Bride of The Monster (1956)

Ed Wood seems to have a status as one of the worst, if not the worst film director of the 20th century. This reputation, established by snarky works such as the Medved Brothers Golden Turkey books, and maintained through the likes of Tim Burton's, admittedly well intentioned, film Ed Wood is, to my mind unfair, as a movie like Bride of the Monster ably demonstrates. While I am not suggesting Wood should be put on a pedestal with the likes of Kubrick or Kurosawa, nobody who produces work this entertaining and unhinged can possibly be called a failure.

Dr. Eric Vornoff (Bela Lugosi, in one of his final roles) is holed up in his secret lab with his mute sidekick, Lobo, trying to build an army of atomic supermen so that he can conquer the Earth. Unfortunately, thanks to his decision to use a giant pet octopus to guard the lab, he seems to be attracting the attention of the local police. It seems the creature is responsible for the deaths of some of the local townsfolk, news which also attracts both a determined reporter and a shadowy figure from Vornoff's past.

Now, granted, on a technical level, it is certainly possible to point out some flaws in Wood's approach to filmmaking. His shot compositions are often flat and uninspired, and he seems unwilling or unable to get anything like decent performances from his actors (or hire decent actors in the first place). 

Instead, Wood's skills lie in his montage of ideas, and his relentless energy and enthusiasm. A lesser director might have buckled under the strain of a morphine-addicted star, a minuscule budget, a rancher turned film producer insisting his son take a major part, and a malfunctioning stolen mechanical prop - but not Edward D Wood Jr.  Unfazed, he works like a chef, blending whatever ingredients are to hand. He has Bela Lugosi, so we can have a mad scientist character (he certainly makes a wise choice by giving as much screen time as he does to Lugosi, the film's biggest human asset). It's the 1950s, so he has the perfect subject matter, with everyone thinking about atomic power, and its consequences for humanity - such as giving people superpowers; and he has access to a giant rubber octopus - so that’s the creature for the feature sorted, even if it means that the people being attacked by it have to move the creature's limbs themselves.

In addition, a lesser writer might have made a boring script. So many 50s monster flicks are largely turgid affairs, but not Bride of the Monster. It zips through in just under 70 minutes, and constantly piles in with crazy plot twists and ripe dialogue. As mentioned, much of the talking is wisely left to Lugosi, who seems to relish the chance to get stuck into it, especially the big speech where wistfully he speaks of being “outlawed in a world … which previously honoured me as a genius”

Dialogue like this shows that, although entertaining in its own right, when placed in the wider context of the lives of Wood and Lugosi, Bride of the Monster becomes quite a poignant milestone. Lugosi finally managed to kick the morphine addiction that had plagued him for years, only to be killed by a heart attack shortly after the film was released. Wood would go on to make his best-known film, Plan 9 from Outer Space, but his reckless ways with money and booze would soon kill off his Hollywood hopes forever. 

It would be a shame if people only watch his films in a sneering and ironic fashion, as, for me, the complete lack of sneering and irony in them is what makes his films so endearing. They are heart felt expressions of Wood's love of movies, monsters, and Bela Lugosi. 

Singin' in the Rain (1952)

 

Full of fun and energy, Singin’ in the Rain is a glorious celebration of film, both the history and the medium, and easily one of the best movie musicals ever made.

 

Read the full article at Static Mass

 

 

 

Blue Jasmine (2013)

 

A certain amount of delusion can be a perfectly good coping mechanism for the difficulties of life – but what if that delusion completely takes over your view of reality?  Moreover, what if it starts to impact on other people, especially your family? It is these sorts of questions that lie at the heart of Blue Jasmine, a surprising, funny and, at times, brutal character study, written and directed by Woody Allen.

Cate Blanchett plays Jasmine, a former Manhattan socialite whose world collapses around her when her millionaire businessman husband is jailed for a massive Bernie Madoff style programme of fraud, taking all of her money, possessions and identity down with him. Forced to move to San Francisco to live with her sister, Ginger, Jasmine tries to put her life back together piece by piece, while swilling back vodka and pills. Will she find the right man to help her get things back on track - or is it time to learn how to count on herself to survive?

There are some familiar Woody Allen themes in Blue Jasmine, such as adultery and madness, but also some unexpected elements. The first thing that I found surprising about Blue Jasmine is the ferocious energy, a welcome change of pace after the rather laid back, rambling films Allen has been making recently, an energy that mostly flows from the performance of Cate Blanchett.

There is also a change of tone from recent work, giving the second surprise, namely, what a harsh film this is. The harshness comes from the situations in which Jasmine finds herself, and granted, some are of her own making, but others are a result of bad luck, a wise choice on Allen’s part, that helps engender some sympathy with a character that could otherwise become unbearable.  He also sensibly balances the intensity of the drama with flashes of humour, and not from the traditional Woody Allen one liner (don’t get me wrong, he still writes good ones), but more through the juxtaposition of Jasmine and her deluded world view, with that of those around her, or with the reality of a situation.

The third, equally welcome surprise is the characterisation. Too often of late, characters in Woody Allen films seem two dimensional, unreal, and uninspired people, who simply exist to spout dialogue. This is less of a hindrance in a comedy film if the jokes and situations are good enough to pick up the slack, which is why Midnight in Paris worked as well as it did. However, much as I liked Midnight in Paris, the characters were the US equivalents of the sort of god-awful bores you expect from a Richard Curtis script. For a serious, believable drama though, you need a believable lead character, especially if the film revolves around this character, and Allen has delivered it in Jasmine.

The aforementioned ferocious energy in the film largely originates in Cate Blanchett's performance. She throws herself into the role and, with a refreshing lack of vanity for a Hollywood star, is not afraid to show herself in an unflattering light physically, with a haggard looking face and sweat stains under her arms.

As usual, Allen assembles a strong and varied supporting cast; Alec Baldwin delivers another memorable turn as Hal, Jasmine’s greedy slime ball husband, although admittedly, this kind of role is nothing new to him. More surprising is a brief but memorable appearance from Andrew Dice Clay as Ginger’s ex-husband, so far removed from his brash obnoxious stand up persona. Clay brings a convincing humbleness to a character understandably aggrieved as he has to watch his one chance as financial independence gets flushed down the toilet, (along with, shortly afterwards, his marriage), thanks to Hal and his fraudulent activities.

For a change, there is no "Woody Allen" character, in other words, an actor doing, to a greater or lesser extent, a Woody Allen impression, something that usually occurs in a film of his in which he is not appearing. Sometimes this can be the lead, such as Owen Wilson in Midnight in Paris, or a supporting character such as Will Ferrell in Melinda and Melinda. Louis CK, who has a brief role as a slightly nerdy man who has an affair with Ginger, comes close, but lacks the neurotic ticks and speech patterns.

In the final few minutes, we get an unexpected twist, one that adds a further layer of complication to Jasmine’s situation, but one perfectly in keeping with her immaturity and self-destructiveness. Avoiding a happy ending, which would not have rung true, Allen wisely lets the film conclude in a downbeat manner, and shows that when he cares, and when the story and characters are engaging enough, he can still be a distinctive, funny and interesting filmmaker.

The Lost Squadron (1932)

Films about films are an endless source of fascination for moviemakers and audiences, and this is something that goes back to the early days of cinema. With a script that blends stunts, comedy and melodrama, and combines the behind the camera story with themes of friendship and betrayal, The Lost Squadron packs a lot into an entertaining 75 minutes. It also has a great appearance from legendary director Erich von Stroheim, playing up to his reputation as an unhinged despotic genius.

Set at the end of World War I, three US army pilots and their mechanic, 'Gibby' Gibson (Richard Dix), 'Woody' Curwood (Robert Armstrong) Red (Joel McCrea), and Fritz (Hugh Herbert) find themselves back in civilian life, where things are less than rosy. Gibby discovers his girl has run off to marry tyrannical film director Von Furst (Stroheim), Woody’s business partner has absconded with all his money, Red quits his job rather than watch a friend be fired, while elsewhere newspaper headlines tell us that political squabbling means Congress fails to pass a package for veterans benefits, forcing men onto the breadlines. Eventually, all four manage to find work, working on aerial stunts for pictures by Von Furst - but the director is seething with envy at his wife’s old flame, and plots a nasty on set accident for him.

The screenplay, which is partly written by Herman J. Mankiewicz (Citizen Kane) is based on a book by real life stunt pilot Dick Grace. Despite a synopsis that includes war, jealousy and attempted murder, the majority of the film is relatively light-hearted, especially the character of Woody, played as an archetypal comic drunk, admittedly, perhaps not the best person to be doing hair-raising stunts in a plane.

Many of the real life flying sequences are well done, using a fleet of war surplus aircraft. Back on ground, the dialogue is snappy and the camaraderie between the four friends believable, even if the performances are a little broad and hammy at times.

The other star is Stroheim, playing himself, or at least a version based on his reputation as a maniacal and visionary filmmaker, with no regard for other people’s money or lives.

It is his character that drives the second half of the story, which sees the upbeat tone turn dark, with murder and revenge taking over from thrills and stunts, leading to an ending that seems tragic but inevitable.

Big Business (1929)

They are best known for their talkie films, indeed, perhaps their voices are as well known as their faces, so the 30 or so silent movies of Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy sometimes get overlooked. This is a shame, for two reasons; firstly, taken as a whole they help provide a fascinating insight into the development of cinema, both as a medium and a business, and secondly, taken individually, the best of them are some of the funniest silent comedies ever made. 

Big Business is definitely in that second category, and features all of the classic elements of a Laurel and Hardy short. We have the established characters of the leads, Stan the well-meaning but dim bungler, and Ollie, with his trademark “withering glance” to the audience, trying and failing to maintain his dignity in extreme circumstances. We also have the duo making a mess of a simple job (selling Christmas trees door-to-door), a hapless third party caught up in the middle (in this case, one of their regular comic foils, James Finlayson), and a situation that, bit by bit, spirals out of control. In this case, a misunderstanding leads to an argument, which leads to tempers flaring, which leads to tit-for-tat destruction, which does not stop until Finalyson's house, along with Laurel and Hardy's car, are both destroyed.

The way it escalates is all too real and believable, and something that could have been stopped at any point by one of the parties taking a step back and acting like an adult. This makes Laurel and Hardy the precursor to comedy such as Fawlty Towers.

However, the way it is presented, by contrast, is deliberately artificial and plays up to the fact that we are watching a film. The escalating chaos is treated almost as a ritual or a chess game with each side standing patiently, waiting while the other takes their turn. This means, rather than rushing straight into a free-for-all, which would get boring after a few minutes, by starting with each bout of destruction as a deliberate and distinct thing, and gradually shortening the gaps between each one, it allows the pace to wind gradually up. By the end, the red mist has descended, and we have Finlayson lobbing an explosive at the car, at the same time as Stan is taking an axe to the piano.

The film also reveals a fascinating and often overlooked side of how Laurel and Hardy interact with each other. For all their bickering and infighting, they can quickly and easily band together against a common foe, almost as though sometimes, if there is one thing that annoys them more than each other, it is other people.

Finally, Big Business is  an excellent demonstration of the part that title cards play in silent films. The captions helps set the sharp, unsentimental tone of the film at the start ("The story of a man who turned the other cheek - and got punched in the nose"), emphasise Ollie’s boundless self-confidence ("it's personality that wins") and drily underscore his reaction to a furious tirade from Finlayson ("I don't think he wants a tree"). Overuse them and you might as well be reading a comic strip, but deployed in just the right levels, they are the perfect complement to the images, which remain the primary source of plot and gags. 

Napoli Violenta (1976)

Sometimes, extreme circumstances require extreme responses, and they do not come much more extreme than those used by the hero of Napoli Violenta, an action packed Italian crime flick, or “Poliziotteschi” from the 70s. What the film lacks in subtlety, characterisation or morality, it more than makes up for with outrageous violence, a protagonist who seems at times to be as unhinged as the villains, and some audacious directorial touches.

No nonsense cop Inspector Betti (played by genre favourite Maurizio Merli) is transferred to Naples, and immediately sets about confronting crime and corruption in his own two fisted manner. Soon his violent tactics are making as many enemies in the police as in the criminal underworld - will it be just a matter of time before one side puts him out of action?

The Italian exploitation film business in the 70s and 80s usually followed a standard approach, no matter what the genre. Enterprising producers would spot a Hollywood hit, appropriate some of the stylistic and thematic elements, (and often shift the action from America to Italy), hire a competent journeyman director, willing to turn his hand to anything, and make something cheap and quick to cash in. In this case, Umberto Lenzi was behind the camera, a man who had already made Westerns, Comic Book adaptations, Giallo, Sword-and-Sandal, and Spy films, and would later achieve a degree of notoriety when Cannibal Ferox turned up on the British Governments “Video Nasty” list in the 1980s.

Napoli Violenta clearly has its roots in the Dirty Harry series of films, with a violent, unflappable, borderline psychotic anti-hero (not five minutes in and he is beating up a car thief), as much at war with his superiors as with the criminals. The script juggles several plot strands, with protection rackets, thieves, a crafty bank robber and the mob all vying for attention, meaning there is rarely a dull moment. Betti is a man defined by his actions, the sort of guy who will shoot first, hit second, and maybe ask questions later, if the suspect is still alive. He is occasionally given to moments of regret - when one crook fatally impales himself on a spike, Betti certainly looks regretful - regretful that he did not do the job himself. The lurid violence is could perhaps be seen as a forerunner of Lenzi’s later efforts in the horror genre, but here it is more lively and “comic book” in tone, and certainly less grim and depressing than the likes of Cannibal Ferox.

With his big hair, big moustache and macho attitude, Betti is the epitome of 1970s masculinity, and while the character is a little one dimensional, Merli has more than enough charisma, even with the ropey dubbing, to hold your attention. The ever-reliable John Saxon makes the most of his small role, but the rest of the cast are competent without being memorable, meaning that apart from Merli and Saxon, it is the outrageous action and violence that gives the film life and energy. 

One aspect that sets Napoli Violenta apart from many others of the same era and genre is the occasionally inspired directorial flourishes, most notably during the chase sequences. I get the impression that rather than spend a lot of time and money on the correct paperwork, Lenzi, like Betti, just decided to take whatever action is necessary to achieve a result. So, as motorcycles race through the streets of Naples, we follow the action on the bikes via hand-held cameras, watching what looks like real people dive for cover, making for heart stopping viewing, and giving a feel of genuine guerrilla film making.

The picture painted of Naples is that of a dense, chaotic and vicious city, where the creed is kill or be killed, and anyone showing weakness is doomed. This is something that Inspector Betti understands, as do his superiors, and the police chief is happy to ignore what Betti gets up to, if it gets results. By making the champion of law and order a violent man with no regard for due process of law, a vigilante with badge, the director skirts close to almost celebrating an authoritarian outlook. This is not something that is really sustained throughout the film through any other references or symbolism however, and it should be remembered that this film came out during the height of a period known as The Years of Lead, a time where politically motivated violence, kidnappings and assassinations were rife. However, none of the crime in this film is political, so perhaps it is more a case of giving contemporary audiences clearly defined roles of hero and villain, and providing them with the escapism of seeing an incorruptible John Wayne style hero prevail.

Never Too Young To Die (1986)

The success of the James Bond franchise has spawned many spoofs and rip-offs over the years, all trying to cash in on the glamour and gadgets. These range from more mainstream films, such as the Matt Helm series, featuring Dean Martin, to more off-the-wall efforts such as For Your Height Only, starring the 2ft 9in tall Filipino actor Weng Weng, and Never Too Young to Die definitely belongs on the latter end of the scale. This is mostly due to an outrageous, unforgettable turn from KISS bass player Gene Simmons as a cross-dressing super villain/nightclub singer. Throw in cameo appearances from both a bona fide James Bond, in the shape of George Lazenby, and Freddy Krueger himself, Robert Englund, as a computer geek, some truly awful 80s music, and plot twists and turns that range all the way from stupid to incomprehensible, and you have a film never fails to entertain
John Stamos (a big TV star in the USA, not so well known in the UK) plays Lance Stargrove, the teenage son of secret agent Drew Stargrove (Lazenby). Stargrove Sr dies while trying to stop evil villain Velvet Von Ragner (Simmons) from poisoning the nation's drinking water. Lance sets out on a vengeance mission, teaming up with his father’s glamorous sidekick Danja Deering, and his college roommate Cliff, who, fortuitously, happens to be a nerdy genius with a stash of deadly gadgets and weapons.
The children-taking-over-from-the-grown-up-spies is a minor sub genre in itself, and the basic premise in this is no less stupid, and requires no more suspension of disbelief than in films like Spy Kids or Teen Agent. In addition, to the writer’s credit, they did go with the classic Hitchcock “MacGuffin”, in this case the hunt for a computer disc that is somehow vital to Ragner and his plans. Despite this, however, the wheels soon come off the film pretty quickly, thanks to – well pretty much everything, from the plot, the endless continuity gaffes, the soundtrack, the wooden acting, the overacting, and Lance Stargrove himself.
Marvel as our hero outwits teenage wrestling bullies, by pointing at one guy's chest, asking "What's that?", and then prodding him in the face when he looks down. Gasp as his roommate shows off his sub-Bond gadgets, while never questioning how dangerous it might be to keep a homemade flamethrower in their dorm, or how stupid an idea it is to put a bugging device in chewing gum. Cringe at the painfully awkward attempts by Danja to seduce the son of her former colleague by constantly hosing herself down while he eats a variety of different fruits. Wince as he attempts to tackle Ragner by biting his nipple. Be warned though - your head may explode when you hear the lyrics to his theme song.  (“…Stargrove, flying like you've never flown, Stargrove, running through a danger zone…”)

 
The real star of the show is, of course, Gene Simmons, channelling Tim Curry in the Rocky Horror Picture Show, completely dispensing with his regular macho rock star persona, wearing less makeup than when he appears with KISS, but still clad in a gold corset, with a feather boa around his neck. 

Like all good villains, Ragner has a secret lair, in this case, a biker bar / nightclub, where he is the main act, and his minions, dressed like extras from Mad Max, can gather together and be addressed as “turd balls” by him. He is also a master of disguise, by which I mean everybody except the people on screen can see that it is actually him underneath a poorly fitting wig and beard, pretending to be one of the good guys. And he dispatches his enemies by stabbing with an exceptionally long fingernail, or “giving them the finger”. While too shrill and hysterical to be genuinely menacing, the performance is always underpinned with a slightly unwholesome air, as if Simmons if not actually acting too hard in order to play a sleazy megalomaniac.
Director Gil Bettman had previously made TV shows such as Knight Rider and The Fall Guy, and the whole thing certainly has a small screen feel to it, with a cheap look and often flat, generic visuals. Thankfully, the goofy script, and mind-blowing villain make for great dumb, delirious fun, and a trash classic.