BY HANK REINEKE

On Disc two of the Warner Archive’s new and essential Blu-ray release of The Curse of Frankenstein - the first Hammer horror classic - Richard Klemensen, publisher of Little Shoppe of Horrors magazine, offers a succinct examination of the nuts and bolts of the film’s production history. The Klemensen segment is only one of several generous and informative featurettes included on the set. In the course of The Resurrection Men: Hammer, Frankenstein and the Rebirth of the Horror Film, the publisher explains that Hammer was a small, struggling indie studio that had churned out B pictures and modest second features since its 1934 inception. The studio’s fortune – and existence - was threatened in the early 1950s when television upended the British film industry. Ironically, it was during this same period that Hammer would lens one of their most significant big screen splashes: a sci-fi property adapted from British TV titled The Quatermass Xperiment.

That film would signal the studio’s first successful entry in the theatrical sci-fi/horror genre: even though the picture was a far cry from the Gothic horrors to which the studio would soon be most associated. The public’s interest in Gothic horror had waned in the late 1940s, as enthusiasm for Universal’s famed cycle of Dracula and Frankenstein and Mummy films had peaked and passed. The movie-going public with a penchant for the mysterious had since turned their attentions to flying saucers and alien visitors, of giant radioactive insects, of Ray Harryhausen’s celebrated animated monster-mutations.

So it was an odd time for Hammer to invest money in restages of such literary monsters as Shelley’s Frankenstein Monster and Stoker’s Count Dracula. The initial script for the first of Hammer’s Frankenstein cycle films would come to company producers via two gentleman who would eventually become competitors: Milton Subotsky and Max J. Rosenberg, the two principal founders of Amicus Productions. Hammer execs would ultimately reject that script and scenario, but the idea of producing of a Frankenstein film was not dismissed. The studio’s interest in reviving the franchise was ultimately left to screenwriter Jimmy Sangster.

Hammer’s decision to resurrect the monster was not met with enthusiasm by Universal Pictures. As the creators of the original series of Frankenstein films (1931-1948), the studio was very protective of their interests. They would do their best to make certain that no Universal-conceived elements would be co-opted by this British up-start. But as Mary Shelley’s property had long been in the rights-free Public Domain, Universal could not claim copyright to any characters that appeared in the original novel of 1818.

In truth, Hammer had no intention to overlap with the celebrated Universal film series. For starters, there would be no iconic armies of torch and pitchfork toting angry villagers chasing the monster. This wasn’t an artistic choice or due to any executive decision to not shadow Universal’s tropes too closely. The modest budget they set aside for the production of The Curse of Frankenstein simply wouldn’t allow for the employment of that many extras. The use of Jack Pierce’s iconic flat-top Frankenstein monster make-up, replete with neck bolts and callow cheeks was also taboo. Hammer’s make-up wizard Phil Leakey would conjure up an admittedly less iconic - but certainly far more gruesome – set of make-up for Frankenstein’s creation, all boils and melted flesh and cloudy eyes.

Gruesome and bloody would be the order of the day. As the first Frankenstein film to be shot in color, the filmmakers were able to take advantage of relaxed contemporary standards of what was deemed acceptable to show on screen. The resulting film was certainly far more graphic than previously seen, dressed as it was with ample amounts of blood-letting and gory visuals. That’s not to say the censors were happy with the film’s content when submitted for review. The film would receive an “X’ rating in Great Britain. This wasn’t only due to the graphic content and violence as presented, but also due to Hammer’s introducing an element of lurid sexuality and provocative peeks of Hazel Court’s ample cleavage.

Hammer would also wisely make Shelley’s Baron Victor Frankenstein the series central character. Actually, it was the Baron’s lack of character that would make him the series’ central villain. Peter Cushing’s Frankenstein remained as obsessed as ever in his desire to create new life from dead tissue. This ambition was a hallmark of all his mad scientist predecessors at Universal: Colin Clive, Lionel Atwill, Patrick Knowles, Onslow Stevens and even Boris Karloff himself. But Cushing’s Frankenstein was more ambitious in his creating of new monsters. The actor’s Dr. Frankenstein was the monster, producing a series of woeful, tortured creatures in the course of his experimentations.

The Curse of Frankenstein would bring together several members of the production crew whose work would soon become synonymous with Hammer’s brand of horror. Director Terence Fisher was a dependable figure to helm the project. He had creating serviceable thrillers for the studio’s producers since 1951. Despite working with penny-pinching budgets, Production Designer Bernard Robinson was able to create a sense of luxurious, visual ambiance with his opulent set decorations. This was no small feat as most of the films he would design for Hammer were shot within the cramped confines of Bray House on the Thames.

Then there was Jack Asher, whose moody lighting was never short of brilliant. His work became even more nuanced and image-invoking when the success of Curse at the box office convinced the studio to loosen the purse strings… a bit. This decision allowed the studio to invest in bigger budgets and to unleash their creative energies on other horror film properties once the sole domain of Universal. Between 1957 and 1974, Hammer would give us no fewer than seven Frankenstein films, nine Dracula movies, four Mummy pictures and even a one-shot Spaniard Werewolf epic. This in addition, of course, to an impressive number of original monsters and adherents of Satan they would conjure on their own.

I’m preaching to the choir here. If you are a fan of vintage horror movies, you are already acquainted with this classic. Warner’s Blu ray edition of The Curse of Frankenstein provides film fans with beautiful transfers of this 1957 horror classic with the choice of enjoying it in 1.85:1, 1.66:1, and 1.37:1 Open-Matte versions, all restored and remastered from 4K scans. The set also offers a generous amount of supplemental materials providing dedicated fans with backstories on its production. Asher’s contributions are featured in the set’s featurette Torrents of Light: The Art of Jack Asher, with cinematographer David J. Miller (A.S.C.) bringing to the fore the elements that made Asher’s photography so distinctive and compelling. Miller describes Asher as a “perfectionist” and the preeminent “architectural lighting director,” and makes a convincing case of such an honor.

Though the phrase “painting with light” has become an overused stock-phrase to describe the art of cinematography, Miller suggests that Asher’s work is particularly deserving of such accolade. He describes the atmospheric visual imagery as captured by Asher as “an oil painting come to life.” Miller also suggests, not unreasonably, that Asher not only set the template for Hammer’s visual style, but that his work had clearly influenced the styles of cinematographers in Italy and France, the great Mario Bava being the most notable. He also suggests that Asher had freedom to creatively contribute to the “Hammer style” as he had previously worked extensively with Fisher and Production Designer Robinson. Such familiarity and trust with the core creative team was an essential component to the film’s visual flair.

Another figure whose work for Hammer is now considered essential to the Hammer brand was that of composer James Bernard. The composer’s dramatic, string-soaked arrangements would serve as a perfect complement to the often wild melodrama unfolding on screen. Bernard’s contribution to the Hammer legacy is examined in detail in yet another featurette Diabolus in Musica: James Bernard and the Sound of Hammer Horror, moderated by composer Christopher Drake.

Most famously, The Curse of Frankenstein would first pair two names that eventually would forever remain associative with the Hammer Film legacy: actors Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee. Cushing was a well-known figure to television audiences in Britain when he accepted the role of Victor Frankenstein in Curse. The actor’s feature film work prior to his work with Hammer was less celebrated, though never short of brilliant. In 1956 Christopher Lee wasn’t yet a film star of any magnitude, at least not a household name. He had been a difficult actor to cast due to his height. He dwarfed the lead actors he worked alongside, which no doubt rankled his better-known male co-stars and caused frustrating framing issues to cinematographers. In his casting of the creature in Curse, his height would finally work to his advantage. But ultimately he was cast not due to his towering presence alone. He also impressed with his abilities to communicate effectively as a mime.

"OUT OF THE PAST: THE BEST FROM CINEMA RETRO'S ARCHIVES"

“A STUDY OF DARKNESS”

By Raymond Benson

One of the more controversial motion pictures to emerge out of what film historians call “New Hollywood” was In Cold Blood, which was released to theaters “for mature audiences only.” The New Hollywood movement began around 1966, when the Production Code finally started to collapse (and before the movie ratings were instituted) and studios commenced allowing auteur filmmakers to do whatever the hell they wanted. The year 1967 was especially a groundbreaking one with the release of such “adult” fare as Bonnie and Clyde, The Graduate, In the Heat of the Night, and In Cold Blood.

In Cold Blood is based on the “non-fiction novel” by Truman Capote about the true crime of 1959 in which an innocent family of four in Kansas were murdered by two ex-cons who believed there was $10,000 hidden in a safe in the house (there wasn’t). Capote spent several years writing the book, interviewing law enforcement men involved in the case, as well as the two killers themselves—Perry Smith and Dick Hickock. The accused were eventually executed in 1965. In Cold Blood turned out to be, along with Vincent Bugliosi’s Helter Skelter, one of the two most successful true crime books ever published.

Richard Brooks was a Hollywood veteran who had been working in the industry since before World War II. In the 1950s, he made a name for himself as a writer/director, especially as an adapter of previously existing material. He had won an Adapted Screenplay Oscar for Elmer Gantry (1960) and had brought to the screen other acclaimed pictures such as Blackboard Jungle (1955), Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (1958), and The Professionals (1966). Brooks received Oscar nominations for both Director and Adapted Screenplay for In Cold Blood.

Deliberately filmed in black and white at a time when most movies were in color, the picture is a stark, dark, and ultra-realistic depiction of two psychologically-damaged men, brilliantly portrayed by Robert Blake as Smith and Scott Wilson as Hickock. Brooks’ reasoning to film in black and white was that “documentaries were usually in black and white” and he wanted that true-to-life feel. Conrad Hall, the director of photography, used a palette of extreme blacks and harsh whites to achieve a higher than usual contrast (Hall was also nominated for an Oscar). This served to emphasize the darkness that resided in these two men’s souls.

In Cold Blood is a tough picture to watch. It’s very disturbing, even today. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t have its rewards. As a study of darkness, and a display of virtuoso filmmaking, it’s easily one of the better motion pictures of that decade. Brooks considered it to be the best film he ever made, and he’s probably right.

The movie is very faithful to the book with a few minor exceptions, such as the addition of a reporter character who provides some voice-over narration, and the complete elimination of the trial. The only scene from the trial in the film is the prosecutor’s closing argument for the death penalty. Oddly, one figure is totally absent from the movie, and that is Truman Capote himself. As shown in the recent pictures, Capote (2005) and Infamous (2006), the author inserted himself into the convicted men’s incarcerated lives on an intimate level. (It is highly recommended that after viewing In Cold Blood, one might want to take a look at Douglas McGrath’s Infamous, an often overlooked and underrated biopic on Capote that deals closely with the author’s relationship with Perry Smith, who in this case is played by none other than Daniel Craig!).

Many have said that In Cold Blood is a statement against the death penalty, but in many ways, it’s also the opposite. While Brooks does a great job in evoking some sympathy for the killers by portraying the hard life Perry had as a child and other circumstances that brought the two killers to commit murder, it’s also difficult not to side with the jury. The Clutter family—the victims—are presented in such a compassionate light that, in the end—at least for this viewer—the verdict makes complete sense.

The Criterion Collection disc presents a new 4K digital restoration with 5.1 surround DTS-HD Master Audio soundtrack (and the jazz score is by Quincy Jones—also nominated for an Oscar!). Visually, the Blu-ray could not be more striking. The abundance of supplements is also impressive. There are new interviews with: a) Author Daniel K. Daniel on director Brooks, and this is very enlightening; b) Cinematographer John Bailey about DP Conrad Hall and his work; c) Film historian Bobbie O’Steen on the film’s editing; and d) Film historian and jazz critic Gary Giddins about Jones’ score. Vintage interviews include one with Brooks from 1988; one with Capote from 1966 during a visit to the crime scene; and one with Capote from 1967 conducted by Barbara Walters. There is also a short 1966 documentary on Capote directed by Albert and David Maysles. The film’s trailer and an essay by critic Chris Fujiwara in the enclosed booklet rounds out this excellent package.

In Cold Blood is not for the faint-hearted, but it is also hard-hitting, arresting, and brilliantly made. It’s a must for fans of crime drama and those who appreciate a little art with their popcorn.

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BY TODD GARBARINI

The late Loren Adelson Singer, who passed away in 2009, has published several novels as an author, among them That’s the House, There (1973), Boca Grande (1974), and Making Good (1993). His first work, 1970’s The Parallax View, published by Doubleday, was written as an answer to his disdain for the printing business he worked at with his father-in-law and proved to be enough of a success to permit him to become a paid author. The inspiration for the book came from the covert operations he assisted in while training with the Office of Strategic Services and was penned following the high-profile political assassinations of the 1960’s. It also provided the blueprint for the film of the same title directed by the late Alan J. Pakula, the second in his informally named “paranoia trilogy,” bookended by Klute (1971) and All the President’s Men (1976).

The Parallax View concerns the mysterious workings of a corporate entity, The Parallax Corporation, that appears to be behind the assassinations of political nominees regardless of which side of the aisle they sit on. It is 1971 and Charles Carroll (William Joyce) is campaigning while at a luncheon atop Seattle’s Space Needle. Lee Carter (Paula Prentiss) is covering the event for a television news story and her ex-boyfriend, newspaper reporter Joe Frady (Warren Beatty), attempts to gain access to the event but is denied entry when Carter shrugs him off. An associate of Carroll’s, Austin Tucker (William Daniels), speaks with Carter in a short on-camera interview. Two sinister-looking waiters (Bill McKinney and Richard Bull) serve food when suddenly the former shoots and kills Carroll in front of shocked and horrified guests. A chase ensues and the other “waiter” falls to his death.

Three years later, a shaken Carter goes to Frady and unleashes a tale of paranoia, revealing that several witnesses at the luncheon have all died under mysterious circumstances. Frady initially brushes off her concerns until Carter is found dead 24 hours later. Out of guilt, he begins to investigate the deaths and in a major scene lifted straight from the novel he nearly dies himself, outsmarting a “sheriff” who sets Frady up to be drowned at the hands of a deluge running out from a dam (in the novel it’s a “helpful hotel manager”). Frady manages to secure documents concerning the Parallax Corporation from the sheriff’s house and tries to convince his skeptical editor, Bill Rintels (Hume Cronyn), of the links to the deaths. Frady then turns his attention to Austin Tucker and accompanies Tucker and his aide on a yacht ride to talk – until a bomb onboard kills both men and Frady narrowly escapes by jumping overboard. It seems that wherever Frady goes, a Parallax minion is not too far behind. This sets in motion a series of near logic-defying events which results in an ending of ambivalence.

To fully appreciate this film in 2021, one needs to be aware of the climate of fear and panic that must have pervaded the zeitgeist in the 1960’s and 1970’s when seemingly no one could be trusted. After the assassinations of John F. Kennedy in November 1963, Malcolm Little/Malcolm X in February 1965, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. in April 1968, and Robert F. Kennedy in June 1968, who really could? The film was shot in the Spring of 1973 while the country was in the Watergate scandal and points to evil forces at work that Frady hope to get to the bottom of. In the novel, Joe’s name is Malcolm Graham and works with Austin Tucker to uncover the mystery.

Conspiracy thrillers of this era concerned with Everyman against the Establishment often possessed creepy, minimalist musical scores and The Parallax View is no exception. Michael Small provides an excellent theme on the heels of his work for Klute prior to passing the baton to David Shire on All the President’s Men (Mr. Shire coincidentally scored Francis Coppola’s, his then-brother-in-law, masterful The Conversation in 1974). It is reminiscent of the music he would later write for John Schlesinger’s Marathon Man (1976).

Walter McGinn, the late actor who sadly died in an automobile accident in March 1977, is excellent as Jack Younger, a rep from The Parallax Corporation who is sent to feel out and vet Frady (who is assuming the identity of “Richard” and wanting to give the impression that he died on the boat) based on his (forged) test results. One can only wonder if Jack has fallen for Frady’s/Richard’s ploy, or if he is actually privy to the deliberate subterfuge – given how meticulous and cold The Parallax Corporation is, and the transpiring of events during the film’s ending, one has to assume the latter. The audience is made to believe that the Corporation is for more sophisticated than the average company at the time, if they have access to top-of-the line intelligence and money-is-no-option/sophisticated surveillance equipment. A shrewd viewer will beg the questions: how did The Parallax Corporation manage to keep several steps ahead of the subjects it intended to kill? Assuming they did had access to top security equipment, how were they able to harness it? One could theoretically drive themselves crazy pondering such questions.

BY JOHN M. WHALEN

At the opening of “Taza, Son of Cochise,” (1954), it’s 1875 and the great Apache Chief Cochise (Jeff Chandler) is dying. At his side are his two sons, Taza (Rock Hudson) and Naiche (Rex Reason, billed here as Bart Roberts). He asks them to continue the peace he made with the White Eyes after his death. Naturally, if the two sons were in agreement the movie would have ended right there. But in fact, they don’t agree. Taza wants to do as his father said. But Naiche hates the white man and intends to side up with Grey Eagle (Morris Ankrum) and Geronimo (Ian MacDonald) and start the war up again. If that isn’t enough complication to make a movie out of, writers George Drayson Adams and George Zuckerman add in a rivalry between the two brothers over the affections of Oona (Barbara Rush), Grey Eagle’s beautiful daughter.

It’s a good set-up for a story and Universal International intended the film as another of the westerns being produced at that time with the purpose of showing Native Americans in a favorable light. “Taza” is in fact a follow-up to “Broken Arrow,” which featured Chandler as Cochise, another movie about “good” Apaches who’d rather get along with the white man than lift his scalp . Yet, despite the studio’s noble intentions, as you probably already noticed, there is a total lack of any Native Americans in any of the lead roles. That’s how it was in 1954. In that era, Hollywood did not hire many Native Americans for big movie parts. Jay Silverheels, who played Tonto in The Lone Ranger TV series, was a rare exception. As a result, you had some really hard-to-swallow casting of Native American characters back then. Rock Hudson’s Taza is one example, although not as bad as blonde and blue-eyed Chuck Connors in “Geronimo” or Burt Lancaster in “Apache.” Victor Mature played the title character in “Chief Crazy Horse,” and his high cheek bones and Italian good looks almost let him get away with it, except, well, you know, it was big hammy old Victor Mature.

Watching these films today it’s pretty hard to maintain your “suspension of disbelief” at the sight of these Hollywood hunks running around on the warpath with tomahawks and bows and arrows. Hudson himself was more than aware of the problem and said later, according to commentary provided on a separate audio track, he considered this to be his worst film. I wouldn’t go that far. At over six feet tall, with his dark hair and brown eyes, he maintained a certain amount of gravitas in the role and at least had the physical presence to convincingly vault onto his Indian pony’s back with ease and he handled himself pretty well in action scenes involving knives and rifles.

“Taza, Son of Cochise,” was director Douglas Sirk’s second time working with Hudson, and his first and only shot at making a western. He never made another, perhaps realizing it just wasn’t his métier. There is dramatic potential in a story about a man who sides with his enemies, wears an Army blue coat and forms a police force to arrest those of his own people who break the peace. But if Taza ever felt any inner conflict, it’s never dealt with. Instead Sirk focuses on Taza’s desire to prevent needless suffering by his people when they are forced by General Crook (Robert Burton) to move to the dreaded San Carlos Reservation. He convinces Captain Burnett (Greg Palmer) to talk Crook into at least letting him form a reservation police force made up of Apaches in order to police themselves, rather than suffer brutality and humiliation at the hands of white soldiers. Taza must have been a believer in the old saying: “When you’re stuck with lemons, make lemonade.”

“Taza” was one of the last of the movies made during the “golden age of 3-D.” Between 1952 and 1954, 48 films were shot that way. The 3-D process, which was used to lure movie goers away from their television sets, faded quickly because of the many technical problems encountered both in shooting the films and in projecting them in theaters. In “Taza,” however, cinematographer Russell Metty put it to good use, capturing the mountain and desert scenery around Arches National Park in Utah, where the movie was filmed. It also, of course, features the obligatory 3-D scenes with actors and stunt doubles hurling rocks, firing arrows, hurling spears, and men falling directly into the audience’s lap.

I hate to admit it, but I’m old enough to have seen “Taza” in a theater as a kid, and frankly back then I didn’t care about who played what. I didn’t know Rock Hudson from Chief Red Cloud or how historically accurate any of it was. Did Taza actually lead his band to attack Geronimo and kill other Apache warriors in order to save Cavalry Captain Burnett (Gregg Palmer) from certain death? Sounds far-fetched, but maybe they did. I don’t know. And who cares? I had a good time watching “Taza, Son of Cochise” back then and, if you’re willing to make allowances for the time in which it was made, you probably will too. it’s worth catching if only as an authentic artifact of the film making of its time.

Kino Lorber’s Blu-ray presents “Taza, Son of Cochise” in both 2-D and 3-D in its correct theatrical aspect ratio of 2.00:1 from a 2K Master. The picture is very good, with a soft Technicolor pallet accurately capturing the reddish hues of the mountainous desert country. Frank Skinner’s score sounds good, a typical Universal soundtrack of the fifties with tom-toms added. Bonus features include commentaries on separate audio tracks by film historians David Del Valle author C. Courtney Joiner, and 3-D expert Mike Ballew. Also included is the original theatrical trailer, and English subtitles.

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(John M. Whalen is the author of "Vampire Siege at Rio Muerto". Click here to order from Amazon.)

Cinema Retro has received the following press release:

New York, NY -- November 30, 2020 -- MAD MAX, the original 1979 action film classic directed by George Miller, is now available on 4K UHD and Blu-ray from Kino Lorber Studio Classics. This post-apocalyptic thriller made Mel Gibson an international superstar, re-defined the action genre with its groundbreaking stunts and launched the hit sequels including The Road Warrior, Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome, and Mad Max: Fury Road.

The SRP for the 4K UHD edition is $39.95. Bonus features include: Audio Commentary with Art Director Jon Dowding, Cinematographer David Eggby, Special Effects Artist Chris Murray, Moderated by Filmmaker Tim Ridge, Australian 5.1 Surround & 2.0 Lossless Mono, U.S. English Dubbed 2.0 Lossless Mono, Dual-Layered UHD100 Disc, and Optional English Subtitles.

The 4K edition also contains the Blu-ray as disc 2. Bonus features on the Blu-ray include: Road Rage: NEW Interview with Director George Miller, Interviews with Stars Mel Gibson & Joanne Samuel and Cinematographer David Eggby, Audio Commentary with Art Director Jon Dowding, Cinematographer David Eggby, Special Effects Artist Chris Murray, Moderated by Filmmaker Tim Ridge, Mel Gibson: Birth of a Superstar, Mad Max: The Film Phenomenon, Theatrical Trailers, TV Spots, TRAILERS FROM HELL with Josh Olson

Radio Spots, Australian 5.1 Surround & 2.0 Lossless Mono, U.S. English Dubbed 2.0, Lossless Mono, and Optional English Subtitles.

The Blu-ray edition is also available individually with a SRP of $29.95.

From George Miller, the acclaimed director of The Road Warrior, The Witches of Eastwick, Lorenzo’s Oil and Mad Max: Fury Road, comes this post-apocalyptic masterpiece starring screen legend Mel Gibson (Lethal Weapon, Braveheart, Payback). In the ravaged near-future, a savage motorcycle gang rules the road. Terrorizing innocent civilians while tearing up the streets, the ruthless gang laughs in the face of a police force hell-bent on stopping them. But they underestimate one officer: Max (Gibson). And when the bikers brutalize Max’s best friend and family, they send him into a mad frenzy that leaves him with only one thing left in the world to live for—revenge!

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BY NICK ANEZ

Business isn’t exactly booming for private detective Peter Joseph Detweiler, better known as P.J. His makeshift office is in a bar belonging to his only friend Charlie. His sporadic jobs include entrapping cheating wives and he is not above drowning his sorrows in liquor. So when wealthy magnate William Orbison offers him a substantial fee to be a bodyguard for his mistress, Maureen Prebble, he is in no position to refuse. What P.J. doesn’t know is that Orbison has already hired someone else to commit a murder. How this murder and the shamus’s new job intersect is the crux of the terrific 1968 neo-noir from Universal, P.J. (U.K. title: New Face in Hell.)

Private detectives were prominent in the late 1960s and included Harper (1966), Tony Rome (1967), Gunn (1967), and Marlowe (1969). P.J. appeared in the midst of this surplus, which may account in part for its box office failure. The movie quickly disappeared, at least in its original form. Due to one extended and bloody sequence in a gay bar as well as to other scenes of violence and sexuality, Universal drastically cut and re-edited the movie for its television network presentation. For decades afterward and until just recently, the original version of the movie was never officially released on home video; only inferior bootleg copies of murky prints were available and even some of these were the edited television version.

Philip Reisman, Jr.’s screenplay is based on his original story co-written with producer Edward Montagne. The script initially unfolds as a conventional mystery but gets increasingly complicated with each twist and turn. Maureen appears to definitely need a bodyguard, in view of threatening letters as well as a shot fired into her bedroom. And there is no shortage of suspects who would like to see her dead. Orbison’s emotionally fragile wife, Betty, tries to pretend that her husband’s paramour doesn’t exist. Betty’s relatives despise Maureen because of her emergence as principle beneficiary in Orbison’s will. Orbison’s Executive Assistant, Jason Grenoble, due to his apparent affluent upbringing, is displeased about being used as a flunky. Making P.J.’s job more difficult is Orbison’s decision to take everyone, including relatives and mistress, to his hideaway in the Caribbean island of St. Crispin’s. And it is in this tropical setting that P.J. is forced to kill a suspect. This seems to be the end of the case. But it is really only the end of the second act. The third act is filled with intrigue, deception, blackmail and three brutal deaths.

John Guillermin is an underappreciated director who created admirable films in many genres, including mystery, adventure, war and western as well as the disaster and monster genres. His success could perhaps be due not only to his skill but to a style that is unobtrusive. He directs P.J. in a straightforward fashion, not allowing any directorial flourishes to interrupt the flow of the story. With cinematographer Loyal Griggs, he cleverly contrasts the seedy sections of New York City with the natural beauty of St. Crispin’s. However, this beauty is soon tainted by the presence of Orbison, whose wealth the island’s economy requires to flourish. Guillermin allows each of the characters within Orbison’s band of sycophants enough screen time to make an impact. Basically, they all appear to be self-centered, greedy and nasty. Orbison is especially sadistic, in addition to being notoriously miserly. Maureen doesn’t apologize for providing sexual favors in exchange for future wealth. Betty is willing to be repeatedly humiliated to obtain her customary allowance. Grenoble continually demeans himself to keep his well-paid position. And then there is butler Shelton Quell, who is not as harmless as his effeminate mannerisms suggest. This is a sordid group of characters that P.J. is involved with but his dire financial state has apparently extinguished his conscience, particularly since he soon becomes intimately involved with the body that he is guarding. P.J.’s essential irony arises from the fact that he is equally greedy, at least initially. He also seems to be morally bankrupt. When he encounters Orbison leaving Maureen’s cottage, it doesn’t faze him that they have just engaged in a quickie. P.J. knows that he has sold his gun to Orbison just as Maureen has sold her body.

In the early 1960s, George Peppard became a major star in expensive films such as and How the West Was Won (1962) and The Carpetbaggers (1964). In 1966, he starred in another big-budget film, The Blue Max, the first of three movies he would make with John Guillermin. In the late 1960s and early 1970s, he starred in several smaller-budgeted movies. While some of them, especially Pendulum, The Groundstar Conspiracy and Newman’s Law are exceptional, others are unremarkable. The commercial failure of these movies diminished his status and relegated him to supporting roles and television. This was regrettable because he had genuine star quality as well as considerable talent. However, he made a well-deserved comeback by achieving massive popularity as the star of the hit television series, The A-Team, and his small screen success is a worthy consolation prize.

As P.J. Detweiler, Peppard creates a unique private eye that puts him apart from his cinematic brethren. P.J. initially appears disillusioned with his life and work. Like many film noir protagonists, he is one of society’s alienated outcasts. He is not just down and out but seems resigned to his dismal situation. When he is offered the lucrative position of bodyguard, he is so destitute that he agrees to a humiliating audition of fisticuffs. As he begins his job, he appears impassive to the decadence of Orbison’s environment. However, after he has been duped and discarded, he asserts himself and becomes a traditional detective who is determined to pursue clues and solve the mystery. But unlike traditional detectives, he doesn’t derive any pleasure from the solution to the crime. The fact that he has been maneuvered into facilitating a murder has emotionally drained him. At the end of the film, he forces a cheerless smile at Charlie but he is unable to sustain it, replacing it quickly with a look of despair. All of these emotions are reflected in Peppard’s superb portrayal.

As William Orbison, Raymond Burr splendidly returned to the villainous roles that he had portrayed in previous decades before becoming a household name on television as lawyer Perry Mason, a role he played for nine years. P.J. was released six months after Burr started his second successful series as police chief Ironside, a role he would portray for eight years. Audiences who were accustomed to seeing him embody honorable characters must have been shocked to view his malevolent Orbison. Though he projects a sophisticated veneer for Orbison, Burr fully evokes his perverted obsession with wealth and power through his modulated tone and menacing visage. With his atypically silver hair and imposing size, he conveys malignant authority. In the scene in which Orbison brings his wife and mistress together, the actor’s expression of merciless pleasure invites unmitigated contempt. Burr’s Orbison deserves an honored position among noir’s loathsome villains. (Incidentally, in advertisements for the movie, Burr’s name is below Gayle Hunnicutt’s name but in the movie itself Burr’s name precedes Hunnicutt’s.)

“AN AMERICAN ‘BLOW-UP’?”

By Raymond Benson

Jerry Schatzberg made a few interesting and notable pictures, some of which you may know—The Panic in Needle Park (1971), Scarecrow (1973), The Seduction of Joe Tynan (1979), Honeysuckle Rose (1980)—but his debut feature slipped under the radar in 1970 when it was released, despite starring the charismatic and beautiful Faye Dunaway when she was Hollywood Hot.

Schatzberg began his career as a fashion photographer, and he’d made some commercials. The story goes that he wanted to make a film about a fashion model he had known. Puzzle of a Downfall Child was the result. The screenplay was written by Schatzberg and Adrian Joyce (the pen name of Carole Eastman), whose best-known work is Five Easy Pieces (also 1970).

The semi-autobiographical tale focuses on the enigmatic Lou Andreas Sand (Dunaway), a model with, well, problems. From the get-go we can see that she’s not a stable person. She’s insecure and, as it turns out, what they used to call in those days “neurotic.” She befriends Aaron, a photographer with whom she works (Barry Primus, in his debut role). Aaron is the stand-in fictional character for Schatzberg. He falls in love with Lou, and she keeps him at arm’s length. At the same time, she has no problem bedding other men, including businessman Mark (Roy Scheider in an early role). The men all treat Lou badly, and Lou treats the men the same way. Eventually, Lou has a breakdown and must reach out to Aaron once again for comfort.

That’s the movie in a nutshell, but of course, there’s more, but mostly it’s all a bunch of angst and sex and drugs and alcohol and anger. When released in the U.S., the studio forced an opening over the credits with narration by Aaron “explaining” what the movie was going to be about. Schatzberg was against the idea, but he had no choice but to comply. Fortunately for him, when the picture was released in Europe, his original opening was restored (and that’s what is on this Blu-ray disk).

Adam Holender’s cinematographer is gorgeous, but the direction takes on the style of the French New Wave in spades, which was rather common in Hollywood in the late 60s and early 70s—erratic editing, non-linear narrative, “arty” shots, and pseudo-existential themes. While there is much to admire in Dunaway’s performance, the movie comes off as an eccentric American pastiche of Antonioni’s Blow-up (1966), which also focused on the world of fashion photography (albeit in London). Puzzle may have attempted to be edgy in 1970, but there is an unfortunate pretentious amateurishness to the proceedings. Luckily, Schatzberg would improve and deliver much more accomplished pictures in his future career.

Kino Lorber’s new Blu-ray looks marvelous and comes with English subtitles for the hearing-impaired. An audio commentary by film historian/filmmaker Daniel Kremer and film historian/podcaster Bill Ackerman accompanies the feature. Supplements include a recent interview with Schatzberg (now 93) on a Zoom call (it was shot post-Covid); the alternate studio-cut opening (not in high definition); and a “Trailers from Hell” episode on the film featuring Larry Karaszewski. Trailers for this and other Kino Lorber titles round out the package.

Puzzle of a Downfall Child will be of interest to fans of Faye Dunaway and experimental art films of the period.

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BY DARREN ALLISON

In 1965, maverick British producer and writer Harry Alan Towers (The Bloody Judge) scored a hit with The Face of Fu Manchu, a thrilling revival of Sax Rohmer’s super-villain imperiously portrayed by Christopher Lee. Powerhouse/Indicator have lovingly brought together all five films in the series and in the process produced a rather spectacular collection.

Christopher Lee was of course no stranger to playing maniacal, Asian characters. He had already played Chung King, leader of the Red Dragon Tong's in Hammer’s movie The Terror of the Tongs (1961) directed by Anthony Bushell. Tall, dark and menacing in his stature, Lee was perfect casting for novelist Sax Rohmer’s notorious Chinese criminal mastermind. Produced by Harry Alan Towers and Oliver A. Unger, The Face of Fu Manchu was a British / West German co-production. Behind the camera was Australian-born British film director Don Sharp, a man who had made some fine film’s for Hammer including The Kiss of the Vampire (1961) and The Devil-Ship Pirates (1964) also starring Christopher Lee.

The film sets out in rather unusual style with the apparent beheading of Fu Manchu. Where do we go from here one might ask? Back in London, his nemesis Nayland Smith (superbly played by Nigel Green), becomes increasingly concerned that Dr. Fu Manchu is not only still alive – but also back and operating in London. The kidnapping of Professor Muller (German actor Walter Rilla) unravels a plot involving a potentially lethal solution created from the seeds of a rare Tibetan flower: the Blackhill poppy. Fu Manchu learns that the poppy seed's poison can be used as a weapon and that just a pint of this solution is powerful enough to kill every person and animal in London. And so begins the classic encounter between good and evil.

It is naturally a perfect example of pulp fiction in its purist form. Producer Towers (as writer Peter Welbeck) seems to relish in his comic book approach, and in fairness, it all works incredibly well and to great effect. One has to remember that these films were made as family-orientated adventures, although some minor cuts were made in order to retain its ‘U’ certificate which obviously made good business sense. Unlike the ‘X’ certified Terror of the Tongs which contained much darker, adult themes, Fu Manchu, in its context is more like a Bulldog Drummond mystery or perhaps a Charlie Chan adventure from the forties or fifties. It succeeds in creating a perfect balance of dramatic excitement and a sense of innocent, harmless fun – all of which is indicative of its period.

Powerhouse/Indicator has produced a wonderful presentation of the film. Restored from a 4K scan of the original negative, the Techniscope frame and Technicolor print has never looked so good, revealing sharp detail and a rich, vibrant colour palette. Blacks are deep and solid and work especially well in contrast to the silky fabrics of Lee’s costuming. The audio (its original mono) is also clear and clean without any evidence of hiss or pops. It’s clear that these films have been worked upon with a great degree of love and care. Powerhouse has also offered a choice of two versions of the film. It was revealed at the time of production, reel 3 of the original negative contained a degree of damage to the left side of frame. This was dealt with at the time by zooming in on certain shots for the cinema prints and thereby eliminating the damage from view. Subsequent prints (for TV and other media formats) have always used the same ‘fixed’ theatrical version. However, for the first time, Powerhouse has offered the option to view the original print in its uncorrected version. Whilst the damage is of course still evident, it does however provide the opportunity of viewing the film without the use of panning or the post-production corrective fix. It’s a nice little touch on the part of Powerhouse and one which is bound to please the purists.

The wealth of bonus material is also very impressive. Firstly, there’s an enjoyable, fact-filled audio commentary with genre-film experts, critics and authors Stephen Jones and Kim Newman recorded in 2020. Other bonus extras include an archival Interview with Don Sharp – Part One: From Hobart to Hammer (1993, 96 mins) made as part of the British Entertainment History Project, featuring Sharp in conversation with Teddy Darvas and Alan Lawson; the BEHP Interview with Ernest Steward – Part One: The BIP Years (1990, 96 mins): archival audio recording of an interview with the respected cinematographer, also made as part of the British Entertainment History Project. There’s a b/w archival interview with Christopher Lee (1965, 4 mins); an extract from the Irish television programme Newsbeat, filmed during location shooting in Dublin. Vic Pratt Introduces ‘The Face of Fu Manchu’ (2020, 7 mins), an appreciation by the BFI curator. Underneath the Skin (2020, 49 mins) in which broadcaster, educationalist and author of The Yellow Peril: Dr Fu Manchu & The Rise of Chinaphobia, the wonderful Sir Christopher Frayling examines the origin, history and reputation of Sax Rohmer’s works. There are also a few alternative titles and credits sequences. For those of a certain age, there are Super 8mm versions: cut-down home cinema presentations which provide a nostalgic trip down memory lane. Original UK, German and French theatrical trailers and a generous image gallery featuring promotional posters, photos and publicity material round off this impressive world premiere on Blu-ray.

Due to the success of The Face of Fu Manchu – especially in America- producer Harry Alan Towers wasted very little time by setting the wheels in motion for a hasty sequel. Hoping to achieve the same success, Towers again pulled in West Germany’s Constantin Films along with his own Hallam Productions to co-finance the next project, The Brides of Fu Manchu (1966). Regardless of a very busy 1966, (a year that also included Hammer’s ‘back-to-back’ productions of Dracula: Prince of Darkness and Rasputin, the Mad Monk), Towers nevertheless managed to secure his leading man Christopher Lee. He was also fortunate enough to have original director Don Sharp sign again on the dotted line.

The story once again revolves around world domination, this time through the use radio waves which can carry destructive blast frequencies. In order to carry out his plan, Fu Manchu has kidnapped the daughters of prominent scientists whom he blackmails into helping him create his deadly transmitter. It was a simple enough narrative, written again in easy, comic book style by Harry Alan Towers. The great loss to this particular film is that of Nigel Green as Nayland Smith. Smith is this time played by Douglas Wilmer, an actor that had just played Sherlock Holmes in the TV series of 1965. Wilmer fits the role perfectly well and proves he can handle himself when it comes to the obligatory fist fight with the dacoits. However, he doesn’t quite possess the same regimented and commanding drive displayed by that of Nigel Green. As with his later portrayals of Dracula, Lee also has far less demanding role in The Brides of Fu Manchu. His presence is still dominating but he has far less to do. Here he seems more comfortable behind a control or instrument panel. In fact, it’s his depraved daughter Lin Tang (Tsai Chin) who this time takes a far more active role alongside lead henchman Feng (played wonderful by Burt Kwouk) who almost steals the show. Everything here though is all sufficiently menacing and a great deal of fun.

Powerhouse has again delivered where it counts. Creating a newly restored transfer from a 4K scan of the original negative, the film looks beautiful and includes the original BBFC theatrical card. Director Don Sharp this time opted to drop the Techniscope process (probably due to Towers ever tightening of the budget) and instead chose to use a standard 1.85:1 lens – but thankfully this never distracts or lessons the overall viewing pleasure or impact. The rich greens, golds and pinks of the costuming again appear so rich. The restoration also reveals a much greater depth, particularly those cantered in the subterranean chamber; another beautifully lit set which looks far greater on screen than in probably was in reality. Every element of these scenes is greatly enhanced and benefit hugely from the new restoration. Powerhouse has also satisfied the purists by sensibly utilizing the cleaned original mono audio.

The disc’s bonus material is also impressive and contains a full audio commentary, this time provided by film historians Kevin Lyons and Jonathan Rigby (2020). Then there is a continuation of the BEHP Interview with Don Sharp – Part Two: A Director of Substance (1993, 95 mins) and Part 2 of the BEHP Interview with Ernest Steward: From Teddington to ‘Carry On’ (1990, 93 mins). Then there’s a real treat in the shape of The Guardian interview with Christopher Lee (1994, 87 mins): a wide-ranging onstage interview with the legendary actor, conducted by the film critic David Robinson. Lee was renowned as a great talker, and this is no exception. The iconic actor delves deep and concise providing the audience with a rare insight of the business and a feast of industry stories. BFI curator Vic Pratt provides another unique and newly filmed introduction to The Brides of Fu Manchu (2020, 7 mins). Pages of Peril (2020, 21 mins): has genre-film expert, critic and author Kim Newman discuss Sax Rohmer and the Fu Manchu novels. The film’s original theatrical trailer, a b/w TV spot and an Image gallery containing production photos, promotional and publicity material round off the world premiere Blu-ray very nicely.

BY TODD GARBARINI

I’m a sucker for black and white horror films and thrillers. Hold That Ghost! (1941) and Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein (1948) are the closest I ever got to an actual horror film when I was a child. The latter actually frightened me and gave me more than a handful of nightmares while in kindergarten. As I got older, I thrilled to the suspense-filled Psycho (1960) by Alfred Hitchcock, Robert Wise’s The Haunting (1963), and George A. Romero’s Night of the Living Dead (1968) on network television viewings. I picked up a VHS copy of John Llewelyn Moxey’s masterful The City of the Dead under the insipid title of Horror Hotel and discovered a classic that I love to this day. There is an overall spookiness that I associate with black and white that I wish contemporary horror film directors would go back to. It’s not all blood and guts – mood and atmosphere go a very long way.

Following my discovery of Dario Argento’s work after a theatrical screening of Creepers in 1985, I began to read about Mario Bava’s work and how it influenced Signor Argento’s style. Black Sunday, alternately known as The Mask of Satan and Revenge of the Vampire, is a highly stylized gothic horror film that is considered to be Mario Bava’s directorial debut despite him having come in at the eleventh hour to finish up several films in the late 1950’s credited to other directors: I Vampiri (1957), The Day the Sky Exploded (1958), Caltiki – The Immortal Monster (1959) and The Giant of Marathon (1959). Shot in 1960 and released on Thursday, March 9, 1961 in New York City, Black Sunday is a creepy tale starring the luminous Barbara Steele in dual roles as both a condemned witch in 17^th Century Moldavia named Asa Vajda and as a melancholic townswoman named Katja Vajda some 200 years later – quite a coincidence! Asa condemns her persecutors to death for her fate which finds her body placed into a mausoleum and found by chance two centuries later by a doctor (Andrea Checci) and his assistant (John Richardson) who are enroot to a convention and accidentally free Asa from her eternal sleep, giving her the opportunity to enact evil upon the heads of those unlucky enough to be related to those responsible for her death. While the plot is similar in theme to Mr. Moxey’s classic The City of the Dead – I could hear the immortal words of the villagers “Bring me Elizabeth Selwyn” in that film as I watched Black Sunday – the time and place is much different and the film benefits enormously from Signor Bava’s experience as a cinematographer even from the film’s opening frames. The imagery that permeates much of Black Sunday are the stuff of childhood nightmares: cobwebs, creepy cemeteries, eerie sounds in the night…there is even a scene wherein a character fights off a vampire bat in a fashion that obviously provided the inspiration for Jessica Harper’s Suzy Bannion to do the same in Dario Argento’s Suspiria (1977), albeit in dazzling Technicolor.

BY TIM MCGLYNN

Every so often I come across a movie from years ago that I simply overlooked or didn’t have the opportunity to see. After viewing the Kino-Lorber Blu-ray release of Caravans, I have to say I’m rather sorry I missed this one.

Caravans, directed by James Fargo, had a brief release from Universal in 1978, after which it disappeared with only an ABC-TV airing and sporadic appearances on cable to mark its existence. The trailer promises that Caravans is the greatest desert adventure since Lawrence of Arabia, which clearly it is not. However, there is much to enjoy with this new video release.

The year is 1948 and American diplomat Mark Miller (Michael Sarrazin) is sent to the fictional Middle Eastern country of Zakharstan to search for Ellen Jasper(Jennifer O’ Neill), the daughter of a U.S. senator. Ellen has left her husband, Colonel Nazrullah (Behrouz Vossughi), and joined a nomadic tribe led by Zulffiqar (Anthony Quinn). After a difficult search Miller learns that Ellen has no intention of returning to the states or her polygamist husband. Miller decides to travel with Zulffiqar’s caravan in an effort to persuade Ellen to change her mind and return to her parents.

Ellen and Mark develop a friendship that doesn’t quite cross the line to romance, and Zulffiqar begins to respect the young agent as he becomes an asset to the tribe during their travels. An inevitable confrontation is on the horizon as the vengeful Nazrullah will stop at nothing to retrieve his wife, whom he considers a possession.

Sarrazin (The Reincarnation of Peter Proud, They Shoot Horses, Don’t They?) as the impossibly handsome Mark Miller has a strong moral center and reacts badly to some of the more brutal traditions he observes during his travels with the tribe. Jennifer O’ Neill (Scanners, Summer of ‘42) is absolutely beautiful even in the harsh desert climate, although her portrayal of Ellen is somewhat stiff, a criticism that has followed her in most of her films.

Anthony Quinn delivers another exceptional performance as the somewhat understated tribal leader Zulffiqar. You may be reminded of Quinn’s role in Lawrence of Arabia as he is in some regards the same character, leading his people in their nomadic lifestyle and worrying about his ability to provide for them. Two years later Quinn would play the real life leader Omar Mukthar in Lion of the Desert.

Many fine actors and technicians participated in this multinational production including Christopher Lee, Jeremy Kemp, Joseph Cotten and Barry Sullivan. While it is fantastic to have a cast of this magnitude, their parts are all basically cameo appearances. Benrouz Vossughi, who plays the villainous Nazrullah, is one of the top actors working in Middle Eastern films. The producers wisely utilized many cast members and crew from Iran, where filming took place in 1977, just ahead of the seizure of the American embassy in Tehran. An interesting bit of casting was having Duncan Quinn, son of Anthony, play the son of Zulffiqar. The resemblance and similar voices of the two men are unmistakable. A screen credit is given to the actual Qashqai tribe who portrayed the members of the caravan.

Director James Fargo is best known for his work on the Clint Eastwood films The Enforcer and Every Which Way But Loose as well as the Chuck Norris action hit Forced Vengeance. The script is by Nancy Voyles Crawford, Thomas Mahon and Lorraine Williams and is based upon the epic novel by James Michener. The film represents a bare bones treatment of Michener’s work and, needless to say, he was not pleased with the result. Michener’s novels were of a length that better suited adaptations for television miniseries such as Centennial.

Aside from a few negative aspects, this film would play nicely on a rainy Saturday afternoon. Douglas Slocombe’s Panavision photography is magnificent, as you would expect from the cinematographer of the first three Indiana Jones installments as well as The Lion in Winter and Never Say Never Again. Filmed entirely on location in Iran, the sweeping panoramas of the surprisingly beautiful landscapes look tremendous on a large screen. I viewed this Blu-ray on my outdoor video screen and was very impressed with the look of the movie.

The costume design by Renie Conley is fabulous as there is much color and sparkle among the members of the caravan tribe. This is a welcome change from the usual browns and grays we see in movies set in this part of the world. Conley was rewarded with an Oscar nomination for her work on Caravans.

In general, it is refreshing to see landscape and villages that are attractive to the eye and demonstrate that the Middle East is not entirely made up of lifeless deserts. Efforts were made to keep this film from looking like a stereotyped, backward rendition of the region. Shooting took place in Iran with the permission of the Shah shortly before the revolution, and it is reported that much of the $14 million production cost came directly from the Iranian government.

BY JOHN M. WHALEN

“The Hot Rock” (1972), starring Robert Redford and George Segal, a Twilight Time Blu-Ray release, is a comedy crime caper about an inept but lovable (they’re always lovable) gang of thieves trying to steal a huge African diamond, the Sahara Stone, from The Brooklyn Museum. It was adapted for the screen by William Goldman (“Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid” ) from one of a series of books written by novelist Donald E. Westlake featuring John Dortmunder, a thief who’s a genius at planning heists, but who seems to be plagued with nothing but bad luck. Something always goes wrong on his jobs, leading to increasingly comical complications.

On this operation, Dortmunder is assisted by his brother-in-law Andy Kelp (George Segal), who puts the heist together; Alan Greenberg (Paul Sand), who’s good at making bombs; and Stan Murch (Ron Leibman), the wheel man who can drive or fly anything from getaway cars to 16 wheelers to choppers. He knows every shortcut in downtown Manhattan (depending on the time of day), and spends his off hours tinkering in his garage, while listening to the stereo-recorded sounds of car races.

The job goes wrong from the start when Dortmunder, Kelp and Greenberg break into the museum at night and realize too late the floor-length glass display case protecting the stone is too heavy for three men to lift. Greenberg gets trapped inside it and despite a diversion set up by Murch to distract the cops, they are forced to run for it, leaving Greenberg trapped in the case with the stone. He swallows the gem, and from that point it’s all about the gang trying to get Greenberg and the stone out of police custody. The plot becomes a bit repetitious, as Dortmunder and company keep losing the rock and have to “steal” it all over again four times. But what makes the movie fun is the Looney Tunes Road Runner-like dedication Dortmunder and gang display in the pursuit of their goal.

While the quartet’s antics are amusing (not Marx Bros. funny, but funny enough), “The Hot Rock” really comes alive in an odd way in the second act. The movie becomes something special, not because of anything in the script or the performances of the lead actors. It’s more due to history and fate. There is a sequence in which Murch flies Dortmunder and company in a chopper over downtown Manhattan trying to find the police station where they believe the stone is now located. Director Peter Yates (“Bullitt”), and cinematographer Ed Brown shot the chopper flying low over the city’s sky scrapers and up close to the two World Trade Center Towers, then still under construction. This footage, viewed today, can’t help but provoke a twinge of nostalgia. Certainly no cinematographer or director today could get permits to fly that low and close over the skyline and the streets of The Naked City. The nostalgia is quickly dissipated, however, when Murch lands the chopper on the roof of the wrong building. A couple of alter cockers sunning themselves on the roof give them directions to the police station. A nice touch.

“The Hot Rock” is a New York movie all the way. The cast includes New York Actors Charlotte Rae, as Murch’s mother, and William Redfield as Captain of the police precinct where Greenberg was incarcerated. Harry Bellaver, who played Detective Arcaro on “The Naked City”TV series, is seen here as a bartender in the bar where Dortmunder and his buddies hang out. Also in the cast are Moses Gunn as Dr. Amusa, the African ambassador who hires the gang to steal the jewel for his government, which claims to be the rightful original owner of the stone, and Zero Mostel as Greenberg’s shyster lawyer father, Abe, who knows where the Sahara Stone is located but won’t tell Dortmunder or the others even when they threaten to throw his son down an elevator shaft.

Perhaps the craziest sequence in the film comes when hypnotist Miasmo (Lynne Gordon) is brought in to hypnotize the bank security guard in charge of the safety deposit box where the Sahara Stone eventually ends up. She gets into an elevator with him and tells him to look at the numbers of the floors lighting up as they ascend. Once he’s under her spell, she utters the trigger phrase “Afghanistan Bananastan.” Later Dortmunder enters the bank’s safety deposit room and tells the guard “Afghanistan Bananastan.” By the way, for those who like their movie trivia on the really obscure side, there is a video on You Tube by the Stretchheads called “Afghanistan Bananastan.” Whether there is any connection with the movie I have no idea, as the lyrics in the video are made indecipherable by loud drums and electric guitar. But it can’t be just a coincidence.

Twilight Time’s limited edition (3,000 units) Blu-Ray presents “The Hot Rock” in a 1080p High Definition transfer in its theatrical aspect ratio 2.35:1. The picture is good, considering the age of the film. The disc comes with two terrific extras. The first is the audio commentary by the late Nick Redman, Julie Kirgo, and screenwriter Lem Dobbs. Their discussion of the film is worth hearing, especially their comments about the location filming around the World Trade Center. The other bonus feature is the isolated music soundtrack, which was composed and conducted by Quincy Jones, and features a band of all stars, including Clark Terry, Jerry Mulligan, Grady Tate, Ray Brown, and others.

“The Hot Rock” on Blu-Ray is definitely worth having in your collection. It’s a lot of fun. “Afghanistan Bananastan.”

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John M. Whalen is the author of "Tragon of Ramura". Click here to order from Amazon.

BY TODD GARBARINI

In the history of cinema, it is a known fact that the producers and director of a film all have their own opinions about what a finished film should be titled. Movies generally use a working title which rarely ends up being used upon release. Even the film’s own writer invariably believes that it is his/her title that should be used with consideration given to no one else. One can only wonder how Steven Spielberg’s E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial (1982) would have fared at the box office had it been marketed under its original title, A Boy’s Life. Ridley Scott’s initially panned and now revered science fiction masterpiece Blade Runner (1982), its title taken from a 1979 novella by William S. Burroughs, would have found difficulty being displayed on movie marquees had it gone by the jaw-breaking title of the 1968 Philip K. Dick novel upon which it was based, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?

The Satanists was one of the original titles considered for the film that would eventually be called Let’s Scare Jessica to Death, a beautifully understated piece of filmmaking shot in October 1970 in Connecticut and released in New York on Friday, August 27, 1971 two months prior to a rollout in suburban theatres and drive-ins and its eventual ABC-TV premiere on Friday, March 11, 1977 before becoming a staple of late-night television airings. The 1970s are a by-gone era which followed the end of the studio system of contracts and obligations and gave way to films that defined originality of thought and style, permitting both novice and seasoned filmmakers the freedom to make the kinds of films that they wanted to for distribution through major studios. This maneuver was driven by two factors: the desire to make money and film studios not knowing what would bring in the crowds.

Let’s Scare Jessica to Death was coined by executives at Paramount Pictures and the title’s aggressiveness suggests far more action that the film actually delivers. Jessica is far from a cinematic triumph. However, when it succeeds it is evocative of the creepiness of Herk Harvey’s Carnival of Souls (1962) both in its use of elliptical narrative storytelling and mood and also benefits from a thematic touch befitting of an episode of Rod Serling’s The Twilight Zone. The titular heroine is portrayed by veteran actress Zohra Lampert of Splendor in the Grass (1961) fame in a nuanced performance of a woman recently released from a sanitarium (when was the last time you heard that word?). The start of the film finds her motionless in a boat, her voiceover indicating to the audience that something awful has happened. The film proceeds in flashback with Jessica preparing for a quiet but charmed life in the country with her husband Duncan (Barton Heyman who played Dr. Klein in 1973’s The Exorcist) and their mutual friend Woody (Kevin O’Connor) in an immense old manse sporting a turret. A brief stop at a cemetery finds Jessica hearing strange whispers while garnering tombstone rubbings on tracing paper and later displaying them in the room she shares with Duncan. Emily (Mariclare Costello) is an odd house squatter coming on the heels of the Free Love Sixties, an itinerant musician who befriends the new homeowners and encourages them to perform a séance during which Jessica continues to hear voices in her head. They persuade Emily to stay and she is thrilled. Unbeknownst to them, Emily has stayed for much longer than any of them are aware, and her image and likeness is seen in an old framed photograph Jessica finds in an afternoon sojourn into the largest attic I’ve ever seen. A local antique store dealer informs them that the house used to belong to Abigail Bishop, a woman who drowned in the lake near the house 90 years earlier. Disturbed by this information, Jessica begins to experience things that make her question her sanity again. It isn’t long before we realize that Emily has made a deep impression so-to-speak on the townsfolk who all stand around with bandages around their necks, covering deep scratches.

Inspired by the 1898 novella The Turn of the Screw by Henry James (which itself inspired the wonderful 1961 Jack Clayton adaptation The Innocents with Deborah Kerr), Jessica thrives on moments where the audience is forced to ask themselves if what is happening is really happening, or if it’s only happening in Jessica’s mind. The film benefits from a slow and deliberate build-up of mood and atmosphere. Orville Stoeber provides a wonderfully creepy score which, like Stephen Lawrence’s brilliant music for Alfred Sole’s masterful Communion/Alice, Sweet Alice/Holy Terror (1977) is unfortunately still not available on a soundtrack album. Cinematographer Robert M. Baldwin bathes the film frame in autumn foliage and employs the use of slow camera moves to enhance the film’s overall mood. The film is far too slow for today’s audiences, but for those with a mindset for 1970s horror, Jessica fits the bill.

Jessica is one of those titles I have been wanting to see in a much-needed home video upgrade. A bare-bones DVD was released by Paramount Home Video in 2006 and now the amazing people at Scream Factory (an imprint of Shout! Factory) have released the film on Blu-ray with a considerably improved transfer. There is a welcome feature-length audio commentary with producer Bill Badalato and director John Hancock, who is arguably best known for the Robert De Niro vehicle Bang the Drum Slowly (1973). They offer many memories about the making of the film, one of which is Mr. Hancock’s recollection of lifting the voiceover device of Eleanor Lance (Julie Harris) in Robert Wise’s The Haunting (1963) to make the audience identity more with Jessica. The other extras include:

Art Saved My Life: Orville Stoeber on Let’s Scare Jessica to Death – this runs 16:25 and consists of an interview with the film’s music composer who describes growing up all over the world and how his family influenced his musical impressions.

Scare Tactics: Reflections on a Seventies Horror Classic – runs 23:44 and is an interview with author and critic Kim Newman who explains why Jessica is his favorite horror film.

She Walks These Hills: Let’s Scare Jessica to Death Locations Then and Now – this runs 6:48 and takes us to the First Church Cemetery in East Haddam, CT; the “Selden III” Hadlyme Ferry in Chester, CT; the Pattaconk Reservoir in Chester, CT; the Bishop House in Old Saybrook, which is beautiful but completely dilapidated, even more so than when I visited it in 2006. I really wish that someone would buy it and restore it; and Main Street and Maple Street in Chester, CT (Devoe Paints was still there in 2006, but gone now and the building is for rent).

Theatrical trailer – a very creepy promo for the film that runs three minutes

Television spot – this runs 53 seconds and, like the theatrical trailer, gives away much of the plot while trying to be creepy.

Radio spot – this is derived from the mini record that was dispatched to radio stations to play over the air and runs 60 seconds. Creepy!

Thankfully, the film’s creepy original key art has been reinstated for the cover of the Blu-ray, unlike the 2006 DVD cover.

Jessica is a film that is bathed in moments of eeriness and supernatural detachment thanks in part to screenwriter Lee Kalcheim whose former student, film director Bryan Norton, tipped his hat to the film by making the movie’s title the byline for his nifty short film Penny Dreadful (2005).

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BY MARK MAWSTON

Luc Roeg is the son of seminal director Nicolas Roeg. He appeared in his father’s last narrative film as a cinematographer, and first as a solo director, the much-lauded Walkabout, which received a newly-restored release through Second Sight recently. Nic Roeg began his career as a camera operator on such titles as Cubby Broccoli’s pre-Bond production The Trials of Oscar Wilde and the infamous Dr. Blood’s Coffin before becoming cinematographer on films such as Dr. Crippen and Nothing but the Best. He was one of the many hands behind the camera on the unofficial 1967 Bond entry Casino Royale. (Then again, who wasn’t?) Roeg senior also worked with such luminaries as François Truffaut (on the Ray Bradbury adaptation Fahrenheit 451), Richard Lester (A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum and Petulia) and John Schlesinger (Far from the Madding Crowd). However, it was his work on Rogers Corman’s The Masque of the Red Death that really set the template for his otherworldly visuals that would later be seen in such masterpieces as Performance (co-directed with Donald Cammell), Don’t Look Now and The Man Who Fell to Earth. Walkabout was held up while Performance was completed (although that film was so unclassifiable that its distributor Warner Bros. let it sit on the shelf for two years) so that by the time Walkabout was filmed Roeg was seen as a veteran. It was also a family affair in the sense that Roeg cast his son Lucien John in the key part of the White Boy, after the delay had left Luc’s brother Nicolas too old for the part. This is where we take it up with Luc.

MM: Walkabout is seen as one of, if not the, quintessential Australian New Wave films. Yet, when it went to Cannes, it was as the UK rather than an Australian entry as they had already chosen theirs. Do you see it as a British or Australian film, or indeed a crossover of the two?

LR: I’d have to say both. I know that’s sitting on the fence a bit but the reason I say that is because Nic was very much a 100% British filmmaker. He lived a good life here and never emigrated to Hollywood but he made a lot of his films on location in foreign countries. That may have made him less of a ‘British’ filmmaker but Walkabout wouldn’t have been Walkabout without Australia itself so, although that sounds strange, to answer your question, it simply couldn’t be anything else but British and Australian as it has the landscape, culture and David [Gulpilil – the Aboriginal co-star of the film] that make it what it is.

MM: Yes, I agree and Australia is one of the key stars of the film, to be honest. I lived in Australia for a short time and travelled to the territories where you filmed it so it’s fascinating for me to see this film again on this new transfer. The first time I saw this film I was 12 years old and it was on a TV which my grandfather built a magnified screen onto so the image doubled in size! It was magical then but magical in a different way now as I’ve visited the landscape I fell in love with on that ‘big’ screen.

LR: That’s wonderful.

MM: You probably had the greatest ever ‘take your kids to work day’ when your father chose you to star in the film. I know the film was held up while your father finished Performance which, although it suited Jenny Agutter better in the fact that she was 16 rather than 14, it meant your older brother Nico was a little too old to play the young boy’s part, which went to you. Do you ever talk about how different things could have been, even though I’m sure it was a lot of hard work?

LR: I agree with you on the ‘bring your kids to work’ day (laughs). Regarding the role, we don’t really talk about it. Walkabout was very much a personal experience for all of us, for all the family. My brother was there with us when we were making the film, as was my eldest brother, so we were all together. I don’t think anyone felt like they were missing out. If anything I kind of felt that I had to go to work while they had a great time hanging out in the Australian Outback and bunking off any tutorage they were supposed to be having!

MM: I can see that. Did the fact that the film was shot chronologically help at such a young age, so it seemed more like a real journey? More of an adventure than hard graft?

LR: It did seem like an adventure at the time, although there was a work element to it. It was scripted and there were lines to learn on top of the travelling and moving around. It was all essential. You don’t have any expectations at that age of how things should be or could be, they just happen. So to be in that natural environment and to be surrounded by those that matter was important. It was a small unit and a tiny cast as well obviously, just myself, David and Jenny [Agutter] so the whole experience was very personal and shared between us, so yes, I’d say adventure first and the hard work followed.

MM: I’ve spoken to a lot of actors over the years and they said they found it very difficult to be taken out of their home environment for months at a time to make a movie but as you said, you were with your family which would have been a very different experience than a lot of child actors would have had.

LR: Yes and having Nic photograph it took another layer away from the camera and me, and kept it very personal from that point of view. Jenny was a very young woman and she had to leave home in order to make it, and although she too became part of the family it would have been hard for her.

MM: Yes. Over the years Jenny had some criticism for her pragmatic approach to the role but that’s exactly how a ‘proper English girl’ would act. Very matter of fact and stoic. I think she’s marvellous in the role, a very steady figure for your character, and she was the right age, 16 rather than the 14 her character was in the book. I did laugh when Jenny said she was very excited at the time because originally Apple Films were set to produce it and she thought that she’d get to meet The Beatles. Obviously that didn’t happen but did your father ever say why?

LR: I never really interrogated Nic about that when I was old enough to understand that. I’m not sure of the specific reasons behind it and at the time I just wasn’t aware of it, understandably.

MM: One of the most memorable scenes was when David covers your back in wild boar’s blood in order to soothe your sunburn. I understand this wasn’t scripted. Were there many more situations like that, filmed on the spur of the moment?

LR: Other than that moment I can’t really think of one. I know that everyone on the set was very upset about the death of the wart hog which had been struck by one of our vehicles as everyone, by that time, was very much in tune with the way David thought and how he respected the wildlife. People got very upset and it had coincided with this terrible sunburn I’d got but David showed, in his way, that we could take some of the essence of the beast and use it for good. Bar that I can’t really think of any scene that just came to pass. Other than that, Nic had an eye. He could just capture things without making an effort to do so.

“DOCU-NOIR AT ITS FINEST”

By Raymond Benson

A sub-genre of film noir is that of the so-called “docu-noir,” a crime drama usually based on a true story and told as a Dragnet-style procedural. Most likely there is an omniscient voiceover narrator, a focus on the lawmen who are investigating the case, and all the other stylistic and thematic elements associated with film noir in general: starkly contrasting black and white photography, urban locations, shadows, gritty realism, angst and cynicism, and sometimes brutal violence.

Eagle-Lion Films was a British/American production company that existed for only a few years in the late 40s, disbanding in the early 50s. There was some talent involved, and they produced a variety of genres and pictures of varying quality (Powell and Pressburger’s The Red Shoes was a rare Best Picture nominee). Many of the studio’s pictures were films noir that were shot as B-movies with low budgets and barebones casts and crews. Anthony Mann directed a couple of their classic crime movies—T-Men and Raw Deal, both of which fall into the “docu-noir” category. Unfortunately, due to bad management or foresight, many of Eagle-Lion’s titles fell out of copyright and currently reside in the public domain. Hence, one can often find bargain bin, cheap knock-off DVDs and Blu-rays of these films.

Classic Flix is a company relatively new to the home video scene, and they have begun restoring and issuing some of these relics of yesteryear. He Walked by Night is a prime example of a quality presentation of an equally impressive little movie. Made in 1948, Walked is a true story loosely based on the crime spree by Erwin “Machine Gun” Walker, who shot cops and committed burglaries and armed robberies in Los Angeles in the mid-40s. In real life, Walker was arrested and sentenced to prison, but he was paroled in the 70s. This is not the ending to the story that is depicted in the film.

A young Richard Basehart portrays disturbed war veteran Roy Morgan, a habitual burglar and armed robber. When an off-duty cop on the street suspects Roy of being a burglar, he is shot and killed. The POV switches to the police, especially Lt. Marty Brennan (Scott Brady), who is based on the investigator of the true case, Captain Breen (Roy Roberts), and forensics man Lee Whitey (Jack Webb, in an early screen appearance). The story follows the police investigation juxtaposed with Morgan’s eccentric and lonely existence, and the criminal’s increasingly violent crimes. The big break comes when a stolen item is recovered by an electronics pawn dealer (Whit Bissell), who has been unwittingly fencing for Morgan.

It’s all engaging stuff, and Basehart delivers an outstanding, creepy performance as Morgan. The police procedural sequences are done well, such as when a composite drawing of the suspect is created by all the witnesses to the crimes. The climactic set piece of a chase in LA’s sewer system is exciting, atmospheric, and pure noir. Oddly, it is similar to the ending of The Third Man, which was released a year later.

Even though Alfred Werker is credited as director, the talking heads in the “making of” documentary supplement on the disk speculate that Anthony Mann stepped in to helm some of the movie. Is it one of those Christian Nyby/Howard Hawks (The Thing) or Tobe Hooper/Steven Spielberg (Poltergeist) controversies? No one seems to know. He Walked by Night, however, does contain several sequences—including the final sewer chase—that are stylistic stamps of Mann. That said, much of the credit for the picture’s success goes to celebrated noir cinematographer John Alton.

Another sidebar related to the picture is Jack Webb’s meeting and further networking with the picture’s technical adviser Detective Sergeant Marty Wynn. This led to the ultimate creation of Dragnet as a radio and television show.

Classic Flix’s new high definition restoration looks quite wonderful, a remarkable step-up from other public domain transfers that are out there. It comes with English subtitles for the hearing impaired, as well as an audio commentary by biographer and producer Alan K. Rode, and writer/film historian Julie Kirgo. Both appear in the aforementioned documentary about the making of the film, which also includes critic Todd McCarthy, cinematographer Richard Crudo, and film historian/director Courtney Joyner. There is also an image gallery with rare stills and ephemera. The package contains an impressive illustrated 24-page booklet with an essay by author Max Alvarez.

For fans of film noir, police procedurals, and gritty crime dramas, He Walked by Night is a good time at the movies.

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“LURID LOVE AND NOIR”

By Raymond Benson

Film historian Jeremy Arnold, who provides the excellent audio commentary as a supplement for the terrific Blu-ray release of Kiss the Blood Off My Hands, says the movie’s title is remarkably “lurid.” The Production Code people obviously had a problem with the title and tried to get it changed, but an appeal from up and coming star Burt Lancaster, whose newly formed production company (co-founded with Harold Hecht) made the picture, resulted in the “lurid” title staying in place.

The film does not live up to the implied sensationalism. While we do get a dark, at times brutal, and cynical piece of film noir, we also get an atypical love story at the picture’s heart.

Kiss the Blood Off My Hands, from 1948, is based on a novel by Gerald Butler, and was adapted by Ben Maddow and Walter Bernstein (one of the Hollywood Ten). The screenplay is by Leonardo Bercovici, with Hugh Gray credited as providing additional dialogue. The director, Norman Foster, had been an actor throughout the 1930s. He helmed a slew of Mr. Moto movies starring Peter Lorre, some of the Charlie Chan pictures, and several films noir in the 40s and early 50s. Foster brings a good deal of style to the proceedings with the help of cinematographer Russell Metty. It’s an impressive little picture.

The movie contains many of the signature traits associated with film noir—black and white high contrast photography, many scenes at night and/or with rain, a cynical protagonist, violence, crimes, excessive smoking and drinking, locations in seedy pubs and flats, and an urban setting. What makes Kiss the Blood unique is that it’s an American film noir production set in London (but it wasn’t filmed there aside from some second unit shots).

Bill Saunders (Lancaster) is a Canadian World War II veteran bumming around in London. He has no desire to return home, but he is lost and aimless in the UK. He also has a devil of a temper and is quick to start a fight if someone so much as looks at him funny. Heaven help you if you say something he doesn’t like—he might kill you. Which is what happens in a pub when the owner tries to kick him out so the place can close. It’s an accident, but Bill knows the police won’t take kindly to the incident. He manages to run away, but a witness, Harry Carter (played by slimy, weaselly Robert Newton) takes note. Bill hides from the police in the first open window he can slip into, and it happens to be the flat of nurse Jane Wharton (Joan Fontaine, who receives top billing). At first, of course, Jane is frightened by Bill, but he manages to ease her fear. Despite his tendency to fly off the handle, Jane falls in love with Bill, and he’s head over heels for her at first sight. Too bad he gets into a scuffle with a copper and lands in prison (a sentence that includes a vicious lashing with cat o’ nine tails). Jane waits for him, though, and once he’s out she gets him a job as a delivery driver transporting drugs. That’s when Harry steps in to blackmail Bill unless the former con will help him pull off a robbery.

What happens next would spoil the fun. Kiss the Blood is an engaging small picture with fine performances. One can see that Lancaster is still green and tends to overact, but his passion is tangible. Fontaine is always lovely and handles her role with grace and honesty. Newton, always perfect as a Cockney baddie, is suitably over the top.

There is one oopsy, though. The lorry that Bill drives during the second half of the movie is an American vehicle—the steering wheel is on the left side of the dashboard. In England, that wheel would have been on the right!

Kino Lorber’s new high definition restoration looks remarkably good. The images are clear and sharp, with the right amount of soft focus in certain scenes. The aforementioned audio commentary by Jeremy Arnold is informative and entertaining. Sadly, the only other supplements are trailers for this and other Kino Lorber releases.

Kiss the Blood Off My Hands may not sound like a date movie, but the romance noir elements of the picture are surprisingly potent. So, grab your spouse, significant other, or someone you pick up in a seedy pub and settle in for a romantically brutal experience!

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“THE FATHER’S SON”

By Raymond Benson

Throughout the fascinating and seriously creepy film, The Comfort of Strangers, an Italian man named Robert (diabolically played by Christopher Walken) repeatedly speaks about his father. “My father (pause) … was a big man. He had a big black mustache…” The story relates how his father colored his mustache black with mascara after it turned grey, and how no one at the dinner table was allowed to speak unless the father addressed the person first, whether he or she was a wife, daughter, or son. A portrait is eventually formed of a man who was brutally sadistic and controlling. And Robert is the result.

Based on the novel by Ian McEwan, Strangers was adapted by the great playwright Harold Pinter, who turns McEwan’s already strange psycho-sexual drama into something of palpable menace. Directed with style and finesse by Paul Schrader, this Italian-British production brings to an audience a collage of beauty, mood, and horror that only Pinter can deliver with his elliptical dialogue and potent pauses of what is not said. The locale of Venice is also a character in the picture, and movie buffs might be reminded of Nicolas Roeg’s Don’t Look Now when viewing Strangers.

Colin (the Adonis-like Rupert Everett) and Mary (the late, radiant Natasha Richardson) are a couple on holiday in Venice. Mary is divorced with two children (who are in England with their grandmother). The subtle tension between the couple is the question of taking their relationship to the next level—that is, should they get married? While wandering the twisty, turny streets of the city, they meet Robert, who at first is friendly enough. He invites them to his lush, expansive home that resembles an art museum. There, Robert’s welcoming wife Caroline (Helen Mirren) reinforces the nagging suspicious that there is something off about this couple. Colin and Mary realize early on that they really don’t like Robert and Caroline, and yet they are perversely and inexplicably attracted to them. Once they visit Robert’s apartment a second time, they are unwittingly ensnared in the web. Exactly what Robert and Caroline have in store for the younger couple, especially Colin, cannot be revealed here! Just know there is sex, more sex, and unexpected violence in the works.

Director Schrader is here working with Italian designers (for example, Giorgio Armani is the costumer) so the look for the film is impeccably gorgeous. The music score by Angelo Badalamenti is also hauntingly exquisite, underlying the melancholy and mystery of the proceedings. As for the acting, it is top notch. Walken shines as the enigmatic villain of the piece. In a supplemental interview, the actor explains that he channeled Italian actor Rossano Brazzi to exhibit charm and sensuality that is distinctly European. Everett and Richardson are so shockingly stunning to look at, both clothed and without, that they cast a spell over the viewer. And Mirren, in a small role, showcases her dark side that she once did so well in many independent pictures before her rise to the super-A-talent category. For this reviewer’s money, though, the stars of the movie are Walken and writer Pinter. In a few of the supplements, the tale is related how Pinter came to Venice for one week of rehearsals prior to shooting. As was his way, not one word of his script could be altered or changed. If an actor didn’t understand something, Pinter would simply say, “Read the text. Then read it again.” By the end of the week, all the actors knew what they were doing.

The Criterion Collection’s new restored 4K digital transfer, supervised by cinematographer Dante Spinotti and approved by Schrader, is a delight to behold. It comes with an uncompressed monaural soundtrack, plus English subtitles for the hearing impaired. The supplements are 2020 interviews with Schrader, Walken, Spinotti, and editor Bill Pankow. Vintage interviews with Richardson and novelist McEwan are also included, plus trailers. The booklet features a marvelous poster with artwork by R. Léveillé and an essay by critic Maitland McDonagh.

The Comfort of Strangers is an art film for discerning viewers who appreciate unconventional tales about relationships, sex, desire, and mystery. As usual, the Criterion presentation is top notch. Recommended.

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Any time we at Cinema Retro might feel self-congratulatory about staying in print for sixteen years, we're immediately humbled by the fact that Dick Klemensen has been publishing Little Shoppe of Horrors magazine since 1972. You read that right...1972, the same year it seemed like a good idea to re-elect Richard Nixon in the biggest landslide in American history and Marlon Brando regained his mojo as The Godfather. Since then, Dick's magazine has been the gold standard for coverage of everything and anything to do with the Hammer films horror classics. The vast majority of every issue is dedicated to Hammer and yet he never gets repetitive. Dick started to reach out to the Hammer stars, directors, producers and technicians in the early 1970s and thus acquired a priceless archive of their stories and memories during an era in which most critics didn't take the films seriously. Dick's latest issue features the wonderful Hammer version of the Sherlock Holmes classic "The Hound of the Baskerville" on the cover and the interior is chock full of informative and entertaining articles. Click here to visit Little Shoppe of Horrors site and prepare to go on a shopping spree. Remember, print media needs your support!

Here is official list of contents for the latest issue:

v The Hyman Horrors.

v 'Behind the Scenes' on The Hound of the Baskervilles

v 'Murder Their Religion!'

v Murder By Hatchet!'

v 'He Painted With Light! Jack Asher'

v 'Michael Medwin: Hammer's First Star'  

v Dracula 2020 — The recent BBC/Netflix/Hartswood Film version of Bram Stoker's classic Novel.  

v 'The Hammer Diaries of Christopher Wicking - 1975 - Part 2'

v Vampirella Live

All our regular features - Letters to LSoH - Ralph's One-and-Only Traveling Reviews CVompany - Hammer News.

Covers

Front Cover by Mark Maddox

Back Cover by David Robinson

Inside Front Covers by Paul Watts & David Brooks

Inside Back Cover by Alistair Hughes

“TECHNICOLOR SABERS”

By Raymond Benson

Was this really a movie sub-genre? Colorful “Middle Eastern” action-comedy-adventures loosely derived from The Book of One Thousand and One Nights? Full of harem girls, saber-wielding swashbucklers, epic set pieces with beautifully designed sets and “Arabian” costumes, camels and horses and tigers, and… comedians?

The answer is, ahem, yes. During the war years of the early 1940s, Universal Pictures made several of these “exotic adventure” pictures that capitalized on the success of Britain’s Thief of Bagdad (1940). Hollywood quickly got into this act, but like the Bing Crosby and Bob Hope “Road to…” pictures, these movies set in the world of ancient Arabia were filmed on sound stages in southern California… and it shows.

The films were hugely popular at the time, but they have not aged well. We shall examine two of the more successful entries of this short-lived movement—Arabian Nights from 1942, and Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves from 1944. Each picture shared some actors and a cinematographer (W. Howard Greene). Nights was nominated for no less than four Academy Awards in the categories of Cinematography and Art Direction (both richly deserved), Sound Recording, and Score (by Frank Skinner). Ali Baba did not chart at awards season, but it is, in truth, the better picture.

The good: These are gloriously produced old Technicolor extravaganzas that show off the artistry and imagination that only Hollywood can concoct. The films are truly gorgeous, and the new high definition restorations bring out the colors with intensity (of the two, Arabian Nights looks the best, but both are visually exquisite). Secondly, the films provide some excellently choreographed action sequences such as battles between Arabs and Mongols. It’s as if the pirate film genre had migrated to the Islamic Golden Age.

But therein lies the bad. These films have almost nothing to do with the real Book of One Thousand and One Nights. They are full of stereotypes and likely blasphemous depictions of Islam. Arabic characters are played by white Hollywood actors with darkened skin makeup. If all that weren’t bad enough, way too much of each movie is played for laughs. Blatantly comic actors are cast in major roles and they stand out like broccoli in a fruit basket. Consider this: Shemp Howard plays “Sinbad” in Arabian Nights, and he acts exactly like… Shemp Howard, complete with New York accent, mugging facial expressions, and squeaky vocalizations when he’s frightened. Loud, sneezy Billy Gilbert also has a sizable role in the picture. Ali Baba is graced with the presence of none other than… Andy Devine in a supporting role as one of the Forty Thieves. Andy Devine as an Arab? He even speaks like Andy Devine in his whiny drawl, “Aw, Ali, you don’t want to marry the princess! A thousand gold coins can get you a girl in the marketplace who’s just as purdy!”

Jon Hall stars in both movies as our hero. In Arabian Nights, he’s Haroun-Al-Raschid, the brother of the caliph. He has the title role in Ali Baba. Sultry Maria Montez is also in both pictures as the love interest. In the first, she is the famous dancer, Scheherazade (although in the credits and promotional materials, this is spelled Sherazade, but the characters pronounce her name the proper way). In Ali Baba, she is Amara, the prince’s daughter. Turkish-Czech actor Turhan Bey also appears in both movies in supporting roles. The popular Indian actor Sabu is a featured performer in Arabian Nights, having emigrated to Hollywood after the success of Thief of Bagdad.

Arabian Nights is the tale of two rival brothers, Haroun and Kamar (Leif Erickson, credited as Leif Erikson), their pursuit of Scheherazade, and their quest to gain power in Arabia.

Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves is the tale of Ali, the true caliph who is in exile because Bagdad is overrun by the Mongols. He wants to reunite with his childhood sweetheart, Amara, run the Mongols out of town, and reclaim the city for the Arabs.

The eye-rolling aspects aside, one must consider the films within the context of when they were made and released. Yes, they’re silly and loads of rubbish, but in their own way they are fun and entertaining. If one can get past Shemp Howard and Andy Devine, one might have a few laughs and appreciate the scenic beauty on display in these admittedly superb presentations.

Both films come with interesting audio commentaries by film historian Phillipa Berry. The theatrical trailers for each title and others from Kino Lorber are on both disks as well.

Arabian Nights and Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves, available separately from Kino Lorber, are prime examples of the Exotic Technicolor Adventure movement that Hollywood once pushed. So, grab your magic lamp, rub it a few times, sit back, and watch these vibrant burlesques with your favorite genie.

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“TWINS AND STIRRUPS”

By Raymond Benson

Okay, David Cronenberg has made some creepy-ass movies in his career, but there may not be one as icky as the 1988 Dead Ringers.

Cronenberg’s horror films seem to always deal with the human body in some grotesque fashion, whether it be mutant babies being born outside of the womb (The Brood), heads exploding (Scanners), or a man turning into an insect (The Fly)… and Dead Ringers fits the bill. It is a movie guaranteed to give women nightmares, for it’s about insane gynecologists. Identical twins, in fact. Twin gynecologists with stirrups, strange probing devices, and killer looks. Let that sink in for a moment.

Dead Ringers is somewhat based on a true story about real twin gynecologists, Stewart and Cyril Marcus, who lived and practiced in New York City in the late 60s and early 70s. They became addicted to drugs, went a little nuts, and died more or less together in a posh Manhattan apartment. A 1977 best-selling thriller novel, Twins, by Bari Wood and Jack Geasland, was loosely based on the Marcus boys, and Cronenberg’s movie takes inspiration from that as well as the lives of the real sickos (the screenplay is by Cronenberg and Norman Snider).

Jeremy Irons delivers the performance of a lifetime as the twins, here named Beverly and Elliot Mantle, and the trick photography employed by cinematographer Peter Suschitzky and the visual effects team was state of the art at the time, creating the illusion that Irons is acting with himself, or rather, another person that is his mirror image. Irons not being nominated for the Best Actor Oscar is one of the biggest robberies in Academy Award history, although he did win the honor from both the New York and Chicago Film Critics. Perhaps Academy voters found the film too disturbing.

It is.

The Mantle twins are successful gynecologists who operate a dual practice. Elliot is the more confident ladykiller, so he often sleeps with his patients. Then he, ahem, passes the women on to his brother, Beverly, who is rather shy and less outgoing. Most of the time, they do this without letting the women know what’s happening. Yes, the #MeToo movement would have had a field day with these guys. Enter actress Claire Niveau (Genevieve Bujold), who becomes a patient but is also addicted to various prescription drugs. Both twins have an affair with her, and Beverly begins to share the drugs. This leads to delusions and paranoia, and some of the nightmarish imagery that director Cronenberg presents are enough to send audience members—female and male—to the lavatory. Of course, things don’t go well for the Mantles, and it’s a downhill slide from there into typical Cronenberg tragedy.

Dead Ringers is a brilliant discourse of addiction, chauvinism, and madness, and it is arguably among Cronenberg’s best works. Irons’ performance is a wonder, and the nightmarish effects and psychological attacks on the audience easily elevate the film to a slot on “Greatest Horror Films of All Time.” It’s that good.

Shout Factory’s Blu-ray release is a 2-disk set. The first disk presents the film in the aspect ratio of 1.78:1. It looks sharp, crystal clear, and so hi-def that one might think it’s 4K (it’s not). Oddly, Shout decided to give us another version on the second disk, this time a 2K scan in the aspect ratio of 1.66:1, which, when all is said and done, isn’t much different from the other version. The marketing copy on the package claims this is Cronenberg’s preferred aspect ratio, but there is some discussion among other DVD/Blu-ray reviewers online that questions that statement. To these eyes, the second version looks slightly better, perhaps more in line with the appearance of film.

The first version comes with two audio commentaries: a previously released one with actor Irons, and a new one with William Beard, author of The Artist as Monster: The Cinema of David Cronenberg. The second version has no audio commentaries.

Supplements include new interviews with actor/artist Stephen Lack (who also starred in Scanners); actress Heidi von Palleske, who plays one of the Mantle twins’ conquests; DOP Suschitzky; and special effects artist Gordon Smith. There are also vintage interviews and featurettes (of poorer video quality) from 1988, and the theatrical trailer.

Dead Ringers is highly recommended for horror film fans, Cronenberg enthusiasts, and for devotees of good acting—the picture is worth a viewing for Jeremy Irons alone.

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BY TODD GARBARINI

The films of John Cassavetes are an acquired taste. Long considered to be the father of the modern independent film movement, his unorthodox style to acting and filmmaking notoriously drove some of his performers crazy while also receiving kudos and accolades from others. Like most filmmakers of his ilk, his work was best seen in independently owned movie theaters in New York City where films generally played for weeks or even months on end to a combination of both rave reviews and decent box office, two ingredients necessary to ensure securing funding for future projects. His directorial debut, Shadows (1958), depicted a romantic relationship between a white man and an African-American woman and the tumult that their relationship brought to their families. The film was unorthodox not only in its subject matter but in its approach to filmmaking. The film possesses a unique style and an immediacy that audiences of the time were not used to seeing in polished Hollywood productions. Following Too Late Blues (1961) he made A Child is Waiting (1963), which starred Burt Lancaster, Judy Garland, John Marley, and Mr. Cassavetes’s wife Gena Rowlands. The latter two would go on to appear in his financially successful and acclaimed Faces (1968) which would provide the financing for his controversial Husbands (1970), a searing portrait of middle-aged men, their relationships with women, with each other, and most of all, with themselves.

Gus (John Cassavetes), Harry (Ben Gazzara), Archie (Peter Falk) and Stuart (David Rowlands) all appear to be successful businessmen. They are in their early forties, they are married and have children, and as the movie opens to snapshots depicting them all at family picnics, family outings, and general overall goofiness, it becomes apparent to the audience that these four men are best friends and are for all intents and purposes inseparable – until Stuart suddenly dies of a heart attack and leaves his friends behind as a solemn triumvirate questioning their lives and their places in the world. We never see or meet Stuart outside of the still photos, but his presence hangs over Gus, Harry, and Archie in everything they say and do and more importantly what they do not say or do. Following Stuart’s funeral, the men all decide not to go home, instead electing to set out on a series of adventures: taking a subway ride; playfully fighting in the streets; playing basketball at a local gym; swimming; encouraging a woman to sing them a song at a local bar; getting sick in a men’s room, etc. Harry’s family is the only one we are privy to when he returns home and has a physical fight with his wife and her mother. They all make half-hearted efforts to return to their jobs until the futility of life sparks a decision to travel to London. Harry intimates that he wants no part of the middle-class life that he has built in his suburban house.

Arriving across the pond, they play craps and encounter varying degrees of difficulty picking up three women (Jenny Runacre, Jenny Lee Wright and Noelle Kao). What transpires in their hotel rooms may on the surface seem ridiculous and silly, however something remarkable occurs as the three men are forced to reckon with Stuart’s death and ultimately, their own mortality. The film is ultimately about absence: Stuart is gone from their lives, and aside from Harry’s fight with his wife, the wives are absent from Gus and Archie’s lives, except from the opening stills. Their behavior with the women they have picked up is far more complex than their dialog lets on, which anticipates the film’s unexpected yet deeply poignant denouement. It may be impossible to understand the meanings of the scenes upon one viewing of the film, but Mr. Cassavetes was a rogue filmmaker with an originality and honesty to be reckoned with. Some accused him of being self-indulgent. For the adventurous and curious cineaste who prefers a cerebral cinematic experience bereft of Marvel superheroes and the requisite explosions, the rewards in Husbands are plentiful.

Husbands opened in New York City on Wednesday, December 9, 1970, but the film was shot in the early months of 1969. It was featured on the cover of Life Magazine in May 1969 but by the time the film was released, the cover story became a distant memory for readers. The director’s unorthodox method to shooting provided challenges to those he worked with, especially Peter Falk who struggled at first with what the director wanted. Initial rough cuts favored different points-of-view: one favored Gus, then another favored Archie, and yet another favored Harry. The director shot roughly 1,300,00 feet of film, which translates to about 240 hours of raw footage. That is almost an unconscionable amount of takes to sift through to yield a finished film, the sheer volume taking months simply to view it prior to attempting to cut it all together.

The new Criterion Collection Blu-ray runs 142 minutes and the film already feels long, however Ben Gazzara preferred the 240-minute cut, which I would have loved to have seen as an additional disc. Obviously that cut was answer-printed and locked, so it must exist in some form, perhaps in either Gena Rowland’s or Nick Cassavetes’s basements? If the film’s trailer touts it as a comedy, it is due to the fact that the director took the version well-received by the audience and recut it into the version that he wanted, to the dismay of the suits at Columbia Pictures.

Cinema Retro has received the following press release from Shout! Factory:

Los Angeles, CA – Shout Select is proud to present one of the greatest films of all time with the release of The Deer Hunter (Collector’s Edition) on 4K UHD for the first time. The 2-disc UHD + Blu-ray combo pack will arrive May 26, 2020, loaded with bonus features including new interviews with actors John Savage and Rutanya Alda and producer Michael Deeley. Fans who preorder this Collector’s Edition set from shoutfactory.com will also receive an exclusive 18”x24” poster, while supplies last.

Winner* of five Academy Awards®, including Best Picture and Best Director, and one of AFI's Top 100 Films of All Time, The Deer Hunter follows a group of Pennsylvania steelworkers from their blue-collar lives, hunting in the woods of the Alleghenies, to the hell of Southeast Asia during the Vietnam War. Academy Award® winners** Robert De Niro and Christopher Walken star in this unforgettable saga of friendship and courage. Experience the brutality of war and the depths of emotional strain on the human spirit in this extraordinarily powerful film classic.

Special Features:

DISC 1: 4K UHD – Feature Film

Audio Commentary with cinematographer Vilmos Zsigmond and journalist Bob Fisher

DISC 2: Blu-Ray - Feature Film

NEW We Don’t Belong Here – an interview with actor John Savage

NEW The War At Home – an interview with actress Rutanya Alda

NEW A National Anthem – an interview with producer Michael Deeley

NEW This is Not About War – interview with post-production supervisor Katy Haber and Universal Marketing executive Willette Klausner

Audio Commentary with cinematographer Vilmos Zsigmond and journalist Bob Fisher

Interview with film critic David Thomson

Deleted and Extended Scenes

Theatrical Trailer

Radio Spots

Still Gallery

*1978: Best Picture, Best Director (Michael Cimino), Best Actor in a Supporting Role (Christopher Walken), Best Sound, Best Film Editing

**De Niro: 1974: Best Actor in a Supporting Role, The Godfather: Part II; 1980: Best Actor in a Leading Role: Raging Bull

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