Films # 13 & 14: Robert Shaw Double Feature (Jun 13th)

Black Sunday
1977, 143 min.
Directed by John Frankenheimer

The Taking of Pelham One Two Three
1974, 104 min.
Directed by Joseph Sargent

For some, Sundays are a day of rest. For me, it's usually just a day of lazy. Expectations are modest for Sundays in my life. Mostly it's a reset for weekly activities: grocery shopping, laundry, house cleaning, and so forth. These double features I'm taking in this summer are a welcome break from Sunday's malaise. As a bonus, I'm catching up on many essential films a cinema enthusiast like me should see. I've been exposed to all kinds of cinema in my lifetime, but the classic films this summer are filling in a lot of gaps of movies I already should have seen if I consider myself a film expert. I learn something new with each viewing.

Sunday's lesson could be called "The Awesomeness of Robert Shaw," and it caught me off guard like a punch to the face. Previously, I was familiar with Shaw but hadn't seen him in very much. I think the extent of my knowledge was Jaws, and he was friggin great in that performance. That USS Indianapolis speech still makes the hair on my arms stand up. I know he was also a heavy in some James Bond movies but, truth be told, I haven't seen very many of the early Bond films. I grew up in the Roger Moore era of 007, so you'll excuse me if that didn't exactly whet my appetite for more. I have seen the Dalton, Brosnan and Craig ones as well, and the results are scattershot. Don't get me wrong, the early Bond films are on my to-do list (i.e.- Netflix queue), but I needed to partake of much Robert Shaw excellence. June 13th featured two such movies. First was Black Sunday, and after was The Taking of Pelham One Two Three.

Black Sunday is based on the novel by author/masochist Thomas Harris (written long before he ever created Hannibal Lecter) about some terrorists that plan to detonate a bomb on the Goodyear blimp during the Super Bowl. It is a very good thriller and a superb cat-and-mouse type of action movie that feels like a Tom Clancy novel. Too much, if you ask me. Why ever would I say that? Well, it's because the plot of The Sum of All Fears is strikingly similar. To such a degree that I can imagine some lawyers got involved somewhere and were made to hush up like that story about the Red October submarine. Sum was also made into a movie, one starring Morgan Freeman... and Ben Affleck. Yeah, I know. But hey, Liev Shrieber was really good in that one!

Ok, sorry for the non-sequitor. Black Sunday is surprisingly good, if a little dated. Bruce Dern is effectively creepy as a broken man manipulated into becoming a martyr for Black September, a Palestinean terrorist group one may recall was behind the Munich Olympic massacre in 1972. A former P.O.W. who now freelances as a blimp pilot, he plans to detonate a flechette bomb aboard the Goodyear blimp on Super Bowl Sunday, killing thousands with pieces of shrapnel. You get brief glimpses into his life throughout the movie, and it's not a pretty picture. He's not as messed up as, say, Christopher Walken was in The Deer Hunter, but his plight is sad nonetheless.

The first hints of this plot are uncovered during a Beruit raid led by Mossad agent Major David Kabakov, played by Robert Shaw. His pursuit of a female terrorist leads him and American agents onto the trail of the would-be assassins. From there, it's a fascinating ride that allows us to see the progress of both the hunter and the hunted.

And speaking of hunting, Shaw is relentless and without scruples as he chases leads. It was a bit eye-opening to see someone operating so hardcore. Shaw's portrayal of Kabakov make Jack Bauer look like a kindergarten teacher. One scene in particular, where Robert Shaw interrogates Frankie Pentangeli from The Godfather, Part II (the actor, not the character), is so uncompromising you can't help but smile. Forcing a gun into his prisoner's mouth, Shaw says calmly, "blink for yes. Die for no." Isn't that cool as hell? Appalling? Sure, I'll concede that. But this is the kind of bloodlust the movie baits you with. It builds momentum in the second and third acts towards an avalanche where you are ready for mayhem to erupt. And Black Sunday delivers. Oh yes, indeed.

I've always had great respect for the work of director John Frankenheimer (I choose to pretend that Island of Dr. Moreau remake never happened), but I was impressed to see many techniques in Black Sunday that have clearly influenced the current generation of action movies. The combination of the film's editing and the score (by the master himself, John Williams) makes for some high octane tension. I also can't help but think that Steven Spielberg based the tone of Munich partly on this film. In that movie, Eric Bana is also a Mossad agent with some reservations about the nature of his work, and the characterizations are similar to Shaw's here. The use of handhelds in Black Sunday's action sequences must have influenced Paul Greengrass, particularly in the Bourne Supremacy and Ultimatum. There are many quick edits in the action sequences, leading the way for the smashcut style of Tony Scott and Michael Bay. However, unlike Bay's Transformers, one can actually tell what's going on in this film.

In many ways, Black Sunday was way ahead of its time. Sadly, what was considered outrageous fantasy back in 1977 was proven more realistic with the Oklahoma City bombing and 9/11. Maybe as a result of our more sensitive times, I'm surprised by how ballsy it is. It would be unimaginable for Goodyear to lend their likeness to their blimp if the movie was made today. I can see the meeting of board of directors now. "It's a weapon of mass destruction? Sure!" (slaps logo on the side). Even more striking is the fact the NFL approved its license for use here. I mean, I know it can't be "The Super Bowl" without the NFL's approval, but this film actually filmed during Super Bowl X between the Dallas Cowboys and Pittsburgh Steelers. Look, there's Tom Landry! And Terry Bradshaw! And Roger Staubach! And a blimp coming to kill us all!

Much to my delight, it's not just stock footage, either. Black Friday integrates the game flawlessly, and I'm sure is a better record of the game than whatever sits on a shelf in the NFL archives. It's a shame the game looked so bad for the Cowboys, though. In fact, so much footage was shown of turnovers and interceptions I had to make sure it wasn't Tony Romo out there instead. Be that as it may, mayhem and the gridiron never looked so good. I don't know about you, but I think I'm going to make Black Sunday a new Super Bowl Sunday tradition. In addition to queso, burgers, hot dogs, pizza, and guacamole, I say let's all watch Robert Shaw kick some ass instead of watching that marathon of unimportant pre-game footage.

After the film, I had time to stretch and hit the loo. I moseyed downstairs and browsed the merchandise cart. Struck with inspiration, I decided to get some items to send my parents. After all, Father's Day is coming and my mother's birthday follows soon after. It'll be part of a nice care package I have yet to assemble. So... Mom, Dad, if you're reading this... please act happy when you open the goods.

I then grab my customary Dr. Pepper and head back to my seat. After a few minutes, the lights go down. Ah, there are trailers this time! Shown before the second feature are the trailers for Breathless, Giant, and Alien. That's an eclectic mix right there. I barely have time to get my heart rate back down after that damn Alien teaser when the movie begins. I had no idea about the greatness I was about to behold.

---

"Now, then, ladies and gentlemen, do you see this gun? It fires 750 rounds of 9-millimeter ammunition per minute. In other words, if all of you simultaneously were to rush me, not a single one of you would get any closer than you are right now. I do hope I've made myself understood."

---

The Taking of Pelham One Two Three is, quite simply, badass. It's a heist movie that is in the same vein as Dog Day Afternoon and is un-apologetically not politically correct. A four man crew takes a New York City subway car hostage and demand one million dollars in an hour. A tense and tight thriller with memorable characters, elaborate schemes, and a heavy dose of unrepentant 1970s NYC attitude, Pelham also seemed to influence cinematic crime stories that followed. From Reservoir Dogs to Die Hard, Pelham had left such a mark that it's no surprise it eventually got remade.

The cast is spot on. Robert Shaw is the cold and calculating ringleader of the gunmen, Martin Balsam (last seen by yours truly taking a butcher knife to the face from Norman Bates's mother) is a disgruntled ex-subway driver, Hector Elizondo is some sleazy mafioso perv with an itchy trigger finger (I would've loved to see this character try to "help" Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman), and a fourth guy who is remarkable only for being tall and stuttering. Only after going home and doing some good ol' IMDB research did I find out it was Earl Hindman, the neighbor from "Home Improvement" whose face we never saw. (Shrug) Who knew??

The film hits the ground running. No preamble, it simply begins with these four putting their plan into action. And they make it look soooo easy. Right away the audience learns that these men are efficient and ruthless professionals. All dressed in the same fedoras, nerd glasses and fake mustaches, they refer to each other only by code names: Mr. Blue (Shaw), Mr. Green (Balsam), Mr. Gray (Elizondo) and Mr. Brown (Hindman). Hmmmm. Sound familiar? Perhaps if I play "Little Green Bag" or "Stuck in the Middle with You" that bell in the back of your mind may go off. Why, I hadn't heard of color-coded gunmen since... Reservoir Dogs. Now, it's been widely reported that the Hong Kong film City on Fire was Quentin Tarantino's main inspiration to make Dogs, but you can't tell me Quentin came up with those character names merely by looking at a box of crayons. There was no Mr. Burnt Sienna, after all.

Now, Pelham is not just one of those films where the bad guys are so damn cool you root for them all the way. In fact, the most likable character is played by the protagonist. I personally never thought I'd see Walter Matthau in a gritty crime story of this sort; yet here he is. And I loved him in it. In a film about theft on a grand scale, it's ironic that Matthau (the hero) steals the movie. He plays Lt. Zachary Garber, and he's the one man who may match up in this game of chess with Mr. Blue. On paper Matthau may seem out of place, but his comic timing and genuine sense of contemplation is the perfect counter balance to a harsh crime story.

In fact, most of the NYC authority figures have a gruff sense of humor in spite of the gravity of the situation. Bureaucracy is shown to be the real foe in this story, personified by an inept and indecisive mayor. All other city employees know they have a job to do, and they carry their responsibilities right next to the chips on their shoulders. They do their jobs the best they can, but never hesitate to drop some one-liners along the way.

The Taking of Pelham One Two Three is a briskly edited film, and the pacing is never disrupted by the inter-cutting between Shaw and Matthau's actions. In fact, it's a joy to watch because the movie has such personality. The score is fantastic, gritty and rough, and sets the tone perfectly. All humor is, for the most part, inappropriate but never vulgar. What's striking is that most of the characters are memorable, even if their screen time is brief. There are unique hostages, cops, and even Japanese dignitaries. Be sure to keep an eye out for Jerry Stiller as another NYC cop (and try not to think of Frank Constanza screaming "Happy Festivus!"). All are given a little moment to shine, be it with with a sly grin or a smart aleck remark. Again, it's sooo good. A great movie that is miles better than the likes of other subway capers like Money Train or adrenaline rides like Speed. Overall, a tightly wound and underappreciated film.

So I went home after this fun experience, but my night wasn't over yet. I was so taken by Pelham that I immediately went home and watched the 2009 remake (God bless Netflix streaming). However, that enthusiasm was short-lived once this one started. Perhaps if I had watched the remake first, I would've thought it was a decent movie. But what I saw, having literally watched the original a few hours before, was an overdone mess. If the original was a perfectly cooked steak, the remake was so full of unnecessary sizzle that the meat got burnt to a crisp. How utterly disappointing.

The remake's casting simply doesn't light a candle to the original. It speaks volumes that Matthau's character was split into two different roles in the 2009 version. Denzel Washington and John Turturro still couldn't carry the amount of charm that Matthau's Garber did, but they were miles better than the casting for Robert Shaw's character. I mean, Travolta?? really? The dude from Grease? That's like someone remaking Die Hard in about 20 years and making Zac Efron the Hans Gruber (Alan Rickman) character. John Travolta seems to think growing facial hair and dropping the F bomb makes him an edgy bad guy. Note to Vinny Barbarino: It doesn't work. I could go on and on about the remake's shortcomings, but it's not worth the effort. Suffice it to say, you can't catch that lightning in a bottle twice.

The bad taste of 2009's Taking of Pelham One Two Three made me ponder the reason for Robert Shaw's awesomeness. And after a few minutes, I think I figured out why he rocks. Robert Shaw was Alan Rickman before Alan Rickman was Alan Rickman. If you can comprehend what I just tried to say there, I applaud you and will buy you a cookie one day. In short, Shaw sure makes a smooth criminal. I'm sure Michael Jackson agreed. Think of the lyrics for a minute. "It Was Sunday - What A Black Day." Think that was a coincidence, friends?

In all seriousness though, Shaw was unique. Even as a movie's hero (like Black Sunday), he's hard-boiled. Only Jaws's monster shark could match up with Shaw in his career (ok, I concede Walter Matthau also). Nobody else effs with Shaw in the movies. If he had made a film with, say, Chuck Norris... it wouldn't compare because Chuck Norris isn't a real actor.

Like most of these screenings, I've come away with a greater appreciation of what I've just viewed. Robert was a heck of an actor and an all-round tough guy. And to think, I may have continued knowing him merely from Jaws, but now I know the truth. Nope, it wasn't just another lazy Sunday for me. It was a Black and (Mr.) Blue Sunday. Bruises courtesy of Robert Shaw, and few things hurt so good.

Night of the Bat. Film # 12: Batman (Jun 6th)

Batman

1966, 105 min.
Directed by Leslie H. Martinson


"Some days you just can't get rid of a bomb!"
-Batman


Well, I was never one of those "comic book kids," but let me tell you, I have ALWAYS been a huge Batman fan. Many lazy afternoons were spent watching the '60s television show in syndication, and you better believe I was bat-crazy in 1989 (along with the rest of America) when Batman merchandise made a bajillion dollars. A good portion of that was likely from me, by the way. T-shirts, books, caps, buttons, posters, trading cards... I was neck-deep in Batman stuff. Yet as the movies got progressively worse over the years, my enthusiasm cooled. Five years ago, when Christopher Nolan relaunched the series, I was a happy bat-camper again because Batman movies were always a staple of my moviegoing experiences. Except for one; I had never seen the 1966 Batman film. So June 6th was another red letter day on the calendar of the Summer Film Series, and I was ever so excited at the prospect of seeing some Bat-mania first hand and possibly meet Adam West, the 1960's (and to many, the "definitive") Batman.

Alas, Sunday was another scorcher. That means I couldn't wear my batsuit to the screening of Batman. Just kiddin'. I don't have a batsuit, just pajamas. Ha! Gotcha again. Don't own any of those either. Although I'm willing to bet I did have some underoos though; you know, back when I was a wee pup. I do currently own a Batman glow-in-the-dark shirt ("I don't wanna grow up, I'm a Toys R Us kid"), but decided to act a little more grownup and opted not to wear it that day.

I approached the theatre from where I parked and could already see a crowd from two blocks away. "Goodness," I thought, "are all those people waiting to get inside?" Traffic on Congress Ave. blocked my view of the street, and I was curious as to why so many were congregated outside. As I got closer and closer, I saw that people were crowding around something in front of the theatre. "Was there an accident?" I wondered as I continued forward. Seeing no ambulances or paramedics, I figured it wasn't anything serious grabbing all the attention. From about 40 feet away, I finally could see what the big deal was. My eyes were agape and my jaw hung slack as I realized what was in front of The Paramount... THE BATMOBILE.

Holy crap! All kinds of folks were hovering around this icon of pop culture. Freaks and geeks of all ages were gazing, pointing and posing next to Batman's ride. Yours truly had a grin as big as The Joker plastered on my face. Snapping photos of Batfans big and small. I also had a tinge of pity for the poor blokes in costume as Batman. It was after all, pretty damn hot out there. At least Robin's costume is mostly just a domino mask and exposed legs. Batman's cape and cowl does not equal comfortable summer attire. Here's hoping Gotham City has a much cooler climate than Austin.

Despite the fun and revelry by the crowd outside, I decided after 10 minutes or so that air conditioning was preferable to dehydration. As I entered the building, I found many others shared the same thoughts. The lobby was full of enthusiasts and fanboys. Make that thirsty fanboys, judging by the Batman t-shirts and long lines at concessions.

In the lobby was a display by Austin Books and Comics, a local comic book store that had tables full of Bat swag. Want a new t-shirt of vintage comic images? You got it. How about a book of Alex Ross art? You got it. Craving a couple of new Batman action figures? You got it. It was like I was 13 years old all over again. Luckily, I didn't bring a lot of cash with me, or I would've tried to clean them out. No matter, I googled the store and know where to go now to get my fix of Gotham's heroes.

I knew there was much to see and little time to do so. Venturing upstairs, I happened upon a display by Bat Conservation International, where a lovely lady was answering questions about our winged friends. She held a tiny Mexican free-tail bat in her palm as she told us about the animals and the efforts of the organization. The Mexican free-tail, as you may or may not know, are the very critters that roost beneath Austin's Congress Bridge and fly into the night by the thousands at dusk.

But I gotta tell you, it was hard to concentrate on what she was saying because I was eyeballing Zoe, a rather large flying fox hanging upside down in her cage. Zoe was calm as a cucumber, and the kiddos around the presentation oooed and awed at the flying mammal. Those with cameras and cell phones were snapping away pictures of the nonchalant creature. Heck, I was impressed myself. After grabbing some literature and some temporary tattoos of bats for the kiddos in the family who couldn't attend, I snapped a few photos of Zoe also.

As I proceeded to the mezzanine level of the auditorium, I found the place was packed. I glance up and see the Bat logo is shining upon the ceiling of the theatre, high above the gawking moviegoers.

Playing on the screen are interviews with the cast of Batman, filmed during the original premiere of the film in 1966. Little known fact: The world premiere of Batman took place at The Paramount Theatre, right here in Austin, TX. The local CBS affiliate sent Jean Boone to question the cast. This archival footage was projected before the show began, featuring the clips of Boone with Adam West (Batman), Lee Meriwether (Catwoman), and Cesar Romero (The Joker). The complete footage can be seen here.

I was mesmerized by the interviews and enthralled with how media relations have progressed (or perhaps regressed) since the 1960s. Everything in the archival footage seemed so candid and off-the-cuff. No canned responses, no diplomatic non-answers, no shame. Because of the candor and the absence of PR spin, I was fascinated by the fact that these actors actually had interesting things to say about themselves.

Romero's interview in particular was like a conversation with an old friend. And oh, he's a charmer. But I was most taken by Lee Meriwether's interview, and not because she's easy on the eyes. Who knew that she worked for The Today Show? Not I. Who knew she studied acting under the famous Lee Strasberg? Not I. Nor was I privy to the fact she had two children already when she played Catwoman in the film. Yes, there were some talk of typical behind-the-scenes jargon (much we find on DVD featurettes today), but most talk was about her personal life. That was refreshing.

As the 10 minute clip kept replaying, I found myself watching over and over to drink in any detail I may have missed. How sad is the fact that most interviews now are the kind of crap that populates E! television? Call me simple, but I don't care about what clothes celebrities are wearing at a premiere. And in this case, it was much more fun that they were in character costumes. That was the purrr-fect touch. Unless Christian Bale shows up in costume at the premiere of the next Batman film, I won't be impressed with him.

Riddle me this. Who goes to the Batman screening and meet-and-greet party and doesn't meet Adam West? Me, that's who. It's sad but true. I was so taken by all the events that I never made it downstairs to meet the man himself. By the time I realized, it was too late. The interviews stopped playing and The Paramount's Frank Campbell came out and introduced the man of the hour... Mr. Adam West.

Let me tell you something about Adam West. I refuse to believe he's almost 82 years old. He was remarkably spry onstage, reminiscing and fielding audience questions. Coy yet clever, his wit sizzled inside the snappy answers he provided. You can't help but but smile while beholding West's presence. What a personality on this guy! He's a self-effacing pop icon. Kind of like William Shatner, only Adam West is soooooo much cooler. I wanted desperately to race downstairs to get a better photo of him, but I didn't want to miss a single second of his rapport with the full auditorium.

After several questions and anecdotes (including one about how Burgess Meredith upstaged his Batman co-stars at Austin's airport), he thanked us all for the love and the lights went down. The movie was about to begin.

Atomic batteries to power. Turbines to speed...


Okay, I won't lie. The 1966 Batman is far from being a good movie. In fact, it's bad. Pretty bad. And yet, It is not as far on the Suck-O-Meter as 1997's Batman and Robin. I'd place it on par with 1995's Batman Forever. It's corny, it's cheesy, and it's camp-tastic in its tone.

Full of intentional and unintentional humor, Batman is a campy exercise that will either leave you grabbing your sides from laughter or rolling your eyes in frustration. At times, I found I was doing both. Quite unlike Batman Begins and The Dark Knight, no one will ever ask of this 1966 film, "Why so serious?" The entire film is tongue in cheek.

The secret to enjoying it is to watch it as a comedy rather than an action movie. Think of it as the prototype for those Zucker-style spoofs. You know, the Airplane films or The Naked Gun series. Imagine Leslie Neilsen as Commissioner Gordon, if it helps. And in many ways, the campiness and corniness of Batman make it the mother of all Zucker comedies to come in the '70s and '80s... the Mother Zucker, if you will. Hardy har.

The plot is unimportant in movies like this. It has something to do with kidnapping a tycoon, dehydrating henchmen, ransoming the United Nations, abducting Bruce Wayne, etc, etc. Basically, the writers must've started most scenes with "bad guys steal _____." It's writing screenplays by way of Mad Libs, and it's not terribly effective.

Of course, this was made in an era where comic books were thought of as "kid's stuff." Before Dennis O'Neill, Neal Adams, Frank Miller, or Alan Moore brought their dark touches to the comics. Heck, "graphic novels" weren't even coined as a term yet. It was all merely "the funny papers," and this movie dwells in such a simpler time for Gotham's crime fighter. Colors are bright, sets are loud, and the villains chew up the scenery like sharks. Luckily, this Batman has shark repellent (seriously). Despite all the goofiness, Adam West carries a real charm in his goody-two shoes persona.

Subtlety is not one of the films' strong points; often hitting you over the head with hokey plot points (BAM!) and stale jokes (POW!). Even a minor subplot about Bruce Wayne's lovelife is syrupy, and goes over like a lead balloon (THUD!). And the fight sequences? Jeez. You know what? Just see for yourself. Below is the climatic battle. Words simply can't describe.



All in all, a great afternoon. A fun feast for everyone involved Sunday at The Paramount, even though the movie itself was as appetizing as uncooked dough. Nevertheless, I will have fond memories of this afternoon for many months and years to come. As I left the theatre, I couldn't help but smile. Driving back home, I was thinking of what Batman items to hunt for on eBay. Maybe some underoos (you know, for the kids). Finally, I realized that the radio wasn't on, and I was humming that familiar tune...

Na na na na Na na na na BATMAN!

Majestic Dance Party. Film # 11: To Wong Foo (Jun 3rd)

To Wong Foo Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar

1995, 109 min.
Directed by Beeban Kidron

"When a straight man puts on a dress and gets his sexual kicks, he is a transvestite. When a man is a woman trapped in a man's body and has a little operation, he is a transsexual. When a gay man has way too much fashion sense for one gender, he is a drag queen."
-Noxeema Jackson (Wesley Snipes)

(They say a picture is worth a thousand words, so I'll do my best to be brief. If you want to jump to the photos, scroll to the bottom of this blog post.)

I'll be honest, I didn't know what to expect when I walked up to The Paramount Theatre on Thursday night. Over the past few weeks I had grown accustomed to films being screened, to special events and kick-off parties. But tonight was looking to be something far more grand. It wasn't just a screening, after all.

This was the 2nd annual Majestic Party at The Paramount Theatre. The screening of To Wong Foo Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar was to take place at 8 pm, followed after by a dance party and costume contest and special surprises. Sounds like fun to me!

I got there and already there was a very healthy-sized crowd. The lobby was filled with people mingling and bidding on the silent auction items. Venturing towards the stairs, I was greeting by a caped guardian (hmmm. Perhaps "stair bouncer" would be an apt label too). The upper levels were for VIP ticket holders, but I asked Timothy (the caped crusader) if I go upstairs to document. He happily let me pass. Seriously, I was expecting to have to argue a bit, but Tim was one of the nicest and coolest people I've met since I've moved to Austin.

The lounge upstairs had a photo booth and snack bar. The photo booth was a backdrop and a long table of accessories to complete a myriad of fun costumes. The snacks were provided by Lick It Bite It Or Both, a newly opened cupcake shop that I must say makes some damn good little treats. I was convinced to try a red velvet cupcake (after about a whopping 0.8 seconds of arm twisting). It was hella yum.

Glancing at my watch, I saw time was short. (How do I always do this?) Rushing to take my seat, I sat as Ken Stein took the stage and welcomed everyone. He was joined by Skot Tulk, executive director of aGLIFF. Skot thanked everyone for their support, and introduced a special treat.

Before To Wong Foo, a short animated film was shown. "Dear Dad, Love Maria" is a haunting and beautifully made film about a boy who has the strength to fulfill his destiny and writes a letter to his estranged father. It is not so much a tale of metamorphosis; rather a story of self-recognition. A story about the bravery to take flight with the wings forged of determination.

Not available in its full length online, I have discovered a link to its trailer. This will allow you to get a proper sense of this powerful animated gem.



While it is very well-made and poignant, its somber tone was a bit of a buzzkill. Ken came back out and assured us that the fun was about to start again. How right he was. And with that, To Wong Foo began.

The film is more of a cult classic than a cinematic masterpiece, but I must admit it was fun to watch with this audience. A rather simple story that is anchored by some fun and memorable performances, the one thing I was most amazed by was the three leads. Patrick Swayze, Wesley Snipes, and John Leguizamo never came across as a parody or foolish at all. More impressive was the fact that the trio were passable as their female visages.

I recall from poster art and trailers how ridiculous I originally thought these guys appeared; Snipes in particular. Watching the film though, I realized that their costumes and makeup (in a weird way) worked. Patrick Swayze evokes a certain Coco Chanel kind of charm, almost erasing bad memories of Roadhouse and Ghost.

Wesley Snipes (who is NOT pretty, yet still convincing) is a hybrid of Angela Bassett, Eartha Kitt and Tina Turner. Snipes also has most of the best comedic lines, and his "oh no you di'int" attitude is amusing to watch. As ugly as Wesley is, he makes a much better lookin' woman than Martin Lawrence ever did. What? Don't remember Sheneneh from the old TV show? I'll give you a sec to go google it... Did ya do it? SEE?!?

And Leguizamo? He looks like Rosie Perez's ugly sister. A boricua with a punk-ass attitude and horrendous makeup, he also resembles an undead Carmen Miranda, complete with a matching ghost's palor. Swayze and Snipes take Leguizamo under their wing to make him a proper lady, but Leguizamo's repeatedly rude behavior makes it hard for us (and for Snipes) to be patient with such a transformation. We want to just shout at the screen "Grow up, dammit!" In many ways, Leguizamo's character of Chi Chi foreshadowed the arrival of J-Lo a couple of years later, so we could all shout the same thing at our television screens.

Sure, it's not of the same caliber as Priscilla, Queen of the Desert, but To Wong Foo isn't a complete waste of time. It's a light comedy that, when viewed with the right audience, can be quite a good time. And let me tell you, this was a fun audience. They laughed, booed, whooped and hollered. It was a raucously awesome movie experience.

At the film's conclusion, Ken came back out and thanked us again as the curtain raised. And with that, the party began! The next few hours were filled with lights, drinks, dancing, costume contests, drag queens, go go boys, and lots and lots of mirth. Oh, what a night!

Okay, I've blabbed long enough. I took about 200+ photos, and I selected 85 for your enjoyment. So that's about 85,000 more words, according to the old expression.

Below is the slideshow from my Picasa account. Enjoy!!


Follow to the Picasa set and see the photos in larger sizes.

Films # 9 & 10: Hitchcock Double Feature (Jun 1st)

Psycho
1960, 109 min.
Directed by Alfred Hitchcock

Frenzy
1972, 116 min.
Directed by Alfred Hitchcock

The beginning of each month is seldom very fun. First of all, there's usually bills to be paid (yippee!). Then there's the disorientation involved with marking the calendar. "Where the heck did last month go? How the heck did the time go so darn fast?" I guess these thoughts are the norm for most all of us. It's a general malaise that's just accepted. However, there was a special thing about the first of this month that I was looking forward to. A circled date when I knew I could look up outside The Paramount and see this:

You see, ever since I was selected as a publicist and reviewed the dates of the summer series films, I've been plotting these events and screenings on my calendar like Patton planning the campaigns of the European theater. Ok, that's a bit dramatic. Instead, maybe like a kid planning strategy in a game of Risk. That seems more apt. Point is, there were dates I've been waiting for. June 1st was one of them.

It was this Alfred Hitchcock double feature that caught my eye. To explain the why, one needs to go back to my youngest summers (cue flashback sequence...).

Summer vacation growing up in South Texas meant high temperatures. Check that, make it extreme temperatures. During my elementary school years I did most of the same things all little kids do. I went swimming, played outside, read books, went to the movies, etc, etc. But what I most remember are the summers when we got to stay inside the air-conditioned house and rent movies. Most significant were the times my parents (Mom in particular) rented the cinematic classics and exposed me to a world of film beyond Lucas and Spielberg. During those days I was introduced to the likes of Humphrey Bogart, Bette Davis, Natalie Wood and Orson Welles (still my personal favorite after all these years). Movies like Casablanca, Citizen Kane, What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?, The Universal Monsters series and The Third Man shaped my artistic tastes and my very personality.

I've viewed most of Hitchcock's filmography by now, but the most impressionable has always been Psycho (my personal top three of Hitch also include Vertigo and Notorious). It was my first Hitchcock movie, first viewed probably around age 8 (and if you've seen it, you know it DEFINITELY makes an impression), and reinforced to this kid WHY we lock doors. Over the years I've seen Psycho dozens of time, and I still marvel at how well constructed it is. I was dying to see it on the silver screen. It was the one experience with this classic that I was lacking. So you can imagine my level of glee when I finally arrived at the theatre that night.

Wasting no time, I darted up the stairs and took my seat. Again, just in time. The music playing was "All of my Love" by Led Zeppelin. Ha! You're telling me, Robert Plant. With the happiness I was feeling, I felt it appropriate for the night. As the song ended and the trailers began, a late-arriving couple sat down directly behind me (Remember this; I'll get to them later).

Kudos to whoever selects the trailers to play in front of the films this summer. I've been finding that the trailers have been setting the ambiance of the screenings perfectly. The first trailer was for Breathless again. I love the playfulness of that one, and I love that every audience I've been a part of laughs and murmurs at the same parts. "Le derriere..." in particular always cracks everyone up. Visually, it's perfect in setting the look of a black and white Hitchcock film.

The second trailer, however, sets up the mood in a more pertinent manner.



It was the first teaser trailer to Ridley Scott's Alien, and I don't think I had ever been deathly afraid of an egg before this. The teaser makes one grab their armrests in terror, and the screeching sounds intercut with the music's tempo quickens the pulse and shortens the breath. It's sooo well edited. Now that my nerves were on edge, the film begins immediately. Bernard Herrmann's famous Psycho score jolts the audience and made me jump up in my seat.

This was going to be a heck of a ride...

I realize I can't add much more to what's been said about this classic. After all, this film (and the shower scene in particular) has been referenced in dozens upon dozens of movies and television shows over the decades. Its parodies are likely equal in number. Yet only one, I think, can count as both. Naturally, I'm talking about the 1998 remake starring Vince Vaughn (!?) and Anne Heche (?!?!?). Yeah, I'm about to go there.

I know a LOT of people hate on Gus Van Zant's remake. And rightfully so. I'm not here to defend it. It is the very example in pointlessness. However, I've always thought Van Zant meant for it to be bad. I believe his intention was to state that some films weren't ever meant to be remade. He did so by taking one for the team. It's a shot-by-shot remake that proves you can't catch lightning in a bottle twice. A team of monkeys can't crank out Shakespeare over a long enough timeline, and one can't duplicate the magic of Psycho. Ever.

The casting is perfection. The screenplay is clever, and the music... oh that music (those strings still give me the chills)! It's fantastic. And of course, Hitchcock is the chef that mixes it all together inimitably. Psycho thrives on the very atmosphere it creates. This is some of the very best direction I've ever witnessed. Every shot, every edit, every actor's expression is arranged just so. He plays the audience like an orchestra. It's a prime example of the movie's sense of execution (no pun intended).

Only one thing prevented my 100% enjoyment of this movie, and it had nothing to do with the film, the venue or the atmosphere. The distractions were from the couple behind me. Now, I'm NOT the nosy type. If you know me, you know I respect everyone's privacy. But these two... Sigh.

Evidently, they met online and this was their first date. I'd have thought it was sweet if it wasn't do frackin' annoying to hear them whisper their stats to each other during the first reel.
"Where are you from?"
"How old are you?"
"Have you lived in Austin long?"
"Where do you work?"
"What side of town do you live on?"
"What do you think about living in Austin?"

Seriously, folks. This is what Instant Messaging is for, isn't it? Nevertheless, I remained focused on the movie and resisted the urge to turn around and become one of those "shush people." I waited it out; but they tested my patience. Unfortunately, they were also those kind of audience members who laughed at scary moments. You know the type, I'm sure. It's like they're embarrassed (or too cool) to be scared by a movie, so they have to laugh at everything. The guy, in particular, was chuckling like Burt Reynolds every few minutes. We get it, bud, you ooze machismo. Now shut the hell up. Worse, she evidently smuggled snacks into her giant Carrie Bradshaw handbag and brought a candy store. The first half hour was a parade of crinkling cellophane noises behind me. Dude. Did she bring a huge box of Little Debbie snacks from Sam's Club or Costco? Ugh. I rolled my eyes and wondered why they had to meet here. Wouldn't a screening of Sex and the City 2 be a more suitable location for this type of behavior? It does one no amount of good to go for a first date at a classy venue when that person is, in fact, devoid of class.

During the intermission between the two films, their exchange escalated. Clearly, these are the very demographic Facebook covets: they share ALL information with no regard for who has access to it. I made a mad dash to the restroom and to the concession stand; to give them time to get acquainted. I walked ever so slowly, browsed the merchandise cart, checked in on the girlfriend at home, anything to avoid going back up there and listening to the couple upstairs. All the while, hoping and praying that they had left after the first feature. So I made the climb upstairs like I was walking the Green Mile. Head lowered, I was doing the sad Charlie Brown walk upstairs. I turned the corner, and... they were still there. Good grief.

As I sat down, they were still going on like two geese. In the few minutes that I was trying to ignore them before Frenzy started, I absorbed a significant portion of their respective life stories. I learned what their jobs were, where they went to school, who smoked and drank, etc. After a while, I began to daydream a scenario that was itself rather Hitchcockian. It was of a serial killer, perhaps one who finds ladies online and takes them to movie theaters where he charms them... until one day a movie reviewer sitting near them overhears something he shouldn't have... and is pulled into a web of murder and intrigue. Hmmm.

(If someone reading this does write a treatment or screenplay and it gets greenlit, I want a cut and a producer's credit. I mean it.)

Thankfully, the lights dimmed and the second set of trailers began. First was The Adventures of Robin Hood, and the second was for Giant. I'll be honest, I've never been enticed to see Giant (I think it's the billion minute running time that ran me off), but this actually looks promising. Can't wait to see this later this summer also.



I was curious to see what the second feature would be like. I've purposely avoided Hitchcock's films from the end of his career, mostly because I've heard they're not very good. My curiosity was in its pairing with Psycho on Tuesday. After all, each of the double features at The Paramount are thematic. And Psycho is a masterpiece; a challenge for anything to follow.

Alas, Frenzy is not very good. One of the last films of Hitchcock's career, many refer it to as a "return to form." Perhaps that's just because it's more of a murder mystery than the political thrillers he was making before Frenzy was released. It's set in London, and deals with a serial killer who rapes then murders his victims with a neck tie. Okay. I see the theme now. I'll take "Cinematic Serial Killers" for 500, Alex.

Because of its mediocrity, I prefer to look at Frenzy as the last gasps of Alfred's creativity. At the age when he made this, perhaps he had just forgotten how to make thrillers properly. There are a few sequences that do have that the "Hitchcockian" touch, but the rest of the film to me is Al exploring the exploitation genre. Quite badly, I might add. It feels like a movie directed by a dirty old man, or perhaps Brian De Palma.

The look of the film is, to be blunt, ugly. Cinematographer Gil Taylor, who five years later would work on the original Star Wars, evidently was experimenting with that sterile "Death Star" look here. Most every scene shot indoors or in daylight appears to be ensconced in artificial light. People aren't just bathed in light; they're soaked in it. Harsh shadows are visible on all sides; it's like a spotlight is placed above the camera. Watching this is like watching Mexican cinema. I half expected Cantiflas to be the neck-tie killer. There's no atmosphere in the cinematography, and I really wish it could've been viewed in black and white. Oddly, I was reminded of Van Zant's Psycho again. For Frenzy (as it was in 1998's Psycho), a wonderful world of color is in fact a wonderful world of yuck.

The cast is comprised of unknowns, and I found that to be refreshing. I wasn't hindered by any expectation, but I was unnerved that the killer looked eerily like Gene Wilder. I may well never be able to see Young Frankenstein again. I'd say Willy Wonka, but Tim Burton already ruined that for me. Thanks, Tim.

As "Not Gene Wilder" is on his spree, a down-on-his-luck bloke gets caught up in the mayhem and becomes the prime suspect. We as an audience know he's innocent, but the odds (and evidence) is stacked against him. After a molasses-slow first half hour or so, the film does at last gain momentum and begins to feel remotely like vintage Hitch. Or like someone imitating him (again, type "Brian De Palma" into Wikipedia for more info).

At a few key points in the movie, Hitchcock does truly evoke the feelings of old. A sequence in the back of a potato truck is rife with tension, as is a scene where we are privy to the killer's second murder. That scene in particular is my favorite of the film. Our killer lures a woman up to his flat and as we expect the camera to follow, it instead starts a slow retreat back down the stairs and out the front door. No music; just the growing sounds of a bustling London street as we get closer and closer to the outside world. Finally, it pulls back to a simple exterior shot of the building, with passersby unaware of the horrors going on inside (as we do). That is the lone moment of control that recalls the Alfred of old.

For someone with a career who has crafted moments like I just described, it's a shame that Frenzy swims in so much gratuitous violence, bulging tongues and nipple shots. A horrific scene early in the film reveals the killer to the audience as he rapes and kills one of his victims. Although not exactly tacky; it is borderline exploitative. Quieter moments of the victim trying to maintain dignity during the attack are undone by the nausea the audience feels from the monstrous act itself. It's as if Hitchcock punches us all in the gut and dares us to go on. The scene leaves a bad taste in one's mouth, and assures that we will never root for this killer like we were manipulated into by Psycho's Norman Bates.

Too much is going on in Frenzy to make a balanced thriller. There are far too many segues into subplots that, while entertaining, simply don't belong. Halfway through the movie, a new thread is picked up and we follow the head investigator's trials with his wife's cooking. He explains to a colleague that she's taking gourmet cooking classes and that the dishes are retched. In prior films, that would be enough comic relief; but here we actually follow him home and see these comedic exchanges at dinnertime. On multiple occasions. You can't make this stuff up. Sure, it's funny, but it's emblematic of the lack of focus that befalls Frenzy overall.

The film meanders its way to a great one-liner at its conclusion, but doesn't stay on point enough to be a good thriller. Watching Frenzy is like walking behind a toddler. You have to slow your pace because they get distracted by every... little... thing. A toddler, or perhaps an Alzheimer patient. Both have stunted skills, after all.

So speaking of stunted skills... Yes, Ms. Cellophane (not a character from Chicago, I mean the woman behind me) opened another half dozen treats during the first couple of reels but thankfully her date, Mr. Chuckles, kept quiet. Alas, when the house lights came back up, they scurried off before I could get a good look at them. Eh, it's for the best.

At the end of the day I finally got to see Psycho on the big screen as I've always wanted. It was a great experience and one I'll treasure until I'm blown away by another classic film this summer, I'm sure. Not even annoying patrons or the sub-par cinema of a latter day cinematic master could kill that buzz. I'm mature enough now to appreciate life's small victories, after all.

But I still lock the door when I take a shower.