Will told me I should check out the 1974 film, Phase IV. It’s about some cosmic alignment that had no effect whatsoever — except on ants, which have become a super intelligent hive mind. But only one British scientist has noticed. He works with a game theorist who is trying to learn how to communicate with the little buggers. Meanwhile, the ants kill ponies and grandparents everywhere they go. It’s a very strange film — with lots of long sequences showing ants doing their ant things. But it is also really professionally made. I think Will said that he and his wife wanted to turn it off, but they couldn’t. It does have that effect. It’s really compelling — much like The Andromeda Strain, but less plot driven.

I quickly learned that Phase IV had been used during the first season of Mystery Science Theater 3000 — before it was on Comedy Central, and was at the local station KTMA. I had never seen any of these really early episodes. The creators of the show have never released them, claiming that the episodes were embarrassingly bad. Given that the first Comedy Central season was weak, I figured the KTMA episodes must indeed be really bad. But judging from the Phase IV episode, that isn’t true at all.

It is possible that the MST3K gang are really just talking about the production values. It is true that the sets are minimal. It doesn’t look that great. But even when the show looked better, it was designed to look bad — like a low budget science fiction film. And this actually comes off even better in these early episodes. Regardless, nothing is ever really different. From the first season through the eleventh, it was still just silhouettes of one guy and two robot puppets.

One substantive difference is that the riffing during the movie doesn’t come as fast as it does in later seasons. But I think this is largely a good thing. Often, the riffing came so fast it wasn’t possible to follow it all. And more important, the riffing often distracted from following the film — thus making the riffing itself less effective. In this episode, there is no question but that the guys are responding to the film — they don’t seem to have any more information about the film than the viewers do. This is very nice. It feels comfortable and natural: the way that people normally make comments about a film.

Of course, MST3K always worked best when it had a good film. And that helps here. Even though I admire what the show did with Manos: The Hands of Fate, I don’t re-watch that episode because it is hard to watch the source material. But with Phase IV, the source material is quite good — it is worth watching on its own. I’m going to have to check out more of these early episodes. There are various references made to the Gamera films — which I love, but for different reasons. It turns out that before doing Phase IV, the show did five Gamera films in a row. That sounds like fun.

Last week, I wrote, The Exorcist Is Too Serious But Still Enjoyable. There is one aspect of the film that is my favorite, and I just want to take a moment to highlight it. Father Damien Karras has just met with Regan, who looks like a monster and is totally taken over by the demon Pazuzu, who claims to be the Devil himself. And it is fun to watch Pazuzu mess with Karras’ head. The priest’s mother has just died, so Pazuzu says, “You’re mother’s in here with us, Karras. Would you like to leave a message? I’ll see that she gets it.”

This freaks out Karras, but he thinks he’s being played. So he says, “If that’s true, then you must know my mother’s maiden name. What is it?” Pazuzu could just answer the question. He knows, after all, who Karras is without being told. But his game is to not confirm anything. He knows that Karras is questioning his faith, so the last thing Pazuzu wants to do is provide confirmation. So Pazuzu vomits green slime all over him instead.

That’s all pretty standard. It gets far more interesting later when the exorcism proper starts. Pazuzu causes a bedside table drawer to open suddenly. Karras asks Pazuzu to do it again, but of course he won’t. “In time,” he says. But then, he starts speaking in Latin, “Mirabile dictu, don’t you agree?” That means, “Amazing to see.” Karras replies, “You speak Latin?” Pazuzu says, “Ego te absolvo.” You can probably guess that one, “I absolve you.”

Karras asks, “Quod nomen mihi est?” He’s asking the demon’s name. But again, Pazuzu will have none of it. He starts speaking French. He answers, “Bonjour.” Karras repeats the question — probing whether Pazuzu (who Karras is not convinced is real) actually knows Latin or just a couple of phrases. Pazuzu responds with more French, “La plume de ma tante.” This is a phrase used to teach French grammar — it means, “My aunt’s quill pen.” So it’s all nonsense — creepy nonsense — but nonsense nonetheless.

To finish the whole thing off, Karras dowses Pazuzu with what he claims is holy water. Pazuzu goes crazy. But this too is another feint. It makes Karras think that Pazuzu isn’t real and it is just Regan in some kind of psychotic state. The evidence of possession is overwhelming, but Pazuzu keeps encouraging Karras’ doubt.

This is what makes Pazuzu such an interesting adversary. It’s fairly easy to be a hero if you know that a hero is required. What normally stops us is uncertainty. In this regard, Pazuzu’s ultimate mistake at the end of the film is to possess Karras, because at that moment, all doubt is gone. The path forward is clear.

With the death of Christopher Lee, I highlighted his performance in, The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes. Last night I watched the film again. It made me reflect on why I so like the film. At one time, I was down right obsessive about it. It’s a fine film, but that was not the reason I watched it over and over. I think I like it so much because it deals with Holmes’ inner life — the emotions that exist underneath that seemingly impenetrable exterior of rationality.

Basically, Private Life is a love story. Holmes falls in love — and hard. But you would never know it from his reactions. There are two ways to see Holmes’ reaction to Gabrielle. It could be that he simply sees in her his equal. And indeed, in her way, she is that. But this strikes me as the least interesting way to look at it. Also: it isn’t justified by the rest of the film. From the moment Gabrielle shows up, Holmes wants to get rid of her. He seems afraid of the feelings that she arouses in him. What’s more, he is clearly attracted to her long before he realizes that she is his equal.

The other way to see Holmes’ reaction to Gabrielle — or indeed Madame Petrova — is that he falls easily in love. He clings desperately to his rationality as a defense against his emotions, which he has no control over. It is not surprising, however, that I would see the character in this way because this is rather like myself. I think there are a lot of people like that who try to be rational and in control because they know that they are actually old softies who want nothing more than to browse Cute Overload and lie in bed with a special someone watching It Happened One Night.

The film also strongly implies that Holmes is a man who really wants to escape the harsh realities of this world. Early on in the film, Watson badgers him about his drug use, “I strongly disapprove of this insidious habit of yours.” Holmes responds, “I only resort to narcotics when I’m suffering from acute boredom.” But we learn at the end of the film that this is at best a partial truth. When he learns of a great tragedy — one that wounds him emotionally — he goes right for “the needle.” And in that case, Watson — perhaps for the first time — does not protest — perhaps finally understanding that we all have weaknesses that we manage as best we can.

In general, I don’t like the character of Sherlock Holmes. He’s quite arrogant and judgmental. In the books and stories, he is presented almost as a demigod. We don’t get much insight into him as a man. And the films — which have done as much to flesh out the character as the original material (especially regarding Mycroft and Moriarty) — have gone right along with that. This is why I’ve always liked the comedic reversal in Without a Clue; since Holmes is so thoroughly disagreeable a character, why not make him a buffoon? But The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes humanizes the character without destroying the legend. And that is why it is probably the best rending of Sherlock Holmes, and certainly my favorite.

A lot is made of Orson Welles as a brilliant film maker: someone who does amazing things on the micro-scale like the amazing tracking shot at the beginning of Touch of Evil or the hall of mirrors climax in The Lady from Shanghai. But it is better to think of Welles as a great storyteller. I always remember a quote from D W Griffith. When asked about his exceptional use of cinematic technique, he replied that he was just solving the problems that came up in trying to tell his stories. That’s also true of Welles. In fact, I often wonder if he would have been as innovative if he had been given greater resources to make his films.

Last week, I heard that The Immortal Story was available on Hulu-Plus. It was the only Welles film that I had never seen. So I quickly begged a friend who had Hulu-Plus and watched the film. And then again and again and again. It was made for French television back in 1968 — based upon the short story by Karen Blixen (under her pen name Isak Dinesen). It’s just an hour long (apparently, the French version 48 minutes). And it isn’t flashy. It’s just a simple story rendered beautifully.

The story is simple. Welles plays Mr Clay, an old rich man who spends his free time having his assistant read to him from his account books as though they are stories so he can relive his glory days. But one night, he asks about other kinds of books. His assistant reads to him from Isaiah 35, “Then the lame will leap like a deer, and the tongue of the mute will shout for joy. For waters will break forth in the wilderness and streams in the Arabah…” Clay doesn’t want to hear it. He’s only interested in stories — like his account books — of things that have actually happened or are happening.

Clay then starts to relate a story he heard on his original trip to Macau about a rich old man who pays a sailor to come to his home and impregnate his young wife so that the old man will have someone to leave his fortune to. The assistant interrupts him, explaining that it isn’t a true story, but one he has heard from dozens of sailors in his travels. Clay then decides to recreate the events so that at least one sailor will be able to tell the story and have it be true.

There are no twists in the story. We simply find out more about the characters. The woman hired to play the wife is the daughter of Clay’s old partner who he bankrupted and caused to commit suicide. The sailor chosen recognizes immediately what is going on because he too has heard the story many times; he ultimately provides the real meaning of the film. We find out much more about the assistant and the daughter — both beaten down by personal loss. And we get to see Clay perform the only meaningful act of his entire life.

As a film, it is deliberately plotted. It draws the viewer in — becoming more and more interesting as we get to know the four characters. And this is probably Welles’ greatest strength — although one not commented on. He was a great director of actors. He always got excellent performances from his people. And that’s especially true here. Jeanne Moreau, Roger Coggio, and Norman Eshley are all excellent.

The Immortal Story was the first film where he used color film. And it is beautiful in an exaggerated way. Apparently, cinematographer Willy Kurant was trying to compensate for the limitations of televisions in France at that time. The result is slightly otherworldly. The shots look about what you expect from Welles. People focus on the low camera angles. That’s not so much true of Welles’ work overall. What he didn’t like were high angles. I agree with him. High angle shots tend to call attention to themselves and pull the viewer out of the story. Welles is careful in this film to never distract from the delicate narrative he’s created.

There are a couple of problems with the film — neither of them Welles’ fault. First, it isn’t available on home video. It doesn’t look like it was ever released on VHS. And the only DVD I’ve found is Region 4 (Australia). Second, the version on Hulu-Plus has terrible sound quality and no optional subtitles. There were a number of lines that I just couldn’t understand — even after multiple viewings. This is all an outrage. The Immortal Story was the last narrative film that Welles finished in his lifetime. And it is a wonderful film. It deserves much better. But I’m glad that at least Hulu-Plus is offering it. If you have access to it, you will be rewarded by spending an hour with it.

Update

The Immoral Story is now available on DVD. And it is available on line. After watching it, you might want to buy it. I’m going to right now.

The second to last episode of Monty Python’s Flying Circus is “Mr Neutron.” It is widely reviled and considered one of the worst episodes of the series — if not the worst episode. I think it is comedic genius. The main storyline is about Mr Neutron: “easily the most dangerous man the world has ever seen.” Yet he spends the entire episode hanging out in the suburbs discussing gardening and falling in love with the cleaning woman. In the end, the humans destroy the world out of their fear of him. As I watched The Exorcist earlier today, I thought a lot about Mr Neutron.

For all the really stupendous things that Pazuzu does to poor little Linda Blair, he seems perfectly contented to hang out in that room. And he is powerful. It takes Death over an hour and half to kill of Max von Sydow in The Seventh Seal, and Pazuzu manages to do it in the couple of minutes that Jason Miller steps out for a breather. Although that does feel a bit forced. They knew that they were dealing with a dangerous creature — prone to staying in one room — but dangerous nonetheless. It had, after all, killed the film director; it sprayed green goo everywhere; and it twisted that poor girl’s head in circles. Oh: and levitation and moving stuff around and making the room cold.

But the thing about the film is that it is highly effective. The first half of the film is classic suspense — the kind that we used to get in haunted house movies (also in more recent films like The Others). Early scenes like when Ellen Burstyn goes up in the attic looking for rats are chilling. So by the time we get to the last 20 minutes of the film where Blair is wearing an inch of makeup and we enter the world of Poltergeist, it doesn’t seem silly. Although out of context, that part of the film is indeed silly — very silly.

The real problem with the film is the center section. There is too much time spent trying to justify the premise. It’s a movie after all. If I had a little girl who came down stairs at a party, just to urinate on the carpet, sure, I’d think she might need to see a doctor. But if she started freaking out while her bed was bouncing around the room, I wouldn’t go to the group of doctors and complain that they kept telling me my daughter had a brain tumor.

Ultimately, this is what keeps The Exorcist from being a great film. It takes itself too seriously. It’s fine to spend half a movie questioning if the impossible is really happening. But that’s only true if it is never clear what’s really going on. In this film, that isn’t the case. Pazuzu is mad at Max von Sydow and apparently, this really oblique way was the only way to get to him. Overall, I’d have to say that Constantine does a better job of this aspect. But it’s third act is weak (although the scene with Peter Stormare is great), and with The Exorcist we get the previously mention green goo and rotating head — which is awesome.

It’s also notable that on a technical level, the The Exorcist is first rate. I loved the cinematography. And the editing is paced really well. The dialog is usually pretty weak, but the outstanding cast makes it work anyway. But for a horror film made over forty years ago, it holds up remarkably well. Still, it’s more fun to watch House on Haunted Hill or The Shining.

Afterword

There is much I could say about the theme of the film. Maybe I will at some later time. I’ve got the flu and I don’t feel up to it. But the film doesn’t deserve too much analysis. It touches on a few things, but doesn’t take anything very seriously. But hey: green goo.

There is a new production of Doctor Faustus that just opened in New York at the 200-seat Classic Stage Company, starring “Mr Big” from Sex and the City, Chris Noth, as Faustus, and and veteran screen actor Zach Grenier as Mephistopheles. I have a great fondness for the play, but it still remains a mystery to me why anyone would want to produce it. A standard line about it is that the play has a beginning, a muddle, and an end. And you know that from the start: Faustus sells his soul for 26 years of Mephistopheles entertaining him. And at the end, he learns the valuable lesson that 26 years of playing pranks on the pope is really not compensation for an eternity of damnation.

That gets to the even bigger problem with the play. Faustus is not a likable character. He’s clearly an idiot. When Mephistopheles shows up as he is, Faustus requests that he change into a Franciscan friar. While it is clever of Christopher Marlowe to get a demon to walk the stage throughout the play as a religious figure, Faustus comes off as a small minded man of petty privilege. What’s more, he does not make his deal with the Devil out of any duress but rather boredom. He’s the most arrogant of characters — thoroughly disagreeable.

Faustus’ servant Wagner is far more engaging. In the context of the play, he too is wavering off the path of righteousness. But he does it only because he sees his master acting badly. But he is smart in a way that Faustus is never shown to be. Wagner manages to trick Robin into be his servant. And that is about the end of Wager’s acting on the dark side. His character all but fades away toward the end of the play.

Far more interesting is Mephistopheles because he seems truly to be a tragic character. Of course, we don’t see how he got to his damned place, but we see the results. In my various attempts to rework the play, I always find that even after his damnation, Faustus still doesn’t get it. He’s just a silly person. Mephistopheles, on the other had, exudes sadness and wisdom. And it is hard not to sympathize with him for the 26 years he must spend with Faustus who — despite all his academic credentials — has no noble aspirations or interests.

I’m sure the production will be like those of all Elizabethan plays: highly edited and finessed so as to make them better than they are on the page. There is, regardless, a lot of fine poetry on the page — much more than, “Is this the face that launched a thousand ships?” One nice thing about Marlowe’s writing is that, when well performed, you can hear the poetry. It can be very pleasing. I think there has been too much work done to make Shakespeare sound too naturalistic. Although his work was already well into the process of naturalism that continued up to the Restoration. So I hope the production embraces the poetry rather than obscuring it.

But I still don’t see much point in doing Doctor Faustus. Although it is a better choice than yet another one of Shakespeare’s plays.