BY DOUG OSWALD

Charles Bronson portrays a veteran secret service agent tasked with protecting the First Lady in “Assassination,” now on Blu-ray from Kino Lorber. Jill Ireland is Lara Royce Craig, the First Lady under the protection of Jay “Killy” Killian (Bronson). His assignment to protect her is a bit of a demotion and a disappointment for Killian, but he makes the best of it along with his partner, agent Charlotte Chang (Jan Gan Boyd), who also happens to have a serious crush on Killian.

Killian believes someone is trying to murder the First Lady, but nobody believes him, including Lara. She takes an instant dislike to “Killy” in spite of his saving her life on several occasions, one of which results in her suffering a black eye after a would-be assassin disguised as a motorcycle cop tries to shoot her. Making matters worse for Killian is Lara’s habit of trying to slip away from his protection. Veteran TV and movie actor Michael Ansara is on hand as Senator Bunsen, who may be able to help Killian find the killers.

Killian and Charlotte find time to rendezvous, but their love affair is brief as they continue their search for those trying to murder the First Lady. Eventually Lara comes around and starts to trust Killian after it becomes obvious her life is in jeopardy and the clues may lead all the way to her husband. She departs with Killian to hide out in the country in order to buy a little time and ferret out the killers who also happen to be part of a terrorist conspiracy. The mayhem that ensues includes a motorcycle chase, a helicopter and surface- to- air missiles. In the end, the head of the conspiracy is revealed and the movie comes to a satisfying, if predictable conclusion.

“Assassination” may not be one of the classics in Bronson’s long list of movie credits, but it is typical of the movies that would define the later part of his career in the 1980s. Bronson is unique among movie actors in that he represented his own genre. It must be said, however, that prior to being an action movie icon, he distinguished himself as a supporting actor in prestigious productions such as “The Magnificent Seven,” ,“The Great Escape,” “Battle of the Bulge,” “The Dirty Dozen” and “Once Upon a Time in the West”.

Thankfully, Bronson was busy throughout the 70s, 80s and into the 90s making dozens of action and crime thrillers starting with “Rider on the Rain” (1970) and continuing through the final movie in the "Death Wish" series, “Death Wish V: The Face of Death,” in 1994. Many of these movies- “Chato’s Land,” “The Mechanic,” “Mr. Majestic,” “Death Wish,” “Hard Times” and “Breakout Pass” (to name just a few highlights)- defined action thrillers and westerns during this period and continue to do so to this day, while cementing Bronson’s reputation as one of the actors of the period whose movies garner repeat viewing and discussion.

Bronson also worked with several great and often overlooked directors during this period including Michael Winner, J. Lee Thompson, Peter Hunt, Richard Fleischer, Walter Hill, Richard Donner and Don Siegel. Bronson and the filmmakers he worked with proved to be the right combination for his fan base during this prolific period, even if critics rarely saw much merit to these populist productions.

“Assassination” is the final feature film by Peter Hunt, director of “On Her Majesty’s Secret Service” and “Shout at the Devil,” who also worked with Bronson and Lee Marvin on “Death Hunt.” This is also the last of 14 movies Jill Ireland co-starred in with her real life husband, Bronson. Sadly, she died three years later in 1990.

The Kino Blu-ray looks and sounds very good with an 88 minute running time. The disc features trailers for this and three other Bronson titles. “Assassination” is comfort food for Charles Bronson fans and is recommended for fans of 80s action movies.

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BY DOUG OSWALD

There was a time when movies about the Vietnam War were sparse if non existent, especially during the years when the war was raging (one of the rare exceptions being John Wayne’s “The Green Berets” in 1968). Once popular movie genres like the war movie and western were prolific on television and in cinemas, but were beginning to fall out of favor in the 1970s. They were being reinvented and metamorphosed into post modern psychological examinations of the nature of violence and war. Hollywood commonly referenced the Vietnam War by creating characters in movies depicted as dysfunctional or they commented on the war by setting the movie during a different war “The Sand Pebbles” and “M*A*S*H” are outstanding examples of Vietnam War movies in disguise).

“Go Tell the Spartans” was part of the small tide of movies about that war released in the late seventies and eighties. The 1978 release features a terrific performance by Burt Lancaster as well as an interesting supporting cast of up and coming actors. The film's opening prologue states: "In 1954, the French lost their war to keep their Indo-China colonies and those colonies became North and South Vietnam. Then the North aided a rebellion in the South and the United States sent in 'Military Advisors' to help South Vietnam fight the Communists. In 1964, the war in Vietnam was still a little one -- confused and far away."

Lancaster is war weary Army Major Asa Barker, commander of a South Vietnam outpost in 1964. A veteran of WWII and Korea, Barker commands a small group of American advisors at the outpost on the eve of the American build-up in Vietnam. His command also includes a few South Vietnamese soldiers and villagers as he negotiates with the corrupt regional governor to ensure his troops receive proper artillery cover as they engage North Vietnamese forces.

Barker’s second in command is Captain Alfred Olivetti (Marc Singer), a capable junior officer almost as jaded as Barker. They are assisted by the capable Signalman Toffee (Hilly Hicks) who is always ready with communications to headquarters before being asked. Replacements arrive at the outpost and they include the usual assortment of misfits, fence sitters, thoughtful soldiers and a gung-ho newly commissioned lieutenant. Corporal Stephen Courcey (Craig Wasson) is the college drop-out eager to serve his country by helping the South Vietnamese. Sergeant Oleonowski (Jonathan Goldsmith) is an experienced veteran near to reaching his breaking point. Lieutenant Raymond Hamilton (Joe Unger) is the recently commissioned officer a little too eager to engage the enemy and Corporal Abraham Lincoln (Dennis Howard) is the opium addicted stoner. Cowboy (Evan Kim) is Barker’s Vietnamese scout who is a bit zealous in his methods of enemy interrogation. Character actor James Hong is also present as one of the villagers assisting the Americans.

Barker and his men are ordered on an expedition to an abandoned French military outpost to report on enemy activity. They encounter the fort cemetery with 300 French graves from the First Indochina War where a sign written in French quotes the Greek historian Herodotus referencing the Battle of Thermopylae in 480 B.C. Greece; "Stranger, go tell the Spartans that here we are buried, obedient to their orders." The men soon find themselves engaging an overwhelming force of Viet Cong. The soldiers realize the similarities between their expedition and the doomed French soldiers who died there 10 years earlier as they make a stand against the Viet Cong. Several of the characters succumb to their fate as happens in all war movies, but the film does this in a sincere depiction of the futility of war in a way that honors those who serve and sacrifice.

Based on Daniel Ford’s 1967 novel, “Incident at Muc Wa,” the title was changed to “Go Tell the Spartans” by screenwriter Wendell Mayes. Ford based the novel on his experiences covering the war for “The Nation.” The novel covers what is historically known as “Operation Blaze.” Mayes beefed up the character of Barker in the hopes a major Hollywood actor could be coaxed into taking the part. After several years in development Hell, Lancaster accepted the part under the direction of Ted Post for Avco Embassy. The movie literally had a spartan budget and was shot on location in California which doubled for the jungles of Southeast Asia. “The Green Berets” suffered from a similar lack of location filming and it’s a glaring liability in both films. If the viewer can overlook this and accept pine trees for jungle palms, the movie works quite well as a compelling war drama with expertly staged battle scenes.

The Scorpion Blu-ray release looks and sounds terrific with a running time of 115 minutes. The new high definition transfer in widescreen is a vast improvement over the previous 2006 DVD release. Extras on the disc include interviews with cast members Marc Singer, Joe Unger, David Clennon, Jonathan Goldsmith and director Ted Post. The interviews include interesting anecdotes on working with Burt Lancaster and the process of bringing the movie to the big screen. If you own the 2006 DVD, this Blu-ray is a worthy upgrade and recommended for fans of the genre.

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BY FRED BLOSSER

The late Sergio Corbucci (1926-1990) had a long, prolific career in the Italian film industry as a screenwriter and director, but little exposure in U.S. theaters by comparison with his total output. IMDB credits him with sixty-three titles as director. By my count, eleven arrived on Stateside screens, none of them earning Corbucci any real notice at the time. All were genre films -- first sword-and-sandal movies, then Westerns -- before it was cool for critics to treat such products seriously, especially dubbed imports. Three toga-and beefcake pictures -- “Goliath and the Vampires” (1961), “Duel of the Titans” (1961), and “The Slave” (1962) -- were released on drive-in and double-feature bills in the Hercules era. “Minnesota Clay” (1964) had a 1966 run disguised as an American B-Western. “Navajo Joe” (1966) passed through theaters in 1967, earning a typically dismissive review from Bosley Crowther in the New York Times (“results aren’t worth a Mexican peso”). You had to use a magnifying glass to see Corbucci’s name on the movie poster. In his 1994 autobiography, Burt Reynolds said he only took the offer to star in the picture because he thought the director would be the other Sergio . . . Leone. “The Hellbenders” (1967) came and went, also camouflaged as an American production and promoting Joseph Cotten’s starring role. Cotten was a fine actor but hardly big box-office in ’67.

“The Mercenary” (1968) enjoyed a higher profile in a 1970 release, but “Alberto Grimaldi Presents . . .” dominated the credits, including the cover blurb on a paperback novelization that touted the movie as “the bloodiest ‘Italian’ Western of them all . . . by the producer of ‘The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly.’ ” “Companeros” (1970) didn’t open in the U.S. until 1972, and then only with limited distribution. “Sonny and Jed” (1972) followed in 1974. Neither made much of an impression as the Spaghetti cycle waned here. “Shoot First, Ask Questions Later” (1975), a sad attempt at comedy in the Spaghetti twilight, loped through rural drive-ins. “Super Fuzz” (1980; U.S. distribution, 1982) was a Terence Hill police comedy that the Times’ Herbert Mitgang said had “one funny gag a few minutes before the end.” At least Mitgang noted Corbucci and Hill by name as “longtime makers of spaghetti westerns.”

If you were nostalgic for Italian Westerns in the late ‘70s and ‘80s, after the cycle had come and gone in the States, you could read about Corbucci in Laurence Staig and Tony Williams’ “Italian Western: The Opera of Violence” (1975) and Christopher Frayling’s “Spaghetti Westerns: Cowboys and Europeans from Karl May to Sergio Leone” (1981). There you would learn that one of Corbucci’s Westerns that never made it to the States, “Django” (1966), was as wildly popular and influential overseas as Sergio Leone’s movies. But good luck in ever seeing it or Corbucci’s other Westerns, unless you might catch “The Hellbenders” in a pan-and-scan, commercial-infested print on local TV.

Thanks to the advent of home video, cable, and streaming internet -- and in particular, DVD and Blu-ray in which his films can be seen in the proper aspect ratio and definition -- both the committed and the curious now have access to virtually all of Corbucci’s thirteen Westerns, even the obscure “Grand Canyon Massacre” (1964), his first powder-burner, co-directed with Albert Band. Is Quentin Tarantino justified in praising Corbucci as “one of the great Western directors of all time”? Today, you don’t have to take Tarantino’s word for it, or not; you can judge for yourself.

By most accounts, a Corbucci Top Five would include “Django,” The Great Silence,” “The Mercenary,” “Companeros,” and “The Specialist” (1969). The first four are all in relatively easy reach in various formats and platforms. “Django,” “The Great Silence,” and “Companeros” have had domestic DVD releases. “The Mercenary” hasn’t, but it shows up periodically on cable channels, albeit in an edited version, and you can find good DVD and Blu-ray editions with an English voice track through Amazon and import dealers on the web.

“The Specialist” remains more elusive. Written and directed by Corbucci during his peak period, originally titled “Gli specialisti” and also known as “Specialists” and “Drop Them or I’ll Shoot,” this Western never played in U.S. theaters, has never had an American video release, and is hard to find even on the collectors‘ market in a print with an English-language option. Not to be confused with other, unrelated films of the same name, including a mediocre 1994 Sylvester Stallone crime drama and an obscure 1975 B-movie with Adam West, it is past due for official U.S. release on DVD. Or, better yet, on hi-def Blu-ray to give Corbucci’s compositions and Dario Di Palma’s rich Techniscope and Technicolor cinematography their due sharpness and color on home screens.

By Lee Pfeiffer

If it's remembered at all, the 1970 WWII comedy Which Way to the Front? is generally attributed as being the film that ended Jerry Lewis' career as a leading man - at least for quite some time.  During the 1950s, Lewis' partnership with Dean Martin made them the kind of pop culture idols that would only be rivaled by The Beatles and Michael Jackson. If that sounds absurd, search out newsreel footage of the thousands of people that stormed their hotel in Times Square, causing police to close the vicinity as Dean and Jerry merrily tossed autographed photos to the crowd below. When Martin left the act, thus bringing about one of the longest feuds in show biz history, both men went on to enjoy a successful careers on their own. Martin's friendship with Frank Sinatra did much to keep him in the public eye until he enjoyed his own fanatically loyal following. Lewis became a prolific producer and director, one of the first movie stars to successfully multi-task in front and behind the cameras. Others had given it a try only to give up after a film or two. Lewis persevered and earned respect for his knowledge of filmmaking techniques even as he enjoyed his ranking among the top boxoffice attractions in the world.

By the late 1960s, however, Lewis' brand of innocent slapstick humor had fallen victim to the new freedoms in the cinema. Suddenly he began to look like a quaint throwback to a much earlier era, even though only a few short years had transpired since the pinnacle of his career. His modest romantic comedies couldn't compete with Bob and Carol and Ted and Alice frolicking in the same bed. Lewis was dismayed by this trend and tried to fight back by opening a national chain of Jerry Lewis Cinema franchises that would be allowed to play only family-oriented films. His timing couldn't have been worse. The lack of appropriate fare not only sank the theater chain but also took down such iconic family-themed theaters as Radio City Music Hall. (Ironically, audiences couldn't be persuaded to pay $5 to see a new movie plus a magnificent stage show starring the Rockettes. Today, they line up in droves and pay $100 just to see the stage show.) Lewis gamely fought on but his films became afterthoughts to his once loyal public. He remained very popular in Vegas nightclubs and his annual Muscular Dystrophy Telethon continued to raise millions for charity.

Lewis' 1970 Warner Brothers comedy Which Way to the Front? has been released on DVD by the Warner Archive. The film is an curiosity in the funnyman's career in that, unlike his previous films, there is literally nothing funny about the movie at all. Even the least of Lewis' other works had a few scenes that would make his detractors chuckle, but this misguided farce seems to have been cobbled together at the last minute just to satisfy a contractual obligation. Lewis plays Brendan Byers III, "the world's richest man." Byers is bored with life and is surrounded by sniveling yes men who cater to his every whim. Thus they perceive a crisis when he gets a draft notice. That in itself is the first absurdity as Lewis was in his mid-40s at the time and would not have been of draft age. Nevertheless, Byers surprises his employees by rejecting their offers to find ways to get him out of military service. He has found his purpose in life: to fight for the American way of life. His joy is short-lived when he is rejected for military service. Crushed and humiliated, he befriends three other men (Jan Murray, Steve Franken, Dack Rambo) who were also classified as unfit for the army.  The screenplay is so sloppy that it never explains why these able-bodied men were deemed unable to serve. Each one of his new friends has their own compelling personal crisis that makes it mandatory that they get out of the country. Byers comes up with a novel idea: if the U.S. Army doesn't want them, he'll use his unlimited wealth to create his own army.

By Hank Reineke

On the evening of Saturday, November 29, 2003, my wife and I had the blessing of sitting front row at Carnegie Hall’s SRO “Tribute to Harold Leventhal.” On the bill that evening were a host of the impresario’s clients: Arlo Guthrie, Pete Seeger, the Weavers, Leon Bibb, Theodore Bikel, Peter, Paul, and Mary, and a score of others. Sitting near us in Carnegie’s red plush seats I spied such colleagues and clients of Leventhal’s as Judy Collins, the actor Alan Arkin, Paul Robeson Jr. and what seemed the entirety of Woody Guthrie’s east coast extended family. This was going to be a night of true celebration.

For the non-cognoscenti, Harold Leventhal was, at various times in his eighty-six years, a song-plugger for Irving Berlin, a Broadway and off-Broadway producer, a concert promoter of domestic and international musical acts, a film producer, a radical, and the manager and publisher of some of America’s most noted folk music artists. The tribute was an amazing, unforgettable evening and near the finale of the two-hour long program, Nora Guthrie, the daughter of legendary folksinger Woody Guthrie, brought out a reluctant Leventhal to say a few words.

Leventhal, short and stocky, bespectacled and balding, was brief and humble in his remarks. In a predictably characteristic attempt to swing the spotlight away from his own considerable accomplishments, Leventhal remarked in his Bronx-inflected speaking voice that he most treasured working alongside the people that “America should be proud of,” those rare artists of “complete integrity” who represented the best attributes of our country’s ideals: The Weavers, Pete Seeger, Woody Guthrie, Cisco Houston and Lead Belly. In the program book given to patrons that night, there was a beautiful resurrected quote courtesy of Pete Seeger. Having been blacklisted and pilloried by enemies for more than a half a century, Seeger – with Leventhal’s empathizing guidance - managed to not only to endure the brickbats but handily outlast all his detractors. “He has done something extraordinary for The Weavers,” Seeger said of his old friend. “He risked his own head and believed in us when nobody else did. You might say he believed in America.”

Woody Guthrie, the famed dust bowl balladeer and composer of America’s unofficial national anthem, “This Land is Your Land,” was not a client of Leventhal’s in the manner that Seeger was. Guthrie was not a stage performer in any traditional sense; he was a writer – and a very prolific one – who would often appear on radio, on stage, at union rallies, and hootenannies. But he was just as likely to be found playing his guitar on the street, in derelict saloons, on New York City’s subway system, or to fellow sailors of the merchant marine. Guthrie’s first novel, the occasionally self-mythologizing pre-Beat era autobiography Bound for Glory, was published by E.P. Dutton and Co. in 1943.

That book would inadvertently inspire a new generation of folk music artists, not the least of whom was a nineteen year old fledgling folksinger named Bob Dylan. Dylan, by his own admission, became a “Woody Guthrie jukebox” after reading through a friend’s copy of the book. He immediately abandoned the coffeehouses of Minneapolis to visit Guthrie at Greystone Hospital in Morris Plains, New Jersey, where the dying singer was institutionalized. Dylan’s first major concert engagement following his signing with Columbia Records in the late autumn of 1961 was at Manhattan’s Town Hall in April of 1963. That concert was, of course, fittingly produced by Harold Leventhal.

Harold Leventhal had been familiar with Woody Guthrie’s words and music since the 1940s; he had seen the displaced Okie singer-guitarist perform at various left-wing functions and hootenannies during this time. He had also been familiar with Guthrie’s humorous “Woody Sez” columns that had appeared sporadically in the Communist Daily Worker newspaper. But it was only after agreeing to manage Pete Seeger’s new quartet The Weavers on the eve of the McCarthy-era in 1950 that Leventhal would become a personal friend of Guthrie, who was already beginning to demonstrate signs of Huntington’s disease.

In the early winter of 1956, with Guthrie’s health continuing to deteriorate, Leventhal helped found The Guthrie Children’s Trust Fund, organized to get Woody’s anarchic business affairs in some semblance of order. It was their ambition that Guthrie’s children might benefit from the small stream of publishing and record sale royalties that were, at long last, beginning to trickle in. It was Leventhal who commissioned Millard Lampell, a blacklisted writer and colleague of Guthrie’s, to skillfully weave together a program of Guthrie’s prose and songs into a program titled From California to the New York Island. Many of the spoken-word recitations from this early stage play had been cribbed from Guthrie’s novel Bound for Glory.

The idea of bringing an adaptation of Guthrie’s Bound for Glory to the stage had long been in the making. In the late autumn of 1961, the folk music magazine Sing Out! made a passing mention of Leventhal’s recent acquisition of "the musical drama rights” to the book. This was exciting news, with such folk music world luminaries as musicologist Alan Lomax and promoter Israel G. Young aggressively promoting the casting of Guthrie protégé Ramblin Jack Elliott in the role of America’s premier ballad-maker. It was not surprising that Leventhal first saw Bound for Glory as a stage production; he had already served as producer of several off-Broadway offerings as Will Geer’s From Mark Twain to Lynn Riggs (1952-53) and Rabindranath Tagore’s King of the Dark Chamber.

It’s not entirely clear why a stage production of Bound for Glory was not realized. The folk-pop music craze of 1963-1964 provided a fertile atmosphere in which such a project could be fulfilled. Woody Guthrie, now mostly out of sight due to the devastating effects of the incurable neurological disease Huntington’s Chorea was – perhaps for the first time in his life - no longer simply a singer of the fringe. He was now and incontestably America’s most iconic folk music hero. Guthrie would finally succumb to the malady in October 1967.

Ed Robbin, an editor of the west coast Communist newspaper People’s World, first met Woody Guthrie in Los Angeles in 1938, during the time the folksinger had a fifteen minute a day radio program on the politically-liberal station KFVD. Guthrie’s program was one of the station’s most popular: he quickly cultivated an appreciative audience of dispossessed and homesick Okies and Arkies. These were Woody’s people, the poor folk who had fled their dirt ravaged homes and farms in the dust bowl for the promised “Garden of Eden” that was California. It was Robbin’s suggestion that Guthrie contribute folksy, humorous Will Rogers-style commentaries to the otherwise staid People’s World. In 1975 when Bound for Glory was to finally commence production as an ambitious film project for United Artists, Robbin reminisced that Harold Leventhal had long “been trying to put together a story of Woody's life that would work for a movie script. Three different scripts were written over a period of seven years."

Having long been an amateur scholar and collector of all things Woody Guthrie, seven years ago I was fortunate enough to acquire an antiquarian copy of one of the two ultimately unproduced Bound for Glory screenplays. The one hundred and thirty-six page screenplay I found, Bound for Glory: the Life and Times of Woody Guthrie, had been written by William Kronick and Oliver Hailey. Kronick was principally known as a writer-director of documentary films, Hailey a playwright and television scribe who would contribute scripts to such 1970s shows as McMillan & Wife and Bracken’s World. With only the slightest information to go on, I tried my best to research exactly when this unproduced screenplay was first commissioned. Happily, a visit to the newspaper archive at the New York Public Library was successful.

In the April 23, 1968 issue of the Los Angeles Times I uncovered the briefest of mentions, that Hollywood producer "Harold Hecht has signed playwright Oliver Hailey to write the screenplay for Bound for Glory, film biography of folk singer- composer Woody Guthrie."  This bit of news was later confirmed by the actor David Carradine, who would eventually – if only by default - land the role of Woody Guthrie. In a 1976 interview with the New York Times, the eccentric, self-satisfied star of television’s Kung Fu series recalled, “About eight years ago this producer, Harold Hecht, was going to make Bound for Glory, based on Woody’s autobiography, and my agent sent me to see him.” Carradine admitted this meeting at Hecht’s “palatial mansion in Stone Canyon” didn’t go particularly well. There was a clash of personalities with neither man having much use for the other.

In any event the proposed Hecht/Hailey/Kronick film project was soon abandoned. Robert Getchell (scripter of Martin Scorsese’s Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore (1974), would be the lone screenwriter to eventually deliver a workable storyline. Robert F. Blumofe, who would co-produce Bound for Glory with Leventhal, offered that Getchell was hired because "early scripts, written by friends of Guthrie, were too broad, too close to the man.”  "You can't tell all of Woody's life," Blumofe told the Los Angeles Times, who suggested the process to bring Bound for Glory to the big screen took nearly four years.  This remembrance corresponds to Harold Leventhal's own assessment. Leventhal conceded there were serious and ultimately fatal issues with the pre-Getchell screenplay drafts under consideration: "Our trouble was that we were trying to cover too much ground...  When we finally decided to center our story on the two or three key years of Woody's development, around 1938, then the whole thing came together." 

In April of 1975 Arthur Krim of United Artists gave director Hal Ashby (Shampoo, The Last Detail, Harold and Maude) the green light to get Bound for Glory into production.  This gesture was a display of great confidence in Ashby as helmsman, since the role of Woody Guthrie had not yet been cast. The original casting process was an interesting one, rife with unrealized possibilities. Dustin Hoffman and Jack Nicholson were reportedly both offered the role. The former balked due to his inability to play the guitar in even the most rudimentary manner, the latter choosing instead to star opposite a hero, Marlon Brando, in The Missouri Breaks.

By Hank Reineke

Curt Siodmak’s The Magnetic Monster is one of the more thoughtful – and thought provoking - science-fiction films of the era. Produced by Ivan Tors (whom would share screenplay credit with Siodmak), this intriguing 1953 release from United Artists is a cerebral, worthy addition to the classic sci-fi canon. Its likely most fondly remembered among devotees of 1950s sci-fi for whom the presence of a rubber-suited monster is not a prerequisite.

Richard Carlson (It Came From Outer Space, The Creature from the Black Lagoon) essays the role of Dr. Jeffrey Stewart, a brilliant graduate of Boston’s M.I.T. now working for the OSI (Office of Scientific Investigation). Stewart and his assistant, the bespectacled egghead Dr. Dan Forbes (King Donovan) are self-described “Detectives with Degrees in Science.” They’re government “A-Men,” the “A” prefix representative of their pedigree in atomic energy research. The two are called by an official from the Office of Power and Light to investigate a complaint regarding strange occurrences taking place inside a Hardware Store. It seems as though the entire establishment has become magnetized. The assortment of display clocks adorning the walls have all stopped working, the doors of such household appliances as washing machines are snapping open and shut, and steam-irons are careening across store counters. One frightened employee is nearly run down inside the shop by a barreling rotary-blade lawn mower. “I can’t have appliances sailing around my store!” the distressed shopkeeper sensibly complains to the arriving investigators.

With the assistance of a Geiger counter, the two scientists discover that traces of radiation are present. Through additional testing, they conclude the epicenter of radioactivity can be traced to an apartment sitting directly over the shop. There they discover a corpse that has succumbed to radiation poisoning. After checking with officials in Washington D.C. that no government-held radioactive elements have recently gone missing, the trail goes briefly cold. Things heat up again when they receive reports that the radio and radar communications systems at a local airfield have suddenly gone haywire. They’re also contacted by an exasperated cabbie at the airport whose taxi’s engine has gone inexplicably dead - and mysteriously magnetic. His most recent passenger, we learn, was a somewhat distraught elderly gentleman desperately clinging to a small suitcase.

The man with the suitcase, they soon learn, is also a scientist, Howard Denker (Leonard Mudie). Denker, as we might have initially suspected, is neither a foreign spy nor a Soviet saboteur. He was merely an ambitious research scientist from Southwestern University; his cosmic creation has – much in the manner of Frankenstein’s monster – quickly turned on him and escaped. He too is slowly dying from the ravages of radiation poisoning. His monstrous creation is a super-charged element with an insatiable appetite for energy. Denker cautions that his creation must be constantly fed an electric charge or else “it will reach out with its magnetic arms and kill anything within its reach.” The scientists arrange to have a sample of the dangerous element put in to the Cyclotron at the State University. But the massive particle accelerator is no match for this man-made monster of magnetism. Dr. Denker’s unstable element is made stronger following an implosion of the Cyclotron in which two men are killed and all energies absorbed by the creature that doubles in mass with each feeding.

The A-Men finally realize what they’re up against. The element continues to aggressively feed and grow and, when starved, compensates by swallowing all energies existing in “empty spaces.” This energy is then converted into mass. Carlson recognizes this chain reaction is, essentially, the same from which the universe was first created and the planets formed. Unable to prevent the element from continually doubling in strength and size, the scientists warn that at such a growth rate this magnetic monster will eventually knock the earth from its axis. When a government defense administrator suggests the creature might be disposed of by dropping it into the ocean (ala The Blob), he’s advised the super-heated element would likely turn the sea bed into a blanket of steam.

The only hope for mankind is, unusually, in the hands of the Canadians. Apparently, the U.S. has learned that its neighbor to the north has built a secret nuclear energy facility some seventeen hundred feet down a mineshaft near Nova Scotia. The Americans believe the only way to destroy the magnetic monster is to not starve it but to overfeed it with power generated by the facility’s Deltatron. Their plan is to allow the monster to literally choke itself to death by pumping some 900 million volts of power into it. The Canadians aren’t too enthused with the idea. The Deltatron’s expensive and expansive subterranean facility, its temperature naturally regulated by surrounding sea water, has only been tested to emit some 600 million volts. The Canadians argue that increasing the output to 900 million volts is suicidal; it would put the infrastructure and the safety of everyone working at the facility at great risk. More egregiously, if Dr. Stewart is wrong in his calculation, this so-called “magnetic monster” will become so powerful that no force on heaven or earth will ever be able to contain it.

BY TIM GREAVES

Between the early 1950s and mid 1980s the Children's Film Foundation was a non-profit making establishment behind dozens of films aimed at a young audience, most of them screening as programme constituents at Saturday morning 'Picture Shows'. I didn't catch many of these during my own childhood. But I do recall a couple of particularly enjoyable ones that I did get to see in the early 1970s: Cry Wolf (1969) and All at Sea (1970), both of which are conspicuously absent from the half dozen or so collections issued on DVD to date. Many of the CFF’s films had a run-time of around an hour, although there were also a number of serials in their catalogue. Masters of Venus was one such production. Comprising eight 15-minute instalments, it arrives on DVD in the UK in a restored release from BFI. 

On the day prior to mankind's first mission to Venus, chief scientist Dr Ballantyne (No Road Back's Norman Wooland) is being assisted with last minute preparations on the rocketship Astarte by his two intellectual children, Jim (Robin Stewart) and Pat (Amanda Coxell). When the base is infiltrated by a pair of sinister, ray-gun-toting saboteurs the siblings' only route of escape is the Astarte; it blasts off and catapults them, along with two technicians, into space. When it transpires the Chinese are on the verge of launching their own exploratory rocket ship, rather than guide his children home Ballantyne asks that they continue to Venus in order to secure Great Britain's place in history. Upon their arrival the team are made welcome by the planet’s inhabitants, but it soon becomes apparent that a plan to invade the Earth is underway.

Shot on sets at Pinewood Studios, this sub-Flash Gordon-esque serial was directed by Ernest Morris (as prolific a second unit director as he was an occupant of the centre seat) from an endearingly dumbed down Michael Barnes screenplay: "They'll be on the trip for several weeks, you know," remarks Ballantyne casually (Weeks?! More like months!). 

It takes a while to get to Venus – it's episode 4 before our heroes arrive – but curiously enough at this point, where the fun factor ought to escalate, things become less interesting and the plot meanders through a clichéd few episodes of political insurrection whilst the humans collaborate with friendly Venusians to bring down the rebel faction. 

Where most of the adult characters in CFF films are inept – or at best ineffectual to the point of comical – the very purpose of these movies was to allow the kids to shine. Both youngsters here are likeable enough and outsmart their elders regularly. Amanda Coxell (the nom de guerre adopted by Mandy Harper) had worked regularly as a child actor but as she got a little older her career wound down (Masters of Venus was in fact one of her last pieces of work). Robin Stewart on the other hand made that tricky transition from child to adult actor very successfully, carving out a career that found him lead roles in such films as The Legend of the 7 Golden Vampires for Hammer and The Haunted House of Horror, as well as a lead role as Sid James' son in a 65-episode run of TV sitcom Bless This House. There’s worthy support from The Revenge of Frankenstein's Arnold Diamond, From Russia With Love's George Pastell, Where Eagles Dare's Ferdy Mayne and Zienia Merton (who later became a regular face on TV’s Space: 1999). The effects of pretty respectable given the shoestring budget – the Astarte itself is a nicely Gerry Anderson-esque hunk of space hardware – while Eric Rogers (best known for his whimsical scores on a couple of dozen Carry On entries) supplies suitably dramatic musical accompaniment to the action.

With a total running time of just over two hours, if you were to lose the “Our story so far…” and “See next week’s exciting episode to find out…” bookends and a little of the loquacious padding you're probably looking at a decent 90-minute adventure. In any event, it is what it is and Masters of Venus will certainly find an appreciative audience among those who remember it from their halcyon childhood days (which, to be fair, is a statement applicable nowadays to all the CFF's output). 

The BFI’s DVD presents the 8-part black-and-white serial in its original 1.66:1 ratio. Transferred from the best extant elements held at the BFI National Archive, there are occasionally patches of detritus accumulation in evidence and a couple of episodes bear some light vertical scratching, but overall picture quality is fine given the age of the material. The PCM 2.0 mono sound labours under varying degrees of crackle but seldom is it too intrusive. There are no additional features.

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BY LEE PFEIFFER

Garry Marshall, the man who helped create iconic sitcoms such as "Happy Days", "Laverne & Shirley" and "Mork & Mindy", has died at age 81. Greatly beloved in the entertainment industry, Marshall helped kick many actors' careers into overdrive including Julia Roberts, Ron Howard, Henry Winkler and Robin Williams.  He also adapted Neil Simon's stage and screen hit "The Odd Couple" into a long-running TV series starring Tony Randall and Jack Klugman. He grew up in a modest home in the Bronx and never lost his almost stereotypical "New Yawk" accent. Marshall became a writer on some classic TV series of the 1960s including "The Dick Van Dyke Show", The Lucy Show" and "The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson". He even became a prolific actor graduating from an un-billed role in "Goldfinger" to some juicy character parts in major films. Marshall would go on to direct features himself including such smash hits as "Pretty Woman", "The Princess Diaries" and "Runaway Bride". He also directed Jackie Gleason in his last feature film "Nothing in Common" in 1986. For more click here. 

BY TIM GREAVES

The 1968 jungle-based adventure The Face of Eve has been released on DVD in the UK as a constituent of 'The British Film' collection from Network.

Hunting for treasure in the Amazon, Mike Yates (Easy Rider's Robert Walker Jr) encounters taciturn, scantily-clad jungle beauty Eve (The Velvet Vampire's Celeste Yarnall) when she rescues him from certain death at the hands of savages. Meanwhile in Spain, Yates's financier – the wheelchair-bound Colonel Stuart (Christopher Lee) – has knowledge of the location of a fabled stash of Incan riches, but he's unaware that his friend and business partner Diego (Herbert Lom) has been plotting to cheat him out of his fortune. Diego has coaxed his wife Conchita (Rosenda Monteros) into infiltrating the household in the guise of Eve, the ailing Stuart's long lost granddaughter and imminent sole heir. After Stuart divulges the treasure's believed location to Diego, the duplicitous pair take off to find it...with Yates, in the company of the real Eve, in hot pursuit.

Emerging from under the wing of legendary and prolific producer Harry Alan Towers – the man behind some marvellous exploitationers throughout the 60s, including a splendid run of Christopher Lee/Fu Manchu chillers, plus Shirley Eaton star vehicle The Million Eyes of Sumuru and its sequel The Girl from Rio – if nothing else The Face of Eve gives audiences an abundance of plot for their money. What it doesn’t deliver is anywhere near enough of its star attraction. The film was directed by Vengeance of Fu Manchu's Jeremy Summers, a jobbing director whose name will probably be most familiar in that capacity to fans of ITC TV shows of the 60s. Towers himself took on scripting duties under his oft-employed nom de plume Peter Welbeck. As such, its pedigree was certainly sound enough. It's just a shame that the resulting film falls short of expectation, largely because, as already touched upon, the pair failed to capitalise on their main asset: Celeste Yarnall.

Following a fistful of appearances in TV shows (among them The Man from U.N.C.L.E, Land of the Giants and Star Trek), as well as blink-and-you'll-miss-her walk-ons in films such as Around the World Under the Sea and The Nutty Professor, 1968 proved to be Yarnall's big screen breakout year when she secured a major role in Elvis starrer Live a Little, Love a Little and, perhaps a tad less prestigiously, the titular role here in The Face of Eve. The actress plays the ‘Sheena Queen of the Jungle’ bit to perfection, clad in an admirably-filled chamois leather bikini that gives the eye-catching attire of other jungle babes (such as Evelyne Kraft, Marion Michael and Tanya Roberts) more than a run for its money. Thus, unsurprisingly, whenever she's on screen she's very much the focal point, amusingly changing hairstyle as often as she does her outfit. The problem is that Eve is side-lined for the middle third of the picture, which relocates to Spain and gets a little bogged down in the despicable duplicities of the Diegos and their mission to separate Stuart from his wealth. So protracted is the business going on here that viewers could be forgiven for wondering if Summers is ever going to get back to the more interesting vicinage of the Amazon.

Beyond the obvious audience-bait of Yarnall (depicted on posters clinging to a jungle vine far more fetchingly than Tarzan ever did), Lee and Lom bring star name lustre to the aid of the party – though the former's age-augmenting makeup falls some distance shy of convincing – and wiry-framed Walker Jr makes for an unlikely but surprisingly affable hero. Fred Clark is good value too as a nightclub owner-cum-showman who smells $’s-to-be-mined by exploiting the newly discovered jungle nymphet, whilst Maria Rohm (Harry Alan Towers’ wife for 45 years up until his death in 2009) lip-syncs a smoochy musical number as a bar-room brawl gets into full swing around her.

Though it’s enjoyable enough for what it is, The Face of Eve is a criminally unremarkable film; one can’t help feeling that its premise should have birthed something with so much more pizazz. Case in point, it was shot in Spain and Brazil, exotic enough locales that regardless of anything else going on should have gifted the production with a ton of spectacle, yet Manuel Merino's resolutely uninspired cinematography renders most of the jungle sequences cheap-looking and dull.

In summation: a really wasted opportunity.

The colours on Network’s 1.66:1 ratio DVD transfer (sourced from the original film elements) are occasionally a little muted, but aside from a slightly ratty opening titles sequence it's a nice clean print. The only bonus feature is a gallery of posters, stills and lobby cards from around the globe.

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BY JEREMY CARR

Based on Lillian Hellman’s 1934 play, “The Children’s Hour,” These Three strays from the source most notably in its cause for public outrage. While the earlier work took as its inciting gossip a suggestion of lesbianism between two female teachers, Hollywood’s production code dictates would not allow such an insinuation in a 1936 film (director William Wyler’s own 1961 remake, which retains the play’s title, was more effectively able to get away with it). Nevertheless, the rumor of unmarried sexuality, on school property no less, is damaging enough for its time and place, even if the film does lose some of the scandalous bite provoked by the original story.

As These Three starts, best friends Martha Dobie (Miriam Hopkins) and Karen Wright (Merle Oberon, fresh off an Oscar-nominated performance in 1935’s The Dark Angel) rush into their dream of opening a boarding school just minutes after they graduate from college. “Take a chance with me,” implores Karen, and with that, the two are off to a rural Massachusetts community. The area is charmingly rustic, but the actual site of their institution, Karen’s inherited farmhouse, is more than a little rickety. Though the poor condition of the structure is played for laughs, it is also the first signal that their goal will not be easily achieved.

Alleviating some of that hesitation is the appearance of Dr. Joseph Cardin (Joel McCrea, having also worked with Hopkins the year prior on Barbary Coast and Splendor), first presented here by the chunks of wood he comically heaves through a hole in the building’s bee-infested Swiss cheese roof. Once introduced to one another, the trio form a promptly congenial group, sitting together and jointly munching on Joseph’s lunch. There is some stated surprise at their immediate camaraderie, and there is a tinge of inevitable jealousy regarding whom Joseph favors most, but all in all, Martha and Karen have found a solid ally.

With the bucolic setting comes a cloistered small-town mentality and carefully arranged social structure. The two young women are instant outsiders, apparently despite Karen’s roots in the region, and in their naiveté, they also open themselves up to humiliation. Their first misstep is to procure the ire of the precocious Mary Tilford (Bonita Granville), who is set up to be their first pupil and the cause of their downfall. Furthermore, Joseph’s playfulness is regarded by some as impudence, and Karen and Martha are generally greeted with cautious skepticism. Before long, rumors and assumptions fly, deriving from Martha’s annoyingly obtrusive aunt Lily (Catherine Doucet) and Mary, who is a conniving troublemaker. When the girl is punished for lying, she retaliates by telling her grandmother (Alma Kruger), a wealthy town benefactor, about the supposed tryst between Joseph and Martha. A steady anxiety grows from the planted suspicions, and, more than that, there is genuine shock when Mary reveals a terrifyingly cruel violent streak. Confronted by accusations of illicit and harmful activity at the school, Karen, Martha, and Joseph are thus embroiled in a town-wide conspiracy. While they remain an unwavering team in the face of the fabricated outrage, going so far as to make their case in court, the entire scheme has been devastating enough to dismantle their idyllic institution and their relationships.

Even if the lesbianism in any overt sense has been left on the stage, there is still a notably familiar friendship between Karen and Martha. They frequently speak in the plural possessive and for much of the early portion of These Three, the two are framed closely together, stressing their physical proximity and their initial shared expressions and thoughts. This type of composition is gradually less frequent as Joseph comes between the women, but what seems to impede a full commitment to the neighborly doctor, as much as the townsfolk distrust, is the sincere, respectful bond between the two friends. Perhaps to limit the perceived possibility of just where the jealousy may actually be directed—Martha’s jealousness at Joseph choosing her friend instead of her rather than her being jealous of Karen finding another love—the women bear no great hostility toward one another as their work and lives are put to the test.

Produced by the prolific Samuel Goldwyn, who was working with Wyler on the first of what would be their eight films together, These Three moves along at a decent pace. Even at just 93 minutes, though, there are times when the developing drama is stretched a little thin in order to prolong the film’s third act, only to then have the conclusion itself somewhat hurried. The performances are generally good across the board, and Granville at just 14 would be nominated for an Academy Award. A major drawback concerning nearly all involved, however, is when the actors lose a considerable degree of empathy and effectiveness by breaking into shrieking emotional outbursts, which happens a lot. This type of fluctuating behavior is mirrored in the film’s tonal oscillation as well; what starts innocent enough grows simply sinister as hysterics set in amidst the close confines of the school. Adhering to the bound constraints of the stage play, Wyler and cinematographer Gregg Toland seldom venture outdoors, adding to the combustible claustrophobia (the restrictiveness is literally evident when McCrea has to duck through one particular doorway). Neither Wyler nor Toland were at their legendary status by this point, so though they do contribute to clean, clear, and precise visuals, the imagery is so restrained and unembellished that it scarcely suggests the pictorial brilliance both men would soon exhibit.

These Three is available now on a single-disc DVD from the Warner Brothers Archive Collection.

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BY LEE PFEIFFER

By the early 1970s there had been a revival of interest in the format of anthology suspense/horror stories. This genre had been all the rage in the late 1950s and early 1960s with shows like "The Twilight Zone", "Alfred Hitchcock Presents" and "Thriller!" (hosted by Boris Karloff) attracting loyal audiences. "Twilight Zone" creator and host Rod Serling had two bites at the apple when he introduced "Night Gallery" as a TV movie in 1969 (giving young Steven Spielberg his first major directing gig) and then spun it off into a moderately successful weekly TV series. The early to mid-1970s also saw a major resurgence in horror-themed anthology feature films. The concept was hardly a new one for the big screen as the first major film of this type was "Dead of Night", released in 1945.  Roger Corman oversaw some similarly-themed big screen anthologies in the early to mid-1960s, many of which were inspired by classic horror stories based on the works of Edgar Allan Poe. Not to be outdone, Amicus Films, a rival of Hammer Studios, debuted their anthology concept with the 1965 release of "Dr. Terror's House of Horrors". By the early 1970s we had "Tales From the Crypt", "Vault of Horror", "The House That Dripped Blood" and many others.  All of the short stories were based on the same theme: a bunch of disparate characters encounter some supernatural occurrences with the less savory people ending up getting their just desserts through ironic circumstances. In 1983 producer Andrew Mirisch decided to give the anthology concept a try by teaming with producer/screenwriter Christopher Crowe and pitching the concept to Universal. Mirisch had found success in recent years with two popular TV series: "The Hardy Boys/Nancy Drew Mysteries" and "Buck Rogers in the 25th Century". Universal gave the green light for McCarthy's proposed series "Nightmares". The concept was to feature a self-contained horror tale within a half-hour format. For various reasons, including the possible demise of a similarly-themed show titled "Darkroom", the idea for a weekly series was nixed. However, Universal liked what they had seen and decided to morph the concept into a feature film, retaining the title "Nightmares". It consisted of four individual tales and the film was directed by the esteemed Joseph Sargent, who had some high profile TV series and feature films to his credit. The result was an unremarkable but consistently entertaining film that is not as sharp or memorable as some of the best anthology films but superior to some of the weaker ones. 

"Nightmares" dispenses with a gimmick used in many anthology films: having a creepy host reveal each of the stories. These just open "cold" without any attempt to link the plots or characters. First up is "Terror in Topanga" which finds Cristina Raines as a young mother who is hopelessly addicted to smoking. One evening she discovers she is out of cigarettes and decides to make a drive into town from her rural home in order to get a pack. Her husband admonishes her and insists that she stays home. Seems there is a manhunt on for a homicidal maniac who has butchered a police officer and who has been terrorizing other residents. Naturally, Raines ignores the advice and sneaks out of the house. The ride to town proves to be ominous with a few red herrings thrown in to mislead the audience, including her encounter with a hitchhiker on a lonely road. When she does make it to the store, it's manned by a wacko clerk (played the inimitable Anthony James) who is somehow more frightening than the maniac. By this point, Raines regrets her decision and is eager to race home. Despite the fact that there is a murderer on the loose, she refuses to lock the doors to her car, even when she leaves it to enter the store. This leads to a predictable development that comes about when she (in true horror movie crisis cliche mode) discovers she is coincidentally almost out of gas. Every major gas station is closed but she eventually finds a lone station on a foreboding mountain road. She has a tense encounter with the sole employee on duty who looks at her menacingly even as he pretends to pump gas. The payoff is based on one of the oldest urban horror legends but the tale is briskly paced and highly entertaining with Raines giving a fine performance as the increasingly nervous victim-to-be. 

"Bishop of Battle" goes in an entirely different direction. It eschews dark, foreboding places in favor of a bright suburban home and a crowded game center at a shopping mall. Emilo Estevez is J.J. , an obnoxious high school kid with a mad passion for playing the titular game. He becomes so obsessed with reaching the "13th level" (something few have supposedly ever been able to do) that he begins to withdraw from his parents and friends. His attempts to reach his goal become the stuff of local legend and big crowds gather to watch his attempts- but he always falls a bit short of his ultimate victory. Goaded on by the graphic of the Bishop of Battle, who constantly tempts him to keep trying, J.J. ends up defying his parents, who have ordered him to cease and desist from game-playing. One night he breaks into the arcade and begins his final battle with the Bishop. It leads to a disastrous but predictable conclusion. This segment is well-acted by Estevez and, despite the fact that we can predict the "shock" ending, it plays out well enough. Most of the enjoyment, however, comes from seeing how positively archaic "state-of-the-art" gaming was back in the early 1980s.  

"The Benediction" features Lance Henriksen as a priest serving in a tiny desert parish who undergoes a crisis of faith. Having witnessed so many terrible things happen to good people, he decides to hang up his frock and leave the priesthood. His fellow priest tries to talk him out of it, but he is determined to go his own way and start a new life. A big clue as to what awaits him comes with the rather awkward plot device of his being given a gift of holy water to keep him safe on his travels. This promising concept of a priest at odds with his faith is soon abandoned for a ludicrous scenario in which he becomes menaced by a black truck with an unseen driver that keeps appearing out of nowhere and smashing into his car, rendering it inoperable. The demonic vehicle then attempts to kill the priest in a series of spectacular attacks. One of the more ridiculous aspects of a tale that borrows shamelessly from the classic TV movie "Duel", the God-awful Universal cheese fest "The Car" and Stephen King's novel "Christina", is the fact that throughout this entire ordeal not a single other vehicle is anywhere to be seen. We know we are in a horror flick but there still has to be some semblance of reality. Henriksen gives a good performance but "The Benediction" is the weakest of the four stories in "Nightmare".

"Night of the Rat" is the best-remembered segment of the film because of its outrageous premise. Veronica Cartwright and Richard Masur are a young couple with a cute little girl (Bridgette Andersen) who live a normal life in a suburban neighborhood. Mysterious sounds begin to occur and lead them to believe that rats are in the house. The headstrong husband insists he can handle the problem and indeed he does catch and kill the critter. However, this only leads to an escalation of terrors as inexplicable destruction begins to take place all over the house. Absurdly, the husband still insists he can solve everything but when cabinets start falling and dishes crashing, the wife calls in an exterminator who tells her that it appears the house is possessed by something of old German horror legend: a seemingly indestructible giant rat who is out to get revenge for the killing of her baby. The crazy premise actually works better than you might think thanks to the superior performances of the three leads who manage to keep straight faces even when confronted with a five foot rodent who invades their daughter's bed.  The special effects of the rat itself look a bit laughable by today's standards but are admirable if one considers the technology of the era and the limited budget. The segment is the most enjoyable of the four and does contain some genuine chills before it's over-the-top finale. As with "The Benediction", there is a gnawing lack in credibility in that, despite the virtual wholesale destruction of this neighborhood home in the dead of night, apparently not one neighbor is aware of the situation. 

Shout! Factory's horror label Scream! Factory has released "Nightmares" as a Blu-ray special edition. The main bonus feature is a highly enjoyable commentary track with Andrew Mirisch and Cristina Raines, who appears throughout the track even though she is only in the first segment. Seems she and Mirisch are old chums and had worked together on other projects. Their memories of this particular film get very spotty occasionally but the commentary rolls smoothly thanks to the moderator, film historian Shaun K. Chang, who runs the highly addictive retro film blog Hill Place (click here to access). Chang keeps the conversation light in tone and, not unusually for film historians, seems to have more facts about the making of the film than the people who actually made it. There is plenty of interesting discussion about the background of the movie as a TV project and some very amusing conversations with Mirisch about how "Nightmares" looks a lot richer in terms of production values than the notoriously cheap Universal productions of the era. (Mirisch notes that he was determined to avoid using the same staircase that appeared in seemingly every Universal TV show.)  Chang also brings up a more disturbing and poignant fact: that actress Bridgette Andersen, one of the most prolific child actors of the time, died in 1997. Although he doesn't discuss the cause of her death of out respect for her memory, research shows she died at age 17 due to a heroin overdose. In terms of other aspects of the commentary,  none of the three participants engage in pretentious analysis of the film and all seem content to regard it as a fun, if not overly significant entry in the horror film canon of the 1980s, though Mirisch concedes at the end of the commentary track that, having seen the film for the first time since 1983, it has aged better than he had expected. The special edition also contains a well-made original trailer and two ominous radio spots. (Remember when they advertised movies on the radio?) In all, a highly impressive Blu-ray release- but with one caveat. The packaging notes that there is a commentary track with Andrew Mirisch and Cristina Raines but doesn't even mention Shaun K. Chang, who does most of the heavy lifting in terms of setting the relaxed tone and getting Mirisch and Raines to reflect on long-forgotten aspects of the film. C'mon, Scream! Factory- how about giving credit where it is due?

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BY TIM GREAVES

Tony Earnshaw, one of our contributing writers, has trawled his extensive archive of interviews with prolific directors – accrued over some 20 years of attending press junkets – and cherry picked a selection of the most worthy material for his new book "Fantastique: Interviews with Horror, Sci-Fi and Fantasy Filmmakers" (a title which, on the copyright page, is tantalisingly suffixed with a parenthesised Volume I).

The bulk of the content comprises 30 interviews with genre directors (a few of them in the company of their stars or writers), each speaking primarily about one of their films. Adopting an A-Z format by director, each interview is preceded by cast, credits and a brief synopsis for the film under discussion. There’s a diverse collective of talent represented too, from the big boys (Quentin Tarantino discusses 2007's Death Proof, Christopher Nolan and Christian Bale talk about 2005's Batman Begins, George Lucas promotes 1999’s Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace) to the possibly less familiar, but no less significant (Frank Khalfoun on his imaginative 2013 restaging of Maniac, André Øvredal discussing 2011's Troll Hunter).

Though around a third of these interviews were conducted in the more intimate environs of one-on-one sessions, the remainder derive from press junkets mounted at the time of each film's release. Whether the responses gleaned to questions posed under such circumstances can be considered entirely honest or not is debatable, the very purpose of those (usually contractual) gatherings being for directors and all manner of other associated creative parties to sell their movie as the best thing to ever hit the screen; it can often take a bit of distance and the benefit of hindsight to extrude more candid comments. However, given that most of the films under discussion here were bona fide critical and financial successes adds considerably to the veracity of the directors’ words.

Some anecdotes harbour a ring of familiarity (again, being the product of press events, they were repeated often), but this reader found enough fresh meat and potatoes to compensate. Everyone will have their favourite chapters (as likely to be dictated by one’s liking for a particular film as they are a partiality to the director at hand); among the highlights for this reader were Tim Burton (on 2000's Sleepy Hollow) revealing Christopher Walken's apparent fear of horses (he must have had a tough time on the likes of 1978’s Shoot the Sun Down and 1985 Bond caper A View to a Kill too then!), William Friedkin (on 1973's The Exorcist) dismissing the stories of the much-publicised curse surrounding the production and his disinclination to ever integrate the legendarily shelved "spider walk" sequence into the film (which, in a new cut some years later, was), James Mangold talking about his multi-layered mystery masterpiece Identity (2003), and literally everything a tirelessly enthusiastic Frank Henenlotter had to say in a 2012 retrospective discussing his movie-saturated youth and in particular his barmy 1982 comic horror film Basket Case.

Opening with a foreword from noted genre writer Bruce G Hallenbeck and rounded off with a listing of director filmographies, “Fantastique” is an irresistibly worthy addition to the library of anyone with even a passing interest in fantastic cinema. Roll on Volume II.

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BY TIM GREAVES

Two early 1970s Italian Gothic chillers from director Emilio Miraglia have been released in the UK in a dual Blu-ray/DVD box set. Bearing the tantalising umbrella title "Killer Dames", it could equally be looked upon as a Marina Malfatti set, since the actress occupies a prominent role in both of the films contained therein.

A prolific assistant director throughout the first half of the 60s, Emilio Miraglia's fourth spin in the director's chair following a trio of crime thrillers was also his first foray into terror terrain. 1971's The Night Evelyn Came Out of Her Grave (o.t. La Notte Che Evelyn Usci Della Tomba) concerns English aristocrat Lord Cunningham (Anthony Steffan), a man devastated by the passing of his titian-haired wife Evelyn, who he suspected was being unfaithful. Struggling to overcome his grief over her death and rage at her perceived infidelity, Cunningham lures attractive redheaded women to his castle residence on the outskirts of London where he first seduces then tortures them in a dungeon kitted out with S&M gear. Cunningham's doctor (Giacomo Rossi Stuart) convinces him that remarriage is the only way to stem his unravelling sanity, whereafter he meets and falls for the beautiful Gladys (Marina Malfatti). They wed and at first it appears that the doctor's advice was sound. But then the slayings begin...

The screenplay, which Miraglia co-wrote with Fabio Pittorru and Massimo Felsatti, is an intoxicating blend of Gothic mystery and stylish giallo, top-heavy with the staple ingredients of the latter – copious nudity and sadistic killing. In one particularly nasty sequence a victim is thrown into an animal enclosure where the canidae residents rip out her intestines. Director of photography Gastone di Giovanni brings plenty of visual lustre to the show and Bruno Nicolai provides a dreamy cocktail lounge score. Although the pace slackens a tad here and there and the sadomasochistic facet affords it an unnecessarily sleazy vibe, in summation it’s a compelling enough little number which keeps one engaged and guessing up until the last reel – bristling with unpredictable double and triple crosses – and its slightly abrupt conclusion. Steffan makes for a solid leading man, slipping back and forth between cultured sophistication and sweaty paranoia, whilst Malfatti is delightful as the beleaguered heroine.

Miraglia's next film (and Evelyn's bedmate in this set, surely not coincidentally also featuring a key character by that name) was the following year's The Red Queen Kills Seven Times (1972, o.t. La Dama Uccide Sette Volte, a.k.a. The Lady in Red Kills Seven Times - its onscreen title here).

In the wake of their grandfather's murder by a masked figure cloaked in crimson, two sisters (Barbara Bouchet and Marina Malfatti) inherit his castle abode. But the murders continue, believed by some to be perpetrated by the mythical ‘Red Queen’ who, family legend has it, returns every 100 years to claim seven lives. Could that possibly be the case? Or is there something more insidious going on?

It has to be said that some aspects of Red Queen are a little clichéd (it's one of those films where, when a character utters those guaranteed-death-sentence words "I know who the killer is" you just know they’ll get bumped off five minutes later without having had time to spill the beans) and the otherwise creepy titular killer is slightly undermined by a cartoonish burst of manic laughter accompanying each murder. Nevertheless, in this writer's opinion it's the better film of the pair, slicker paced with a superior narrative that builds to a more satisfying climax, and boasts more imaginative death sequences than its predecessor (one memorably grisly impaling is staged atop a spiked fence). Oh, and it also showcases an early Sybil Danning performance, the Miraglia/Pittorru script ensuring the actress has barely a single scene in which she isn't required to shed her clothing. The director maintains a fine level of ‘who's-doin'-it?’ intrigue that, as with Evelyn, keeps the audience in suspense until the final reveal (though seasoned giallo buffs will have little difficulty seeing through the veritable shoal of red herrings), and there are plenty of standout moments; a stylish nightmare sequence which culminates with Barbara Bouchet strapped to a torture rack will certainly pique the prurient proclivities of her fans. Bruno Nicolai serves up an infectiously chirrupy score (you'll be humming it long after the end credits have rolled) and Alberto Spagnoli's beautiful cinematography ensures that there’s always something on screen to admire, whether it be the atmospheric Gothicism of the castle interiors or the striking décor in the (then) modern apartments.

BY LEE PFEIFFER

Carlos Tobalina was among the most prolific of adult film directors. From the late 1960s through the late 1980s, Tobalina ground out dozens of grind house porn flicks and, no fool he, appeared in any number of them as well, though often not in the sex scenes. What set Tobalina's films apart was the fact that he at least tried to instill some quality and occasional social messages into what was otherwise undistinguished fare. Tobalina, who died at age 64 in 1989, would probably have appreciated the fact that Vinegar Syndrome has been releasing quite a few of his titles in remastered DVD editions that probably look better than they did back in the day. Among these releases is a Tobalina double feature that he directed under one of his alter ego names, Troy Benny. Both of the movies have a common theme in that they star one William Margold, who apparently was quite influential in the adult film industry of the 1980s and is still appearing in sleazy movies today even though he is in his seventies. He is also a social activist, having founded the Free Speech Coalition and established a charity to look after down-and-out veterans of the porn industry. First up in the double feature is "Lust Inferno", a 1982 production in which Margold appears as a corrupt TV evangelist (is there any other kind?). Margold, who is curiously billed as "Mr. William Margold" (not even Orson Welles had that much clout), stars as Rev. Jerry, a charismatic preacher who rips off the suckers in his audience by indulging in the usual fire-and-brimstone sermons. He also "cures" invalids who he pays off in cash backstage after the event. At home, Rev. Jerry is very much a family man, but it's probably not the kind of family most of us could relate to. His wife (Rita Ricardo) is frustrated that the Rev won't indulge in intercourse with her because he believes the act is only for procreation. He does indulge in some other sexual activities with her that are entirely for his satisfaction. Consequently, she goes off to "group therapy" sessions that are actually bi-sexual orgies. Rev. Jerry's oldest daughter, Dora (Tamara Longley) does the same with her teenage friends because dad won't allow her to date anyone. (The effectiveness of that strategy seems to be dubious, at best.) Meanwhile, the youngest daughter, Lucy  (Marguerite Nuit) is also finding it hard to deal with her raging hormones. She asks for- and receives- her mother's permission to adopt a disguise and seek work in the local bordello that is run by Madame Blanche (Lina Spencer). What Lucy and no one else in the family knows is that her father is Madame Blanche's best customer. He pays thousands of dollars for S&M sex sessions with Blanche's young hookers. This plot development leads to the film's ironic conclusion in which Reverend Jerry finally pays a terrible price for his immorality- but it also results in a major "Yuck" factor for the viewer. The hardcore scenes are pretty standard for the era with nothing particularly inventive going on but at least director Tobalina attempts to make a statement about the craze for supporting corrupt TV preachers. In fact, he was a bit ahead of his time. Within a few years some of the best-known televangelists would be brought down in their own sex scandals. 

The most enjoyable aspect of the presentation is the recent interview with William Margold on a commentary track. Margold describes himself as a blowhard and its difficult to take issue with him. We're all for admiring anyone who takes pride in their work but Margold discusses "Lust Inferno" as though it's a major achievement. He indicates that he based his interpretation of the Reverend on Richard Brooks' 1960 film version of "Elmer Gantry" and says that back in the day he even met Burt Lancaster and correctly predicted he would win an Oscar for the role. The most amusing aspect of the commentary track has Margold, who was obviously watching a sub-standard VHS version prior to the film's restoration for DVD, complain constantly about the poor quality of the tape. He also rails against the fact that the version they are watching is missing key sequences, only to have him proven wrong when they turn up later. Margold,  like most of the leading men in this peculiar branch of the film industry, was probably chosen more for his physical attributes than his acting abilities, but he seems to think that his work here is top-notch both. In fact, his performance is par for the course for porn films and there is no indication he possessed any admirable skills outside of the boudoir. Speaking of which, Margold waxes nostalgic about some of his sex partners in the movie, including one woman who became his wife and another who he continues to pine away for because he never appeared in a sex scene with her, sort of like the fisherman who gripes about "the one who got away".  Regarding stock footage in the film of real life audiences at televangelist events, Margold chuckles and wonders if they ever knew they would end up in a porn film. It's also quite eye-opening to listen to Margold give the play-by-play for his on-screen antics and to provide opinions about his personal techniques for self-pleasure. Margold may indeed be a blowhard but he makes for an entertaining commentator.  You have to admire Vinegar Syndrome for creating some value-added content that is both funny and insightful because it gives you an idea of what the adult film industry was like from the viewpoint of one of its veterans. 

The second feature on the DVD is "Marathon", a lazy production even by the low standards one would have expected for the genre. Shot in 1982, it's a quickie that features a lot of major stars from the industry including Ron Jeremy, Jamie Gillis. Sharon Mitchell and John Holmes. The "plot" simply features a large group of swingers who attend a costume party at Gillis's apartment. Everyone is getting it on while attired in crazy costumes when a phone call alerts them that a friend (William Margold) and his wife have been injured in a skiing accident and they are both in the hospital. Deciding to provide the kind of bedside companionship that no doctor would, they all barge into the hospital suite where Margold and his wife are being treated. Here, while still in costume, they resume the orgy. The therapy works as both patients join in the action. The film is played entirely for laughs and is therefore about as erotic as a dip in a pool of ice water.

The transfers of both features look very good with vibrant colors and enough original film stock grain to make you nostalgic for the era.  

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By John  M. Whalen

Cornell Woolrich is a writer whose work was much loved and cherished by fans of film noir. The Internet Movie Database lists 102 credits for him for both film and TV shows—titles including “Rear Window,” “The Bride Wore Black,” “The Night Has a Thousand Eyes,” “Black Angel,” “Fear in the Night,” and “Phantom Lady,” He didn’t write any screenplays that I know of. The films and TV shows were all adapted from a prolific output of stories written under his Woolrich and William Irish pseudonyms, and under his real name, George Hopley.

While Raymond Chandler, Dashiell Hammett, and James M. Cain make up the Big Three in noir fiction, Woolrich carved out a special niche for himself. Chandler, and Hammett wrote about tough guy heroes who usually overcame the web of evil they encountered. Cain’s heroes weren’t always so lucky, but at least they had a toughness about them that gave them a fighting chance. Woolrich’s protagonists, on the other hand, were just the opposite. They were guys or gals not really equipped by experience or temperament to handle what fate had in store for them, but who tried to do the best they could to keep their heads above water. There was always a sense of impending, irrevocable doom, and a surrealistic atmosphere that set his tales apart from the others.

Nowhere was that surreal quality more prominent than in one particular low-budget feature from Nero Pictures called “The Chase “(1946). Directed by Arthur D. Ripley and adapted by screenwriter Philip Yordan from Woolrich’s story “The Black Path of Fear,” “The Chase” stars Robert Cummings as Chuck Scott, a man down on his luck in Miami who finds the wallet of rich gangster, Eddie Roman, played menacingly by Steve Cochran. When Chuck knocks on the door of Roman’s mansion to return the wallet, you’d think he might have been a little leery when a peep hole opens and we get a glimpse of an eyeball peering out, and we hear Peter Lorre’s unmistakable voice asking, “What do you want?” Lorre plays Gino, Roman’s right hand man.

Chuck is the proverbial fly stepping into the spider’s parlor. For being such an honest guy, Roman hires him as his chauffeur. While under Roman’s employ he meets the gangster’s wife Lorna, a sad blonde played by French actress Michelle Morgan. Roman is a mean guy who slaps his wife around and likes to inflict psychological cruelty, like a kid tearing the wings off of flies. He likes to be in the driver’s seat too. Literally. In a bit of weirdness concocted by Yordan, Roman has separate brake and accelerator pedals in the back of his limo so he can take over when Chuck’s behind the wheel. He tests Chuck’s tolerance for mental torture by driving the speedometer past 120, while trying to outrace a train on the tracks ahead. Chuck remains cool and at the last minute Eddie hits the brake. Roman turns to Gino, who’s looking a little green around the gills, and says: “Hey, he’s alright.”

Chuck’s main job seems to be chauffeuring Lorna around on long drives at night. She likes to stop at the beach and go out on a pier and stare out over the water. Chuck feels sorry for her and besides, she ain’t bad to look at. She asks Chuck what’s out there and he tells her Cuba, and she says “Take me.” Despite his fear that Eddie is suspicious, he takes her to Cuba by ship and no sooner do they stop in a Havana bar for a drink and a quick dance, when Lorna collapses in his arms with a knife in her back. He’s suspect No. 1, naturally, but a Cuban cop (Alexis Minotis) gives him a chance to try and explain his way out of it. And, of course, all he does is get himself into further trouble. He knows Eddie or Gino did it, but he’s got to get some evidence. He has to make a break for it. All of this leads up to a really strange midpoint in the story where suddenly everything takes a wild, unexpected twist.

Yordan’s screenplay for “The Chase” plays fast and loose with Woolrich’s original story, and how much you’ll enjoy the movie may depend on how much of a Woolrich purist you are. Yordan and producer Seymour Nebenzal changed the structure of the book. The novel opens with Lorna’s murder and Chucks’ attempts to clear himself. He finds an ally in a Cuban woman whose husband was killed by cops, and the Miami portion of the story is told in flashbacks. The restructuring and the new ending that Yordan came up with changed the story considerably, but by providing a new background element showing Chuck to be a returning WW II veteran with some psychological problems, it probably seemed more plausible to audiences in the post- war America of the mid-forties. The returning vet unable to adapt to a corrupted civilian life became a basic trope of the genre. “The Chase” is not pure Woolrich but in its own way, it provides an even more nightmarish finish than the original.

“The Chase” is one of those obscure little movies that until now has only been available in very poor copies on VHS and DVD. The picture was so dark and murky you could hardly make out the action in the night scenes and dialogue was obscured by noise on the soundtrack. But Kino Lorber has released a newly restored Blu-ray mastered from 35 mm elements preserved by the UCLA Film & Television Archive. The restored picture is excellent. Contrast and clarity are first rate, with very few flaws. Franz Planer’s impressionistic black and white photography is shown off to great effect. The only complaint might be that some of the interior shots inside Roman’s mansion are now a little too bright—somewhat jarring for a movie that takes place in the twilit world of dreams and nightmares. The soundtrack is crystal clear, however, allowing Michel Michelet’s lush soundtrack to be heard to full advantage.

The 1920 x 1080p disc presents the film in 1:33 full-screen aspect ratio, and has an informative audio commentary track by Canadian filmmaker Guy Maddin. (Maddin’s only error is to misidentify Jack Holt, who plays an Army shrink, as Bruce Cabot). Also included are two radio adaptations of “The Black Path of Fear,” one starring Cary Grant. Overall, Kino Lorber gets high marks for “The Chase.” It should be in every film noir lover’s collection.

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John M. Whalen is the author of "Hunting Monsters is My Business: The Mordecai Slate Stories" . Click here to order the book from Amazon)

BY TIM GREAVES

It's probably difficult for those residing in more liberated territories – where pornography was something of a matter of fact affair back in the 1970s – to appreciate just how uptight and repressed Great Britain was in its attitude to sex. There were, however, voices in the crowd that had the courage to speak out against the establishment's Draconian stance (though largely without changing very much at the time, it's sad to say). One of the most famous and outspoken of those voices was that of model- cum -actress Mary Millington. Hers is a name that may not mean much to anyone outside the United Kingdom, but few of those old enough to remember her rise to superstar status during the 70s would dispute that in the latter half of that decade she was nothing short of a sensation. Yet how could that possibly be so in a country where the authorities vehemently reviled and sought to crush the adult entertainment industry out of existence? Respectable: The Mary Millington Story, an enthralling new feature length documentary, provides the answer to that and many more questions.

The brainchild of writer/producer/director Simon Sheridan (whose lavish book "Come Play with Me: The Life and Films of Mary Millington" is absolutely essential reading), over the course of some 110-minutes this definitive work documents Mary's meteoric rise from underground hard-core loops through celebrated softcore Brit sex comedies and on to a level of national celebrity which found her rubbing shoulders with some of the most prolific figures of the era.

Mary’s career in the adult entertainment industry had kicked off at the start of the decade with a clutch of hard-core loops shot in Europe, among them the famous German short Miss Bohrloch (for which she was paid the equivalent of almost £4000 by today's money). Few of them were easily obtainable in the UK at the time though, for distribution of such material was illegal. But if one knew where to go such things were available “under the counter”, or if one were prepared to chance it they could be acquired via the slew of mail order advertisements that appeared in adult magazines.

Mary liked to say that she was born respectable…but didn't let that spoil her life! Truer words were seldom spoken. However, that life certainly wasn't an easy one. Though no striking beauty, she exuded a provocative “attainable” girl next door appeal and even at the very height of her fame never shied away from making herself accessible to her admirers. However, said accessibility plus her unabashed, enthusiastic attitude to sex – moreover a willingness to pose for and perform explicit sexual acts in front of a camera – might have built her a huge fan base across the nation, but it also brought her to the attention of the country's moral guardians. At the time Mary's magazine spreads for publisher David Sullivan were helping him shift around a million copies a month, and made her an obvious target for the crusaders’ puritanical wrath. One of them was the infamous Mary Whitehouse whose ardent campaign to sanitise British television diversified when she set her beady sights on the porn industry. Sullivan delighted in tweaking the tiger’s tail, and among his raft of adults-only titles was the cheekily-monikered "Whitehouse".

From the mid-70s onwards Mary Millington shook the dust of hard-core films from her shoes, and while continuing to model for magazine photoshoots – many of the images in Sullivan’s titles pushing the limits of what UK laws would permit – she also edged towards the less controversial environs of the silver screen, popping up in softcore comedies such as Eskimo Nell (1975) and Keep It Up Downstairs (1976). It was Sullivan, when he moved into filmmaking, who really put Mary on the map, featuring her in what was (and still is) the highest grossing British sex film of all time, Come Play With Me (1977). Although she didn't have a huge amount to do – she shared the screen with a bevy of other models, who appear both in and out of their sexy nurses uniforms – the film was always intended as a vehicle for Mary and she was the focal point of its advertising campaign, which promised some the strongest viewing material ever seen on British screens. This was gilding the lily somewhat, to put it mildly. Although some fruitier footage had been shot for overseas versions (but never saw the light of day), the British cut of Come Play With Me was in fact little more than an amiable Carry On style farce decorated with copious (but inoffensive) nudity and populated by a collective of familiar British character actors, among them Irene Handl, Alfie Bass and Ronald Fraser. Nevertheless, the film was a huge success, and went on to run continuously at one of London's Soho cinemas for five years. Extensive promotion took Mary to major cities across the UK, her adventures paraded in the pages of Sullivan's magazines and increasing her popularity at a phenomenal rate.

Such was the box office success of Come Play With Me that for his next feature, The Playbirds (1978), Sullivan planted Mary firmly centre stage, cheekily having her play a police officer who goes undercover in the sex industry to expose a killer. The film again starred a bunch of Brit film and TV stalwarts, including Windsor Davies, Derren Nesbitt, Glynn Edwards and Kenny Lynch.

BY LEE PFEIFFER

The Vinegar Syndrome video label continues to unearth obscure examples of 1960s erotica. None is more bizarre than "Infrasexum", a 1969 concoction by director/actor Carlos Tobalina, who would ultimately be regarded as one of the more prolific hardcore filmmakers. Back in '69, however, it was still difficult to get theatrical showings of hardcore films, which were generally relegated to 8mm film loops sold in adult book stores. Tabolina tried to push the envelope with "Infrasexum" but was still confined by the dreaded "community standards" obscenity laws that mandated only soft-core movies could generally be shown without causing a major legal flap from local conservative groups that had routinely declared war on pornography.  "Infrasexum" (I have no idea what the title means and apparently neither did Tobalina) attempts to tell a poignant story about the toll the aging process takes on sexual libido. The film opens in the offices of Mr. Allison (Eroff Lynn), a fifty-something successful business executive who is despondent over the routine lifestyle he is leading. He has money galore but exists in a gloomy state of mind. He's also depressed (in this pre-Viagara era) about his inability to perform sexually with his bombshell wife (Marsha Jordan), who prances about their penthouse clad in a see-through nightee. Determined to start a new life, Allinson sends his wife a goodbye letter, turns the control of his company over to two trusted employees and takes off for parts unknown. He immediately feels liberated from the day-to-day grind. He ends up in Las Vegas and almost reluctantly wins $250,000 in cash. He doesn't need the money but for the first time in ages he feels he's on a winning streak. He drives to L.A. where he has a chance encounter with Carlos (Carlos Tobalina), a somewhat kooky but charismatic man who routinely grubs money from him but also introduces him to a new lifestyle with his hippie friends. Before long, Allison is taking in rock shows in discotheques on the Sunset Strip and experimenting with pot. Carlos tries on several occasions to cure Allison's sexual problems by setting him up with willing young women but the result is always frustrating failure to launch. At one point an unrelated sub-plot is introduced in which Allison is kidnapped by two thugs who threaten his life and shake him down for big money. They also murder a helpless young woman in his presence. In one of the lamest action sequences ever filmed, Allison breaks free and kills both men in an unintentionally hilarious manner. Allison treats this presumably life-altering incident as though it's a minor distraction and before long is taking up his lifetime's goal of becoming a painter. An admiring young woman invites him back to her house but, once again, Allison can't seal the deal between the sheets and he has to call Carlos over to act as his stand-in!

It's difficult to say exactly what Tobalina expected to accomplish with this film. Is it an attempt to present a poignant look at the frustrations of the aging process with some full-frontal nudity tossed in? Or did he intend to simply dress up a sexploitation film with some legitimate dramatic story line aspects? In either case, the result is downright weird.  Tobalina's insertion of a gruesome murder also seems like an after-thought designed to appeal to horror movie fans. It's got plenty of gore but is so unconvincingly shot and directed that the sequence elicits more laughter than chills. Whatever early talent Tobalina might have conveyed on screen is compromised by the bare bones production budget, which was probably close to zero. Technical blunders abound. In some scenes you can see the shadow of the cameraman in center frame. In others, people's voices are heard even though their lips aren't moving. Still, the film at least aspires to be superior to most soft-core grind house fare of the era. As a trip back in time, it has merit. It presents some wonderful, extended views of the Las Vegas Strip, for example, and we can relish the marquees extolling such performers as Frank Sinatra, Jimmy Durante, Don Ho and Little Richard. Tobalina also gets out of the bedrooms long enough to take us on a scenic tour of local L.A. sites as well as the Sierra Nevadas. Tobalina is at his best when he gets out of the boudoir and shows us travelogue-like footage.  On a coarser level, the film also provides an abundance of good looking young women who romp around starkers. The movie would be primarily of interest to baby boomer males who want a trip back in time to an era in which such fare was considered daring and controversial. It's bizarre qualities will also appeal to fans of cult sexlpoitation films. 

The Vinegar Syndrome release looks great and the remastered print even shows us the grit and dirt that occasionally appeared on the camera lens.  An original trailer is also included that is truly a laugh riot, in that a God-like voice virtually commands us to see "Infrasexum" because it's a "classic". 

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BY LEE PFEIFFER

Cinema Retro mourns the loss of Sir Ken Adam, the ingenious, Oscar-winning production designer who has passed away at age 95. Adam's work helped redefine films in terms of the elaborate and creative designs he invented, particularly for the James Bond franchise. Adam's work on the first 007 film, "Dr. No" in 1962 was deemed to be nothing less than remarkable, considering that the entire film was shot on a relatively low budget of just over $1 million. His exotic designs so impressed Stanley Kubrick that he hired Adam as production designer on his 1964 classic "Dr. Strangelove." For that film, Adam created the now legendary "War Room" set which many people believe actually exists at the Pentagon. In fact when Ronald Reagan was inaugurated as President in 1981 he asked to see the War Room, only to be told that it was a fictional creation. Reagan acknowledged that he had been intrigued by the concept since seeing it in "Dr. Strangelove". Adam had a somewhat tumultuous relationship with Kubrick, whose habit of changing his mind at the last minute caused Adam enormous grief. However, the two collaborated again on "Barry Lyndon" and Adam won his first Oscar for his work on that film. Adam's close relationship with the Bond franchise is based on his now famous designs seen in the early films. They include the massive Fort Knox set for "Goldfinger", which was created entirely on the back lot at Pinewood Studios on the outskirts of London. Perhaps his greatest achievement was the gigantic volcano set that housed a full size rocket capable of lifting off. This was done for the 1967 Bond film "You Only Live Twice". Incredibly, Adam's work was not recognized with an Oscar nomination despite what many feel is one of the greatest production design achievements in film history. His other Bond films were "Thunderball", "Diamonds Are Forever", "The Spy Who Loved Me" and "Moonraker". For "The Spy Who Loved Me", Adam built the first incarnation of the massive "007 Stage" at Pinewood Studios. It burned down in 1984 and was rebuilt by his protege, production designer Peter Lamont.

Adam's other film achievements include two of the Michael Caine Harry Palmer spy films, "The Ipcress File" and "Funeral in Berlin", "Sleuth", "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang" (for which he designed the famed "flying car"), "The Madness of King George" (for which he won a second Oscar), "The Last of Sheila", "Woman of Straw" and "Addams Family Values". He was also a prolific race car driver and had the distinction of serving in RAF in action against Hitler's forces, despite being a German national himself.

On a personal basis, Sir Ken was a good friend of Cinema Retro and had contributed to our magazine in its early stages through interviews conducted by his friend, Sir Christopher Frayling, who co-authored books about Sir Ken's remarkable life and career.He also contributed valuable interviews for documentaries we worked on about the Bond film franchise as well as "Dr. Strangelove". In his later years, Adam appeared at events pertaining to the Bond franchise that were held at Pinewood Studios by www.bondstars.com  With his laid back mannerisms, wry sense of humor and omnipresent cigar, he always delighted fans with his remarkable stories.  This writer sat next to him a few years ago to watch the digital screening of "Goldfinger" at Pinewood. Ken told me that he was incredulous at how wonderful it all looked. When the scene came to the interior of Fort Knox, he said to me, "I never thought I'd live to see my work presented so gloriously". It's safe to say we won't see his kind again.  

(For full interview with Sir Ken Adam, see Cinema Retro issue #2)

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BY LEE PFEIFFER

Back in the pre-internet era there was an old adage that went "Never pick a fight with somebody who buys ink by the barrel." In other words, think twice about taking on someone who can reach millions of people through the reach of magazines or newspapers.  That might have included screenwriters, as well. Take the case of Walter Bernstein, a prolific television writer in the early days of the medium. Bernstein was one of the high profile victims of Sen. Joseph McCarthy's anti-communist witch hunts which, through the notorious House Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC). The committee was ostensibly searching for "Fifth Columnists" who were secretly in league with the Soviet Union and plotting to undermine the American way of life. McCarthy and his cronies convinced a wide swath of the American public that Hollywood was a nest of covert commies and would point to films and TV series that were alleged to be sympathetic with the communist doctrine. Conveniently forgotten was the fact that the U.S. government had implored the major studios to make such films after our enemy, Josef Stalin, was betrayed his ally Adolf Hitler, who launched a massive invasion of the Soviet Union. Immediately Stalin found himself now a crucial member of the Allies. It was a relationship of convenience for both sides. Stalin depended on the war in the West to occupy the majority of Hitler's forces, which would otherwise have been able to to capture his entire nation. For America, Britain and the other allied nations, Stalin and his tremendous military resources managed to keep Hitler bogged down in Soviet territory, sustaining huge losses in what became the Fuhrer's greatest military blunder. Hollywood studios were called upon to start cranking out propaganda films disguised as popular entertainment that would paint Stalin and the Soviets in a benign and heroic manner. The studios cooperated in the spirit of patriotism. Ironically, as soon as Nazi Germany was defeated and Stalin became a villain again, these same studios were chastised in some quarters for being pro-communist- and the "proof" was the very film that the U.S. government had implored the studios to make. McCarthy, a far-right zealot, shot to international fame with his hearings before HUAC at which suspected subversives were compelled to testify at. The deal such individuals were offered was simple: rat out suspected fellow subversives or incur the wrath of the inquisitors. Many people did betray their friends and colleagues but others, such as Walter Bernstein, refused to do so. In return they found themselves blacklisted in the entertainment industry. Legally the government could not demand that such people be denied a living but from a practical standpoint, pressure was put on TV networks and studios so that the top brass "voluntarily" decided not to employ these individuals. In the end, McCarthy's hearings unveiled no real communist threat but he did succeed in ruining the lives of plenty of left-wing artists, writers, directors and academics before being publicly humiliated himself.

By the late 1950s, Bernstein was gainfully employed again and was writing for film and TV productions (his credits include the screenplay for "Fail Safe"). In 1976, Bernstein wrote the screenplay for the devastatingly effective Martin Ritt-directed film "The Front", which explored how blacklisted writers had to endure the humiliation of employing "fronts" (i.e non-writers) to sell scripts to studios and networks, ostensibly as their own work. The real writers were denied decent paychecks and screen credit. Bernstein's long memory of those dark days of disgraceful American political policies extended to another film, "The House on Carroll Street", made in 1988. This production was somewhat less political and concentrated more on the aspect of being a thriller, which is probably what attracted the involvement of Peter Yates, who directed such high profile action films as "Robbery", "Bullitt" and "The Deep". The story centers on Emily (Kelly McGillis), a vivacious young woman living in New York City who is strong-willed and independent. She is also a "career girl", to coin a quaint phrase of the time, and holds a prestigious position as photo editor for Life magazine. However, her leftist views place her in the cross-hairs of HUAC and she is called to testify before the committee. When she refuses to cooperate and "name names" of friends and colleagues who might be communists, she is fired after her employer receives pressure from government agents. To make ends meet she makes a measly salary by reading novels to a rich old woman, Miss Venable (Jessica Tandy). While at Venable's house, she notices some strange goings-on in a house across the garden. A group of German men are having intense discussions and acting in a rather suspicious manner. Emily goes into Nancy Drew mode and eavesdrops on them but can't quite figure out what they are talking about. She later meets a young man who was at the meeting and strikes up a friendship with him. However, his behavior only increases her concerns. He is extremely nervous and informs her that there are some dastardly things being planned but he won't reveal what. Emily begins to secretly follow him and discovers that other people are doing the same. Who are they- and why does she feel increasingly threatened herself? Meanwhile, Salwen (Mandy Patinkin), a hard-nosed big wig on the HUAC committee, is ordering increased pressure on Emily to cooperate. The FBI sends a team of agents to routinely harass her and subject her to humiliating searches of her home. One of the agents, Cochran (Jeff Daniels), takes sympathy on her and the two strike up an awkward friendship that later turns into a love affair that could threaten Cochran's career.

The plot becomes increasingly complex as Cochran begins to assist Emily in finding out what the group of German-speaking men are up to. It appears that they are working in league with Salwen and government agents in a top secret plot to provide ex-Nazi war criminals with false identities in order to allow them to enter the United States and become citizens. It seems that the U.S. is willing to forgive these men for their crimes of genocide because they could provide valuable tools to combat the Soviets in the Cold War. Emily and Cochran are even more horrified to discover that the ex-Nazis are being given the identities of deceased Jewish people. Selwan discovers that Emily is on to the scheme and tries to bribe her to keep secret. When that doesn't work, things heat up and attempts are made on her life. The action-packed finale finds Emily and Cochran in a battle for their lives against Selwan and his men in the midst of bustling Grand Central Station.

"The House on Carroll Street"  was met with apathy by both critics and the public but the film's attributes are more apparent today. It plays out like a Hitchcock thriller with the innocent protagonist swept up into incredible events that are initially beyond their comprehension. Walter Bernstein's screenplay is both intelligent and largely believable and director Peter Yates downplays violence in favor of good old-fashioned suspense. (It's the kind of film in which the heroine decides to place herself in harm's way by walking through an eerie old house in order to investigate suspicious activities.) The film effectively reflects an era in which America went mad and civil rights were sacrificed in the name of national security. McGillis gives a very fine performance and even provides a nude scene that is completely gratuitous but which was still much-appreciated by this viewer. Jeff Daniels is also commendable as a likable, all-American FBI man who finds that his agency is embroiled in some very un-American activities. Patinkin is a villain in the Bond mode: dripping with phony charm and charisma while all the while plotting nefarious fates for his intended victims. The production design is also commendable and convincingly evokes the look and feel of New York in 1951. The most ambitious sequence is the finale set at Grand Central Station. The mind boggles at how Yates pulled off shooting such a complicated action scene in a place that is jam-packed with people 24 hours a day, but the result is highly impressive . It should also be noted that the movie boasts a fine score by Georges Delerue and excellent cinematography by the esteemed Michael Ballaus. The film is not an underrated classic. There are some occasional laps in logic, loose ends and some highly predictable plot developments but for the most part it plays out in fine style and is consistently interesting and entertaining. Recommended.

The Kino Lorber Blu-ray has a fine transfer and features the original trailer.  

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MGM British Studios: Hollywood in Borehamwood

By Derek Pykett (Published by BearManor Media £20.00), 444 Pages, Softcover, ISBN: 9781593938833 (also available £26.50 Hardcover)

Review by Tim Greaves 

Several of the greatest films of all time were made at MGM British Studios and some of Hollywood's most prolific names laid foot upon the stages there. In an eminently readable trip down memory lane, “MGM British Studios: Hollywood in Borehamwood” is a bounteous treasure trove primarily comprising interesting and amusing memories of some of those who had the privilege to work there. Sub-titled "Celebrating 100 Years of the Film Studios of Elstree/Borehamwood", the tome boasts a voluminous collection of stories from those who worked in front of and behind the camera back in those halcyon days – some names are familiar, others not so much, but all of them have tales to tell; if nothing else, author Derek Pykett deserves an award for his prowess in undertaking the unenviable task of assembling the wealth of material into concise and readable form.

Following no less than five forewords (from Rod Taylor, Nicholas Roeg, Olivia de Havilland, Virginia McKenna and Kenneth Hyman), the author provides some background information on the six studios that operated in the Borehamwood and Elstree area before moving forward through the decades, with mention – albeit not always extensive – of every production that came to fruition there. Anecdotal material is present in abundance and there are some marvellous nuggets to be found within. Just a few standouts for this reviewer: Christopher Lee reminiscing over some wordplay with Errol Flynn on the set of The Dark Avenger that resulted in the unfortunate (and permanent) disfigurement to one of his fingers; Brian Cobby's amusing recollections of his embarrassment over appearing starkers in For Members Only (US: The Nudist Story; and Bette Davis's pithy remarks after working with Alec Guinness on The Scapegoat – "[He] is an actor who plays by himself, unto himself. In this picture he plays a dual role so at least he was able to play with himself." (Try reading that and not hearing her acid tongue spitting out the words.)

Additionally there is some terrific trivia dotted throughout, all drawn from the files of the "Borehamwood & Elstree Post", with stories ranging from an alleged alcohol-related motoring accident involving Trevor Howard and (in a separate incident) Burt Lancaster's chauffeur driven car being damaged in a collision, to an electrician being taken to court and fined the princely sum of £1 for assaulting a colleague on set.

It has to be said that some passages leave one feeling a tad short-changed, for example the coverage of the quartet of ‘Miss Marple’ films starring Margaret Rutherford – shot between 1961 and 1964, and which this reviewer happens to adore – that amounts to barely more than a page (though I was intrigued to learn that Marple's cottage in the film, located in Denham Village, was some 20 years earlier John Mills's family home). However, one also appreciates that given the breadth of the subject as a whole, brevity is paramount in holding the reader's attention and Pykett's engaging and fact-laden prose keeps things moving swiftly along, resulting in a captivating page-turner. Where the text is a little more in depth – information focussing on producer brothers Edward and Harry Danziger and the section devoted to the production of The Dirty Dozen, for example – there’s some fabulous reading, also found in the slightly meatier pieces devoted to Hitchcock and Kubrick.

The 1967 boxoffice smash "The Dirty Dozen" starring Lee Marvin was among the many classic films shot at MGM British Studios.

By Fred Blosser

Career criminal Jerry Barker (Ralph Meeker) demands $200,000 in ransom from the wealthy father of a missing 10-year-old boy, whom Barker has hidden away in an abandoned fire tower in Royal Gorge National Park, Colorado. Jerry successfully collects the ransom, but the boy accidentally dies trying to get out of the tower, and after Jerry coldly disposes of the body, he’s caught in a police cordon before he can get away. Jim Madden, the FBI agent on the case (Reed Hadley), doesn’t have the evidence needed to bring a kidnapping charge, since the boy’s body hasn’t been found, and Barker refuses to talk. So Barker, nicknamed “Iceman” by the press because of his recalcitrance, is sent to prison on extortion. The authorities hope he’ll eventually break down and confess to the more serious crime. Meanwhile, Madden doggedly continues to pursue clues.

Behind bars, Jerry is ostracized by other inmates, even his hardened cellmates Mason (William Talman), Smith (Lon Chaney), and Kelly (Charles Bronson). The other cons have heard about the crime and figure that Jerry not only abducted the missing boy, he also murdered him. (“Kid killer . . . that’s really scrapin’ the bottom of the barrel!” Kelly sneers over the top of a bodybuilder magazine.) But the fourth cellmate, Rollo (Broderick Crawford), has a better idea. The ransom money hasn’t been found either. Rollo convinces the others to take Barker with them when they execute an already-planned escape, so that he’ll lead them to the missing money.

“Big House, U.S.A.,” a modest 1955 Bel-Air/United Artists release, is a relatively obscure slice of ‘50s crime cinema, despite the presence of stellar plug-uglies Meeker, Crawford, Bronson, Chaney, and Talman in the main cast. Maybe it’s gotten lost in the myriad of other crime and noir movies from the decade that have “Big” in the title. Or maybe the students of auteur cinema, who are usually the first to unearth gems in the trash heap of low-budget films, have overlooked it because it wasn’t directed by Don Siegel, Phil Karlson, or Sam Fuller (the director was the prolific but relatively unheralded Howard W. Koch). Too, the title may be a turnoff for crime-film buffs and critics who don’t particularly care for prison stories. It’s actually a misnomer because the prison scenes (filmed inside McNeil Island Federal Penitentiary) comprise less than a third of the movie.

In truth, the script is all over the B-movie landscape, in a good way, from the methodical scenes about the kidnapping (particularly creepy these days, when stories about child predators are all over the news), to the procedural scenes of the FBI agent questioning witnesses, with voiceover by Hadley, to the inevitable double-crosses among the escaped cons. In addition to the gritty, sweaty scenes at McNeil’s Island, the movie also features on-location shooting in Royal Gorge and nearby Canon City, all in no-nonsense black-and-white, heightening the sense of documentarian realism. Some of the script doesn’t quite hang together -- for example, it doesn’t seem likely that the combined forces of the FBI, the park service, and state and local law enforcement couldn’t find the missing son of a millionaire, alive or dead, even in a sprawling wilderness park. But film buffs likely will be too busy spotting familiar ‘50s faces in the supporting cast to care. Those faces include Felicia Farr (here billed in an early role as Randy Farr), Roy Roberts, Robert Bray, Jan Merlin, John Ford stalwart Willis Bouchey, and Jack Webb regular Bill Boyett.

The new Kino Lorber release, in 1920x1080p hi-def, continues the label’s rescue of neglected but interesting movies that deserve new exposure. The visual quality is somewhat grainy, as you’d expected from an older film, but that isn’t necessarily a drawback for a hardboiled crime drama. The only extras are trailers for three other Kino Lorber releases.

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“THREEPENNY WOODY”

By Raymond Benson

For an artist as prolific as Woody Allen, someone who’s essentially made nearly a film once a year since 1969 (forty-four and counting), there’s bound to be some misses along with the hits. The thing is, with Allen the misses can be rewarding in their own right. Ever since the writer/director stopped making the “early, funny” zany comedies and jumped light years in maturity with Annie Hall in 1977, Woody Allen became a “European filmmaker.” In other words, his films began to resemble the art-house foreign works of say, Francois Truffaut—small, intimate, slice-of-life comedies (or dramas) about people and their lives. Yes, there were the Ingmar Bergman influences, and sometimes inspiration from Federico Fellini. Mostly, though, Allen developed his own voice, style, and thematic material that has been appreciated by an intellectual, sophisticated audience.

Each Woody Allen movie is a little “gem” that seems to reside in one of three tiers. Tier One is, of course, the masterpieces—the ones that prove that Allen is a brilliant writer and director (and sometimes actor)—of which there are maybe around twelve to fifteen. Then there’s Tier Two—pictures that are not complete successes, but they have a lot going for them and are enjoyed by his fans. These might include experimental works where Allen tried something different. The bulk of his work is here. Tier Three contains the complete misses, of which there are a few, to be sure, but even these might have moments that shine—these are strictly for Allen completists.

Shadows and Fog, from 1991, belongs near the bottom of Tier Two, but that doesn’t mean it’s not an interesting and worthwhile experience at the movies. It helps if you know your Bertolt Brecht and Kurt Weill, German Expressionism, and Franz Kafka. Filmed in black and white with lots of contrasting light and shadows by Carlo di Palma, the style of the picture evokes the works of F. W. Murnau, G. W. Pabst, Fritz Lang, and other practitioners of German silent cinema of the 1920s. The references are boundless, and the more you know about this stuff, the more you will enjoy the film.

The story takes place in some sort of fantasyland of a German Expressionistic village in a period that resembles the ‘20s or ‘30s. A serial killer is on the loose, and bands of vigilantes are roaming the town looking for him. Kleinman (Allen) is a nervous clerk who is drafted into the gang, but he is quickly lost in the labyrinth of the winding cobblestone streets. On the outskirts of town is a traveling circus. There, the sword swallower (!) Irmy (played by Mia Farrow) is in a relationship with a clown (John Malkovich), but the clown is unfaithful to her—he has intentions with the tightrope artist (Madonna). When Irmy runs away from him and the circus, she meets a bevy of prostitutes at a brothel (played by Lily Tomlin, Jodie Foster, and Kathy Bates!), a rich student customer (John Cusack), and eventually Kleinman. As with any Woody Allen film, there is much existential discussion, meditations on the meaning of life, and a few funny lines, too. In the end, it takes a village (literally) to get rid of the serial killer.

Obviously, Shadows and Fog is one of Allen’s experiments. It doesn’t totally work, but the picture is still fascinating a) if you’re familiar with the Expressionistic references and b) for the game of “spot the player” with the amazing cast that Allen assembled. It’s an all star vehicle with familiar faces popping up throughout, mostly in cameos. Besides the aforementioned actors, you’ll see Donald Pleasence, Kenneth Mars, Philip Bosco, Fred Gwynne, Robert Joy, Julie Kavner, William H. Macy, Kate Nelligan, James Rebhorn, John C. Reilly, Wallace Shawn, Kurtwood Smith, Josef Summer, David Ogden Stiers, Charles Cragin, Fred Melamed, Eszter Balint, Richard Riehle, Peter McRobbie, Victor Argo, and Daniel von Bargen. Apprently even Peter Dinklage appears uncredited as a circus dwarf.

The music—always a treat in an Allen film—is mostly by Kurt Weill. You’ll hear selections from The Threepenny Opera, Seven Deadly Sins, “Alabama Song,” and more.

Twilight Time’s new Blu-ray release doesn’t really clean up the blemishes and artifacts in the image, but the black and white cinematography is sharp and good-looking. The grain is welcome for the style with which the film was made. There are no supplements other than the trailer, a collector's booklet with extensive liner notes and an isolated score track. As with all of Twilight Time’s releases, Shadows and Fog is a limited edition of 3000 units, so get it while they last!

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“WHAT DREAMS ARE MADE OF”

By Raymond Benson

Of all the talented filmmakers who have made a mark in the history of cinema, there is that handful who belong in a special category. Granted, many directors are auteurs, in that they have a recognizable style and thematic consistency to their work—a “signature” that identifies them as the “authors” of their pictures. But there is a rare sub-set of auteurs who are so strikingly original and iconoclastic that their work is singularly their own and unlike that of any other filmmaker. David Lynch is one of these. No one makes the kind of movies he does.

Mulholland Drive is easily one of Lynch’s best pictures (and he’s not very prolific, either—only ten feature films to date, not counting television productions). It was released in 2001 to massive critical acclaim (Lynch shared Best Director at Cannes with Joel Coen, and he was nominated for a Best Director Oscar), as well as a great deal of bafflement and mutterings from exiting audiences such as, “Well, that was weird.”

Yes, it’s a strange film—after all, it’s a David Lynch picture, and he is, perhaps, the foremost proponent of surrealism in cinema since the advent of Luis Buñuel. But Lynch is also a romanticist, and his blending of these two somewhat conflicting artistic movements result in a distinctly different kind of animal, something that has been coined “Lynchian.” There is a beauty to Mulholland Drive that is mesmerizing. The mystery and ambiguity of its narrative is almost secondary to the emotional punch the director delivers to the audience.

Much has been written about the movie in an attempt to analyze it and make sense of the non-linear plot, and it is, like all great art, open to interpretation. It takes more than one viewing to “get” it, although I don’t think anyone can fully get it. If this is your first encounter with Mulholland Drive—and the new Criterion Collection Blu-ray edition is an excellent medium with which to approach the film—it is highly suggested you watch the film in its entirety, and then view it again the following day after thinking about it.

Basically, the film is the sad, tragic story of a severely depressed and failed Hollywood actress named Diane (played by Naomi Watts, in a brilliant, breakout performance that shot her to “A” list status) who has been jilted by her lesbian lover, Camilla (Laura Elena Harring) for a film director (Justin Theroux). Diane hires a hit man to murder Camilla, and then kills herself out of remorse and guilt. Doesn’t sound too savory, does it? Never mind—Lynch tells this story in the form of a compelling quasi-neo-noir mystery, and in the process he creates a puzzle for the audience to solve in order to connect the dots. Out of the 146-minutes of running time, nearly the first two hours of it consist of a dream Diane is having which casts her as a wholesome, talented, optimistic and aspiring actress named Betty. She meets an amnesiac victim who adopts the name Rita (also Harring), and they set about attempting to find out how Rita came to be in her situation. At around the 1:57:00 mark in the picture, Diane wakes from her dream to her reality. What follows then are several non-linear flashbacks to events that happened prior to Diane having her dream.

Dream logic is usually nonsensical when analyzed upon waking, but during the actual dream, everything makes sense, right? When watching the first two hours, you’ll see several characters and objects that appear in relation to the “plot” of the dream... but later, in the wakeful reality, the actors who played the earlier characters and the same objects appear in different contexts—with a little thought you can decipher how the dream connects these elements with the real circumstances. The clues are all there on screen.

Another interesting aspect of Mulholland Drive is that it was originally a pilot for a possible television series a la Twin Peaks. Lynch had filmed the “dream” section of the picture, but the network rejected it. The director got financing elsewhere, re-tooled the existing footage, wrote the rest of the story, and brought the principles back for more shooting. This is why the detectives, played by Robert Forster and Brent Briscoe, simply disappear from the movie after the first half hour—they were originally intended to be regular characters in the TV series. One can’t help but wonder what if.

This fascinating film comes with a gorgeous new, restored 4K digital transfer, supervised by Lynch and director of photography Peter Deming, with a 5.1 surround DTS-HD Master Audio soundtrack on the Blu-ray. Like most DVDs and Blu-rays that Lynch approves, there are no chapter stops. Supplements include some terrific new interviews with Lynch and Naomi Watts together (very funny and revealing); Theroux, Harring, and Deming; composer Angelo Badalamenti (wait until you hear how he got started writing film scores!); production designer Jack Fisk; and casting director Johanna Ray. There’s a deleted scene, the trailer, and a wonderful treat—on-set footage of Lynch directing several scenes from the film. The booklet contains a 2005 interview with Lynch from Chris Rodley’s book, Lynch on Lynch.

Mulholland Drive is a masterpiece in David Lynch’s canon and the new Criterion release certainly does it justice. This is a film that is haunting, beautiful, and full of secrets and surprises. It really is the stuff that dreams are made of.

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BY ADRIAN SMITH 

In 1960 a young Michael Winner began a collaboration with the British producer and distributor E.J. Fancey which would enable him to break into the world of feature films. Fancey had been in the industry for over twenty years, and specialised in "quota quickies": cheap, forgettable films which could play as supporting features and qualify for government tax breaks. The average Fancey production usually combined low-rent comedians, stock footage, long tedious amounts of travelling and a confused crossover between documentary and narrative film. As a distributor of European exploitation cinema he was prolific, being responsible for bringing thousands of equally cheap and forgettable films into British cinemas in the hope of making a fast buck. Into this cut-throat world stepped Michael Winner, who prior to directing had been working in some of the smaller film studios around London as well as at the BBC. The film in question is Climb Up the Wall, a piece of entertainment so peculiar and grating it has even been missed off Winner's filmography on Wikipedia.

Climb Up the Wall begins with typically cheap hand-drawn title cards and some jazzy music before introducing us to our host Jack Johnson, a popular cardigan-wearing comedian of the day. Speaking to camera he explains his latest invention, which is basically a large computer with a television screen. In 1960 this was still somewhat fantastical, but which now looks laughable. Along with his amiable son Malcolm we are bombarded with sketches and music, held together with the vague storyline of Jack Johnson showing us what his computer can do. We are treated to footage of Elvis as a GI, comedians, popular singer Mike Preston, clips from the Goon Show film Down Among the Z Men (1952, also produced by E.J. Fancey) and even footage from old westerns. Before long Jack and Malcolm get bored of this, like the audience, and head into London for a night out. This is an excuse to show us some naked models and exotic nightclub dancing, as well as more singing and an odd sequence in a kitchen where they all decide to do some cooking. The film feels like it was being made up as they went along, which perhaps it was.

Clearly Winner was told to make something out of a load of old stock footage, including some of the Fancey back-catalogue, with the specific mention of making it appeal to the rock and roll crowd. Fancey had recently made one of Britain's first rock and roll films (Rock You Sinners, 1958) so clearly felt like he had his finger on the pulse. For a sixty-three minute film Climb Up the Wall packs in a lot of music by long-forgotten singers and groups, and even manages to reference Cliff Richard. They seem to be targeting a younger audience, yet the focus on an older generation of comedians suggests they did not really know what teenagers would be into in 1960. Climb Up the Wall is something of a curiosity, and is well worth seeking out, not because it is a good film, which it isn't, but because of its authentic shots of London life. It was also an important milestone in the development of one of the most prolific and influential directors to come out of Britain in the 1960s.

Accompanying the film on this DVD are two other E.J. Fancey productions. The first, London Entertains (1951) tries to pass itself off as a documentary, although it is effectively a feature film. Popular television presenter Eamonn Andrews tells us the story of a group of girls from a Swiss Finishing School who come to London to start their own escort agency. The girls, who all look around twenty-five, believe that visiting tourists and dignitaries will want to be escorted around the Festival of Britain, as well as the nightclubs of London. This allows Fancey, who directed it himself, to cram in loads of stock footage, including skiing, synchronised swimming and film star Gloria Swanson inspecting the Festival of Britain building site. We are also treated to the attractions of London, including the Windmill Theatre and an open-air performance at Battersea of Canadian former child-star Bobby Breen. Meanwhile Eamonn has fallen in love with one of the girls, whilst they have to fight off the attentions of a brash American, played by character actor Joe Baker. One of the highlights of the film is the visit to the BBC Radio Theatre for a recording of The Goon Show. This is rare early footage when Michael Bentine was still performing alongside Peter Sellers, Spike Milligan and Harry Secombe, and we even get to meet producer Dennis Main-Wilson and original presenter Andrew Timothy. Moments like this make London Entertains worth seeing for anyone with an interest in the history of comedy.

The final film on the DVD is Calling All Cars (1954), another combination of stock footage and low-rent comedy. Cardew Robinson, better known in those days as Cardew the Cad, plays a hopeless romantic in love with the unattainable blonde across the road. When he finds out she is planning to drive to the continent he conspires with a friend to buy a car and follow them as they head off to the newly-built Dover car terminal. This means we are treated to stock footage of how the terminal was built, accompanied by a relatively unfunny commentary. Cardew's comedy has sadly dated, along with his car. The film mainly consists of shots of driving, and for some bizarre reason Fancey decided to give Cardew's car an internal monologue, voiced by Spike Milligan. The highlight of Calling All Cars is when Cardew pulls into a service station for petrol. The attendant claps his hands and before he knows it they are surrounded by beautiful women in short skirts and stockings who give the car a quick once-over.

This DVD is a reminder that everyone back then smoked, and if you have recently quit it may be a struggle to get through all three movies in one sitting. Renown Pictures have found good quality prints and the sound is clear, given that these films would have looked and sounded cheap back then and were never intended to be seen sixty years later. Whilst worth picking up for Climb Up the Wall alone, the fact that there are three films here makes this disc a must-have for anyone interested in the forgotten corners of British film history.

Renown have also recently launched a free TV channel in the UK called Talking Pictures, where more obscure British films from the 1930s through to the 1970s can be found and enjoyed. You can find more information at www.talkingpicturestv.co.uk.

London Entertains/ Climb Up the Wall/ Calling All Cars is released by Renown Pictures on R0 DVD. CLICK HERE TO ORDER 

BY ADRIAN SMITH

Somewhere in the north-German countryside is a POW camp for Naval officers and assorted other servicemen. The camp kommandant claims that it is completely escape proof, but this does not deter the camp escape committee, lead by Captain Maddox (Jack Warner, best remembered as the titular copper in Dixon of Dock Green). They've tried tunnelling and going over the wire, but they always get caught, or worse luck the tunnel collapses. Thankfully the kommandant is a reasonable man who understands their duty to try to escape, unlike the sadistic guard Captain Schultz (Anton Diffring, an actor who escaped Nazi Germany himself in 1939, only to be typecast as Nazi thugs for most of his forty-year career), who would happily shoot prisoners if he could get away with it.

Lt. Ainsworth (Anthony Steel) has an ingenious idea. An accomplished artist, he creates a papier-mâché head which can be assembled into a convincing dummy that the men refer to as Albert. This way someone can escape whilst the prisoners are being escorted outside the camp to the shower block, and when a headcount is taken, the German guards will not notice that anyone is missing. This is a plan so daring, and frankly quite bonkers, that it can only be based on a true story, which it is. Albert was built by John Worsley in the camp Marlag O, and it was used twice to allow men to escape. It is an amazing story and Albert R.N. belongs alongside other true POW escape films like The Colditz Story (1955) or The Great Escape (1963).

The film was directed by Lewis Gilbert, who was responsible for an incredible forty-one films between 1944 and 2002. In 1953 alone he was working on Johnny on the Run (for the Children's Film Foundation), Albert R.N. and The Sea Shall Not Have Them, which may explain why this particular film does not get mentioned in his recent autobiography "All My Flashbacks: Sixty Years a Film Director". There were just too many films to cover. Gilbert is one of the most prolific yet largely-ignored British film directors, with most perhaps mainly remembering his 1966 hit Alfie and contributions to the James Bond canon; You Only Live Twice (1966), The Spy Who Loved Me (1977) and Moonraker (1979).

Albert R.N. has recently been restored for this new DVD release from Renown Pictures. It both looks and sounds superb. Sadly there are no other extras included. A commentary track from Lewis Gilbert would have been fantastic, or failing that a historian who can give details of the actual true story would have given the package some more weight. Despite this Albert R.N. comes highly recommended. The kind of black-and-white movie which you used to find on TV on a rainy afternoon, its depictions of wartime heroism, sacrifice, honour and above all, the stiff upper lip, will make you proud to be British.

BY ERNIE MAGNOTTA

Throughout most of the 1980s, prolific filmmaker Charles Band ran the (sadly) now defunct distribution company Empire Pictures. Empire, whose fun movies had their own unique style and humor, released a plethora of enjoyable, low-budget action/sci-fi/horror/fantasy titles the likes of Walking the Edge (1985), Crawlspace (1986), From Beyond (1986), Troll (1986), Dolls (1987) and Cellar Dweller (1988). The company, however, is probably best known for the amazing cult classic Re-Animator (1985) as well as the popular Ghoulies and Trancers series. If, like me, you’re a fan of Empire Pictures’ entertaining output (as well as a fan of Band’s later company, Full Moon Pictures, which is best known for the iconic Puppet Master series), you can rejoice as their much-sought-after cult favorite, Zone Troopers, has finally been released on Blu-ray.

Solidly directed by Danny Bilson (The Rocketeer) who also co-wrote with his long-time friend Paul De Meo (Arena), Zone Troopers tells the enthralling tale of a small group of American soldiers who, while battling the Nazis in Italy in 1944, stumble across a crashed spaceship from another galaxy. Led by tough-as-nails Sergeant Stone (Tim Thomerson from Trancers), the soldiers not only do everything in their power to stay alive, but also to ensure that the aliens and their advanced technology do not find its way into the hands of the evil Nazi horde.

Zone Troopers is a unique and extremely fun combo of old-time war films and B-movie science fiction fantasy. The highly enjoyable movie also boasts an amazing cast. Timothy Van Patten (Class of 1984, The White Shadow) is dead-on as young, New Jersey soldier Joey Verona. Van Patten goes all out delivering the innocence and patriotism (as well as the requisite East Coast accent) necessary to bring this wonderfully clichéd role to life. Art La Fleur (1988’s The Blob) is terrific as tough, but loveable Corporal Mittinsky aka Mittens, and Tim Thomerson, who conveys quite a bit of info through very subtle facial expressions, is excellent as the indestructible Iron Sarge. Rounding out the group of stalwart heroes is Biff Manard (Trancers II) who makes his character of writer/reporter Dolan more than likeable. The lighthearted film is filled with action, adventure, camaraderie and humor, and, at times, feels like a 1940s comic book. It also benefits from a fun musical score by talented composer (and brother of Charles) Richard Band (Re-Animator, The House on Sorority Row), wonderful special alien effects by legendary makeup artist John Carl Buechler (Friday the 13^th Part VII: The New Blood); not to mention top-notch cinematography and editing by long-time Charles Band associates Mac Ahlberg (Prison) and Ted Nicolaou (Subspecies) respectively. Filmed in both Italy and the US, the well-paced film also contains intentionally dated and, therefore, intentionally corny and priceless dialogue (mostly from Van Patten) as well as a bunch of 1940s references which makes the war section of Zone Troopers feel entirely authentic.

Zone Troopers has been released on a region one Blu-ray by Kino Lorber. The high definition transfer looks fantastic and the movie is presented in its original 1.85:1 aspect ratio. Special features include the original theatrical trailer, an interesting onscreen interview with the great Tim Thomerson, and an amusing and informative audio commentary by director Danny Bilson and writer Paul De Meo who both seem to enjoy revisiting their cult film (and rightly so). Whether you’re a lover of war movies, retro science fiction, or you’re just looking for something fun and different, Zone Troopers is definitely the Blu-ray for you.

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By Todd Garbarini

Attempting to view the Jess Franco filmography in its entirety is intimidating and virtually insurmountable as the late writer/director had nearly 200 credits to his name. Finding all of them on video is nearly an impossible task, but thanks to DVD and Blu-ray, many of his most revered titles are now available in high quality transfers. One of the most prolific directors in the cinema, Mr. Franco, who hailed from Spain and passed away in 2013, was busy up until the end of his life and while he openly chided the quality of his own work (rightfully so in his later outings), he has legions of fans the world over.

It is impossible to look at the cinema of Italian director Dario Argento, who himself was influenced by the writings of Edgar Allan Poe and Edgar Wallace, without knowing that he was heavily inspired by his mentor Mario Bava. The colorful sets and off-kilter camera angles are trademarks of both directors. The Girl Who Knew Too Much, Mr. Bava’s 1963 film which is also known as The Evil Eye and starred John Saxon, is considered by some to be the first giallo film (a subset of the Italian horror film that is a thriller or a “whodunnit”), however another film that can arguably don this mantle is Mr. Franco’s The Sadistic Baron von Klaus (1962), a beautifully lensed black and white thriller that must have been shocking to audiences at the time of its release in a similar fashion to the reception that Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho (1960) received here in the States two years earlier. Like Psycho, Baron von Klaus has its origins in literature. Based upon the novel The Hand of a Dead Man by David Khune, Baron von Klaus takes the monster out of the monster and puts it into a human being. Along with Mr. Bava, Mr. Franco no doubt had an impact on Mr. Argento’s style and themes. So-called trademarks attributed to Mr. Argento appear in this film, such as a mysterious killer donning black gloves; a self-appointed sleuth who attempts to unmask the identity of the killer; the use of women as sexually desirable objects to be possessed or dispatched with violently should they spurn the killer’s charms; and the use of shadows. The plot involves the titular character, Baron Von Klaus, who comes from a lineage that is cursed by the ghost of a killer that is more than likely possessing the mind of our poor anti-hero. Anyone born into this family has the potential to become a murderer. This becomes a convenient excuse for Von Klaus to behave reprehensibly and by today’s standards, the film is very tame. However, to have seen this type of story and depiction of torture and murder in 1962 must have been extremely jarring, and certainly must have made the audience uneasy. If Mr. Franco was willing to show them this, then they would have to be on their guard just in case he showed them that.

Von Klaus’s fiancée is a wonderful woman who loves him unconditionally and cannot come to terms with the idea that her beloved might somehow be the same person murdering young women. A police inspector arrests the wrong man but eventually lets him go. In some ways, this is a segue thriller, because on the one hand it takes elements of the supernatural which were so prevalent in the Universal and Hammer thrillers of the preceding decades and weaves it into this story which anticipates the types of thrillers that were to become a mainstay of Euro-horror for many years later on. An element that appears multiple times in the film is one that has been depicted in countless other examples of the genre so as to become a cliché: a woman takes to the dark and deserted streets alone after hours on her way home and virtually guarantees that someone will follow and attack her. At the time this film was made, it’s possible that audiences simply weren’t expecting someone to do something so foolish, yet it happens in the dark and dead of night. If the film were remade today, the casting directors could showcase a pretty young thing sporting the ridiculous white earbuds that are all the rage, making it more convenient that ever for a killer to sneak up on her undetected and dispense with her before she knew what hit her.

Following the knife-in-the-shower shock murder in the aforementioned Psycho, Baron von Klaus depicts violence in an explicit and shocking way for the time. Contemporary audiences are numbed to screen violence in a way that viewers 50 years ago could never have imagined. The dark shadows on the walls of the neighborhood that the killer haunts are creepy and harken back to the Val Lewton thrillers.

The new Kino Lorber Blu-ray is transferred from a print that has some imperfections such as lines that may have been embedded in the emulsion, but nothing too distracting. Overall, this is a very sharp and beautiful transfer.

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BY DOUG OSWALD

Yul Brynner, Richard Widmark and George Chakiris share top billing in “Flight From Ashiya” a 1964 Japanese- American co-production originally released by United Artists. The movie is dedicated to and takes place within the world of the United States Air Force Air Rescue Service. Created in 1946, the Air Rescue Service mission is to rescue downed military aircrew. Their motto, which is displayed throughout the opening credits, reads: “That Others May Live.” In 1947 the mission was expanded to that of a special operations unit which later included Navy SEAL like Pararescuemen or “PJs” supporting everything from humanitarian rescue missions to NASA astronaut recovery.

The story of “Flight From Ashiya” is a mix of military themed clichés and melodrama which fans of this genre will find familiar. Two Air Rescue Service teams stationed at Ashiya Air Base in Japan depart on Air Force float planes to rescue a group of Japanese civilians who are clinging on to a make-shift raft after being shipwrecked during a typhoon. With the typhoon still raging, the first float plane crashes while attempting a landing on the choppy storm tossed water. The special effects are well done for the era and the aircraft models look realistic. For the new viewer today living in the era of over-used CGI effects, the models and water tank footage may appear old fashioned, but it all works if the viewer considers this movie was made decades before modern special effects.

The three men at the center of the story suffer from what we commonly refer to today as post traumatic stress syndrome. As they circle above the shipwreck survivors while the typhoon rages, we learn through a series of flashbacks that each man is opening up emotional baggage throughout the rescue which is packed with doses of love, pain, guilt, hate, sorrow and loss. Brynner, Widmark and Chakiris are convincing as military men and their performances allow us to forgive the limitations of the special effects.

George Chakiris plays Lt. John Gregg, a pilot stationed with Widmark and Brynner in Germany prior to their assignment in Japan. He feels responsible for the civilian avalanche victims he was unable to rescue in 1954. In his flashback, the team initially manages to land their rescue helicopter, drop off supplies and take back a few survivors. Brynner assists in delivering a baby and we see a hint of Widmark’s troubled past in a brief flashback within this flashback followed by a racially charged tirade toward Brynner, who we learn is half Japanese. Chakiris insists on returning and Widmark reluctantly agrees. Their helicopter can only carry a dozen people at a time and on the return trip the helicopter rotor blades cause another avalanche which kills the remaining survivors.

Widmark plays Lt. Col. Glenn Stevenson, a tough Air Force veteran and survivor of a Japanese prisoner of war camp. He was a civilian pilot and owner of a charter airline flying supplies out of Manila, Philippines. On the eve of the Japanese invasion of the Philippines and America’s entry in WWII, he meets his future wife, Caroline Gordon. She’s a journalist covering the victims of a recent earthquake for which Stevenson just happens to be flying supplies. Shirley Knight plays Caroline in a brief and understated role as Widmark’s soon to be wife. They end up in a Japanese prison camp and Widmark begs the Japanese camp commander for medicine, which is denied. Their baby and his wife die in the camp and Widmark carries this resentment to the other rescue missions.

Brynner plays Master Sgt. Mike Takashima, the senior paramedic of the team. He’s an Army corpsmen in North Africa in 1943 during WWII during his flashback where he meets a beautiful French speaking woman named Leila. He introduces himself with, “Mike Takashima... father Japanese, mother Polish.” We soon learn that she is Muslim and she and everyone else tells him their romance is not meant to be. Not willing to give up, Brynner tells her, “My father was a Buddhist, my mother a Seventh-day Adventist.” As Brynner searches for Leila on his departure, she comes running to him just as a demolition team detonates an unexploded bomb, killing Leila.

Chakiris sweats a lot during the typhoon rescue mission. He’s the co-pilot and his guilt over the avalanche deaths is relived when Widmark arrives as the replacement pilot at the start of the movie. Widmark is faced with his racism and resentment as he initially declines landing the float plane to rescue the Japanese civilians. Brynner drops to the survivors with a life raft and offers medical assistance. The three men wrap up their flashbacks and complete the mission.

Widmark is convincingly commanding whenever he plays military men and this movie is no exception. Likewise, Brynner is also terrific as Mike in spite of appearing more Polish than Japanese. Widmark and Brynner are compelling in all their films, this one included. They have a few key scenes together during the typhoon rescue and the avalanche flashback rescue, but do not upstage one another.

Chakiris is on hand for the younger audience members and is probably best remembered for his skill as a dancer in “West Side Story” for which he won a best supporting actor Oscar. He danced his way through other movies including the Jacques Demy musical “The Young Girls of Rochefort” featuring Catherine Deneuve and Gene Kelly. He also co-stared previously with Brynner in “Kings of the Sun,” and later appeared in a stage revival of “The King and I.” He worked with Charlton Heston in the drama “Diamond Head” and appeared in other military themed movies like “633 Squadron” “Is Paris Burning?” and McGuire Go Home.” He transitioned to TV roles in the 1970s and retired from acting in the late 1990s to focus on making handcrafted jewelry.

Shirley Knight is very good in her brief scenes with Widmark. Primarily a stage and TV actress with roles in dozens of TV series throughout her continuing prolific career, Knight was occasionally cast in high profile movies including “Sweet Bird of Youth,” “House of Women,” “Petulia,” “Juggernaut” and “As Good as it Gets.”

French model and actress Daniele Gaubert plays the beautiful Leila in the Yul Brynner flashback scenes. We see her briefly on the beach in a one-piece swimsuit and she speaks only French onscreen. She had a brief acting career and is probably best known as the star of Radley Metzger’s “Camille 2000.” She was married to Olympic skier Jean-Claude Killy until her death from cancer at age 44.

Suzy Parker plays Lucille Carroll in the third female role, but she has very little to do in the contemporary scenes back at the Air Rescue Service operations center. It’s not clear exactly why she’s there other than to give concerned commentary and look worried as radio reports come in. Parker was an American model and actress who had parts in a handful of high profile movies and TV series such as “Funny Face,” “Kiss Them for Me,” “The Best of Everything,” “The Interns” and appearances in the TV series “Twilight Zone,” “It Takes a Thief” and “Night Gallery.”

The movie was directed by Michael Anderson, who had a long and prolific career and is the director of many fan favorites. I remember watching his 1956 version of George Orwell’s “1984” in high school after we read the book. Despite its critics, I still enjoy his “Around the World in 80 Days” which was a broadcast TV “event” in the era before home video and cable TV. “The Dam Busters,” “The Wreck of the Mary Deare,” “Operation Crossbow,” “The Quiller Memorandum,” “The Shoes of the Fisherman” and “Logan’s Run” are a few of the highlights in Anderson’s prolific career.

“Flight From Ashiya” is predictable and melodramatic, but enjoyable and winds to a satisfying 100 minute conclusion. The widescreen Panavision image looks very well preserved and the audio is also more than satisfactory.. The DVD is made-to-order through the MGM Limited Edition Collection and has no extras.

Artist Jeff Marshall created this tribute to Sir Christopher Lee, which was presented to him by Cinema Retro publishers Lee Pfeiffer and Dave Worrall.

BY LEE PFEIFFER

Sir Christopher Lee, the acclaimed British actor, passed away last Sunday in London. He was 93 years old. The family waited to make the announcement until all family members could be notified. Lee was an early contributor to Cinema Retro magazine and periodically provided interviews and personal insights into the making of his films. We, along with movie lovers everywhere, mourn his loss. Lee was more often than not associated with the horror film genre, a fact that often frustrated him. He would routinely point out that he made many diverse films and played many diverse roles in movies of all genres, from comedies to westerns. For many years he was most closely associated with the films of Hammer studios, the British production firm that revitalized the horror film genre in the 1950s. Lee starred in seemingly countless Hammer productions, often appearing opposite another British film legend, his friend and colleague Peter Cushing. In the late 1950s, the two co-starred in the first color version of Bram Stoker's "Dracula" (released in America under the title of "Horror of Dracula"). The film, which was controversial because of its use of sex and violence, was nevertheless a major hit and spawned numerous other Hammer appearances with Lee as Dracula. He would later tell Cinema Retro that he did some of them reluctantly because the quality of the scripts had deteriorated over time. In one film, he found the dialogue was so poor that he insisted that the play the role without speaking. Nevertheless, the films remained popular and added to Lee's status as a legend of the modern horror film genre. In 1962, Lee was proposed to play the villain Dr. No in the first James Bond movie by Ian Fleming himself (the two were distant relatives.) Lee was not available and the role went to Joseph Wiseman. However, in 1974, Lee was cast as the Bond villain Scaramanga opposite Roger Moore in "The Man With the Golden Gun."  In 1973, he starred in the original version of "The Wicker Man" playing a larger than life villain that became legendary in cult film circles. The film was not a hit on initial release but over the decades has been considered as a classic of British cinema. Lee's extraordinary achievements were often overlooked because he also appeared in many films that were low-budget and sub-standard. However, he brought grace and dignity to every role he played. As the years passed, he found he had outlived most of his contemporaries. Of the other great horror icons he knew, he once lamented to this writer "I'm the last one left". He said he particularly missed Peter Cushing and Vincent Price, both of whom he considered to be among the most fascinating people he knew. He said that they would often speak by phone and had a long-running gag in which they would try to deceive each other by posing as a crank caller.

Christopher Lee with Cinema Retro publishers Dave Worrall and Lee Pfeiffer, years before the start of the magazine. The photo was taken at the offices of Eon Productions in London where Lee was signing some limited edition Bond lithographs by artist Jeff Marshall.

Christopher Lee saw a resurgence of appreciation for his talents from a younger generation of filmmakers who had literally grown up on his movies. He worked several times with Tim Burton. Peter Jackson cast him in "The Lord of the Rings" films and George Lucas gave him a high profile role as a villain in the reboot of the "Star Wars" franchise. He also worked with Steven Spielberg on the big budget 1979 WWII comedy "1941". In his public life, Lee was regarded as a serious man, not generally associated with humor. However, in private he was an outstanding raconteur with a wonderful sense of humor. Joining him for lunch or drinks would inevitably become a Master Class in some worthy subject. When in London, Cinema Retro co-publisher Dave Worrall and I would occasionally invite him to lunch at his favorite restaurant, Drones. Lunch with Lee was never a simple affair: you would be taught about what wines to order and the history of certain cuisine. The man seemed to be a walking textbook. He also loved classic cinema and discussing older films, which he had an encyclopedic knowledge of.  Sometimes his conversations about film making led to unexpected humorous results. On one occasion, we were discussing Howard Hawks' 1959 western "Rio Bravo" and we both agreed that Walter Brennan stole the movie from John Wayne and Dean Martin by playing a cranky and amusing deputy. I then sought to impress Lee by doing what I thought was a spot-on impersonation of Brennan in the film. Lee scoffed so I challenged him by saying, "I suppose you could do a better Walter Brennan impression?" He said, "In fact, I can"  and then proceeded to do so. The sight of the distinguished Lee doing impressions of Walter Brennan should have been captured on film but, alas, it was a moment lost in time. On another occasion, we met with Lee at Drones. I was attired in a jacket and necktie, but typically Dave Worrall decided to go casual. When we got to the restaurant, Lee looked disapprovingly at Worrall and drolly said, "If I knew we were dressing for the beach, I would have worn my bathing costume." Inside the restaurant, there was a very long mirror near our table. Lee turned abruptly and almost bumped into it, causing a nearby diner who had recognized him to quip, "That's understandable- you don't have a reflection!", a reference to his appearances as Dracula. Lee stared the man down and said, "As though I've never heard that one a hundred times before!"

Lee Pfeiffer introduces surprise guest Christopher Lee at a Cinema Retro movie tour event in London, 2006.

Lee was a private man who valued time with his wife Gitte, with whom he was married to for over 50 years. (They had one child, Christina). However, he would always make time to see Worrall and I when we were in London. On one occasion, I was meeting friends for afternoon tea at Harrods. On a whim, I called up Lee and asked if he would join us. He said yes and, to amazement of all, he turned up as a surprise guest and regaled us with wonderful stories. He also had a hobby that was passionate about: collecting patches from the various branches of the British military, which he once proudly showed us in his apartment. Lee served in WWII in the fight against Rommel in Africa. He rarely talked about his experiences because he said he was still technically under the Official Secrets Act. I would try to pry information from him by pointing out the unlikely scenario that Germany and England were about to go to war again, but he wouldn't budge. "When I give my word, I keep it", he would say. Indeed he did. I never got to hear much about his duties in helping to defeat The Desert Fox. Lee was also a sentimentalist, which might surprise many of his fans. He was especially saddened at the loss of Peter Cushing in 1994. The two men led very different lives. Cushing lived in the countryside and Lee preferred city life in London. They spoke often and would see each other occasionally. He told me that the last time he saw Cushing occurred shortly before Peter's death. The two actors were reunited for an interview session for a television program. Lee said that Cushing was clearly in poor health and near the end of his life. Both men knew it but didn't acknowledge it. They laughed and told stories as they usually did. However, when Cushing got into the car that was taking him home, Lee came to the realization that he would never see his best friend again. As Cushing looked back, Lee waved and said, "Goodbye, my friend". He said it was one of the most heart-wrenching moments of his life. Lee would say that he never again enjoyed the kinds of friendships he had with Cushing and Vincent Price, although he had the highest respect for Johnny Depp, with whom he worked on several films directed by Tim Burton.

Christopher Lee holding court as a surprise lunch guest at Harrods, 2002.

Lee was so devoted to his craft and so grateful for the opportunities afforded him that he seemed unaware of the aging process. Once Worrall and I had lunch with him when he had just returned from filming the first of his "Star Wars" appearances in New Zealand under the direction of George Lucas. In one pivotal scene, he had a light saber duel with the character of Yoda. Lee explained that there really wasn't a Yoda there, nor was there any light from the saber. They would be added later by a digital process. As an actor, he said this was particularly challenging. Yet he told George Lucas that he would do much of the scene himself  to minimize the use of a  stuntman. Lucas cautioned him but Lee reminded him that had been deemed a master fencer his youth and prided himself on his dueling skills. The scene proved to be very arduous and sure enough, later that night Lee began to feel some chest pains. He discretely visited a local doctor who asked him if he had done anything unusually strenuous. Lee initially said no but when the doctor heard he had been filming fencing scenes at his age, he informed him that most people would find that to be unusually strenuous. Lee admonished the doctor and told him that he had done all of his own fencing scenes in the "The Three Musketeers" and "The Four Musketeers". When the doctor reminded him that was thirty years earlier, Lee said it was the first time that he realized he really was getting old. Yet, he never acted old. He was a living, breathing example of how leading an interesting life can help you avoid many of the ravages of old age. Lee remained up to date on all aspects of the motion picture industry and was also very interested in politics. He was a loyal Tory and was also a devoted royalist who had disdain for those who wanted to do away with the British monarchy. Fittingly, he was knighted by Prince Charles in 2009 for his "Services to Drama and Charity".  In the latter part of his career, Lee embarked on releasing audio CDs that featured him crooning famous songs as well as contributing to hard rock concepts. 

Dave Worrall and I last saw Sir Christopher Lee in October 2012 at the royal premiere of "Skyfall" in London. We had a chance encounter in the cavernous Royal Albert Hall. He looked quite frail but still cut a handsome figure in his tuxedo. As we parted, I had the feeling that, as with his experience with Peter Cushing, we might not see him again, which added poignancy to this brief encounter. Then again, the thought of the world without Sir Christopher Lee was unthinkable. On a certain level, I think I had convinced myself that he would outlive all of us. 

To fully encompass Sir Christopher Lee's contributions to the world of cinema would require a thesis-like study. Suffice it to say that he was not only a major talent but a larger-than-life personality.  He was also a great friend as well as a that rarest of species today, a true gentleman. The world will still turn without his presence. It just won't be nearly as much fun, nor nearly as interesting.

"Goodbye, my friend". 

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“O BROTHER, WHERE ART PRESTON STURGES?”

By Raymond Benson

As I mentioned in last month’s review of The Criterion Collection’s new Blu-ray release of The Palm Beach Story, Preston Sturges was a rare breed in Hollywood in the early 1940s. After Chaplin, he was the only working screenwriter/director in that he wrote original scripts alone and then directed them, and he put an auteur stamp on each picture in terms of style and themes. Naturally, the bigwigs in Hollywood resented the guy, and Sturges often had a tough time at Paramount, where his most prolific and productive five-year-reign took place. He was a flame that burned very brightly for a short time. This brief career arc of a genius filmmaker is aptly presented in one of the supplements on this new release—Preston Sturges: The Rise and Fall of an American Dreamer, which originally appeared on television’s American Masters program.

Arguably Sturges’ best work, Sullivan’s Travels was released as a DVD from The Criterion Collection over a decade ago. The company has seen fit to upgrade the film to Blu-ray with a new high-definition digital restoration. Naturally, it looks magnificent, and I think by now we can take for granted that Criterion will do a bang-up job on any digital restorations they do.

Much has been written about Sullivan’s Travels and there is no question that it is a remarkable piece of work. It premiered in late 1941 but wasn’t released to the public until early 1942; nevertheless, it received no Oscar nominations and at the time wasn’t as popular as Sturges’ previous pictures. Why? Possibly because it made audiences think. Yes, it’s a comedy, but that’s really only the first half. After that, the picture becomes pretty serious, with a very sympathetic and almost-sentimental social commentary on poverty and the Great Depression. It’s true that the writer/director’s signature fast-and-witty dialogue is present throughout, but the belly laughs are few in this particular title. Maybe audiences in 1942 were wondering what happened to the Preston Sturges they knew. Ironically (and Sturges was very big on irony), the film is now considered a classic and Sturges’ masterpiece.

Joel McCrea plays Sullivan, a popular Hollywood movie director who specializes in comedies. What he really wants to do, however, is make a serious and responsible Capra-esque picture about human suffering, entitled O Brother, Where Art Thou? (And, yes, this is where the Coen Brothers got the title for their movie from 2000.) After much haggling with the studio bosses, Sullivan dresses as a “tramp” and hits the road in order to undergo first-hand what the American people have been experiencing during the Depression. Along the way, he meets beautiful Veronica Lake, and Sully unwittingly allows her to tag along. The movie is then made up of the couple’s various misadventures, including a hard left turn in which Sullivan is sent to a hard labor prison with a mistaken identity. One of the most striking scenes in the picture is when an African-American church opens its doors to the prisoners for a field trip to watch movies projected on the wall. It is there that Sullivan has an epiphany about his work and life—and it’s a very good lesson for us all.

By Mark Cerulli

The 1951 film The Tales of Hoffmann, the acclaimed British adaptation of the opera by Jaques Offenbach, was an early influence on major directors like Cecil B. DeMille, George Romero (who said it was “the movie that made me want to make movies”) and Martin Scorsese. They were drawn to co-directors, Michael Powell and Emeric Pressberger’s inventive camera work, vibrant color palette (each of the three acts has its own primary color) and smooth blending of film, dance and music. According to an interview found on Powell-Pressburger.org, Powell wanted to do a “composed film” – shot entirely to a pre-recorded music track, in this case, Offenbach’s opera. Not having to worry about sound meant he could remove the cumbersome padding that encased every Technicolor camera and really move it around production designer Hein Heckroth’s soaring sets. (Heckroth’s work on the film earned him two 1952 Oscar nominations.)

The film’s extensive restoration was sponsored by Scorsese’s Film Foundation and the BFI Film Archive, in association with Studiocanal. The entire project was overseen by Powell’s widow, longtime Scorsese editor Thelma Schoonmaker. In fact it was Scorsese who had introduced Powell to Schoonmaker, resulting in their 1984 marriage.

Ms. Schoonmaker – on location in Taiwan to work on Scorsese’s next film, Silence - said the director was obsessed (in a good way!) with her late husband’s and his partner’s work. She stated that Scorsese says their films are “in his DNA.” He was particularly interested in The Tales of Hoffmann because it taught him about moving the camera, capturing the body language of actors and “celebrating the emotion of music.”

Aside from the film’s pristine new look (which took over six months of “very intense” work), this version features 6 minutes missing from the Third Act, apparently cut by producer Alexander Korda who had wanted the filmmakers to drop Act Three entirely! Another gem found in BFI’s vaults was an epilogue the directors shot to introduce the opera singers who voiced the dancers appearing in the film. As Schoonmaker recalls, “Since no sound track was found for it, I created a sound track of applause and music from the film. No one had ever seen this epilogue, because it was never on the original release prints.” It’s a delightful piece of filmmaking whimsy that has gone unseen for over six decades.

The film had been previously restored in the 1980s using the Technicolor three strip Interpositive, but during the intervening years, the three-color strips had shrunk, creating fuzzy images even after restoration. But as Schoonmaker relates, this version remedies that, and then some… “The new restoration was able to digitally realign the three strips perfectly. The rich color of the film was rebuilt layer by layer, an arduous process, until the restorers were satisfied the film looked as it had when it was first made. “

Overseeing the entire process along with Schoonmaker was a true student of the film – Martin Scorsese!

“Scorsese knew the film intimately having screened it many times on a 16mm print and through watching the Criterion DVD over and over again.” Schoonmaker recalled, noting, “I had watched the film with my late husband, Michael Powell and so Scorsese and I were able to guide the color restoration.”

The film boasts a joint writer, producer, director credit, which was quite rare in the 1950s. Schoonmaker explained that, “only Michael directed on the set, but he admired Emeric’s contribution to their films so much that he agreed to sharing the remarkable title (for the time) ‘Written, produced and directed by Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger’ long before that kind of title was used as much as it is today.” The prolific duo made 19 films together.

The Tales of Hoffmann’s influence on Scorsese can be seen in his gritty 1976 masterpiece, Taxi Driver. As his three time Oscar-winning editor points out, “He (Scorsese) says the dancers in the film taught him so much about body language. And the eye movements of (actor) Robert Helpmann were a direct influence on De Niro’s eyes in the mirror of the car ...”

Having worked with the director on revered films like Raging Bull, Casino, Goodfellas, The Aviator and Wolf of Wall Street – in fact on every Scorsese film since 1980 – Thelma Schoonmaker should know!

The Rialto Pictures release of the restored and expanded The Tales of Hoffmann opens in New York and Los Angeles on Friday March 13^th, with other cities to follow.

Cinema Retro has received the following press release:

Revisit 1939, Hollywood’s Greatest Year, with 4 New Blu-ray™ Debuts

THE GOLDEN YEAR COLLECTION JUNE 9

Features Newly Restored Blu-ray Debut of The Hunchback of Notre Dame, Starring Charles Laughton, and Blu-ray Debuts of – Bette Davis’ Dark Victory, Errol Flynn’s Dodge City and Greta Garbo’s Ninotchka. Collection also includes Gone With the Wind.

Burbank, Calif. March 10, 2015 – On June 9, Warner Bros. Home Entertainment will celebrate one of the most prolific twelve months in Hollywood’s history with the 6-disc The Golden Year Collection. Leading the five-film set will be the Blu-ray debut of

· Prophet Without Honor – Also on the Ninotchka disc

· Sword Fishing – Vintage 1939 WB Short

· Detouring America – Vintage 1939 WB Cartoon

· Peace on Earth - Vintage 1939 MGM Cartoon

· Trailers

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RIP VAN MARLOWE

By Raymond Benson

Robert Altman was a very quirky director, sometimes missing the mark, but oftentimes brilliant. His 1973 take on Raymond Chandler’s 1953 novel The Long Goodbye is a case in point. It might take a second viewing to appreciate what’s really going on in the film. Updating what is essentially a 1940s film noir character to the swinging 70s was a risky and challenging prospect—and Altman and his star, Elliott Gould as Philip Marlowe (!), pull it off.

It’s one of those pictures that critics hated when it was first released; and yet, by the end of the year, it was being named on several Top Ten lists. I admit that when I first saw it in 1973, I didn’t much care for it. I still wasn’t totally in tune with the kinds of movies Altman made—even after M*A*S*H, Brewster McCloud (an underrated gem), and McCabe & Mrs. Miller. But I saw it again a few years later on a college campus and totally dug it. Altman made oddball films, and either you went with the flow or you would be put off by the improvisational, sometimes sloppy mise-en-scene that the director used. And the sound—well, Altman is infamous for his overlapping dialogue (one critic called it “Altman Soup”). If you didn’t “get” what the director was doing with sound, then you would certainly have a hard time with his pictures.

Yes, Elliott Gould plays Philip Marlowe. A very different interpretation than Humphrey Bogart, obviously. And yet, it works. Gould displays the right amount of bemused cynicism, as if he had been asleep for twenty years and suddenly woken up in the 1970s. And that’s exactly how Altman, screenwriter Leigh Brackett (who co-wrote the 1946 The Big Sleep), and Gould approached the material. Altman, in a documentary extra on the making of the film, called the character “Rip Van Marlowe.” He is an anachronism in a different time. For example, Marlowe can’t help but be bewildered by the quartet of exhibitionist lesbians that live in his apartment complex. And he still drives a car from his original era. And therein lies the point of the picture—this is a comment on the 70s, not the 50s.

The plot concerns the possible murder of the wife of Marlowe’s good friend—the friend is a suspect—as well as a suitcase of missing money belonging to a vicious gangster (extrovertly played by film director Mark Rydell), an Ernest Hemingway-like writer who has gone missing (eccentrically played by Sterling Hayden), and the author’s hot blonde wife who may know more than she’s telling (honestly portrayed by newcomer Nina van Pallandt). The story twists, turns, hits some bumps in the road, and finally circles back to the initial beginning mystery.

It may not be one of Altman’s best films, but it’s one of the better ones. It’s certainly one of the more interesting experiments he tried in his most prolific period of the 70s.

Kino Lorber’s Blu-ray release, however, doesn’t really improve on the original DVD release of some years ago. It appears to be a straight to Blu-ray transfer with no digital restoration of any kind. Hence, the image looks not much better than the DVD version. Since the soft photography and low lighting was intentional, any attempt at high definition is lost. The extras—the aforementioned “making of” documentary, a short piece on cinematographer Vilmos Zsigmond, an animated reproduction of a vintage American Cinematographer article, the trailer, and a few radio spots—are the same.

Still, if you’re an Altman fan and don’t already own the out of print DVD, you may want to pick up the new Blu-ray. It probably won’t be long before this, too, like Philip Marlowe himself, is a rare collector’s item.

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BY LEE PFEIFFER

Vinegar Syndrome has released a limited edition (1,500 units) dual format edition of the 1978 adult movie hit "Pretty Peaches" by director Alex deRenzy, who was perhaps the most prolific director the medium had ever seen. deRenzy didn't crank out cheapo grind house movies. Instead, he tried to incorporate relatively high production values, often shooting in outdoor locations. He also had an eye for attracting some of the most exotic actresses of the era. "Pretty Peaches" is one of deRenzy's most notable achievements. The movie introduced Desiree Costeau, who would go on to be a legendary name in erotic cinema. deRenzy made hardcore movies with some substance and style and this title is no exception. The plot finds the title character, Peaches (Costeau), an amiable but air-headed young beauty,  racing along in her jeep  in a hurry to get to Virginia City, Nevada, in the hopes of attending her father's civil wedding ceremony to his second wife, a young black woman with an insatiable sexual appetite. Peaches arrives just in the nick of time for the ceremony but after making some small talk with her father, she speeds off again in her jeep en route to San Francisco. Along the way, her jeep goes off the road and she is knocked unconscious. Two young men race to her assistance but, upon examining the scantily-clad Peaches, become sexually aroused. One of them goes so far as to violate her while she is still unconscious. When she finally awakes, she has complete amnesia. The men use this to their advantage by convincing her that they own the jeep and offer her a ride to San Francisco, where they coincidentally share an apartment. Peaches goes along but is troubled by the fact that she can't recall her name or anything about her background. While in the big city she tries to find professional help but ends up receiving treatment from a mad, sex-crazed doctor  whose "therapy" consists of inducing enemas! She doesn't fare much better when she applies for a job as an exotic dancer and ends up being violated by a gang of lesbians. Peaches is also uncomfortable living with her two male companions, who have a steady stream of loose women over to the apartment who they bed down without any regard for privacy concerns. Ultimately, she meets a handsome, kindly psychiatrist who offers to help her if she drops by his house that evening. Naturally, this offer isn't what it seems, either, and Peaches ends up in a major orgy where her memory is jolted back in an unpleasant way when she sees her own father (!) participating in the goings-on.

"Pretty Peaches" is very much from the school of 1970s erotica that blended slapstick comedy with hardcore sex. As the title character, Desiree Costeau is quite a find- at least in terms of her physical qualifications. She also gives an amusing performance, though it's doubtful Katharine Hepburn lost much sleep about her entry into the acting profession. The film is populated with other mainstays of the adult film industry of that time period including John Leslie, Joey Silvera and Paul Thomas. Juliet Anderson (aka "Aunt Peg") also makes her screen debut in this flick playing an assertive maid who ends up in a threesome with Peaches' dad and his new bride. Director deRenzy has good instincts when it comes to turning down the comedy elements when the action gets hot and he does provide some genuinely erotic sequences- but in the aggregate, the film will probably appeal most to those who like to mix laughs with their salacious cinematic thrills.

The Vinegar Syndrome transfer is just about perfect, having been remastered from a 35mm source print. Chances are the film looks better today than it did on the big screen. The release contains some special features including three trailers for other deRenzy films and an interview with film historian Ted Mcilvenna, who knew deRenzy since the 1960s. Mcilvenna was a social activist in San Francisco who was fighting for sexual freedom and crusaded against the archaic laws in Britain that criminalized homosexuality until 1967. he relates how deRenzy was so prolific in his work that he once discovered 19 completed feature films in his archive that the director had not gotten around to editing. There is also a rare interview with deRenzy himself, shot on VHS tape shortly before his death in 2001. Vinegar Syndrome believes this is the only known filmed interview with deRenzy. 

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BY FRED BLOSSER 

Producer Robert Stigwood ended the 1970s with three major musicals in a row, “Saturday Night Fever,” “Grease,” and “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Band,” and then stumbled in 1980 with “Moment by Moment,” a dumb romantic melodrama with Lily Tomlin and John Travolta. “The Fan” (1981) was expected to revive his winning streak, headlining Lauren Bacall and James Garner in a suspense thriller about a Broadway star (Bacall) stalked by the deranged title character, played in fine creepy fashion by newcomer Michael Biehn. But “The Fan” also did mediocre box office. Some observers believed the timing was bad. Three real-life tragedies involving stalkers were still uncomfortably fresh in peoples’ minds -- the murders of John Lennon and actress/centerfold Dorothy Stratten, and the attempted assassination of President Reagan. Other critics blamed the studio’s marketing of the production as a “Bacall and Garner movie.” The two stars drew an older fan base that perhaps expected a sedate show-biz suspense drama, and instead were surprised and turned off by scenes of slasher violence and homosexuality.

Despite co-billing with Bacall, Garner has hardly more than a walk-on role as Jake, the ex-husband of Bacall’s character, Sally Rice. He doesn’t even show up in the denouement when Sally has her big confrontation with knife-wielding Douglas Breen (Biehn) in an empty theater. Garner’s absence from this key scene must have confounded his followers. Surely Jake would pull a Jim Rockford and show up in the nick of time to rescue Sally.

Thirty-plus years on, viewers who come to “The Fan” by way of its new release as a Warner Archive Collection DVD may find it far more interesting than moviegoers in 1981 did. This was director Edward Bianchi’s first feature film (he’s since gone on to a prolific career directing TV dramas), and instead of investing the movie with his own style, he clearly borrows from Brian de Palma for the stalker scenes and from Bob Fosse for the backstage rehearsal scenes and Sally’s big number for opening night. It isn’t that Bianchi doesn’t borrow well, with the debt to de Palma underlined by the fact that the movie is scored by de Palma’s resident composer, Pino Donaggio. It’s that the jarring slasher scenes seem to belong to a different movie than the slinky, “All That Jazz”-flavored song-and-dance routines. Adding to the tutti-frutti mix, Bacall’s spotlight number, “Hearts, Not Diamonds,” sounds like a Saturday Night Live parody of a 1981-era Marvin Hamlisch/Tim Rice show tune. In fact, it actually is a Hamlisch/Rice composition.

Where the 1981 audience may have been disappointed by this scrambled omelet of over-the-top moments, it’s a lot more entertaining than the predictable, star-driven suspense movies that followed later in the ‘80s, such as “Still of the Night,” “Jagged Edge,” and “Suspect.” Younger viewers now may get a kick out of the movie’s vanished world of land-line rotary phones, typewriters, and people smoking in hospital waiting rooms. Pay attention and you’ll see Griffin Dunne, Dana Delaney, and Dwight Schultz in minor roles. A scene of Douglas cruising a gay bar, with unfortunate results for a young man he picks up, has chilling implications on a symbolic level that would not have been apparent to audiences when the movie opened in May 1981; the first reports of a real-life scourge stalking the gay community, AIDS, had not yet surfaced.

The Warner Archive Collection edition of “The Fan” is a manufactured-on-demand DVD. It has a scene-selection menu and English captions for the hearing-impaired, but no other extras. The image is a little soft, which may be unavoidable for older source material, and it’s only a drawback in the “Hearts, Not Diamonds” number where a crisper image would add to the fun.

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In a major coup, Amazon Prime's video streaming service has signed Woody Allen to write and direct a full season of half-hour programming. The new series has not been titled nor has a concept even been finalized. Allen- presumably in jest- said that his lack of vision for the project may make Amazon regret its decision. That seems unlikely. Allen is one of the most prolific filmmakers in the world and has a track record that is unrivaled: he has released at least one major film every year since he made his directorial debut with "Take the Money and Run" in 1969. Allen is also arguably at the pinnacle of his career, with some of his recent films earning major awards and kudos from critics.

Amazon Prime is going toe-to-toe with Netflix in terms of dominating the video streaming business.  Polls show that viewers are rapidly defecting from watching traditional TV broadcasts in favor of utilizing streaming, which allows them to watch what they want whenever they want on TVs and mobile devices. The signing of Allen gives a boost in prestige to Amazon. For more click here.

Screenwriter and producer Brian Clemens has passed away at age 83 in his native England. Clemens wrote scripts for some of the most revered British television programs of the 1960s and 1970s including "Danger Man" (aka "Secret Agent"), "The Avengers", "The Persuaders", "The Professionals",  "The Baron" and "The New Avengers".  Clemens also produced or executive produced several of the aforementioned shows.  He also contributed single episode scripts for other popular shows including "Highlander", "The Protectors" and "Remington Steele".  Clemens wrote numerous scripts for "Father Dowling Mysteries" and three "Perry Mason" TV movies in the early 1990s. A prolific writer, he also  wrote screenplays for feature films beginning in the 1950s. His credits include "Station Six Sahara", "The Corrupt Ones" (aka "The Peking Medallion"), "See No Evil", "The Golden Voyage of Sinbad", Disney's "The Watcher in the Woods", "Highlander II: The Quickening" and the Hammer horror film "Captain Kronos: Vampire Hunter", which he also directed and produced. According to his son, Clemens was still actively involved in working on scripts when he passed away on Saturday. In 2010, he was honored by the Queen for his significant contributions to British broadcasting and drama. For more click here. 

By Lee Pfeiffer

Impulse Pictures has improbably resurrected the bottom of the barrel porn vignettes from the 1960s and 1970s- commonly known as "peep show" films- into DVD releases that actually have some social significance.  First, some background. In the uptight era of the 1950s through early 1960s, even a hint of sex on screen usually resulted in censorship or arrest and prosecution. The main stream, big studios- in an attempt to prevent the establishment of an office of government censorship- took draconian measures to ensure they censored themselves by adhering to codes of ethics that watered down adult films every bit as much as any government entity was likely to do. Where would sexually frustrated men seek cinematic satisfaction? About the only venue available were 8mm stag films, which were primarily shown in private homes behind closed doors. Generally these were forbidden fruit shown at bachelor parties or perhaps added some spice to the marital bed if a man had a truly progressive wife. Men who lived in or near big cities could purchase reels of these films in "red light districts". If you lived in small town America, you were generally out of luck. When New York's 42nd Street made a sharp turn towards vice in the 1960s, porn parlor flourished along the notorious stretch. You could not only purchase reels of silent stag films for home viewing, but the era of the "peep show" also came about. A horny guy could enter a telephone booth-sized private cubicle and insert some coins into a machine and- Presto!- a dirty movie would start playing right before his very eyes. Frustratingly, the movie would end after a few minutes, thus ensuring the viewer would continue to insert more coins to see the climax (pardon the pun.) The films ran anywhere from five to ten minutes. Accordingly, story lines and production values were virtually non-existent because the action had to start almost immediately. From such modest cinematic achievements, some faces became well-known to patrons. John Holmes (aka "Long Johnny Wadd"), whose substantial physical asset became his trademark, was a ubiquitous presence in these films and some of the more prolific "actresses" also got their starts in these modest productions. As censorship laws slackened in the wake of the sexual revolution, production values increased within the porn industry and relatively high budget feature films played sometimes for months at a time in actual theaters. Among the more notorious: "Deep Throat", "The Devil in Miss Jones" and "Behind the Green Door", each of which became a pop culture sensation. Still, there was-and still is- a place for peep show fare among the remaining grindhouses in red light districts around the world.

Impulse Pictures has released a number of volumes consisting of numerous silent peep show flicks. Amusingly, they have added the sound of a whirring projector to the soundtrack. They have also shown the archival footage in its raw, primitive state, complete with original spice marks and blotches in order to recreate the experience of how these films were initially seen. What adds some "social significance" to these releases is the accompanying booklet with incisive essays by Robin Bougie, a self-professed scholar of sleeze movies. He runs a  web site at www.cinemasewer.com  and has an extensive knowledge of the genre. In Vol. #1 of the "Peep Show Collection", Bougie astutely points out that it took until the release of Sidney Lumet's "The Pawnbroker" in 1965 before American adult audiences could even be shown a glimpse of naked breasts in a mainstream studio release. Bougie points out that, although these 8mm loops are as bare-bones as one can imagine, there was a sense of fun that is lacking from today's coarser porn flicks. He also provides valuable insights into identifying future porn stars in these loops, including Marc Stevens, Annie Sprinkle and Lisa DeLeeuw. (John Holmes doesn't require any identification beyond his trademark appendage.) Most of the actresses in the films, however, were simply free-spirited young women who involved in the counter-culture. Many thought that by appearing in such films, they were thumbing their nose at the Establishment. Others were probably less politically inclined and did the films simply to make a few quick dollars. Still others just liked the notion of free, liberated sex after coming out of a period of social repression. In any event, it may not be pleasing to these ladies, many of whom are now grandmothers today, that these obscure, long-forgotten stag films are now being dressed up and issued on DVD.

Bougie also delves back into the origins of the peep show films, tracing them to one Lasse Braun, who used an inheritance to finance the first of these films for European audiences. They were then imported to America by a man named Reuben Sturman, who distributed them to 60,000 porn shops. Thus, the era of the peep show was born. 

This collection obviously isn't for everyone. The films are definitely hardcore and leave nothing to the imagination. But if it's possible for someone to get sentimental about such fare, this collection will fit the bill. Perhaps the value of the adult entertainment industry of this era is best summed up by a quote from Norman Mailer that Bougie cites in his essay: "There was something exciting about pornography. It lived in some mid-world between crime and art. And it was adventurous."

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Mazursky and Jill Clayburgh on the set of An Unmarried Woman (1978)

Paul Mazursky, one of the most acclaimed and prolific filmmakers to come of age in the 1960s, has died from cardiac arrest. He was 84 years old. Mazursky originally worked as an actor in films, appearing in such movies as "The Blackboard Jungle". However, with the revolutionary freedoms that came into movie-making in the mid-1960s, Mazursky turned to screenwriting and directing. His first screenplay was for the Peter Sellers hippie comedy "I Love You, Alice B. Toklas!". He made his directorial debut with "Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice" in 1969. The film starred Natalie Wood and Robert Culp as a hip, privileged couple who contemplate wife swapping with their best friends, played by Elliott Gould and Dyan Cannon, both of whom rose to stardom because of the film. Like most of Mazursky's films, the movie viewed social significant issues- in this case, the sexual revoluiton- through a satirical lens. He did the same with "Blume in Love" and "An Unmarried Woman", both of which examined the pains of ending romantic relationships. The latter film, which cast Jill Clayburgh as a woman whose husband abandons her for a younger lover, was embraced by the burgeoning women's rights movements at the time because it depicted a middle-aged woman who finds happiness and success through her independence. Mazursky's other films include "Next Stop, Greenwich Village", "Down and Out in Beverly Hills", "Enemies, a Love Story" and "Harry and Tonto", a bittersweet look at one's man's aging process that won a Best Actor Oscar for Art Carney in 1975. Mazursky himself was nominated for five Oscars but never won. He continued to work as a director and actor until recently and appeared occasionally on the hit sitcom "Curb Your Enthusiasm". His contributions to the renaissance of American filmmaking in the 1960s and 1970s can't be overstated. - Lee  Pfeiffer 

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Cinema Retro Editor-in-Chief Lee Pfeiffer with Eli Wallach at The Players in New York City.

By Lee Pfeiffer

Cinema Retro mourns the loss of Eli Wallach, the prolific actor of screen, stage and television, who passed away Tuesday in his New York City home. He was 98 years old. Wallach was one of the last of the Hollywood legends. He rarely enjoyed a leading role but was considered to be one of the most respected character actors of the post-WII era. He was as diversified as a thespian could be and would play heroes, villains and knaves with equal ease. For retro movie lovers, his two most iconic performances were as the Mexican bandit Calvera in John Sturges' classic 1960 film The Magnificent Seven and as Tuco, the charismatic rogue bandit in Sergio Leone's landmark 1966 production of The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. Although he never won or was even nominated for a competitive Oscar, he did receive a lifetime achievement award from the Academy in 2010.

On a personal basis, this writer knew Wallach because we were both members of The Players, the legendary club for the arts at Gramercy Park in New York. Wallach's portrait adorns the club's Hall of Fame and he was an active participant in the club, appearing in readings and plays throughout the years. The last time I saw him there was in late 2012 when he made a surprise appearance to greet actress Carroll Baker, who was speaking at the club about her long career. Wallach, who played her lecherous older lover in the notorious Baby Doll, showed up to see her, much to the delight of the audience. As always, Wallach was accompanied by his devoted wife, actress Anne Jackson, to whom he was married for 66 years. I first met him in 2005 when I joined the Players. We both attended a black tie dinner in honor of Ben Gazzara. Coincidentally, the first issue of Cinema Retro had just been published and I gave him a copy. He was delighted to see an article in which we editorialized that he should have been nominated for an Oscar for The Good, the Bad and the Ugly and proceeded to tell some amusing stories about the making of the film, including having to temporarily share a bed with Clint Eastwood due to lack of accommodations in Spain. Wallach was always good for a funny anecdotes and seemed to be perpetually in a good mood.  I tried on many occasions to have a formal interview with him and he was agreeable. However, by the time his non-stop work schedule finally abated, his health had deteriorated. The last time I spoke to him at length was after I saw the film Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps in 2010. I was delighted to see he was looking so fit. I called him up for an impromptu conversation and, as usual, he spent about an hour explaining how he didn't have time to talk. During the course of that conversation, he related priceless tales of working on The Misfits with Marilyn Monroe, Clark Gable, Montgomery Clift and John Huston and bemoaned the fact that only he and fellow Players member Robert Vaughn were the only remaining cast members from The Magnificent Seven. I informed him that when I had asked Vaughn how that felt, he said "It stinks- but it beats the alternative!" Wallach let out a typically hearty belly laugh.

Eli Wallach was a Hollywood legend and an actor's actor. However, his real legacy is that he was an even rarer breed in today's film industry: a class act, a devoted family man and a true gentleman.

Rest in peace, Tuco.  

For more on Wallach's life and career, click here. 

 By Lee Pfeiffer 

The latest grindhouse vintage porn double feature from Vinegar Syndrome is one of their best releases yet. "Sadie" is an unlikely 1980 hardcore "adaptation" of Somerset Maugham's classic story "Rain", though we doubt ol' Somerset ever envisioned the types of goings-on that occur in this film, directed by Bob Chinn, a prolific name in the industry who was born in Hawaii (please refrain from making the old joke "on the island of Kumoniwannaleiya")  and went on to direct dozens of X rated feature length movies. Here the titular character is a blonde bombshell played by Chris Cassidy. Sadie is a prostitute living in Borneo and the action all takes place in a low-rent beachfront hotel here she plies her services and receives paternal loving care from the seedy owner of the resort. Sadie is in love with an American soldier on leave to Borneo but finds she can't leave the island because the local Raja insists that he "bought" her in Saigon and that she must become a member of his harem. Sadie is a moody young woman, prone to selfish and occasionally reckless behavior. Her stress level only increases when an Evangelical U.S. senator and his wife and teenage daughter check into the hotel. The senator has married his wife in order to make an "honest woman" of her because she had been unwed when she gave birth to her daughter. Since then the couple has led a chaste marriage, as the senator believes sex is the work of the devil. The daughter, who has just turned 18, has no such beliefs and her raging hormones can't stand the strain as she witnesses the unapologetic free love practiced by Sadie and her friends. Before long, she's joining in the action while Sadie tries to construct a plan to work with corrupt government officials to get out of the country with her lover. 

"Sadie" is largely confined to a few rooms in the hotel and there are no exterior shots. Yet the film is somewhat ambitious and rises above standard porn because director Chinn has a degree of skill in presenting a reasonably compelling story. His leading lady fits the bill in terms of the erotic sequences but is weak dramatically. Unusually for this type of film, Chinn gives plenty of screen time to what appear to be accomplished middle-aged character actors who don't get involved in the down-and-dirty stuff. The film is all the better for it. Chinn also knows how to skillfully lens the sex scenes but never overdoes them. There are twosomes, threesomes and orgy scenes but there is plenty of time devoted to at least attempting to tell an engaging story. 

Another Chinn film fills out the double feature, thus making this a genuine "Double Chinn" presentation. "The Seductress" is a 1981 film, that like "Sadie", is far more ambitious than standard grindhouse fare of the era. Porn superstar Lisa De Leeuw plays Cindy, a young wife married to Richard, a local commissioner on the Las Vegas fire commission board. He's a chauvinist boor who talks to her as though she is the hired help. She finds out about a "service" that blackmails spouses by having them seduced, then secretly photographed from behind a two-way mirror as they have their illicit liaisons in a hotel room. Cindy engages the service and sure enough, Richard goes for the bait and ends up in bed with Renee (Lee Carroll), who pretends she is also married and is nervous about having an affair. In reality, she is a heroin-addicted hooker. Cindy's plans go awry when Renee refuses to turn over the photos of her husband unless Cindy "fills in" for her at the next night's liaison. If she doesn't, Renee will blackmail her. Cindy reluctantly takes on the task and ends up in a foursome with a cynical hooker and two men, one of whom is also being set up for blackmail/divorce. The plot gets pretty confusing at times but Chinn elicits good performances by old pros De Leeuw and Carroll, though his luck runs out with much of the supporting cast, some of who read their lines as though they are in a school play. Nevertheless, the film boasts a good story line that involves organized crime and a conspiracy to manipulate who sits on the fire commission. The political intrigue aspect has a genuinely creative payoff in the last frames, as Chinn ties it in with real life news footage of the disaster 1981 Hilton Hotel fire in Vegas that was caused by arson. 

The print quality of these two features is above average and Vinegar Syndrome has even gone to the effort of tracking down the original trailers for each film. Although both "Sadie" and "The Seductress" are hardcore films, these represent an early attempt to appeal to female viewers who, at the time, might have wanted to experience some X-rated fare without being totally grossed out.  Both hold up well today and are probably more creative than the largely indistinguishable fare being made today. 

Click here for a preview of both films.

By Raymond Benson

On the advent of The Criterion Collection’s upcoming release of Harold Lloyd’s The Freshman on Blu-ray and DVD, it’s high time that the silent film star gain some recognition from at least two generations that missed out on seeing this master comedian in action. Last year’s release of Safety Last! certainly got the ball rolling, and with Lloyd’s granddaughter, Suzanne Lloyd, working as the trustee to his film library and head of Harold Lloyd Entertainment, Inc., the goal is to bring the pictures of the “third genius” (after Chaplin and Keaton) to a wider audience, especially in America.

Despite the fact that Harold Lloyd was a superstar during the silent era, I had never seen a Harold Lloyd film when I was growing up. Except for some hardcore film historians and enthusiasts, very few people had a chance to become familiar with Lloyd’s work over the last seventy-odd years, mainly because Lloyd had refused to sell his pictures to television. Not only was the offer not high enough, but he felt that the medium wasn’t right for his movies. If timing and pace were critical in his comedies, as well as the carefully-planned camera set-ups, why should he allow television to hack them up with unapproved edits, insert commercials, and perhaps “cheapen” his work?

Suzanne admits he made a mistake. “He lost so many generations who don’t know him,” she says from her office in Los Angeles. “Laurel and Hardy, Chaplin, Keaton, W. C. Fields—they were all on television, and that’s who the baby boomers got to know. In the 1970s, HBO and Time-Life did some of his films for TV in Europe, but he missed that boat in America.” In the 1980s, however, Suzanne set about having her grandfather’s films restored. By the New Millennium, she had made a deal with Turner Classic Movies, and they now have approximately fifty titles (shorts and features) that are shown regularly. It’s ironic, because Harold Lloyd made tons of more films than his counterparts. Nearly two-hundred of them! And while Chaplin’s individual features were more profitable, Lloyd was overall more commercially successful because he was so prolific. Lloyd made twelve features in the 1920s, while Chaplin made only four.

Born on April 20, 1893 in Burchard, Nebraska, Lloyd wanted to be an actor from an early age. After moving to Hollywood in 1912, he quickly rose from bit player to leading man, especially after teaming up with producer Hal Roach. Between 1915 and 1917, Lloyd’s onscreen characters, such as “Lonesome Luke,” were admittedly knockoffs of Chaplin and others. That changed in 1917, when Lloyd put on a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. The “Glass” character, as he called it, became Lloyd’s signature role that he would play for the rest of his career.

The Glass character, often named “Harold” in the pictures, was an Everyman with whom audiences of the 1910s and 20s could easily identify. Optimistic, ambitious, and kind-hearted, and perhaps a little naive, Harold was the Boy Next Door. And every one of his pictures involved the Boy chasing the Girl Next Door. It was a template for what later became known as romantic comedy.

“That’s his legacy,” Suzanne asserts. “He is quite simply the grandfather of the genre. In his movies he always falls in love with the girl, and then the stories are all about the chase, trying to impress her, almost losing her, and then finally getting her in the end. I do believe that our modern romantic comedies owe a great debt to Harold.”

One of the reasons Lloyd was so likable onscreen was that the actor was truly that guy. “He wasn’t someone who ran around telling jokes, although he would tell jokes; rather he was a lot like the character—inquisitive, wanting to be first, winning the game, getting around obstacles, and getting the girl,” Suzanne says. She laughs and remembers, “He hated losing at a card game, though! He was not a good loser. He always had to win at any type of game, and he was a great bowler, a champion handball player, and a good golfer. He loved the sport of winning, and that tied into his Glass character as well. He was all about enjoying life and trying to make it better. He was ‘the glass is half full and not half empty’ kind of man. And this is even more remarkable after what he went through in 1919.”

That year, while posing for publicity shots to promote his current work-in-progress, the short From Hand to Mouth, a supposedly fake “bomb” (the big black ball-shaped kind that resembles a cartoon prop) that he was holding in his right hand actually exploded. It took off his thumb, index finger, and a third of his palm. Lloyd was blinded and his face was burned. His sight eventually returned and his face healed, but for an actor who relied on “thrill comedy”—action stunts, climbing, falling, and the like—his hand’s disability could have been a career-killer. Instead, after eight months out of commission, Lloyd bolstered himself up and kept going. “They fashioned a special glove for him to wear,” Suzanne says. “It looked like he had all five fingers, and there was an old-fashioned wooden clothes pin contraption with a strap up his arm. With that, he could make his hand look whole, and he always wore it in every picture he made afterwards. Luckily, he was ahead of the game with his releases. He had some in the can, so his studio staggered the releases while he recovered. News articles said that he had been hurt, but no one knew how bad it really was.”

Nevertheless, the 1920s were good to Lloyd. His films, such as Grandma’s Boy, Safety Last!, Why Worry?, Girl Shy, The Freshman, The Kid Brother, and Speedy, to name a few, were extremely popular. And unlike many silent film stars, Lloyd made a smooth transition into talkies, making several successful sound pictures in the thirties. Suzanne says that her grandfather embraced sound. “He was dedicated to giving his audience what they wanted, and he was willing to go to the edge. He was always progressing. And his voice fit his character, which helped!”

Lloyd’s estate in Beverly Hills, “Greenacres,” was a popular destination for the children of other silent film stars during those exciting years in Hollywood. Since Lloyd socialized and played tennis with Charlie Chaplin, the Little Tramp’s first two sons, Charles Jr. and Sydney, often came over to play with Lloyd’s children—Gloria, Harold Jr., and Peggy. “They would always want to spend the night and stay over,” Suzanne says. “The boys would tell my mother, ‘your dad is so generous, he plays with us, plays golf with us, swims with us, throws ball with us... our dad never does that!” Shirley Temple was also a frequent visitor to Greenacres. “She actually lost her first front tooth eating sponge cake at my grandparents’ house, and boy, was that a big drama for Mrs. Temple,” Suzanne remembers being told. “My family had to call Darryl Zanuck and say, ‘uhm, guess what!’” Suzanne, who was raised at Greenacres, had similar experiences with her own friends. “They really liked my grandfather, too. They asked if they could call him ‘Harry,’ as a nickname, and he let them. He was absolutely a great grandfather—he took me to Beatles concerts, Las Vegas, and Disneyland. He was happy to be with younger people.”

By Adrian Smith

Note: This review pertains to the Region 2 (PAL) format UK release.

This Cinema Retro writer would love to be able to explain to you in detail what just what The Final Programme is about, but I have absolutely no idea. The plot revolves around Jerry Cornelius (Jon Finch), a swaggering millionaire scientist who seems to think he is the second coming in this futuristic, possibly post-WWIII Britain. His father, also a scientist, died when he was on the brink of some kind of amazing discovery, and it is up to Cornelius to find out what it was. Along the way he meets a variety of bizarre characters who drift in and out of the plot with nothing particular to contribute. Amongst these are many familiar faces from film and TV, such as George Coulouris, Sterling Hayden, Patrick Magee and Graham Crowden, the latter seemingly channelling Quentin Crisp. The film has flashes of visual inspiration spread throughout its running time, including colourful filters and multiple layers, but these alone do not make up for a story that makes no sense whatsoever. At one point Cornelius finds himself in a nightclub which is built like a giant pinball machine, complete with scantily-clad go-go dancers in giant hamster balls. It's colourful and exciting, and you can almost imagine this film taking place in the same Britain as A Clockwork Orange (1971).

Robert Fuest is probably best known for directing the Vincent Price camp comedy-horror classics The Abominable Dr. Phibes (1971) and Dr. Phibes Rises Again (1972), films with plenty of visual style to compensate for the slightly flimsy plots, themselves a derivation from the much-imitated Agatha Christie story And Then There Were None (also known as Ten Little Indians). The film is based on a much-respected science fiction novel by prolific author Michael Moorcock. He has not been particularly complimentary about the film in the past, and neither have ardent fans of the book, who have complained that too much was removed from the story. This may help explain why the film makes no sense, with Jerry moving from unusual experience to unusual experience for no reason. It is a movie that is less than the sum of its parts, which is a pity as individual parts are intriguing and entertaining, and suggest that there could have been something very special here. Instead it is like trying to watch a film through the fog of a room full of stoners. Originally an X certificate in the UK, the film is now rated 15 for the occasional swearing, drug-taking and nudity, all very much of its time.

This is a film which has been greatly anticipated on UK DVD, and it is a pity that Network did not take the opportunity to create materials that may help the audience to put the film in some sort of context. Sadly both Robert Fuest and Jon Finch died last year, too late to have their final reflections on the film recorded. Michael Moorcock is still around but would not necessarily want to contribute, but some kind of short documentary or commentary track from a historian would definitely help if you are new to the film. As it is you get a couple of trailers and the choice to watch the opening titles in Italian. Not exactly mind-blowing extras, which are precisely what this DVD release needs.

By Lee Pfeiffer 

I will confess to being almost totally ignorant of the late, lamented Spanish director Jess Franco's work. Franco (also billed as Jesus Franco), who died in 2012, was known to be a prolific director of cult movies, many of which accentuated bizarre sexual practices. Franco was an enthusiast for the works of the Marquis de Sade and literature that was inspired by or devolved from his erotic stories. In addition to directing, Franco also wrote many films and provided the musical scores as well. If nothing else, you have to admire the sheer quantity of his work, if not the quality. During 1973 alone, he directed at least a dozen movies and perhaps a couple more that never saw completion (like most independent filmmakers, he was always scrambling to find funding from unreliable sources.) Franco would often complete production on one movie then immediately move the same cast and crew onto location for a completely different film. His "stock company" alternated between leading roles and supporting performances but for the most part they remained loyal to him and many worked on his films for many years.

The Mondo Macabre label has released a special edition DVD of Franco's 1974 film Plaisir a trois under its rather absurd English title How to Seduce a Virgin, which makes the movie sound like its one of those low-rent British sex comedies of the era. It's anything but. The film is a disturbing but mesmerizing thriller that centers on an attractive young French married couple. Martine (Alice Arno) is a blonde bombshell who we first meet as she is about to be released from an extended stay in a mental asylum where she has been committed for unspecified reasons. Upon returning to her opulent country manor house in the South of France, she is greeted by her loving husband Charles (Robert Woods), a handsome man who immediately makes up for lost time by bedding his seemingly insatiable wife. (I believe most men do the same whenever their wives are released from extended stays in mental asylums.) He informs Marlene that she has avoided a jail sentence only because he paid off local officials. A hint of what crimes needed to be covered up comes when Marlene lures a local hooker to the mansion. She brings her to the basement where the hapless woman finds herself in a real life chamber of horrors. It seems Marlene and Charles "collect" beautiful men and women by subjecting them to extreme sexual torture then murdering them. Their bodies are preserved as they look at the precise moment of death. With another victim now added to their "collection", the murderous couple make plans for their most ambitious undertaking. Charles has befriended a local diplomat and his wife and convinced them to allow their 21 year old daughter Cecile (Tania Busselier)  to stay with them while they are abroad. Upon seeing her for the first time, the bisexual Marlene is driven to virtual insanity by desire to seduce the young woman, who is a virgin. The couple secretly spy on Cecile, who conveniently has a knack for parading in front of her bedroom window scantily clad before she indulges in long sessions of masturbation. Upon arriving at the couple's house, Cecile is a willing student in Charles and Marlene's sexual capers and is soon participating in orgies with the couple's live-in mistress Adele (Lina Romay), a comely teenager who is inexplicably mute and is obviously mentally challenged but who is all too willing to please her hosts. Despite the fact that Charles and Marlene are equally smitten by Cecile, they nonetheless make plans for to add her as their ultimate trophy to their ghastly collection of former lovers. 

How to Seduce a Virgin is one of Franco's most controversial films. It is richly photographed and well-acted and directed. The film is as mesmerizing as it is distasteful and features a sting-in-the-tail ending worthy of Agatha Christie. Franco's cast performs gamely, doffing their clothes and engaging in extended sex sequences that come as close as you can get to hardcore. Despite the emphasis on sexual violence, Franco is surprisingly restrained in the sex scenes, emphasizing an erotic mood over anything shocking. He is particularly sensitive in filming the numerous scenes of lesbian lovemaking. Nonetheless, a Franco film would apparently not be a Franco film without bizarre elements being stressed. There is no background information given on Charles and Marlene or any of the other characters. This intention to be opaque only makes them all the more interesting. It's as though they exist in their own world. There are few outsiders scene in the story: a psychiatrist, Cecile's parents and the ill-fated hooker are the only people not to live in the house of horrors. A crazy old gardener (Alfred Baillou)  and a loyal chauffeur (Howard Vernon) serve the murderous couple without making any moral judgments against them...although the gardener does attempt to warn Cecile what is in store for her.

The DVD boasts a gorgeous transfer and features interesting and informative biographies of each cast member. (Lina Romney appeared in many of Franco's films and eventually became his wife.) There are also recent interviews with the film's screenwriter Alain Petit and Franco scholar Stephen Thrower. In all, a very impressive release of a bizarre film that will haunt you long after the first viewing.  

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By Lee Pfeiffer 

The Warner Archive has released the 1960 supernatural "B" movie thriller Tormented as a burn-to-order DVD title. The film is yet another entry from the schlock king, producer Bert I. Gordon. The prolific master of micro-budget films made his fare primarily for the undiscriminating drive-in market during the era when such movies often were produced to play as second features. Tormented stars Richard Carlson as Tom Stewart, a middle aged man who resides on an island (the geographical location is never determined.) When we first see him, he is atop a lighthouse where he is being confronted by a pesky ex-love, Vi (Julie Reding). The sultry woman can't accept the fact that Stewart has dumped her to marry the virginal local "good girl" Meg (Lugene Sanders). When all of her sexual come-ons don't tempt him to take her back, she makes it clear that she has some incriminating letters from him that she will release to ensure his forthcoming marriage is sabotaged. You don't have to be the Amazing Kreskin to see what is coming. Vi leans on a railing and finds herself dangling above the rocky ocean front beneath her. She begs Stewart to save her but he opts to do nothing and she falls to her death. Although haunted by guilt, the next morning he recovers her body in an attempt to cover-up the incident. (Conveniently, she let him know that no one other than a boat captain knew she had come to the island.) Soon, however, strange things start happening. Her body turns into a pile of seaweed- and that's just the beginning. Meg's 8 year old sister Sandy (Susan Gordon) shows up on the beach, having found a locket that Stewart had inscribed to Vi. Before long, he becomes obsessed with worry that her death will be made known. Adding to his troubles is the fact that he can hear Vi's voice vowing revenge and ultimately he sees visions of her, as well. (Whether Vi is making appearances from Heaven or Hell, you have to say they have some pretty impressive clothing lines there: she is routinely clad in clingly, low-cut nightgowns.) As the day of the wedding nears, Stewart is a nervous wreck and his trouble increase when the boat captain who dropped Vi off on the island suspects she has been murdered. He's an obnoxious hipster (played by the great character actor Joe Turkel) who sets out to blackmail Stewart. This sets in motion a series of dramatic events as the groom-to-be gets into deeper trouble by trying to eliminate his blackmailer. All the while Vi continues to taunt Stewart, though he is the only one who can see or hear her, as though she is an evil version of James Stewart's Harvey. 

Tormented is typical of Bert I. Gordon fare. The triple threat auteur also wrote and directed the film and it boasts the shoddy production values that made him beloved by B movie lovers. There is one scene that takes place atop the lighthouse in broad daylight. The matte painting of the ocean features water that never moves, which makes the backdrop akin to one you might see in a school play. The script also doesn't even touch upon the unusual aspects of Stewart's engagement to Meg, in that he is old enough to be her father. (Richard Carlson was 48 years old- and seems much older, while Lugene Sanders was 26 but plays the role of a younger woman.)  There are, of course, May/December romances in real life, but the screenplay doesn't acknowledge this and treats the couple as though they are two young kids just starting out in life.  Still, while it's easy to pick on such obvious flaws, Tormented is a surprisingly effective and engrossing thriller in its own way. The Crime and Punishment scenario is obvious. Stewart isn't a bad man. In fact, he's a legitimate victim of a former lover who wants to blackmail him. However, by refusing to save her life, he opens a Pandora's Box of deception that escalates in his attempts to keep his lack of gallantry quiet. As they say of the Watergate scandal, "The cover-up was worse than the crime." There are no performances of any particular merit, but Susan Gordon is most impressive as Meg's precocious young sister who holds the key to Stewart's fate. There is something approaching genuine suspense in the final scene in which Stewart attempts to silence her forever. 

Tormented has plenty of unintentional laughs, shoddy effects and a predictable story. However, I've always admired the art of "B" movie making by those artists who knew they were toiling on projects that never stood a chance of receiving serious critical acclaim. This is a prime example of a well-made film, at least within those parameters. 

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By Todd Garbarini 

Walt Disney’s The Sword in the Stone, which opened on Wednesday, December 25, 1963, may not be all that familiar to young viewers unless they grew up seeing it on VHS in the 1990s or on its maiden DVD release five years ago. I first saw it in January 1973 during a re-release and again in elementary school in the all-purpose room on 16mm in 1975, which was a real treat as it was rare to see a feature-length film in school (the obvious exception being Charlotte’s Web (1973) which was de rigueur for elementary school students.) Having just viewed the new 50^th anniversary Blu-ray, I was shocked to realize just how little of the film I had remembered other than the jousting sequence.

Based upon the 1938 novel by Terence Hanbury White, who passed away some 24 days after the film’s release, The Sword in the Stone concerns the death of King Pendragon, a British ruler whose demise has left his country reeling due to the lack of a successor. In London, the titular sword is buried partially in stone. Upon the sword is an inscription which states that whoever manages to remove the sword from the stone will be ordained the new king of England. Naturally, many overgrown brutes try their hand at it and fail to budge it. Sometime later, a young orphan by the name of Arthur (who is also referred to as Wart) joins his foster brother Kay on a hunting trip. Through a misadventure, he ends up in the home of a magician by the name of Merlin who takes Arthur under his cape, so to speak. When Arthur returns to his foster father, Sir Ector, he introduces him to Merlin. Sir Ector is more concerned with the upcoming annual jousting tournament which is to be held, conveniently enough, in London. Kay will be trained for the event and young Arthur will be his squire.

Merlin takes Arthur through a series of transformations in the hopes of giving the young lad an education. They temporarily become fish in a sequence that predates Finding Nemo by 40 years, and also become squirrels to comprehend the finer aspects of gravity and romantic love in a cute sequence. At this point, Archimedes, Merlin's owl, enters the picture. He is gruff and full of wisdom and takes a “tough love” attitude towards Arthur. The sequence where Merlin begins to wash dishes with his magic will delight children who have seen the Harry Potter films.

Arthur then learns how to fly by being turned into a sparrow and studies under Archimedes’ tutelage. Arthur makes his way down the chimney, the roof of the house shaped just like a witch’s hat – Harry Potter references again – and finds himself in the house of Madam Mim, who ends up in a duel with Merlin, the latter of whom stops the former by transforming himself into a germ and infecting her.

It is now time for the tournament and Sir Ector, Kay, Arthur, and Archimedes go to London. Naturally, Arthur has forgotten Kay's sword at the inn which turns out to be closed and he just happens to notice the sword in the stone. He extricate said with minimal effort and brings it to his father who was stunned when he reads the inscription on. Needing to see his son remove the sword from the stone with his very eyes, he replaces the sword in the stone. When Arthur removes it, it is obvious that he is the chosen King of England.

The Sword in the Stone contains a handful of entertaining songs and the lyrics are enough to baffle both Willy Wonka and Dr. Seuss: “Higitus Figitus” is a tongue-twister. The score was written by the Sherman Brothers, the most prolific songwriting team in the history of film. The film received an Oscar nomination for Best Score - Adaptation or Treatment in 1963, but lost out to Irma La Douce.

The new Blu-ray, which also contains a standard definition DVD and a digital copy, is a revelation to behold. The picture can only be described as gorgeous and does not give a hint as to being over fifty years-old thanks to digital restoration. Colors are bright and sharp and look sterling on a large high definition display.

The extras on the disc consist of:

Alternate Opening - Where Wart Meets Merlin (4:02) – this is a look at how the film was originally going to open as seen through storyboards and voiceover.

Music Magic: The Sherman Brothers is an eight-minute featurette on the gentlemen who wrote the music. While is it interesting to watch, I would have liked to have seen much more of them!

All About Magic (Excerpt) – (7:19) is a neat feature in black and white of Walt Disney performing magic tricks. Some are obvious (like the “levitating” table that is being hoisted by strings) and some are a sight to see.

A Knight for a Day (7:06) is a color cartoon featuring Goofy which was released on March 8, 1946 and makes its appearance on this disc thanks to the jousting theme. There is a fair amount of dot crawl on the characters in certain shots as the cartoon has not been restored and appears to be transferred from a theatrical print.

Brave Little Tailor (9:01) is a color cartoon featuring Mickey Mouse that is set during the Middle Ages. It was released on September 29, 1938. Like A Knight for a Day, there is some dot crawl on the characters in certain shots as the cartoon has not been restored and also appears to be transferred from a theatrical print.

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By Darren Allison, Cinema Retro Soundtrack Editor  

When considering the scores for movie Westerns, film music collectors often refer to classics such as Max Steiner's The Searchers, Dimitri Tiomkin's Rio Bravo or Victor Young's Shane, all of which are, of course, fabulous scores. Monstrous Movie Music have again, (and in keeping with their refreshing style), ventured into new territories with the release of Paul Dunlap’s Western score to Hellgate (1952) (MMM-1972). Rather surprisingly, this CD marks the first full release to feature Dunlap’s film music. The composer was incredibly prolific throughout his career scoring diverse projects which spanned from many of The Three Stooges movies to the cult classic AIP horrors including the Teenage Frankenstein/Werewolf series of films. For a B movie western, there was something a little different about Hellgate – it was really rather good! Hellgate was directed by Charles Marquis Warren, a tough all-rounder who would go on to produce the popular TV series Rawhide. The film boasted a strong, testosterone fuelled cast featuring Sterling Hayden, James Arness and Ward Bond. Hayden plays a veterinarian who is wrongly convicted of guerrilla activities shortly after the Civil War. The prison camp is tough and he has to survive the sadistic commandant (Bond), a cruel guard (Robert Wilke), and deceitful prisoners like Arness. Throw in some Pima Indians (who patrol the canyon walls) in order to catch any escapees for a reward, prisoner punishment that involves being baked in metal coffins or whipped within an inch of their lives and you have a Western story that is well above the expected standard of Poverty Row Lippert Pictures. Dunlap’s music is incredibly dramatic throughout, but it isn’t your regular western score. His main theme begins with heavy brass and drums, but slips into a more solemn, string based theme before it builds gently and provides a sense of hope. It sets the tone perfectly and emphasises the film’s opposing themes of hatred vs. forgiveness. Tracks such as “Kearne Makes Lunge at Nye” illustrate Dunlap’s ability to create genuine excitement by employing his full range of brass and string sections. Quality, for the best part of this score, is highly acceptable. MMM took the decision to release Dunlap’s original recordings in place of re-recording his score, which I believe was the correct option. Whilst there is some minor noise (from the surviving acetates) evident on a handful of tracks, it does not detract or spoil the acoustic soundscape and naturally maintains the composer’s original work. As a bonus, Monstrous movie music has generously included Dunlap’s excellent score for The Lost Continent (1951). A simple enough story, The Lost Continent successfully merged two fantasy elements, combining rocket ships with roaming dinosaurs on a south pacific island. Making good use of an increased budget, Dunlap was able to employ a 47 piece orchestra, and it was warranted – given the enormity of aircraft, rockets, natural disasters and battling monsters that confronted the composer. The result was a highly enjoyable score, and whilst some of the music has been lost in time, the 28mins of music included here make this a CD that is hard to ignore. We can only hope that there is a lot more of Paul Dunlap’s music to come. Included is a great 20 page booklet that covers just about every aspect of the music, composer and the film, all written (in exquisite detail) by David Schecter.

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Click here to read review of Hellgate DVD 

Bryan Forbes, who personified the golden age of British cinema in the post-WWII era, has died at age 86. Forbes started out as an actor before morphing into a screenwriter and esteemed director. He teamed with Richard Attenborough to form a film production company. Among their films was The Angry Silence, an acclaimed 1960 movie in which both men starred. It dealt squarely with England's omnipresent tensions between business leaders and union members. Forbes co-wrote the screenplay and produced the movie. His high profile films as director include such British classics as Whistle Down the Wind, Seance on a Wet Afternoon, The Wrong Box, The Whisperers, King Rat, Deadfall, The Slipper and the Rose, The L-Shaped Room, International Velvet as well as the hit 1975 Hollywood horror flick The Stepford Wives. Forbes also wrote or co-wrote the screenplays for some of these films as well as the comedy classic The League of Gentlemen and director Attenborough's Chaplin. Forbes had been nominated for an Oscar for his screenplay for The Angry Silence and had won a BAFTA for the same script. He had been nominated for numerous other BAFTA awards and was given a lifetime achievement honor by the organization in 2007. For more click here

Spanish film director Jess "Jesus"  Franco has died at age 82 in Malaga, Spain. The prolific pioneer of Spanish horror and fantasy cult films capitalized on a relaxation of censorship laws to create a body of films that have withstood the test of time and still maintain loyal followings today. Among them: Succubus, Vampyros Lesbos, 99 Women, The Awful Dr. Orlof, Necronomicon and the 1969 Count Dracula starring Hammer film favorite Christopher Lee.  He also served as second unit director on Orson Welles' Chimes at Midnight. A respected talent who specialized in exploitation films, Franco also occasionally acted, wrote screenplays and composed music for his own films as well as those of other artists. In all, Franco was involved in the production of over 200 films.

Click here to read Variety obituary

Click here to view kinky trailer for Vampyros Lesbos. 

By David P. King  

Most Google searches for “Chiller,” the five-installment horror series originally broadcast in the mid-90s on Britain’s ITV will turn up a lot of forums where fans ask: “Does anyone else remember being scared by this show?” 

Like many old horror movies, the fright it inspired after stumbling upon the program probably sticks in the mind more than the episodes themselves. But while “Chiller” may not be the pinnacle of scary story-telling, it often stands the test of time. Part of the reason: Forsaking the trappings of cheap surprises or over-the-top gore of many horror projects on a smaller budget, each episode builds on a single creepy or supernatural premise.

The plots are your standard horror staples: spirits brought back from the underworld, demonic children, haunted houses, etc. Most are summoned through the typical tropes as well. (Pro tip: Reading ancient inscriptions outloud with a group of carousing friends has never led to anything good.) Although there’s not much here that hasn’t been done elsewhere, there’s something comforting about the nostalgia of made-for-TV horror.

The special effects are limited and the sets throughout the British countryside are both quaint and creepy. And the acting carries the sotries. The talent assembled for the episodes includes many prolific British actors. (John McEnery, Nigel Havers, John Simm, Sophie Ward and more all star in episodes.)

One can easily imagine catching one of these programs late at night after everyone else has gone to bed and having more than a few sleepless nights. The Synapse Films DVD print is clean, although somewhat bare-bones: Five episodes on two discs with no special features (to be fair, there was little demand for behind-the-scenes making-of documentaries on a short-run TV show in the 1990s).

Whether you’re looking to see if the program stands up to your memories or looking for a taste of horror that plays more on the mind than the senses, “Chiller” passes the test of a creepy good time.

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