The Raging Bull of cinema

SCORSESE - The Ultimate Raging Bull of Soul-Searching:

 A BRIEF REVIEW OF MARTIN SCORSESE'S FILMS from 1968-1989

By Jerry Saravia

WHO'S THAT KNOCKING AT MY DOOR? (1968) - Martin Scorsese's film debut (as well as Harvey Keitel's) is an astounding piece of work, shot in black-and-white, and as gritty as Mean Streets. Keitel plays J.R., an Italian-American youth who fools around with his buddies, goes to Church occasionally, and dates a young, seemingly virginal woman (Zina Bethune).
The film contains themes of Catholic guilt, the Madonna whore complex, and men treating women as whores that became further developed in Marty's later works. One heck of a debut for a man who clearly had a vision, just as his mentor John Cassavetes did in his debut, Shadows. 

THE BIG SHAVE (1968): One of Scorsese's bloodiest parables, and all done in the space of six minutes. The short film concerns a young man who enters a bathroom and proceeds to shave. Each time he picks up the razor, he cuts himself, and continues to until his face becomes full of cuts. Then he cuts his throat, and we see blood filling up the sink.
Tough to withstand, this film may seem pointless until you realize the man cannot stop cutting himself - what makes it tougher to watch is that it is set in a brightly lit white bathroom. All this is accompanied by the music of Bunny Berigan's big-band rendition of "I Can't Get Started." Scorsese ends the film with a title card that reads, "Viet 67." Obviously, this was intended to be an anti-Vietnam war statement...and on that level, it succeeds. It is as frighteningly compelling as anything Scorsese has ever done. A must-see.
Note: The film was first screened at the New York Film Festival in 1968. 


BOXCAR BERTHA (1972) -  Based on the book Sister of the Road by Boxcar Bertha Thomson, this was Scorsese's only exploitation picture, from the Roger Corman studios, and it shows. David Carradine and Barbara Hershey play Depression-era bank robbers in the Bonnie and Clyde style mode, leading to the inevitable violent showdown where Carradine is crucified (Christ-like) on a boxcar! And that was in the original script, not an invention by Marty.
An interesting curio with decent performances and good production values, though it contains little of Scorsese's thematic concerns. Cassavetes apparently hated the film, calling it a piece of garbage, thus leading Scorsese to do something more personal - "Mean Streets."
Choice cameos by Scorsese, as one of Bertha's dates, and the always grand John Carradine.  

MEAN STREETS (1973) - The first of Scorsese's gangster pictures, focusing on New York small-time hoods led by the sympathetic Charlie (Harvey Keitel) and his fraternal relationship with the loose cannon, Johnny Boy (Robert De Niro), who is causing all kinds of trouble in the neighborhood, including blowing up mailboxes. And there's Charlie's complex relationship with Johnny's cousin (Amy Robinson, who later became a full-time producer).
A superb, groundbreaking film with enough grit and noirish atmosphere to have influenced a whole new generation of filmmakers, which it did. Its noirish roots can be felt in the need for the characters to break out of the city, unable to since there is no real escape. An excellent soundtrack full of oldies and Rolling Stone tunes, including "Jumpin' Jack Flash." In terms of mixing music to image perfectly, no one can listen to "Be My Baby" and not think of the scene where Keitel's head rests on a pillow.
Note: Thanks to Scorsese's amazing direction, most of it was shot in Los Angeles.
Mean Streets full-length review 

ITALIANAMERICAN (1974): One of Scorsese's best-known documentaries - a poignant, revealing look at his parents, Charles and Martin Scorsese, as they outline their roots all the way back to Italy. Charles speaks mostly of the clothing business, and how he was brought up by his parents to take care of the family. Catherine speaks of recipes for delicious Italian foods and family squabbling (at the end of the film, a complete recipe for one of her dishes is given). And both Charles and Catherine have a little problem with sitting close to another. The squabble over how wine was made, by the way, is truly funny.
Martin stays behind the scenes but he does share a few scenes with his parents at the dinner table and on the couch. "Italianamerican" is one hell of a documentary with moments of truth, humor, insight and sadness about New York City from the point-of-view of Italians searching for a better life in America. An exceptional treat for Scorsese fans. 

ALICE DOESN'T LIVE HERE ANYMORE (1974) - Ellen Burstyn is Alice, a married woman in Tucson who has an abusive, lonely husband (Billy Green Bush) and a precocious, inquisitive son (Alfred Lutter III). After the husband dies in a truck accident, Alice and her son leave for Monterey, making some other stops along the way, including working at a diner. There she meets and falls in love with a rancher (Kris Kristofferson), who may not be any less abusive.
A road movie and a realistic drama about a woman's feminist attitudes, considered controversial for its time. Burstyn deservedly won an Oscar for Best Actress. Still, an even better feminist statement was made with AN UNMARRIED WOMAN with Jill Clayburgh.
Note: Look for a young Laura Dern sitting at the diner, a stoned Jodie Foster, and a scary, Max Cady-like Harvey Keitel as one of Alice's suitors.


TAXI DRIVER (1976) - As far as I am concerned, "Taxi Driver" is the best American film ever made, a haunting, poetic, harsh look at a dangerous man sick of the cities and the people who inhabit them. De Niro plays Travis Bickle, a lonely cab driver who seeks solace in porno theatres and watching TV soap operas. He tries to befriend a lovely WASP (Cybill Shepherd), but his idea of a date is to take her to one of those porn theatres and watch The Swedish Marriage Manual.

Travis can't sleep and gets constant headaches. He tries to protect a 12-year-old prostitute (Jodie Foster) from Sport (Harvey Keitel), "the scum of the earth," and he's slowly consumed by the idea of killing a presidential candidate.

Expertly performed, powerfully written by Paul Schrader (who later collaborated on other Scorsese projects), and brilliantly scored by the late Bernard Hermann (his last score). The film is genuinely disturbing, provocative, challenging and violent, offering little solutions yet probed with many questions. It's also the most evocative portrait of loneliness in a big city ever made (so much that it persuaded an obsessed John Hinckley to attempt to assassinate President Reagan). And the most important line in the film is not "Are you talking to me?" It's the line that follows: "I'm the only one here." As prophetic today as it was in 1976, and it was a minor hit back then too.

Look for a cameo by Scorsese as one of Travis's psychotic fares, and he can be spotted fleetingly when Cybill arrives at her office in slow-motion.

NEW YORK, NEW YORK (1977) - One of Marty's least successful efforts, a downbeat "noir" musical starring De Niro as a saxophonist, and the sparkling Liza Minnelli as the torch singer whom he falls in love with.
A dry, dull film with some exciting production numbers and artificial sets, yet the performances are listless and the story numbing (Barry Primus and Dick Miller are the only ones who seems alive). De Niro seems to be doing riffs on his Travis Bickle character. The whole mess smells of a largely improvised film that partly helped to put the nail in the coffin of experimenting with big-budget flicks that didn't financially break even ("Star Wars" came out the same year and it was a phenomenal success). Still, it is always a pleasure to hear Liza singing the title number and I appreciate the fact that Scorsese intended on doing a noir musical. 

AMERICAN BOY: A PROFILE OF: STEVEN PRINCE (1978) -

 Full-length review

THE LAST WALTZ (1978) - The Band's last concert is thrillingly realized by Scorsese, full of whiz-bang songs performed by numerous singers and groups, including the coked-up Neil Diamond, the dazzling Staples, Dr. John, Muddy Waters, etc. There's also much back room intrigue and personal stories told by the members of the group about life on the road. A great concert film, as joyous and uplifting as any other made since. 

RAGING BULL (1980) - A genuine Scorsese/De Niro masterpiece featuring one of the most brutally honest behavioral portraits ever made. De Niro is Jake La Motta, a fierce boxer, who fights his own demons at home with his blonde, angelic wife (Cathy Moriarty), the Madonna-whore, and his repugnant brother (a curly-haired Joe Pesci), who serves as his manager.
A sad, unredeeming portrait of macho and masochistic behavior, its chief aim being an anti-macho and anti-masochistic portrait. Film is complemented with stark black-and-white cinematography (La Motta pictured his life in black-and-white), incredibly vivid boxing scenes, and some beautifully composed dramatic scenes (the swimming pool scene with Moriarty is exquisite). De Niro gives one of his greatest performances, and looks unrecognizable in the second half as he gained weight to portray the fat, unfunny comic La Motta later became. De Niro won the Best Actor Oscar for his performance, and Thelma Schoonmaker won for Best Film Editing. Scorsese still didn't pick up an Oscar for his direction, losing to Robert Redford's debut, Ordinary People.
Look for a young John Turturro in one of the first club scenes. 

THE KING OF COMEDY (1983) - This unnerving black comedy was the biggest flop of the year in the U.S. It became, however, as prophetic about American celebrities as you can imagine. De Niro, this time, plays a comic named Rupert Pupkin ("Is it Pumpnick or Pumpkin?") who desperately wants to be a guest on the Jerry Langford show (a take-off on The Johnny Carson Show). Jerry (a wonderfully restrained Jerry Lewis) tells him to just call the office. Rupert calls, and calls, and calls, and Jerry doesn't return any of his messages. He gets so frustrated that he kidnaps Jerry Langford! That's one way to get a spot. And the irony is that Rupert becomes a celebrity!
The movie wavers between comedy and black humor with ease, and it is shrewdly written by former film critic/Newsweek writer, Paul Zimmermann. Although the film is sometimes uneven, it is brilliantly performed by De Niro, Sandra Bernhard, and Jerry Lewis. An underrated classic, and the first Scorsese film I ever saw. So bizarre and offbeat that I saw it countless times ever since...and it made me into the Scorsese fanatic I am today.
Note: Besides playing a television director, Scorsese appears ever so fleetingly as he sits in a van, just before Langford is verbally abused by a woman at a phone booth. 


AFTER HOURS (1985) - The quintessential New York nightmare - a lonely computer programmer (perfectly cast Griffin Dunne) meets a date (Rosanna Arquette) in SOHO that turns into more than just the date from hell. He encounters jealous boyfriends, S&M freaks, Cheech and Chong, irate cab drivers, untrustworthy ice cream vendors, vigilante mobs, and loses his money thus making it difficult for him to pay train fare.
"After Hours" is the first of many rewarding collaborations with gifted cinematographer Michael Ballhaus (he also shot films for Fassbinder), and it is full of bizarre zooms and quick tracking shots (you'll never see a pair of keys falling from a second-story window the same way again). Add to that, a strong, empathetic, believable performance by Dunne (who has been treading the same innocent leading man waters ever since), and one delirious haphazard situation after another (a precursor to the maddening, repetitive situations in "Bringing Out the Dead"). Anxiety is what drives the narrative forward. If you live in New York, you'll understand.
Note: Scorsese appears at a punk night club as he adjusts a spotlight aimed at Griffin Dunne while Bad Brains' frenzied song  "Pay to Cum" is heard.


MIRROR, MIRROR (1985)- Scorsese's only television film, an episode from Steven Spielberg's short-lived series Amazing Stories. "Mirror, Mirror" stars Sam Waterston as Jordan, a highly popular Stephen King-like novelist who begins seeing visions of a horribly scarred monster wearing a black hat and cape (played by Tim Robbins). The monster is visible only when Jordan looks at mirror surfaces, specifically mirrors in his own apartment. Is he paranoid, or is his horrific visions from his stories coming to haunt him? Jordan seeks solace from his ex-wife (beautifully played by Helen Shaver, who also appeared in "Color of Money").
All the classic elements of Scorsese are in place here, and most evocatively portrayed is the sense of loneliness. Jordan's apartment looks just as cold and sterile as Jerry Langford's in "The King of Comedy," and he also lives alone to boot. In fact, there is one scene of a fan, a supposedly aspiring writer, who waits for Jordan at his doorstep and is angrily asked to leave - shades of "King of Comedy" once again. "Mirror, Mirror" is a classic short film, utilizing all the tricks up Scorsese's sleeve to make a terrific paranoia tale. The ending is shockingly abrupt and appropriately ambiguous.
Note: Look for Harry Northup as the security guard - he also appeared in "Mean Streets" and "Taxi Driver." You will also notice that dutch close-ups of locking windows and doors were also used in "Cape Fear." 

THE COLOR OF MONEY (1986)- A thrilling sequel to Robert Rossen's bleak The Hustler, set 20 years later with an older, wiser Fast Eddie Felson (Paul Newman), a liquor salesman whose knack for pool-playing is reignited by a young, hot-headed pool player, Vincent (Tom Cruise). Under Felson's tutelage, Vincent plays the big pool tournament, learning that sometimes losing is winning.
Scorsese's only sequel in his repertoire is flashy and elegant, and smartly written by Richard Price (Clockers). Major drawback: an unsatisfying, Rocky-like ending with no payoff and a thinly layered Oscar-nominated role for Mary Elizabeth Manstrantonio as Vince's smart girlfriend. 


THE LAST TEMPTATION OF CHRIST (1988)- A satisfyingly religious experience and the mostly deeply personal of Scorsese's works. Based on Nikos Kazantzakis's novel, Willem Dafoe stars as Jesus Christ, who begins to doubt and question his place on earth as the son of God. He also develops amorous feelings for Mary Magdalene (Barbara Hershey), and fantasizes a married life with her.
The most controversial of St. Marty's films (there were picket lines denouncing the film) - deeply spiritual and moving. The crucifixion sequence is a stunner, and it is miles ahead of Mel Gibson's amazingly popular THE PASSION OF THE CHRIST.

 
NEW YORK STORIES: LIFE LESSONS (1989) - An anthology of the Big Apple, told through three different stories. The first one is the best, directed by Scorsese, about an arrogant artist, Lionel Dobie (Nick Nolte), faced with finished his latest masterpiece, and the complicated relationship that ensues with his assistant (Rosanna Arquette) whom he pines for. She also fuels his work, and his ego.
"Life Lessons" is a striking example of how to make a short film: Scorsese uses odd camera angles, an extensive number of dolly shots, and freeze frames to demonstrate the artistic side of Lionel. Every artist I've talked to loves this film because it is about them. Nowhere is this made more evident than when Lionel says, "You make art because you have to. So it isn't about talent, it is about no choice but to do it. You give it up. If you give it up, then you weren't a real artist to begin with."
Memorable cameos by Steve Buscemi and Blondie, and if you're quick, you can spot Scorsese and his mentor, the late Michael Powell! 

MORE ON SCORSESE at http://jerrysaravia.blogspot.com/2011/08/raging-of-bull-of-cinema-part-2.html

The bigger the lie, the more people will believe it

THE INVENTION OF LYING (2009)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Ricky Gervais's comic act is abrasive and confrontational - he takes no prisoners. What he is not, whether it is in his standup, his Golden Globes hosting duties or his podcasts with Stephen Merchant and Karl Pilkington, is sweet. Along with "Ghost Town," "The Invention of Lying" is an unusual and delightful comedy that wins your heart and soul. I know, sounds like one of those tag lines from film critics trying to curry favor with the studio's pockets, but I do mean it. For originality, wit and almost, if not fully, exploiting its imaginative ideas, it scores many points with me - no lie.

Ricky Gervais is Mark Bellison, a screenwriter considered to be a loser by his co-workers and secretary. He has written a script on the Black Death that is considered a downer by his boss (Jeffrey Tambor) and Mark's handsome rival, Brad (Rob Lowe). This can only mean that he will be fired and he won't be able to afford his rent, or please his first date with the woman of his dreams, Anna (Jennifer Garner). All this is not surprising except that Mark lives in a world where everyone tells the truth. There are no lies, no attempts at facetiousness or implication or subtext - everyone tells the naked truth about everything. When Mark meets Jennifer, she tells him that she was masturbating before he came to the door. When they go on a date, she admits that she is not attracted to him and that the evening will not go well (this actually does happen in our world, but never mind that). The waiter is honest about their relationship, and he also hates his job.

The next day, Mark is informed by his landlord that he will be evicted. So what does Mark do? He goes to his bank, and asks to withdraw 800 dollars from his account when he actually has only 300. He lies! And the teller tells him that it is probably a clerical error and gives him the extra money! This makes Mark into the most powerful man in the universe! He can lie to anyone, including his buddies about how he invented the bicycle. They will believe him because nobody lies. He manages to win over Jennifer, which takes time and effort since she doesn't want her kids to look like him. Mark also convinces the world that he knows what happens when people die - they each get the most fabulous mansion in Heaven. This comes down to a moment where Mark writes down the rules about who goes to Heaven or Hell on the back of two pizza boxes!

My most nagging question of what would've been a rewarding "Twilight Zone" episode is how does Mark tap in to the idea of lying when no one else can. Interesting question since he might be termed the smartest person on the planet. The movie assumes everyone is an idiot, except for Mark. How else to explain the crazy scenario he tells his former boss that a coffee-stained script inside a chest emerged from the sea and perched itself on the sand next to him and that it will be the biggest box-office hit of all time! The boss buys it because no one lies, no matter how extreme or unbelievable the fabrication is. Mark is also the only one who tells outrageous stories and masses of people believe every word of it (this may seem prescient since quite a few people believe every word Glenn Beck utters). The words "lie" or "truth" do not exist in this world, but hate and love do seem to coexist. If the movie started to turn on its wheels a little and started to show people picking up on Mark's fabrications and thus learn to lie themselves, it would've made for a unique twist. It doesn't turn out that way.

Co-directed and co-written by Gervais and Matthew Robinson, "The Invention of Lying" has a musical montage sequence that had me squirming and I am not keen on the casting of Jennifer Garner - she was at her best in "13 Going on 30" but, here, she did not convince me she would've grow enamored of Mark. Still, despite not completely exploiting its premise as I had indicated and resorting to rom-com formula (like Gervais's previous "Ghost Town"), the movie is quite moving and spiritual and has a mockingly sentimental ending that ends with the shot of a church and the clouds above, as if we are supposed to buy the religious conceit that Mark himself doesn't believe in. Gervais himself is not a believer of God but I sense that, if he was, he would prefer to lie about it.

Fiery Jett, Glum Cherie

THE RUNAWAYS (2010)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

I have loved Joan Jett and the Blackhearts but I never listened to her first band, the Runaways. I will say that after seeing the dazzling and near-hallucinatory depiction of this underage band, I may be inclined to do so. I still clamor for the day when Joan Jett will get her own fully-rounded bio treament. As much as I like the volatile charge of the film "The Runaways," the story of Cherie Currie, the basis for the film, is less than dazzling to me. 

The genesis of the Runaways, an all-girl band, was formed by rhythm guitarist Joan Jett (Kristen Stewart) and drummer Sandy West (Stella Maeve) under the supervision and tutelage of an arrogant, sexed-up egocentric maniac named Kim Fowley (Michael Shannon). Kim wants the girls to perform with the abandonment and free will of young ingenues looking to be screwed and blitzed, representing a basic middle finger to society and authority. In other words, rock and roll and jailbait, all in one package. Cherie Currie (Dakota Fanning), a 15-year-old David Bowie fan, is first eyed by Joan and then discovered by Kim - he sees her as jailbait and hires her as the lead singer, regardless of whether she has talent or not. They rehearse inside a grimy trailer in the middle of the woods. The sessions would make parents of such young girls nervous nowadays, especially with the sexual phrases that come out of Kim Fowley's mouth. But this is the 1970's, not 2010 

As written and directed by Floria Sigismondi (based on Currie's autobiography, "Neon Angel"), "The Runaways" is hardly a typical or conventional rock biography. There is also no sense of the typical "rise and fall of a band." Instead the movie gets inside the druggy and sexed-up interior feel of young girls who just want to have fun, rock and party, minus the supervision from any adults. The girls are all under the age of 19 and the baroque manner of their manager and agent, Kim (who is pilfering their finances for his own pleasure), shows he is not the right person to be guiding them. Yes, he comes up with the lyrics for "Cherry Bomb," the Runaways' first hit but their major success is mostly in Japan, not the U.S. You sense Kim didn't do enough to help their success except to exploit them, particularly Currie, as pure jailbait models. 

As I stated earlier, I suppose I didn't feel a connection to Cherie Currie as I did to Joan Jett in this film (the other girls in the band, including Lita Ford, are not given much of a spotlight). Jett is the dynamo, the rock-and-roller who wants to blast through the airwaves and provoke as much as Kim does. Cherie seems reluctant and more despondent than the others, and that makes her less riveting to me. Although we get glimpses of Cherie's home life (alcoholic father, frustrated sister, a fleeting appearance of her mother), it is hard to feel anything but a fleeting sense of remorse for her situation. Cherie seems unconnected to anyone, even Joan Jett. 

Most of "The Runaways" is startling and in-your-face and serves as a glimpse into the backstage drama of an all-girl band, much like the underappreciated "Ladies and Gentleman, The Fabulous Stains" of which this film bears more than a striking resemblance. The performances in "The Runaways" are beyond stellar, especially Kristen Stewart with her firecracker of a performance along with the eccentric Michael Shannon. They embody something fundamentally deeper about rock and roll - the need to break out and expand beyond their horizons. Dakota Fanning, who is stunning to watch, delivers a merely glum Cherie. That may be the real Cherie, but I need more Jett to get fired up over Cherie. 

The rawest of documentaries

TITICUT FOLLIES (1967)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

How does one react to a documentary so honest and heartbreaking that one is compelled to turn away from its tragic outlook? Well, it is tough to watch Frederick Wiseman's cinema verite documentary, "Titicut Follies," a disturbing look at a mental institution fraught with impracticalities, but it must be seen (and it has recently made it to DVD).

Wiseman frames the opening and closing moments of this film with a song-and-dance routine performed annually by the institution's residents - the name of the show is "Titicut Follies." Gradually, in almost bleached-out black-and-white, we see the conditions at the Bridgewater Correctional Institution where the patients are awakened each morning, strip-searched, shaven, and then interviewed by the doctors about their personal histories. They are then escorted back to their empty cells naked, and locked in with an unerring sense of closure and solidity.

The patients are a mixed bag, some crazier than others. There are a few who babble on a variety of topics without interruption, a former math teacher who incoherently screams at the guards, and one patient who feels that he is sane and wants to go to prison after a nearly one-year stay. This particular patient insists that the doctors are wrong, and tries to prove his case.

This Massachusetts institute is like a journey through hell - one patient is forced fed with a tube through his nose while the doctor performs the procedure and smokes! Another patient is carried out in a coffin - the only one to get out of this hellhole. There is an effective scene where a group of doctors decide that increasing the dosage for one patient, who complains of sickness from the medicine, is the best solution. There is a lot more taking place, most of it disquieting in its immediacy and the atmosphere of such an environment. It is no wonder that a Massachusetts judge banned the film from being shown for many years because it invaded the privacy of the patients, housed in what looks like a prison facility. What the film really does is to show how the patients are treated - like slabs of meat, not people.

"Titicut Follies" is virtually unwatchable and all too realistic - a document of sad times when mental illness was synonymous with animal behavior. With Wiseman's hand-held camera, we feel we are there witnessing one grueling event after another, unable to help except to bear witness to the patients' behavior. And it is to the director's credit that we see the glint of humanity within these patients - they are people like anyone else. Misunderstood, and possibly quite insane, but still human. "Titicut Follies" is a tough film to put out of your mind, and it will linger longer in your mind than any fictional film dealing with similar subject matter would. Although Wiseman hates the French term, cinema verite, "Titicut Follies" is a haunting masterpiece that heralded the standard for all documentaries to come. 

Ann-Margret intermittently swings and sparkles

THE SWINGER (1966)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Ann-Margret remains one of the most vivacious, electric screen presences of the 60's and beyond. Her star turn in "Bye-Bye Birdie" lead to more serious acting roles in films such as "Carnal Knowledge." What I can't quite fathom is her role in this forgotten 1966 picture called "The Swinger," which is as pointless and boring as one can imagine. It is essentially a promo for Ann-Margret as a physical, sexy presence, nothing more.

Ann plays an ambitious writer named Kelly Ollson who is seeking to publish a profile on swingers in a Playboy-type magazine headed by the handsomely rich Ric Colby (Tony Franciosa). Of course, she is rejected by Ric since she is too innocent to be a swinger herself. At this point, I found it silly to believe that Ann-Margret would be considered remotely innocent by anyone but never mind. Kelly decides to prove she is a swinger to get the job, or so I figured. She has her body painted in an outrageous pseudo orgy and does a photo montage in various styles of dress, though there is barely any nudity to be found. She also proves to be an amoral drunk just to convince him she is a swinger! Ric is mesmerized by her and falls in love, seeing that she is sweetly innocent after all.

"The Swinger" is purpotedly a romantic sex farce but we mostly get older men chasing women in offices, endless and unfunny sexist jokes, and Ann posing lovingly before the camera not to mention acting like a complete fool when the screenplay requires her to. Oh, and there is a teaser ending that is as stupidly unconvicing as they come, and some fast-motion shots of Ann riding a motorcycle sans a helmet.

"The Swinger" is excruciating to watch from beginning to end, serving as neither entertainment nor as a pop culture curio. Directed by George Sidney, who helmed the similarly awful "Viva Las Vegas," this is as empty-headed and clueless as they come bearing little charisma and zero laughs. At least, the stunning opening sequence is a keeper in the pop culture time capsule as we see Ann singing the title song in a tight black jumpsuit while sitting on a trampoline. The brief title sequence offers more pizazz and sexual energy than the rest of this lifeless film.

A cache of priceless Egyptian treasures

VALLEY OF THE KINGS (1954)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

For stunning Egyptian locations and sheer beauty, "Valley of the Kings" is a luscious visual treat. For action and spirited adventure in a style that foreshadows Steven Spielberg's Indiana Jones pictures, it comes up short but it is still minor fun for pulpy action-adventure completists and closer in spirit to "King Solomon's Mines."

Set in the 1900's, Robert Taylor is Mark Brandon (not the most memorable name), a two-fisted, macho archaeologist who is as good in a fight as he is in excavating Egyptian tombs. Eleanor Parker is Ann Mercedes, a dedicated Egyptologist and daughter of a deceased archaeologist who believed that there was proof of the Biblical Joseph's travels in Egypt, specifically regarding the tomb of the Pharaoh, King Ra-hotep. The story goes that King Ra-hotep may have been acquainted with the Israelite Joseph in the dusty Valley of the Kings. This possible historic union faces more complication in the modern era with black market antiquities dealers; greedy, pistol-packing and sword-carrying looters; Egyptian belly-dancers; tribal duels; out-of-control carriages and secret doors and compartments inside vast rooms of unimagined treasures and relics. As my readers are aware, I love this sort of stuff and "Valley of the Kings" is essentially a gallery of Egyptian treasures and artifacts. I don't think there is any other pulp adventure movie of the 50's that has the same authenticity in Egyptian period detail as this one does.

Director Robert Pirosh certainly stages many of the expected action scenes with aplomb and finesse. A brutal sandstorm is handled with a horrific beauty, especially when you consider they really filmed all this in Egypt. Fistfights and carriage chases are all expertly directed, and the hypnotic musical score by Miklos Rozsa adds inmeasurably to the overall stylishness of it.

The story is, unfortunately, a bit lacking in scope and the ending is a bit anticlimactic (the prize discovery at the end is not as glorious as I would have liked and leads to a plugged-in happy ending). And Robert Taylor is not the most memorable hero on screen nor does he have much to do with the role except express some passion and magnetism when he kisses Eleanor Parker's Mercedes, or throws a few punches on the edge of an enormous pharaoh statue. However, Carlos Thompson as Mercedes' husband, Philip, is extraordinary in displaying malice and a suave nature, and Kurt Kaznar is a joy as Philip's sinister ally (he later appeared in "Legend of the Lost" and "The Perils of Pauline").

"Valley of the Kings" is a Technicolor 1950's treat that is fun and luxurious in its beauty. I wouldn't say it is close to Charlton Heston's own exciting and equally machoistic adventure yarns of the same era, such as "Secret of the Incas" or "The Naked Jungle" (the latter starred Eleanor Parker and is set in the same time frame), but it can stand on its own as a legitimate yarn in the genre nonetheless. A more charismatic hero would've been nice.

Lugosi's strained eyes

THE DEVIL BAT (1940)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Of all of Bela Lugosi's films, one of his oddest and least interesting is 1940's "The Devil Bat," a movie that coasts on singular ambitions such as Lugosi as the typical mad doctor and an experiment involving mutated mammals. Nothing new to chew on, nothing remotely fun about this film either, even with a low-budget and hammy actors. 

Lugosi is always at his snarling best as a mad doctor, and here he eschews close-ups of his penetrating eyes for more restraint. But he is not chilling to watch and the singular idea of a mad doctor who uses a bat to attack people with a distinctive aftershave scent is nothing more than silly and laughable. The bat chases people clearly during the day, even though it is supposed to be nighttime (a little Ed Wood-ism there though many films of this period and earlier were shot day for night); Lugosi's character, Dr. Paul Carruthers, is short-shrifted in favor of a bumbling photographer and a very straight reporter, both of whom sit on a bench waiting for an eternity for the mutated bat, and that is it folks. 

Outside of Lugosi's delicious delivery of the line "Goood...bye" and the various secret rooms of his house, there is not much more to say about "The Devil Bat" except it is something most Bela Lugosi pictures are not: dull.  

Sheen on Me

CHARLIE SHEEN: A WARLOCK AMONG MANY

By Jerry Saravia

We have seen celebrities in career meltdowns but never have I witnessed a mental breakdown that has made an actor a superstar of the first order. Britney Spears, Robert Downey, Jr., to name a couple, had fallen precipitously in the media's eyes only to be slowly careened back into some measure of glory (this may not happen for Mel Gibson, who may have finally exhausted any fans he once had). Charlie Sheen has been a bad boy, a cocaine-addled troublemaker since his 20's when he emerged as the movie star of films like "Platoon" and "Wall Street." But after making such great films, I can't say Sheen had exactly matched the talent he so eloquently displayed in those Oliver Stone films. I enjoyed his spoofy "Hot Shots!" pictures, "Major League" and others but too few matched Sheen's dramatic range. The less said about "Young Guns, "The Rookie" and the execrable "Navy SEALS," the better. Despite his talent, it seems he has become the media's first rock-and-roller/ubersuper party-boy who has never been in a rock band, and has received applause for his arrogance and honesty in equal doses, including from Piers Morgan who interviewed Charlie on his show.

Now let's backtrack a bit. In 2003, Charlie Sheen showed his quicksilver charm and bad-boy behavior by basically mocking it and making it somewhat safe for the PG-13 crowd as the hedonistic jingle writer Charlie Harper with the occasionally uproarious "Two and a Half Men," CBS's most popular sitcom. Not only did it gain the highest ratings but Charlie was also the highest paid sitcom actor on television, no small feat by any stretch of the imagination. I like the show, which had grown progressively raunchier and far more sexualized than it was at conception (!), but I could only take so much of it after awhile. The show is like a drug but its near-sleaziness can be offputting when it isn't funny. Still, Sheen and Jon Cryer (playing Charlie's sexually frustrated brother), Angus T. Jones (Charlie's slightly dim nephew), Holland Taylor (Charlie's honest mother, to say the least) and Conchata Ferrell (Charlie's witty housekeeper) made the show what it was. Or so we thought.

Charlie Sheen is integral to the success of the show, but so is the rest of the cast yet he seems to think that he is the star and should be treated accordingly. Sheen was abruptly, or so we think, told that the show had been cancelled until presumably September. That meant that everyone was out of work until then, including Charlie Sheen (the crew has been paid by CBS for the four months they will not be filming). However, Sheen railed hard against the CBS bosses by mocking the show's creator, Chuck Lorre, and claiming that he, not Chuck Lorre, made "gold out of a tin can." Then Sheen scheduled a television interview where we saw his home, his two "goddesses," his children, and he made statements that have already become catchphrases, namely "winning," "bring it," "warlock" and, my favorite, "rock star from Mars." This and numerous interviews he has given where he seemingly rambles incoherently are definite signs of a career meltdown, or are they? In fact, Sheen proved he was drug-free by submitting to drug tests, including one for Radar Online, and he also proved he was coherence-free (or his comments could be the result of a manic episode, possibly bipolar, but I am not Dr. Drew so don't ask me).

I've nothing against Charlie Sheen's indulgences that include endless partying and sexual escapades (rock stars, to be fair, have partied harder than Sheen and, for lack of a better example, Keith Richards is still miraculously living). Still, Sheen's cocaine binges and two girlfriends (one is a porn star and the other, a former nanny) may have affected any chances he had in regaining custody of his two youngest kids, both of whom were recently taken away from him by his ex-wife Brooke Mueller. His ranting and raving has also affected the CBS sitcom that made him an A-lister to the point that CBS decided to pull the plug due to Sheen's arrogant comments and askew behavior and lifestyle (though there is no morality clause for the latter). With most of the nonsense he has been spewing lately, Sheen never once mentioned the actors that round out the cast in his show. Where is all the love for Jon Cryer, Angus T. Jones, Melanie Lynskey or Conchata? My feeling is that Sheen probably thinks the show can't have a future without him. CBS could easily replace Sheen, but with John Stamos? No, thanks. It can't be "Two and a Half Men" without Charlie, can it? Heck, it can't be the same show without Jon Cryer either. At least, Charlie didn't shoot anybody in the arm this time out, unlike his former girlfriend Kelly Preston back in 1990.

I am hoping Charlie Sheen returns to the show that put him in the major television leagues but it is hard to say what the future holds for him (he is already mulling over other offers, though "Major League 4" may not be one of them). Sheen's most fervent followers (an incredible 2 million-plus in Sheen's twitter account, as of this writing) are excusing the party boy's ways and it seems that Sheen's interviews have already bounced him back and made him more popular than ever (you know you are too popular when you eclipse world news and Lindsay Lohan!)  But you can't be the life of the party and "radical" forever. Soon, his most ardent followers and fans will get tired and search for someone else to grab a hold of. Maybe his supporters (and enablers) may embrace him again if he can stay reasonably clean and sober for more than six months, at least to the point that it doesn't affect his life. Just ask Robert Downey, Jr.  

NOTE: Charlie Sheen was fired from "Two and a Half Men" on the very minute that I had posted this. 

Fake fakers, Wellesian style

F FOR FAKE (1973)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Orson Welles had the effrontery to believe that this highly original film on art and the act of creating would be theatrically released in the United States. It never was and was only shown on television in the United States and in Europe, and at some film festivals. What a shame because "F For Fake" is one of the director's finest achievements (and by far his last complete effort), a Byzantine rethinking of what a film should be and what it could be. It is also a reconstructive essay on art and the artists who manage to create the art in question in any given media. Welles takes the approach of looking at the media of painting, literature, architecture and films, and this film is a testament and a labor of love to anyone who is involved in the arts.

"F For Fake" begins with Welles arriving at a train station showing a magic coin trick to an awestruck boy. He is interrupted by a passersby (Oja Kodar) who asks him, "Up to your old tricks again?" Welles is then greeted by a film crew led by another director Francois Reichenbach, and tells them that there is a fascinating story involving that passersby. We then realize that this is not really a film and not quite a documentary, so what is it? Well, there is another shot of Welles except this time he is at an editing table looking at shots of Oja Kodar walking on a crowded street surrounded by dozens of onlookers. But who is she? Welles then apologizes for jumping around all over the place, and sets forth in motion a story about the most famous art forger of all time, Elmyr De Hory (who tragically committed suicide after this film was released). He paints fakes so brilliantly that museums often mistake it for the real thing (Modigliani, Picasso, Monet are some of his famous "fakes"). Another story circulates around a notable biographer, Clifford Irving, who has written a bio on De Hory, and has just been accused of writing a fake one on Howard Hughes! He insists he met with Hughes, but who is telling the truth? And is it possible that De Hory is not a faker, but a fake faker?

This may all sound ambiguous and confounding, but one of the pleasures of "F For Fake" is the constant parallels Welles draws between all these interweaving stories. He comes up with theories on the importance of the creator or creators: in one beautifully stylized sequence, we see superimpositions of the many facets of the Chartres cathedral. Astounding architecture (independent film director Stan Brakhage once made a short film about it) but, in the end, does it matter who created this wonder of the world? Of course not, probably dozens of skilled artisans and the like and we may never know their names.

Welles draws another parallel with his own life and work (apparently, this film was intended as an attack against film critic Pauline Kael's written accusation that Welles shared none of the writing credit for "Citizen Kane"). He gives examples of his famous hoax, "The War of the Worlds" broadcast, and the fact that all his films, indeed all films, are illusions, essentially fakes. So by exemplifying this idea, Welles often shows his film crew filming him as he makes his case before the camera wearing a hat and a cape and performing magic tricks.

"F For Fake" is not an easy film to digest, and it will take more than one viewing since it is not told in a straightforward manner. But the rewards are plenty, and the sight of Welles speaking in his coarse, deep voice is a splendid pleasure already. He keeps us involved and intrigued, and we start to question the validity of the importance of the creator of an artistic masterpiece - of course, it adds to historical lore to know who the artist is, but the work must also speak for itself. As Welles explains at the beginning, any film is likely to be some sort of lie, and so he insists that the whole truth will be spoken for the first forty-five minutes of the film. At the end, when we discover that Oja Kodar, the passersby from earlier, is in fact not Pablo Picasso's daughter nor did she sell any of the paintings of herself painted by Picasso to a museum, Welles declares that he did lie his head off.

In its constantly time-switching narrative, freeze-frames, and sense of self-consciousness, Orson Welles made one of his greatest achievements on film - a master class on experimentation with the medium and the infinite possibilities presented with tackling the film-within-the-film. It is a shame it was not discovered initially, but some of its style and rapid cutting is evident in Al Pacino's superb "Looking for Richard," an expose on Shakespeare and Richard III. Francois Truffaut declared "F For Fake" as one of the best films of the 1970's - he could not have been more right. Right up with "Citizen Kane," "Touch of Evil," and "The Trial," "F For Fake" reigns supreme.

Footnote: There are cameos by Joseph Cotten and film editor on "Kane," Robert Wise. There is also a brief sequence with Oja and late actor Laurence Harvey at an airport "from quite another film," says Welles. I wonder if this was footage for his uncompleted film "The Deep" since Welles can be seen in his cape minus a beard.

Orson Welles' unfinished Hollywood critique

ORSON WELLES' UNFINISHED HOLLYWOOD CRITIQUE

By Jerry Saravia

Time and again, for the last thirty years or so, we have heard reports that an unveiling of Orson Welles' unfinished film from the 1970's, entitled "The Other Side of the Wind," was imminent. And time after time, disappointing reports continually emerged ranging from Beatrice Welles (Welles's daughter) blocking the release of the film in any form, to a mangling of funds that includes financing from the Shah of Iran leading to it being locked in a Parisian vault, to the Showtime network eager to cough up the completion funds for the editing of the film, 40 minutes of which had been edited by Welles, though it remained heavily dependent on who edited the film to the beat of Welles' style and if the original financiers could come to an agreement. So will we see "The Other Side of the Wind" in some form, some day?

I say, yes, except it will be a rough cut of no more than the edited 40 minutes. Keep in mind that clips from the film were first shown when Welles was honored by the AFI in 1975, leading to speculation that the airing of such clips were a direct step in acquiring completion funds (which ironically is the plot of the film itself). Since then, one more clip surfaced in the fascinating documentary, "Orson Welles: The One Man Band" and, in the last couple of years, another clip appeared on youtube of directors Henry Jaglom and Paul Mazursky verbally sparring about the merits of past films by Jake Hannaford (the fictional director in the film). All the footage thus shown is incredible and well ahead of its time for its fast-cutting style employing different film stocks and many different points-of-view. Case in point would be the birthday party scene where John Huston plays the maverick, macho film director, Jake Hannaford (Jake being the nickname Welles used for John), celebrating his 70th birthday while paparazzi and a film crew gather around taking his pictures. Susan Strasberg appears as a Pauline Kael-type film critic, Juliette Riche, and Peter Bogdanovich is the young hot-shot film director, Brooks Otterlake (originally played by Rich Little), who is a box-office draw. This one scene alone shows us a world that might not exist anymore (except maybe for some film elitists), where the art of film and gaining box-office dollars and who is copying whom or paying homage is discussed. This clip in particular anticipates Oliver Stone's style used in "J.F.K.," "Natural Born Killers" and "Nixon" with a rapid-fire succession of images that are paced and cut with the energy of an addict on speed.

Two other scenes had also been shown. One other clip shown at the AFI had film director Norman Foster (who helmed the exciting 1942 thriller "Journey into Fear") as a Hannaford stooge convincing a young film executive that Hannaford's film is not in trouble, and hilariously providing commentary for the unfinished film that seems to have no clear narrative. The other clip (shown in "Orson Welles: The One-Man Band") is a highly erotic scene of Oja Kodar (Welles's stunning girlfriend of 20 years) having sex with the leading actor of Hannaford's film in the front seat of a car during a rainstorm. This clearly shows, as Bogdanovich pointed out, that Welles wanted to make a dirty movie like "Last Picture Show" and it is by far the most erotic footage I've ever seen in a film, hands down. More clips had been shown at the Harvard Film Archive in 2008, presented by Stefan Drossler (more on that presentation can be found at http://www.wellesnet.com/?p=302#more-302)

Orson Welles has gained a favoritism and appeal since his death in 1985. Two screenplays of his, "The Big Brass Ring" and "The Cradle Will Rock," have been made into films (when they couldn't get any financing while Welles was alive). "Citizen Kane" is practically mentioned every time a list of the greatest films ever made is compiled. The incomplete "It's All True," not to mention a restoration of "Touch of Evil" in 1998 edited to Welles' own original specifications, were eventually theatrically released. "The Deep," a 1970 flick with the late Laurence Harvey, might actually see the light of day someday, though it only exists in black-and-white and color workprints. But it is the monumental epicness of "The Other Side of the Wind" that looms larger than any other incomplete Welles film, if for no other reason than the spectacular cast. John Huston, Susan Strasberg, Peter Bogdanovich, Oja Kodar, Cameron Mitchell, Peter Jason, Dennis Hopper, Mercedes McCambridge, journalist and film historian Joseph McBride and, yes, even future film director Cameron Crowe round out the cast. I'd say make the 40 minutes of film available as a documentary on the making of this legendary film. I'd definitely pay to see that.


FOOTNOTE: For a further clarification of the financing of "Other Side of the Wind," here is an excerpt from "Bright Lights Film Journal":

'Welles raised $1 million for The Other Side of the Wind himself and received a further $1 million from a Paris-based Iranian company, Les films de l'Astrophore, headed by Medhi Boushehri, who happened to be the Shah of Iran's brother-in-law. At this point, a Spanish investor embezzled around a quarter of a million from the production and disappeared into Europe. The Iranian company agreed to provide further funding to replace the missing cash, on the condition they received a higher percentage, with the result that l'Astrophore finally owned around 80 percent of the film, and were denying Welles the right to final cut. At this point, the Iranian revolution happened, the Shah fell, and the Ayatollah Khomeini came to power and all foreign assets, including the negative of Orson Welles' final film, came under his jurisdiction.'

UPDATE: Netflix, the streaming giant, acquired the rights to "The Other Side of the Wind" and it has not only been completed, it is also going to be streaming on Nov 2nd of 2018. Early screenings have been held at the Venice Film Festival and they have been largely positive. It is a pleasure to know that this film has finally been unveiled for the public, not just for film buffs but for Orson Welles fans and John Huston fans. Thank goodness because its arrival in this world of conflated cinema standards, made a time pre-"Star Wars," indicates what cinema might have been - adventurous, intoxicating, perplexing and complex.