Tomorrow, I’ll have a little bit to say about Ornette Coleman. But I wanted to take a moment to note that Christopher Lee has died. It was announced today, but he died last Sunday. Most people know him for the part of Dracula in a series of films, starting with the great 1958 film, Dracula. But that is surprisingly not the part I most associate him with. I associate him with the part of Mycroft Holmes in The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes. I went through a period when I watched that film a lot. And I still think it is a great film — way underrated. That film so perfectly captures the power dynamic between Mycroft and Sherlock. And, as is totally appropriate, Lee steals the scenes he’s in.

I saw an interview (probably on the DVD). In it, Lee discussed working on the film with Billy Wilder. He said that Wilder never made any reference to Lee’s work as Dracula. But they were doing a night shoot, and the two of them were standing together. A cloud of bats flew overhead. Wilder looked sideways at him and grinned. Lee was charmed by this moment with Wilder, and I was charmed by Lee relating it.

I’ve quite enjoyed Christopher Lee in everything he did. He was a great and varied actor. And it was fun watching him show up in so many cool roles into his 90s. Even in poor films like Dark Shadows and The Colour of Magic, he added dignity and style. I am actually sad that I won’t be seeing him pop up in new films. But there are almost 300 screen credits for him, and that isn’t including multiple hits on television series. I wish him well in the undiscovered country.

Here he is as Mycroft:

Other than Hitchcock, Orson Welles is probably the most overrated film director in history. But unlike Hitchcock, Welles remains under appreciated — and under watched. I love Welles’ work. But I hate the Welles legend. To me, he’s perhaps the greatest idiosyncratic filmmaker ever. He had a personal vision and made roughly a dozen films under generally difficult conditions. And all of those films deserved to be made, even if most of them have problems — almost entirely because of Welles’ lack of creative or monetary control.

Getting past the Welles legend, the story of how he made his films is fascinating — from effectively hoodwinking the studio on The Magnificent Ambersons to the three years of on-again-off-again shooting of Othello to the taking over of a documentary project of another filmmaker that led to F for Fake. During the last couple of decades of his life, Welles existed in the down-low of the film world. In general, truly independent filmmakers will do just about anything to get their work done. Welles was such a filmmaker and he worked with a lot of similarly inclined people.

Still, I was a bit surprised to read this article at Vulture over the weekend, Watch the Porn Scene Edited by Orson Welles. For those who have seen the amazing truck sex scene from the as yet unreleased (They keep promising!) The Other Side of the Wind, this may not come as too much of a surprise. And this isn’t just any porn film. It is 3 AM — a fairly high brow affair. It was released in 1975 — when the porn industry still had illusions of making something like art, before it all degenerated into filmed (video taped) gynecological exams.

The director of the film was “Robert McCallum.” And that was the pseudonym of Gary Graver — the cinematographer for a couple hundred films, including Welles’ last three: F For Fake (all the American footage), Filming Othello, and The Other Side of the Wind. I don’t think that Graver was paid for any of the work that he did for Welles. Obviously, he was paid for his work in the porn industry. That’s an interesting counter example for those free-marketeers who claim that value is determined by payment alone. If that’s the case, then what our society stands for is porn films and not one or possibly two of the greatest films of the 20th century.

According to the article, Welles became involved in editing 3 AM because he was annoyed that Graver has holding up production on The Other Side of the Wind with his paying work on porn films. (Graver directed almost 150 porn films in his career.) So Welles came in and did some editing to move things along. This should not be shocking for a couple of reasons. One is that Welles was no prude. The other is that filmmaking is filmmaking. What makes an art film work on a technical level is no different than what makes a porn film work. In fact, I’ve argued before that there isn’t that much of a difference between art, horror, and fetish films.

The Vulture article asked filmmaker and writer Bilge Ebiri about the seven minute long scene. Although he hedges, his conclusion is the same as mine: there is nothing especially “Wellesian” about it. For one thing, Welles was using material that Graver had shot. Of course, it is possible that the old man’s style had rubbed of on the younger man’s porn work. But Ebiri noted something that I can’t speak to because I haven’t seen the whole seven minute scene, “I guess the thing that most distinguishes this scene might be most ‘Wellesian’ thing about it: It’s a nice scene. Even almost kind of (gasp) moving.”

So here is a bit less than two minutes of the shower scene from 3 AM. It contains comments by Bilge Ebiri. Regardless of everything else, it is still an explicit depiction of two women having sex in a shower. But I really do think there is something wrong with anyone who would find this footage scarring.

Over the weekend, I picked up a copy of, 1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die. I think I like checking out books like this because I know they will annoy me. It doesn’t matter if they are overall reasonable, I have strongly held iconoclastic opinions about film, and over the course of 1001 films, many things are bound to set me off. But while I’m on the subject, I should note that the book is pretty interesting. It contains a lot of great films and the discussions of them are not bad. But enough of the good!

The very idea of a book like this is stupid. There are two competing impulses. On the one side, you have all the supposedly great films that everyone has seen. And then, on the other side, you have all the films that this or that cinephile holds as a personal treasure. And this book represents a lot of cinephiles: 59 of them. I love the latter impulse. And this is certainly one reason I check books like this out; I’m always curious to see interesting films I’ve missed. But the first impulse is just boring. And they aren’t even all great (or even good) films. Is it really necessary to watch When Harry Met Sally before I die? I certainly hope not!

This is part of the selling of the book. People only buy it because it contains films that readers have seen. This allows them to flatter themselves on having enjoyed some of the films that are so good no one should die without seeing. And this is manifested most clearly in the overabundance of recent films. Consider the list of Stanley Kubrick films: Paths of Glory; Spartacus; Lolita; Dr Strangelove; 2001: A Space Odyssey; A Clockwork Orange; Barry Lyndon; The Shining; Full Metal Jacket; and Eyes Wide Shut. I will discuss the issue of the overloading of particular directors in a moment. But Eyes Wide Shut was released in 1999 and this version of 1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die was from 2003. So they threw in that film even though no one actually thinks it is indispensable when limited to 1001 films.

A new edition of the book comes out almost every year. That in itself shows what a farce the book is. The list is so eternal that it must be updated year to year? The 2013 edition of the book sported an image from Life of Pi. I’m not suggesting that it isn’t a good or even great film — I haven’t seen it and I really don’t think I should waste my precious film-watching time on yet another big budget, special effects derived film. Regardless, the film was on that cover because it was a big hit in 2012 and Ang Lee won the Academy Aware for Best Director.

But my biggest problem was the way that the book fetishizes certain directors. I thought it did a good job with Russ Meyer. He got one film, and it is his best, Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! I could have done without the condescending description of the film. But while I admire other work of Meyer, in a list of 1001 films, one film is about right. I’m also okay with Samuel Fuller getting three films because of the diversity of his work. But nothing can justify the inclusion of 18 Alfred Hitchcock films. I won’t list them all, but it includes a number of mediocre films, which I will: The 39 Steps; Shadow of a Doubt; Rope; Vertigo; North By Northwest; and The Birds. Don’t get me wrong: I like most of the those films well enough; but only The 39 Steps was impressive in its own time and it has aged poorly.

As I indicated, I generally pick up books like this because it is fun to be annoyed by them. And I’m not immune to feeling a good that Pickpocket and El Topo are in the book. But ultimately, such books are bad for us. If those 18 Hitchcock films really are so important, they deserve to be presented as a narrative within the context of film at the time and Hitchcock’s career. But books like that don’t sell well. So we get these kind of books as magazines — printed on slick paper with color photographs, which, above all, never require an attention span of more than three minutes.

Afterword

Since writing this, I went through the book from beginning to end. This is a pleasure. If you know film fairly well, you can see the historical arc of the art form. I was surprised just how many films I’ve seen — more than 70%, certainly. I think it does a particularly bad job of representing international filmmakers in the 1920s, 1930s, and into the mid-1940s — and then only really the Italian Neorealists. It also does a pretty bad job of picking Orson Welles film, most especially including The Stranger!

The penultimate season five episode of Bob’s Burgers was, “Hawk and Chick.” As you may know, I’m a huge fan of Bob’s Burgers. I identify a great deal with Bob. And with all them. And with the situation, given that I grew up with small business owners. It’s much more charming in the series than it is in real life. But this particular episode may well be my favorite of all time. And it will probably be my favorite until they make the episode (which I know is coming) when Jimmy Jr gets 25 to life for killing his father. But even this may not beat “Hawk and Chick.”

In the episode, Bob and Louise are out at the farmers’ market buying produce for one of Bob’s punning daily specials, which almost never sounds good. Here it is, “Take A Leek Burger (comes with sautéed leeks) – $5.95.” But at the very start, Bob purchases a jicama to make a “Jicama-Tah-Ta burger.” But at the market, Louise sees an old Japanese man who she thinks is Shinji Kojima, the actor who played Hawk in the “Hawk and Chick” series of samurai films that the two of them love. Thus begins their adventure of following him, meeting him, and helping him to reunite with his daughter, Yuki, who played Chick in the film series.

Let me explain to you what the “Hawk and Chick” films were all about. They featured Hawk, a barber who roams around Japan during what looks more or less like the Sengoku period with his young daughter Chick. All they want to do is live their lives, but unusual monsters always appear requiring Hawk and Chick to work as a samurai duo in order to save the town. As Gene says in the episode, “So it’s like a less sexual Incredible Hulk?” Exactly!

What happens in the episode is actually quite sentimental. Louise is determined to get Kojima and Yuki back together because she’s afraid that she and Bob will grow apart as she grows up. (Silly girl: cartoon characters don’t grow up!) And unlike most episodes, everything works out completely. But the main thing is “Hawk and Chick.” That really is the greatest idea ever for an action film — even better than a blind samurai film series. And there were 14 of them! (Of course, there are 26 Zatoichi films.) I want to see these films! Or something similar. A combination of Kung Fu and Paper Moon would be particularly awesome.

You should really check out the episode. It is quite funny and sweet — everything you expect from a Bob’s Burgers episode, except for a fart joke. And it is probably the closest you will ever come to a father-daughter sword-fighting team action film series. Alas.

Afterword

Right now, you can watch the episode on Hulu.

As some of you may know, I’m a big fan of Ballykissangel — the BBC show about a little Irish village filled with curious people. From an American standpoint, it is an Irish Northern Exposure — but without a tenth the annoyances. But here’s something that is very interesting: the show was on for six series, but I’ve only ever watched the first three. The third series ends tragically, with the two main characters leaving the show. It would have been as if Joel and Maggie left Northern Exposure. But not completely, because Ballykissangel does a better job of creating a sense of community as opposed to a collection of oddballs.

Over the weekend, I watched the fourth series — all 12 50-minute episodes. And the producers do manage to reinvent the show and make it compelling without destroying what was good before. Unfortunately, they do it in such a way that they still manage to harm it. The first episode, “All Bar One,” does an excellent job of acknowledging the past. But it does it with an awful clunky plot, and a change of the character of Niamh. In the first three series, she was the female beta to Assumpta’s alpha. But Niamh was always a strong character and turning her into some kind of vaguely discontented would-be business woman just seemed bizarre.

I understand the need glamorize her, so I had no problem when Niamh was given a proper haircut and shot in a way to highlight her beauty. Just the same, she was paired with the more traditionally glamorous Victoria Smurfit, playing Orla, the New Age liberal sister of the priest. And the show never quite figures out what it wants to do with her. She seems to be there primarily to set up the end of season with a conflict between Niamh and her husband, Ambrose, as she falls in love with new community member Sean Dillon.

If all this sounds confusing, it shouldn’t come as a surprise. The series seems to be trying to do a lot of different things. The most obvious of these was to get rid of the Ambrose character. The actor who played him, Peter Hanly (who you probably remember as the very weak Prince Edward in Braveheart), may have wanted to leave the series. He certainly said he did. But it seems more likely the show was just trying to provide a relationship with some sexual tension to replace that between Father Clifford and Assumpta during the first three seasons.

But therein lies the problem. I didn’t notice any sexual tension until the last couple of episodes of the series. It seems more likely that a contract dispute took place between the producers and Peter Hanly. Maybe he didn’t like being sidelined in the series and they pushed him so they could do what they had long wanted. Regardless, the last couple of episodes seem to have been quickly rewritten to end that story line. Then claims were made that the whole thing had been brewing the whole series. Or maybe I just wasn’t paying attention. I’ve never found the Niamh and Ambrose relationship particularly engaging.

Interestingly, after being the dominant force during the first three series, creator Kieran Prendiville disappears completely from the fourth series. And as far as I can tell, that’s true of the fifth as well. He does seem to come back to finish off the sixth series, writing almost all of the episodes. But I can’t help but think that he is ultimately what gave the show its heart. The fourth season is certainly good, and the actors are fantastic, but much of it comes off as wooden and formulaic.

Afterword

One episode of the fourth series was especially good, “Births, Deaths and Marriages.” It brings together the wonderful sense of community that most defines the show. And in this episode, Niamh completely takes on the role that Assumpta did as community leader. It is somewhat spoiled by her breaking down in a clumsy attempt to set up the series finale. But that is small.

See also: Confused High Jinks on Ballykissangel.

“History shows again and again how nature points out the folly of men.” That bit of wisdom from Blue Öyster Cult (or Richard Meltzer if you prefer), is a condensation of the 1954 classic, Godzilla. Last weekend, I got the Criterion Collect DVD of the film. It was very exciting. I grew up watching Godzilla films, but I had never seen the original. So I watched both versions — Japanese and American — twice: once straight and once with what is very possibly the best commentary ever, by David Kalat. It is quite an experience — especially because the two versions are so different.

Godzilla was such a big deal in Japan, that when American distributors bought it, they decided not just to dub the film; they shot extra scenes and turned the main (human) character into an American reporter, played by Raymond Burr.[1] And it works remarkably well. The film editor Terry O Morse was hired to direct the whole thing, and with television writer Al C Ward, he used the existing movie to tell the story from a remarkably different perspective. It’s especially interesting to see how conversations are totally changed from one version to the other.

But even while marveling at just how clever Morse and his team was, there is a fundamental problem: they didn’t do a very good job of matching the style of the original. Ishirō Honda and his team made a very good film that is visually interesting even without Godzilla. The camera is relatively fluid, the shots are always well framed, the lighting is realistic. It’s what we’ve come to expect from feature films. The scenes with Burr are static and flat. Great care is taken to make things match up, but it does feel choppy.

In addition to this, the film is excessively narrated. I suspect that this decision was made so as to require as little dubbing as possible. And that does work. There is relatively little on screen dubbing. And despite the fact that the dubbing actors didn’t even get to look at the scenes they were dubbing, it works quite well. But it does mean that we see a lot of the backs of America doubles while the dialog takes place.

Still, all of this occurred to me because I had just seen the original. I think it wouldn’t be nearly as clear if I had just watched the film cold. But the original is clearly the superior film. That’s not just because of the awkwardness of the added material. The original is also a more thoughtful and subtle film. It actively engages with an issue that I care deeply about: the responsibility of scientists for the uses of their findings. The two scientists in the film are disgusted by the state of the world. On the other hand, sometimes you just need to get through the crisis at hand. It doesn’t matter that, “History shows again and again how nature points out the folly of men.”

[1] It’s very cool. At the end, he has Godzilla on the stand. “And was it not you who destroyed Japan — going so far as to chew on a rail car?!” And Gozilla broke down, “It’s true! I couldn’t stop myself!” Alright, maybe not. But I think Godzilla vs Perry Mason would have been a fantastic film.

Shock Corridor is one of the greatest films of the 1960s — perhaps one of the greatest films ever. It is widely regarded as a great film by a certain kind of cinephilia — my kind — the kind who loves substance and style done in an idiosyncratic way — where more creativity was spent than money. But everyone should love it. And I think I understand the reason that it doesn’t get as much respect as it deserves: it is seen as a message film. While it is indeed a message film, it is far more than that. And it is not primarily a message film regardless.

The reason people think of Shock Corridor as a message film is because it was written, produced, and directed by Samuel Fuller. And he is still seen as primarily a message filmmaker, even while people applaud his great technique and brilliant eye. It’s probably because he was liberal and anti-war. John Milius is never considered a “message filmmaker,” even though his films are noted for pushing messages clumsily. But he’s a conservative. He was never in a war. He did not experience anything as life changing as the liberation of a concentration camp at the end of World War II, as Fuller did.[1] Apparently, we are supposed to dismiss only films with messages when they are trying to make the world better.

Shock Corridor is a pure Greek tragedy. And it needs to be viewed that way. The main character is Johnny Barrett, a journalist on a mission for fame in the form of a Pulitzer Prize. If that sounds like an ignoble beginning for movie about a reporter, it is. Barrett is not very likable, even though what he wants to do to get the prize is noble. There was recently a murder at the local insane asylum. But because the witnesses are all insane, as was the victim, the police just let the case slide. So his intention is to pass for crazy, get inside, and solve the case. What could go wrong?

Barrett’s stripper girlfriend, Cathy, is critical to the plan. But she thinks it is literally crazy for Barrett to do this. She alone sees that Barrett’s goal of the Pulitzer is superficial and wishes him just to have a regular life with her. So, posing as Barrett’s sister throughout the film, she acts as the conscience of the film and as the representative of the audience. Because Barrett is crazy — not so much in his actions, but in his desires. To risk your life to help others is one thing, but to risk your life for something as meaningless as fame not.

Once inside the hospital, Barrett is in the world of Homer — specifically, The Odyssey. There are three patients that he must meet and penetrate the fog of their insanity. The first is Stuart, scarred by his captivity in the Korean War, he now imagines that he is Confederate General JEB Stuart. Then there is Trent, an African American whose experience being one of the young people to desegregate a southern college make him now believes he is a KKK member who starts race riots in the hospital. And finally, there is Boden, a scientists so filled with guilt about his work on nuclear weapons that he has reverted to a child.

In the brief periods of clarity, each man takes Barrett a step closer to finding the murderer. And in the end, he finds the murderer, makes him confess, and writes his story that wins the Pulitzer Prize. But all along, Barrett’s sanity has been slowly slipping away. After achieving his goal, he goes cantatonic. The film ends with Cathy sobbing as she tries to get him to react to her. And we see the hallway that started the beginning of the film, although it is filled with patients now — Barrett included. And the film closes with the Euripides’ quote it began with, “Whom God wishes to destroy he first makes mad.”[2]

Even today, the ending is extremely powerful. The solving of the mystery doesn’t matter. Like a Classical tragedy, Barrett is doomed from the start by his own hubris and lack of depth. We are left, as is Cathy, to watch helpless as the events play themselves out. Shock Corridor is a great film that must be seen.

[1] To be fair, John Milius apparently wanted to join the army but was refused for medical reasons. On the question of wanting to go to war, I refer you to this quote. But I would hope that he would have a more mature worldview had he gone to war.

[2] It is not a Euripides quote. But it was probably a common saying from that time and place.

I just watched The Boxtrolls. What a great movie it is. It is rare to see a film that is so unrelentingly true to itself — both in terms of style and substance. This is undoubtedly why it did not do that well financially. It’s the kind of film that seems like it ought to be appropriate for small children, but it is actually rather frightening to look at. But that makes sense because it tells a deeply disturbing story about the way that our society works.

The story is set in a place rather like Terry Pratchett’s Discworld series — although without the magic, which is fine since many of those novels really don’t have much in the way of magic anyway. There are the humans above ground and the boxtrolls underground. But Archibald Snatcher, the exterminator for the town, really wants to get into the aristocracy. So he makes the town believe that boxtrolls are evil and violent creatures who eat humans. The boxtrolls are actually extremely meek — their only crimes being petty theft to get parts for the amazing devices they build.

Snatcher is a pathetic character. All he wants is what all Americans are taught to want: success. While he is definitely a demagogue for that cause, there is no other way open to him. The film presents the aristocracy as truly the useless rich. They don’t seem to do anything other than enjoy their lives. The four lords of the town choose not to spend the money from a fundraiser on a new children’s hospital, and spend it instead on a giant circle of brie cheese, called the “Briehemoth.” What’s more, the top lord, Portley-Rind, generally ignores his daughter and values his station in life more than her.

The townspeople also come off rather badly. There is, after all, no actual proof that the boxtrolls are anything except annoying petty thieves. The humans are only too willing to have their fears worked up and then to demand vengeance. And then, when they see that they have been manipulated by Snatcher, they immediately turn on him and demand vengeance on him. There are only five humans in the film who are sympathetic:

Two Children

Portley-Rind’s daughter is okay in the end. But she too is presented as a spoiled aristocrat. And Eggs is the orphaned boy who was raised by the boxtrolls as their own. He, of course, is the hero of the film.

Herbert Trubshaw

He is Eggs’ father, who is forced to give Eggs up to save him from Snatcher.

Two Henchmen

Snatcher has three henchmen, but two of them are fundamentally good: Trout and Pickles. The latter spends the whole movie thinking about good versus evil and questioning the rightness of their cause. Before he finally gets on the side of the boxtrolls, he speculates, “Goodness always triumphs over evil… I’m still 60 to 70% certain that’s us.”

In the end, goodness does triumph over evil. The two truly bad guys are vanquished. But more than that, in a subtle bit that is likely missed by most people, class itself seems to be vanquished. The symbol of the aristocracy were these white hats. At the end, we see Portley-Rind watching his “weird little angel” without his hat. We later see the hat in a trash can. One of the boxtrolls finds it, removes the feather from it, and discards the rest. Boxtrolls know value and all that could be salvaged from the aristocracy was a pretty feather. It’s clear enough.

Of course, you don’t need to see any of this. You can just see it as a nice story about a wrongly maligned minority group who are underutilized by the greater society — nothing at all to do with the real world. And to some extent, it is right to think of it in that way. Because it isn’t realistic. As I said: goodness does trimph over evil.