A train pulls in to a Depression era southern town, and a grizzled, middle-aged man gets off. His name is Chaney, and he's played by old "Stone Face" himself, Charles Bronson. While having a cup of coffee in a local diner, Chaney notices a string of men heading into a warehouse building across the street. He walks over to the building and goes inside. There's a big circle of people getting ready to watch a bare-knuckle fight. Speed (James Coburn), all toothy grin and huckster's confidence, is pumping up one of his fighters, but that fighter loses. Later, Speed is in a nearby oyster joint, nursing his loss, when Chaney sits down at his table. “We can make some money,” he tells Speed. At first, Speed's not interested.
"Medieval philosophers were right. Man is the center of the universe. We stand in the middle of infinity, between outer and inner spaces. And there's no limit to either." High-concept science fiction and fantasy films are more or less the norm these days, but in 1966, the large-scale, “A” picture type of treatment afforded Fantastic Voyage was pretty unusual. 20th Century Fox spent a lot of dough on this thing, and it shows. The movie’s premise is absurd, well beyond the realms of scientific plausibility, but at the same time, ingenious and wildly imaginative. Despite being over 40 years old, I think the film still stands up well, and I find the visual effects – state of the art for their day – quite impressive, despite their dated nature. And mainly, Fantastic Voyage is just fun, plain and simple. The psychological horror films produced at RKO by Val Lewton, in the brief but fertile span from 1942 to 1946, are really something special. They stand apart from the more flamboyant, monster-dominated thrillers that came out of Universal Studios in the 1930s. Lewton was a highly-educated, sensitive man who brought a subtlety and finely-tuned artistic sensibility to what was considered by many in the industry as a crass, "lowest common denominator" genre. He was far more interested in the horrors of the mind, and the kinds of psychological violence that man perpetuates on to others and torments himself with, than in any outright presence of the supernatural. There are plenty who might prefer the grab-you-by-the-throat monster menaces of Universal over the ambiguous, "is it real or imagined?" horrors that populate Lewton's works, but few can dispute the skill with which Lewton and his crew of talented collaborators made such powerful films out of such low means. Starting with Cat People in 1942, Lewton created 9 short, polished little gems of unease and quiet, slowly-escalating terror, several of which are minor masterpieces of mood and atmosphere. Lewton and his directors (Jacques Tourneur, Robert Wise and Mark Robson), managed to eke out maximum production value from low budgets, through a combination of carefully-composed shots, inventive cinematography and a deliberate, thoughtful blending of the poetic and the macabre. Lewton's films are revered by fans of classic horror, who love to argue over the relative merits of his output. I happen to be partial to I Walked with a Zombie (a classy update of Jane Eyre set in Haiti, more melodrama than horror but gripping nonetheless) and Isle of the Dead (a somber meditation on war, disease, death and madness). All nine - even the comparatively unloved The Ghost Ship - remain fascinating works, and offer many rewards for the patient viewer. "One creature, caught. Caught in a place he cannot stir from, in the dark...alone, outnumbered hundreds to one, nothing to live for but his memories, nothing to live with but his gadgets, his cars, his guns, gimmicks..." The end-of-the-world thriller is a common one in science fiction, and it's proven a popular one in film. The current obsession with zombies is just the latest phase of this fascination with this “what if” scenario. The post-apocalyptic genre offers immediate dramatic impact; the viewer can't help but get caught up in the game of “what would I do in such a drastic situation?” As early as 1959's The World, the Flesh and the Devil and 1962's Panic in Year Zero, filmmakers have been inspired by the dramatic and visual possibilities inherent in the genre. We humans seem endlessly intrigued by the idea of the eventual decline of civilization and the decimation and eradication of our species from an indifferent planet. There have been all manner of post-apocalyptic movies, some straight-up adventures (The Road Warrior), some philosophical character studies (The Quiet Earth), bleak horror (Dawn / Day of the Dead), poignant ruminations on the end of all things (The Road) or man's descent into animalistic savagery (No Blade of Grass). I like nearly all of these films, and love many. I'm guess I'm just predisposed to enjoy a good end-of-the-world yarn. The Omega Man may not be the best example of its genre, but it's certainly one of the most entertaining. Charlton Heston stars as Robert Neville, military scientist and, seemingly, the last man on Earth. As a virulent plague begins wiping out humanity, Neville engineers a possible vaccine. Surviving a helicopter crash, but beginning to feel the effects of the plague, he injects himself with the last intact vial of serum. As a result, he becomes immune to the disease. As civilization crumbles around him, he holes up in his penthouse apartment and barricades himself in with the paintings, books, and other last remnants of a dying culture. "I guess if the earth were made of gold, men would die for a handful of dirt." When I was a young movie fan, back before I knew better, I thought Gary Cooper was a stiff. Sure, he was big, stoic and capable, but to me he seemed a wooden, inexpressive performer. I knew he was famous, for stuff like High Noon and Sergeant York, but I didn't get the hype. He didn't seem to bring the big, bold, authoritative flourishes I immediately noticed and responded to with stars like John Wayne, Lee Marvin, or Humphrey Bogart. Cooper seemed noble, yes, but also...well, also a little bit dulI. I've since learned the error of my ways. The older I get, and the more of Cooper's movies I see, the more I realize that there's a lot of depth there, lurking beneath the strong, silent surface. He's a much more interesting, complex actor than I first gave him credit for, and in his own quiet way, he commands the screen. He comes across as more amiable and contemplative than the likes of the Duke or Clint Eastwood, yet he's able to subtly convey a wily intelligence and sardonic wit. And, of course, there's that innate nobility thing, perhaps rivaled only by Gregory Peck in the ease with which it's displayed. He's also surprisingly funny, when given half a chance. Whether playing off his image as the innocent professor who falls for brassy showgirl Barbara Stanwyck in Ball of Fire, fending off the advances of matriarch Marjorie Main in Friendly Persuasion or showing a facility for slapstick when trying to care for a baby in Casanova Brown. Cooper's no muss, no fuss authority, shrewd thinking and easy way with short, pointed retorts are on full display in Henry Hathaway's Garden of Evil. He easily anchors this "tropical" western - though Richard Widmark tries his best to steal it out from under him. 2012 was an interesting year for me in many ways. I started this blog at the end of last March, and so far have managed 48 posts on the main page, and a half dozen or so others on additional pages. The main page has had over 7,000 visitors since I started tracking things in early May (a lot of traffic was due to my handful of James Bond posts...thank you, 50th Anniversary!). Not too shabby of a start...though a mere drop in the pond compared to some of the other excellent (and very prolific) blogs I follow. I'll try my best to double the number of posts in 2013...though as a new father, I'd better make no guarantees. Yes, this past year was also the year when I became a first-time dad, at the tender age of 45. My son Kenji was born on September 28th, and has been a source of real joy for my wife and I (as well as multiplying my stress levels exponentially). I'm a lot busier now than I was in those comparatively carefree days when I first began this blog, but I hope that, over time, as I adjust and find a way to balance the demands of parenthood with my sundry hobbies, I'll be able to stick to a more controlled and regular posting schedule here - time and personal sanity permitting. One of the last of the 70s era, nostalgia-fueled private eye throwbacks, The Late Show stars comedian Art Carney in a surprisingly authentic turn as a hard-boiled, over-the-hill shamus, drawn out of retirement for one last big case. The movie wears its nostalgic heart on its sleeve from the get-go, beginning with a sepia-toned Warner Bros. logo and a slow crooning torch song over the opening credits, as the camera does a slow pan around the rented room of Ira Wells (Carney). In a nice bit of visual background laying, we see the bric-a-brac Ira's accumulated over years of P.I. work. A black & white WWII movie plays on the TV in the background, as Ira sits at his desk, the first page of his memoirs (titled "Naked Girls and Machine Guns") in the typewriter in front of him. After this gentle opening, the plot kicks in immediately as Ira's landlady, Mrs. Schmidt (Ruth Nelson) knocks on his door and tells him he has a visitor. Ira finds old buddy Harry Regan (Howard Duff) gutshot and bleeding. "Mrs. Schmidt, call the police. Tell them to get an ambulance here fast. Tell 'em we got a dying man." Ira tries to get Harry to tell him who shot him, but no dice. Later, at Harry's funeral, Ira is approached by another cronie form the old days, Charlie (Bill Macy), a two-bit, shady producer and informant. Charlie introduces Ira to Margo (Lily Tomlin), a nervous motormouth of a woman who wants to hire Ira to rescue her kidnapped cat from a drug dealer named Brian. Ira turns her down flat, but later confronts Charlie to see what the real game is. Seems Harry started off trying to help Margo and stumbled onto a larger crime, a stamp robbery turned murder, and tried to cut himself in on the finder's fee, leading to his death. Turns out one of the robbers is the same Brian who's holding Margo's cat to ransom. There is a river called the River of No Return Sometimes it's peaceful And sometimes wild and free A straightforward, scenic and exciting "A" western with the lean, get-in-and-get-the-job-done running time of a "B", River of No Return put major stars Robert Mitchum and Marilyn Monroe together for the first and only time, and the Cinemascope frame can barely contain their combined high-wattage screen presence. Against the awe-inspiring mountain peaks and wide river valleys of Banff National Park in Alberta, Canada, River opens with widower Matt Calder (Mitchum) - recently released from prison for killing a man - riding into a booming mining camp to collect his nine-year-old son, Mark, who he has arranged to pick up there. He soon finds the boy, wandering around on his own amid the chaos of the camp.
The boy has struck up a friendship with sultry saloon gal, Kay (Monroe). While Matt takes Mark back to his small cabin and they bond over the hard work of making it a homestead, Kay's no-good gambler boyfriend, Harry (Rory Calhoun) rolls into town. Somehow, Harry's got his hands on a gold mine claim and, with no horses available, he and Kay head off down river on a raft to cash in. Conveniently, they run into trouble on the rapids near Matt and Mark's cabin and are rescued by father and son. Matt advises Harry to not attempt going any further down the treacherous river. In his desperation to get to his claim in Council City before the original owner can take action, Harry callously repays Matt's hospitality by stealing his horse and rifle. When they scuffle and Harry bludgeons Matt with the rifle butt, Kay refuses to leave the wounded man and his boy alone, so Harry rides off with an empty promise to come back for her. Defenseless without his rifle, and the river the only means of escape, Matt flees on the raft with Mark and Kay as some Indians close in and burn the cabin to the ground. From then on, Matt's all business, his main goals to keep them alive and exact his revenge on Harry. Kay is equally intent on protecting her tarnished beau. The two do the usual fighting, bickering and slowly burgeoning romance thing, while contending with not only the deadly rapids but attacks from cougars, Indians and rapacious miners on their way to a fateful showdown in Council City... The special effects fantasies of Ray Harryhausen might seem quaint and a bit creaky to modern eyes, but for decades he was the undisputed master of stop-motion animation. Like many others, I grew up catching his many creature creations on TV and was charmed by the "unreal reality" of their movements. Sometimes, the films he made with producer Charles H. Schneer were rather dull, talky affairs, punctuated (some might say "saved") by Harryhausen's lively monster sequences (I'm looking at you, Beast from 20,000 Fathoms). Luckily, Mysterious Island has plenty else going for it besides Harryhausen's contributions, including a good cast, an action-packed, adventure-laden survival story and a better-than-usual script. With one main exception, the film follows the general outline of Jules Verne's original novel. During the Civil War, four Union prisoners escape on a balloon, along with its Confederate guard. The prisoners - Captain Harding (Michael Craig), Neb, a black corporal (Dan Jackson), young Herbert (Michael Callan) and war correspondent Spillet (Gary Merrill) - make a grudging peace with Reb sergeant Pencroft (Percy Herbert) on the condition that he pilots the balloon to safety. This isn't easily done, as the group is quickly blown off course by a severe storm and eventually end up stranded on a desert island far, far away from home. One part giallo stalk-and-slash, one part dreamy, supernatural coming-of-age tale about a girl who can communicate with bugs, and 100% off-the-wall, batshit crazy, Phenomena is a moviegoing experience you aren't likely to forget. Yet another weird offspring born from the demented mind of Italian horror maestro Dario Argento, the man who brought the world such Eurocult classics as Suspiria, Deep Red, Inferno, Cat o' Nine Tails and The Bird with the Crystal Plumage. Phenomena bears many of the hallmarks of the typical Argento film: an innocent in over their heads, a psychotic murderer on the rampage, plenty of shots from the killer's POV, moments of serene beauty punctuated with startling, extreme violence - all set to a pulsating, nerve-shredding rock soundtrack. It has these things, but it also veers off into its own, oddball territory. The movie sets its creeptastic mood from the start. On a remote country road somewhere in the mountainous foothills of Switzerland, a yellow bus pulls up at a lonely bus stop. A gaggle of tourists emerge from a nearby forest path and get on the bus, which then pulls off and drives away. Soon after, a lone 14 year-old Danish girl runs after the bus, but is left behind. She shivers in the cold wind blowing down from the hills and looks around her uncertainly. Spying a lone house nearby, she walks up to it and knocks on the door. Big mistake. She's picked the worse possible house to go poking around in. Something peers at her from inside. We see something chained up inside, ripping itself free. The girl enters the house and is soon viciously attacked by its now-freed prisoner. It chases her outdoors and through a neighboring waterfall park, where it stabs her with a pair of scissors and then decapitates her, her head cascading down the waterfall to be washed out to the lake below. |
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Opinionated ramblings about new and old movies (mostly old, as that's the way I like 'em!) Blogs of Note
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