Effervescing elephant

Initiated by Ben at Lucid Screening, today’s White Elephant Blogathon has a cool premise: participants submit the title of a film they’d like to see written about, and in return write a review of a film suggested by someone else. Ben’s guidelines recommend a veer toward the bad or insufferable, believing we’d be better off reviewing good movies on our own blogs. That’s unfortunate considering the overlooked gems that could use a little exposure, but…c’est la vie.

    Nonetheless, it does provide an opportunity to see something heretofore unknown, and in my case it was Teen Witch (1989), a selection readily available from Netflix. They sent a very clean and shiny disc in mint condition…as if it had never been touched or rented before. A little voice inside said, “uh-oh.”

    A comedy about a girl unlocking dormant magical powers on her sixteenth birthday, Teen Witch is basic Cinderella fluff, and not a little reminiscent of what you’d find on the Disney channel. With its observations of the white middleclass yield to rap music, big hair and Yuppie pep (or is it Preppie yup?), the film may comfort anyone hankering for ‘80s nostalgia. But the wafer-thin scenario of a virginal ‘plain Jane’ honors student (the pretty Robyn Lively saddled with frizzy coif and frumpy wardrobe) transformed into a superficial, sexed-up prom queen is as pedestrian as the limp spells she casts.

    Not for lack of trying. Its choreographed musical numbers indicate that someone at least attempted to liven things up. The cast of slender and attractive teens with their impeccably styled hair are a notch above the talent usually found slumming in lowbrow teen comedy. Among the scattered (and scatterbrained) adults, they’ve included Dick Sargent, the second Darren Stevens from TV’s Bewitched; and ‘70s game show regular Marcia Wallace, who resembles Peter Cushing after a botched sex change. Zelda Rubenstein, the “go into the light” dwarf from Poltergeist, counsels Teen Witch Lively in the not-so black arts.

    Director Dorian Walker shows little aptitude for the material. (Dorian’s previous accomplishment was the Judd Nelson comedy, The Last American Preppie in 1984.) Otherwise the only familiar name among the crew is Vernon Zimmerman, who co-wrote the screenplay (with Robin Menken) some years following his erratic tenure in exploitation pictures. After directing Lemon Hearts (1962; starring Taylor Mead), Zimmerman produced and directed Deadhead Miles (1972) from a script by Terrence Malick. He had a brief association with Roger Corman, writing and directing Unholy Rollers (1972), an amusing women’s roller derby movie featuring one-time B-Queen and Playboy Playmate Claudia Jennings. (One of its editors was Martin Scorsese.) Zimmerman’s peak came with Fade to Black (1980), a somber study of deranged movie fandom which he wrote and directed. It’s a pack of flicks I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find reviewed elsewhere in this Blogathon.

Some velvet morning…when I’m straight

A fellow blogger recently came across this video from 1968, Nancy Sinatra and Lee Hazlewood performing Lee’s song, Some Velvet Morning. A sucker for golden age psychedelia, I found myself playing it over and over.

    What with the slick orchestrations, alternating vocal styles and trippy lyrics laced with mythological references, it’s like something Monte Hellman would’ve concocted had he invented Muzak. (Some of it could pass for outtakes from The Trip.) Crisscrossing from Lee’s guttural country twang to Nancy’s Pre-Raphaelite merry-go-round chant, the duet relates the conflict between self will and life on life’s terms. But I’ve yet to figure out how Phaedra fits into any of this…perhaps some morning when I’m straight:

Lee:
Some velvet morning when I'm straight
I'm gonna open up your gate
And maybe tell you 'bout Phaedra
and how she gave me life
and how she made it in
Some velvet morning when I'm straight

Nancy:
Flowers growing on the hill
Dragonflies and daffodils
Learn from us very much
Look at us but do not touch
Phaedra is my name

Lee:
Some velvet morning when I'm straight
I'm gonna open up your gate
And maybe tell you 'bout Phaedra
and how she gave me life
and how she made it in
Some velvet morning when I'm straight

Nancy:
Flowers are the things we knew
Secrets are the things we grew
Learn from us very much
Look at us but do not touch
Phaedra is my name

Lee:
Some velvet morning when I'm straight
Nancy:
Flowers growing on the hill
Lee:
I'm gonna open up your gate
Nancy:
Dragonflies and daffodils
Lee:
And maybe tell you 'bout Phaedra
Nancy:
Learn from us very much
Lee:
And how she gave me life
Nancy:
Look at us but do not touch
Lee:
and how she made it in

Brief takes: blind and drunk

Taylor, Dillon and Tomei: drinks all around

A slow day moving into a slow night: Casting Matt Dillon as Charles Bukowski’s alter ego, Henry Chinaski, in Factotum (2006) initially seemed dicey: wasn’t the actor too healthy, buff and handsome to be playing an unemployable barfly artiste milling about the tenderloin district of humanity? As it turns out, Matt wears rosacea well. Shot in some marvelously dilapidated sections of Minneapolis, the film is a retread of the author’s boozy vignettes used earlier in Barbet Schroeder’s Barfly (1987). But Dillon’s character is far less theatrical than Mickey Rourke’s was in that cherished cult hit. Producer Jim Stark and director Bent Hamer take a deadpan approach to Bukowski’s wild, poetic soul and come up with a portrait of the artistic process that’s both gritty and charming. With Lili Taylor and Marisa Tomei.

Neal, Eggar and Jurgens: love is blind

Denial is the longest river in the world: Before he was exiled to mediocrity in television, director Alexander Singer caught my attention with his debut feature, A Cold Wind in August (1961). A back alley romance between a young man and an older stripper, it had depth and sensitivity…to say nothing of some excellent photography by Floyd Crosby and a wonderful performance by Lola Albright. It also kept me on the lookout for Singer’s second feature, Psyche 59 (1964), which played recently as part of a Patricia Neal festival on TCM. I’d like to report that the wait was worth all those years of anticipation, but that’s not the case. While it has an intriguing premise—Neal suffers psychosomatic blindness as a metaphor for living in denial over her husband’s attraction to her nymphomaniac sister—Singer wastes the first hour on turgid, meandering soap opera. By the time we get to her breakthrough, it’s too little too late. Sad, because the last twenty minutes are rather compelling. Meanwhile, I have no idea what the title refers to. With Curt Jurgens and Samantha Eggar.

Rivette runs through it

Jacques Rivette in 2006 (click to enlarge)

The new site devoted to Jacques Rivette, Order of the Exile, announces the addition of new material:

"Jacques Rivette" (Interview) by Carlos Clarens and Edgardo Cozarinsky (1974)

"Letter on Rossellini" by Jacques Rivette (1955)

"Phantom Interviewers Over Rivette" (Interview) by Jonathan Rosenbaum, Lauren Sedofsky, Gilbert Adair (1974)

"Tih-Minh, Out 1: on the nonreception of two French serials" by Jonathan Rosenbaum (1996)

"Work and Play in the House of Fiction" by Jonathan Rosenbaum (1974)

"Jacques Rivette's Classical Illusion" by Philip Watts (2005)

Scenes from Rivette’s new film, Ne touchez pas la hache. Top: Jeanne Balibar and Guillaume Depardieu. Above: Michel Piccoli, Bulle Ogier and Ms. Balibar. No play dates have yet been announced for the United States.

Orson Brain

Powis Square mystery

A friend wrote, “I love your write up, observations and photos from the film, Performance. Maybe you can clear up something for me. Something I’ve always wondered. What is that 'thing' hanging above Turner’s bed? A stuffed bird? A stuffed animal? It is really weird. Do you know what it is? It can be seen right before Anita Pallenberg enters Turner’s room while Turner and Lucy are sleeping. Since I got my DVD I’ve been trying to figure it out!” The two screen grabs above click to enlarge. Anyone who knows what this is, please leave a comment.

Blonde on Bond

Daniel Craig as 007 (click to enlarge)

In Casino Royale (2006), we’re “introduced” to James Bond, a young assassin climbing the ladder to the coveted double-0 license of the British Secret Service. A tough, uncompromising action picture, it’s based on the first of Ian Fleming’s novels—copyright entanglements kept it from the official Bond franchise until now. By admitting the job “has a short life expectancy,” this new Bond (expertly played by Daniel Craig) brings up an interesting possibility: rather than the character’s actual name, shouldn’t “James Bond” be the moniker assigned to the current holder of the 007 license? It would certainly help depersonalized the man, explain the five actors who came before, and clear up the fact that the guy who sent Dr. No to his grave back in 1962 would be in his seventies by now.

    Among the few holdovers from the earlier movies, Judi Dench’s spy chief calls him “a blunt instrument,” and she’s right on the moneypenny. Ordering a vodka martini, he’s asked “stirred or shaken?” and replies, “Do I look like I care?” No, he doesn’t. Craig’s Bond is nearly an automaton, cold, arrogant, a little stupid, barely sophisticated, a reactionary with a chip on his shoulder, having no apparent affinity for art, education, culture or refinement—007 for the Bush generation.

Ivana Milicevic as Valenka (click to enlarge)

    He discovers an underworld bank lending money to terrorist groups through high stakes gambling and stock market scams. After picking up leads around the globe and a love affair with a no-nonsense accountant (Eva Green), Bond arrives at the title spot for a round of multimillion dollar poker with an asthmatic bad guy named Le Chiffre, played with suave menace by Danish actor Mads Mikkelsen. All the while fending off machete-wielding crazies and a bout of cardiac arrest…

    Cultivated in the 1960s and 70s by producers Albert R. Broccoli and Harry Saltzman and writer Richard Maibaum, the Bonds have never been a director’s milieu, but Martin Campbell mixes action, romance and drama better than most—as he demonstrated eleven years ago in Goldeneye (1995). With Barbara Broccoli taking over as producer for her late father, joined by co-producer Michael G. Wilson, the screenwriting team of Neal Purvis, Robert Wade and Paul Haggis bypass the gadgetry and gizmos of past Bonds and concentrate on the meat of Fleming’s book, down to a gruesome torture scene that was the most graphic thing the author ever wrote.

    Although it runs a hefty 144 minutes, the picture never drags. Nearly every moment flies by at fever pitch, from miraculous chases to romantic interludes. Without giving too much away, Bond’s trail leads to the proverbial mansion on the hill. He’s eliminated underlings and kingpins like Le Chiffre for years, but here he goes the distance and collars ‘The Man,’ the guy pulling the strings from an ivory tower. Bravo! It’s high time.

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The honeymooners

“Over the past fifty years, Claude Chabrol has put together a unique body of work, an ongoing study of human behavior often set in the thriller genre. His stories of murder and deception have invited comparisons with Alfred Hitchcock, yet ever since Le Beau Serge (1958) and continuing in more than sixty features through La Fleur du mal (2003), he’s sharpened his skills in satire and as a critic of mores and morality, often at the expense of the bourgeoisie. Hitchcock? At this point in time, the parallel to Luis Buñuel seems hard to ignore.” Read the review of La Demoiselle d'honneur now on Flickhead!

A Mickey Mouse operation

When writing the book, Walt Disney: The Triumph of the American Imagination, author Neal Gabler “was granted full access to the company’s archive…and it has resulted in the most exhaustive biographical study yet rendered on this pivotal figure in the cultural stratosphere. But while the book, at least in part, is an effort to rescind some measure of the scorn that began to accumulate around the man and his films prior to his passing in 1966, it does Gabler some credit that he manages to defend the honor of his subject without retailing for new generations the limited and ultimately empty Uncle Walt folklore that helped usher Disney into critical purgatory in the first place.” Click here to read Tom Sutpen’s review on Flickhead.

Wild Man Fischer

On Monday, March 5 at 9pm EST, the Sundance Channel will present the documentary, Derailroaded: Inside the Mind of Larry ‘Wild Man’ Fischer. We’d asked the filmmakers for an advance screener to review on Flickhead, but were politely denied—a disastrous PR move that usually indicates a turkey in the oven. Nonetheless, we’re still optimistic, for Mr. Fischer is one of the more colorful figures of his time. Here’s a rundown of the film, prepared for the Back Seat Film Festival:

    In this shocking and sensitive 86-minute journey through the thunderstorms of the mind of paranoid-schizophrenic Larry “Wild Man” Fischer, we follow his discordant encounters in the music business. Institutionalized at 16 after attacking his mother with a knife, Fischer wandered the mean streets of L.A. singing his totally unique brand of songs for 10¢ to passersby. Discovered by Frank Zappa, with whom he cut his first record album, Fischer became an underground club and concert favorite, earning him the title of "godfather of outsider music." Over the course of 40 years, he appeared on national television (Rowan & Martin’s Laugh-in) and the Top 50 music charts in England, was the subject of his own comic book, was the first artist to be recorded on Rhino Records, and sang a duet with the late Rosemary Clooney.

    Extensive archival footage from Fischer’s early days, including his TV and club performances, trace his life from neglected child to tortured genius. We visit him at home, follow him on the streets, and speak with those who over the years witnessed – and survived – his erratic behavior: his family, his doctor, and industry professionals (including Frank and Gail Zappa, Weird Al Yankovic, Devo’s Mark Mothersbaugh, Solomon Burke, Dr. Demento, and Billy Mumy). You will be moved, amazed, repelled, and ultimately come to know what it is like to be profoundly DERAILROADED.

Official site

IMDb

Derailroaded at Sundance Channel

Over the hump

The following is a contribution for today’s Krzysztof Kieslowski Blog-A-Thon at Quiet Bubble:

With its subdued black and white photography, faux-Nino Rota score, and a metaphoric scenario all clocking in at a lean seventy-two minutes, The Big Animal looks and sounds like something from the 1960s. But it’s a relatively recent work (2000) from the Polish actor/director Jerzy Stuhr, an engrossing meditation on society, pressure and the stifled individual based on a story (‘The Camel’) by Kazimierz Orlos from a screenplay adaptation by Krzysztof Kieslowski.

    The plot is deceptively simple. Left behind by a circus, a full-grown camel wanders to the house of an uncomplicated, childless middle-aged couple. Although the wife is initially bewildered by the strange and unexpected beast, her husband immediately adopts it as a pet.

    As the man and his new companion take their daily walks in the suburban village, neighbors are drawn to the odd sight and approach him about riding the camel or using it for any number of purposes. He declines to exploit or capitalize on the friendly animal, and is met with barely veiled hostility. In time, the camel becomes a burden on both the town and the man, who’s edged out of community affairs and lives on shaky ground with his wife.

    “What bothers me are not the obvious symptoms of intolerance that I’d call fascist-like aberrations,” Stuhr says in a behind-the-scenes feature included in the DVD from Milestone Films. “I’m more interested in intolerance among ordinary people, decent people.” His interpretation is less assertive about conformity than one would expect, gravitating instead toward a sensibility closer in spirit to James Thurber. And on more than one occasion the film had me thinking of Albert Lamorisse’s The Red Balloon (1956).

    It seems apparent that Kieslowski—who was once set to direct—would’ve worked from the political subtext of the source material. There’s a wealth of Kafkaesque persecution and paranoia waiting to be mined from Orlos’s original, but Stuhr’s innate benevolence and dry humor protects him from stepping too far into the abyss. While this certainly works to the benefit of the comedy and human drama of the picture (avoiding those murky fatalistic potholes Kieslowski often swam in), it diminishes the irony of the final act, and makes those heartwarming last moments in the zoo feel rigged. Yet other scenes, such as dinner between the couple and the camel, and an impromptu jam session between it and a clarinet, are awfully hard to resist.

    As an actor, Stuhr is from the school of plus-size pathos—Charles Laughton, Jean Hersholt, Hugo Haas. His appearances for Kieslowski brought doughy hangdog grief to the director’s patented, highly visualized style in Three Colors: White (1994) and episodes of The Decalogue (1990). His scenes with the camel in The Big Animal are evocative and touching, the work of someone well versed in alienation and loneliness. Playing his wife, Anna Dymna is an excellent counterpart, balancing beady-eyed skepticism with romantic longing. When under the spell of the animal’s charm, she’s simply radiant.

The Big Animal
Directed by Jerzy Stuhr. Screenplay by Krzysztof Kieslowski. Based on the story “The Camel” by Kazimierz Orlos. Music by Abel Korzeniowski. Cinematography by Pawel Edelman. Edited by Elzbieta Kurkowska. With Jerzy Stuhr and Anna Dymna. 73 minutes. Poland; originally released in 2000.

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