FIFTY YEARS AGO TODAY

      Fifty Years Ago Today was Saturday, April 28, 1973..A series of munition explosions injured 48 people in Roseville, California. The blasts and fire at the Southern Pacific Railroad yard were traced to overheated brakes on a box car that was transporting highly explosive aircraft ammunition… Six Irishmen were arrested by the Irish Naval Service off County Waterford, on a coaster carrying five tons of weapons destined for the Provisional Irish Republican Army... Six elderly women were killed in Kansas City, Kansas after their apartment building was set on fire. An 18-year old newspaper carrier and a 16-year old accomplice were arrested later in the day on charges of arson and six counts of murder.^[

        The top song in the country this day was TIE A YELLOW RIBBON ROUND THE OLD OAK TREE by Tony Orlando and Dawn. I trust everyone knows that one.

     Personally, I got nuthin’.  I was between shows at the time. We’d just recently closed THREE MEN ON A HORSE and GUYS AND DOLLS was a few months off. 

      I was married at the time but I can’t tell you much about it. I remember a few incidents from that not-quite-two-year disaster, but of daily life—not a clue. I honestly can’t remember our living together, what we did, what we didn’t. It truly seems as if it was something I heard about happening to someone else. Nothing to do with me.

But a Saturday night in 1973 meant “Fright Night” on Channel 41. That night The Fearmonger had his usual double feature in store for us, a John Carradine duo: the second feature, which I’d already seen, was THE UNEARTHLY. But the opener, a genuine old Universal Horror was new to me. I didn’t expect much from it, but still it was pretty neat to finally see…

CAPTIVE WILD WOMAN

It feels as if I should have seen this in ’62 on Shock Theater. It was included in the second Shock package, titled Son of Shock. But I like to think that someone at Channel 32, back in 1962, decided to spare us any of the adventures of Paula Dupree, the Ape Woman.

Probably not, but I still like to think so.

I did not enjoy CAPTIVE WILD WOMAN that night and why should I? It’s not a good movie. I’ve seen it a few times over the years and it hasn’t gotten better. Tonight I’ll be watching it again in honor of the 50th anniversary of that first viewing. There’s no reason to expect it’ll be any better this time.

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Evelyn Ankers’s considerable beauty is much too covered by the enormous hat she wears in her first scene. Then, later, she’s all smothered in a hat/scarf combo thing. She’s much too pretty to be hidden away by her own wardrobe…

                                            Enormous hat, enormous shadow, too-hidden Evie.

                Smothering hat thing. And lovely Martha MacVicar not burdened with headgear.

Fred’s bragging of bringing back 20 tigers, 20 lions, and blah blah blah doesn’t sound so great in these more enlightened times…

So Carradine’s character has taken Ankers out to dinner “several times” yet she still calls him “Dr. Walters”…

Milburn Stone was supposedly cast because his physical resemblance to Clyde Beatty made it easier to pass old Beatty footage off as being Stone. Well and good, and some of the trickery works well enough, but the resemblance is not all that strong and frequently it’s clearly not Stone when it’s supposed to be. There’s also a couple of particularly clumsy bits. Once we can clearly see Beatty in a scene of which Stone is a supposed onlooker. Another time we see Beatty in the cage facing off against the critters before Stone enters the cage…

Here in 1943 Carradine is calm, cool, a very acceptable leading man (villainous variety). Please compare to his wild-eyed moron in ’44’s VOODOO MAN. Hmm. Wonder which was more of a stretch?…

The nurse says that Carradine shouldn’t “tamper with things no man or woman should ever touch.” If she’d said “tamper in God’s domain” it would have been perfect…

It’s odd that when we first see Paula Dupree, she’s already a woman fully growed. Nothing apish about her. She’s Acquanetta! There’s no scene of monkey becoming woman…

The treatment of the animals—surely typical of the time—is frankly horrendous…

Acquanetta is a true beauty but, even with no lines to speak, it’s painfully obvious that she’s no actress. By the way, no one ever mentions her total lack of speech. Or are we supposed to think that, off-camera, Paula Dupree’s mouth runs non-stop?…

Obviously this still shows Acquanetta's beauty. Amazingly, it also somehow shows her lack of talent.

“I wonder if you’ll be that easy to train after we’re married..” Yeah, the treatment of women is also very last century…

I hate the old and/or amateur actor’s habit of holding his hands at waist level in front of him. It’s a sure sign of an actor who doesn’t know what to do with his hands. And it seems to be Lloyd Corrigan’s normal stance…

Yeah, a gorilla gal and a cage full of big cats isn’t enough excitement for a 60 minute movie. We need a big storm too and, hey, let’s have an audience panic as well…

Well…it ends, but that’s not exactly an ending.

Between the sexism, the racism, and the animal abuse, this is particularly problematic in these days.

Not a good movie, and silly in the extreme, but not without some low-brow entertainment value. And that’s quite the compliment, isn’t it?

                                                                        There's our girl.

On April 27, 1977--exactly 46 years ago today-- I got a call from my friend Charlie. He was about to

head out to Louisville’s Freedom Hall where he was going to camp out overnight in what he figured

would be a very long line in order to get a ticket to an upcoming concert when the box-office opened the

next morning.  The concert would be performed by Elvis Presley, and Charlie was a big, big Elvis fan.

He was calling to ask if he should get a ticket for me.

I wasn’t the uber-fan that Charlie was, but I did love Elvis. Who didn’t love Elvis? I asked Charlie

what the ticket would cost. My memory has always told me that the price was $8, but a little research

shows me that the actual ticket prices were $10, $12, and, for Texas oilmen, $15. I know those prices

sound absurdly, even comically low, but it was 1977 after all.

Charlie was hanging on the phone waiting for my response as my mind batted it back and forth.

On the sunny side of the net, it was Elvis. A chance to see the King of Rock ‘n’ Roll live and in person.

Hard to top that. On the shadowed side, I was, as usual, flat broke. $10 might not seem like much now

and, in truth, it wasn’t exactly a fortune in ‘77, but it was big bucks to me. I was between gigs, owed

money to my girlfriend….not good. 

I wanted to go, believe me, I did. But I just couldn’t justify in my mind laying out that ten-spot.

Especially since I’d probably have to borrow it from Debby. Sometimes poverty could be really cruel. 

But I had to give Charlie an answer. So I told him, “no…no, I can’t afford it. I hate to miss it but…

oh, I’ll catch him next time.”  And that was that. 

Of course, there would be no next time. On May 21, 1977, Elvis played his second and final

Louisville engagement.(To put it in temporal context, four days later, STAR WARS premiered.) And

shortly after that I got a job and likely could have managed ten bucks but too late.

Less than three months later, Elvis was gone at 42 years of age. Charlie got to see Elvis, but now

he’s gone too. I’m still here, at least the husk of me, still wishing I’d seen The King …Debby would

have loaned me ten bucks. I was an idiot. Still am, for that matter.

 YES, YES, FOR ONE LAST TIME, MORE RONDO NOMINEES!

Aaarrgghhh! I didn’t quite make it. Today is the last day for Rondo voting and I still have four movies unseen. Still, 17 of 21, not bad.

SCREAM… I wasn’t that hugely fond of the original (and, despite the same title, this isn’t a remake), but its saving grace was its humor and its meta approach. This one has the meta, and in spades, but not the humor, not at all. And that’s a big loss. Sans humor, this is just another high school slasher. 

It is nice to see David Arquette and the other returnees, but not even Dewey is funny. What a missed chance. 

The movie does do a nice job of setting up some obvious jump scares…and then not delivering them. I appreciated that.

I’m not sure if it’s the movie, or if I’ve changed, but there’s just no “fun” in these killings. I know how that sounds, but you know what I mean. 

Courteney Cox used to be one of the most gorgeous women ever. Now…Courteney Cox used to be one of the most gorgeous women ever. And I’m not talking about the ravages of time here. That happens to all of us. I would however, like to have a word with her nip and tuck team. I’m sure that the sagging and wrinkling of age is tougher on beautiful people than on the rest of us…still….

I’m beginning to think that slashers—which were never exactly fonts of invention—now have NO new ideas at all.

I could easily have written this movie, or half of it anyway. At least ten times I spoke the next line of dialogue before the movie character did. Can you say predictable? Can you say programmatic?  Yeah, I thought you could.

I thought sure they were setting up a last reel ‘Arbogast’, but no. They may have missed a nice homage there.

And, last but not least, it should have been 20-30 minutes shorter. 

CRIMES OF THE FUTURE … it’s nice to have Cronenberg back in the fold. First time since EXISTENZ, I guess. And this one is both beautiful and horrible to look at.

When I saw Fellini’s CITY OF WOMEN, lo those many years ago, I realized it was not a great film, but I was overwhelmed by the sheer imagination on display. Cronenberg’s imagination is nearly at the same level, just in a much more confined arena. Hey, long live the new flesh, baby!

Question: How are the James Bond films unlike the other movies in Lea Seydoux’s filmography? Answer: For 007 she keeps her clothes on.

I like Viggo, but not his whisper acting. I do understand that some of it comes from his character’s illnesses and weaknesses, still…speak up, Viggo.

Favorite line:  ‘I enjoy trauma.’

THE MENU … Anya Taylor-Joy acts and sounds like the all-American girl next door, but don’t let her fool ya. Just look at her. That is not an earthling, my friends.

The movie is unexpected and “different”. It’s hard to explain how welcome and refreshing “different” can be.

This one is very good indeed. Great settings, great cast, interesting story.

Least believable moment: Anya Taylor-Joy chowing down on a cheeseburger. That girl doesn’t look as if she’s ingested a cheeseburger’s worth of calories in her life.

I liked this one.

BARBARIAN … A disappointment, ultimately. It starts out strong. Creepy stuff, good actors, interesting characters, and a set-up which keeps the viewer in genuine suspense. Then it shifts gears, and it’s still interesting but less so. Then another turn and it’s fairly standard stuff. Too bad.

Early on we get a very good, not entirely predictable, jump scare.

When the young lady goes down into the weird, mysterious cellar to investigate after she’s boldly proclaimed she’d never go down there again, I flashed back on something I heard from a guy in a movie audience long ago. The movie was Italian horror and, yes, the leading lady was going down to the basement of this ultra-creepy house to check out the weird, spooky noises. As she opened the basement door, a guy in the audience offered good advice. He yelled, “Bitch, you go down there you deserve what you get.”

A while back I was flipping through a slew of YouTube videos, ‘cause I don’t know no better, and I found myself watching the cast of LES MISERABLES performing “One Day More” on the Tony Awards show back in 198-something. And there, getting his moment on camera, was Leo Burmester as Thénardier. I smiled when I spotted him.

        I don’t think of Leo that often, but over the last 40+ years, whenever he has entered my view or crossed my mind, it was always as “Leo, the guy who had my career.’
He didn’t really, but sorta. But not really. Just sorta. It went like this.

In 1975 I got a phone call from the producer at a local (Louisville area) dinner theater. I had worked at this theater less than a year earlier, so we knew each other. He wondered if I’d be interested in coming in to audition for the role of “Dolan” in his upcoming production of MISTER ROBERTS. Why, of course I would! So we arranged that I would meet him at the theater in just a couple of hours.
      I arrived in good time, met the producer, and read a scene. He said, “good, good, that’s fine.” Then he drew a breath and said, “this is a weird situation.” 
Turns out that he’d staged MISTER ROBERTS at another of his theaters just a few months earlier and he wanted to re-use a bunch of actors from that production. One of those actors was the guy who’d played Dolan. That being Leo Burmester.
He’d been trying to get in touch with Leo for a long time -- I think maybe he said for “a few weeks” -- but, despite leaving multiple messages with his service (ah, the olden days), Leo hadn’t called back. Earlier that very day the producer had called Leo one last time. He left a message saying that time was too short, he had to fill the role, so if Leo didn’t get back to him by 5 pm, he’d cast somebody else.
The producer told me this story in an apologetic tone. He said that the role was mine unless Leo got back to him by five o’clock. He was sorry to be so indefinite, but he needed to cast the role, he’d given Leo that ultimatum, so…
I told him I understood, no problem, and I left, driving directly home. I reached our place about, I think, 3 pm. As soon as I walked through the door, the phone rang. Of course it did. And I knew instantly what it was. Leo had just called back and accepted the role. The producer apologized again and said--as all producers do-- “I’ll find something for you in the future.”  To his credit, he did. I did four more shows for him over the next couple of years.

That’s just the beginning of the story --and my only real part in the story. Leo did the run of MISTER ROBERTS, then a couple of years later, he played a major role in the premiere production of Marsha Norman’s GETTING OUT at Actors Theater of Louisville. Probably no connection really, but I always associated Leo’s MISTER ROBERTS gig with him being hired at Actors Theater. In other words…maybe that could have been me.
The play got great reviews, as did Leo, and it moved to Off-Broadway where, again, great reviews and awards.

From there it was onward and upward for Leo. He replaced John Goodman as Pap Finn in BIG RIVER on Broadway. He originated Broadway roles in LES MIS, BURIED CHILD, THE CIVIL WAR and others. He also appeared in a bunch of movies and TV shows, where I would regularly spot him. Most of his film work was in pretty small roles, but there were also some more substantial parts. And, small or large, he did get to work with Martin Scorsese, James Cameron, William Friedkin, Sidney Lumet, and Clint Eastwood. Lotsa great stuff. 

        Of course, there’s no real career theft here unless you count him taking the MISTER ROBERTS job from me. His role in GETTING OUT was not something which I’d have done well, and it was that which led to everything else for Leo. So, no, it wasn’t so much that Leo had my career as that I could watch him work and pretend that “I could have done that.” I never ground my teeth because he got roles that I didn’t. Matter of fact, I smiled when I saw him. He felt like a connection to my own past. A guy who’d made good.

        I only met Leo once or twice, way back in those Aulden Dayes, and our meetings were merely of the “hey, nice to see you…hey, how are you?” sort of thing.

Leo died in 2007 of, apparently, a tick bite. One of Nature’s lousy jokes. 

YET STILL MORE EVEN RONDO NOMINEES

TERRIFIER 2 … Two hours and 19 minutes is just way way too long for a slasher. I guess that’s what a successful first film does for you—makes you feel you can do anything.

The first one had a few spooky moments to go with the gore. This one is just grossness, pure and simple.

These “final girls” really need to study their predecessors. Go all the way back to Jamie Lee. Study what she did right and, more importantly, what she did wrong. Mainly: YOU CAN’T KILL THE BOOGEYMAN. 

Okay, we know that the gory dream sequence is just a dream, but it doesn’t remotely feel like a dream. Intentional? Or just lousy filmmaking?

Of course the movie doesn’t make sense—it is nonsense after all, but, I think for the first time ever, this movie shows me that even nonsense has its limits. Ultimately even the nonsense becomes unforgivably nonsensical and the expected lack of logic is just too too damned illogical to pass.

I have contributed a couple of times to crowdfunded movies, but I am not one of the 17 zintillion Indiegogo supporters listed at the end of the movie…so don’t blame me.

GUILLERMO DEL TORO’S PINOCCHIO… It’s a shame that I can spill so many words out on such undeserving movies, then something actually good comes along and I have so little to say.

The problem here is mine. It’s not you, Guillermo, it’s me! I recognize that the care and the artistry and the craftsmanship which went into this one were very high indeed. Very admirable. Even beautiful. But…I’m just not an animation guy. For a while it’s all very ooh neat look at that then more footage unreels and I realize that my mind is wandering. I’m just not paying attention and just not caring very much.

In my defense, I will say that, apart from all the physical beauty on display, I had my doubts about the script and even more doubts about the music.

I did love the movie’s last line, a reflection on time and life and mortality. “What happens, happens. And then we are gone.”

MEN … Is it odd? Yes, it is. Is it weird? Why, yes, yes it is. Is it any good? Again, yes. Sure thing.

It’s also grim and depressing. Not too surprising since the same director’s HEREDITARY, was 3/4 of a terrific horror film and 100% a downer. I haven’t yet watched his MIDSOMMAR. The reasons I give myself for not watching that one are that it’s too long and that I’m just not that fond of nature and mythology horrors. (There’s a term for those…what is it? Can’t remember.) Now, though, I must add another reason for not watching MIDSOMMAR…I imagine it too will be depressing and I don’t need that.

Early on I noticed that a couple of the male actors looked familiar, but I couldn’t place them. A little later it occurred to me that these guys just looked alike. Bad casting, I thought. Yeah, I’m sharp as a tack. Eventually—much too late—I recognized the truth.

What did I see in this movie which I never expected to see anywhere ever? [Oooh, I’m gonna guess—was it seeing Rory Kinnear give birth?] No, Buckwheat, seeing Rory Kinnear give birth was not what I never expected to see. No, what I never expected to see was Rory Kinnear giving birth FOUR FREAKING TIMES!!

Wonderful acting, some terrific and creepy set pieces, but, just when it seems about to land on some meaningfulness, it trips and the claim is lost.

GOT MACE?

Remember Mace? Well, I guess it's still around, but it was the '60s when it came to prominence and when everybody knew of it. It was sort of the first pepper spray stuff, at least the first I ever knew of. Cops would use it at riots or with a troublesome arrest or whenever they felt like it.

Who here has been Maced? Raise your hands.

I was Maced. By a cop. Yeah, one of those heartless, brutal pigs sprayed me with the stuff. And what did I do to deserve this? Hey, man, I was just sitting there livin’ a free life, chillin’, trackin’ my own groove, man, doing nothing, causing no harm. My mistake, my single terrible mistake, was asking one simple, inoffensive question. That’s all, I swear.

And who was this cop? Well…it was my father.

My parents were divorced and Dad had moved out when I was nine years old. But in later years, when I was older, if he was patrolling in a cop car without a partner, he would frequently stop in front of our house and honk the horn. I would then be expected to go sit in the car with him and help him to pass the time. I guess that was the intent. I didn’t look forward to these visits because I really had very little to say to my dad.

This occasion, I’m going to guess I was about 16, maybe a year or so either way. I sat in the passenger seat of the police car, Dad behind the wheel. I saw his can of Mace in a cup-holder sort of thing between the seats. I’d certainly heard of Mace, but I could never quite figure how a simple spray could really bother folks that much. What? Did it smell bad? Did it irritate the eyes? I didn’t get it. I couldn’t quite believe it.

So I asked Dad that simple, innocent question. I pointed at the Mace and asked, “does that stuff really work?”  Dad said, “hold out your hand.”  So I held my left hand toward him, palm up. He pulled the Mace can from its holder and spritzed one quick, tiny puff into the palm of my hand. I didn’t sense anything, so I leaned in for a little sniff. Still nothing. I was just about to say, “I don’t smell a thing” when my head exploded. 

It felt as if the entire inside of my head and a sizable portion of my face were melting. The contents of my skull were on fire. Every liquid in my head (including those solids which had just melted) started pouring out of every available orifice. Well, not my blood. Thankfully, that stayed inside, where it merely boiled. 

I couldn’t speak, could barely breathe. Somehow I managed to get out of the car and stumble into our house. I could barely crack an eye open to see where I was going, but eventually I found the bathroom, turned on the water, ran it over my poisonous left hand and started flinging water into my eyes, over and over. At first it had no effect at all and I feared that this agony would last the rest of my (hopefully) very short life. 

I don’t know how long I stood there snuffling, snorting, leaking, and crying, throwing water at myself. It felt like a long time. It felt as if I’d started in early autumn, moved through the holidays and into the new year. Somewhere around spring, I began to feel some relief. In earth time, I expect it was 5-10 minutes. Forever, in other words.

Finally, the pain was gone. I looked at myself in the mirror and it wasn’t pretty. My eyeballs were as red as the center of a properly cooked steak and the skin around my eyes, nose, and mouth was maybe one shade more toward medium rare.

I plodded back outside where Dad was still sitting in the cop car. He had a huge smile on his face. I got into the car. He was pointedly not looking directly at me and he was stifling a laugh. I said, “yeah, it works.” And then he did laugh. 

Dad…what a card!