It’s been thirty-six years since I sat in the Warner Bros Screening Room in NYC and watched, with a packed house, one of the first press screenings of THE EXORCIST. Andrew Sarris was behind me and to the right. I recognized several other prominent critics in the room.

During the unspooling of the film, the crowd was hushed. During the end credits, blood red titles against a black background that kept the room in ominous darkness, no one said a word. No one stood up to leave during the credits. They sat in silence. They were scared. I could feel it all around me. The film was unlike anything any of us had ever seen before, and we were all unsettled.

In the months that followed, the film went through a transformation. At first people were traumatized. Lights and radios were kept on for the rest of some viewers’ lives, so that they wouldn’t be alone in the dark at night, or panic when they heard strange noises in the ceiling. Religious viewers felt like they’d been in the presence of evil.

Then the backlash came, too much advance word had spread, and audiences began to laugh at the horror sequences.

And there was another backlash as well, though I didn’t realize it until a few weeks ago when I attended a press junket promoting the BluRay release of the film. I’d been sent a DVD of the only new supplement to grace the BluRay – a collection of footage shot by Director of Photography Owen Roizman back on the set of the film, showing how the physical effects were achieved. It’s a lovely and informative half hour. But there was something else going on in those frames, which wasn’t addressed by the voice-overs that accompanied the footage.

Linda Blair & Owen Roizman

IMDB sums up Linda Blair’s career thusly: “From the age of six, Linda Blair had to get used to the spotlight, both as a model and in motion pictures, when out of 600 applicants she got picked for the role of Regan, the possessed child, in THE EXORCIST (1973). Linda seemed to be set to take the Academy Award for that role, but when it leaked how little of the possessed child she actually had been (dubbed voice by Mercedes McCambridge and liberal use of a dummy) that dream broke, and with that disappointment probably came the first blow to what should have been a sure road to stardom. Over the next few years she had no trouble finding leading roles in a number of pictures, mostly as some kind of abused child (13-year-old alcoholic, rape victim, to mention a few), but the early attention brought with it life in the fast lane and Linda, as quite a few others in recent years, hadn’t had the time to learn how to handle it, and drugs, a stream of unsteady relationships and other factors almost brought her career to an end.”

I, too, had heard all those mitigating allegations about her performance, or lack thereof. But in the new Roizman footage, I could clearly see that she was there throughout, that she was doing the voice, that she was spewing the green vomit, not just a dummy or a stand-in, that she was taking the needle in the throat appliance, and that she was suffering hours of difficult make-up applications. So what was up with that? Would this footage have vindicated her had it come out back then?

Amidst the plentiful luncheon smorgasbord and animated chat with fellow press members, our table was visited first by Chris Newman, then William Peter Blatty, and finally by Roizman and Linda Blair, each generously responding to our questions, and I had questions to ask.

Chris Newman

I got my biggest jolt from Chris Newman, the sound recordist, who won the Academy Award several times, but never more deservedly so than for THE EXORCIST, one of the greatest sound designs of all time. I asked him first if he was on the film for the whole shoot, and afterward, during post production. “Everything,” he said, “except for the one-month mid-eastern shoot.” I then asked “How much of Regan’s dialogue was done by Mercedes McCambridge?” He looked at me with a slight smile, as if he were confirming my suspicions, and replied, “About ten seconds.” I was taken aback.

“Then how much was Linda Blair?”

“Quite a lot. Quite a lot.”

You should all check out that new documentary footage. I personally think there may have been a campaign to undermine her chances. It’s clear now that she deserved the award. Scant justice thirty-seven years later, but there it is.

William Friedkin & William Peter Blatty

Blatty was glad to talk about all the brouhaha surrounding the shoot, and praised William Friedkin’s unrelenting dedication to making it a great work of art. He also, as did a few of the others in attendance, promote the film as a more positive, spiritual experience, and less of a pure ‘horror’ film, than it was sold as back in ’73. The term ‘theological thriller’ was used. And Father Karris’ sacrifice was being interpreted as a generous, godly act. But if I were the devil, I’d leap the chance to snare some faltering priest’s soul over that of an innocent, unformed twelve-year-old. The new slant was interesting, but I couldn’t help feeling that there was a little revisionist history going on.

I would like to have gotten Max von Sydow’s take on all this, but I’d had my interview with him, long ago, and hadn’t thought to bring the subject up at the time. I had, at the time, somehow prompted him to express his feeling that it would have made more sense to cast John Wayne as Father Merrin.

Max Von Sydow, at age 45, explains to FIR's editor (in 1974) why John Wayne should have played Merrin in THE EXORCIST.

Back to the luncheon. Suddenly, out of nowhere, and quite unexpectedly, Friedkin appeared, and this was while Blatty was visiting our table. It was a surprise highlight of the event. The old cohorts hugged, chatted briefly, and then Friedkin was gone.

Finally Linda Blair and Owen Roizman sat at our table, and we all talked. I didn’t find the opening to confront her about my suspicions, and she seemed equally interested in talking about saving animals, which is what she devotes much of her time to nowadays, but when the two of them got up to leave, I stopped Mr. Roizman and told him I’d been in the subway the day he shot Robert Shaw’s death scene for the original THE TAKING OF PELHAM ONE TWO THREE back in ’74. He was happy to be reminded of that shoot, and told me that Shaw had requested that a ping-pong table be brought into the subway for the duration of the shoot, and that he and Shaw played every day.

“He was very competitive…but he never beat me.”

It was like stepping into a time machine…only better.

The Film Forum on Houston Street in Manhattan was presenting a William Castle retrospective from August 27th through September 6th. All of the showman’s famous gimmick films were in the lineup, as well as some of his earlier, noirish work and 3D films.

I started off by catching two of his three “Whistler” films from the mid 40s. All three starred Richard Dix, however in different roles. The ‘Whistler’ of the title was not Dix, but a shadowy figure that set us up for the ill-fated stories to come, appearing again midway through the film to keep us on track. This unidentified phantom got his moniker by whistling some melody that was too abstract ever to have become popular with viewers.

Even with the Whistler’s dire warnings about the forlorn trajectories of the films’ protagonists, I wasn’t prepared for how downbeat MYSTERIOUS INTRUDER would end up. Pretty wild. To quote the Forum catalogue “Crooked private eye Richard Dix, hired to find the mysterious ‘Elora’ to receive a mysterious bequest, hires a fake one to grab it for himself and then the double crosses and murders start coming.” That barely hints at the darkly nuanced touches, but it was mostly the ‘B’s in those days that were allowed to get away with such unrepentantly villainous protagonists, as well as the sort of bleak finale the film delivers.

MACABRE was a motion picture I had missed in 1958. The first of Castle’s ‘gimmick’ films, patrons were refused entrée to the theater unless they filled out an insurance policy with Lloyds of London for ten grand in case they croaked of heart failure during the screening. Sure enough, the policy was still in force at the Forum, fifty-two years later, only the payoff had been updated to a million dollars for this playdate. The print was splicey, making the convoluted narrative even more difficult to follow, but it was a deliciously noir-ish little exercise nonetheless. Very satisfying for me, after all these years, to finally catch up with it.

13 GHOSTS (1960), in Illusion-O, beckoned you to put on the red-blue 3D glasses when a title appeared on the bottom of the screen, and if you weren’t up to witnessing the dreaded thirteen spectres, you could look through the left lens and see nothing but the set. However, using the right (red) eye filter, you were privy to a lion chewing on the neck of a tamer who’d lost his head in the cat’s jaws long ago, an ax-wielder striking anew, etc. The effect was cheesy in the extreme, but the Forum audience was primed for it. They laughed and had a great time. The lead actor, Donald Woods – a cross between Dana Andrews and Hugh Marlowe – was just the right milquetoast casting choice for the father who endures the manifestations in bewilderment. And it was wonderful to see Margaret Hamilton in the ‘in’ role of the witchy housekeeper who the hapless family inherits along with the haunted mansion. I particularly liked the Ouija Board sequence, when the clueless family members keep ratcheting the stakes higher with each absurd question (“Will one of us be killed?”). The print was excellent, and the glasses were dutifully passed out to each and every patron – unlike in the DVD collection release where, if you start having heart palpitations, you don’t have a choice concerning the ghosts.

HOUSE ON HAUNTED HILL (1959) came with ‘Emergo’ – the living manifestation of a skeleton floating over the heads of the delighted audience. Vincent Price is the master of ceremonies in this Ten Little Indians tale, nicely shot, with a solid scare or two.

MR. SARDONICUS (1961), my favorite Castle film, found the ushers handing out ‘Punishment Poll’ cards, to be held up near the film’s conclusion, either with the imprinted thumb up, or down. Castle then appears on screen and counts the votes from his vantage point, and of course Sardonicus is to be punished for all the atrocities he’s committed. According to Castle, at the studio’s insistence, a happy ending was filmed, just in case, but never used. However, scavenger hunts in the Columbia vaults have produced no trace of the alternate ending.

Which brings us to THE TINGLER (1959). Back then, fourteen years old and very into horror films, only I – in the rural town of Harrison, NY – knew about the two rows of seats that had been wired to deliver electric shocks at the critical moment when the Tingler would escape from the screen into the audience. I had a crush on a local girl named Linda Elin, and I brought her to the theater, keeping her in the dark about what was to come. Nothing like a good electric shock, I figured, to have her jump into my lap.

An ancient ticket-taker was standing at the entrance to the lobby as we arrived, and I surreptitiously whispered to him, “Where are the ‘tingle’ seats?” He looked confused. “Where are the tingle seats” I repeated. Then he seemed to understand, and led us…to the bathrooms! How mortifying.

I never did get anywhere with Linda.

The Film Forum did not wire up the theater seats for the show I attended, yet they managed to out-do Castle nonetheless. When Vincent Price drops acid – a hilarious scene all on its own – suddenly a swirling, hallucinatory color mélange was superimposed on Price’s terrified face. When he stared in horror at the skeleton in his office, the HOUSE ON HAUNTED HILL skeleton was yanked out over the audience for an unexpected encore. And when the Tingler escaped into the theater…suddenly a man stood up three rows in front of me, grasping a Tingler to his throat, choking and screaming, while ushers shined a flashlight on him and carried him up the aisle. During each of these delightful intrusions into our placid theater-going experience, the packed house roared with laughter and screamed their heads off. It was like ROCKY HORROR SHOW for adults. I’ve had my occasional problem with Film Forum audiences not being generous with older films, laughing too easily and breaking the spell. But we were all in synch that night. With me was Mark Talling, FIR reviewer, and he had a terrific time. A few days later, FIR’s webmaster Oren Shai caught the flick, and this time there were scattered electroshocks going off under select seats.

Credit for the series, and for the lengths to which the staff went to give us an ultimate viewing experience, goes to Film Forum Programmer Bruce Goldstein. I can’t say enough about how much fun, and what an event, the Castle retrospective was for everyone, and for me. My two favorite movie-going memories this year took place at the Film Forum. This was one, and the other was their screening of NO ORCHIDS FOR MISS BLANDISH, with Producer Richard Gordon and actor Richard Nielson in attendance.

OZ I WAS SAYING…

The Press Conference for the imminent (September 29th) DVD & BluRay releases of the 70th Anniversary of THE WIZARD OF OZ was held at the Essex House on Central Park South. Adroitly organized, groups of two to three writers were moved every fifteen minutes from table to table, at each of which sat an informed, articulate and charming representative of the film, each coming at us from a different perspective.

The first table I chose found me sitting among some of the remaining Munchkins – and I should mention that Dunkin’ Donuts must have been catering the event, because there were trays of ‘munchkins’ everywhere you looked. 89-year-old Jerry Maren (the Lollipop Guild member) and his adorable wife Elizabeth didn’t seem to mind the choice of cuisine at all. She volunteered to go and collect a plateful of donut-holes while I grilled her husband.

4’3″ Maren claimed that they filmed their scenes quickly, and that he never met director Victor Fleming; rather it was an assistant director who worked with the Munchkins, although Fleming must have given Judy Garland her instructions. When I brought up UNDER THE RAINBOW, a 1981 comedy feature co-authored by Harry Hurwitz (with whom I worked four times, variously writing, producing, and directing), and in which Maren appeared, the diminutive actor bristled. “He was a good writer, but he didn’t know what he was talking about. There was no drunken revelry, no sliding down banisters, and no suicide on camera. Those were all myths that he’d heard. We were there to do a professional job, and we worked very hard.” His wife returned with the grub, and informed me that she was writing a book entitled “Short and Sweet.”

The next table’s honorary guest was Ned Price – Vice President, Mastering, Warner Bros. Technical Operations Inc. – who oversaw the latest hi-def restoration of the film, an arduous task that he explained to us in great detail. This was preceded by a DVD demonstration of the various incarnations of the film since 1939, and I was blown away by the clarity of the new version. I never knew Judy Garland had so many freckles!

Apparently there’d been a transitional film stock change in ’38. THE WIZARD OF OZ, got the older, grainier stock, while GONE WITH THE WIND benefited from getting the newer, finer grain. In improving the new OZ restoration, using a 1939 print as their guide, the original grain was left intact, a wise choice. However, due to how sharp the image still became, some hand-painting had to be done to remove a wire on the Cowardly Lion’s tail, etc. Price informed us proudly that OZ is the most protected film on the planet; there are four protection negatives, none of them for printing, just for preservation purposes. That’s good news.

Next: Lorna Luft, who told us that “The dog [Toto] was paid just a little less than my mom.” Her mom being, of course, Judy Garland. She also relayed to us a story about the first time she saw the film as a child, and thought the monkeys had taken over Manhattan. Her mother told her that she would watch the film with her from then on. (She also told her that NYC was fine.)

The last table I visited was manned by John Fricke, the pre-eminent WIZARD OF OZ and Judy Garland author/historian, having won Emmys and written and produced numerous books and TV shows about the subjects. (Made me feel like I was to Zombies and George Romero what Fricke was to OZ and Garland.) He was there with his new book, “THE WIZARD OF OZ: An Illustrated Companion to the Timeless Movie Classic.” I thumbed through it while he was being grilled by the other writers, and it’s a terrific piece of work, heavily illustrated, containing shots of Judy Garland in a blond wig while Richard Thorpe was briefly at the helm, as well as photos from Victor Fleming’s photo album, showing the director on the set, very hands-on, thus helping dispel the myth that he was uninvolved physically or emotionally with the project.

Another myth Fricke dispelled was that the film was neither reviewed well nor performed well on its initial release. There were lines around the block at 5:00 in the morning the opening day, and it did great business all over the country, with Judy Garland and Mickey Rooney actually appearing daily with it at the Loew’s Capital on 51st Street – imagine having been able to see that! And, almost all the reviews were positive. The rumor devolves from two facts. First, by 1940, when the film was ready for foreign distribution, the war had seriously impaired the European market, so revenue was poor abroad. Second, 3/4 of the tickets sold in the US were to children under 12, for ten cents a pop. Consequently, although it was an unqualified hit, it didn’t go into the black until its 1949 re-release.

After all that, and a couple of Jelly-filled Munchkins, I went home and rested up for the evening gala at Tavern on the Green (a dream-factory of a restaurant, owned by descendents of Mervyn LeRoy, the producer of THE WIZARD OF OZ). I went expecting more press junket work, but was told to enjoy myself. Out in the parking area, a giant hot air balloon was being fired-up to take Dorothy back to Kansas (if she would only stay in the balloon this time…), and inside there was all manner of fantastic celebrating going on. Ms. Luft sang, green apple martinis were handed out, copious amounts of delicious food was ours for the grabbing, people chatted good-naturedly, and dozens of Ruby Slippers from various designers were being auctioned off.

It was only the following day, as I was recovering from the whirlwind of the previous evening, that I broke into the BluRay release box, finding some delightful artifactual souvenirs inside, including a wristwatch with an emerald-colored watch-band, a copy of the film’s budget, a reproduction of the film’s original program, and other sundry delights. I pulled the giant lollypop out of my gift-bag from the press conference, sat back, and watched the BluRay, which was amazing. Then I ran it again, listening to the commentary track, with archival sound bites from Margaret Hamilton, Ray Bolger, etc. I wondered what it would have been like with some of the other casting considerations – Shirley Temple for Garland, Buddy Ebson for Bolger, Gale Sondergaard for Hamilton, Stan Laurel for Bolger, W.C.Fields for the Wizard…

Much work and money was lavished on the promotional fandango, but for once, it was in the service of an unassailably worthy cause. THE WIZARD OF OZ is a true classic, and it’s gratifying to see that it has been preserved for generations to come, well after I’ve departed from this earthly existence, and that intelligent choices were made in its remastering. Also, something I don’t do often, but feel I should in this editorial – since the event was run so smoothly, and the guests of honor so in-synch, informed, and primed to satisfy our every need – is to mention at least a few of the PR people involved who orchestrated the day and evening so flawlessly. Karen Penhale and Marie Remelius of Carl Samrock Public Relations, Ronnee Sass of Warner Home Video, and the beautiful Sharmistha Chatterjeel of Warner Bros. who helped guide me along the yellow brick road of this sumptuous celebration.

WHILE OVER AT CNN…

…this past weekend saw the debut of Christiane Amanpour’s Sunday show, an examination of the trouble spots of the world as revealed through interviews with their often elusive leaders.

Someone chose most wisely in art directing her debut. The predominant color of the set was blood red, and there were complimentary warm tones in Ms. Amanpour’s makeup as well. All this worked well against the black of her hair. It was strikingly dynamic, moreso than any of the other shows’ sets on CNN. Talk about a barely subliminal use of production design. I was ready for armed conflicts to break out at any moment.

Her first three guests were on too briefly to contribute in-depth information. They felt more like sound bites of moderate value. But then came the main act, rarely-interviewed President Robert Mugabe of Zimbabwe, who Ms. Amanpour mercilessly pinned down in regards to recent failings of his once-triumphant reign. Acknowledging that once he was regarded as the great hope of Africa, turning the country around economically for its people, in the past decade or more, his rule has taken on the less laudatory aspects of a ruthless dictatorship. At times she really had him on the run, stuttering as he tried to refute her accusations. It was an energized and revealing debate.

Chriatiane Amanpour, Fareed Zakaria, and Michael Ware, are three of the very best commentators extant, and all of them speak eloquently…each in their unique styles. I take their observations of the world scene more seriously than any other reporter or newscaster, and far more seriously than any politician. The weeks to come will determine how successfully Ms. Amanpour is able to deal with her remarkable stable of contacts. But I won’t soon forget that blood-red set…

SLIME IS OF THE ESSENCE

Greg Lamberson

The train-ride up to Buffalo fell considerably short of the fun I thought it would be. When I purchased the ticket, I was told the duration of the journey would be eight hours, more or less the outside limit of my spine’s endurance level. I booked a seat in Business class which provided me with a plush seat, by myself, in the rear of the food car, where I could stretch out almost entirely if I wanted. It all boded well, particularly in a month, and on a day, that promised to rain heavily. The last place I wanted to be was on board a plane, gripping the arm-rests in terror, even if the flight was scheduled to last for a mere hour. I brought a book with me that I’d been meaning to get to for years – “The Horror Show” by David Skal – and looked forward to some relaxing down time by myself. Little did I know that I was boarding ‘Prison Train Amtrak!’

Three hours out, the iron horse glided to a halt, and we were informed that up ahead, due to torrential downpours, the tracks were actually underwater. To protect its beloved passengers, Amtrak had decided to sit tight for a while.

Two hours later they informed us that they were considering sending buses to take us to our destinations.

One hour after that, they announced that we were going to start moving again…very slowly.

The trip ended up taking twelve hours. I arrived in Buffalo at 10:30 p.m., having missed a fun meal with my host, filmmaker/author Greg Lamberson, and was hastily deposited in the “Actor’s House”, a rental in Buffalo’s college district to accommodate out-of-towners while the film was shooting, where I spent the night on a partially deflated air-mattress, submitting my aching back to further torment.

Miraculously, things turned around the next morning after I was transported to the location, a massive abandoned postal facility adjacent to the Central Terminal Station, long fallen into disrepair, its cavernous interior dotted with rays of sunlight where the roof had collapsed, illuminating the terrain of dirt, broken glass, and other rubble, amongst all of which I was to play my role – that of real estate developer Ronald Crump (yes, rhymes with…), the villain of SLIME CITY MASSACRE. A sequel to the1988 no-budget black comedy cult favorite, it was a very different kind of production. Dolly tracks were being laid down. Steadicam activity was in full swing. Remarkably sharp Hi Def digital photography was on display. An adequate and upbeat crew had been assembled. Excellent actors were in abundance (there were good thesps in the original, too, but there were more of them here). Everything was ramped up from the 80s version. I was thrilled at what I was seeing, and so, apparently was everyone else.

The Editor with Jennifer Bihl

Memorization has never been one of my strong suits. I’d been running the lines for two weeks, and each day maybe two or three more words would take hold in my brain. But as soon as I stepped onto my mark and began rehearsing with my co-actor, Andrew, who was playing Crump’s beleaguered lackey, things fell into place. Not only did we hit it off and get the scenes down, we felt confident enough to engage in a little spirited improv. When my three scenes were behind me, I actually believed I’d fulfilled Greg’s faith in my limited abilities. Starring as a potential slime-head was Jennifer Bihl. In the accompanying picture, she wears a black arm bandage that everyone was referring to as her lobster-hand, but which reminded me of David Hedison’s fly-arm in the original 1958 Sci-Fi classic. Her face reminded me of a cross between Anna Pacquin and….

…on second thought, why don’t I let you say who else she reminds you of. And the first several people to do so will receive a three-and-a-half-film DVD collection of Greg’s film work till now: SLIME CITY, UNDYING LOVE, NAKED FEAR, and the short, JOHNNY GRUESOME.

BILL LUSTIG’S”B” FEST AT THE ANTHOLOGY

In a booking coup, Bill (MANIAC, MANIAC COP, + Blue Underground DVD mogul) Lustig and the bookers at Anthology Film Archives on the Lower East Side assembled a slew of juicy titles unseen on DVD to date, worthy of release, and sorely missed. The fact that they deal in violence, sexuality, and other exploitative elements, doesn’t negate their aesthetic value, as was pointed out by Heywood Gould, the co-screenwriter of ROLLING THUNDER, who regaled the sold-out audience with tales of that film’s often volatile production.

The quality of the prints varied. 35mm, but fading. 16mm, but color holding. Technicolor 16mm, but splicey at heads and tails. The audiences didn’t seem to mind. They were just thrilled to be reliving the thrills of those rare prints – mostly made in the early to mid-70s. THE OUTSIDE MAN, SITTING TARGET, THE OUTFIT, WELCOME HOME SOLDIER BOYS, THE STONE KILLER and DARKER THAN AMBER to name some other standouts.

Judging from the crowds, there’ll be a sequel next year. I’m putting in my vote for DARK OF THE SUN, a film whose negative, I hear (directly from the source at MGM) is damaged, so a print will have to be found elsewhere, as some of these have.

BRIT NOIR AT THE FILM FORUM

Across town on the West Side, Bruce Goldstein, the Film Forum‘s Director of Repertory Programming, has put together a comprehensive month-long program of Brit Noir double bills. The range of titles is staggering, and the high point occurs on September 3rd when NO ORCHIDS FOR MISS BLANDISH shows, accompanied by a personal appearance from the original U.S. distributor, Producer Richard (FIEND WITHOUT A FACE) Gordon, and the film’s villain, Richard Nielson, at the 6:30 show.

Other titles range from the famous – THE THIRD MAN and THE FALLEN IDOL (Carol Reed), THE SMALL BACK ROOM (Powell/Pressburger), NIGHT AND THE CITY (Jules Dassin), VICTIM (Basil Deardon), to the unjustly obscure – IT ALWAYS RAINS ON SUNDAY(Robert Hamer), THE OCTOBER MAN (Roy Ward Baker), THE GREEN COCKATOO (William Cameron Menzies), HELL DRIVERS (Cy Enfield). Great noir gems, wonderful directors. Three by Carol Reed, two by Michael Powell. The Brit GASLIGHT, directed by Thorold Dickinson, has more energy than the U.S remake, and it stars Anton Walbrook! The schedule is available on line. Do not let them slip by.

What a month. We’re waving at a whole host of audio-visual luminaries after a period of relative quiet. It’s as if the heavens have been saving up for a group reaping, but to what purpose… Guess we’ll have to wait to find out.

Among those who have left us in recent weeks are:

MICHAEL JACKSON – (June 25th, aged 50) What can one say that hasn’t already been said, and with vastly different shadings of empathy or condemnation. There’s a really great read coming from the right biographer, because absolutely everyone seems willing and eager to talk. I spent some bedazzled time with Ludmila Tcherina in the mid-90s, who was certain that either Jackson or John Landis had stolen visual artifacts for THRILLER from her remarkable (and sorely missing on DVD) THE LOVERS OF TERUEL. I asked Landis, who had never seen her film. I’ve never been able to find out if Jackson had. My favorite of his videos was SMOOTH CRIMINAL. I’ve watched it enough that if it were a 78, 45, or 33 rpm platter, it would be worn to a frazzle. And as to the pedophile charges, after all the footage I’ve seen this past week, I wonder if Jackson himself, whatever the truth of the charges, ever really believed he’d done anything bad.

GALE STORM – (June 27th, aged 87). She was a wonderfully sexy, innocent, effervescent presence in the 50s on MY LITTLE MARGIE on TV (available on DVD) and later on the Gale Storm Show, even featuring Robby the Robot in a guest appearance. She sang some wonderful songs, did TV, then dropped into obscurity, but I wish she’d been dredged up by the likes of Tarantino, or even a lesser talent who loved finding actresses in retirement and providing them with a vehicle.

Gale Storm gets an assist from Lee Bonnell with her earring at the Beverly Hills Hotel.

KARL MALDEN – (July 1st, aged 97) 97 years of age, ladies and gentlemen. I met Malden on the set of THE CINCINNATI KID, which filmed in New Orleans while I was eating po-boys and going to college at Tulane University. That was quite a coup for a college newspaper Entertainment Editor – meeting him, Edward G. Robinson, Terry Southern, Ann Margaret, and Steve McQueen, all in the space of a few days. Oddly enough, I never got to talk with Norman Jewison, but the others, to greater or lesser degrees, were hospitable and accessible. When I sat down to interview Malden, and started up my reel-to-reel tape recorder, he looked at it admiringly, then patted me on the knee and said “You must be a wealthy college student.” His almost naïve, good-natured attitude was my predominant memory of the interview. Whether working with Kazan, Argento, Brando, or on TV, he was a solid, predictable, reliable actor.

On the CINCINNATI KID shoot - FIR editor, Karl Malden, and Miss Tulane, in the French Quarter, New Orleans.

ALLEN KLEIN – (July 4th, aged 77) The obits are mentioning his relationship with the Beatles and The Rolling Stones, but for me, it was his withholding from release of Alejandro Jodorowsky’s EL TOPO and THE HOLY MOUNTAIN for over 35 years for which he’ll always be remembered. Only a few years ago he finally relented and allowed them back into distribution, and on the commentary tracks, Jodorowsky (for whom I wrote a script a decade ago which, like most of his projects, has yet to get off the ground) claimed Klein was a different man after all these years and that their reunion was painless. The obits mention Alzheimers. I wonder if Jodorowsky was being euphemistic, or if he really didn’t notice, and just took Klein’s personality change as eccentric, like his own has always been.

DAVID CARRADINE – (June 3rd, aged 72) I never met him, but always heard him described as cold and condescending to interviewers. Considering the conditions of his demise, perhaps he and those interviewers just never had the right subject matter to discuss. I loved him in Q, and KILL BILL. He was a good actor, and his gifts were under-used by filmmakers.

ED MACMAHON – (June 23rd, aged 86) On a DVD collection of Johnny Carson highlights, the infamous drunken-Ed harangue about going to the zoo is excerpted, and it’s wonderful TV. He was the penultimate embodiment of the straight guy TV co-host.

FARRAH FAWCETT – (June 25th, aged 62) Never got into her myself, but her poster made her iconic, her cancer battle – particularly in that she was so beautiful and it had to be anal cancer – gave her a new, hard-to-define status, for which she’ll be remembered.

JANE RANDOLPH – (May 4th, aged 93) Ms. Randolph’s death closes the book on the Val Lewton team’s first RKO triumph – CAT PEOPLE. She joins Lewton, Jacques Tourneur, DeWitt Bodeen, Simone Simon, Kent Smith, Tom Conway, Elizabeth Russell, Mark Robson, Roy Webb, and Nick Musuraca in the great beyond. In interviews, she felt that Simone never liked her, but Simone never told me anything to support that. However, Simone was pretty focused on herself, and possessive of the men around her, and it might have come across as cold and off-putting.

If you are reading this editorial, then you are experiencing FIR’s new format!!!

Designed by FIR contributor and filmmaker Oren Shai, the re-invented site has been several months in development, and for quite a while has been hidden at a secret cyber-location in order for the staff to peruse it and make their comments.

Everything about the new FIR site strikes us as an improvement over the old one, but we want to hear from you about it, and actually that’s one of the virtues of it now – it’s more interactive. In addition, the FIR “Archives,” – fifty years’ worth of incredible career articles and landmark columns – are starting to go up, at the rate of one major article every week. Our debut archive article is about the voluptuous, ill-fated Jayne Mansfield. To learn more about Ms. Mansfield’s films, you can reference Oren’s review of the classy, boxed-set of her films, which was released last year.

The website’s own accumulated archives – all the reviews, editorials, and columns since 1997 – have been rescued from the dungeons of cyberspace as well, and they are now viewable and easy to navigate on the new site.

FIR now has an RSS Feed as well.

Back in the day, FIR was known for, in addition to its career articles and its filmusic column, its entertainment industry obituaries, something I haven’t kept up with, though I think it’s important to acknowledge the passing of people of interest and importance in the entertainment field, and for our revamped site’s debut editorial, I’d like to remember a few people who were special to us:

ROBIN LITTLE (obit by Ken Geist) – I want to recall my friend and colleague who for many years, in the ‘80s and 90s, arranged the National Board’s annual awards ceremony at such venues as the Player’s Club, the lobby and auditorium of the Equitable Building, and the Library of the Performing Arts.
Robin passed away last August in sorry circumstances, but I want to celebrate the vibrant, sunny woman who managed to arrange and book our attendance at studio screenings; host our filmmaker guests, as well as edit the bi-monthly magazine, “Films in Review” to which I was a regular contributor.
I don’t recall a single argument with Robin although some of my reviews and profiles could well have provoked reprimand or her red pencil at the very least. I recall an extended riff of mine on early Almadovar as a rude, homo boy which might have been toned down.

In the days when we had discussions after screenings, I cast myself in the role of a tummler who always had the last, and, at that, a miserably discouraging word. The only crack I recall having uttered was in the Paramount screening room, where I said that, “Mel Gibson’s PAYBACK could give S&M a seriously bad name.” I always expected Robin to say “now, now, you go too far,” but she’d just say, “You’re impossible, but oddly funny. Right on!”

The only differences we had were over her cuisine. Robin would have these frequent, bibulous dinner parties at her smart East 72nd St. apartment co-hosted by her dear friend, Louise Tanner, a delightful character who had actually produced children by her former husband, the Tanner fellow who wrote camp creations under the name of Patrick Dennis.
Robin, bless her, liked to cook with vinegar, mustard, and mayonnaise, the three condiments which most disagree with me.
Each time I would play with my food, without actually eating it, and Robin would say, “Rats, you loathe vinegar, mustard, and mayo, my staples, I’ll have to remember that for next time.”
Well, of course, she never did, but once she announced very proudly, “I’ve made you a special portion with nothing on it. Now you have no cause for complaint. Eat up. How is it?
“Bland I’m afraid, but I have richly earned it.”

Robin Little was my darling friend and an enormous asset to the National Board of Review for many years. God bless her.

...with Swirlee

KELLY GLEASON – November 22nd, 2007, 41, of Pancreatic cancer. Kelly was a student of mine at The School of Visual Arts. She had a radiant, quirky look, like a beautiful smurf. I was one of her teachers at The School of Visual Arts, and still have a VHS copy of her Thesis film – MURDER MAKES ME HOT. She was a gifted make-up artist, and later taught at the school, as well as excelling professionally, joining and becoming president of Local 798. She lived on the fifth floor of the upper west side building where I still reside, and I would see her fairly often, either entering or exiting the building. We worked together only once, on SWIRLEE, a project she confessed she would have done for free (and as its producer, I’m sorry I didn’t know it – I still would have paid her, but possibly a little less…), about a man made out of ice cream, starring (and directed by) James Lorinz, with David Caruso, and Tony Darrow in fine support. She created an extraordinary ice-cream head, which bled chocolate syrup when pierced, and art director Denise LaBelle made the accompanying pants, which had criss-crossed stripes on it as if it were an ice-cream cone transformed into cloth. We had a lot of fun on that one.

MICHAEL DEBAKEY – 7/11 – 99…I’m guessing, of old age. DeBakey performed the first coronary bi-pass in 1964. A Tulane Graduate, he worked his medical miracles on Nixon, Lyndon Johnson, JFK, King Hussein, and my grandmother. In fact my grandmother was one of his early triumphs. I was at Tulane at the time. One of her brothers had been DeBakey’s college roommate, and my family used that connection to get her on the list. She lived into her 90s.

BO DIDDLEY – 6/2 – 79, of heart failure. Speaking of Tulane, when I first got there, in ’62, I read in the local newspaper that Bo Diddley was playing in some small bar on the outskirts of town. I couldn’t really understand that – for a moment I considered that perhaps it was a much-used moniker, and that this wasn’t the real Bo. In any case, being crazy about his music, I hopped a few buses and made my way across town to the advertised establishment. As I entered, sure enough I spotted him walking across the floor. I walked over and introduced myself, reaching out to shake his hand, but he cut me off, saying, “Wait a minute, let me get behind the bar.” Once on the other side, he explained that in the deep South (of the early 60s), a white man and a black man couldn’t converse on the same side of the bar. It was my first experience with segregation, but far from my last. And concerning Bo, there’s a film he was in – LET THE GOOD TIMES ROLL – which still hasn’t shown up on DVD, hint hint…

Hello, readers. Another year is winding down, along with the stock market, the DVD industry, popularity for the Iraq War and our President, and box office receipts. There still seems no end in sight to re-released, re-invented, re-packaged DVD titles – everyone’s doing it, from Criterion to Synapse to the majors. Here at FIR, we’ve hopefully kept you amused and informed with timely reviews, Camp Davids, filmusic coverage, and film fest reports. And we’ve got an idea or two how to improve things even more:

We’ve just added a donation button to our homepage. As I think you know, Films in Review has never paid its writers, or its editors (!), in its fifty-seven year history. Prior to that, when we were called The National Board of Review Magazine, the same policy was in effect. All those lovely articles, all those career bios, all the film/dvd/music/book reviews, even all the fine webmastering, has been on a volunteer basis. Niche magazines such as ours are known to resort to these arrangements to keep our overhead under control.

However, we are now trying to raise money to make FIR better. Some of our new projects are: putting up the archives, all 50+ years of them; a new design for the site; competitions in which readers reap film-related gifts, and more reviews.

If you love FIR, which is a national treasure of a publication, and feel like donating to our ongoing efforts, please do. In the meantime, we struggle along, providing you with the unique insights of our creative staff.

SO LONG, ROBIN

Robin Little presents D.W. Griffith Award to Roy Frumkes

My predecessor as FIR editor was Robin Little, a feisty blond lady who undertook more than I could ever have, and spun a lovely digest-sized publication out of her rambling apartment on 72nd Street in Manhattan. Her background in the publishing world served her well. She was practically a one-woman editorial machine.

I’d been writing articles and reviews for her for many years before, in 1984, Robin was instrumental in my receiving a D.W. Griffith Award (as it was known then) for my docu-drama, BURT’S BIKERS, and immediately thereafter asked me if I would like to co-produce the annual Awards Ceremony, which I did for a decade, working with the likes of Paul Newman, Bette Davis, Sean Connery, Sidney Poitier, Richard Widmark, Morgan Freeman (who spearheaded, via some friendly-but-pointed remarks, the Award’s name-change to the “NBR’s”), Tony Randall, Shirley Temple, Jimmy Stewart, Hume Cronyn and Jessica Tandy, Jose Ferrer, and many, many others. I’ve got a book-load of stories about those years. Or at least a great chapter.

I often met Robin for lunch at a Greek Restaurant on 2nd Avenue near 72nd, where we would talk movies and FIR, and she would nurse a glass of white wine or two or three. I would indulge in at least one glass myself, and I can’t say that I clearly remember the exact nature of all those discussions. I wish I did.

Robin passed away this Summer, and all of us at FIR, and in the National Board of Review of Motion Pictures, will long remember her contribution to the organization and the magazine.

KENNETH ANGER

Special mention goes to Fantoma for enduring the financial and emotional hardships that must have dogged them to completion of the two-volume collection of alternative (he dislikes the word ‘experimental’) filmmaker Kenneth Anger, whose short works on film influenced Marty Scorsese, me, and who knows how many other filmmakers throughout the 40s, 50s, and 60s. The second volume, recently released, contains yet another, nearly brand-new film by the maverick filmmaker who, now deep into his 70s, continues to create his visions for us.

These collections are among the most important we have been given in recent years of a major film artist’s work which, not being studio vaulted, were always in danger of perishing. Anger supplies commentary tracks for the marvelously-remastered films. For me, his crowning achievement is SCORPIO RISING (1965). Oddly, he doesn’t address how daring SCORPIO was, coming out in that period. I caught it at the Bleeker Street Cinema where it was being touted as the first theatrically booked film to show male frontal nudity in the U.S. It didn’t matter if you were gay or straight – you simply had to see it for its cutting edge impact. The glimpses were fleeting, but exciting – subliminal cuts, really. On the disc, far better balanced for exposure (J) than it was even at the Bleeker Street, there’s more frontal nudity to be seen. (And then there’s the stop-frame function…) But Anger never talks about that aspect of the film during his commentary, dwelling rather on the serendipity involved with the appearance of much of the source material. Also, I wasn’t aware that someone actually died on camera, which is even more impressive than the frontal nudity, and lends something grim and satanic to the proceedings – a kind of negative serendipity, if you will. Anger, with his Aleister Crowley connections, would understand and appreciate the compliment, I’m sure.

NAT KING COLE & WORLD WAR II

Keith David and Christopher Frumkes

For two nights only – Sunday, Sept 23rd and Monday, September 24th – actor Keith David sang/performed his Tribute to Nat King Cole at Feinstein’s at the Loew’s Regency on Park Avenue in New York City. It was a warm, enveloping evening, drenched in David’s physicality, capturing the aura of Cole without ever devolving into caricature. I waited anxiously for a few of my favorite numbers, but I shouldn’t have been concerned; I can’t think of any he left out. Among Cole’s many immortal songs, “Nature Boy” stands out as the most unusual. Somewhere about halfway through the evening, there it was, and I still marvel at it, and not only for its unusual appearance in Cole’s repertoire. It’s an exceedingly abstract piece, filled with a haunting, indefinable melancholy. I’d love to know what the song’s composer was thinking when he wrote it…

While it’s true that very few FIR readers could have availed themselves of the opportunity to hear Keith performing Nat King Cole, since there were but two evenings in which to do so, if you want to get a mega-dose of his mellifluous voice, you should pick up the DVD of THE WAR (Paramount Home Entertainment), Ken Burns’ 15-hour emersion into WWII, which is dramatically narrated by the actor, with support from other, appropriate mini-narrators such as Tom Hanks, Samuel L. Jackson, Eli Wallach and Kevin Conway. THE WAR is the latest, elegant, comprehensive documentary from Burns, who is an industry unto himself. I’m told the research department on his projects is truly prodigious.

For this mini-series, presented on 6 discs, I’m sure the challenge of encapsulating a subject of such magnitude must have had the director ensconced in his thinking cap for quite a while. And the brilliant solution he came up with was to give the war a provincial context by focusing on the lives of four average Americans from diverse areas of the country who joined the war effort and lived to tell about it, relating their harrowing life experiences in between passages of vintage B&W doc footage and still-montages that give us the other, equally visceral version. In this way, the subject becomes both expansive and microcosmic. In addition, there is occasional commentary by Burns and Lynn Novick, his co-director, a featurette, and deleted (is that possible…?) scenes. Over the years, a number of WWII disc docs have found their way onto my shelves. This one replaces them all.

And before we leave Keith David, I hope you’re never too far away from his cinematic keepers on DVD: his last man (?) standing perfs in THE THING & THEY LIVE (dir. John Carpenter); his benign force of corruption in REQUIEM FOR A DREAM ( dir. Darren Aronofsky); BIRD (Clint Eastwood); PLATOON (Oliver Stone); CLOCKERS (Spike Lee), and countless others.

THE LOST PATROL

No, not the 1934 John Ford film starring Victor McLaglen and Boris Karloff, but a musical group who I caught at The Cake Shop on 152 Ludlow Street in lower Manhattan.
Hailing from NY/NY environs, but performing widely around the country, the group is terrific. Their music is slippery and won’t be pinned down, though if I were taking a stab, I would say that at times I was reminded of Badalamanti‘s work for David Lynch, at times a Spaghetti Western homage or two, and at other times, further retro even than that. And in fact they have done film work, for Hal Hartley – FLIRT and BOOK OF LIFE. Haunting, melancholy, cinematic, well supported by Danielle Kimak Stauss’s voice. In fact it was Danielle who got bass player/co-founder/CD producer Stephen Masucci back into it after a long hiatus.
I was not overwhelmed by the acoustics at the club (when I announced to the ticket person that I was down for press passes she stared at me dumbfounded), but took that to be a failing of the club’s design and not the group’s talent, and was motivated to listen to more of their CDs (which can be had through thelost patrol.com) and was equally impressed by their range and by their development from disc to disc. They have a wonderfully pleasing sound, and I’ve listened to a few of the CDs many times.

RUE MORGUE FEAR FEST

INGMAR, MICHAELANGELO & MERV

As to Ingmar Bergman, his cinematic output was revolutionary and enduring. His work of the 50s and 60s defined the concept of the Art House film, and we were all enriched by it. He was very fond of Fellini (he loved LA DOLCE VITA), and found Orson Welles an empty fraud. If that strikes you as being unjustly hard on a fellow filmmaker, don’t let it; he was equally tough on his own work. In fact he only thought one of his films really succeeded – one made in 1962 (and available on DVD from Criterion). He was, however, a fan of Spielberg, Scorsese and Coppola for their passion, and felt Tarkovsky was the greatest of all. He was decidedly mixed about Antonioni, though he liked BLOWUP and LA NOTTE.

And speaking of Antonioni, people tend to dwell disparagingly on his rightfully dreadful English-language fiasco, ZABRISKIE POINT, forgetting two other English-language films he made that captured his ethos marvelously – BLOW-UP and THE PASSENGER. I’d love to see a double bill of THE PASSENGER and almost anything by Hitchcock, which would serve as a mind-bending ying and yang experience.

And speaking of Hitchcock, Bergman also liked PSYCHO.

We have much to celebrate this season of ’07. I’m not really a pessimist, but there are intimations of Armageddon drawing closer and closer, so let’s enjoy life – and to me that means enjoyable gatherings in front of a widescreen monitor luxuriating in the glow of DVDs – tothe fullest. There’ve also been some events in NYC that have drawn me outside the comfort of my living room…

On Saturday, February 3rd, Ennio Morricone came to Radio City Music Hall. Amazingly, the maestro has never played NYC before, nor has he performed live anywhere in the United States since his debut in 1961 – although The National Board of Review of Motion Pictures presented him with a Career Achievement award several years ago. With over 400 films scores under his belt, the tireless composer took the stage to thunderous applause, and after a concert that included ONCE UPON A TIME IN AMERICA, THE GOOD, THE BAD AND UGLY theme (with Soprano Susanna Rigacci providing the mythic wail), ONCE UPON A TIME IN THE WEST, A FISTFUL OF DYNAMITE (aka DUCK YOU SUCKER), TG, TB&TU’s ‘THE ECSTASY OF THE GOLD’, QUEMADA, IL CLAN DEI SICILIANI, and THE MISSION, he came back out for three encores. It was fascinating to finally see how he achieved the striking effects his scores are known for.

Back in ’81, I was working on my film BURT’S BIKERS, which has a twelve-minute third act entirely dependent on music. My producer, Sukey Raphael, contacted Morricone in Italy to see if he would consider scoring the film. We hit an immediate snag because though he answered the phone and listened patiently to her plea, he didn’t speak English, so the following week we called again, this time with an Italian translator. We had wanted excerpts from his pre-existing scores, but he explained that he didn’t own the rights to those. However, given our film’s theme, about handicapped children, he offered to write an original score for free. It was an amazing offer, but the specter of
communication problems, and his being a continent away, finally persuaded us to look elsewhere.

(left to right) Kenneth Anger, Rocco Simonelli, FIR's editor, Kenneth's (now-deceased) friend Ray Schnitzer. 1997

The DVD release to beat this year is Fantoma’s two-volume collected works of KENNETH ANGER, our country’s foremost experimental filmmaker, though he adamantly told me he didn’t care for that appellation. The first volume is out, and long-time acquaintance of Anger’s, Camp David’s David Del Valle, reviews it elsewhere on this site.

In 1968 I worked on my first feature film as Co-Producer (un-credited) and Assistant Director (the first time, I’m told, an AD credit ever graced a one-sheet) – THE PROJECTIONIST (Image Entertainment). Two films influenced the style of TP as far as director Harry Hurwitz and I were concerned: D.W. Griffith’s 1916 INTOLERANCE, and Kenneth Anger’s SCORPIO RISING. I was glad to see Martin Scorsese’s glowing tribute in the DVD booklet. For an ‘experimental’, limited release work (I caught it at midnight at the Bleeker Street Cinema in Manhattan), it has had major reverberations throughout the industry. It was also heralded as the first incidence of frontal male nudity in theatrical release in the US, though you’ll probably need your stop-frame button to make the most of that element.

And anyway, SCORPIO RISING’s going to be in Volume Two. As to Volume One, when I was the head of the Tulane University Film Society back in the mid-60s, I scheduled a program of experimental films, of which FIREWORKS (in Volume One) was on the list. The day of the show, I was informed by a staff committee which had viewed the films, that Anger’s film could not be shown due to its sexually graphic subject matter. A group of perhaps two hundred people showed up for the event, including children (since one of our ‘experimental’ choices was the ‘Rites of Spring’ sequence from FANTASIA) and I couldn’t bear to face them, so I sent a friend – Terence Adams – up on stage to announce the bad news, which he did by standing quietly until he had their attention, then announcing: “Scratch number 7…” and quietly leaving the stage. Then, in the spirit that has pervaded some of my films over the years since, I locked myself in the projection booth and showed it anyway, getting in some hot water as a result.

Several years ago I had the great pleasure of inviting Kenneth Anger to present the ‘Alternative Film Award’ to the winning student at the School of Visual Arts annual “Dusty’s” ceremony, celebrating the best films from the graduating class. Anger stayed in my apartment while he was in town, which was quite an honor. That evening he wore an off-white suit, looked spectacular, and when he arrived at the theater, it was the faculty that lined up to meet him. He gave a spirited speech, extolling the students to ‘Go for it!

VOOM’s Monster’s HD channel is doing a month long Monster Marathon, and as part of the line-up, on February 15th, they’re broadcasting High Definition versions of the three CREATURE FROM THE BLACK LAGOON films. You should all tune in. It won’t be in 3-D, but High Def is probably a better way to see them, since those early experiments with the red-green glasses were unevenly successful at best.

The Gill-Man was the best monster outfit of all time. Better than The Mummy, better than the aliens from INVASION OF THE SAUCER MEN, better than THE MONSTER OF PIEDRAS BLANCAS (where’s that DVD, by the way!?!), or THE ASTOUNDING SHE MONSTER, both inspired by it. I don’t include Karloff’s Frankenstein’s monster, or Lugosi’s Dracula, or Chaney Jr.’s The Wolfman, since those weren’t body suits. Okay, maybe the sexy female robot from METROPOLIS tied it for first place, but in the sound
era, the Creature takes the prize.

Ricou Browning (left) and Makeup Artist Bud Westmore.

The Creature came alive via three (I guess you would call them) stunt men: Swimmer Ricou Browning, who did the difficult underwater sequences, and land-based Ben Chapman and Tom Hennesy, whose heights (approximately 6 ft 4 in) were required, topside, to make the creature look particularly menacing.

This is probably not Ricou Browning, but it's a great still of the Creature outfit.

I had the extreme pleasure of chatting with Ricou Browning this week – and I mean extreme, since the second installment in the series – REVENGE OF THE CREATURE (1955, 82 mins, Universal-International) was the favorite film of my youth, so much so that I was determined, when I got old enough to start making films myself, to make them all 82 minutes in length in homage to my beloved REVENGE (I had a 16 mm print
which I ran repeatedly to the utter distraction of family and friends).

I came close to duplicating the running length, but never quite pulled it off: THE PROJECTIONIST (which I didn’t direct) ran 85 minutes, DOCUMENT OF THE DEAD came closest at 84 minutes, BURT’S BIKERS’ first final cut was 78 mins, but when we decided to release it direct to TV, we trimmed it to 55. STREET TRASH was 101 mins, THE SWEET LIFE was 85 mins, and THE MELTDOWN MEMOIRS was 2 hrs. 4 mins. There were two versions of THE COMEBACK TRAIL, and I don’t know what they were, but they weren’t 82 mins. But there’s still time…

I didn’t gush about my fixation on REVENGE to Mr. Browning – other than to say I loved it during a pivotal time in my childhood – as he seemed a serious person who had moved on as quickly as he could to producing directing, and running the Ivan Tors Studio in Florida. But he responded to my questions at times with an enthusiasm suggesting vivid
emotional memories of those early days in Florida, LA, the Bahamas and elsewhere, working with dolphins, sea lions, a killer whale, and directors more difficult than all of those sea creatures combined (Mike Nichols on DAY OF THE DOLPHIN for example) and friendly guys as well (Jack Arnold – helmer of two of the CREATURE features, and Terence Young, director of THUNDERBALL).

What was it like, I wondered, wearing, and swimming in, that studio-manufactured full-body creature outfit? “It was kind of like swimming in your overcoat, but the more I did it, the more I got used to it. It was like wearing a football uniform for the first time; once
you start playing the game you don’t know you have it on. It didn’t keep you warm, like a wet suit; I got colder than hell. We shot in the wintertime on the first movie. The weather was in the 30s, the water was 71 degrees, and we shot all day long, in and out of the water. Jim Havens, the second unit director on the first one, directed my scenes, and he couldn’t swim. He had an inner-tube, and he’d get in it with a face mask and look down in the water. The cameraman, Scotty Welbourne, also did some directing under the water. He built the housings for the two 3-D cameras, which were placed beside each other, and they flooded twice, and had to be overhauled overnight to have them ready to go the next day.”

A detail which fascinated me was the way the creature breathed. “You mean the gills moving? They had a little bulb you held in your hand, and it would go up the suit into the gills, and you would squeeze it, and it would make the gills move.” Commenting further on the realism of the suit, he added, “There were no promotional appearances when the
films came out, because they didn’t want people to know the creature was a human being.”

Browning later doubled Frank Sinatra in LADY IN CEMENT, and directed the sequences involving the shark, and he found the actor very professional. “When they called him, he wanted to work, and if they weren’t ready, he just turned around and walked away. Very
professional…and very nice.”

As someone who has worked more with dolphins than probably anyone but Dr. Lilly , I was curious about what his feelings were about these unique creatures. “As far as their intelligence is concerned, I think we have yet to scratch the surface. When you’re training them, you see them thinking, which scares you. They’re a very strong animal, and you have to be careful handling them. When they don’t want to do something, they’re like a cat, very independent, and you let them do what they want. You film at their pace. They never really get to know you, like a dog does. The only association you have with a dolphin is when you’re in the water with it. The navy supposedly used dolphins as weapons, and after five years training Flipper, I can assure you that you could train a dolphin to kill somebody very easily. I’m sure you could make a good horror film with them.”

In all the films, there’s a scene where the creature swims below the leading lady, spinning around and around, almost in sexually ecstasy. This was Browning’s idea, as was the incredible sequence where the creature captures the Ibis in REVENGE OF THE CREATURE at Chapter 3 on the Universal Home Entertainment DVD. “The creature’s gotta eat; why not have him grab a bird. And so we got a tame bird, and I grabbed that sucker, pulled him under water, didn’t hurt him, and let him back up, and that was it.” The scene completely establishes the reality of the creature’s world. “There was an animal guy who had all kinds of birds, and that’s the one we used. The bird didn’t know I was coming. I took him out in the water, set him on the log, ducked under, popped up and dragged him down.”

“Evil Dead the Musical” is spewing blood into the air nightly at the New World Stages on 50th Street off 8th Avenue in Manhattan, and if you’re an EVIL DEAD lover, a Bruce Campbell lover, a musical-comedy lover, or just love a raucous stage experience, you must catch this show.

Based on Sam Raimi’s immortal film trilogy, the play slathers homage upon homage, evoking a spirit of great fun, using the alchemic possibilities of the stage every bit as well as PHANTOM OF THE OPERA, but retains the intimacy of LITTLE SHOP OF HORRORS, and that play’s kinetic sense of audience participation. Ryan Ward is a fabulous ‘Ash’, conjuring Bruce Campbell’s legendary performance both in physical appearance, vocal deliverance, and physicality. He also, if one is willing to journey further back than Campbell’s ethos, evokes Ray Bolger‘s awkward, limbs-askew poetry. The supporting cast that swirls around him are all terrific, sexy, game to take physical
chances,.. An ensemble worthy of re-visitation. The second act climax – which is what the plastic bags that the first three rows are supplied with are for – sends the audience into a frenzy of screaming laughter.

The score is not memorable, but never boring, and works its wonders while you’re in the midst of it. However, special mention must be made to the use of that breakaway stage. I don’t know, really, who to single out, so: David Gallo (Scenic Design), Louis Zakarian (Special Effects & Makeup Design), B.H. Barry (Fight Choreographer), Michael Laird (Sound Effects Design), Hinton Battle (Co-directed & Choreographed by). You should follow these folks from play to play.

Photo by Nia Mora

And then there’s “Stairway to Hell,” a rock-shock show evolving in clubs around Manhattan, currently at Snitch Lounge in West Chelsea. The story concerns a rock band that dies and goes to heaven…much to their horror. They’d all been hoping for an eternity in hell, and use every decadent means at their disposal to convince the devil to take them back out through the pearly gates and deposit them where they belong.

It’s loud, rude, sexy, vile, has a few profane surprises I won’t reveal, but one of them outdoes “Evil Dead The Musical” for what stage denizens are willing to perpetrate on the audience… And the audience is a young, loud, sexy gang…not unlike their counterparts on stage. Since it’s changing venues week by week, you should check them out, I think,
at www.myspace.com/warthogsth, or call Associate Producer David Delzio at 917-279-7427.

Incidentally the rock group – WARTHOG – includes three members of NYFC cult favorite 80s metal band, ‘Cities’; it’s their first reunion in over two years, as guitarist Steve Mironovich was only recently released from jail, and ‘Twisted Sister’ drummer, AJ Pero, appears fresh off the ‘Twisted Christmas Tour.” So you’re not just dealing with any metal cover band here; these are the real dudes and dishes. Also slinking around the premises the night I was in attendance was the ever-sensual Nia Mora, ace photographer, one of whose shots accompanies this review with her kind permission. Myself, I might just have been out of my element. One of the female band members was stroking my alpaca sweater and I thought for a moment fate was drifting in my direction until she remarked – referencing said garment – that it gave her her fond memories of the Bill Cosby show… Yeah, I guess I was just a decade behind the times…

I was also concerned at not having brought along ear-plugs, but my fears were unwarranted; within two days my hearing had returned completely to normal.

On Thursday, September 21st, I boarded Jet Blue flight 1069, stocked up with socks and undies, pills and drops, my STREET TRASH belt buckle (created by a Navajo Indian in Tucson) and STREET TRASH t-shirt, some Levitra – just in case…, my airline ticket, and a copy of “I Wake Up Screening’ a fun read by John Anderson and the lovely Laura Kim (marketing and publicity exec at Warner Independent Pictures) , and flew uneventfully down to Austin, Texas for the 2nd annual Fantasy Film Fest at the Alamo Drafthouse Cinema, which my friend Oren Shai, who’d had a film (HEAVY SOUL) in competition at South By Southwest, also held there, claimed was the best movie theater he’d ever seen, and insisted I had to go down if for no other reason than to experience it.

I’d been invited primarily by Kier-La Janisse, one of the Alamo’s four programmers, formerly the founder of Canada’s Cinemuerte, who harbors a particular fondness for STREET TRASH, and persuaded (without too much persuading, I’m told) her fellow programmers that it should be included as a retro piece, a popular concept at most major fests.

The Original Alamo Drafthouse, which I visited, had been a parking garage, which Tim and Karrie League purchased, thereafter implementing their grand design: every other row of seats was torn out, to be replaced by a long table on which movie patrons would drink the beer and food they ordered, and have a rousing good time with whatever (often audience interactive) flick was playing (the night I dropped by it was THE TERMINATOR – with a ‘Mystery Science Theater’ styled trio ribbing the film mercilessly). It was a fabulous idea and a real labor of love of cinema, bringing, as I saw instantly, a sense of grand fun back into movie-going in these far-too-expensive movie-going times. And though eating, boozing, and participating in screen/stage activities are enthusiastically encouraged, annoying ‘living room’ chatter is not, and patrons can summon bouncers who will instantly put a stop to that kind of counterproductive behavior.

That was in ’97. The New Alamo Drafthouse Cinema, where the Fantasy Fest was held, opened in 2005, and was formerly a supermarket. Austin is a youth-dominated city, an art-conscious, film-lovers’ city, and this kind of venue, and this kind of film fest, was right up Austin’s collective alley. (Surprising, therefore, that attendance at the STREET TRASH and THE MELTDOWN MEMOIRS screenings were a bit thin…but those who showed were a knowledgeable batch who asked interesting, and sometimes loaded, questions). There was a Portland, Oregon precedent to this kind of architecturally revisionist movie theater, but it’s the first I’d seen of its kind, and the food was great – prepared and delivered by a staff which, at any given time, numbered perhaps fifty. In all, 130 people are employed by the theater, and I was truly impressed by their uniform professional, friendly, and courteous demeanors I’ll never forget Justin (one of the theater managers)’s kindness for that bowl of Amy’s Mexican chocolate ice cream with Ghiradelli sauce…truly beyond the call of duty. Mike & Eddie were swell shuttle-bus commanders. And while at the Hotel, I got to see tens of thousands of bats swirl out into the twilight sky. The bridge under which they hang, dormant, by day was lined with tourists like myself, eager to witness the spectacle. On that particular day, the wind was fierce, and blew the acrid cloud of bats back into our faces! What an experience!

I had been told there was no ‘fine’ dining in Austin, but plenty of ‘good’ food. Maybe that’s true in Austin, but within an hour radius, I must tell you, their modesty is revealed to be merely a myth. Among the delirious delights of which I partook (with the fest organizers’ generous assistance) was a little trip to Lockhart, Texas, to visit Smitty’s Market, said to serve the best barbecue in the state. I’m a barbecue aficionado, if not a barbecue gourmet, and I was utterly thrilled to be driven to this small, unassuming, extremely quiet town, and once there to be taken into an equally unassuming building, down a long corridor, assailed by the smell of barbecue, and the heat of the ovens. The cooks, who I glimpsed in their natural habitat, were straight out of central casting. I couldn’t help but think of THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE…

There was a bright, air-conditioned room where families sat at picnic-type tables and gorged themselves on barbecue, but our host (Karrie League), always pushing for the most authentic experience, insisted on a communal table right next to an open, blazing oven/kiln. This seemed ultimately a smart maneuver, since we were instantly sweating off all the fat and grease that was sliding down our gullets. A mounted antelope-head shield with a baby alligator skull on top adorned the wall. The plates were not plates, but greasy wax paper. I devoured some pop-in-your-mouth sausage, followed by some of their renowned, superb brisket. There were also ribs and prime rib, which I sampled…and no utensils – just white bread, a kind of variation on eating Ethiopian. Beer and RC cola washed it all down.

It was also a nice opportunity to meet some of the other filmmakers, who took the journey to Lockhart with me, an eclectic bunch from as far away as Germany and Sweden. The social environment at the Fest was definitely five star.

Multiple auditoriums were screening horror and sci-fi flicks all evening long at the new Alamo. Resident film critic (for Ain’tItCoolNews.com)/co-programmer Harry Knowles was either holding court in the lobby, or just outside the entrance to the theater. The night STREET TRASH played, a sci-fi flick called GamerZ out-drew us attendance-wise, and I heard it was quite good. One I caught and liked was ISOLATION, which everyone felt was ALIEN on a cow farm, a dark and creepy idea, well-made and well-acted.

THE MELTDOWN MEMOIRS, which I’ve seen projected theatrically several times, never looked as good as it did that day. Most of the myriad fests and horror cons that have sprung up around the country throw together makeshift screening rooms which miserably represent one’s work, but it’s accepted as more or less the nature of the beast. To their credit, the Alamo’s projection systems are superior set-ups, an indicator of the pride the organizers take in their work.

A surprise screening was APOCALYPTO, unfinished, with Mel Gibson in attendance. It was his first public appearance, I was told, since the scandal (check Victoria’s review of APOCALYPTO elsewhere on the site), and a feeling of dread was circulating among the staff that someone would bring up his recent faux pas during the Q & A. But it never happened – Austin was well-behaved. The film, several steps from being fully edited, timed and scored, was more commercial than I’d expected (not a negative thing) and featured the most incredible casting in years. I can’t imagine how long the process took. Art direction was almost equally memorable. An audience member invoked ROAD WARRIOR as a comparison in that regard, not a bad link to have made.

I had such a good time that I’m considering speeding up my usual snail’s pace and completing THE DEFINITIVE DOCUMENT OF THE DEAD in order to qualify for a possible invite back next year…

Some day there may only be IMAX. Some day, when home theaters reach their greatest potential, normal theater going will hold no attraction to us, but the IMAX experience will still be something we cannot replicate in our living rooms. It will still be a reason to shell out the bucks for a ticket, the mool for a baby-sitter, the dough for a soda.

And so, in recent years, possibly with just that in mind, IMAX has been dabbling in the presentation of Hollywood feature films. The cartoons are phenomenal, particularly in IMAX-3D. The features vary – SUPERMAN RETURNS was powerful but the 3D sections didn’t deliver the impact that I was expecting – they seemed a bit thin and green-screened. And now, for the Xmas season, we have NIGHT AT THE MUSEUM.

First the film itself, since IMAX can’t rescue the irredeemable. I’d heard nothing about this film prior to the appearance of its ads. I’m not a Ben Stiller fan, and the thought of seeing him on that monster screen, every pore and makeup stroke staring down at me, several stories high, was not getting my adrenalin up. And the concept seemed… confining.

Wrong.

The first act is weak – both the director (Shawn Levy) and screenwriters (Ben Garant & Thomas Lennon) couldn’t seem to side-step the clichés of the dreamer-father who disappoints his child. Been there, many a time. And the three night-watchmen at the museum were (initially) less than inventively played by Dick Van Dyke (still in fine form, however), Mickey Rooney (great to see him ambulatory, but he was awful – one- note, abrasive, never funny), and Bill Cobb (adequate, but with the least to do).

However, when the second act kicks in, and the pandemonium starts, things begin to look up. Sequence by sequence the narrative gains power, the script becomes complex and genuinely witty, and by the third act, it was a wonderful experience. It’s true, audiences forgive a bad first act if they’re given a great third act. Unfortunately critics can’t. But I ended up really liking the film in balance, and with the caveat of enduring act one, I’m recommending it. Also, the kids in the audience seemed happy, and I think it has a sincere message for families to share.

Stiller, despite my reservations about him, is quite good. Robin Williams is even better than that, a positive-yet-tentative Teddy Roosevelt – playing off the fact that he is, after all, just wax. Sacajawea (Mizuo Peck), playing the bulk of her Indian guide exhibit role without dialogue, gets through to our hearts from frame one. And the secondary and tertiary roles are not neglected – Attila the Hun (Patrick Gallagher), for instance, or the female tour guide at the museum (Carla Gugino), are written and directed into endearing, full-bodied performances.

And then there’s the IMAX presentation itself. The (35mm) transfer to IMAX is glorious. It’s a very busy film – scores of little people (as in six-inches-tall) running around, lots of out-of-focus exhibits stomping about in the background – and on that screen, while you may be a little overwhelmed by it all, you definitely get to see it all. Perhaps I didn’t have to witness the imperfections in Mickey Rooney’s skin so microscopically, but them’s the breaks when you get all the other elements displayed in such remarkable relief. The layering and sharpness of the sound is also a joy to bombarded with.

In terms of structure, in terms of anticipating and giving the audience everything it could possibly want, NIGHT AT THE MUSEUM is one of the best screenplays of the year. And editor Don Zimmerman deserves nearly equal praise. This thing really moves.

Coming up is the Annual NBR event, to be held in a new venue this year – Cipriani’s restaurant – on January 9th, 2007. Eli Wallach is our Career Achievement honoree. Other winners or recipients are LETTERS FROM IWO JIMA (Best Film), Martin Scorsese (Best Director), Forest Whitaker (Best Actor), Helen Mirren (Best Actress), VOLVER (Best Foreign Film), AN INCONVENIENT TRUTH (Best Documentary), Irwin Winkler (Career in Producing), Ryan Gosling (Breakthrough Award – Actor), Jennifer Hudson and Rinko Kikuchi (Breakthrough Performances – Actress), Jonathan Demme (Career in Directing), and THE DEPARTED (Ensemble Performance), WATER and WORLD TRADE CENTER (Freedom of Expression). Tickets are available as of this writing, and it’s going to be a great evening.