I am slowly … ever so slowly … getting back into writing.  I’ve been on a self-enforced hiatus for the last several months, where I allowed myself to be suck up into a lifestyle that I wasn’t enjoying a whole lot because it left virtually no time (or energy, which is more important) for writing.  I’m writing this post with a bit of trepidation … am I really ready to take up my blog again?  Or am I just going to make one lame post and then disappear from the blogosphere for an undetermined length of time?

Well, I’m here now, and I think that’s all that really counts …  And it’s not like I’ve been totally unproductive.  During my hiatus, I’ve had the pleasure of coming across a delightful blog called Dollar Bin Horror.  It’s a fun blog by “Rhonny Reaper” (not entirely her real name, of course) where she writes about finding great horror films for cheap and also interviews horror writers.  Yes, one of my (many) guilty pleasures is horror films, especially the old classics with Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi, and Roger Corman films.  Check out Dollar Bin Horror and see why I’ve been smittened.

Roger Corman incarna l’arte nella forma del cinema exploitation e la manifestazione più lampante di come la scarsità di risorse e il minimalismo possano costituire la vera sfida di chi ha la pretesa di girare; non si accontenta di circoscriversi negli stretti spazi del concreto e del quotidiano, Corman, ma il più delle volte giostra l’interesse per la rappresentazione tra il cielo e la letteratura – a proposito: beccatevi lo speciale su Poe di Nocturno! -, una sorta di cantore Heavy Metal ante-litteram con la macchina da presa, colto ma non “impegnato”, geniale ma comprensibile anche per coloro che digiunano di cinema. Appartiene alla prima categoria ‘Il Mostro Del Pianeta Perduto’, pescato fra i primi tasselli di una carriera eccezionale e da una preistoria cinematografica che, al di là del vecchiume tecnico – costudisce intuizioni attuali, quand’anche insuperate. Se i presupposti sono sempre gli stessi – la palingenesi post-apocalittica e il terrore per qualcosa di terribile che si annida là fuori -, la desolazione trasla l’archetipo dalla Bestia all’uomo meschino, strappa il vile dagli eroi (eroi?), ponendo in bella mostra meccaniche comportamentali allarmanti e verosimili. Regressione e rettiliani, impulsi primigeni, mostruosità lontane e pulsioni del dopo-bomba, crismi capaci di  metabolizzare, specchiandovisi, le paure dell’epoca, ancora una volta e nonostante Corman non abbia quasi mai alzato il volume degli echi politicizzanti; al limite, pare più incline ad antropologicizzare e a sintetizzare una Storia dell’Azione Umana negli ottanta minuti disponibili, sfruttando il contesto pretestuoso, mostrandocelo con il monster-movie di serie B.  La casa-rifugio si popola sempre più, gli equilibri da un certo momento in avanti si spezzano e i mostri, quelli veri, saranno rivelati: dalla fine all’inizio, avviando il rewind spirituale che parte dalla catstrofe e agogna affannosamente di riscoprire la condizione sine qua non per sussistere e fare reboot. Ovvio, tuttavia, che gli embrioni e gli schizzi della poetica mondo-disastrato/pericolo-là-fuori ne esca pesantemente incartapecorita, tanto da scoraggiare la visione a meno che non osanniate Corman – il che basterebbe per costringervi a visionare non solo questo, ma anche tutti gli altri – o che non siate cinefili con la volontà di addentrarvi nel sottosuolo, scovando quel humus che recentemente ha consentito il trapianto di quei germogli in epoca recente. Tutto per merito dell’innovazione tecnologica.

This video collection of the 100 best lines from The Wire is so NSFW it isn’t even funny. Actually, it is pretty funny a lot of the time. There are easily 100 more lines just as good, too.

Back in those innocent days when publishers didn’t consider the designation “midlist” a synonym for “leper colony,” Brian Moore was the ultimate midlist writer: a producer of consistently excellent to great and near-great books, a critical fave, unspectacular but steady sales, occasionally courted by movieland — The Luck of Ginger Coffey was an early star vehicle for Robert Shaw, Cold Heaven made for one of Nicholas Roeg’s better films, and Catholics was an unlikely made-for-TV success. This fine essay reminds us of Moore’s qualities, and why his work deserves to be returned to print.

Attercop! Attercop! (Via Jeff.)

As anyone who’s ever enjoyed one can tell you, an eggcream is a drink named after the two things it never contains. The same principle applies to the upcoming memoir by Karl Rove.

Considering that Roger Corman launched the careers of Francis Ford Coppola, Jack Nicholson, Jonathan Demme, James Cameron, Peter Bogdanovich, John Sayles, and Martin Scorsese, I’d say that Oscar was waaaay overdue.

“Her domineering father was the president of Tenneco and pals with men like Sen. John Tower, she grew up with George W. Bush, she was engaged to the son of a diplomat who did the CIA’s bidding. But after years of going to war with her controlling old man, devouring seditious issues of the muckraking Texas Observer, and furtively meeting the bravest Texas progressives, she eventually decided to raise a middle finger to all of her gilded upbringing.”

It was the biggest leopard seal the photographer had ever seen. So, naturally, he dove into the frigid Antarctic waters and swam up to it. And then the strangest thing happened.

La próxima ceremonia de los Oscar se postula como el inicio de una nueva era, como parecen indicar esa propuesta de diez candidatas a Mejor Película que tanto dio que hablar. ¿Significará eso que la ceremonia será aún más larga que de costumbre? No, porque los nuevos productores de la gala han adelantado la entrega de los Oscar honoríficos para ahorrar tiempo de cara al 7 de marzo. Así, el pasado sábado se dieron en Los Angeles los premios Governor de la Academia de las Ciencias y las Artes Cinematográficas (ey, ese es su nombre completo), que este año fueron para Lauren Bacall, el director de fotografía Gordon Willis (¡gracias, Tito Gray!), el productor John Calley y Roger Corman.

Es comprensible que nuestros medios de comunicación centrasen su atención en Bacall e ignorasen por completo al tal Calley, pero la ausencia total de comentarios acerca de Corman es inaceptable. El director, productor, guionista y actor ocasional es mucho más que el rey de la serie B, pero solo esa etiqueta debería haber bastado para que alguien le dedicara un mal perfil o una mala columna. ¡Gah! Es imposible no pensar en el Goya que se le concedió a Jesús Franco el año pasado, aunque Sark me explicó (con toda la razón) que este Oscar honorífico tiene más que ver con el hecho de que la mitad de los miembros de la academia comenzaron con o fueron protegidos de Corman: Francis Ford Coppola, Martin Scorsese, Peter Bogdanovich, Ron Howard, James Cameron, Curtis Hanson, Jonathan Demme, Jack Nicholson…

En Tim Burton. Cuentos en sombras (Glénat, 2000), Jordi Sánchez-Navarro explica la importancia para la cultura popular norteamericana de una de las etapas más interesantes de la carrera de Corman, su ciclo de adaptaciones de Edgar Allan Poe. Más concretamente, el director convirtió un clásico de la cultura en un objeto de consumo: “Corman llevó a cabo un proceso de reconstrucción de una obra similar al ejecutado por los artistas pop (…) La obra maestra de la literatura (…) se convertía en puro objeto de explotación, en objeto de supermercado, hasta el punto de que los niños pueden parrasafear al poeta y quieren ser como Vincent Price“. Esta es la clave de un cortometraje como Vincent (1982), en el que un Tim Burton que nunca había leído a Poe pudo, gracias a la influencia mediúmnica de Corgan, reproducir su imaginería en stop-motion. Corman concibió la posibilidad de adaptar La caída de la Casa Usher (1840) como una manera de manejar presupuestos más amplios y condiciones de rodaje razonables bajo una excusa respetable, pero acabó construyendo un ciclo influyente y lleno de aciertos estéticos que acercó a Poe a varias generaciones. Y esta es solo una de las facetas de este auténtico estajanovista del cine, de este amante de su trabajo. Como se suele decir, ya era hora de que alguien reconociera su labor.

Lo de los Oscars es… es como todo. Vale, esto es lo mismo que no decir nada. Pero sabéis lo que quiero decir: al fin y al cabo son premios que la propia industria concede a sus productos y muchas veces no se sabe qué tipo de intereses priman. Premios necesariamente olvidables y olvidadizos, porque grandes películas que han cambiado para siempre la historia del cine han permanecido olvidadas para los premios.

Aún más sangrante es el caso de los creadores, sobre todo si se han mantenido al margen de la gran industria. Por eso hoy no he podido evitar alegrarme, alegrarme de verdad. Porque uno de los Oscars honoríficos de este año, entregados este fin de semana, ha sido ni más ni menos que para Roger Corman (y, por cierto, otro para Lauren Bacall… que ya les vale…).

Corman fue durante los 60 y los 70 el equivalente americano a la Hammer londinense. En Inglaterra contaban con Terence Fisher, Christopher Lee o Peter Cushing. En Estados Unidos, la llamada Serie B tenía un nombre, y ese nombre era Roger Corman. El creador infatigable que, con mucho (muchísimo) talento y poco (pero poco poco poco!!!) dinero, nos hizo pasar terror del bueno, apoyado por el enorme Vincent Price y, en muchas ocasiones, por los relatos de Poe (El pozo y el péndulo, El entierro prematuro, La máscara de la muerte roja, La caída de la Casa Usher,…).

Casi 400 películas producidas y más de 50 dirigidas lo contemplan, junto con la reconocida admiración de grandes del cine de hoy, como Ron Howard, Quentin Tarantino o Jonathan Demme, quien le rindió el más merecido de los homenajes al darle un pequeño papel en El silencio de los corderos.

Mi muy estimado señor Corman, desde la insignificancia de alguien que aprendió a amar el cine viendo sus películas en los cines de reestreno, mi más sincera enhorabuena. Y sobre todo gracias. Muchas gracias.

A crazy old woman once made a very wise point. She was talking about children and said the following   ” Raising good children is like making a sponge cake. You put only the best eggs, flour, and butter. You watch it rise in the best degree of environment. You take it out of the oven carefully and it falls…” A complete disaster that started with the best of intentions. At the end you realize you had very little control over the outcome. That’s how it goes with cakes and Presidents.

Being crazy does not mean being stupid . Lets talk about voting in President Obama. You were not crazy for wanting Change you could believe in. He was not stupid when he sold you his vision of a better future. Nearing his first year in office would you think voting him in was a crazy idea or a stupid one?

Watching President Obama in his first year has been akin to watching a very poor B movie where the script makes no sense and the actors are ineffectual entertainers. The lead character in a Roger Corman  movie struts a lot across the various landscapes portraying himself for what he is,  an ideological and petulant flower  man-child who suffers from being a spineless and frightened person.

Whatever is baking at the White House is sure to fall.

Andrea

I have only seen a handful of his films, but I have enjoyed Roger Corman’s directorial efforts so far. How bad could things go with Jack Nicholson and Boris Karloff on board?

Lt. Andre Duvalier, a French soldier separated from his regiment, comes upon a beautiful and mysterious woman. After leading him to clean drinking water they stroll together to the sea where she walks into the rough waters and disappears. Duvalier’s attempt to follow her is thwarted when a bird attacks him, rendering him unconscious. When he awakes in the home of an old woman she claims to have never seen the woman. Unable to put her out of his mind, he journeys on, and is eventually led to the castle of Baron Van Leppe. His mysterious beauty is linked to the castle, and the Baron himself, and Duvalier is determined to unlock the secrets.

I might have found this considerably less tolerable had Nicholson and Karloff not appeared. I’ve always been a Nicholson fan and who doesn’t enjoy Karloff? I would not say this was a shining moment for either actor. Nicholson as a French officer? No accent to be found of course, and perhaps that is best. I feel relatively confident that a French officer, or just your average dude could have pried off and made short work of a single bird. The bird actually had a back story which added to the convuluted silliness of the proceedings. As for unlocking the Baron’s secret, you can pretty much guess what that is well before it is divulged. Duvalier is all business and never really seems all that shocked or surprised by the goings on. Granted, it’s not exactly terrifying, but it is certainly peculiar, so more reaction would probably have been appropriate. There are a few more scene and story related issues I could list. To be honest, I don’t really want to spend too much more time on this review, it just didn’t move me. The plot gets even shakier and more illogical as it moves along. In short, story is not ‘The Terror’s’ strongest point.

It does have some lovely sets like a big old caverness castle with secret passageways and a spooky graveyard. It also has a nice dream-like look about it that makes it easy to watch. The capable and likeable cast of Boris Karloff, Jack Nicholson, Sandra Knight and Dick Miller help make up for some of the films lesser qualities. It is so much easier to review films I really enjoyed or out right hated. These middle of the road flicks cause me writers block. ‘The Terror’ is forgettable but not unwatchable. Rent at your own risk.

Dungeon Rating: 2.5/5

Directed By: Roger Corman

Starring: Boris Karloff, Jack Nicholson, Sandra Knight, Dick Miller, Dorothy Neumann, Jonathan Haze

Kirk Douglas, Quentin Tarantino, Anjelica Huston and Jonathan Demme will be presenting at what you could call the pre-Oscars. It’s the Governors Awards.

On November 14 they’ll be presenting honorary Oscars to Lauren Bacall, Roger Corman and cinematographer Gordon Willis.

They’ll also give the Irving G. Thalberg Memorial Award to producer-executive John Calley.

It’s a black tie dinner with 600 invited guests at the Grand Ballroom at Hollywood and Highland Center. That’s next door to the Kodak Theatre where the Oscars will be held March 7.

As a side note, we don’t know who’ll host the Oscars next year, but we do know who won’t. Hugh Jackman.

Variety reports that Jackman has turned down the job, saying he didn’t want to do it two years in a row.

He didn’t rule out hosting again in the future.

(Copyright 2009 by The Associated Press.  All Rights Reserved.)

So here’s the rest of my last minute horror marathon.  There is no way this is going to be as wordy as my first fugue fest post. I’ll manage a few comments as I go.

My little festival seems to have been swirling around past icons like Price, Lee, & Cushing. They had a charismatic power that seems lacking in the usual suspects of horror these days. Inbred rednecks, zombies, and masked killers are how we like our madmen now. I miss that old spectre of sophisticated malignance. I mean The Pit and The Pendulum is carried on Price’s satin shoulders and Corman’s 60s savvy gothic camera.

Though I was slow to recognize how great he was, I know now that Paul Naschy is probably the last old school horror icon we have left. And he will probably be obscure forever simply because of his pure dedication to horror of the past. Not that he is not savvy to the rhythms of his prime era, the 70s. Spanish horror of that era has always felt like the film equivalent of 70s marvel horror comics but with that regional flavor. Horror Rises From The Tomb has an atmosphere that can overcome any shortcomings. Well unless you have problems with resurrected warlocks and half naked spanish starlets.  It seems almost (heh) innocent to modern sensibilities.

The final film of my little horror soiree was Anguish. It was not intended to be the last film.  It is a tribute to a type of film that in this day would be impossible to do. With the spoiler infested info-sphere we live in these days, its secrets are a click away.  While there are good performances from Michael Lerner and Zelda Rubenstein, this is a movie strangely without a central performance to hold it together. It is an enjoyable film but certainly anticlimactic after all these villain driven vehicles that I managed to cram into the last hours of Halloween. Stay tuned !

It feels like a country age since I last put up a post of substance. Please accept my apologies for the slackness on the blog front as I’m writing my dissertation and the treatment / script for the next flick which will be shooting sometime around March / April. We’re currently in the process of cleaning up The Three Tenners for entry into next years Edinburgh International Film Festival so everything that can be crossed, is crossed for that.

The dissertation is on the subject of adaptation which has meant watching tons of interesting flicks. I’m on a little strand of the Roger Corman / Edgar Allan Poe adaptations so it’s maybe right I should bring some of this stuff to your attention, should you have seen them or not. There’s 8 of them in total which Corman made between 1960 and 1964….. That’s almost 2 flicks a year, and he was making films in between! 5 day features man, bring em’ back. Well I suppose Shane Meadows already has with Le Donk.

Anyway, here they are in chronological order….. Seek them out!

House of Usher (1960)

Pit and the Pendulum (1961)

The Premature Burial (1962)

Tales of Terror (1962)

The Raven (1963)

The Haunted Palace (1963)

The Masque of the Red Death (1964)

The Tomb of Ligeia (1964)

bitch, she’s T-N-T
and she fights like she makes love:
naked, but lights off

Quotable quote #1:
TNT Jackson: [turning off the lights in preparation for a fight] You want it black? You got it black!

Most of my favourite scenes involved Elaine, a (white) lady that is somehow involved with the men TNT is after. TNT doesn’t really think much of her — she calls her a bitch, calls her fat, she leaves her to be raped — you know how catty girls can be. Please excuse the language, but this is a pretty good example of a typical TNT/Elaine exchange:

Elaine: First of all, I’m not what you think I am.
TNT Jackson: I know. You’re a Girl Scout working on your badge for the equality of niggers.
Elaine: I’m a government agent.
TNT Jackson: Oh yeah? Well, I’m Snow White suffering from a sunburn.

This guy and his sweet flamethrower are not found in this film.

like every future,
it’s post-apocalyptic
and explodes a lot.

Note #1: There is almost an obscene number of mortar explosions in this movie. An average one explosion every ten seconds would be a conservative estimate. A great deal of this movie is just people running across rocky landscapes with big, harmless explosions happening a safe distance away. For a society where gunpowder has become more valuable than gold, they use it with curious frequency.

Note #2: This is another one from the team of noted Filipino director Cirio H. Santiago and “King of the Bs” Roger Corman. Angelfist! TNT Jackson! About a hundred other ones!

Alcuni rapinatori svaligiano la banca nei pressi di una stazione sciistica, con il diversivo di una esplosione programmata in una miniera poco distante. La miniera è tuttavia abitata da un mostro, che avrà variamente a che fare con i rapinatori. Questi, nel frattempo, dopo il colpo vanno a rifugiarsi nella baita del maestro di sci, dove rimangono bloccati dal maltempo, mentre alcuni rapporti già tesi cominciano a spezzarsi.

Il primo film di Monte Hellman è prodotto da Roger Corman, ed è strettamente legato ai suoi modi e al suo stile.
Caratteristiche cormaniane tipiche di quel periodo sono infatti sia il soggetto, una variante di L’isola di Corallo di Huston, sia l’aggiunta di un mostro di cartapesta (però figo, quando succhia il sangue dal collo; una specie di incrocio tra un ragno, un uomo e un vampiro).

Hellman riesce tuttavia a inserire alcuni degli elementi che diventeranno a lui peculiari, e che qua si trovano ancora in nuce.
Per esempio, la gratuità sfumata di assurdo di alcune battute di dialogo, slegate dal contesto; la rilevazione di tentativi di modellare la vita in maniera diversa da quella assunta come consueta, rappresentati per un verso dalle decisioni del maestro di sci (e anche dalla presenza di una sua amica/domestica nativa americana, con il portato della sua cultura), per altro verso dalle scelte operate dai rapinatori; la constatazione che, tuttavia, sia gli uni che gli altri si trovino in balia di un Fato che nega loro identità e autonomia, e che essi tentano, benché del tutto inconsapevolmente, di contrastare, attaccandosi a una vuota ripetizione di gesti (colpire con l’accetta sempre uno stesso moncone di tronco d’albero. Scena che si ripeterà in Le colline blu), o a una realizzazione vitale illusoria tramite il denaro.

La sostanza hellmaniana, ancora agli esordi nel cinema, non riesce ad assumere una propria autonomia rispetto a quella del B-movie con gangster + mostro, realizzato anche in maniera piuttosto approssimativa. Similmente, questo film sembra fornire maggiori spiragli positivi alla vita umana, benché sia difficile stabilire se questi dipendano da una parabola autoriale o piuttosto dal genere e dalla produzione di riferimento.
Guizzano tuttavia alcune marche personali, che in parte riscattano un’opera altrimenti banale.

[Qua, parzialmente differente e più approfondita]