Posted by Pablo Kjolseth on December 1, 2013
I was going to write about The Hudsucker Proxy (1994), because it’s screening tomorrow on TCM and, also, because the latest Coen brothers film, Inside Llewyn Davis (2013), opens theatrically this coming Friday. Instead, I got stuck on the Inside Llewyn Davis poster. There is something about its composition that I find very striking. To notice it, you’ll have to ignore the top and bottom, which are lame in the ways that most movie posters are routinely lame: emphasizing celebrity names up top, and then all the normal credits at bottom. The middle section, however, is inspired. I can’t stop looking at the cat. There are several reasons for this, and the first is due to the sight-lines, which immediately reminded me of the Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog (1818) painting by famous German Romantic painter Caspar David Friedrich. It’s a classic example of a visual construction where all the lines lead to the center. Except in Friedrich’s case the lines of the natural landscape converge on man, whereas with the Inside Llewyn Davis poster, the sight-lines provided by the New York City streetscape converge on the cat. I think this is great because, in my humble opinion, any movie poster is immediately improved with the addition of a feline presence. Since our furry little friends are said to have nine lives, in this post I’ll be looking at how cats have been depicted throughout cinema in nine different categories. [...MORE]
Posted by Kimberly Lindbergs on November 14, 2013
In the early 1980s British home video stores found themselves in the center of a storm when moral panic swept through the U.K. Religious leaders, parents and politically motivated individuals created what’s now known as the “video nasty” scare after discovering that stores were renting graphic horror films usually reserved for American grindhouses and indiscriminate drive-ins. Most of the objectionable movies were made in the U.S. or Italy where excessive violence and nudity had few problems getting past censors if it was properly rated but in Britain film censorship tended to be much more restrictive. Movies with explicit content and titles that often intended to shock such as CANNIBAL HOLOCAUST (1980), THE DRILLER KILLER (1979) and I SPIT ON YOUR GRAVE (1978) caused widespread outrage throughout the U.K. that led to them being removed from video stores, criminally prosecuted or cut for British audiences. The only British film that was apparently singled out during the video nasty scare was James Kenelm Clarke’s THE HOUSE ON STRAW HILL (aka Exposé; 1976). For decades this notorious erotic thriller has had the reputation of being one of the sleaziest films ever produced in Britain during the 1970s, which made it difficult to see. Badly cut or edited video copies circulated among the curious but the quality was always questionable. Thanks to the efforts of Severin Films I recently had the opportunity to catch up with this infamous film on DVD but it didn’t exactly live up to its seedy status. Is it an unsung cult classic waiting rediscovery? Or is it one of the most depraved movies ever made? In truth it’s neither of these things but I’m glad that Severin has saved the film from obscurity and given it a new life on DVD.
Posted by R. Emmet Sweeney on October 29, 2013
Society prefers death to be hidden. Bodies are covered in sheets, buried in caskets. There are no morgues in malls, but they are cast into hospital basements, where even lost visitors are unlikely to stumble upon it. Our mortality is a fact of life we are abstractly aware of, but a mutual pact has been made to keep it out of public view. Horror films have exploited this reluctance by making corpses ultra-visible, re-animating limp flesh and exposing the viscera that once gave us life. Frankenstein is the model for this, its monster cobbled together from the remnants of other bodies. In a macabre subgenre, body parts are severed and gain life of their own, including one that involves, creeping, scampering, choking hands. The mangled classic in this strange sector is The Beast With Five Fingers (1947), in which Peter Lorre is convinced a severed hand is murdering the inhabitants of an Italian mansion. Other entries include The Hands of Dr. Orlac (1924), The Crawling Hand (’63), Dr. Terror’s House of Horrors (’65) and, succinctly, The Hand (1981, an early Oliver Stone effort), but the Lorre film is the one that endures, and it has received a longer life in a DVD from Warner Archive, released just in time for Halloween.
Posted by David Kalat on October 26, 2013
I was gonna call this week’s post “2 Girls, 1 Swimming Pool” but decided against it. But inspired by TCM’s upcoming screening of one of my all-time favorite thrillers, Henri Georges Clouzot’s Diabolique (AKA Les Diaboliques), I’m taking the opportunity to celebrate the twisted artistry of this gloriously macabre picture–and taking stock of one of its many knock-offs.
Clouzot’s is a dark and cynical cinema, devoid of hope and happy endings. Which is unsurprising, since that is an equally apt description of Clouzot himself. “All his work has been surrounded by an air of scandal and affront,” writes Roy Armes, “and the shooting of all his films is conducted in an atmosphere of bitterness and recrimination. His own urge to dominate is perhaps reflected in his urge to dominate is perhaps reflected in his characters who seek outlets for their lust, hatred, and violence.”
Posted by David Kalat on October 12, 2013
It’s getting ever closer to Halloween, and TCM is imminently going to screen the spectacular 1922 Nosferatu. I was asked to contribute an audio commentary on this legendary horror classic for the UK Blu-Ray edition from Masters of Cinema. In preparing my track I took the opportunity to challenge some of the received wisdom about the authorship of this film—but one disadvantage of the audio commentary format as a vehicle for that kind of discussion is that I was limited to the visual examples presented by the film itself. To really make my case I wanted to be able to show some other film clips or stills—which is best suited to a blog! So here we go—into the mad world of Nosferatu’s creator, F.W. Murnau Albin Grau!
Posted by Kimberly Lindbergs on September 19, 2013
Boris Karloff & James Whale on the set of BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN (1935)
(Note: FRANKENSTEIN airs on TCM September 23 as part of the ongoing STORY OF FILM series)
THE BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN (1935) is commonly considered the best of James Whale’s two Frankenstein films and while I absolutely love Elsa Lanchester’s iconic performance as the hissing she monster, I prefer the original. There are a number of reasons why I tend to gravitate towards FRANKENSTEIN (1931) over its sequel. First and foremost, the film takes itself more seriously and in turn, it’s the scarier movie. The fog shrouded cemeteries are more eerie and the stylized sets seem more threatening. Without any notable soundtrack the film can still generate genuine fear, unease and dread in me and in this age of overwrought scores that force audiences to bend to their will, I treasure silence in my horror cinema. FRANKENSTEIN also gives more screen time to the inimitable and undervalued Dwight Frye as the mad doctor’s hunchbacked assistant, Fritz. And Boris Karloff delivers a sensational wordless performance loaded with pathos and purpose. I also must single out Colin Clive’s taut interpretation of Dr. Frankenstein, which has been repeated by lessor actors so often that it’s become much too easy to take it for granted. Don’t get me wrong, I love BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN too but over the years I’ve found myself returning to Whale’s original film more often and with each subsequent viewing I discover more things to admire.
Posted by Kimberly Lindbergs on August 29, 2013
My earliest memory of Julie Harris stems from an unplanned late night viewing of THE HAUNTING (1963). I was home alone and sulking about having to take orders from a teenage babysitter who was just a few years older than me. Much to my delight, the babysitter had very little interest in what I was doing and she spent the entire evening smoking cigarettes with her boyfriend on the back porch. I had the television all to myself so I eagerly planted my behind just a few feet away from the screen and started flipping channels until I stumbled across a black and white movie. I knew from experience that if I came across a black and white movie playing on TV late at night it was probably a horror film so I settled in for the long haul with some sugary snacks and quickly found myself engrossed in THE HAUNTING. This moody supernatural thriller absolutely terrified me but I couldn’t turn it off and the film immediately became a fright filled favorite. A few years later I read the book it was based on and got the opportunity to see the movie again and again thanks to the wonder of home video. And when I finally caught a screening of it at a revival theater in the early ‘90s my profound appreciation of Robert Wise’s film only grew. But I never forgot how THE HAUNTING made me feel during that first accidental viewing. It set my teeth on edge, made my blood run cold and left my young heart in tatters. And a large part of that was due to Julie Harris’ unforgettable portrayal of the doomed Eleanor “Nellie, my Nell” Lance.
Posted by Richard Harland Smith on August 9, 2013
With James Wan’s recent haunted houser THE CONJURING (2012) scaring up all kinds of big business at the boo-xoffice lately, I’ve had occasion to opine, mostly to the open air of my empty house and in my most lamentable ghostly wail, “Whyyyyyyyyy… whyyyyyyyyyy isn’t THE UNINVITED on DVD in this country? WHYYYYYYYYYYY???” And also, “Wheeeerrrrrrreeeee’s my gooooolllllllllllldddennnn arrrrrmmmmmm?” Well, silly me, it is available… or is about to be made available. (THE UNINVITED, I mean. Made available on DVD; golden arm still M.I.A.) Lewis Allen’s masterful 1944 ghost tale (not to be confused with the crap-ass 2009 American remake of the 2003 Korean ghost movie A TALE OF TWO SISTERS, which cadged the title THE UNINVITED rather gratuitously, rendering generic a brand that had been for almost half a century threaded with the very stuff of mystery and menace), based on the charming 1941 novel Uneasy Freehold by Irish writer Dorothy Macardle, is being released on DVD and Blu-ray by the estimable, the frighteningly comprehensive, and the exceedingly cool Criterion Collection. The announced street date is just over two months away. October 22nd. Just in time for Halloween!
I’ll tell you exactly where I was when I first saw THE UNINVITED, thank you for asking. It was New York City, it was the late 80s — 1988 or 1989 — and the thing just came on TV. I have no recollection of what channel was showing THE UNINVITED, if I had looked forward to seeing it or just found it already in progress, but my roommate and I found ourselves glued — glu-oo-ooed — to our cheap little black-and-white set as we sat side by side, two 20-something Bohemians with scratchy three days beards and black clothes, on the floor my futon, which doubled in those halcyon days as the couch in our Upper East Side railroad apartment. We both enjoyed the movie thoroughly throughout its crisp, fleet o’floot running time, but it was the ending… the ending, when the whooky-de-woo went all woooooo-oooooooo-ooooooooo and the protagonists were like yeow-ow-ow-ow that made us get all “GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” And then I spent the next, I don’t even know how many years — 20 at least — wondering “Did I really see what I thought I saw?”
Based as it is on a novel (two radio adaptatons followed within five years, and a stage version in 1979), THE UNINVITED turns not on a shopping list of tricks or feints or special effects but on words, on conversations, on secrets, on declarations, and in superstition and dread given voice. It’s a story that is fundamentally interested in people — the living, mind you — and one that does not suppose (as do so many contemporary ghost stories) that the dead have anything to tell us that we do not already know. This is not to say THE UNINVITED doesn’t believe in ghosts — far from it — but rather it understands that the restless dead derive the entirety of their power from the living, from the oral tradition, from the information we conceal from one another and ultimately from ourselves. Largely faithful to the Macardle novel (apart from changing various location and character names — the nickname of the main character from Roddy to Rick and his profession from theatre critic-cum-playwright to music critic-cum-composer), THE UNINVITED begins, leisurely but assuredly, as vacationing brother and sister Roderick and Pamela Fitzgerald (Ray Milland and Ruth Hussey) espy an empty old house on the stormy Devonshire coast and decide that they must have it as a change of venue from dreary old London. Not daring to dream they could afford such a manor, Rick and Pam manage to buy Windward House for a song from retired military man Beech (Donald Crisp). Getting chummy with the commander’s granddaughter, Stella, (Gail Russell), a beautiful but demon-drawn young woman, the Fitzgeralds find out there is a tale to be told about their new digs, a proper ghost story, whose third act has yet to be written.
THE UNINVITED is such an engrossing little yarn that you don’t even care that it throws in your way not one love story subplot but two. Happily, these represent not padding but rather a fleshing out of the overriding theme of loneliness. If Rick seems a bit mature for the budding Stella (while representing for her, it’s worth noting, a happier ever after than she had to expect at Cornelia Otis Skinner’s sanitarium), you’ve got to love the sparks that fly between Hussey and Alan Napier, as the local sawbones (who is able to add a few pieces to the niggling puzzle that is Windward House). The dialogue by Frank Portos (THE STRANGER ON THE THIRD FLOOR! THE SNAKE PIT!) and Dodie Smith (who wrote the source novel for Disney’s 101 DALMATIONS) is brisk and fulgent, light when it needs to be and then clamping down like a steel glove when things get heavy. The playing is expert, Lewis Allen’s direction (his first go at features after a career in theatre) is efficient yet evocative, and the icing on THE UNINVITED cake is the eerie process photography of Farciot Edouart (relatively fresh from Paramount’s comical but still creepy THE GHOST BREAKERS with Bob Hope and United Artists’ I MARRIED A WITCH with Veronica Lake). Edouart’s spectral contributions were not part of the original design and were only added, NIGHT OF THE DEMON-style, in postproduction, after Lewis Allen turned in his cut to Paramount. To say more about what happens specifically would be to do the uninitiated and THE UNINVITED a disservice. When this thing streets, see it. See it for yourself!
THE UNINVITED got its British DVD release just last year, with Exposure Cinema’s region 2/PAL issue of the film. The transfer is only adequate, a bit dark, a bit soft, and a bit thumb-rubbed… but still, what a treat (for those of us with multi-region capability) to finally have this one on disc. The Brit release came with both the 1944 and 1949 radio versions of the film as bonus features, along with the original trailer, and a stills and poster gallery. Exposure also included a keepsake booklet, nicely illustrated with original poster art from American and foreign markets, featuring a foreword by The Dark Side publisher Allan Bryce, an essay on the film by Claudette Pyne (which offers a lot of biographical information on the cast and director, though gives Farciot Edouart short shrift), an essay on the ghost movie subgenre by American critic Clydefro Jones, and a bio of Ray Milland by film critic and historian James Oliver. Criterion’s impending release of THE UNINVITED raises the stakes immeasurably with a digital restoration of the film — in and of itself entirely worth the sticker price. Additionally, Criterion is offering as supplements a print essay by film blogger Farran Smith Nehme (aka The Self-Styled Siren) and a visual essay by New York indie filmmaker Michael Almereyda. I love Almereyda and am about the only person in the world who dug his female vampire movie NADJA (1994), though I think I like his TWISTER (1989) just a little bit more. I wish there were more extras but I’ll be happy just to have the film itself, looking grand, on a region 1 disc and you should be, too!
To pre-order THE UNINVITED DVD for $13.99, click here.
To pre-order THE UNINVITED Blu-ray for $19.99, click here.
Posted by Kimberly Lindbergs on August 8, 2013
I recently sat through James Wan’s THE CONJURING (2013). I haven’t particularly liked anything else the director’s done but being a horror film aficionado myself, I assumed that all the critical praise and fanfare the movie was receiving meant that that it would probably deliver a few good thrills and chills. It is being hailed as one of the “scariest movies ever made” in some circles so it couldn’t be all that bad, right? Unfortunately I was very wrong. While THE CONJURING is obviously working some kind of magic on a large percentage of viewers I personally found this utterly predictable throwback to ‘70s horror cinema so clichéd, schmaltzy, devoid of compelling characters, lacking in atmosphere and flat out boring that I almost walked out of the theater midway through the movie. It seemed to be a poorly concocted smorgasbord of jump scares borrowed from much better films (THE AMITYVILLE HORROR, THE EXORCIST, THE HAUNTING, THE CHANGELING, THE BIRDS, HALLOWEEN, THE ORPHANAGE, EVIL DEAD, Etc.) that left me desperately hungry for something more tasty and fulfilling. Afterward I decided to cleanse my palate with a genuine ‘70s thriller about a family tormented by ghosts and combating demonic possession directed by Steven Spielberg called SOMETHING EVIL (1972). This low-budget telefilm rarely gets any attention by Spielberg fans or horror enthusiasts who seem to prefer DUEL (1971) or his later attempt at producing a supernatural thriller, POLTERGEIST (1982). But in some ways I think that SOMETHING EVIL is superior to them both. Why? Read on and I’ll tell you.
Posted by R. Emmet Sweeney on July 9, 2013
Richard Matheson was already an established writer in 1959, the year he started contributing to The Twilight Zone. But it took him a while. Over the course of the 1950s he rose from pitching sci-fi magazines on his off hours as a mailman, to adapting his own material to screens large and small. He sold his first story, “Born of Man and Woman”, to The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction in 1950. After a couple of suspense novels fizzled, he garnered notice with his post-apocalyptic survival staple, I Am Legend (1954). It was his follow-up, The Shrinking Man (1956), that cemented his place in popular consciousness. He ingeniously sold himself as screenwriter as part of the film rights deal to Universal, and he would be a prolific writer for film and TV for decades to come (alongside his novels and short stories). As part of our week-long tribute to Matheson, following his death last month at the age of 87, I’ll be looking at the Twilight Zone episodes he declared to be his favorite, Steel and Night Call, both from Season 5. They present fantastical premises with procedural detail, as he also did with I Am Legend and The Shrinking Man, bringing the spectacular down to earth.
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