Culver City’s MGM “dream factory” and Gower Gulch’s PRC were miles apart both literally and figuratively. Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer boasted “more stars than there are in heaven”, while tiny Producer’s Releasing Corporation films starred faded names like Neil Hamilton, Harry Langdon, Bela Lugosi , and Anna May Wong. MGM films featured lavish, opulent sets; PRC’s cardboard walls looked like they would fall over if an actor sneezed. Poverty Row PRC movies were dark and grainy; MGM created glossy, gorgeous Technicolor productions. MGM specialized in big budget extravaganzas, whereas PRC rarely spent more than $1.98. Miles apart – so why did major studio MGM purchase and release a movie originally made for minor PRC, HITLER’S MADMAN?
For one thing, it’s a damn good film, and an important one as well. Based on the true-life atrocity of the destruction of Lidice, Czechoslovakia on June 10, 1942 after the assassination of Nazi Reichsprotektor Reinhardt Heydrich, known as “The Hangman of Prague”, HITLER’S MADMAN was…
What’s an Insomnia File? You know how some times you just can’t get any sleep and, at about three in the morning, you’ll find yourself watching whatever you can find on cable? This feature is all about those insomnia-inspired discoveries!
If, at one in the morning on Wednesday, you were suffering from insomnia, you could have turned over to TCM and watched the 1970 film, Rabbit Run. That’s what I did.
Rabbit Run is the epitome of a dumb lug film. In a dumb lug film, a male character finds himself living an unfulfilling life but he can’t figure out the reason. Why can’t he figure it out? Because he’s a dumb lug, with the emphasis on dumb. Usually, the viewer is supposed to sympathize with the dumb lug because he doesn’t mean to hurt anyone and everyone else in his world is somehow even more annoying than he is. Typically, the dumb lug will have an emotionally distant wife who refuses to have sex with him and who is usually portrayed as being somehow at fault for everything bad that has happened in the dumb lug’s face. (Want to see a more recent dumb lug film than Rabbit Run?American Beauty.) Ever since the silent era, there have been dumb lug films. In particular, male filmmakers and critics seem to love dumb lug films because they allow them to pat themselves on the back for admitting to being dumb while, at the same time, assuring them that everything is the fault of the wife or the girlfriend or the mother or the mother-in-law.
In Rabbit Run, the dumb lug is named Harry Angstrom (James Caan), though most people still remember him as Rabbit, the high school basketball star. Harry’s life peaked in high school. Now, he’s 28 and he can’t hold down a job. He’s married to Janice (Carrie Snodgress), who spends all of her time drinking and watching TV. He has a son and another baby is on the way. One day, when the pregnant Janice asks him to go out and get her a pack of cigarettes, Harry responds by getting in his car and driving all the way from Pennsylvania to Virginia.
When he returns to Pennsylvania, Rabbit doesn’t go back to his wife. Instead, he drops in on his former basketball coach (Jack Albertson) and begs for advice on what he should do. The coach, it turns out, is more than little creepy. He also has absolutely no practical advise to give. He does introduce Rabbit to a part-time prostitute named Ruth (Anjanette Comer). Rabbit quickly decides that he’s in love with Ruth and soon, he’s moved in with her.
Meanwhile, there’s all sorts of little things going on. Rabbit gets a job working as a gardener. Rabbit befriends the local Episcopal minister (Arthur Hill), even while the minister’s cynical wife (Melodie Johnson) tries to tempt Rabbit away from both his wife and his mistress. Rabbit both resents and envies the sexual freedom of the counter culture, as represented by his younger sister. And, of course, Janice is pregnant…
Rabbit Run is based on a highly acclaimed novel by John Updike. I haven’t read the novel so I can’t compare it to the film, beyond pointing out that many great works of literature have been turned into mediocre movies, largely because the director never found a way to visually translate whatever it was that made the book so memorable in the first place. Rabbit Run was directed by Jack Smight, who takes a rather frantic approach to the material. Since Rabbit Run is primarily a character study, it needed a director who would be willing to get out of the way and let the actors dominate the film. Instead, Smight overdirects, as if he was desperately trying to prove that he could keep up with all the other trendy filmmakers. The whole movie is full of extreme close-ups, abrupt jump cuts, intrusive music, and delusions of ennui. You find yourself wishing that someone had been willing to grab Smight and shout, “Calm down!”
(On the plus side, as far as the films of 1970 are concerned, Smight’s direction of Rabbit Run still isn’t as bad as Richard Rush’s direction of Gettting Straight.)
James Caan actually gives a likable performance as Rabbit, which is good because Rabbit would be totally unbearable if not played by an actor with at least a little genuine charisma. There’s nothing subtle about Caan’s performance but he makes it work. You never like Rabbit but, at the same time, you don’t hate him.
Unfortunately, there’s nothing subtle about the rest of the cast either. Something rather tragic happens about 80 minutes into the film and, as much as I knew I shouldn’t, I still found myself giggling because Carrie Snodgress’s performance was so bad that it was impossible for me to take any of it seriously. Even worse is Arthur Hill, as the minister who won’t stop trying to help Rabbit out. I eventually reached the point where, every time that sanctimonious character started to open his mouth, I found myself hoping someone would hit him over the head and knock him out. Among the major supporting players, only Anjanette Comer is allowed a chance to be something more than just a sterotype. Like Caan, she does the best that she can but ultimately. this is James Caan’s movie.
It’s a disappointing movie but it did not put me to sleep. Give credit for that to James Caan, who is the only reason to see Rabbit Run.
Earlier tonight, on TCM, I watched the 1968 science fiction film, Countdown.
Who will be the first man to walk on the moon? Will it be Chiz (Robert Duvall), who is a colonel in the Air Force and who has been training for years and who really should get the chance just because he has a really cool name like Chiz? Or will it be Chiz’s best friend, Lee (James Caan)? Lee may not have Chiz’s experience but he’s a scientist and selecting him would allow NASA to portray the mission of being one of peace as opposed to one of war. Add to that, Lee has a full head of hair and he looks like a young James Caan, who was an undeniably handsome man back in his younger days! I mean, seriously — who would you rather have as the face of the space program: Tom Hagen or Sonny Corleone?
Of course, it might not really matter who NASA picks because the Russians are determined to get to the moon as well. And you know what that means! If the Russians land on the moon first, they’ll turn it into a Socialist utopia and that’ll mean ugly architecture, bread lines, and a three-month wait for toilet paper. The stakes have never been higher!
Countdown was made and released at the height of the space race, at a time when Americans really did feel that they were competing with the Russians to be the first to reach the moon. (Of course later, it would be learned that the Russian space program actually managed to kill far more cosmonauts than it successfully sent into orbit.) It came out a year before Apollo 11 landed on the moon and Neil Armstrong became the first Earthling since Stanley Kubrick to ever step on the lunar surface. As such, it’s interesting to see how Countdown imagines the experience of exploring the moon. I won’t spoil who reaches the moon first but I will say that he moves remarkably quickly and with great ease for someone in a gravity-free environment.
Countdown is a good example of what I like to call a “time capsule” film. Seen today, it’s kinda slow and a bit predictable. For all the time that is spent on getting the astronauts ready to go into space, very little time is actually spent in orbit. This is a very Earth-bound film. And yet, if you’re a history nerd like me, it’s hard not to be a little bit fascinated by a movie like this. In everything, from its fashions to its dialogue to its cultural outlook, this is very much a document of its time. It may be a while until we have the technology necessary to travel through time. Until then, watching a film like this might be as close as I’ll ever get to experiencing what the straight, non-Hippie crowd was doing in 1968.
If you’re a student of film history, Countdown is significant for being one of the first films to be directed by Robert Altman. To be honest, if not for his name in the opening credits, you would probably never guess that Countdown was directed by one of America’s most influential and iconic directors. Altman specialized in making film that were almost defiantly iconaclastic and there’s very little of that to be found in Countdown. Admittedly, there are a few scenes that make use of overlapping dialogue and there’s a party scene that’s definitely Altmanesque. However, the only reason I really noticed that party scene is because I was specifically looking for evidence of Altman’s style. For the most part, the most identifiably Altmanesque element of Countdown is the casting of Michael Murphy in a small role.
The film is dominated by Robert Duvall and James Caan and, especially if you’re a fan of The Godfather, it’s undeniably fun to see these two acting opposite each other in something other than an epic gangster film. (Duvall and Caan also acted together in The Rain People and The Killer Elite and were reportedly great friends off-camera as well.) Duvall is especially good in Countdown, playing Chiz as a man torn between an innate sense of loyalty and his own competitive nature. The scenes between Duvall and Caan have a charge to them that occasionally bring some much-needed life to this film.
In the end, Countdown is a fairly forgettable film but it’s worth seeing as a piece of history.
That’s the main lesson that can be taken away from Chato’s Land. In this western, Bronson plays Chato, an Apache who enters the wrong saloon and is forced to shoot a racist sheriff in self-defense. Former Confederate Captain Quincey Whitemore (Jack Palance) forms a posse to track Chato down but soon discovers that his posse is not made up of the best and brightest. Instead, most of them are sadistic racists who just want to kill Apaches. Despite Whitemore’s efforts to stop them, the posse rapes Chato’s wife and kills his best friend. Chato trades his white man’s clothes for a loin cloth and sets out for revenge.
Chato’s Land is historically significant because it was the first of many films that Charles Bronson made with Michael Winner. The most famous Bronson/Winner collaboration was Death Wish, which also featured Charles Bronson as a man who seeks revenge after his wife is raped. What is surprising about Chato’s Land is how little screen time Bronson actually has. Most the film is spent with the posse, which is full of familiar faces (Richard Jordan, Simon Oakland, Victor French, Ralph Waite, and James Whitmore all report for duty). It actually works to the film’s advantage, making Bronson even more intimidating than usual. There’s never any doubt that Chato is going to kill every member of the posse but since almost every member of the posse is loathsome, that’s not a problem.
It’s possible that Chato’s Land was meant to be an allegory for the Vietnam War, which is probably giving Michael Winner too much credit. (In an interview, the author of Death Wish, Brian Garfield, once shared an anecdote about Winner inserting a shot of three nuns into Death Wish and bragging about how the shot was meaningless but that it would fool the critics into thinking he was making a grand statement about something.) Like most of Winner’s films, Chato’s Land is good but not great. There are parts of the movie that drag and Jack Palance and Charles Bronson don’t get to share any big scenes together, which seems like a missed opportunity. Bronson, who was always underrated as an actor, gives one of his better performances as Chato. Chato does not say much but Bronson could do more with one glare than most actors could do with a monologue. In Europe, Bronson was known as Il Brutto and Chato’s Land features him at his most brutal.
Back when I was in college, I came across this music video…somehow. It has Italo disco singer Moon Ray (Raggio Di Luna) dancing in an Atari game with the occasional shot of her in a ring of fire.
Seeing as this is Italo disco, there is a French description on the video. Running it through Google Translate gives me the following:
The moonbeam in question (MoonRay) invokes the Comanchero, a character with the sulphurous reputation of the mythology of the far west and films of westerns.
The rhythmic rhythm arrives abruptly with feminine voice with the well-felt climate.
A title of the Italian-dance wave in the mid-1980s that remains a summer 1985 hit.
I didn’t know there was a “moonbeam” in question, but I guess it’s Moon Ray herself. She is invoking the Comanchero by dancing with video game graphics that invoke an unfortunate Atari game into the mind of the viewer. The yellow she is wearing is important to bringing the Comanchero. The Comanchero has a reputation “of the mythology of the far west and films of westerns.”
“The rhythmic rhythm arrives abruptly with feminine voice with the well-felt climate.” That is a line that Google translated for me. That’s all I can say about it.
That last sentence simply isn’t true. This song doesn’t remain “a summer 1985 hit.” This song remains popular today, as the video below shows, people are still doing the Comanchero.
Why? I don’t know. Much like I don’t have any other information on this one.
I wish there was more that I could tell you about Tom Miller, beyond that he was born in Canada and he was a prolific illustrator in the 50s and 60s. I searched for all the information that I could find online and the main thing I discovered is that there are several talented artists named Tom Miller. I may not have learned much about Tom Miller the pulp illustrator but I was happy to discover the work of Tom Miller, the Arizona sculptor and painter. Also, I enjoyed looking at the work of Ontario’s Tom Miller and the paintings of Baltmore’s Tom Miller.
As for Tom Miller the pulp illustrator, his work will just have to speak for itself.
It’s Burt Reynolds vs. Cliff Robertson. Cliff has got the money but Burt’s got the mustache and the toupee.
Robertson plays Charles Delaney, a wealthy businessman who, with the help of a mercenary army, has bought nearly all the land in a small Oregon town. Only the owner of a local gas station, Paul Barlow (Scott Wilson), has refused to sell. Delaney and his men think that they can intimidate Paul into selling but what they do not realize is that Paul has a houseguest. Richard Malone (Burt Reynolds) was driving through town when his car broke down. While waiting for it to get fixed, he has been staying with Paul and his teenage daughter, Jo (Cynthia Gibb). What no one knows is that Malone used to be an assassin for the CIA.
If ever there was a film that demanded the talents of Charles Bronson, it is Malone. The tough and ruthless title character would have been a perfect Bronson role, especially if Malone had been made twenty years earlier. Instead, the role went to Burt Reynolds, who was on the downside of his career as an action hero. Sometimes, Burt tries to play the role as serious and emotionally guarded. Then, in other scenes, Burt will suddenly smile and wink at the camera as he briefly turns back into the Bandit. This is not one of Burt’s better performances. He gets good support from the entire cast, including Lauren Hutton as his CIA handler, but, in most of his scenes, Burt comes across as being tired and his toupee makes him look like The Brady Bunch‘s Robert Reed. Burt was 51 when he made Malone and he looked like he was at least ten years older, making the scenes where Jo comes onto him even more improbable.
Where Malone succeeds is in the action scenes. Along with Burt’s final assault on Delaney’s compound, there is also a classic showdown in a barbershop. Malone had a budget of ten million dollars. How many blood squibs did that buy? Pay close attention to the scene where two hitmen attempt to surprise Malone in his room and find out.
Malone is may not feature Burt at his best but it is still a damn sight better than some of the other films that awaited Burt once his starpower started to diminish. Mad Dog Time, anyone?
In honor of Cracked Rear Viewer’s second anniversary, I’m re-presenting my first post from June 26, 2015. I’ve re-edited it and added some pictures, something I didn’t know how to do at first. My, how times change! Anyway, I hope you enjoy this look at an early noir classic. (Coincidentally, this is also Mr. Lorre’s birthday!)
The sinister star Peter Lorre was born in Hungary on June 26, 1904. He became a big screen sensation as the child killer in Fritz Lang’s German classic M (1931), and like many Jews in Germany at the time, fled the Nazi regime, landing in Britain in 1933. Lorre worked with Alfred Hitchcock there in the original THE MAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH, then immigrated to America, starring in films like MAD LOVE , CRIME AND PUNISHMENT, and the Mr. Moto series. In 1940, the actor starred in what many consider the first film noir, STRANGER ON THE…
Don’t mess with Charles Bronson.
It’s Burt Reynolds vs. Cliff Robertson. Cliff has got the money but Burt’s got the mustache and the toupee.
Through the Shattered Lens 