DVD: Youth of the Beast (1963)

Seijun Suzuki has been called the Japanese Samuel Fuller. I can understand why. Each has a signature technique that he brings to bear on pulp material. But Suzuki pushes stylization to extremes Fuller wouldn’t dream of.

Criterion has released a beautiful new edition of the film that put Suzuki on the map. The plot has echoes of Dashiell Hammett: a mysterious hoodlum pits two groups of yakuza against each other for reasons of his own. But the telling is Suzuki’s alone, a riotous eruption of color and wild jazz. The trailer promises “A defiant achievement!,” with “senseless cruelty vividly portrayed!” And it ain’t kidding. This is the best DVD of the year so far, and a must-see for hardboiled fans.

Book: Diagnosis Murder: The Death Merchant, by Lee Goldberg (2004)

On their blogs, Lee and James Reasoner have been having an interesting discussion of novelizations and tie-ins. I haven’t read any examples of the form in years. When I spotted this one in the library I picked it up, even though I’ve never seen the TV series on which it’s based.

I enjoyed it. It’s a sharp story, well-told. I never pictured Dick Van Dyke while I was reading it, even though his mug is on the book’s cover. And because of commercial demands, his character is always at a remove; Dr. Mark Sloan is unchanged by events, just as he’d be at the end of an episode of the show.

I’d read another book in the series but I’d prefer one of Lee’s originals, like the hilarious BEYOND THE BEYOND. Even if it does have a penis on the cover.

Noticed: Michael Medved

I’ve never been a fan of the conservative commentator. Not because of his politics, but because of THE GOLDEN TURKEY AWARDS, his snotty 1980 book about the worst movies ever made. And he was a stiff on SNEAK PREVIEWS, where he managed to imbue Jeffrey Lyons with a Peter O’Toole level of charisma.

Lately he’s been on the warpath about MILLION DOLLAR BABY. Seattle Weekly lays it all out in this article, which includes spoilers and an interesting perspective on the movie from critic Jeff Shannon. Here’s a quote from Medved:

“(Critics are) trying to gain sympathy for Eastwood by portraying him as facing a furious assault by a brigade of archconservative mountebanks. By voting for Clint and his movie, you can cast an emphatic vote against Medved and Medvedism.”

Hold the phone – there’s a Medvedism? How do I sign up? Let me guess. I have to refer to myself in the third person, use big words to impress people, laugh at my own jokes –

Aw, nuts.

Miscellaneous: Links

In which many vital questions of the day are answered. Such as:

Does Oscar help directors live longer? What does it do for screenwriters?

Has the NYPD been shooting at Ernest Borgnine for the last 45 years? What did he ever do to them?

Does speed reading actually work?

Elsewhere, it’s nice to see that my alma mater is still turning out self-starters with a knack for business. Speaking of ol’ Boston U., Jaime Weinman uses Professor Ray Carney to consider whether critics can also be fans.

DVD: The Apple (1980)

I pride myself on keeping my Pavlovian responses to a minimum. But one phrase is guaranteed to make me weak in the knees: so bad it’s good.

The problem is that bad movies are invariably disappointing. The film ends, and my typical reaction is: that wasn’t so bad. Or: that was bad, but it wasn’t horrible. Or: that was horrible, but it wasn’t terrible.

Then there are those rare occasions when a movie’s sheer awfulness not only exceeds my expectations, but makes me believe that I’ve slipped through a wormhole into an alternate universe where aesthetic standards – nay, the very laws of God and man – have been cast aside.

Such a movie is THE APPLE.

It was written and directed by Menahem Golan, one half of the brain trust behind the ‘80s schlock factory Cannon Films. It had drifted into obscurity when the NuArt Theater in Los Angeles began running it as a midnight show. A burgeoning cult following led to the release of a bare-bones DVD, so that now its dark magic can be inflicted on the world.

It’s a rock musical set in the distant future of ... 1994, when the most popular car seems to be the one Homer Simpson designed for his half-brother and the world is controlled by an evil entertainment conglomerate. A pair of Canadian folkies (one of them played by Catherine Mary Stewart, who will always and forever be the sensible girlfriend in THE LAST STARFIGHTER) makes a surprisingly strong showing in the globally televised song contest with their ballad “Love, The Universal Melody.” Soon, they’re pressured by the sinister Mr. Boogalow to sign a record deal. It’s a struggle for the souls of our heroes –

Only this movie means it. Literally. What follows plays out in biblical terms. Which of course means a celebration of vice, because we’ve got to be tempted, right? So the movie’s future is positively steeped in decadence. Freaky sex, ready drugs, yards of gold lamé. It’s Cecil B. DeMille riding the white horse.

But you can’t have sex and drugs without rock and roll. Or in this case, disco. All of this religious dementia is set to music, complete with on-the-nose lyrics and filmed in a style reminiscent of “Goddess,” the stage show featured in SHOWGIRLS. (As Rosemarie put it, “Verhoeven has to have seen this. Many, many times.”) It makes XANADU, another musical released the same year, look like SINGIN’ IN THE RAIN.

One stupefying moment follows another. The number set in Hell, featuring “an actual, actual, actual vampire.” The song about how America is addicted to cocaine. The compulsory disco calisthenics. The disco orgy sequence. The scene where our hero stumbles onto the tribe of vagabonds and is told that they’re “refugees from the 1960s, commonly known as hippies.”

And then there’s the ending. A moment of such transcendent WTF absurdity that I began to think I was imagining the entire experience.

As soon as the movie ended, I wanted to watch it again. Mainly because I was afraid to go to sleep.

The only thing that allowed me to maintain my sanity during THE APPLE was knowing how far off the mark its vision of the future was. A world dominated by media companies and obsessed by fame, where undue attention is paid to a hellishly bad talent competition? Dream on, Menahem. Dream on.

Movie: Inside Deep Throat (2005)

Fenton Bailey and Randy Barbato have the pop culture documentary down to a science. Their work for film (THE EYES OF TAMMY FAYE) and TV (SHOWBIZ MOMS & DADS) may not always be insightful, but it’s reliably slick and entertaining thanks to deft editing and clip selection.

Their latest effort, produced by Hollywood powerhouse Brian Grazer, is their best to date because of the potency of the subject matter. The 1972 release of DEEP THROAT (no, I haven’t seen it) was a landmark moment in the sexual revolution that heralded the mainstreaming of pornography. How society got to that point – and how the fallout led to a porn industry separate from the rest of show business and accountable to nothing except profit margins – is a fascinating story. Bailey and Barbato don’t overstate DEEP THROAT’s impact, but use it as a way to explore questions that are more relevant today than at any point since the Reagan era.

In an anatomical sense, the scenes from DEEP THROAT (which account for the documentary’s NC-17 rating) are hugely impressive. But the film looks lousy and doesn’t seem all that funny, even though that was its big selling point. (Well, one of them, anyway.) Bailey and Barbato make terrific use of other clips from the period, like a Dick Cavett-refereed showdown between Hugh Hefner and feminist Susan Brownmiller that reveals how short-sighted both of their arguments are. Two retired New York vice cops offer their own reviews of DEEP THROAT. If there was any justice, they’d have had their own show. Who’d know better than them which porn films were worth seeing?

INSIDE DEEP THROAT uses many songs heard in BOOGIE NIGHTS. Is that the official porn soundtrack now? “Brand New Key” doesn’t even make sense in this context.

Watching Norman Mailer and Gore Vidal opine in this film makes me wonder who’ll be called upon to weigh in on the vital issues of the day in documentaries thirty years from now. We don’t seem to have public intellectuals of that stripe any more. So I’d like to nominate myself for the job. I’m a reasonably clever guy and I clean up nice. It’s either me or somebody from VH-1’s I LOVE THE ‘90s.

Phrases deleted from the first draft of this post because they sounded, well, dirty: bottom line, goes down easy, thumbs up, hard to swallow.

Magazine: Entertainment Weekly, 2/18/05 issue

Owen Gleiberman has a theory on why studio romantic comedies are so unsatisfying while indie versions like SWINGERS and SIDEWAYS work in his negative review of HITCH:

“Dating is all about behavior: the fine tuned verbal and chemical idiosyncrasies that make one person mesh (or not) with another. Most Hollywood love stories are too broad and schematic for that. They’re not about personalities. They’re about situations.”

I think he’s right. I also think the fact that HITCH grossed $45 million this weekend means we can expect more of the same.

Miscellaneous: Links

I haven’t watched a local TV newscast in over fifteen years for many reasons. Here’s one of them – and remember, I live in Seattle. Bill Crider read SIN-A-RAMA so I wouldn’t have to. But I’m gonna do it anyway.

Book: Eyeing the Flash, by Peter Fenton (2005)

Step right up, step right up, folks, and learn the ancient secrets of the carnival midway! Find –

Don’t crowd me, son, there’s room enough for everyone.

Find out what happens when a tender youth flees a family fraught with dysfunction only to find freedom amidst freaks and felons! Yes, in this memoir our hero, young Fenton, slips the bonds of a suburban Michigan childhood in the 1960s and hits the road with a traveling carnival.

Journey back to a more innocent era, when entertainment came from Fattest Wife/Skinniest Husband contests and a brand-new outboard motor was awarded to the person who correctly guessed how many catfish would float to the surface after a stick of dynamite was thrown into a swamp.

Follow young Fenton as the boy becomes a man! Learn the three types of carnival games – Hanky Panks, Alibis and Flat Stores – and discover for yourself why you shouldn’t play any of them! Feel the marrow in your bones chill as it is revealed why the only way to eat anything bought at a midway “grab joint” is locked inside a Port-A-John! Look on in awe and disbelief as young Fenton, schooled in the tools of his trade, dupes dentists and rooks Rotarians! Thrill to the heart-stopping climax as our hero tries to out-con his con man mentor in a genuine Indiana Bust-Out!

As for the fate of feckless Fenton, fear not! The lad learns his lessons and sets out on a truer path: journalism! Holding high the flaming sword that is the freedom of the press!

He grows up to become a reporter for the National Enquirer.

DVD: Catwoman (2004)

Seven Razzie nominations and every one of them deserved. Except for Sharon Stone’s. She’s a hoot in this movie. Love those red fighting pajamas.

Miscellaneous: Link

John Pultorak reconstructs the computer used by the Apollo astronauts, with its awesome 1K of RAM. They used it to go to the moon. I use a machine many times more powerful to look up information on former hostesses of THE PRICE IS RIGHT. More proof that something somewhere has gone horribly awry.