directed by Arthur Marks, best known to me for his year earlier blaxploitation entry, Friday Foster (headlining Pam Grier and Yaphet Kotto), but also notable as writer/director on early 70s drive-in fodder such as Bonnie’s Kids and The Roommates.

The story opens with a fast-paced prologue set in 1942 New Orleans, during which a heated argument in a meat-processing plant between Betty Jo Walker (Alice Jubert) and Theotis Bliss (Fred Pinkard) culminates with him slitting her throat. The body is discovered by her brother, scar-faced black-marketeer J.D. (David McKnight), who’s mistaken for the killer by her boyfriend, Theotis’ brother Elija (Louis Gossett), who promptly shoots J.D. dead. (Keeping up? This is the framework for everything that follows.) We slingshot forward 34 years to present day and meet Isaac ‘Ike’ Hendrix (Glynn Turman), cab driver by day, law student by night. Out at a club with his girlfriend Christella (Joan Pringle) and some friends, Ike gets up on stage to participate in a hypnosis act, but whilst he’s in a trance his mind is infiltrated by the vengeful spirit of J.D. With increasing frequency, the unhinged gangster intermittently seizes control of Ike, using him as a tool to exact revenge upon Elija and Theotis, who’ve now moved up in the world and – along with the former’s daughter Roberta (Jubert again) – are shamelessly using a religious set-up as front for their criminal activities.

Scripted by Jaison Starks, J.D.’s Revenge is a gritty serving of schlock with a supernatural slant, serving up a banquet of graphic bovine slaughter, un-PC dialogue, scathingly sexist attitude and more than a splash of Dulux-variety bloodshed. Yet although it’s staged competently enough, it falls shy of joining the ranks of the more thrilling blaxploitationers, in fact on a couple of occasions it almost crosses the line into parody; it’s hard not to smirk when Ike takes to strutting around togged up in unflattering, ill-fitting 1940s regalia, whilst his frenetic cavorting during the climactic face-off is truly bizarre. The only thing that rescues it from descending into silliness is the omnipresent streak of nastiness against which the unfolding events are juxtaposed. Nowhere is this more prevalent than a scene in which Ike drastically changes his hairstyle; he looks utterly ridiculous and Christella tells him so, but any urge on the viewer’s part to laugh is swiftly quelled as Ike brutally strikes her down and rapes her. It’s one of a handful of unforgivably misogynistic scenes that hamper producer-director Marks’s movie. To play fair, hard as it may be for a young 21^st century audience to comprehend, in 1976 such material was perfectly acceptable and the makers would simply have been feeding demand; viewed 40 years on, however, there’s no disputing that it’s archaic and makes for uncomfortable viewing.

At its root, of course, Sparkes’s script is riffing on the hackneyed – though seldom less than fun – Jekyll/Hyde formula, and Turman does an excellent job of vacillating between the two diverse personas of Ike and J.D. Nuances such as Ike absentmindedly running a finger across his cheek where J.D. was scarred subtly add veracity to the notion he’s possessed. Gossett meanwhile brings bags of energy to the table, particularly in the scenes when he’s vigorously preaching to his flock, and both Pringle and Jubert deliver admirable work. As an additional note on the cast, J.D.’s Revenge features what was the second (and final) screen appearance of Ruth Kempf, who’d achieved global recognition in her fleeting but memorable debut as novice pilot Mrs Bell in Bond film Live and Let Die; it’s fair to say, however, she’s left in far worse shape having crossed paths with the possessed Ike than she was in the wake of her comparatively lightweight encounter with 007! 

The FX work, when it isn’t bluntly quease-inducing, is nicely effective. Particularly striking is an optical when Ike is stands before a shattered mirror and sees the glowering visage of J.D. staring back at him.

BY TIM GREAVES

A chiller-thriller from the pen of Brian Clemens, 1971's See No Evil was a notably lower-key affair for director Richard Fleischer, former helmer on such celebrated cinematic epics as The Fantastic Voyage, Doctor Doolittle, Tora! Tora! Tora! and 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. Which isn't to imply See No Evil is inferior. Quite the contrary, in fact.

Left blind after a horse-riding accident, Sarah (Mia Farrow) moves in with her Aunt and Uncle, Betty and George Rexton (Dorothy Alison and Robin Bailey) and her cousin Sandy (Diane Grayson) at their opulent riverside home. Familiar with the geography of the sprawling house, Sarah is able to confidently go about coping with her disability. Arriving home after spending the day with an old boyfriend, local horse breeder Steve (Norman Eshley), Sarah believes the family to be out for the evening and prepares for bed, unaware that in her absence all three have been brutally murdered. She eventually stumbles upon the bodies and encounters the mortally wounded gardener (Brian Robinson) whose dying words warn her that the killer is certain to return to retrieve a damning piece of evidence he carelessly left behind…

The legendary Brian Clemens is probably best known as producer-writer on classic TV show The Avengers, but he was also the mind behind a batch of very fine Brit movie chillers, among them And Soon the Darkness, Dr Jekyll and Sister Hyde and Captain Kronos: Vampire Hunter, the latter which he also directed. His script for See No Evil is an efficient little knuckle-whitener, questionable perhaps only in the motivations of its wrongdoer. Is watching a couple of X-certificate movies – in the opening scene the killer-to-be, face unseen, leaves a cinema screening ‘The Convent Murders’ and ‘Rapist Cult’ (both fictitious) – and getting one’s gaudy cowboy boots splashed by a passing car really sufficient impetus for a murder spree? Of course, no-one expects the bad guy in this type of movie to be sane, but the heavy-handed message during the opening credits sequence that society’s glorification of violence is the cause for what follows is pretty tenuous.

In any event, See No Evil (which I first saw on late night TV as Blind Terror, its original UK theatrical release title) is less of a tawdry exploitationer than it might have been, making up for any perceived deficiency in that regard with a goodly infusion of nerve-jangling suspense. Indeed, Fleischer and Clemens aim for burgeoning ill-ease as opposed to gory spectacle and for my money they hit the target square on. There are occasional moments of nastiness peppered throughout – the sudden reveal of Sandy’s corpse, a haunting shot of George immersed in a bathtub of bloody water – but they're fleeting and it’s fair to say the film works primarily as an exercise in measured pacing and sustained suspense. Take for example a protracted sequence in which Sarah goes about her daily routine unaware that she's just feet away from the dead bodies of her family. Throughout this stretch Fleischer toys mercilessly with the audience and Gerry Fisher's cinematography really comes into its own as we're treated to a series of impressive tracking shots, each homing in on a dropped or discarded item, increasingly telegraphing the sense that something bad has happened, until the eventual reveal of the Rextons’ corpses. Of course whilst we, the audience, witness all this – including broken glass on the kitchen floor (which we just know will be trodden on at some point and, in a wince-inducing moment, it is) – poor, sightless Sarah sees none of it. Once she finally realises what's happening the pace quickens and the story mutates into an extended game of cat and (blind) mouse. There's a beautifully framed instance of tease when our cowboy-booted killer climbs a flight of stairs; Sarah stands foreground, hidden from him, and the camera circles so that whilst it remains focused on her it simultaneously observes the killer's ascent. One can't help but strain to see the face that remains tantalisingly out of shot! If the suspense loses momentum a tad when Sarah's plight changes from being pursued by the murderer to an unexpected ordeal instigated by a latecomer to the party, well, it's only a minor blip.

UK release poster.

As with any murder mystery worth its mettle there's a proliferation of suspects on hand too – a gypsy encampment just down the lane from the Rexton abode offers up a whole shoal of red herrings – and it’s not too surprising that one's eye is frequently drawn to inspect a character’s footwear.

Mia Farrow conveys blindness convincingly and Norman Eshley makes for a suitably handsome hero, whilst Lila Kaye and a surly Michael Elphick stand out among the myriad of gypsies. It’s nice to see Paul Nicholas and Christopher Matthews in small but not insignificant roles. Elmer Bernstein furnishes the proceedings with a lush score, although rather amusingly he can't help slipping into The Magnificent Seven territory during a sequence when Sarah and Steve are out riding on horseback.

BY ADRIAN SMITH

“Only one thing counts: either you have money and you’re someone, or you don’t have any and you’re a doormat.” So states Giulio Sacchi (Tomas Milian), as he plans to kidnap the beautiful young daughter of a wealthy business-owner. Together with two small-time hoods, who are more accustomed to snatching purses than snatching rich girls, Sacchi hopes to take 500 million lira, enough never to have to work again. Having grown up on the streets with no parents or opportunity, Sacchi constantly rails against the system. He believes he is a genius and can commit crime because the world owes him a living; in reality he is short-tempered, dangerous and cowardly, as he proves when he guns down a traffic officer whilst acting as getaway driver for a bank robbery. This hasty murder brings swift police attention and the gang are nearly caught, leading them to beat Sacchi and reject him from their organised crime ring. This spurs him on to plan his perfect big score, but his short temper causes him to leave a string of dead bodies in his wake, which soon brings tough cop Walter Grandi (Henry Silva) hot on his trail.

Almost Human fits what the Italians called the poliziotteschi, a genre which depicted corrupt or inept cops and violent criminality. The 1970s was an incredibly violent period in Italy’s history, often referred to as Anni di piombo, or the Years of Lead, when both left- and right-wing extremists engaged in acts of terrorism including bombings and political assassinations. The authorities seemed unable to bring any form of control to this unstable and terrifying situation and the Italian films of the period charted this chaos and mistrust through explicit depictions of crime and horror. Although Milan is now a popular tourist destination for its important art and architecture, Almost Human depicts it as a city which looks more like the mean streets of 1970s New York, filled with crumbling buildings, ugly apartment blocks, abandoned quaysides and patches of rubbish-strewn wasteland. This comparison is surely no coincidence, as the poliziotteschi, as well as addressing issues of contemporary Italy, borrows heavily from the tough American crime thrillers of the period like The French Connection (1971) and Dirty Harry (1971). The film’s original Italian title, Milano odia: la polizia non puo’ sparare, translates as “Milan hates: the police can’t shoot”, which sounds as if it is criticising the targeting abilities of the local constabulary. What is actually implied by this is that the bureaucracy means that the police are powerless to stop the criminals. Even if they are caught and arrested, as Grandi complains, they are released again twenty-four hours later to go out and steal and kill again. Sacchi is so blasé about killing people because he believes no one will notice another body in Milan.

Almost Human may be derivative of the American cop thriller, but it is also an exciting and shocking political critique of Italian society, where women and children can be gunned down in cold blood and the police are powerless to stop it unless they step outside the law they are sworn to protect.

Director Umberto Lenzi is a legend of Italian cinema. Like many who worked outside the arthouse or neo-realist traditions of Visconti or Fellini, Lenzi made films within every popular genre from sword-and-sandal to giallo, from sex comedies to cannibal horror. Like his contemporaries he made whatever was popular, whether for the local or international audiences, so his name can even be found on spy films like 008: Operation Exterminate (1965), spaghetti westerns such as Pistol for a Hundred Coffins (1968) and zombie splatterthons like the deliriously ridiculous Nightmare City (1980). Shameless sat him down for an exclusive interview for this new Blu-ray, which features an HD restoration from the original negative. He is a fascinating figure whose career spans over fifty years and he has plenty of stories to tell about his time in the film industry. Also included are some archival interviews with Lenzi, co-star Ray Lovelock and writer Ernesto Gastaldi, himself legendary in the Italy with over 100 film credits. Tomas Milian, a Cuban-American who had a tremendous career both in Europe and in the U.S, and who passed away earlier in 2017, is also interviewed and proved himself to be equally entertaining as he was in his movies.

The Blu-ray comes in the traditional Shameless yellow case with both original and alternative artwork. With a terrific heavy-rock score from none other than Ennio Morricone, Almost Human is an exciting film from the golden period of Italian exploitation cinema and is not to be missed.

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BY LEE PFEIFFER

A new poll finds that the majority of Millennials are shockingly unfamiliar with older, classic movies. The posting on the Cinema Retro Facebook page has set off a spirited discussion among our readers. People who live in major metropolitan areas may take issue with the poll's findings since young people routinely attend screenings of classic movies at revival cinemas. The Alamo Drafthouse chain of cinemas has been especially effective at exposing younger audiences to retro movie classics and cult films. Yes, Netflix and other streaming services make plenty of retro movie classics available to viewers of all ages everywhere. But in major cities, younger people tend to view going to see a classic film from the past as a social activity, often going in groups to theaters with funky themes. It may be, however, that people who live in more rural areas don't have the same opportunities to see older films on the big screen, therefore they are not as familiar with them. Click here to read article. 

BY LEE PFEIFFER

Explosive Media, the German based boutique video label, has released the 1975 Charles Bronson crime thriller "Breakout" on Blu-ray. Bronson was riding high at the time, coming off the sensational success of "Death Wish". The film was originally supposed to star Kris Kristofferson under the direction of Michael Ritchie but those plans soon fell apart. Bronson took over the lead role with veteran director Tom Gries at the helm. The film finds Bronson well-cast as Nick Colton, a shady businessman/con man/grifter who operates a variety of small time business ventures on the Mexican border with his partner Hawk Hawkins (pre-kooky Randy Quaid.) Nick is living hand-to-mouth when he is approached by Ann Wagner (Jill Ireland) with a proposition to help her husband, Jay (Robert Duvall), escape from a Mexican prison where he has been sentenced after being framed for a murder. Time is of the essence because Jay is in declining health and may well be too weak to help effect his own escape. Colton and Hawk's first attempt to spring him ends disastrously and they barely escape back to America. Colton concocts an audacious plan for a second escape attempt that involves split-second timing. He will arrange for a helicopter to land in the courtyard of the prison and in the inevitable confusion, Jay is to make his way on board and presumably fly away to freedom. In order to pull off the caper, Nick enlists the help of a professional helicopter pilot as well as Myrna (Sheree North), a married ex-call girl who will be used to distract some of the guards when the copter lands inside the prison. When the pilot gets cold feet, Nick is forced to fly the chopper himself despite the fact that he only has minimum experience doing so. Another complication ensues when Jay is confined to the prison hospital and doubts he will be able to be in the courtyard at the precise moment Colton lands. 

"Breakout" was inspired by an incredible 1971 real life escape in which an American was indeed rescued by helicopter from a Mexican prison.  The screenplay has some other sub-plots that are poorly developed and quite confusing, but some of which are obviously related to the actual escape including some rumored involvement by the CIA. In the film,  Jay Wagner's frame-up takes place at the behest of his evil tycoon grandfather, Harris Wagner (John Huston) for reasons that never become clear. Apparently, Harris is concerned that Jay may inherit some control over the company Harris runs with an iron fist, though these plot points remain murky as does the involvement of some CIA characters.  Another potential plot device, which finds Nick and Ann obviously attracted to each other, also goes nowhere. The film has a rushed look to it and there are some unsatisfying aspects caused by the movie's rather abrupt ending. The movie studio, Columbia, apparently felt the film was a rather weak production and thus gambled on a massive ad campaign that probably cost more than the film's modest budget. Ads for "Breakout" were everywhere: in newspapers, on TV and on radio. Additionally, the film opened wide in 1,000 American theaters, which was a big number in 1975. The movie was dismissed by critics with Variety calling it a "cheap exploitation pic", and indeed the main poster artwork and graphics looked surprisingly amateurish considering this was a golden age for film poster designs. Nevertheless, Bronson's appeal seemed to override these negative factors. "Breakout" proved to be a major hit and helped cement his status as a top boxoffice attraction though his clout would gradually diminish henceforth. 

Like a lot of older movies, "Breakout" probably plays better today than it did at the time of its initial release. Bronson is in top form and gives an unusually energetic performance that allows him to stress his rarely-used talent for light comedy. The only other standout member of the cast is Sheree North, as the epitome of the sexy cougar. She's a fast-talking, tough cookie who parades about in sexy lingerie in an attempt to seduce Bronson. (Surprisingly, Bronson's character does not engage in any sexual action throughout the movie.) Robert Duvall is largely underutilized in a low-key role and performance that could have been credibly played by almost any other competent actor.  Huston's presence in the movie is disappointing, also. His role is confined to a few  scattered cameo appearances that probably don't last more than two minutes. Some other familiar faces include Paul Mantee, Alejandro Rey, Roy Jenson and the Mexican cinema's favorite bad guy, Emilio Fernandez. As for Bronson teaming for the umpteenth time with real life wife Jill Ireland, the gimmick was wearing thin. Some screen couples could team without wearing out their welcome. Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton made many films together but they were always playing entirely different characters in entirely different scenarios. Bronson and Ireland, despite being competent actors, were no Liz and Dick. It became clear that their films together were largely made possible by Bronson's clout with the studios. Although Ireland always gave credible performances, she never lit up the screen. After a while the sheer predictability of their on-screen teamings probably undermined Bronson's popularity because it constrained him from interacting with other actresses. It was a trap Clint Eastwood also fell into for a period of time when he cast Sondra Locke in the female lead in six of his movies over a period of only seven years. Despite these gripes, it must be said that director Tom Gries keeps the pace moving briskly and there isn't a dull moment. He also knows how to milk some genuine suspense out of the helicopter escape scene, which is exceptionally well photographed by the great cinematographer Lucien Ballard. Jerry Goldsmith also contributes a typically fine score. The movie was shot in a wide number of locations including California, Mexico, Spain and France, where the impressive edifice that serves as the prison is located. 

Scene stealer: Sheree North in posed cheesecake publicity photo for the film.

The Explosive Media Blu-ray looks terrific and contains the original trailer and an impressive stills gallery. The film is presented in either the English or German language versions.  The region-free Blu-ray can be ordered through Amazon Germany or through Amazon UK. 

BY TIM GREAVES

Although it was actually his second film, 1988’s Stormy Monday marked the big screen debut of Mike Figgis; his earlier feature, four years prior, was made for television. Given that it was essentially a debut, though, the cast that the director managed to assemble was quite remarkable; Tommy Lee Jones, Melanie Griffith, Sting and Sean Bean (who looks about 18 but was actually 29) headline in a grim tale of corruption set against the nightclub scene in Newcastle. With almost every frame screaming 1980s – from the neon-tube title emblazoned across the screen to Bean’s trousers and Griffiths’ hairdo – the blend of jazz and sax-infused score affords the proceedings a vaguely noir vibe. Unfortunately little of the above provides sufficient grist to save the resulting film from the morass of mediocrity.

In the midst of a week of festivities celebrating everything American, drifter Brendan (Bean) gets a job as a cleaner at the Key Club, a successful jazz nightspot owned by Finney (Sting). Brendan clicks with his employer who quickly identifies the lad as someone he can trust, with more worth to him than someone sluicing vomit off the toilet floor. Finney is currently being harassed by shady American businessman Cosmo (Jones) to sell him the club. As a man whose first tactic is to send in the heavies to mete out a little physical persuasion, Cosmo will clearly stop at nothing to get what he wants. Brendan meets and enters into a relationship with waitress Kate (Griffith), but he's unaware that she's affiliated with Cosmo…

Now, I accept that I’m in the minority, but I should say upfront that I've never been able to engage with Stormy Monday on any significant level. Its pacing is just that little too sedate and it's gloomy to the point of depressing. There’s also a serious dearth of likeable characters; in a film of this ilk there should always be someone to root for, and the absence of sympathetic characters completely undermines a climactic sting (lame pun intentional), robbing it of the dramatic weight and emotional heft it desperately cries out for.

Yet the real stumbling block for me is the insipid performances. Sting is a terrific musician, but I've never found him a particularly compelling screen presence and his dialogue delivery here is shallow and unconvincing. Injuriously though, he's only one among a number of surprising offenders. Jones too – a marvellous actor with a bevy of splendid character performances under his belt – exudes disinterest and proves frustratingly bland. Most disappointing in this respect, however, is Griffith, who I absolutely adored back in the 80s; the same year as Stormy Monday she appeared in The Milagro Beanfield War and Working Girl, the latter for which she was Best Actress Oscar nominated; such a lacklustre turn sandwiched between two such outstanding ones is a bitter pill to swallow. It may well be that these underwhelming performances are a reflection of (what I consider to be) the colourless narrative that the characters populate. I can’t decide, because Bean – in the infancy of what would build into an impressive screen career – is decent enough, with all the signs of a star in the making in evidence and there are also small but memorable roles for Alison Steadman and James Cosmo (as a deliciously simmering psychotic). Bond buffs meanwhile will want to keep an eye open for Clive Curtis, Dulice Liecier (fresh off her glam CIA agent spin in The Living Daylights) and Prunella Gee.

So is there nothing worth dipping in to Stormy Monday for? I honestly feel there isn’t. Roger Deakins' cinematography is suitably moody, and those familiar with Newcastle might glean some pleasure from the extensive location footage of the great City as it looked three decades past. But beyond that, this one’s probably for diehard fans of the actors within and Figgis completists only. Said completists will doubtless be delighted with the fine new hi-definition Blu-Ray release of the film from Arrow Video. Supplements are slender but add value; along with a Figgis audio commentary moderated by Damon Wise, there's a 33-minute retrospective documentary in which critic Neil Young discusses the film at length whilst strolling around some of the film's locations, a stills gallery and the original theatrical trailer. The release includes reversible sleeve art and a limited edition collectors' booklet. 

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BY TIM GREAVES

Dario Argento – whose directorial career has now spanned almost 50 years, positioning him as a genuine icon of terror cinema – is probably best associated with his clutch of intoxicatingly imaginative chillers, each of them ornamented with brutal (and increasingly graphic) murder scenarios, stylishly lurid lighting schemes and wildly inventive camerawork.

Throughout the second half of the 1960s Argento had found a degree of success in writing stories and screenplays for movies; he most famously worked alongside Sergio Leone for 1968's Once Upon a Time in the West. But it was taught 1970 thriller The Bird with the Crystal Plumage (o.t. L'uccello dalle piume di cristallo) that marked his debut in the director’s chair and set him on the path to becoming the Godfather of the giallo.

Sam Dalmas (Tony Musante), an American writer currently residing in Rome, walks past a brightly lit art gallery late one night and sees inside a shadowy figure, clad in black, stabbing a woman. Attempting to intervene, Dalmas manages to get himself trapped in the entrance between two sets of locked sliding doors, unable to prevent the assailant from fleeing and helpless to assist the woman left bleeding to death on the floor. Fortunately, aid arrives and the woman – Monica Ranieri (Eva Renzi), wife of the gallery's owner – survives. It transpires that Monica was the almost-victim in a series of attacks that have left several beautiful women dead. Dalmas becomes obsessed with the case, replaying what he saw over and over in his head, convinced that he's missing a vital clue to solving the mystery. But in getting involved he inadvertently sets himself up as a target for the killer.

Argento not only directed but also wrote The Bird with the Crystal Plumage (basing it thematically on a 1949 pulp novel, “The Screaming Mimi”, by Frederic Brown). He would go on to make better movies but for a debut feature this really is an exemplary piece of film-making, bearing many of the embryonic flourishes – clearly influenced by the works of Alfred Hitchcock and Mario Bava – that would later become his trademark; specifically the faceless, black-gloved killer whose nefarious activities are often shot POV and, on a more cerebral level, the misperception of a witnessed moment, with characters struggling to retrieve a clue buried in their subconscious, the significance of which failed to register upon them when initially glimpsed. These recurrent themes would play out to varying degrees of success in many of Argento's later films, most significantly Four Flies on Grey Velvet (o.t. 4 mosche di velluto grigio, 1971), Cat o'Nine Tails (o.t. Il gatto a nove code, 1971), Deep Red (o.t. Profondo rosso, 1975, considered by many to be the greatest of all the Italian gialli), Tenebrae (o.t. Tenebre, 1982), Phenomena (1985), Opera (1987), Trauma (1993), The Stendhal Syndrome (o.t. La sindrome di Stendhal, 1996), Sleepless (o.t. Non ho sonno, 2001), The Card Player (o.t. Il cartaio, 2004), Do You Like Hitchcock? (o.t. Ti piace Hitchcock, 2005) and Giallo (2009).

The Bird with the Crystal Plumage itself is a masterpiece of sustained suspense. The escalating tension during a scene in which the hero's girlfriend (Suzy Kendall) is menaced by the killer – who uses a large kitchen knife to methodically chip away at the lock on her apartment door – is as perfect an example as one could wish for as to why Argento is often referenced as the Italian Hitchcock. The violence – notably an out-of-shot vaginal stabbing – was transgressive for its day, and in spite of the fact that far more shocking atrocities have been unflinchingly splashed across the screen in the decades since, several moments in Argento's fledgling offering still pack quite a visceral punch. 

BY TIM GREAVES

For the benefit of those unfamiliar with the events that preceded The Amityville Horror’s arrival on screen, I'll start with a little backstory. In November 1974 one Ronald DeFeo murdered six members of his family in their home at 112 Ocean Avenue on Long Island, New York. 13 months later George and Kathleen Lutz, along with her three children from a previous marriage, moved in; unperturbed by the gruesome events of a year earlier, they had purchased the property at a bargain price. The family fled the premises just shy of a month later, claiming to have experienced a succession of terrifying paranormal events. Their experiences soon became the subject of a book by Jay Anson, published in 1977. Following extensive studies by a number of parapsychology experts, many of the Lutzes stories would later be debunked, but at the time the couple became something of a media sensation. Director Stuart Rosenberg's film – which, as movies will, played a little economical with the facts (at least as they were laid out in Anson's book) – was released in 1979 and not only proved to be a major hit for American International Pictures but was one of the highest grossing ever independents to that time. So, did any of those paranormal incidents really take place, or was it all just canny media manipulation? George and Kathleen are dead, both having passed away prematurely in 2006 and 2004, respectively, so the true story will probably never be known. But that house on Ocean Avenue has changed hands five times since the Lutzes left – with the owners having modified the building's facade and getting the address legally changed in a bid to dissuade tourists from pestering them – and there has never been another report of an untoward occurrence. One can make of that what one will. In any event, back in the 70s George and Kathleen Lutz appeared to enjoy the attention their alleged misfortune brought them and considerable monies were generated. And at the end of the day the possibility that, actually, it wasn't all a hoax affords the whole business an enduring appeal. Rosenberg's film spawned a dozen spin-offs and sequels and was itself remade in 2005. On a final historical note, in a 1980 episode of the British TV series Hammer House of Horror entitled The House That Bled to Death a family are driven out of their new home in the wake of a number of paranormal events. They sell their story for a substantial sum and the tale ends with them living a life of luxury and the revelation that they fabricated everything for the money, although there's one final devilish twist in which...well, I won't ruin it here; those interested in the Amityville phenomenon, on which The House That Bled to Death was clearly riffing, will find it well worth seeking out.

But back to the 1979 film itself. I first saw The Amityville Horror theatrically (twice) upon its initial UK release early in 1980 – six months after its US opening the previous summer. Although its effervescence has diminished somewhat in the intervening years, back then the belief that I was witnessing what were supposedly true events added a distinct frisson to the proceedings.

Recently married George and Kathy Lutz (James Brolin and Margot Kidder) move into a large property on Long Island, the site of a familial massacre just a year earlier. A succession of relatively minor incidents – inexplicable odours, toilet bowls ejaculating viscous black gunge – begin to tarnish the happy household, and George's health plummets. After priest and friend of the family Father Delaney (Rod Steiger) is driven out by an unseen presence whilst he's in the process of blessing the house, the abnormal occurrences intensify and it becomes apparent that the residue of something evil is at work. When George's mood darkens and his sanity begins to unravel, Kathy starts to fear for the lives of her entire family. 

The Amityville Horror was co-produced by Elliot Geisinger and Ronald Saland, known primarily for a number of behind-the-scenes shorts they directed and produced throughout the 60s and 70s. But the name that stands out here is that of executive producer Samuel Z Arkoff, instantly recognisable to movie buffs from Vincent Price horrors (Cry of the Banshee, The Abominable Dr Phibes and its sequel, Dr Phibes Rises Again), through blaxploitation classics (Coffy, Blacula, Slaughter) to clunky monster flicks (The People That Time Forgot, The Food of the Gods, Empire of the Ants); if Arkoff's name was on it you always knew you were in for a fun ride. And The Amityville Horror is nothing if not that. 

Director Stuart Rosenberg, working from a Sandor Stern screenplay, conjures up an efficient little creepy embroidered with all the standard haunted house tropes; bumps in the night, thunderstorms, blood-spattered dream sequences, bricked-up cubbyholes, tormented babysitters, and at one point the hoariest of them all, the sudden appearance of a howling cat. But there are also enough genuinely efficacious jumps and starts throughout to keep viewers on their toes. The whole shebang gets strong backing from a terrific Lalo Schifrin score, its haunting (no pun intended) nursery rhyme theme – the sound of chanting children set against low strings combining to invoke a crawling sense of ill-ease – surely ranking among the composer's finest works. It was Oscar-nominated for Best Original Score of 1979 but lost out to George Delerue's A Little Romance.

BY RICH DREES

Spending a good portion of my high school years devouring the paperback reprints of the Doc Savage pulp novels of the 1930s and '40s, the George Pal-produced “Doc Savage: The Man Of Bronze,” is a bit of a bitter pill to swallow. The film gets just enough right to show tantalizing promise only to snatch that away with what it gets wrong.

Summoned back to his Manhattan skyscraper headquarters from his arctic retreat where he was using the isolation to perform some experiments, scientist and adventurer Clark “Doc” Savage Jr. meets with his five closest friends and adventuring companions to be told that his father has died while in the small South American country of Hildago. However, the reunion between Doc and his aides – known as the Fabulous Five – is interrupted by an assassination attempt carried out by a native from a South American tribe Doc can't identify. Surmising that his father's death was not from natural causes, the group head to Hidalgo to investigate. There they encounter the villainous Captain Seas (Paul Wexler), who with government functionary Don Rubio Gorro (Bob Corso), is trying to steal land that was granted to Doc's father by the leaders of the long lost Mayan tribe, the Quetzamal. Doc, his aides and Mona, Don Rubio Gorro's truehearted assistant, head inland to the Quetzamal's hidden village to stop Seas and Gorro's attempt to steal the gold of the Quetzamal for themselves.

In broad strokes, the script captures the globetrotting nature of many of the early Doc pulp stories published by Street & Smith between 1933 and 1949. The film's overall plot is taken directly from the first first Doc Savage yarn published in March 1933, also titled “The Man Of Bronze.” But readers of the old pulps will perhaps recognize that writer Joe Morhaim and Pal have grafted onto the screenplay some elements from a couple of other Savage stories, most notably “The Green Death” (November 1938), “The Mystic Mullah” (January 1935) and “Mystery Under The Sea” (February 1936).

The film does sport a wonderful cast. Ron Ely is as probably as close to the pulps' description of Doc Savage as Hollywood is likely to get, the visual of him standing on the running-board of a touring car as it races through the streets of Manhattan (or more accurately, Warner Brothers' New York City backlot) is an image brought to life directly out of the pulps. And Ely plays the role with a sincerity that at times feels as if it goes against the grain of the campy tone director Michael Anderson is attempting. The casting for Doc's five aides are all equally physically spot on. Those who did their teen years in the 1980s will probably get a kick out of seeing Paul Gleason as one of Doc's aides a full decade before he was tormenting teens at Saturday detention in “The Breakfast Club.” Pam Hemsley as Mona appears much more wholesome here than she would just a few years later as space vamp Princess Ardala on NBC's “Buck Rogers In The 25^th Century.” Horror fans may enjoy a rather atypical appearance from future “The Hills Have Eyes” star Michael Berryman.

Pal certainly lavished some money on the production, at least in spots. There is some great location photography for both Doc's approach to his Fortress of Solitude in the beginning of the film and when Doc and his aides are trekking across South America to the Valley of the Vanished. Less convincing is the set-bound look of the lost Quetzamal tribe's lost valley. (See the latest issue of CinemaRetro for more on the making of the film.)

So why did “Doc Savage: The Man Of Bronze,” flop so hard when released? Perhaps it was the wrong movie at the wrong time. The fall of Saigon and the end of the Vietnam War was just a little over a month in the past when the film hit theaters in June of 1975. The country was in a malaise and a movie wasn't going to snap it out of its funk until “Star Wars” comes along in another two years. It may also have been overshadowed by the release of “Jaws” the same month, which sapped much of the oxygen out of the adventure film market To a cynical and war-weary nation, the film's simplistic pre-Depression era idea of good guys and bad guys perhaps was seen as naive, if not downright laughable. Moments when the film dips into camp – such as the Doc's apparent need to slap his stylized logo on all his equipment or Don Rubio Gorro's weird diaper and giant crib fetish – probably felt like a way too late attempt to cash in on the campy Adam West “Batman” TV series which had been off the air for years by this time. Ultimately, tone is the biggest thing that works against the film and it should be interesting to see how writer/director Shane Black will handle it if his planned Doc Savage movie ever gets out of development.

Warner Archive’s new Blu-ray 1080p transfer from the film's original inter-positive does a good job showcasing the cinematography of Fred J. Koenekamp , who was fresh off his Academy Award-winning work on “The Towering Inferno.” The only extra feature on the disc is a trailer, which shows some definite wear around the edges.

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BY TIM GREAVES

Titling a film is no trivial matter, especially from a marketing perspective. As history has proven, there have been numerous films made which have little more to offer than a cracking title. A really sharp one can help sell the poorest product, conversely a stellar piece of movie-making can be undermined by something uninspired. When you're trying to make your movie stand out in a marketplace awash with alternatives, an attention-grabbing title is a crucial consideration and you'll probably be aiming for something that harbours intrigue, allure, and is capable of fostering curiosity and anticipation. When it was first unleashed theatrically in 1985, Howling II: Stirba – Werewolf Bitch was certainly an attention-grabber. Whether the film itself turned out to be good, bad or indifferent, as enticing titles go the suffix Stirba – Werewolf Bitch sure did the job, sending out a premium come and see me you know you want to invitation with the promise of a no-nonsense serving of lycanthropic flesh-munching and raunchy bodice-ripping, elements on which it most certainly delivered. So, given that said title was suitably efficacious, one has to wonder why someone later thought it was a good idea to alter it to Your Sister is a Werewolf, a moniker conveying more than a whiff of lightweight teen comedy – perhaps something akin to the same year's Michael J Fox headliner Teen Wolf – as opposed to that of spicy horror movie. C'est la vie.

Following the funeral of his sister Karen, Ben White (Reb Brown) is approached by occult scholar Steffan Crosscoe (Christopher Lee), who informs him that his sibling was a werewolf and submitted herself willingly to death. Dismissing these claims as balderdash, White's scepticism is quashed when he witnesses a werewolf attack first hand. Crosscoe subsequently tells White that the 10th Millennium of lycanthrope queen Stirba (Sybil Danning) is imminent and on that night, beneath the glow of a full moon, all werewolves will reveal themselves. To avert this catastrophe Stirba must die. White and journalist Jenny Templeton (Annie McEnroe) set off with Crosscoe to Transylvania to seek out the location of Stirba's coven and destroy her. However, Crosscoe is withholding a personal reason for wanting the werewolf queen dead.

Any sequel to Joe Dante's 1981 epic The Howling was going to be facing an uphill struggle in terms of emulating its verve and director Philippe Mora's Howling II: Your Sister is a Werewolf certainly lives up to expectation on that account. Which isn't to imply for one moment that it isn't entertaining; there's a lot of fun to be had here, even if much of it is of the so-bad-it's-good variety. The draw here for many viewers will be the significant participation of Christopher Lee. For such an erudite man, Lee made some curious film choices throughout his long and varied career; one supposes that in such a competitive profession – and one burdened by rife unemployment – regardless of how demeaning it might be work was work. Howling II wasn't among Lee’s more questionable judgment calls but neither is it up there among the myriad of cherries populating his CV. Regardless, consummate professional that he was, he never gave less than 100% and with Howling II he brings a degree of gravitas and worth to a film whose biggest crime is not so much being bad as being rather unremarkable. Given what Lee brings to the show, it's a shame that co-stars Reb Brown and Annie McEnroe prove so unengaging. It would be easy to blame the slightly hackneyed dialogue – the script was a collaborative effort between Gary Brandner (who also authored a number of “Howling” novels) and Robert Sarno – but when you consider that Lee managed to work his lines into something halfway decent that's not really a valid excuse. The odd thing is that both Brown and McEnroe are competent enough performers, as can be witnessed in some of their other films, so quite why they’re so ineffectual here is frankly baffling. Regardless, any shortcomings are compensated for by fine turns from the striking Sybil Danning in the titular Stirba/sister role, Judd Omen as her swarthy aide Vlad and a sizzling Marsha A Hunt (who's hotter than a jalapeño both in and out of her clothing). Brief but noteworthy input too from Jimmy Nail and Ferdy Mayne, although the latter's transformation into beast of the night is memorable for the wrong reason, his freaky but unthreatening make-up and the fact he's wearing a flat cap combining to provoke inadvertent chuckles.

BY DIANE A. RODGERS

A wonderfully understated comedy-drama, The Electric Horseman follows the story of Sonny Steele (Robert Redford), a five-time champion rodeo cowboy now turned brand spokesman for AMPco, a giant corporate firm selling 'Ranch' breakfast cereal.  Steele's life has become essentially a series of advertising appearances, at which he is required to brandish a box of cereal with his face adorning it whilst wearing a garish cowboy outfit festooned with electric fairy lights. The forced smiles, autographs and constant touring are starting to crack Steele; when we meet him, he is a disillusioned, unreliable drunk, stumbling from one engagement to the next.

The film centres around a big Las Vegas convention where Steele is booked for a ride-on appearance with AMPco's prize mascot, a 12-million-dollar racehorse. Horse and rider are strapped up in purple paisley silk and electric lights, the ridiculous spectacle of which, in the capital of sensational fakery and money-worship, proves to be the final straw for Steele. Appalled that the horse (a past champion like himself) has been drugged in order to fulfil the appearance, Steele decides then and there to ride him off into the desert and away from the bright lights of Vegas and the public eye. It is here the film really begins, as investigative journalist Hallie Martin (Jane Fonda) picks up Sonny Steele's story and pursues his mission to restore the horse to freedom.

In tracking down and following Sonny, Hallie becomes impressed with his knowledge of animals, nature and the land; he is indeed no fake but a 'real' cowboy in the most nostalgic sense; looking back to an innocent, forgotten America. As Sonny and Hallie drop their guards, against astounding mountainous scenery they sing 'American the Beautiful', unashamed and without irony: "O beautiful for spacious skies/For amber waves of grain/For purple mountain majesties...". Nonetheless, there is little schmaltz to be found here; no overbearing passionate Hollywood drama; Fonda's character is reminded by Sonny that there is no need for pretension with him, "It's not gonna be on television".

Sonny's attempts to liberate the horse is also a way of trying to free himself; from the world of fame and commerce, from which he shuns further attention. The kinship Sonny feels for the horse spreads beyond the screen; his nursing of the animal in the film is detailed and attentive and in real life, Redford not only did all his own riding stunts but, apparently, loved the horse so much he brought it home and kept it for the rest of its life.

At its core, the story is really one of authenticity; the world of money and business, bright lights and fakery versus nature, friendship and the great outdoors. Sonny's faithful friend and manager Wendell is played by Willie Nelson (in his feature debut, reputedly ad-libbing most of his dialogue), bringing further authenticity to the cowboys; Wendell and Sonny, after yet another dispiriting tour date, drunkenly sing a song Nelson himself had a recent chart hit with: "Mamas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Cowboys/'Cause They'll Never Stay Home and They're Always Alone".

There are no shootouts, saloons or spurs in the language here, but aspiration to a gentle caring spirit and understanding of nature and the outdoors. The only 'bad guys' are the heads of corporations who care only for profit, represented in the film by an unusually cold, steely faced John Saxon. For its grand themes, director Pollack delivers them in an oblique and unassuming way; the sound design during scenes in Las Vegas has slot machines and tannoy announcements, disconcertingly, almost as loud as the dialogue itself, which only emphasises the clarity, stillness and simplicity of scenes in the great outdoors.

There are lots of great comic moments and funny, sharply delivered lines; no less than you might expect from repartee between Redford and Fonda, who had previously co-starred in The Chase and Barefoot in the Park. Valerie Perrine (memorable as Ms. Teschemacher in 1978's Superman) also plays a notable supporting role as Sonny's soon-to-be ex-wife and Wilfrid Brimley (Cocoon) plays a marvellously modest but key supporting role. For fans of 1970s kitsch, there is a bit of everything here that you might expect from the era; from cowboy rodeos and disco dancing Vegas showgirls to a full on horse-race multi-car chase à la The Dukes of Hazzard (with one especially impressive stunt, culminating in one police car tearing along whilst carrying another, upside down, on top of it!).

The screener copy available for review of this re-release had no menu or extras, but the picture quality is excellent and does justice to the stunning cinematography of both the Vegas spectacle and its vast surrounding desert scenery.

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